The Guilt of Innocents (13 page)

‘You think Master Nicholas is lying, don’t you?’
Jasper commented when Owen paused. ‘Do you think it has to do with his school?’

‘You’re a scholar at St Peter’s. Have you any guess what might have been in Hubert’s scrip?’

Jasper, sitting forward with forearms on his thighs, trying to be subtle about stretching his sore muscles, shook his head. ‘Coins, perhaps? I don’t know. What could he have to do with Master Nicholas’s school?’

‘The grammar master is Hubert’s parish priest,’ Owen noted.

Jasper looked up at him. ‘Do you think it was something belonging to Master Nicholas? Something that the dean and chancellor might find helpful, something that would help them close his grammar school?’

This conversation was proving more useful than Owen had anticipated. ‘That might explain why the lad kept it so close to him,’ he said, ‘but what about Drogo? Why would he want it?’

Frowning down at the rushes, Jasper was quiet for a while. Owen went over to his men to remind them that they had a long ride on the morrow, and they might wish to stop drinking now. Gilbert nodded and pushed aside his tankard, but Rafe stared down into his and sighed.

When Owen returned to the snug corner, Jasper was shaking his head.

‘We’ve nothing to suggest what it might have been, do we?’ he asked. ‘Nor why Drogo wanted it.’

Owen agreed. ‘I think it might be best if we forget what we think we know and listen well to whatever Hubert and his mother might have to say. What sounds at first unimportant might be the very detail that will lead us to the truth.’

‘I’ll watch their faces, too,’ said Jasper.

Owen was proud of him. ‘Speaking of faces, it seems to me your face has been saying you’re not fond of Edric. Is he dull witted?’

Jasper ducked his head and mumbled, ‘He’ll do.’

‘I am not chiding you. Just talking. He has said little to me, so I don’t know him well at all.’

‘He works hard and means well,’ said Jasper, ‘but –’ He sighed.

Owen poked his head close to Jasper’s. ‘Tell me.’

‘We laugh at different things. Have fun different ways. I wouldn’t choose him for a friend.’ He shrugged, and made a face as if certain what he’d said made little sense.

‘I see. He’s not making you unhappy, he’s just not much fun.’

Jasper screwed up his face. ‘I think the worst part is that he tries to be fun.’

Owen laughed. ‘For me, the one who annoys me is Alisoun. She is such a brown, brittle young woman.’

Jasper had straightened and now looked into the fire as he spoke. ‘Hugh and Gwenllian love her.’ His voice was a little tight.

So this was where his trouble lay. Owen and Lucie had wondered whether it might be so. ‘I think you like her as well.’

Jasper shrugged. ‘She can’t be bothered with me since Edric came. We’ve not gone together to St George’s Field to practise at the butts since then, have you noticed?’

Alisoun was a skilled archer, as was Jasper. It was their shared interest that had made possible their friendship. At another time Owen might be relieved to hear that the friendship had soured, both of them needing more maturity, but he heard in Jasper’s voice and saw on his face the distress that he felt. Owen did not wish that on Jasper.

‘Alisoun will soon return to Magda Digby’s service. Edric will have no cause to go there, but you might.’ Owen grinned.

Jasper said nothing. Owen decided he’d pried deep enough and said all that needed to be said.

F
or Lucie it was always so. No matter how often Owen left the city, on his first day away she felt a vague unease and tried to devise work that would so occupy her that by the time she was finished a few days would have passed. But that did not help the nights, unless the work was both physical and mental and she could fall into bed exhausted. In summer a garden project might suffice. The apothecary garden planted by her first husband was extensive, supplied much of what she sold in the shop, and she enjoyed working in it. But in November, in late pregnancy, gardening was out of the question. She was mentally and physically uncomfortable at night. She often treated the children to a night in her bed, but in her stage of pregnancy it was infeasible, for she would keep them awake with her fidgeting about in bed, her pacing, and her occasional tears.

So she was out of sorts after Owen and Jasper’s
departure, until she remembered that Edric would need her in the shop most of the day. Once Alisoun departed for her classes and Aunt Phillippa seemed settled with the children, Lucie asked Kate to walk through the garden to the apothecary shop with her. As they passed through the workshop she pointed out a high stool for Kate to carry into the shop.

Edric seemed flustered by the news that Lucie would work beside him all day.

‘But should you stand so long, Dame Lucie?’ He blushed a little.

‘No, and that is why I have this high stool.’

He rushed to take it from Kate and carry it to the counter area. ‘Where shall I place it?’

She indicated a spot. ‘You’ll do the reaching, lifting, rushing about and I’ll sit here and talk to the customers,’ she said, easing herself onto the stool and smoothing out her skirt.

‘I’d best hurry back now,’ said Kate. ‘In case Dame Phillippa becomes confused.

Edric hovered above Lucie in his most irritating way.

She smiled and patted him on the forearm. ‘I will enjoy it. Do not worry about me.’

He fussed over her for a while longer, but eventually, after they’d seen to a few customers, he fell into a rhythm, understanding how their partnering would work.

Nicholas Ferriby broke the quiet of the morning, rushing into the shop and then trying
to minimise himself while Lucie and Edric dealt with a customer, Dame Barbara. But being a man expansive in his movements, Nicholas could not help but be a presence in the shop, and his slightly asthmatic wheeze was just loud enough for Dame Barbara to turn to him and offer to return later if he had need of something at once.

‘Oh no, I pray you, forget that I am here,’ he said, holding up his hands palms out as if pressing her back.

Dame Barbara turned back to Lucie with an amused glint in her eye, and when the grammar master swept gracefully into a bow as she departed, she choked back a laugh. What rendered Master Nicholas amusing was that he spoke dully but gestured dramatically, as if his arms betrayed his attempt at a dignified demeanour.

He quickly strode to the counter as if he was in danger of being beaten to it.

‘Master Nicholas,’ said Lucie, ‘I do not expect to see you mid-morning on a school day. I hope you have not come about Alisoun.’

His hands rose up in exclamation. ‘My assistant is with my young scholars for a little while. I’d hoped to see Captain Archer, but an elderly woman at the house informed me that he is away?’

Lucie did not blame him for being uncertain whether to credit her aunt’s information, for Phillippa sounded vague these days. But she had been accurate, which cheered Lucie.

‘Yes, he is, for several days. Might I be of help?’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘I am grateful to you for asking, but no. I must speak to the captain.’ He pressed his temples and his eyes flitted side to side as if he were listening in distress to warring factions in his head.

Lucie rose. ‘We might withdraw into the workshop. No one will interrupt us or hear us there.’

‘Thank you, no, Dame Lucie. I apologise for disturbing you. I should not have done so.’ He pressed his hands together in prayer. ‘Sometimes I think too much and create problems where none existed. I have been foolish. Please remind Alisoun to inform me when the captain has returned.’ He bowed out of the shop, opening the door so wide that he jammed it into a snow drift.

Edric assisted him in freeing it.

Lucie did not know whether to laugh or worry.

Hubert’s home sat to one side of a broad clearing that sloped away from where Owen had paused at the edge of the wood. It was a long, low house surrounded by several small outbuildings. A pig was the only creature in sight, eyeing what Owen guessed was the kitchen garden. It was so quiet he could hear its snuffling across the clearing. Smoke trickled out from a central hole in the house’s thatched roof. There was more snow on the ground here than there had been in Wetherby, though not so thick as to cover the underbrush, so it was more like lace than a blanket of snow.

‘What a lonely place,’ said Jasper, keeping his voice low.

‘It is not so far from the town,’ said Owen.

‘It is a humble home for one at St Peter’s School,’ said Gilbert.

Owen realised that he did not know Aubrey de Weston’s status, whether he was merely a tenant farmer or Sir Baldwin’s retainer. It seemed a humble home indeed for a retainer. He considered how best to approach.

‘We’ll ride to that first building, where Jasper and I will dismount and go to the house,’ Owen decided. ‘Gilbert, Rafe, find somewhere to tether the animals where they’ll be protected from the wind, if you can, and then join us.’

A track from the building to the house indicated that someone had been here about an hour ago, judging from the fresh snow on the bare patches. Paired with the smoke Owen judged it a sign that someone was at home. That was soon confirmed as he noticed a boy standing in the doorway holding a bow. Fortunately he held it so inexpertly that Owen had no fear of his hitting them.

‘That is Hubert,’ said Jasper.

‘We are friends, not thieves,’ Owen called, holding up his hands to show that he held no weapon. ‘Tell him who you are, Jasper.’

‘It’s Jasper de Melton, from St Peter’s. This is my Da, Captain Archer.’

Owen patted Jasper on the shoulder, more for
the two-letter word than for his execution of the order.

Hubert did not lower the bow. ‘Jasper. Why are
you
here?’ The boy’s voice was reedy and frightened, his face tight with fear. He took a step backwards.

Owen and Jasper stopped a few feet from Hubert. He looked but a child, with tousled red hair, freckles, chapped lips from licking them in the cold wind. He seemed short for a boy of eleven, as if his limbs were not growing at the right pace.

‘Invite them in, son.’ It was a woman’s voice, gentle and friendly.

Hubert turned to look behind him. ‘Ma, are you certain?’

The woman laughed. ‘Quite certain.’

The boy dropped his gaze and let the bow and arrow hang as he stepped aside to allow Owen and Jasper through the door.

‘I am Ysenda de Weston, Hubert’s mother,’ said a pretty woman standing by the fire circle in the middle of the hall, centred in the light from a hanging lantern. It was a dramatic effect in the dimly lit room. She was a small woman with dark eyes and a smile that welcomed attention. From beneath her white cap dark curls strayed – by design, Owen guessed – and her gown was cut to accentuate her curves despite being made from humble cloth. She was a woman who knew how to catch a man’s eye and hold it. What a desolate
place for such a woman. ‘I did not hear your names clearly enough.’

Owen introduced himself and Jasper.

‘You are welcome, but I would know what is the matter of your visit?’

‘There has been a death in York that seemed to have some connection with your son’s losing his scrip,’ said Owen, watching Ysenda uneasily glance towards her son. ‘Archbishop Thoresby and Abbot Campian of St Mary’s have asked for my assistance in discovering how the man died.’ He found himself hesitant to say it concerned a murder – her prettiness, no doubt. ‘I hoped that by finding out what Hubert carried in the scrip we might learn something that would help me.’

As he spoke he’d watched Hubert’s reaction, and he was glad of it, for the lad moved into the shadow and stole glances at his mother to see her reaction. Owen guessed that he had not told his mother of the loss.

‘Your scrip, Hubert?’ she looked puzzled. ‘Did I send you with one?’ She lightly laughed, but it rang false. ‘I must have.’ She stepped out of the light and gestured to the benches near the fire circle. ‘Do sit, Captain, Jasper. I’ll fetch cider to quench your thirst.’

She withdrew, grabbing a wrap from the wall by a door opposite the one through which they’d entered.

‘As we’ve arrived without notice, and there are
two others with us, I assure you we do not expect hospitality,’ said Owen.

‘Two others?’

‘I left them to tether the horses out of the wind.’

Ysenda glanced towards the door with a worried look and for a moment Owen thought her face was swollen and bruised on one side. ‘We’ve enough cider to last a good long while,’ she said. ‘I keep it cold behind the house. Hubert, fetch the bowls.’ She slipped out the door.

The boy set his weapon aside and did as he was told, pulling four bowls from a cabinet against the far wall and setting them down on a stool near the fire. His hands shook.

Ysenda returned, carrying a large jug. Glancing at the bowls, she said, ‘Four? The captain’s men are here. Open the door for them and then bring two more bowls.’

Gilbert and Rafe entered and quietly moved a bench away from the others towards the door and settled there.