Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

And what of his having lived at St Leonard’s? Might he carry pestilence? No more likely than Bess herself, Tom thought. She had been with her uncle at the last and was still standing and able. It might even be true he had not died of pestilence.

‘You might rest a while with us, Nate. Long enough to think what you will do.’

The man’s large nose grew red and his sad eyes glistened. ‘You are sent by the merciful Lord, Tom Merchet. I’ll not forget this kindness.’

As Tom helped Nate pull the cart into the tavern yard he wondered what Bess would say about his kindness.

Hands on hips and foot tapping, Bess was not pleased. ‘’Tis not the pestilence worries me, Tom Merchet. Nate is old, that is what worries me. Not a man to find work easily. What then? Do we give him a room for life? Have him underfoot until he wastes away?’

‘Sweet Heaven, wife, I want but a few years to match his age. Am I wasting away?’

Bess peered out of the window of her parlour to where Simon was helping Nate unload the cart. ‘Look at his joints. See how he hobbles. You are healthy. Nate is not. ’Tis all the difference.’

‘You owe it to your uncle.’

‘I owe my uncle nothing. A soft heart is what you have, Tom Merchet.’ Bess sat back down at the table where she had been working on her books, picked up her quill.

Tom leaned on the table. ‘Which of us is to tell him then, wife?’

Bess snapped her head up, her eyes round as if he had just said a most ridiculous thing. ‘Tell him what? He is here now. Naught to do but make the best of it. You always make such a muddle of things.’

Leaning down, Tom gently kissed his wife’s hot forehead. ‘Rest easy. Nate seems a man wants something to do. He’ll not burden us.’

Bess patted her husband’s hand. ‘He reminds me of Uncle Julian is all. I’ve neglected him. He will not rest in his grave until his murderer has been brought to justice. I must get to work.’

‘I thought you had journeyed to Easingwold. That was not work?’

‘Precious little good it did.’

‘Have you told Owen about your journey?’

‘Aye. A chiding I received for it, and not a word of thanks.’

‘Owen’s not one to behave so. What did he say?’

‘That he could not undo the harm I did.’

Tom’s eyes grew round. ‘He said that?’

Bess sniffed and waited for sympathy.

‘Well, that should teach you to stay out of his business.’

The cur. ‘I came to that decision on my own, husband.’

Bess rose from her work as Owen entered the tavern in the late afternoon. ‘What brings you here so early?’

Owen glanced round the room. ‘I never thought to see it empty at this time of day.’

‘You have not come to see how we fare, friend,’ Tom said. ‘You have some news?’

‘I have come with more questions about Julian Taverner and Laurence de Warrene.’

‘Oh?’ Bess did not like Owen’s tone.

‘None of the servants can hear us?’

Bess shook her head. ‘They are all about their business.’ She leaned closer. ‘Tell me, for pity’s sake. What have you learned?’

‘You know of the thefts at the hospital?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Did you know that many of the missing items were originally given to the hospital by Julian and Laurence? A gold chalice inlaid with precious stones, a silver filigree missal cover with gems, a saddle inlaid with gold leaf …’

‘Uncle Julian?’ Bess sat down. ‘He had such things to give away?’ He had never given her any evidence of such wealth. ‘Was it these things bought his corrody?’

‘No. The gifts were an additional payment. “For our sins”, the deed read.’

Bess pressed her eyelids, forced down her disappointment. He might have left her such treasures and instead he had given them to St Leonard’s. Had he ever thought what Bess and Tom might have done with such wealth? ‘Ungrateful old man.’ A deep breath. ‘Tom, pour four ales. Owen might profit from a word with Nate.’

Owen glanced from one to the other. ‘Your uncle’s servant?’

‘He is lodging here until he finds work.’ Bess found Owen’s obvious pleasure a nice reward for her trouble with old Nate. ‘Tom will fetch him for you.’

‘I feel a servant myself,’ Tom muttered as he put the four tankards on the table. ‘Shall I assist Simon with Nate’s things, wife?’

Bess shook her head at him. ‘And who else will do it?’

It was a sweaty, breathless Nate who sank down at the bench and greedily gulped at his ale.

‘You will have a head feels it has been pressed for wine if you drink so,’ Bess warned.

Nate set his tankard down, eyed the pitcher with interest. ‘I’m that thirsty, Mistress Merchet. I loaded the cart myself. Pulled it all the way from St Leonard’s. You cannot imagine how hot that sun is.’

‘Precious little sun reaches Blake Street,’ Bess muttered. Pray God he did not drink them into debt while he was here. ‘This is Captain Owen Archer. He is helping the Master of St Leonard’s with a problem.’

The old man turned his attention to Owen. ‘Thieving and such, eh?’ A knowing wink. ‘My master and his friend dying so suddenly. And poor Walter de Hotter.’ Nate nodded. ‘Things are not as they should be at spital, ’tis plain. I know about you, Captain. There are many at spital glad to hear you will put an end to the troubles.’

‘I confess I am a long way from doing that, Nate.’

Bess chuckled into her cup at Owen’s modesty.

‘I cannot think what I know that might help,’ Nate said.

‘You were with him when he became ill. Who helped you with him?’

‘Honoria, though she could not stay. She had other chores. She sent for Anneys when she saw how quickly he was failing. And then we sent for Mistress Merchet.’

‘Did Honoria or Anneys give him any physicks?’

‘Nay. Well, naught but what he was taking already.’

Bess interrupted the muddled old man. ‘His headache had gone, Nate. He took no more physick after the first day home.’

Nate shook his head. ‘He was drinking sommat for quick healing and strength, Mistress Merchet. It smelled most foul. I would not forget such a thing.’

Owen turned to Bess. ‘You had taken him physicks from the apothecary?’

Bess stared at Owen as she realised what he was about. ‘I did. But none of them foul-smelling, I am certain of that.’ He believed her uncle had been poisoned. Holy Mary, Mother of God.

But Owen, with a grim sigh, changed the subject. ‘Your master had money and treasures when he came to St Leonard’s, Nate. Too much to have made it all at the tavern.’

‘Aye, that he did. He made a goodly sum outside the tavern, as do many who live on the North Sea. Were a fool otherwise, eh?’

Bess did not like this turn.

‘So he was a smuggler,’ Owen said.

Nate wrinkled his nose. ‘Now where would he find the time to go to sea? Nay. He waited for the goods to land, the master did.’

‘He emptied ships foundered on the rocks?’

‘To be sure. Not a soul along the coast did not take advantage of others’ misfortunes, Captain. But among so many the rewards are small. The master and his friends, they thought of something better. Looted the caves of the smugglers, they did. And who could bring them to justice? Thief blaming thief.’ Nate chuckled.

Bess groaned.

‘Dangerous business,’ Owen said.

‘Oh, aye. One of their partners paid for it with his life, he did. They did not risk so much after that. And when Master Taverner’s wife and child died at sea …’ Nate shook his head. ‘The master could not be persuaded it was not God’s vengeance. But why would the Lord punish the innocent, is what I want to know?’