Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

‘Did your master sire any other children?’

Nate snorted. ‘Bastards, you mean? Is it bastards you seek? Now, that I cannot say, Captain. He was a man for the ladies, truth be told, even at the end. But I did not ask and he did not say, eh?’ The old man chuckled and shook his head.

Bess wondered why her uncle had trusted the man.

‘What made him choose St Leonard’s?’

Nate grew serious. ‘In truth, I cannot say. My master had the habit of secrecy, Captain. We travelled round, he spoke with the wardens and masters, and at last chose St Leonard’s. ’Tis all I know.’

‘From whom did he steal in Scarborough?’

‘The big smuggling families. Ones who would not miss the income, you see. He was honest in his own way.’

Bess held out her tankard to Tom, who had just settled beside her.

He grinned as he reached for the pitcher behind him. ‘You are learning much about your Uncle Julian.’

‘Stealing from his neighbours. I would not have believed it of him. I don’t know as I do yet.’

‘His partner,’ Owen said to Nate, ‘the one who died. What was his name?’

Nate closed his eyes, pressed a knotty fist to his forehead, whistled through his broken teeth. ‘So long ago. Sometimes they called him “that bastard”. I recall that.’ The old man grinned, wagged his head. ‘They were not always gentlemen.’

Well, that did not surprise Bess.

‘Was Laurence de Warrene involved?’

‘You can be sure. ’Twas his idea to do it. Always a clever one, Master Warrene. Mistress Taverner never liked it much. Nor Mistress Warrene.’

‘They are all dead now. Who else might remember those times?’ Owen asked.

Nate stared into his empty tankard. ‘I cannot say as I know which of them might still be alive.’

Tom refilled the man’s cup. ‘One of his women?’ he suggested. ‘A man oft confides to a woman what he tells no one else.’

‘Oh, aye. The master might have done.’ Nate tilted back his head and drank down his ale as quickly as the last.

‘He had women here?’

‘That he did, I can say. Who they were, I cannot.’

Owen drained his cup, stood up. ‘I thank you. You will be silent about what we have discussed?’

‘Aye, Captain.’

Bess straightened up as Owen turned his hawk-eye on her. What must he think of her now? To have had a thieving uncle.

‘I must search the hospital and go out to the Ffulford farm,’ Owen said. ‘I’ve no time to sift through your uncle’s lemans. Have you the time?’

Bess’s heart leapt. ‘Are you asking for my help?’

‘I have always said you were the one should spy for the archbishop.’

‘You do not know how right you are,’ Tom muttered.

But Bess paid her husband no heed. ‘Would you step without?’ she asked Owen. ‘I have a matter to discuss.’ She led him out into the yard just beyond the kitchen. ‘You believe Uncle Julian was poisoned.’ She could tell by the set to his jaw that he was sorry she had realised his intent. ‘Do you think me an idiot? Do you ask for my help to keep me out of your way?’

‘Bess, for pity’s sake. I hoped to spare you the pain until I knew for certain. I do think it likely, but I do not know. And as for your help, I need it. I can trust few people with such business.’

Well, he looked sincere, he sounded sincere … ‘Lucie thought all along it was poison, eh?’

‘She did.’

‘You would use me now? After my failure in Easingwold?’

‘I regret my words to you.’

Bess patted his hand. ‘No matter. But I shall help you only if you swear you will keep no more from me.’

‘I swear, Bess.’

He almost choked on the words, but Bess could ask for no less.

*

Later in the evening, as Owen helped Lucie hang a new crop of mint sprigs from the rafters of the workroom to dry, she asked whether he had told Bess about the riddle.

‘Do you think it important?’

Lucie handed him a bunch. ‘Does it not fit with his smuggling activities? “If none suffer but the guilty, has a wrong been done?” He stole from the guilty.’

‘But what of the first part? “How might one unwittingly commit a sin?”’

‘By neglect? I find that part puzzling. But you might tell Bess. Now you have asked her to help, you must tell her what you know.’

‘Am I a fool to involve her?’

‘You would be a fool not to. Bess would take part whether you wished it or no — you have seen that. Far better to give her tasks than have her surprise you.’ Lucie shook out the basket. ‘Finished. You might have a last ale with Bess tonight. Perhaps she already has a plan.’

St Helen’s Square was quiet as Owen stepped from the shop. No bells tolled, no mourners knelt by fresh graves in the cemetery. Pray God it meant the pestilence had run its course. He would have his children safely home.

The York Tavern was not as crowded as in better times, a dozen folk, no more. And they were oddly quiet, watching the door with uneasy eyes as Owen came through. Then they resumed whispering among themselves, shoulders hunched forward towards their tankards.

The innkeeper stood near the door, his face red and glistening with sweat, his legs firmly planted, muscular arms, bare to the elbow, crossed over his stomach, his eyes wary.

‘What’s amiss, Tom?’

‘A bit of trouble. Wife’s in kitchen seeing to Simon’s eye.’

‘An unwelcome customer?’

‘Aye. A stranger with a bad look and smell to him. Sickening, I would say. Sent him to spital.’

‘And he blackened Simon’s eye?’ The groom was tall and strong, a good fighter. ‘A sick man with such energy?’

‘His friend gave Simon trouble.’ Tom relaxed his stance. ‘They are gone from here. Did you come to drink?’

‘I came to talk to Bess.’

‘You will need drink, then.’ Tom turned, pulled Owen’s mazer off the shelf, filled it with foamy ale. ‘That should keep you a while. She is in kitchen, as I said.’

‘You will call out to me if they return?’

‘Oh aye. But my gut tells me they will not be back. ’Tis a queer time when an innkeeper sends a man with coin on his way.’

‘No bells tonight. A good sign, I think.’

‘Pray God it is so.’

Simon sat slumped against the wall holding a compress to his eye. Bess invited Owen back into her little room off the kitchen.

‘It will be quiet here. I see Tom has already seen you have something to drink.’

‘I forgot to tell you something. A riddle your uncle wanted Laurence to keep to himself.’

‘A riddle? What good is a riddle if you keep it to yourself?’

‘Fortunately, Sir Richard also heard it.’

‘Will it help us?’

Owen drooped over his cup. ‘I cannot think what it means. Lucie thinks it has to do with their smuggling.’ He recited the riddle.

Pouring herself a small brandywine, Bess held it up to her nose while she considered. ‘“How might one unwittingly commit a sin?” Sounds like clever words to me, showing off. Laurence thought himself a bit of a wit, you know.’

‘Ah well. It might come to you.’

‘I am off to see Nell, the laundress, in the morning.’

That brightened Owen’s mood. ‘Lucie said you would already have a plan.’

*

Alisoun had made a mistake coming here. No one cared for her. The children were herded like sheep, constantly shushed, as if their voices disturbed the sisters, disturbed God. Why had her mother told her to come here if she ever needed help? Why had she spoken of the spital with affection? Alisoun felt she had been better off in hiding. She had been hungry and lonely, and that would have become worse as winter approached and she had no crops, no livestock — her uncle had taken it all, for safekeeping, he had assured her — but she could practise shooting, watch the birds, sit by the river and listen to the cries of the boatmen, eat when she wished, sleep when she wished, and never be scolded. All her own choices …