Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Down Spen Lane she hurried and out on to St Saviourgate. In a short while, Seth, the ragman, came down the road, leading his donkey cart. ‘Mistress Merchet. A queer place to find you of an afternoon.’

Bess was disappointed to see the cart almost empty. The rags would have made a nice cushion for Wulfstan. But no matter. ‘I have found a soul in need, Seth, and you are a good Samaritan sent by God. I must get Brother Wulfstan to St Mary’s. He is ill. He cannot walk.’

Seth’s eyes grew big as he crossed himself. ‘The Death?’

‘I shall purchase every rag in the cart.’

‘He will die, whether or no he makes the abbey.’

‘A free tankard of ale each night for a week? ’Tis more than you deserve. You should do it for love of the man who has sat with so many who would have been abandoned.’

‘Two tankards.’

‘You will be the ruin of me.’

‘I give you the rags.’

Wulfstan stood with Bess’s help, and with Seth’s aid she eased him into the cart. As she let go of him, Wulfstan touched her sleeve. ‘I promised … shrive … must go back.’

‘We are going to St Mary’s. Do not try to talk,’ Bess said, arranging the rags around Wulfstan, who shivered though the day had grown warm. She pulled the hood down over his eyes. ‘Rest now.’

As they led the donkey cart through the streets to St Mary’s, folk fled before them. Bess felt as if she were Moses parting the Red Sea. And it came to her that this plague with which God punished them for their sins made greater sinners of them all. Or most of them.

Brother Henry knelt in prayer at Wulfstan’s bedside while the novice Gervase kept cool compresses on the old infirmarian’s brow and sponged his face, neck, and arms with strawberry and sage water.

‘John,’ Wulfstan whispered.

Henry glanced up from his prayers. ‘Who is John?’ he asked again.

Wulfstan’s eyes fluttered open. He put a trembling hand on his assistant’s head. ‘My attacker. He did not have the sacrament.’

‘I do not understand, Brother Wulfstan.’

Wulfstan closed his eyes, asleep once more. Brother Henry wiped his own eyes and bent back to his prayers.

Lucie studied Owen’s back as he reached into the potting shed and pulled out the shovels. He cursed as he looked them over. ‘Where is the old one?’

It was ever so, he missed nothing until he needed it, and he always behaved as if he had not been privy to its disposal. And always when Lucie was busy. ‘We gave it to Magda. She knew of someone who would be grateful for it. You gave it to her.’

It was unclear whether his scowl was meant for her or himself.

‘Then I must risk one of the better ones.’

‘Apparently.’ But Lucie knew that Owen’s temper was not about the shovel. ‘You expect to find more than the child’s treasure,’ Lucie guessed.

Owen took his time choosing a shovel, picking up one, then another. At last he put two aside and hung the others back on their hooks.

‘Turn round, husband. I will see your face.’

Owen turned. His jaw was set in anger.

Lucie traced the tension with her finger. ‘What is this? Angry with me for guessing?’

His jaw relaxed a little. But the scar that spread from beneath his eyepatch was livid.

‘Are you angry with Ravenser and his men for letting Anneys and Alisoun slip through their fingers?’

‘At myself. I am the one let them slip away. I have been so blind.’

‘No, my love. You see quite well with one eye. Ever better,’ Lucie teased, trying to cheer him.

Owen did not smile. ‘Anneys was one of the first to arrive at Laurence’s burning house.’ He paced to the linden tree, turned. ‘She was present when Julian died, and she had charge of his care — and no doubt control of his medicines.’ He headed for the house, his long legs scissoring through the late summer garden. Lucie followed, wishing to hear the rest of his tirade. ‘She had Brother Wulfstan’s bag and followed me when I watched Cuthbert hide it. She may have overheard me questioning the child.’ He stopped, turned his head round to see her with his one good eye. ‘I have been such a fool!’

‘Perhaps. But …’ Lucie tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, waited for him to ask her to go on.

‘But?’ Arms folded in front of him, he glowered in the kitchen doorway.

Lucie chose her words to soothe, if possible. ‘Each time, Anneys has had reason to be there. She may yet prove guilty of nothing more than a foolishly conceived plan to protect Alisoun.’

‘I do not believe it.’

Lucie lost her patience. ‘Do you believe she is guilty of everything? What of Alisoun’s story of the man? And Wulfstan’s attack?’

‘Two are guilty, and Anneys is one of them.’

‘Heaven help the woman if she is innocent.’

‘Have you met her?’

Lucie closed her eyes, cursed herself for opening her mouth at all. ‘I have been kept from all this by my work.’

‘You are well away. Anneys does not look the innocent is my point. She has hard eyes, now I think of it. A bearing too confident for a lay sister.’

‘And that makes her guilty?’

‘You will see, Lucie.’

‘I shall indeed. Come. You must help me move the jars to the workroom.’

They reached the hall as Kate showed Bess in. As soon as they saw their neighbour’s face, they both forgot the jars. She told them about Wulfstan. When she was finished, Lucie did not speak at once, nor did Owen.

Kate set a beaker of water before Bess.

‘Bless you, child. Bad news dries the throat.’

She had drained the beaker before Lucie spoke. ‘It is what we have all feared. Jasper most of all.’

Bess pressed Lucie’s hand. ‘We do not know it is pestilence. He might merely have exhausted himself.’

‘It is not like you to hide from the truth,’ Owen said. ‘A man does not burn with fever when he is weary.’

‘Other maladies cause fever,’ Bess said. ‘There is more. The lay sister Anneys is missing, and Alisoun Ffulford.’

‘I know,’ Owen grumbled.

‘And Barker says Anneys and my uncle were lovers.’

‘What?’

Lucie rubbed her shoulders with a sudden weariness. ‘You see, my love? It is unlikely she would have wished him dead.’

Bess’s eyes widened. ‘You thought she was the murderer?’

‘I know nothing,’ Owen said. ‘Tell me of Wulfstan. He had been alone?’

‘He had been with a dying man, I think. He kept saying that someone must shrive him.’

‘Wulfstan?’ Owen asked.

‘Shrive the man he had been with. In that house, I suppose. He called him his attacker.’

Owen rose. ‘Tell me where it was.’

Lucie sensed an urgency in him. ‘What is it?’

‘Wulfstan’s attacker. The one who stole Alisoun’s horse. He has crossed my path too often for coincidence. I shall fetch Erkenwald and pay the stranger a visit.’

‘But he is dying,’ Bess said.

‘Then we shall take a stretcher.’

Lucie pressed her cool hands to her hot cheeks. ‘I do not know how to tell Jasper.’

Lucie returned to the shop intending to speak with Jasper when they had a quiet moment. It was difficult working beside him, trying to hide her feelings. Suddenly Alice Baker rushed into the shop, pushed aside old Jake, who had been ahead of her, leaned on the counter.

‘Mistress Baker, I pray you, wait your turn,’ Lucie said, motioning to the elderly man to step back up to the counter.

Alice Baker grabbed Lucie’s hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and frightened. ‘I beg you. My youngest, Elena, she coughs and coughs. Since this morning. It is the pestilence, I know. What can you give me to protect her?’