Кэндис Робб - The Lady Chapel

Thoresby gestured round the cheerless yard. “I should not be so surprised the gatekeeper fled. What was there to keep him?”

Owen walked over to a stable built against the wall. One horse remained within. “I wager there were two horses before. If the gatekeeper has ridden away, we will not catch him.”

Thoresby shrugged. “The men we left in the stables are as likely to be useful as he was. We must be satisfied with them.”

“Ambrose is right, you know. Scorby might have lied to the end.”

“You cannot understand, Archer. I needed him to take to Windsor and destroy Perrers.”

They entered the house.

Martin sat slumped in a chair by the fire. Ambrose sat near him, clenching a cup of wine in trembling hands. They spoke in angry whispers, not looking at each other.

Owen put a hand on Thoresby’s forearm to stop him from going forward. “They have been through much these past days. Let them talk.”

“What about Wirthir’s condition?”

“He is weak, but there is no fever.”

“Let us be useful, then. We’ll search the house.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The letter from Alice Perrers to Scorby.”

“Why?”

“I can at least take that to the King as proof of her treachery.”

Owen turned his head so that his good eye looked right at Thoresby. “Why do you care?”

“She is not worthy of him. Her presence at court is an insult to Queen Phillippa. A gentler lady never lived.”

“If he is determined to have her by him, the King will not thank you for this.”

“Do you know, Archer, I care not what the King thinks of this.”

Seeing that Thoresby was determined, Owen called to the servant who had met them at the wall. “Where would Master Scorby have kept letters and important documents?”

She led them to a chamber off the main hall. A table, some chairs, a brazier in a corner, and several chests. “Shall I light the brazier for you?” When Thoresby nodded, she headed for the door. “I’ll get some coals.”

Owen stopped her. “We left two injured men in the stables across the moat. Someone should get them and bring them to the house.”

“But where should we put them?”

“Do you have dungeons?”

“Aye.”

He had thought they might. “Put them there.”

She nodded, frightened, and hurried away.

Owen poked through the ashes in the brazier. “I fear he burned it, Your Grace.” He held out a few small pieces of scorched parchment.

“We will look anyway.”

Hours later, they’d come up with nothing.

“I could use some wine,” Owen said, pushing away the last of the documents in front of him.

Thoresby threw a handful of rolled-up papers against the wall. “Was there ever such a prudent monster?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, sat back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Perhaps there is another place where he kept more important documents?”

Owen stood up. “We must get Martin back to St. Mary’s. Brother Wulfstan will ensure that his arm heals well.”

“We could send Wirthir up to Fountains Abbey. They have an excellent infirmary. Then we can complete our search.”

“Your Grace, where would we begin? If we return to York, we can ask Anna Scorby where her husband might have hidden incriminating documents.”

Thoresby considered that. “Clever. That is exactly what we will do.” He stood up. “Come. Let us have some food and get some sleep. We will start out at first light.”

Out in the great hall, Ambrose sat alone by the fire.

“Where is Martin?” Owen asked.

“I put him to bed in the chamber up above. He could barely support himself. And if we are to ride tomorrow, I thought he must rest.”

A servant poured wine for the Archbishop and Owen. Thoresby drank. “Perhaps, Master Coats, you would tell us exactly what happened here. You decided to deliver the letter yourselves – is that what got you into this predicament?”

Ambrose nodded wearily. “We thought to ask Scorby about his father-in-law, if he could remember Master Ridley speaking of enemies. We had no idea we were in the midst of Ridley’s enemies – and Martin’s – until we were well within, and they set the dogs on us.” Suddenly he looked round. “I have not seen the dogs today.”

Owen remembered the baying in the wood beyond the gatehouse. “I think they’re off hunting. If we raise the drawbridge, they will not return with their prey.” He called to the servant and asked her to get some men to see to it.

“We could also use some food,” Thoresby told her.

The woman curtsied. “There are salted meats, cheese, winter apples, and yesterday’s bread, Your Grace. ’Tis not noble fare, but the Master did not bother with anything fancy since Mistress Scorby went away.”

“Food is food. It sounds a goodly feast at this moment.”

The woman hurried away.

Thoresby turned back to Ambrose. “Continue with your story, Coats.”

Ambrose recounted the ordeal, leaving out only his singing.

“How did Scorby treat his men?” Thoresby asked. “Do you think it likely they would know anything?”

“I doubt it, but I cannot swear. I did not watch them much after Martin was injured.”

Thoresby pushed the key the servant had brought over to Owen. “Go talk to them. See if they know anything of use.”

The men sat up as best they could when Owen entered the room. Their wounds had been bandaged. “You realize that Master Scorby is dead?”

One nodded, the other just stared sullenly at Owen.

“The Archbishop will decide what is to be done with you.”

“We knew naught of what he meant to do,” said the one who had nodded. “He was our Master. We were bound to obey.”

“What is your name?”

“Jack, my lord. An’ this here’s Tanner.”

“Who gave your Master his orders, Jack?”

The man snorted. “Nobody gave him orders. He said he was above the law. He was soon to be knighted.”

“Who was going to make him a knight?”

Jack shrugged. “The King, I suppose. Who else can make knights?”

“Which of you slit the throats?”

Jack flinched. “We obeyed orders.”

“Which of you?”

“I slit one of ’em,” Tanner said, speaking at last, “the first one. Our friend Roby – one the Archbishop cut down – he slit the other throat.”

“Who killed Kate Cooper?”

Tanner grinned. “Master Scorby did that all by himself. Wanted no one sharing her. Said he was inside her when her heart stopped beating. Said it was the best he’d ever had.” He laughed.

Owen slapped him. “You’re scum, Tanner. I don’t want to hear your voice again. Or see that smile.”

Owen turned to Jack. “We need to find Master Scorby’s papers. Where else besides the little room off the main hall did he keep such things?”

“I don’t know. Honest, I don’t. He wasn’t one to tell us much.”

Owen believed him.

At dawn, they departed the manor. Thoresby had gathered the servants the previous evening and ordered them to watch the house well, Anna Scorby would be returning soon. They were to feed the prisoners until the Mistress arrived with men to take them away.

By midday, a light snow was falling. Ambrose rode close to Martin, watching that he stayed alert. He could see the pain on his friend’s face, the effort it took to keep upright. Thoresby had hoped to ride straight to York, but with Ambrose’s coaxing, he agreed to stop at the inn at Alne for the night.

Martin was much improved for a good night’s sleep. He rode better the second day, and when they entered York, he asked if he might wait until the following day to go to St. Mary’s. “Ambrose and I have things to discuss.”

Owen saw no harm in it.