The Nun's Tale (16 page)

Lucie wondered, too. And so hard on the heels of Owen’s departure.

Refusing to let the archbishop’s summons fluster her, Lucie closed the shop at the usual time, deliberately making no change in her routine. So little notice. As if their plans for the evening were presumed to be nothing. But perhaps this invitation was for the best. She had dreaded the first evening alone with Sir Robert.

When Lucie stepped into the kitchen, she found her father already waiting down by the fire, grandly dressed. Tildy followed Lucie up to her bedchamber. ‘I’ve aired your blue dress and veil, Mistress Lucie, and heated water for you to wash.’

‘Tildy, I am not meeting the King.’

‘He is Lord Chancellor of all England, Mistress Lucie! ’Tis almost as much an honour.’

‘Owen never fusses when he eats at His Grace’s table.’

‘Oh, Mistress, it
is
an honour, no matter what you say. And I must hear about everything. What you eat, how Lizzie serves, what hangings are in the hall – everything.’

Lucie laughed, despite herself. ‘Would that I could send you in my stead. You would be a much more appreciative guest. But I am curious to meet Archdeacon Jehannes. Owen speaks of him fondly.’ Lucie lifted the blue veil, to be worn with a simple gold circlet to hold it in place. She frowned. ‘In faith, is this appropriate, Tildy?’

‘He is accustomed to the ladies at court, Mistress. This is most fitting.’

Lucie fingered the soft wool of her gown, also a lovely pale shade of blue. Her Aunt Phillippa had had the dress and veil made for her on her last birthday. Fortunately, the slightly darker surcoat would hide the tightening of the gown round her five-month waist. Not that she had reason to be embarrassed about her condition, but she did not care to flaunt it.

Tildy fussed over Lucie, winding her mistress’s hair into coils on cither side of her head, arranging the veil, adjusting the surcoat over the gown. As Lucie turned to let Tildy admire her handiwork, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Tildy hurried down, Lucie right behind her. Sir Robert had made no move to open the door himself, accustomed to a grander household with many servants.

A man in the archbishop’s livery stepped inside. With a bow, he introduced himself. ‘I am Gilbert, Mistress Wilton. His Grace has sent me to escort you and Sir Robert to his palace.’ A sword hung at his side, a dagger was tucked into his belt.

‘Escort us? But it is not yet sunset. We can find our way. And we have Sir Robert’s squire.’

‘His Grace insisted.’

About to protest again, Lucie thought better of it. The weapons suggested that the archbishop was in earnest about something. She extended her hand. ‘Then come, Gilbert. We must not keep His Grace waiting.’

Tildy was proud of her pretty mistress as Lucie left on her father’s arm, following Gilbert and Sir Robert’s squire, Daimon.

T
horesby met Lucie and her father halfway across the hall.

‘Welcome, Mistress Wilton, Sir Robert. You are most gracious to come.’

Lucie curtsied. ‘Your Grace honours us.’ Her eyes were downcast, but he had seen how alertly she had glanced round the hall as she entered. She looked lovely, in a blue gown that matched her eyes. In carriage and grace, her noble breeding showed.

Thoresby turned to the white-haired gentleman. He had expected a somberly dressed man, knowing of D’Arby’s long pilgrimage to the Outremer after his wife’s death. But D’Arby surprised him, elegant in a green velvet gown with a jewelled belt hung with an intricately carved dagger. ‘Sir Robert, you are most welcome. I met you once, years ago, when you were in the King’s service.’

Sir Robert bowed. ‘I was honoured then, and I am honoured now, Your Grace.’

‘My man was an acceptable escort?’

Sir Robert bowed again. ‘Though there was no need, Your Grace. My squire Daimon is sufficient protection for my daughter.’

‘Perhaps I erred on the side of caution, but as Mistress Wilton undoubtedly knows, two of my men were attacked a few days ago. And I am in the midst of a puzzling situation involving two violent deaths. I worried that I might endanger you by asking you to come this evening. People know Captain Archer works for me, and in what capacity. And if the attackers knew that Mistress Wilton has spoken with Dame Joanna Calverley . . .’

Sir Robert looked puzzled. ‘I feel as if I have entered the room in the middle of a conversation.’

Lucie, however, looked enlightened. ‘So this evening has to do with Dame Joanna?’

Seeing Sir Robert’s confusion, Thoresby realised Lucie Wilton had told her father nothing of this matter. Perhaps this evening had not been such a clever idea after all. But he must make the best of it. He smiled at Lucie. ‘Brother Wulfstan and Dame Isobel de Percy both recommended I consult you in the matter.’

Sir Robert glanced with alarm from the archbishop to his daughter then back to the archbishop. ‘Your Grace! Have you involved my daughter in some dangerous scheme?’

Lucie put her hand on her father’s arm. ‘Peace, Sir Robert. I assisted St Mary’s infirmarian with a runaway nun who has returned a prodigal, that is all.’

Sir Robert’s dark look made it plain he was uneasy. Thoresby must quickly calm the man or the evening would be a waste. ‘Please, Sir Robert, I know your daughter’s condition, and I have seen her husband in action. I assure you I would do nothing to incur his wrath.’

Lucie gave a little laugh. ‘Besides, Sir Robert, it was not His Grace but my old friend Brother Wulfstan, and Dame Isobel de Percy, the prioress of St Clement’s, who approached me about Dame Joanna.’

The uncomfortable moment was interrupted by the arrival of two men.

One, dressed in the robes of an archdeacon, bowed to the archbishop. ‘Your Grace!’ He was of slight build with the sort of face that remains boyish until wrinkles or scars trouble the smooth surface.

The other gentleman was a startling twin to the archbishop, only younger.

Thoresby introduced Jehannes, Archdeacon of York, and Sir Richard de Ravenser, Provost of Beverley and Master of St Leonard’s Hospital. Noting Lucie’s glances back and forth between himself and Ravenser, Thoresby added, ‘Sir Richard is my sister’s son, Mistress Wilton. I see you note the similarities.’

Lucie blushed becomingly. ‘It is remarkable.’

Thoresby watched with amusement his nephew’s reaction to Lucie Wilton. Ravenser looked Lucie over, then glanced quickly at his own attire and breathed easy, knowing he was fashionably and attractively attired in a green houpelande patterned with leaves, and gold leggings. ‘Mistress Wilton, you ornament the room with your beauty,’ Ravenser said with a little bow.

Two red patches of irritation showed high on Lucie’s cheekbones. She levelled cold blue eyes on Ravenser. ‘Sir Richard.’

Ravenser glanced with confusion at his uncle, who was not quick enough to erase the smirk from his face. ‘Mistress Wilton is a master apothecary, Richard. I have asked her here tonight to consult with us concerning Dame Joanna – not as an ornament.’

Fortunately for Ravenser, Lizzie called them to table. Brother Michaelo already waited there.

Over the mawnenye, a delicately seasoned dish of lentils and lamb, Jehannes and Michaelo kept up a steady exchange of news about preparations for the Corpus Christi procession and pageants. Sir Robert ate with enthusiasm while politely answering Ravenser’s questions about the estate of Freythorpe Hadden. When the henne dorre was served, Brother Michaelo quizzed Lucie as to the virtues of cardamom and whether eating such a quantity of it in the chicken dish would invigorate them. Lucie was puzzled by the secretary. He had always seemed a disagreeable man, but tonight he was almost as charming as Jehannes, who proved as forthright and gentle as Owen had described him. What intrigued Lucie most, however, was how neither the present secretary nor the former made any effort to hide their admiration for John Thoresby. Lucie found herself watching the archbishop closely, wondering what it was about the man that inspired such loyalty in his secretaries and distrust in Owen. Ravenser she largely ignored – though it was difficult for he stared so. He was not an unpleasant looking man, with intelligent dark eyes and a sensitive mouth, but he obviously believed that, as ornaments, women welcomed stares. Lucie tried not to ruin the evening by fuming under his persistent regard.

After supper the servants arranged the chairs round the fire. Small tables held fruit and nuts, brandywine, claret and mead.

The company sat and Thoresby picked up the brandywine, poured himself a cup and invited the others to help themselves. Lucie, her father, Ravenser and Jehannes followed Thoresby’s choice. Michaelo hesitated, looking uncomfortable.

‘Shall I go, Your Grace? Do you want me part of this?’

Thoresby sipped his brandywine and studied his secretary over the rim of his cup. ‘Should I not trust you, Brother Michaelo?’

The secretary looked surprised by the blunt question. ‘I – you can trust me with your life, Heaven be my witness.’

Thoresby nodded. ‘Then pour yourself a refreshment, Brother Michaelo, and prick up your ears.’ The archbishop nodded at Lucie. ‘I will let you speak soon. But first I must tell you of recent events. They convince me that we are faced with something far more serious than a lovesick, abandoned nun.’ He related Alfred’s tale. ‘From the first, Will Longford’s involvement has disturbed me, his having been in the Free Company of Bertrand du Guesclin. Is it possible that Dame Joanna fell among knaves who fear she will reveal their treacheries? Or was she one of them before she fled? I am uneasy about Longford’s role in all this.’

Thoresby turned to Sir Robert. ‘I gather Mistress Wilton has told you nothing of this circumstance?’

Sir Robert gave a little bow. ‘And, forgive me, Your Grace – but the more I hear, the more I dislike it.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Not that I would interfere, but as your father I must be permitted to worry about you.’

Lucie inclined her head, though she found Sir Robert’s sudden enthusiasm for fatherhood ridiculous.

Sir Robert turned back to the archbishop. ‘Would you rather I did not take part in this consultation?’

‘Not at all. You had much experience with the Free Companies. You might have some insight.’

Sir Robert sat up a bit straighter. ‘I might. But it will bore your other guests if you must explain the situation.’

‘Not at all. Everyone knows pieces, not the complete story. It will do us all good to review it.’ Thoresby sipped his brandywine and recounted the details, which he had listed for himself earlier in the day. He ended with Dame Isobel’s note requesting Lucie’s assistance.

Lucie was puzzled by Joanna’s remark about the grave, but saw nothing immediately alarming about it. Neither did the others. But the torn throat alarmed them all.

‘She must be guarded at all times,’ Ravenser said.

‘He is right,’ agreed Lucie. ‘Dame Joanna believes she is cursed. It is impossible to predict what she might do.’

Thoresby nodded. ‘Dame Joanna has a fevered imagination.’ He turned to Lucie. ‘When you examined Dame Joanna, did you find any injuries?’

Lucie described the nun’s condition. ‘Dame Joanna resolutely blamed her own clumsiness for all the injuries and says she is cursed and must not be healed.’

‘A stubborn woman,’ Ravenser commented.

Lucie closed her eyes so that she would not burn Ravenser with her look. She wanted to like him, but he tried her patience. How could such a man be provost of Beverley and master of St Leonard’s Hospital?

‘What do you conclude from these injuries?’ Thoresby asked.

‘That she was beaten recently – perhaps a month ago. How many times I cannot say. It is possible that all the injuries are from the same attack.’

Ravenser was shaking his head. ‘No man enjoys beating a woman. So the question is what Dame Joanna did to spur a man to such violence.’

Now it was Sir Robert shaking his head at Ravenser. ‘The men of the Free Companies are notorious for raping and then brutally murdering women – nuns included.’

Ravenser opened his mouth to protest, but Thoresby put up a hand to silence him. ‘So she has been in the company of someone who exhibits the behaviour of a soldier in the Free Companies,’ Thoresby said.

‘Perhaps Longford,’ Sir Robert suggested.

‘Indeed.’ Thoresby poured more brandywine, sat back, studying the ceiling. ‘Joanna’s family paid a generous sum to St Clement’s so that they might have nothing more to do with her.’

Ravenser sniffed. ‘Simony.’

Thoresby glanced at his secretary, who ducked his head under the archbishop’s regard. ‘It is not sanctioned by the Church to pay a monastery to take someone, but sadly it is not an uncommon practice, a family buying a place for an ill-favoured member.’

Lucie remembered what Owen had told her about Thoresby’s accepting Michaelo as his secretary because of a generous donation by his family to the minster’s Lady Chapel. Thoresby had described Michaelo as his hair shirt.

Thoresby, looking directly at Michaelo, added, ‘Sometimes such arrangements develop into workable relationships.’

Lucie watched Michaelo’s surprise. He did not look up, but she saw the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth. Something had changed between the archbishop and his secretary, that was plain.