Кэндис Робб - The Nun’s Tale

And what of Jack? Was he truly Edmund’s enemy? Why was he following Edmund? If it was to kill him, why follow him all the way to York? An ambush would have been simpler out on the high moors than in a city. And until the conversation with the taverner in Beverley, Owen and Alfred had doubted Edmund’s uneasiness. They would have been caught off guard, an ideal situation for the attacker. So what was Jack waiting for?

Owen feared Lucie was right, that he had formed an idea of Edmund and the mystery surrounding him and was acting on a view that might be dangerously wrong-headed.

Careful not to wake Lucie, Owen eased out of bed and dressed.

Edmund stared at the brightly painted statue of Mary, Queen of Heaven. Her robe was a warmer blue than the mantle he had given Joanna, but otherwise it was much the same. Was Joanna truly so innocent that she believed he had given her a holy relic to keep her warm? Or did she pretend to believe in order to brag of miracles? Was she mad? He had sensed something strange in her from the beginning, but had thought it simply her uneasiness about breaking her vows. Yet Joanna’s behaviour had never been that of a cloistered sister reluctant to sin. She had flirted with Stefan from the start, and even with Edmund in a subtler way. Was all this a sad battle over a soul already lost to madness?

But Joanna was no longer his concern. He must see to Stefan. Edmund resolved to return to Scarborough and scour the coastline in search of Stefan’s body. There was nothing more to learn here. He doubted that in Joanna’s state she would be able to describe where she had left Stefan.

And he feared that if he got near her again he would be tempted to shake her until she lost her wits entirely.

So best that he leave now.

As the monks shuffled into the choir for prime, Edmund left the church, too heartsick to bear their chanting. He noted others leaving, too. It was sad to think there might be other men so full of grief that they could not bear the beautiful harmonies of the monks.

Out in the abbey yard, God’s alchemy was turning the silvery light to gold. Edmund walked slowly round the cloister buildings and headed for the postern gate into the city. He would need a horse, and hoped that he might sneak his out of the stables at the York Tavern before any of the help woke. Then he could be alone with his grief on the long ride home.

Owen met Brother Wulfstan scurrying back to the infirmary. “God be with you, Brother Wulfstan. You are out betimes.” He did not like the monk’s worried expression.

The old infirmarian made the sign of the cross. “You are the answer to my prayers. I fear I have done a foolish thing, leaving Edmund alone in the infirmary. Pray God Alfred has kept careful watch.” He told Owen about his call to the guest house and the intruder.

Owen’s long strides got him to the infirmary before Wulfstan, where he discovered Alfred napping beside the outer door. “Idiot!” he muttered, kicking him.

Alfred woke with a sputter, his eyes puffy with stolen sleep. He jumped up at the sight of Owen.

Wulfstan, who had just arrived, repeated the story of the intruder in the guest house.

But Owen was already doubting Wulfstan’s fears. “If it was Jack, why would he be eavesdropping in the guest house? Would he not have taken the opportunity to attack Edmund in the infirmary, knowing you were away?”

Wulfstan frowned. “Alfred was out here, guarding this door.”

“Counting on you being in there, guarding the door from within.” Owen tried to keep his voice neutral.

Wulfstan looked stricken. “Sweet Jesu, I had not thought of that. I should have alerted Brother Henry.”

They rushed into the infirmary.

“Dear Lord, let not the poor man pay for my foolishness,” Wulfstan prayed.

But they found an empty cot.

Wulfstan spun round to Owen, wild-eyed. “What can we do?”

Owen made a slow circuit of the room, his eye wandering up and down, then examined the inner door. From his crouch by the door he turned to say, “What made you think the intruder in the guest house was Jack?”

Wulfstan spread his hands. “Who else?”

Owen stood up. “Edmund himself.”

“But why?”

“To hear what Joanna had to say, no doubt. Brother Oswald came for you here?”

Wulfstan bowed his head. “Yes.”

Owen nodded. “Edmund is set on finding Stefan. He believes Joanna knows where he is.”

Wulfstan sat down on Edmund’s deserted cot and rubbed his eyes. “What was it Oswald said? Not a monk.” He looked up hopefully. “It is possible you are right. Thanks be to God.”

“We know nothing for sure. And now that Edmund is out and unguarded, what was not true may come true. What did he hear?”

“I cannot reveal her confession.”

“Brother Wulfstan, for pity’s sake–”

“Perhaps…” Wulfstan frowned, thought a moment. “Perhaps I might tell you what Dame Joanna told me of others. That is not her confession.”

Owen nodded excitedly. “Surely there would be no harm in that.”

Wulfstan took a deep breath, crossed himself. “Edmund might have heard that Hugh Calverley murdered Will Longford, Stefan murdered Hugh, and then, well, someone led Stefan to his death.”

Owen took a moment to digest the news. Someone was Joanna? Had all these weeks of effort been resolved in one confession? “What does that mean, ‘led him to his death’?”

Wulfstan’s expression was apologetic. “I do not know. She became hysterical.”

Owen paced, thinking what Edmund might do. “He will be after a mount.”

Wulfstan’s face lit up. “Shall I come help you search?”

Owen shook his head. “No need.”

Wulfstan sadly nodded. “I would slow your progress.”

Owen saw his disappointment. Old age was a humiliation that took much prayer to bear. “You have helped a great deal, Brother Wulfstan.”

“Pray God forgive me for interpreting the rules to suit my purpose.”

The guard at the postern gate gave Edmund a curious look. “’Tis a busy morning. I’ve not seen you before, eh?” His hand hovered over his sword hilt.

“I am Edmund of Whitby. Captain Archer brought me here yesterday to visit Joanna Calverley. She scratched me for my troubles.” Edmund stepped closer, lifted his face to the guard to display his wounds.

The guard grimaced, nodded. “Those nuns are worse than nursing she-cats. Brother Wulfstan took care of you, eh?”

“Aye. ’Twas much uglier yesterday. Not that my face had much beauty to destroy.”

The two men chuckled companionably.

“You’re not waiting for Captain Archer to finish his business this morning?”

“Finish his business?” Edmund frowned at the guard.

“He came this way not long ago. Did you see him?”

Edmund wondered why Owen would be here, but he certainly did not wish to see him. “Nay. He is on other business.”

The guard nodded, swung open the oak door, and stepped back to let Edmund pass. “I trust you’ll stay clear of nuns from now on.”

Edmund hurried off towards Bootham Bar, where a large party of well-dressed church-goers crowded. He fell in with them and was through the Bar and hurrying down Petergate before the gatekeeper blinked. But his way was blocked by an overturned cart, summer apples spilling across the street and the farmer shouting at two men who lazily discussed how they might right the wagon. A sad reminder – Stefan had loved summer apples. Edmund turned with a shrug into Lop Lane. Lucky the spill had not occurred before the intersection.

Lop Lane was narrower and darker than Petergate. Better for his purposes of moving in secrecy. But it reminded him of that other dark lane, where he and Jack and their men had turned and attacked Colin and Alfred. Ever since Joanna had come into his life, Edmund had been on a precipitous path to Hell.