The Guilt of Innocents (17 page)

‘No need,’ said the captain. ‘That is a good question.’

‘He doesn’t,’ said Sir Baldwin. ‘He pretends to be dull-witted about running the estate so that nothing is expected of him, though he’s a clever young man – too clever, perhaps. My steward saw to everything while I was away. No, I can think of no way the theft of the cross might involve anyone in my household.’

‘I would still like to talk to your son about estate matters while you were away,’ said the captain.

‘He’s not here. In York, I believe. As is Father
Nicholas. He’s seldom here. More than a little negligent of the souls in his care.’

‘Has Osmund business in York?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘You’ll think this strange, but I let my son go about his life as he will. I suspect he’s up to something reckless, but I would not venture to guess what it might be.’

Jasper could see that the captain was disappointed, but he quickly moved beyond that topic. ‘Is it possible that Aubrey de Weston is somewhere on your land, Sir Baldwin? Does he perhaps come here when he’s fought with his wife?’

‘There are a few men he drinks with,’ Sir Baldwin said. ‘It is possible.’ He did not sound very hopeful.

‘Could you have someone escort my men around, just to make sure he isn’t right under our noses?’

Sir Baldwin rose. ‘I will. And you must stay the night, all of you. There is room in this hall for you, and you are most welcome.’

Jasper silently said a prayer of thanks.

Though it was the end of twilight, Hempe walked along the waterfront towards the castle on the chance that he might cross paths with someone who had seen Nigel that afternoon. He stumbled when he picked up speed, and the waterfront was so far mostly deserted, so he spent the time arguing with himself about why he was bothering. In the daylight he would find many people gossiping
here. To walk here in the morning was much more likely to be useful than this stroll in the freezing dark.

The river sucked at the mud and the wind sighed around him. He noticed those sounds more than the steady rush of the river; they were more human, more intimate sounds. He could not recall the last time he’d been so alone, surrounded by a veil of darkness, with little to hear over the river and the wind. The Riverwoman chose to live in such isolation. He wondered how long it would take to become accustomed to such a silence; it turned him in on himself. It felt like the time to pray. He prayed for the souls of Drogo and Nigel, and for Drogo’s family.

As he walked along the friary wall his prayers changed, focusing on himself and Owen Archer. He had learned a great deal from Archer. He found it comfortable working with him again. It gave him a confidence that made no sense, but felt good. He was glad there were men like Archer in the kingdom, who put the skills they’d honed in war to a peaceful purpose that benefited the people, not the nobles. Too few cared about the people.

He smiled at himself – a philosopher of a sudden – and decided to give up for the night. Turning upriver once more, he almost tripped over something that by its squawk he discovered was a lad. He caught hold of cloth as the boy tried to flee.

‘Who are you?’ Hempe demanded.

‘No one, sir. No one to you.’ The boy tried to make his voice reedy and frightened, but it rang falsely.

‘What is a lad doing on the staithe in the dark?’

‘Just walking, sir.’

Hempe wished his eyes would adjust to the dark so that he could make something of the lad he held. Why had he not noticed him before? Had he been that lost in his thoughts, or had the lad been stealthy?

‘Were you set to follow me?’

A weak laughter. ‘In the dark?’ the lad asked, elongating the last word. He kicked at Hempe and broke his hold. Hempe reached with both hands, but the lad was gone. He could hear him splashing in the tidal mud, but he could not catch him.

‘A curse on you!’ he shouted, for no reason but that it spilled from his open mouth.

Cursing himself he headed for the nearest tavern.

The balding guard seemed disturbed by the whisper of the river that filled in the silences between the fire’s pops or the occasional conversation.

‘I should go without,’ he said, beginning to untangle his legs.

Magda and Alfred were sitting close to her fire circle on low stools, sharing a fish stew.

‘Thou needst not. Magda will notice sounds out of place.’ But she nodded as Alfred mumbled an excuse, understanding that he was not in the
habit of trusting the ears of the elderly. She had been surprised by the hawk-like bailiff’s concern for her safety. It did not matter that it was unnecessary. But something was nagging at the back of her mind, a worry that she hoped would come forward.

When Alfred returned to his stool, apparently having found nothing amiss outside, he asked, ‘Do you never feel too alone here, when the river rises round you?’

‘Nay, then the Ouse is Magda’s protector,’ she said, ‘and her ears can rest easy.’

‘Why do you live here?’

‘It is home,’ she said. ‘Magda can no more explain that than thou couldst explain why thou art so loyal to Captain Archer.’ Ah. That is what bothered her, Owen’s household was unprotected with him away.

‘He’s an honourable man, and he has taught me to be a better soldier,’ said Alfred.

She was not interested in what he thought were his reasons. ‘Magda is worried about Dame Lucie and her household tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘Captain Archer and young Jasper are gone. Dame Lucie is alone with only women, children, and gentle Edric.’

‘But the captain is often away. The Merchets look out for Dame Lucie and the children. And Alisoun Ffulford is skilled with a bow. You would know that.’

She knew all of that, but she was still uneasy, and she’d learned long ago to heed such a gut-deep feeling. ‘Magda thinks they might be in danger. If it was the same man who injured the goldsmith’s apprentice and poisoned Drogo, he might wish to end the captain’s questions about the pilot, and he might hie to the captain’s house not knowing that he is away. Dost thou see?’

‘Why do you connect the two?’

‘A fair question, but Magda cannot satisfy thee with facts. She fears this. Strongly fears this.’

Alfred was on his feet. ‘That is good enough for me. I should warn them. But I told Hempe I’d stay with you.’ He cursed beneath his breath and looked not a little angry.

He would be like that all night. Magda had no appetite for such company. She considered the situation, and found an appealing solution.

‘Fret not. Magda will come with thee to Dame Lucie’s home.’

‘You will?’

Magda laughed at his relief. ‘Thou’rt such a boy. Come. Help Magda gather her things.’

As they passed Marygate, Magda slowed, noticing the crowd near the statue of the Virgin Mary. Hypocrites, most of them. She doubted many of them had known Nigel, and few of those who did would have welcomed him at their fires, yet they all congregated to pray over him. It was their fear of death that they prayed about, not the goldsmith’s apprentice.

‘Did you wish to join them, Dame Magda?’ asked Alfred.

‘Thou couldst leave these things with Magda and see whether the man yet lives,’ she suggested.

He did so without further ado. Alfred had surprised her with his considerate manner, which she had not expected from him – this was a reminder to her not to judge hastily. A few folk clustered round him, proudly sharing what they knew. His head was slightly bowed, his walk slower as he returned, and she knew that her catch had died. Patting Alfred on the shoulder, Magda thanked him. He did not seem to notice that they’d not exchanged a word.

She was sorry the man had died without the chance to name his murderer. There was boldness in this murderer, and she feared that he would be smart enough to keep track of Owen Archer’s movements. She’d told Alfred that she feared for Lucie because the killer might be after Owen, but what if he’d chosen to strike when Owen was away? He might decide to take a hostage from his household, distracting him once he’d returned.

Bootham Bar was busy with folk coming and going. It took time to get through, and Magda was almost trotting by the time they reached Stonegate, the street of the goldsmiths. A few folk stood in front of the goldsmith Edward Munkton’s house and shop, their heads together, gossiping about his apprentice’s death, Magda had no doubt. Folk enjoyed nothing so much as someone else’s
trouble except perhaps talking of things they knew nothing about. Magda was relieved to see Lucie’s home at the corner of St Helen’s Square. She was anxious to be proved wrong in her worry.

The maid Kate opened the door just a crack to ask their names. When they identified themselves she flung it open while announcing them at the top of her voice, which was considerable.

‘Do not rise, Lucie,’ Magda said as she entered. ‘Magda can find thee.’

She remembered shifting herself at Lucie’s stage of pregnancy.

‘I am glad to see you,’ Lucie said as Magda settled beside her near the fire.

Magda was pleased to see the healthy glow in Lucie’s skin and no darkness around her eyes.

Lucie leaned close to ask quietly, ‘Have you brought news of a wet nurse?’

‘That is not why Magda has come.’ She spoke as softly, not wishing to provoke Alisoun. ‘But she does have one for thee. She will come a fortnight hence.’

‘Will that be soon enough?’ Lucie asked.

‘Aye.’

‘You sound quite certain.’

‘Magda is.’

Lucie glanced over to where Alisoun sat with the children. ‘She will soon take them to bed and we can talk more freely.’

Magda nodded. ‘Hast thou heard of Magda’s catch today?’

‘How could I help but hear about it in the shop?’ At Magda’s frown Lucie added, ‘I sat on a stool and let Edric fetch and carry for me.’

She silently chided herself for worrying that Lucie might take risks, knowing as she did how desperately she wanted this child.

‘Is that why Alfred is here with you?’ Lucie asked. ‘Because of the injured man? I don’t quite see –’

‘Hempe the hawk told him to watch over Magda tonight, in case the murderer thought the poor man had told her aught.’

‘Oh, then he is dead?’ asked Phillippa.

Magda nodded. She had thought Lucie’s elderly aunt was asleep.

‘Thou art sharp this evening, my friend.’ She had known Phillippa a long while and was glad when the veil of her illness lifted.

‘Will you stay the night?’ Lucie asked.

‘Aye, that is what Magda hopes.’

Phillippa rose. ‘I must prepare a bed for you.’

Lucie touched her aunt’s arm. ‘There is no need. Magda can share my bed. Do you mind?’

‘That will be most agreeable,’ said Magda. ‘Now. Let Magda repay thee for thy hospitality by telling thee the tale.’

Alisoun rather loudly commanded Gwenllian and Hugh to play quietly so that she might listen to their guest.

Magda noticed that Lucie seemed annoyed by her outburst, though she said nothing. Perhaps
Alisoun had already outstayed her welcome in this household. She was a wilful orphan who had wearied all her kin in their attempts to help her. She’d come to Magda with the intention of becoming her apprentice. Magda had neither accepted nor desired an apprentice in all her years, which were considerable, but she was curious whether the girl’s dogged determination might surprise her. Alisoun had expected to follow her in her daily rounds. But Magda had wished to see how the girl behaved in service, so she had offered her as nurse to the Archer children after Lucie’s accident. Although Magda had reassured her that she might continue her studies and that a new position would be found for her, the girl was doubtless worried. Magda must talk with her again.

Ah well, to the matter at hand. She recounted all that had happened, speaking loudly enough so that Alisoun, Dame Phillippa, and Kate could hear her. All the women bowed their heads and prayed for Nigel’s soul when she had finished her account. Magda bowed her head as well, though her thoughts did not tend towards asking a god to welcome the young man into heaven. She hoped that he’d had no fear in the end, and that no one’s life would be cast into shadow by his passing.

It was much later, when Magda and Lucie were up in the solar preparing for bed and could not be overheard, that Lucie told her of Nicholas
Ferriby’s discomfort in the shop that day. Magda found it troubling, and she saw that Lucie did as well.

‘I would ask George Hempe to talk to the grammar master, but I fear he might make the man even less inclined to talk,’ said Lucie.

‘The vicar of Weston is a soft man, my friend, easily frightened, easily swayed. Magda hopes that his tale is not the only way to the truth, for he may not find the courage again to tell thy husband.’

Owen lay in Sir Baldwin’s hall, the front of him that faced the fire wonderfully warm, his back cold and stiffening. He prayed that his host was right, that Ysenda would not punish her son for having taken and lost the cross. Her request that they return for Hubert in the morning had bothered him more and more as the afternoon turned to evening. He imagined her taking a whip to the boy’s back, though he had no reason to think she might behave so. Still, as she could not hope to ever be able to replace the piece, she might be frightened that they’d be turned out, and such fears often drove otherwise gentle parents to violence. But Sir Baldwin could not imagine her behaving in such wise, and Owen doubted the man would abandon Ysenda – or Aubrey for that matter, for he’d spoken well of him for the most part. Owen decided that Ysenda would not have asked him to return if she’d meant harm to the boy.