A Vigil of Spies

Three

Late Tuesday

As Owen was passing through the great hall in late afternoon, he noticed a fair young man napping on a bench against a wall. Despite wavier hair and a slighter frame, the lad reminded Owen of his adopted son, Jasper, and, for an irrational moment, his heart raced with the possibility that the lad had come to summon him, that there was trouble at home. He’d absentmindedly taken a few steps towards the bench when the sleeper shifted and revealed himself as Master Walter. Owen said a silent prayer of thanks that he had not made a fool of himself and insulted the middle-aged physician in the process. The man must be accustomed to overcompensating for his less-than-inspiring appearance.

Diminutive men like Master Walter were often consumed with anger, and therefore difficult, if not dangerous. Owen wondered why Princess Joan had chosen him, what she knew of the physician. As he understood it, Walter was not her personal physician, but someone who had been recommended to her when she had inquired about physicians near York — though Owen did not consider Lincoln to be so very near. He wondered who had recommended Master Walter, and whether he might possibly have a reason to discourage any hope of Thoresby’s recovery. Owen could not afford to trust anyone at the moment.

Turning his attention back to the hall, he caught Geoffrey Chaucer’s eye and, though he looked away at once, he knew the damage was done and he would soon have the questionable pleasure of his company. He felt impatient with the crowded conditions that were going to make it difficult to manage private conversations, much less prevent interruptions. He was exhausted and frustrated before he’d even begun to question the company, and he cursed the regal size of the princess’s entourage. How was he to protect her while distracted by an investigation involving so many? He could place Alfred in charge of guarding the princess, but he was already depending on his second to coordinate the protection of the entire company, both the household and the guests, and he and Gilbert were working well as a team. Of course Sir Lewis and Sir John considered themselves the protectors of Princess Joan, but they were strangers here, unfamiliar with the area.

‘What is wrong?’ Geoffrey asked, joining Owen just as the latter had resolved to search for the knights to confer with them regarding Joan’s safety. ‘Your visage inspires thoughts of thunderclaps.’ He nodded towards Master Walter. ‘Ah, the good physician, or perhaps I should say the disappointing physician? I’ve heard he has washed his hands of His Grace.’

Owen noticed the physician’s eyelids flickering and led Geoffrey by the elbow to a spot farther away. ‘Who told you he’s washed his hands of His Grace?’

‘No one came to me with the news, but I have ears.’

‘I believe yours might be the busiest ears in the kingdom.’

Geoffrey chuckled. ‘About that you are quite wrong. Mine are for idle eavesdropping. You yourself are part of a wide-reaching spy web continually spun by the ambitious and the anxious. I am nothing compared with all of you.’ His smile was sly, and not entirely friendly. ‘So am I right? Does Master Walter hold out no hope for His Grace’s recovery?’

Owen groaned inwardly with the effort to sidestep Geoffrey’s insatiable curiosity. He would have liked to think that Geoffrey took information in but did not divulge it, but his own experience disproved that. He chose his words with care. ‘Master Walter looks to me like a man who considers his task completed. Have you any idea who suggested him to the princess?’

Shaking his head, Geoffrey said, ‘His home in Lincoln is elegant. I don’t think he is a fraud, if that is what you are wondering.’

It was not, but Owen did not want to ask such a telling question as whether a Neville had recommended him. Or a Percy — another great northern family who might have a favourite candidate to push forward as the next Archbishop of York. ‘How did Master Walter behave when the servant fell?’ he asked instead.

‘He was one of the first to reach the poor man. He’d cried out when the servant’s horse began to bolt, and it was Master Walter who declared him dead.’

‘Bolted? The servant’s horse suddenly went into a gallop?’

Geoffrey cocked his head and nodded, looking smug. ‘So you do suspect the fall was no accident. What grudge do you think someone had against Dom Lambert’s servant?’

‘I cannot imagine why anyone would risk taking vengeance on a mere servant while in the midst of a group of people. But you said the horse bolted. Only his horse?’

‘Yes. I imagined a bee had stung it.’ Geoffrey had opened his slightly owlish eyes so wide as to be comical.

‘Now you are playing the fool,’ Owen said with irritation.

‘I thought to lighten your mood, but I see I’ve soured it instead. In faith, I did at first think of a bee sting, but somehow, with such a grim result, it seemed too absurd that a bee would cause a man’s death. You are very right to question the nature of the incident, I think. I don’t know what happened, and no one I’ve talked to seems to have seen any more than I did. Which is, of course, very suspect, don’t you think?’ Geoffrey appeared to be holding his breath, waiting for information.

The more Geoffrey talked about the incident, the more interested Owen grew in his opinion. ‘Why do you say that is suspect? Do you think someone’s lying to you?’

Geoffrey made a wry face. ‘You are so cautious with me. More has happened, I can feel it. Had someone tampered with the horse? Or perhaps the saddle?’

‘Had you?’ Owen asked, thinking he might as well.

But Geoffrey’s attention had wandered. ‘Heavenly Mother, forgive my lust,’ he murmured, as Lady Sybilla approached them, speaking to a servant with much fluttering of her long, silk sleeves, her colour high. ‘My lady,’ he said, bowing to her. ‘Whatever is amiss, we shall put it right.’

She looked startled, then blushed prettily. ‘Master Geoffrey, I would not burden you with a trifle.’ Small eyes and an unfortunately wide nose, as well as a slightly overripe plumpness, might have condemned Sybilla to invisibility, but what she lacked in beauty she compensated for with attitude and energy, managing to attract men’s eyes and invite them to linger.

‘It is not a trifle if it troubles you,’ Geoffrey crooned.

‘It is but a lost brooch. I am certain my maid will find it if she opens her eyes wide enough.’ Sybilla waved the woman on.

‘Is the brooch of value?’ Owen asked.

She blushed again and dropped her gaze to her hands, smiling as if suddenly shy. ‘It is of value to me, Captain Archer. But it is a simple trinket, and I cannot think it worth risking someone’s life to steal, if that is what you are asking.’

‘I pray that your maid finds it and eases your distress,’ said Geoffrey, sounding most courteous.

Her companion, Lady Eleanor, joined them. Owen was again struck by the subtle change in her dark-eyed beauty.

‘Is something amiss?’ Eleanor asked. She glanced at Owen, then quickly averted her eyes.

‘Trouble with my maid,’ said Sybilla, who then excused herself and hurried off after the much maligned servant.

‘Her maid is dim of wit and has caused chaos throughout this journey. Master Geoffrey, Captain.’ Eleanor nodded to them without ever making eye contact and swept away.

Geoffrey turned to watch her depart. ‘Did I sense something between you and Lady Eleanor?’ he asked.

‘It was that plain?’ Owen did not like that.

‘To me, yes.’ Geoffrey smiled at the air and rocked on his heels. ‘How delicious.’

With more serious issues to hide from Geoffrey, Owen thought he might be wise to admit to this one. ‘We spent an afternoon together long ago after a week of stolen kisses. A very pleasant afternoon that I am not comfortable to remember now — and it would appear that she is also ill at ease about it.’

Geoffrey chuckled. ‘And I thought Sybilla the one to watch.’

‘She certainly watches all the men.’

Sir John and Sir Lewis now approached. ‘Forgive me,’ said Owen, ‘but I must have a private word with them.’

‘Tread carefully with Holand,’ said Geoffrey, and then, much to Owen’s surprise, he simply bowed and added, ‘I am off in search of food.’

Owen greeted the knights and asked if he might talk with them out in the yard.

‘You sent Master Geoffrey away,’ said Sir Lewis, as they moved through the crowd in the hall. ‘You do not trust him, Captain?’

‘His curiosity worries me,’ said Owen.

‘It is my experience that he gossips only with his muse,’ said Lewis. ‘In fact, I was surprised that he knows you. He’s never spoken of you.’

Once out in the yard and away from the curious, Owen told them of the lost documents. While he listened, John Holand grew increasingly irritated, frowning, shaking his head, and muttering under his breath. One discernible word was ‘knave’. Owen noticed that Lewis tried to catch the young man’s attention several times.

‘Do you think Dom Lambert a knave?’ Owen asked John.

‘How can you ask that when you’ve just told us he failed in his mission?’ the young knight said with impatience. ‘Such a simple mission — deliver some letters to the archbishop. Do I think him a knave?’ He sniffed. ‘A fool would be more to the point.’

‘Sir John,’ his older companion said, softly, but in a warning tone.

John shrugged and avoided eye contact with Lewis. He had his mother’s features, but sharpened, colder.

‘Did you note anything about Dom Lambert on the journey that might help me understand what happened to the documents?’ Owen asked.

‘I paid him little heed,’ John said with a shrug.

‘He kept to himself,’ said Lewis. ‘He was courteous and helpful when needed, but quiet otherwise. Do you distrust him, Captain?’

‘I find it best to begin an investigation by distrusting all,’ said Owen.

‘Even us?’ Lewis asked, with a wary smile.

‘The Princess of Wales and her knights excepted, of course,’ said Owen. ‘What of the princess’s ladies?’

‘Is it ever wise to trust women?’ John’s grin was unpleasant.

His manner surprised Owen. He had seemed reasonably pleasant till now.

‘I would advise you to ask the princess about her women,’ said Lewis. ‘And, if you like, I will question my own men. Perhaps someone will have noticed something they’d not thought to report to me.’

‘I would be most grateful for your help,’ said Owen. ‘I had wondered whether your men had been in your service long enough for you to be confident of their loyalty.’

Lewis frowned down at his shoes for a moment. ‘Long enough, I pray. My esquire is the most recently added and he’s been in my service for almost a year.’

Unfortunately, John had coloured at that question and now exploded with, ‘Are you accusing us of jeopardizing my mother’s life with my choice of men?’

‘Sir John, the captain is merely doing his job,’ Lewis said, again in the stern but soft voice. He seemed ever ready to calm the young Holand.

Owen tried smiling at the young man. ‘I told you, I begin an investigation by distrusting all. Most find that reassuring.’

To Owen’s surprise, the young John Holand responded by turning on his heels and heading back to the hall without a word. Lewis scowled and muttered something unintelligible.

‘Is he stormy by nature?’ Owen asked.

Lewis shaded his eyes from the sun as he faced Owen. He looked as weary as when he’d arrived. ‘That is a more polite description of his behaviour than the pup deserves. He takes care to show only his courteous side to his betters, but the rest of his fellows see smiles one moment, foul temper the next.’

‘Is it possible-’

‘You wonder whether he knew Dom Lambert before the man joined our company.’ Lewis shook his head. ‘I am as certain as I can be that he did not.’

Thank God for that. ‘Can he be trusted to say nothing about what I’ve just told you?’

Owen did not like that Lewis hesitated, however briefly, before nodding. But he refrained from questioning it aloud, for he needed the knight’s help. He explained to him his concern for the princess’s safety.

‘My lady was aware that this journey might invite danger, which is why she chose me as her escort. She is my sole concern, Captain. My men and I have vowed to protect her with our lives.’

His voice was thick with pride and devotion, and the speech made Owen easier in his mind about Sir Lewis.

‘God go with you, Sir Lewis. I’ll be grateful for any information gleaned from your men.’ And, with no more ado, Owen headed for the chapel in search of Lambert, though his mind was caught up in the unpleasantness of John Holand. He wondered how well Lewis knew the young man, and how frank he was being about him. He was not easy in his mind about Holand.

He found Lambert lying prostrate before the altar and cursed his luck. He’d hoped that, in private, the cleric might have more to say. As Owen was about to withdraw into the corridor, Brother Michaelo stepped through the doorway and stopped so suddenly it was as if he’d been forcibly halted. He gazed on Lambert with such a haunted expression that Owen felt quite certain that he’d been right earlier to wonder what had passed between the two churchmen. Michaelo’s face was not merely the mask of grief that he’d worn of late; he looked secretive and afraid.

Owen drew Michaelo out into the passageway. ‘What is troubling you?’

The monk blinked at Owen, looking confused, as if he’d just awakened. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here when His Grace needs me. I cannot comfort every waif who comes along. I should return to his chamber.’

‘If prayer feeds your spirit, it is good that you are here. You need not engage with Dom Lambert.’

‘No, of course not. But I feel that His Grace needs me,’ said Michaelo. ‘My mind is not at ease. I cannot pray like this. I must go.’ He hurried away down the corridor, his dark robes blending him into the shadows.

A day ago Owen would not have doubted that Michaelo was obsessed with being at Thoresby’s side, but he felt in his gut that something else tormented the archbishop’s secretary this day, and it had to do with Lambert. Owen returned to the chapel and knelt at a prie-dieu, intending to pray until Lambert rose from his devotions. But, like Michaelo, Owen was plagued by a nagging sense that he should be elsewhere. He found himself obsessively reviewing his orders to Alfred and Gilbert, fearing that he’d omitted a crucial item. He closed his eye and tried to calm his mind by whispering Hail Marys.

‘Captain?’

Owen must have drowsed, for he found Dom Lambert kneeling beside him. Prayer would not have prevented him from sensing the man’s presence.

‘Thank you for waking me,’ said Owen. ‘I hoped to speak with you away from the others.’

‘I guessed that was the reason for your presence. I have questions for you as well. Might we sit rather than kneel?’

They withdrew to a bench near the doorway, on which Owen positioned himself so that he could see anyone approaching. He hoped that Lambert would confide more than others should hear.

The emissary smoothed his robes with trembling hands. ‘Have they sent a messenger to Bishop William?’ he asked, looking towards the altar, not at Owen. ‘To inform him of my disgrace?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Owen. ‘My concern is the safety of all in the palace. What can you tell me of the company in which you travelled?’

‘I know little about any in the company,’ said Lambert. ‘What do you wish to know?’

‘I would have thought it needed no explanation. Did anyone disturb you, ask too many questions, watch you too closely?’

‘Geoffrey Chaucer asks too many questions,’ said Lambert, with a little laugh. ‘Everyone seems to find him too curious.’

Owen did not doubt that, but it was of no use — he might find Geoffrey irritating, but he did not suspect him of theft or murder. ‘I think you know what I am asking. You are the emissary of William Wykeham, so recently Lord Chancellor, a controversial man who has been a favourite of our king. You must have been prepared for the likelihood that there would be some in your company of travellers who would be concerned about the nature of your mission, fearing that Wykeham might subvert some of their plans. Did anyone try too hard to befriend you?’

Lambert licked his lips and shook his head. ‘I took care to keep to myself. It seemed the safest approach.’

‘That must have been difficult, resisting their companionship. I would have thought you might delight in such company. The Princess of Wales is considered by all to be most gracious.’

Lambert drew in his shoulders and tucked in his chin, turtle-like. ‘It was not difficult to remain aloof, for I did not feel worthy.’

‘Who made you think that?’

‘Who made me? No, you misunderstand. All were courteous. But I was thrust upon them, a stranger from outside their circle. I felt I should disturb them as little as possible.’

Lambert’s cringing was too awkwardly exaggerated to be believable.

‘Dom Lambert, your servant is dead and the documents you were carrying are missing.’ Owen made no attempt to hide his irritation. ‘How can I help you if you won’t confide in me?’

‘Would that I had something to tell you,’ Lambert almost whimpered. ‘God help me, but I do not know why Bishop William chose me as his emissary. I am out of my depth in this company. I have done all that I could to avoid offending anyone, to ride among them as if of no substance.’ He had looked imploringly at Owen, and now looked away as his face flushed crimson.

As an emissary for William Wykeham, the man should have known he could not avoid curiosity. Only a simple fool would think otherwise, and Owen knew that Wykeham would not choose a simple fool for this mission. ‘Your anguish in His Grace’s chamber would indicate that you understood the importance of your mission, Dom Lambert. Surely you realised others would be keen to know what you carried?’

‘You think me a fool.’

‘No. You would like me to think that, but I don’t. I believe you are hiding something, Dom Lambert, and I’m very curious what it is that you do not wish me to know.’

‘Why did you ask about the saddles? Had someone done something to Will’s to cause his fall?’

Owen found it of interest that this was on Lambert’s mind. ‘Yes, someone had weakened it. But I don’t think it likely that he was the one who was meant to fall off his horse. Do you?’

Lambert crossed himself and shook his head. ‘I wish I could help you, Captain.’

Owen would return to that topic. Right now, Lambert was too on his guard about the saddles. ‘You seem to be acquainted with Brother Michaelo.’

The cleric’s sharp breath and an odd tremor in his stiffly held head told Owen that he had touched on something of interest.

‘He has been most welcoming to all of us.’

‘No more than that?’

Unfortunately, the quiet voices of women drifted down the corridor, and, out of the gloom, the nuns appeared, their pale habits framing their pale faces.

Lambert rose and excused himself. As he began to walk away, he paused. ‘I am sorrier than you can know that Bishop William made the mistake of choosing to send me on this mission, Captain.’

‘Why do you blame yourself? It might have happened to anyone.’

‘But it happened to me. I failed.’

‘Whatever you do, don’t wander alone beyond the palace yard,’ said Owen.

Lambert nodded and hurried away.

Owen took his time rising, and passed the nuns as he departed the chapel. Dame Clarice was tall and slender, Dame Katherine of average height and plump, a good decade older than her companion. They both nodded and smiled to him. Not far behind them strode Lewis Clifford, looking relieved as he noticed Owen.

‘God be praised, I’ve been scouring the palace and stables for you.’

Owen did not like the tense set of the man’s jaw, the urgency in his tone. ‘What’s amiss?’

‘I’ve two sets of messengers who need your leave to depart — one to Winchester, one to Nun Appleton.’

‘You’re sending the sisters away?’

Lewis shook his head. ‘Her Grace is sending for documents left at the nunnery.’

‘What sort of documents?’

‘I don’t know. My orders did not include an explanation. But she wants them here as soon as the riders can manage.’

‘These are trustworthy men who can defend themselves?’

‘They are.’

‘Give me their names — I’ll make sure they are not prevented from departing or returning.’ Then Owen changed his mind. ‘I’ll escort them from the manor myself. Send them to me in the stable.’

‘Her Grace has told no one but me, and I chose the men with care,’ said Lewis. ‘I don’t think anyone will waylay them.’

‘Have them well armed, Sir Lewis, and I’ll escort them. We’ve had trouble enough already.’

Lewis nodded and departed.

Owen was still stewing over the mysterious documents from Nun Appleton and the failure of Lambert’s mission at the evening meal, and had not noticed that Lady Sybilla had sat down beside him until he found her plump hand resting on his.

‘Captain? Are you asleep sitting up and with your eye wide open?’ Her voice both teased and caressed.

‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I was lost in thought.’ He was flattered by the intensity of her gaze. Maybe he was not so old as he felt of late. ‘Did I miss anything?’

‘Besides my presence? No, Captain.’ Her smile was dimpled and inviting. Curious how such a plain face could be so appealing. ‘I have a message for you from my mistress. She would have you escort her on a hawk hunt in the morning. His Grace has asked her to exercise his neglected hawks.’

‘He assuredly did not recommend me. His Grace’s falconer is trustworthy.’

‘His Grace did not propose you for the hunt, it is true. But my mistress wishes you to accompany her.’

‘And you?’

‘Of course!’

‘Then I shall be delighted.’ Owen loathed hawk hunting, but he was most curious about this unexpected request, and a little anxious, recalling her need for a house sergeant. ‘Have you found your brooch?’

Lady Sybilla’s smile faded. ‘No, Captain. It is a pity, for I borrowed it and now I must needs part with a brooch of my own to compensate my friend when we return to Berkhampstead Castle.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Until morning.’ With a teasingly feminine flick of her skirts, she slipped away.

Anxiety about what the future would hold under Archbishop Thoresby’s as yet unknown replacement had spread throughout York, not only disturbing the many religious establishments but also the civic groups. Worse was the building grief and the accompanying worry tightening around Lucie Wilton’s heart. Her family would lose a friend and powerful ally, as well as her husband’s employer. She caught Owen’s expression in unguarded moments and guessed that he was wondering what was next for him, who he would be when he was no longer Thoresby’s captain of the guard, no longer steward of Bishopthorpe, no longer the archbishop’s spy. She also sensed Owen’s sorrow. She always feared that another’s sorrow might cause that person to do something foolish or even harmful to themselves, though she did not fear that in herself. She chided herself for doubting Owen’s judgment, but her imagination seemed stuck in the rut of her worries.

In the shop, out in the garden, playing with the children — of late it seemed that, no matter what she was doing, Lucie was preoccupied with weighing possible futures for Owen in her head. She had suggested that he take responsibility for Freythorpe Hadden, the manor she’d inherited from her father. Her steward, Daimon, presently ran it with little interference from them, with the intention of handing it over to their son Hugh when he came of age — as the boy was not quite four, he would be managing it for a long while. But, as Daimon and his wife, Tildy, now had several children, Lucie thought they would welcome Owen’s presence. It would mean he’d often be away from York, but the manor was less than a day’s ride away, so, all in all, it would not be much different from his duties as steward of Bishopthorpe — though the palace was closer to York than the manor, Owen’s responsibilities often kept him there for several days at a time. But Owen had made no decision, and that worried Lucie. She feared that he would be swept up into the household of the new archbishop — it was possible that whoever succeeded Thoresby would wish to retain his predecessor’s proven captain — and that a younger prelate might spend a great deal of time in travel — to his far-flung archdeaconries, to Westminster, to wherever the king was residing — and that he would want Owen with him.

The only time Lucie found it easy to relax was when nursing little Emma, as she was doing at the moment, caught up in sweet, milky daydreams. She had been in this same position in the window seat when Magda and Alisoun had arrived the previous evening. As she had shifted the baby to her shoulder, she’d noticed Magda Digby sitting near her on a bench. Now she tensed as she heard a knock on the door, and Emma began to fuss. Lucie bent to her tiny daughter and softly began to sing in order to shut out the sound of her servant, Kate, answering the door. She saw Kate motion Magda to the door. When the nursemaid, Maud, retrieved Emma to put her to bed, Lucie sought out Magda. She found her standing in the kitchen doorway to the garden examining a piece of leather. Her eyesight was remarkable for an aged woman, so Lucie guessed the intensity of her expression was a sign of trouble. Earlier Magda had been helping Kate in the kitchen, for the sleeves of her multicoloured gown were pushed up and there was a dusting of flour on one of her cheeks. As she looked up and saw Lucie, Magda slowly shook her head, a silent acknowledgement that something was indeed wrong.

‘What is it?’ Lucie asked. She noticed a pack on the bench beside Magda and a parchment. Written in Owen’s hand, if she was not mistaken.

‘Thy husband writes that the royal party has brought trouble to Bishopthorpe,’ said Magda. ‘See how this girth was cut just deep enough to weaken it, but not so deep as to be seen from the other side.’ She held the piece of leather up to the light for Lucie. ‘The cut caused it to break, and the saddle to slip.’

The cut was very clear below, and too precise to be accidental. The leather was fine, somewhat worn, but supple and strong. ‘You called it a girth? For a saddle?’

Magda nodded. ‘The saddle of a dead man. He fell, breaking his neck.’

Lucie made the sign of the cross. ‘Someone who accompanied the Princess of Wales?’

Magda nodded as she set the leather down on a bench and handed Lucie the parchment. ‘The servant of an emissary from the Bishop of Winchester. Bird-eye has explained it in a letter to Magda and thee.’

Wykeham. Owen always expected trouble from him. ‘What is he meddling with this time?’ Lucie wondered aloud.

‘Who is to sit on the throne in York Minster when Old Crow dies,’ said Magda.

Old Crow. Bird-eye. Magda referred to both Thoresby and Owen as birds. Lucie had never thought ‘Old Crow’ fitted the archbishop, but now, ill as he was, she found it chillingly appropriate. When she’d last seen him, his hands had been fleshless and knobbly, like a bird’s claws, and, as he moved, his dark gown had hung like wilting feathers.

Magda had said when she arrived, ‘Old Crow is as he was when thou last saw him. Fighting for his breath, weak, weary, but at peace with himself. He is ready. He has made Magda promise to remind thee to bring the children to him as soon as Princess Joan departs. Jasper as well.’

That had surprised Lucie, for Jasper was their adopted son and not one of Thoresby’s godchildren. ‘He asked for Jasper?’

‘Old Crow has great affection for all thy family,’ Magda said.

‘I’ve never understood it, though I am most grateful.’

‘Thou hast caught the heart of an old man who regrets that he waited until writing his will to acknowledge his daughter.’

‘A daughter?’ Lucie had not known Thoresby had a child.

‘Idonea,’ said Magda. ‘There are more, Magda suspects. But this one he knew of from the time of her birth. She bides at a nunnery in Hampole.’

Lucie remembered that Owen had once mentioned a liaison that had caused Thoresby belated trouble when the king’s mistress, Alice Perrers, learned of it and used it to her advantage. ‘Did Idonea know of him?’

Magda had nodded. ‘Old Crow said that she has oft written letters filled with love for a father she much admires. She wrote that it was enough for her to know her father was an archbishop, and once Lord Chancellor of the realm.’

‘He never replied?’

‘Nay.’

‘He told you of this?’

‘He speaks of many things in the night, after Archdeacon Jehannes leaves him. It is not uncommon for the dying to live in the past in their last days.’

Lucie remembered the time Thoresby had escorted her children home from her father’s estate, how he’d laughed with them, how they trusted him. She would have expected him to be an attentive father. ‘Why did he never write to her?’

‘He seems unable to explain his neglect.’ Magda had held Lucie’s gaze for a moment with eyes soft with sympathy. ‘He is an old fool.’ She’d described a man resigned to death, his interest in earthly issues already fading, and a household of people trying to hide their grief from him.

‘Then perhaps Princess Joan’s visit is a gift for all, something to cheer the household,’ Lucie had said. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to think it selfishly ill-timed on her part.’

Lucie noticed Magda watching her now with a puzzled expression. She’d been standing in the doorway holding the letter and lost in her own thoughts. ‘I must be more tired than I realised,’ Lucie said, and lifted the parchment to the light.

Owen explained that the leather was from the dead servant’s saddle. He asked that Lucie examine the contents of the wineskin he’d sent, looking for poison or something that would have made the servant drowsy and clumsy in the saddle. He asked her to tell Magda anything else she noted about the contents of the pack.

‘You are to return tomorrow?’ Lucie asked. ‘The physician has failed so quickly?’

‘Yes. He cannot cure His Grace of old age, so the messenger is to escort Magda and Alisoun back to Bishopthorpe in the early morning. Hast thou time now to look at these items?’

Although she had not expected a cure, Lucie’s heart broke a little more with the news. Thoresby was such a part of her life in York that her heavy sadness was complicated by fear that his passing would bring frighteningly profound change. She was glad to have an absorbing task to distract her from her worries. ‘Of course. Come — let’s take these to the workshop.’ She picked up the pack and led the way through the garden to the apothecary. The workshop had been her family’s main living area as well as the apothecary workshop before Lucie’s late father had purchased the large house across the garden in which she and her family now lived. Her adopted son, Jasper, and his fellow apprentice, Edric, now slept up above the shop in the solar. Edric was alone in the shop at the moment, Jasper still at school. Lucie checked to make sure that he did not need her and then sat down to examine the pack. There was little in it, and nothing of much interest. But the contents of the wineskin proved interesting.

‘Poppy juice?’ Lucie asked, as she handed Magda the dish in which she’d poured some of the wine. ‘And an earth scent. Mandrake.’ She nodded, and then lifted it to her nose once more and sniffed. ‘And leek? What would the leek be for?’

Magda sniffed. ‘Poppy and mandrake. And water germander.’

‘Ah yes, that does smell like leek. Strange. The first two are such common sleeping physicks. But water germander? It helps pass water, eases gout, is soothing on wounds. Why would it be in a sleeping potion?’

‘A traveller wishing to carry as little as possible. A night physick to ease gout and bring on sleep.’ Magda shrugged.

‘I wonder who in the princess’s company suffers from gout?’ Lucie asked.

Magda nodded.

When they returned to the hall, they found Lucie’s elderly aunt, Phillippa, waking from a nap confused, her eyes unfocused. Ever since suffering a palsy several years earlier, Phillippa alternated between competence and a vague wandering in time.

‘This is one of Aunt Phillippa’s difficult days,’ Lucie said. She watched as Alisoun slipped out to the kitchen with Gwenllian and Hugh; she knew how Phillippa could frighten them with her confusion. Lucie appreciated the young woman’s tact. The children missed her — they blamed the new nursemaid Maud for Alisoun’s departure and had not warmed to her, despite the woman’s best efforts. Magda had not chosen Alisoun as an apprentice — indeed, she’d never felt the need for one. But the young woman had desperately wanted to work with Magda, and, when Owen insisted that a woman who could be wet nurse, if Lucie required one, was more appropriate for the infant Emma, Alisoun had begged once more and was at last accepted. Although the girl was difficult, testy, Magda felt in her gut that she might be a gifted healer. ‘The children miss Alisoun. Has she been of help to you at Bishopthorpe?’ Lucie asked.

‘Maud will win the children in time,’ said Magda, as usual hearing all that was behind Lucie’s words. ‘At first Alisoun irritated Brother Michaelo with her dark looks, but she has won his approval, and, in all else, has been helpful and quieter than Magda thought she could be.’

‘Have you seen proof that she has a gift for healing?’

Phillippa was tugging at her wimple and Lucie hurried over to calm her as Magda replied, ‘Alisoun is yet a mystery.’

Later, as Jasper and Edric joined them for the evening meal, Alisoun entertained them with descriptions of the chaos at the archbishop’s palace as the staff prepared to welcome Princess Joan and her large party. She was particularly cutting in her descriptions of Brother Michaelo.

‘He is not a fool,’ Lucie commented. ‘From all accounts, he was very good to my father on his last pilgrimage.’

‘No, he’s not a fool, but very funny all the same,’ the girl remarked with a smirk.

Lucie resolved to work harder to turn the children’s affections towards Maud — the household was, on the whole, more peaceful without Alisoun’s prickly presence.