Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

‘No. A pouch, mayhap. The size of a folded blanket.’

The nun squared her shoulders, gazed upwards. ‘Catch me if I totter, Captain.’ And up she went with the lantern in one hand, her skirt clenched in the other. ‘Goodness, the cobwebs. Saint Antony, I pray thee guide me.’ She poked about, then suddenly, ‘Ah. This is unfamiliar.’ She turned round, handed down the lantern, then a substantial leather pouch. ‘Would this be it, then?’

Owen set it down on the ground, unbuckled the strap, discovered medicines, a crucifix, candles … Brother Wulfstan’s stolen bag? He did not understand how it came to be here. ‘I believe it may be. St Antony has worked a miracle.’

Dame Beatrice had climbed down and was brushing off her skirts. ‘It is a rare day he disappoints me.’

Now to find out how the bag came into Don Cuthbert’s possession. And why he had hidden it.

Owen met Don Cuthbert in the church nave. The cellarer glanced at the bag, sniffed, raised his protruding eyes to Owen. ‘It is the sort of bag one might expect you to carry.’

‘Aye, but it is not mine. It belongs to the infirmarian of St Mary’s, from whom it was stolen.’

‘Stolen?’

‘Even so. And what I am wondering is how did you come to be hiding it in the shed?’

Don Cuthbert’s delicate fingers fluttered as he rose to his toes. ‘I have thought from the first she was trouble.’ His pointed teeth were bared in a smile.

‘She?’

The cellarer glanced round the shadowy nave, leaned closer. ‘Anneys. One of our lay sisters. I found her clutching it in my garden.’

Anneys. The woman who had distracted Owen from his watch. ‘She brought it to you?’

‘No, she did not. Indeed she gave it me unwillingly.’

‘Then you hid it in the shed behind the infirmary, by the Barnhous?’

‘How did you know that?’

‘I followed you when you crept away from the chapel.’ And had Anneys also followed? Owen had assumed she had come from the children’s refectory. But had she? ‘Why did you hide it?’

‘You know better than I how dangerous physicks can be in the wrong hands. I thought it best to hide them until I might discover to whom they belonged.’

‘Anneys works in the infirmary, does she not?’

Cuthbert held himself very still. ‘The lay sisters work where they are needed. But she is a favourite in the infirmary. Calm, with steady hands.’

‘Is she not entrusted with physicks in her work?’

Owen watched with interest as the cellarer realised his faulty logic. A mere ripple in the brow, averted eyes.

‘Yes. She is indeed entrusted with physicks in her work.’

‘Then why did you feel these particular physicks dangerous in her possession?’

Cuthbert pushed his hands up his sleeves, looked down at the floor. ‘You will think me a fool, Captain. But I see that I am not clever enough to dissemble with you. So I shall speak plain. I envied you when Sir Richard told me you were to help him discover what is amiss at St Leonard’s. When I saw the bag, I presumed it was yours. And thus I hid it. To spite you.’

The candour silenced both of them for a time. They stood facing one another yet not looking each other in the eye. Owen leaned against a pillar, stared off into the shadows. Cuthbert rocked back and forth on his small feet and studied the floor.

And yet it seemed an oddly companionable silence to Owen. At last he said, ‘Thank you for telling me. You have saved me from rushing down the wrong path.’

Cuthbert rose to the tips of his toes, then settled. ‘I wish to help the master, Captain.’

‘Dame Beatrice mentioned that you have agreed to take in a child, Alisoun Ffulford.’

‘Ah, yes. The orphan.’

‘But one with kin.’

‘Her mother grew up in the Barnhous, Captain. The girl says her mother urged her to come here. How could I send her away? But you can be sure I shall alert her kin to her whereabouts.’

‘Mistress Ffulford was an orphan?’

‘I do not remember the details, Captain. But yes, she married from here.’

Interesting. ‘I would speak with Anneys.’

‘Shall I have her summoned now?’

‘If you would be so kind. And while we wait for her, would you describe for me the wounds you saw on Masters Taverner and Warrene?’

Anneys had bold eyes and a confident bearing. Once again she struck Owen as an unlikely servant. But she had evidently come at once, and she thanked Don Cuthbert most courteously for offering to leave them alone to talk. Owen had purposefully left Wulfstan’s bag in sight. Now the woman gazed at it with interest.

‘You have seen this before?’

She turned to Owen. ‘Captain, it is obvious that Don Cuthbert told you he found me with this in his garden.’

Clever woman to begin so. ‘He did.’

‘He did not believe me when I told him I had found it there.’

‘As simple as that? You saw no one with it?’

‘I saw no one.’

‘Don Cuthbert tells me you were reluctant to give him the bag.’

‘Indeed. He does not work with the sick. I thought it best to take it to the infirmary.’

A familiar argument, though this time it seemed more likely to be true. Owen was about to release Anneys when something occurred to him. ‘It would not be customary for a lay sister or brother to walk in the cellarer’s garden. How came you there?’

Hands clenched, head bowed. ‘I had been sitting with a child who is dying, Captain. Not of pestilence. A brain fever. I cannot tell you how difficult it is to watch a child sink deeper and deeper towards death.’ She was silent a moment. ‘I wished to walk somewhere lovely. I wished to be alone. I wandered into the garden.’ She raised her eyes to him. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

‘God go with you.’

It was difficult for Owen to think about his work as he walked to St Mary’s postern gate. All he wanted to do was ride for Freythorpe Hadden and see with his own eye that his children were safe and well. He left Brother Wulfstan’s bag with the porter, with a message requesting that the infirmarian examine the bag and let him know what, if anything, was missing.

And then, without planning it, Owen delivered himself to the minster, where he knelt down before the lady altar to pray for his family, for Lucie as well as the children. Each night she crawled into bed exhausted, yet she slept only fitfully, worrying about the children. Owen feared that in her weak state she would succumb more readily to melancholy, and thence to illness.

When prayer had quieted his mind, he left the great cathedral and headed home. As he walked, he wondered how he was ever to unravel all that he had learned and choose what was of use. As he went through the day, he discovered much to question. How had a stranger found his way into the cellarer’s garden? Had Anneys been following Don Cuthbert? Why had Cuthbert not believed her? Why had Alisoun Ffulford chosen St Leonard’s?

Kate greeted Owen at the door with the news that Gilbert awaited him in the garden, with news of the children.

Gilbert dined with Owen and Lucie, who plied him with queries about Gwenllian and Hugh, most of which he could not answer. After Gilbert had taken his leave, Owen asked Lucie to withdraw to the garden with him.

As they walked along the paths, he recounted his day, hoping she might see what he could not. The riddle play amused her.

‘How clever of you. Do you mean to try that on all those you question?’

‘Do you think that I should?’

‘You learned something about Ravenser you had not known.’

‘Melancholic. It is not difficult to see. But do you think Thoresby sanguine?’

Lucie squeezed his arm. ‘I daresay few would be so quick to think of a riddle describing themselves.’