Кэндис Робб - The Lady Chapel

And once the entourage arrived at Windsor, Thoresby discovered, to his disgust, that King Edward delighted in Alice Perrers’s undisguised attempts to woo him. But that was nothing to what he’d discovered next.

On his second evening at Windsor, Thoresby was invited to sup with King Edward in his chambers. Alice Perrers was also invited. She wore a low-cut gown of soft, thin, clinging wool. And as she turned and curtsied to the King, Alice Perrers’s silhouette and the way her hands hovered over her stomach revealed to Thoresby that she was with child.

Thoresby was stunned. The young woman was a nobody. Not even a beauty. Plain as the Queen herself, but with none of the Queen’s sweet nature to compensate. And yet, by the fawning attention the King paid her, it was clear that Alice Perrers was a favorite. Such a common woman, invited to sup with the King, allowed to flaunt her bastard – for Thoresby knew she was unmarried.

Thoresby made it his business to find out what he could about Alice Perrers.

Which was very little.

She was a plague child, as they called those born during the first visitation of the Death in England, and had been orphaned by that same pestilence. Her uncles had paid a merchant family to raise her. And then, a few years ago, the uncles decided to bring Alice back into the bosom of the family and to train her to be a courtier. Alice had a little money – enough to attract a respectable husband, more learning than was good for her – judging by Thoresby’s own reaction to her impertinent comments, and a defensiveness that betrayed her upbringing in a merchant household. Thoresby despised her.

He could not very well ask courtiers how Perrers’s uncles had bought the Queen’s favor, but as Lord Chancellor, Thoresby had access to all legal and financial records. He had his chief clerk, Brother Florian, scour the records for two names, Crounce and Perrers.

Brother Florian reported that Crounce had indeed been a minor member of Goldbetter’s company; he was mentioned once, as a source of a letter presented by Ridley to a Crown court in defense of Goldbetter. Perrers was in no Crown records.

“However,” Brother Florian said with a smirk, “it is common knowledge in London that this Perrers carries King Edward’s bastard.”

“Sweet Heaven.” Thoresby stared at Florian in disbelief. “How could he choose such a creature? And to humiliate the Queen with such – It is impossible. Are you certain?”

“My best sources confirmed it.”

Thoresby felt as if the world had just turned upside down. And with Perrers on his mind, and having found that Crounce was such an insignificant member of Goldbetter and Company, Thoresby had lost interest in Crounce’s murder and had recorded it as a case of robbery.

But had that satisfied Ridley?

When Michaelo showed Gilbert Ridley into the hall, Thoresby stared at the merchant in confusion. Thoresby remembered Ridley as a barrel of a man, rather like a boar. But the man before Thoresby was pale and anything but round. Emaciated, with the slack flesh and bad color of someone recovering from a serious illness.

“I had no idea you’d been ill,” Thoresby said.

Ridley shook his head and sat down at the board. “No, no, I have not been ill. Well, nothing that I consider an illness. I–” Ridley sighed, passed ringed fingers across his brow. “It has been difficult accepting my friend’s death. You remember. Will Crounce. Murdered right here, near the minster. Butchered.” Ridley shook his head.

Thoresby nodded. “Of course I remember what happened to Will Crounce.” Noting that Ridley’s hands trembled as he lifted a goblet of claret to his mouth, Thoresby thought to reassure him. “I am sorry our investigation turned up nothing. Will Crounce left little record of his life and apparently had no enemies.”

“I know you did your best. I was unable to help your man Archer. I assure you I was most grateful for your help at the time.”

Ridley gave the Archbishop an oddly sweet smile. By God, it was as if the man had found God through the death of his friend, Thoresby thought. Found charity and humility, two graces he’d most sadly lacked before. “We did what we could,” Thoresby said.

Ridley nodded. “Will and I had – You know about our business partnership. We were young and hopeful and thought we might do well for ourselves. And so we did. We did that. It could not have happened without Will. He had a way with people that I never had. A gentle voice, a manner that reassured.” Ridley took a long drink of the wine. Tears shone in his eyes.

“We had no luck finding the Fleming who worked as your go-between, Martin Wirthir,” Thoresby said. “We suspect he goes by another name in York.”

“It is unlikely that Wirthir comes to York anymore. He has no reason for doing so.”

Thoresby nodded. “And no one would come to the North Country by choice. It is a place one must be sent.”

Ridley shook his head. “I disagree. I could not wait to come home to the moors, the heather, the silence of the winter snows, the first frost that crunches underfoot.”

“My dear man, to speak in such poetic terms of this wasteland…”

“It is no wasteland to me. You speak like a Southerner. But you were born in the Dales, were you not?”

Thoresby frowned. “I do not recall speaking to you about my family.” He did not like people getting overfamiliar.

Ridley bowed his head in apology. “I am offering you a large sum of money for what I hear is to be your tomb. I wanted to know everything I could about you, to make sure that this is how I wished to thank the Lord for my good life.”

They were quiet as Maeve, the cook, arranged the food before them. Thoresby, thinking the conversation might turn to Crounce’s murder, had asked Maeve to serve them. He trusted her.

Thoresby watched Ridley take a pouch out of a pack he’d brought with him and add a small amount of powder to his wine. Maeve gave it a curious sniff as she passed and wrinkled her nose.

“What is that you mix in your wine?” Thoresby asked.

Ridley drank it down and shuddered, then wiped his mouth. “A tonic my wife doses me with. She has been giving it to me since midsummer. Foul tasting, but she hopes it will calm my nerves and settle my stomach. Recently she has softened the taste a bit. Still wretched. But I humor her. I must confess to some alarm as the fit of my clothing gets worse and worse.”

Maeve set a second flagon of wine near Ridley, glancing down at his waist where his tunic was gathered tightly by an ornate belt.

Thoresby followed her gaze and nodded. “A costly condition. Perhaps you should talk to the apothecary next to your inn. Lucie Wilton is very knowledgeable.”

Ridley shook his head. “Cecilia would not take it well.”

“Even if it helped?”

“There is no guarantee of that.”

Maeve disappeared.

“Well, eat hearty,” Thoresby told his guest, “you need more fat on you for the winter months.”

Ridley chuckled and poured himself more wine. “Even my goldsmith has benefited – I had him make all my rings smaller.”

Thoresby glanced down at Ridley’s beringed fingers, remembering Archer’s comments about Ridley’s foolhardy magnificence on the road. “I trust you do not display your jewels when abroad in the city or traveling?”

Ridley lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers. The pearl and the moonstone were large, their gold settings heavy. “Captain Archer thought me a dangerously foolish peacock on the road. I have since been more prudent. But here in the city it is important to look splendid. Good for business.”

“Not on the streets, I should think.”

Ridley shrugged.

They ate in companionable silence for a while; then Ridley began to prod the Archbishop for news of the court. “They do say there is a new lady-in-waiting who has captured the King’s heart.”