Кэндис Робб - The Lady Chapel

“And left the evidence in your room? No, His Grace says you are no such fool. But he hopes you can help us find the murderer. That you might know why someone would want Crounce dead. And who that might be.”

Ridley ran a dimpled hand over his forehead where the band of his felt hat was already dark with sweat. He took another drink. “Want Will dead?” He shook his head, looking down at his boots. “I cannot say. Will had prospered, though you’d never guess it to see him. He dressed humbly, as he always had. But he did carry a money pouch. He always did, old Will. Prepared for the unexpected bargain, he would say.” Ridley smiled sadly and took another swig.

“You’d best go easy on your drink. You’ve a way to go to Beverley.”

Ridley straightened and returned the bottle to the pack.

“Your friend had no money pouch on him when we found him,” Owen said.

“So he was killed for the money. Greed. The deadliest sin, to my mind, coveting thy neighbor’s goods.”

Owen fought a smile at those words coming from such a tempter of thieves. “Crounce met a woman outside the tavern. Did he have a lady friend?”

“He said nothing of meeting a woman,” Ridley said.

“I understand Crounce was a widower…”

Ridley nodded. “And popular with the ladies, Will was.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Ridley took off his hat, wiped his brow, frowned down at the stained brim. “Last night was our first chance to talk in a long while. But I would guess his current favorite was Kristine de Melton, a widow with a bright young boy Will meant to sponsor in the guild. It’s not the sort of thing one does for a mere acquaintance.”

Owen found that an interesting connection. “The boy’s name is Jasper?”

Ridley squinted at Owen as he put his hat back on. “How do you know his name?”

“Jasper de Melton witnessed the murder. It was Jasper who told the Archbishop of the hooded woman who waited for Crounce outside the York Tavern.”

“So it was Mistress de Melton?”

“Not likely. Archbishop Thoresby says the boy was sent to fetch Crounce to Mistress de Melton’s sickbed.”

Ridley sighed. “A mystery woman, then.” He shook his head, then looked Owen square in the eye. “How was Will killed? Was it only the hand they hacked off? They did not dismember him, did they?”

“His throat was slit.”

Ridley crossed himself and bowed his head to murmur a prayer. Owen waited in silence. He knew the rush of bile that choked a man when he learned the details of a friend’s death. Ridley’s eyes were wet when he looked up. “He did not deserve such an end, not Will. He was a good man. No saint, but a good man.”

“The hand was something the murderer did afterward,” Owen said. “Can you think why?”

Ridley shook his head.

“Someone noticed that he wore a signet ring on that hand. Was it on the hand when you found it?”

Ridley winced, thinking back to the hand on the floor. “God grant him rest.” He shook his head slowly. “I think if the ring had been on the hand, I would have noticed it. Might even have guessed it was Will’s–” He dropped his head, covering his eyes with his jeweled fingers.

“They cut off the right hands of thieves,” Owen said. “Could someone have felt Crounce had robbed him?”

Ridley made no sign that he heard the question.

Owen repeated it.

Ridley shook himself. “Sorry.” He wiped his eyes sheepishly. “I never heard Will called a thief.”

“You can think of no one who might have believed himself cheated by Crounce? No business venture gone sour? Someone who thought Crounce had gotten what was his – or hers – by trickery?”

Ridley shrugged. “I have worked in London and Calais for many years. Will was my man here. As long as he carried out my wishes, and those of Goldbetter’s, I did not ask about his methods.”

“What did you argue about last night?”

Ridley flinched. “Nothing of import.”

“Perhaps it will prove important.”

“It was a private matter. Drink loosened our tongues, and we tripped over them. It can have no bearing on Will’s death.”

“I know it concerned your wife and daughter.” Owen, watching the color of Ridley’s face deepen with an embarrassed flush, knew it was a cruel thing to say, but Owen had to know everything. There was no way Ridley could say this or that had no bearing on his friend’s murder – not if he was telling the truth.

“Someone overheard. I should not be surprised. We did get loud. I meant to apologize today, treat Will to a grand meal.”

“Tell me about the argument.”

“I have been an absent husband, absent father. My business kept me away from Riddlethorpe but for brief visits. Will spent more time with my family than I did. He thought I was unkind to my wife, Cecilia. To be honest, I thought he was perhaps too fond of my wife. So the argument got tangled. And then he started on my daughter’s husband. The young man was my choice, you see, and he’s turned out to be – impatient – with my daughter. Cecilia is unhappy because Anna – that’s my daughter – is unhappy. Will blamed me for all of it.”

“That is a heavy burden.”

Ridley nodded. “But there’s much truth to it.”

“Your daughter’s husband was a business partner?”

“Paul Scorby of Ripon. Good family. I had some business dealings with them a long time ago. Nothing recently. But they are of good blood. My son, Matthew, lived in their household and learned how to go about with such people. Paul Scorby is ambitious, though perhaps more of a dreamer than a doer. I did not see that then. I thought him a good match for Anna.”

“Had Crounce argued with Scorby?”

Ridley shook his head. “He would not have interfered like that. No. I cannot see how our argument had anything to do with Will’s death.”

Owen shrugged.

“I am sorry I can be of so little help,” Ridley said.

Owen shaded his eye and looked off in the distance. “By the time we get to Riddlethorpe, you might think of something that will help.”

Ridley started. “You’re going to Riddlethorpe?”

Owen nodded. “I offer you my protection.”

Ridley frowned. “What need have I of protection?”

“A good friend and business partner has been murdered, and his severed hand deliberately left in your room, Master Ridley. For unknown reasons. Will Crounce might have had a chance encounter with a robber, but he might have been murdered by someone he knew. And that someone seems to also know you. He may be after you at this very time.”

Ridley took off his hat and mopped his forehead. His hair was matted down with sweat. “Sweet Mother of God.”

“You must look to your safety.”

Ridley regarded Owen more closely than he had until now. “You look more like an outlaw than a protector.”

Owen touched the patch. “You are not the first to say so.”

“How did you lose your eye?”

“In the service of the old Duke of Lancaster. A French campaign. I caught someone murdering our prize prisoners.”

“And now you’re in John Thoresby’s service?”

“From time to time.”

“Owen Archer, you said?” Owen nodded. “Captain of Archers, were you?”

“A good guess.”

“To tell the truth, I’ve heard you called Captain. And with that West Country manner of speech.” Ridley shrugged. “You married Nicholas Wilton’s widow, I think?”

“I did.”

“Mistress Archer is of noble stock, at least on her father’s side.”

“Mistress Wilton, not Archer.”

Ridley frowned. “And why is that?”

“The guild. The Archbishop coerced them into allowing Lucie both to continue the work she’d begun as Nicholas Wilton’s apprentice and to marry me. But they insisted she keep the name to remind me that I have no claims to the shop if she dies.”