Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

‘You foresee that? I had hoped merely to understand them.’

‘Where will you begin?’

‘I depend on Magda having heard something that might show me where to look.’ All rumours in York quickly reached the Riverwoman.

As Owen waited for the summoned gatekeeper he thought about Honoria de Staines, the butt of so much suspicion. Julian’s death had made it difficult to judge her. Lucie was right — he must ask Bess what she knew of the gift. And whether there was animosity between Honoria’s husband and Julian. A conversation he dreaded.

‘’Tis just dawn,’ a voice muttered above his head. ‘Who goes there?’

‘Captain Archer on the archbishop’s business.’

An oath, silence, then the clanking of keys beyond the night door, the grinding of the key in the lock. The door swung wide with a groaning protest. The gatekeeper was not much cheerier.

‘Business could not wait?’

‘No.’

‘Go on with ’ee then, Captain.’ Dan stepped back to let Owen through.

Owen remembered something Lucie had said a few days past. ‘Your little one. She has recovered?’

Silence. Owen glanced round as the door was closing, caught Dan wiping his night-creased face on his sleeve. ‘May she rest in peace,’ Owen murmured and hurried on his way, cursing himself for waking a man who much needed his sleep. Dan and his wife had other children, but little Angelique had been their youngest and dearest, a fair, sweet-voiced girl not much older than Gwenllian. When Owen was out of sight of the gate he crossed himself and said a prayer for his own children.

Smoke from Magda’s cook fire rose through the hole in the upside-down Viking ship that served as her roof. Still here, then. Magda was never careless with her fire, though her home sat on a rock in the mud flats and so was isolated by water or at the least mud from the flotsam and jetsam houses clustered against the walls of St Mary’s Abbey and the city beyond. Owen knocked. As he waited, he fancied he heard a whinny nearby. Peering round the corner, he came face to face with a horse.

‘So Magda is to ride today, eh, beauty?’

‘Thou’rt out and about betimes, Bird-eye,’ Magda said from the doorway. ‘Dost thou remember Mistress Ffulford’s nag?’

‘I did not recognise her.’

‘The child groomed her better than her recent keepers did.’

Owen ran his hand down the horse’s mane, discovered a sticky concoction near the shoulder. ‘Injured?’

‘Aye. But she will mend. Come within.’

Owen bent low to clear the lintel. ‘The girl is here?’

‘Nay. Only the beast.’

‘Her kin sold it when they took her in?’

Hitching up her patchwork skirts, Magda lowered herself on to a stool by the fire, picked up a bowl and spoon. ‘Thou canst play riddlemaster all the day, Magda will not stop thee. But which answer is true she cannot say. Hast thou broken thy fast?’

‘I have. But I would not say no to a cup of ale.’ He told her of his encounter with the gatekeeper.

‘Fetch thy own drink. Thou knowst where Magda keeps it.’ She chewed on her breakfast for a while.

Owen settled on the rushes by the fire circle, drank half the cup of ale in one tilt of the head.

‘What brings thee to Magda at dawn, Bird-eye?’

He told her about the task he faced at the hospital. ‘I am wondering whether Julian Taverner’s death has aught to do with the thefts.’

‘Taverner. Aye. Magda heard of his death. Not the manqualm?’

When Owen described Julian’s symptoms and his odd last words, Magda closed her eyes, nodded.

‘Belladonna. Aye, ’tis fitting. Taverner was one to have enemies.’

‘Enemies at the hospital?’

‘That is for thee to discover.’ Magda set aside her bowl, reached for a cup, drank. ‘But mark this. Taverner’s inn was small compared with the York Tavern. Yet he owned costly plate, paid dearly for a corrody at St Leonard’s. Have the Merchet’s such wealth?’

‘He was a smuggler.’ Owen downed the rest of his ale. ‘But so are they all in Scarborough.’

Magda barked in laughter. ‘A goodly number is all, eh? Men are keen to make rules of such things. Seldom of use.’

‘Even so. With so many about the same business in Scarborough, why would Julian Taverner be particularly likely to have enemies?’

‘Now Magda makes a rule. A man with no enemies does not think of poisoning. But thou wilt find the truth.’

‘I cannot see how it was done. He was tended by Bess, the lay sisters, and his servant, and had the walls of the hospital round him. How did the poisoner reach him?’

‘Aye. Thou hast much work ahead of thee.’ Magda put aside her cup, stretched as she rose.

‘Honoria de Staines spends her nights in St Leonard’s gaol, did you know?’

‘Aye. For owning glass and silks above her station.’ Magda lifted a pouch from a peg, carried it to her work table.

Owen followed. ‘I wonder whether they have been right about her guilt, wrong about her sin. She was much with Julian Taverner.’

As Magda filled the bag with simples and such, she said, ‘Honoria served him two years before she wed. She would be much with him.’

‘Were they lovers?’

‘And for that she poisoned him?’ Magda crossed to her fire circle, crouched beside it.

‘What of her missing husband?’

‘She loved him. Fair poisoned herself trying to get with child for him.’

‘She is barren?’

Magda wagged her head as she spread the embers and covered them. ‘So many men and never quickening? Aye. He beat her, blamed her. But ’twas folk’s grins poisoned him for her. She will not see him again.’

‘You do not think he returned to have his revenge?’

Magda barked with laughter. ‘Thou’rt so desperate as to believe that?’ She began to rise, refused Owen’s proffered hand. ‘Away with thee. Magda must begin her day.’ She closed the pouch, slung it over her shoulder.

As Owen stepped into the daylight, the horse greeted him. ‘Where did you find her?’

‘Tied without a tumbledown hut. Folk said a stranger abandoned the horse at the city gate when a cart tipped over, frightening it.’

‘You believed them?’

‘’Twas too grand a catch for them. So Magda asked about the stranger. Clerk’s gown, wounded in arm and leg, and in too much pain to calm the beast.’

‘And he did not return for it?’

‘Nay.’

‘How do you come to have it?’

‘Magda predicted they would have trouble trading it.’

‘What will you do with it?’

‘Climb upon the beast’s back and ride upriver.’

‘You are concerned about the child.’

Magda shooed him off. ‘Thou hast thy worries, Magda has hers.’

Tom Merchet glanced up from his work as Owen entered the dimly lit tavern. ‘Any news of my godchild?’ With the archbishop, Tom shared the honour of being godfather to Hugh.

‘We may have some soon. His Grace is stopping there to tell Tildy of her brother’s death.’

‘He is good to do it. Few messengers on road these days.’

‘Aye. Is Bess about?’

‘In kitchen. Cook is ailing. A blistered hand. Much better thanks to Lucie’s unguent. Wife tells me you mean to avenge Julian.’

‘Holy Mary. Such a rumour-’

Tom silenced Owen with a slap on the back. ‘Rest easy. She said nothing like.’ His round face was jolly. ‘But she did say you are to help Sir Richard with his troubles.’

‘That I am. I must be off to see him midday. I thought I might speak with Bess about her uncle.’

‘Keep up a chatter and she will be out here.’

Owen sat down across from Tom, touched the corner of the table the innkeeper had been smoothing. ‘What happened here?’