The Cross Legged Knight

Sixteen

As Owen entered the hall, he saw through the garden windows that it was later than he had imagined, for the children were already at play. Alisoun sat calmly by and Phillippa, who tended to be a late riser, was seated as close to the windows as she could manage and yet still move, seeking light for her sewing.

‘Tell Alisoun to take the children to the kitchen,’ Owen said quietly to Lucie as they paused at the bottom of the steps.

‘I thought we might talk in the kitchen.’

‘No, it’s best we see Hempe in the hall, else he will suspect a slight. Where is Jasper?’

‘In the shop, where I should be but for my hand.’

‘You were to remain abed for a week.’

Lucie was ashen, her face pinched with pain. She held her bandaged hand protectively close to her. ‘After the bailiff departs I’ll lie down. Jasper, Alisoun and Kate do seem quite capable.’

Hempe perched on the edge of a chair a distance away from the children and Phillippa, hat in hand, his eyes fierce in his hawk-nosed face, his balding pate doing nothing to dispel the impression of a predator. At his feet was a hide sack.

He rose as Owen crossed the hall to him. ‘Captain Archer.’

The children glanced back at the bass voice as Alisoun herded them to the kitchen door.

‘Good-day to you,’ Owen muttered, distracted by the sound of Lucie and her aunt in an argument. Phillippa did not wish to withdraw from the daylight.

‘I did not think to find you yet asleep at this hour,’ Hempe said.

Like a predator, he struck before Owen got his bearings.

‘I have had little opportunity for rest since the fire,’ Owen said, drawing himself up to full height so that he was more than a head taller than the bailiff.

Hempe’s face hardened.

Owen checked his mood. He did not yet know the man’s purpose. A more courteous tone might be to his advantage. ‘I pray your pardon for the wait. I know you are a busy man.’

‘I am busy of a sudden,’ Hempe said.

Lucie joined them. ‘Master Hempe, I pray you, tell us now how you recovered what was stolen from me yesterday.’

The bailiff fixed his gaze on Lucie. ‘Your injury, Mistress Wilton. Would you describe for me how you received it? Did you attempt to stop the thief?’

‘I was not aware that he had …’ Lucie began.

Owen could see that Hempe meant to bully her. ‘What is your purpose in questioning my wife?’

‘I had not thought it necessary to discuss this with Mistress Wilton in private. Was I wrong?’

‘You waited until I was present, Hempe. What game are you about?’

‘I am a city bailiff, Archer, it is my duty to arrest those who break the laws of the city.’

‘Owen, I pray you, let Master Hempe be about his business.’ Lucie sank down on to a stool, all colour drained from her face. ‘Forgive me, I am not well.’

‘I am sorry to disturb you,’ Hempe said in a quieter tone.

‘For what offence are you questioning my wife?’

‘I merely wish to understand the order and the character of yesterday’s events.’

‘First let us see whether you do indeed possess the goods stolen from my wife, and tell us where you found them,’ Owen demanded.

‘That does seem reasonable,’ Lucie agreed. ‘But I can tell you briefly, I thought my scrip had caught on something in the press of the crowd. I reached for it, something sliced my hand, and my girdle with the scrip was gone.’

Hempe nodded, resumed his seat, lifted the sack, opened it and drew out the contents. They were indeed Lucie’s scrip, the girdle — cut neatly — and the gloves. But the latter were now stained.

Lucie lifted them. ‘They were so soft. What did the thief do to them?’

‘That is blood, Mistress Wilton,’ Hempe said coldly. ‘The blood of a lad with cropped blond hair, a skinny fellow perhaps a head shorter than you. Your thief?’

‘He was blond and smaller than I am,’ Lucie whispered. ‘This is his blood?’

Hempe gave a curt nod. ‘He was found in a ditch near the King’s Fishpond this morning, with his throat slit. The weapon still lay beside him.’ He drew a little knife from the sack.

It was Lucie’s knife.

‘God help us,’ she whispered, crossing herself with her bandaged hand, which was shaking so badly that she truncated the gesture when Hempe looked her way and tucked the hand behind her.

‘Do you recognize it?’ Hempe asked.

‘Of course she does.’ Owen could not bear the man’s taunting when the horror of his revelation was writ so clearly on Lucie’s pale face.

‘It is uncommonly sharp for a lady’s knife, is it not?’

‘That is enough.’ Owen bent to Lucie and lifted her in his arms.

Caught by surprise, Lucie did not begin her protestations until they were across the hall and on the first step. ‘Owen, please, you are only angering him.’

Indeed, Hempe rushed after them. ‘I am not finished.’

Neither was Owen, but he had no intention of allowing Hempe to subject Lucie to more of his interrogation. He continued up the stairs. ‘I won’t have you treated in such wise.’

Hempe stopped at the foot of the stairs.

Owen eased Lucie down inside their bedchamber and kicked the door closed behind him, holding her until she was steady on her feet. ‘Lie down and stay warm. I’ll come up when he is gone.’

Lucie sat down on the edge of the bed holding her injured hand. ‘My knife, Owen. Someone slit the boy’s throat with my knife and left the gloves to soak up his blood.’ Her eyes were wells of sorrow in a face pinched with pain. ‘His questions — does he think I murdered the boy?’

‘If he does he’s a madman. Why would you have run off without your possessions?’

She dropped her head.

‘It is proof the lad’s murder has nothing to do with you,’ Owen went on, speaking the words as the thoughts came. ‘Whoever went after him knew nothing of the gloves, else he or she would have taken them, surely. It was thieves fighting among themselves, no more. Rest now.’

God had been watching over Lucie, that she was not the corpse.

As Owen descended to the hall he went over what Hempe had told them so far and questions curled round each other. The bailiff did not bother to rise when Owen took the chair opposite him.

‘The gloves are bloody, but not the scrip,’ Owen said. ‘So you did not find both items together?’

Hempe’s eyes bored into him. ‘Are those the first questions that come to your mind on hearing about a boy’s murder, where were the gloves, where was the scrip?’ He shook his head as at a foolish child.

‘Your time would be better spent asking such questions than finding fault with all I say,’ Owen snapped. ‘It may be important.’

Warring emotions played across Hempe’s face. He turned away for a few heartbeats, then settled back, facing Owen. ‘The gloves lay on the lad’s chest, the scrip, emptied, at his feet. The blood did not pool so far as his feet.’ He glanced towards the steps. ‘What is your wife’s complaint?’

Owen wanted to shout that it was none of Hempe’s business, but he, too, would be better to set aside his dislike. ‘She had a fall a while ago and lost the child she carried. The Riverwoman says she lost much blood then, and yesterday’s wound has drained her further. She is weak and still mourning the loss. I too am in mourning.’ With his eye and his posture he dared Hempe to make an inappropriate comment.

But the bailiff rubbed his balding head and looked aside. ‘I did not know about the child.’

‘Aye.’

Hempe sighed. ‘Are you certain these items are Mistress Wilton’s?’

Owen lifted the flap on the scrip, pointed to the initials and the apothecary rose. ‘And the knife, aye, she always carries that. I shall buy her another. I doubt she’ll ever eat with that again.’

‘The belt and the gloves?’

‘They are hers.’ Owen ignored his conscience, which nagged him with the truth about the gloves. How could he say whose they were, not knowing himself? Still, the lie made him uneasy.

‘You must see that you and Mistress Wilton are at present the only suspects in the thief’s murder.’

‘What?’

‘I am headed for the archbishop’s palace now to present the case.’

‘The council will not care about the death of a thief.’

‘I am being fair with you, Archer. If Archbishop Thoresby vouches for both of you, I shall look elsewhere.’

‘Anyone in York could vouch for us, Hempe, and you know it.’

‘Then I waste my time. It is mine to waste.’

‘The aldermen might not agree. And while you chase the innocent, the guilty one goes free. Have you thought of that?’

‘I shall attend my business in my own way.’

‘Aye, no doubt. I can imagine what His Grace will say about this.’

‘Accompany me now and you need not merely imagine it.’

‘I must see to my wife.’

Hempe shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

When the bailiff was gone, Owen asked Kate and Alisoun to see to Lucie. ‘And take these items up to our chamber, tell your mistress they are safely away from the children.’ The gloves he stuck in his scrip.

Thoresby was standing in the porch between the halls having a discussion with Wykeham when they were interrupted by George Hempe. He looked a shrewd man, but he proved to be a simpleton with a ridiculous claim that Owen and Lucie had executed a thief. Thoresby sent him away with little courtesy.

‘Such an angry man,’ said Wykeham. ‘A poor choice for a bailiff. I do not like the mood of the city.’

‘All the more reason to withdraw from York for a few days.’

Thoresby had proposed an expedition to his manor at Bishopthorpe, wanting Wykeham’s advice on a building project he was about to undertake. More importantly, he hoped a brief absence would provide some relief from the uncomfortable tensions in the palace and Wykeham’s paranoia. He also planned to take Maeve, who was complaining about the Riverwoman’s presence in the kitchen, wanting the healer and her patient moved above the kitchen. It was too smoky up there for a man in such condition.

Unfortunately, Wykeham was hesitant to leave until after his meeting with Lady Pagnell, to which she had not yet agreed.

Thoresby resumed his effort to reason with him. ‘You had been planning a longer trip to the ruin of All Saints in Laughton-en-le-Morthen, taking Archer along.’

‘He is needed here now. So much has changed since the fire. I am uneasy, John, Lancastrians are all around me.’

‘You were a fool to lash out at the Duke of Lancaster. What did it profit you?’

‘I regret it every waking moment. But I was so angry — they’d taken everything from me, all I had worked for.’

‘Far from everything. You are Bishop of Winchester — do you forget so soon how hard won your bishopric was, how the king fought the pope for you?’

Wykeham paced to the edge of the steps, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes on the minster that rose just past the walled garden.

Thoresby did not wait for his response. ‘There were already the rumours of his lowly birth between you.’

‘I had nothing to do with that.’ But he had done little to discount them. ‘I should have thought you would weigh every word in the duke’s presence.’

‘All the more reason to go to Bishopthorpe,’ said Thoresby.

‘Perhaps. I have this morning sent a messenger to the Ferribys suggesting a meeting with the boys tomorrow.’

‘The lads? Why?’

‘Only after I make peace with them will Lady Pagnell likely agree to see me and settle our business. But if she still holds to keeping me at bay until after her husband’s month’s mind, I shall gladly ride with you to Bishopthorpe.’

‘Come into the hall, we shall … Ah, here comes Archer.’ Good Lord, let him bring news of some resolution, the murderer caught, Lady Pagnell ready to meet with Wykeham.

‘Perhaps we have news at last,’ the bishop said.

Thoresby disapproved of the ashy stains on his captain’s livery, but he said nothing, seeing a smouldering anger in Owen’s eye and his fisted hands.

‘I guess by the condition of your clothing you have examined the ruins of my house this morning,’ Wykeham said.

‘Aye, My Lord.’ Owen’s tone was sharp.

Thoresby informed him of Hempe’s visit and their vouching for him and Lucie. He thanked them grudgingly, it seemed to Thoresby.

Owen described the layer of damp ash covering everything in the ruins, the parts of the upper floors that were compromised, where the roof and walls needed shoring up. All reported in a toneless voice. ‘So far I’ve found nothing in the house to assist my investigation,’ Owen concluded, then withdrew to the great hall to tell the Fitzbaldrics that they might enter the house with caution.

John Ferriby’s feelings about Wykeham and the possibility that parliament was right in blaming him for the setbacks in the war that had cost Owen his eye, this and more had been brewing in Owen’s head as he approached the palace. He had fought to speak courteously to Thoresby and now he saw he must proceed without a respite in which to cool his anger, for Godwin Fitzbaldric stood in a corner of the hall, watching the door, his eyes wide with interest.

On the table beside the merchant was a chessboard with the gaily painted pieces in place. ‘My wife thought this might distract me from my worries. Adeline will be here presently.’

‘They are handsome pieces,’ Owen said, trying to sound at ease.

‘Bishop William is a man of taste,’ Fitzbaldric said.

Owen felt the merchant’s eyes on him as he fiddled with one of the knights.

‘Why was the bailiff here?’ Fitzbaldric suddenly asked. ‘What has happened now?’

‘It was merely a territorial dispute,’ Owen said.

When the silence had stretched on for a while, Fitzbaldric asked, ‘Do you play?’

‘Would that I had the leisure.’

‘You studied it so closely, I thought perhaps it was how you honed your skills. Did you wish to speak with me?’

‘Aye. Forgive my silence. It is not yet mid-morning and already the day seems long. I have been at the bishop’s house. I am afraid I can tell little of what was in the undercroft.’

‘I feared it was all a loss.’ Fitzbaldric sounded as if he had held some hope, now dashed.

‘It could be of use to me to know what you had stored in the undercroft of the bishop’s house. Might we sit?’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Fitzbaldric nodded towards the chair across the table and dropped into his. ‘I would be a poor merchant not to know my goods. I had wool cloth, wine, jet, hides — some furred — a few silver bowls and a dozen spoons stored down there. I hope to recover at least the bowls and spoons.’

‘Hides, you said? Are you certain that Cisotta had not approached you about trading her services for hides? Or buying some? Small hides, suitable for gloves? Perhaps you do not remember the name — ’

Fitzbaldric was shaking his head. ‘I have not yet established a shop, Captain. I trade with other merchants, not individuals.’

Owen held out the gloves. ‘Have you ever seen these before?’

Fitzbaldric shook his head. ‘They are not familiar.’ He felt the scalloped edge, his gesture hesitant, but whether it was because he recognized the gloves or because he realized what had stained them, Owen could not judge. ‘They are well made,’ he said, ‘the workmanship and the materials.’ He glanced up at Owen with a wary look. ‘First you showed the belt, now these. What is the significance of these items, Captain? What has stained them? Is it blood?’

‘Aye, it is. The thief who stole these has been murdered, left to bleed to death in a ditch near the King’s Fishpond.’

‘Another murder?’ Fitzbaldric searched for a place to set his gaze. He did not seem to wish to look on Owen or on the gloves. ‘I never dreamed when we decided to move to York that violence was such a common occurrence. Is that why the bailiff was here?’

‘He protests His Grace’s authority in all of this.’

‘Do you think this latest incident has aught to do with the other…?’ He stopped as Adeline joined them.

Owen rose and greeted her.

‘Captain.’ She nodded, then resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder, asked, ‘The other what, Godwin?’

Fitzbaldric patted her hand and rose. ‘The captain was admiring Bishop William’s chessboard and pieces. We shall not be long — I am providing him with a list of what I’d stored in the undercroft. I’ll come for you in the garden.’

For once May did not accompany her mistress. It was an opportunity to discuss the maidservant that Owen was loath to pass up. ‘In truth, your husband has told me all I need to know. Might I have a private word with you now, Mistress Fitzbaldric?’ He anticipated Fitzbaldric’s objection — had he not just prevented Hempe from further questioning Lucie? ‘Forgive me, but it would be most helpful if I might speak with your wife alone. They have finished the scaffolding at the bishop’s house. You may enter now with care.’

Adeline had noticed the gloves. Her eyes just passed over them, but a hand to her throat suggested to Owen that she recognized them.

‘What can my wife have to say that cannot be said in my presence?’ Fitzbaldric demanded.

Before Owen replied, Adeline put a hand on her husband’s forearm and said, ‘Perhaps you might go with Bolton to the house, see what you can retrieve.’ She looked at Owen. ‘We may be able to salvage some of the clothes and furniture on the upper floors.’

‘Bolton is sitting with Poins,’ Fitzbaldric grumbled. ‘The midwife was called away. I thought we were to play chess.’

‘Not at the moment, husband. You might at least go and see the condition of the upper storeys.’

‘Aye, I will. I spoke to a guild member who might have a property for us to rent. It would be good to see how much we must fetch from Hull to furnish another house.’ He bowed to both of them and departed.

Adeline took the seat Fitzbaldric had vacated and, leaning towards the chess table, nodded to the gloves where they lay at the edge. ‘Do those have to do with your investigation, Captain?’

‘They might. You have seen these before, I think.’

She tilted her head, shook it. ‘I once owned a pair of gloves much like these, so for a moment I thought they were familiar.’ She touched two of the jet beads. ‘But it was many years ago.’

‘What did you do with them?’

‘I cannot recall. I did not care for them. Perhaps I gave them away.’

‘If you would try to remember, Mistress Fitzbaldric.’

‘It is important? Mine had been made to my order by a glover in Beverley. What could this have to do with the death of that woman? Such a woman could hardly afford such clothing.’

Owen found Adeline’s attitude a puzzle, both disarmingly open and defensive. ‘Might there be other pairs like the ones you once had?’

‘Of course. Once a glover has a pattern, he will use it again. Why would he not? Though as they were costly, I cannot think there would be many such pairs.’

‘Where did you last see yours?’

‘In our house near Hull.’ Her manner had changed again. There was a vagueness in her eyes, as if she were remembering something and by her voice it was troubling. ‘A long while ago.’

‘You remember the gloves very well. How is it that you do not recall what you did with them?’

‘Do you enjoy pestering people, Captain Archer?’

‘No. It is the part of an investigation that I dislike most.’

Adeline touched the gloves again, gently, with her fingertips. ‘Are these bloodstains?’

‘They are.’

She pulled back her hand, made a fist. ‘I believe I added them to some clothes I was giving the priest, for the poor. My children’s clothes.’ She turned her head away, but Owen could hear the emotion in her voice, recognized the rigid posture of someone hiding pain. ‘I had quarrelled with my daughter about the gloves a few days before the pestilence took her. She went so quickly. I never had the chance — ’ She took a deep breath. ‘I could not bear to look at them again.’

Owen bowed his head and said nothing for a long while.

Adeline broke the silence, asking a servant for some watered wine. ‘And for you?’ she asked Owen, the servant waiting.

‘Some ale would suit me.’ When the servant withdrew, Owen said, ‘I am sorry for your loss, Mistress Fitzbaldric, and sorry to make you remember it.’

‘It is a wound that never heals, Captain. I am called indulgent for mourning my children so long, indulgent in my pain.’

The servant returned and they sat in silence for a little while.

But Owen feared Fitzbaldric would return before he had finished questioning Adeline, so once again he interrupted her peace. ‘Did you take the clothes to the priest, or did you give them to someone to take for you?’

‘That I truly cannot recall, Captain.’ Adeline picked up a pawn, turned it round in her fingers, set it down, then looked Owen in the eye. ‘Are you thinking that someone in my household might have kept them?’

‘It is possible, is it not? What of your husband? Might he have kept them, thinking you might regret your action, or perhaps because for him they conjured up good memories?’

She had grown angry as he spoke. ‘Listen to yourself. You are weaving a tale to make Godwin appear guilty. What does my husband have to do with the gloves?’

‘I seek the truth, Mistress Fitzbaldric, not a scapegoat.’

‘No?’ She held herself so taut the pulse was visible in her long neck. ‘Where did you find those gloves? Whose blood is on them?’ Her voice grew tenser with each question. ‘You are trying to blame my husband for the fire.’ Owen’s silence brought blotches of colour to her neck. ‘Dear God.’ She rose. ‘Mother in Heaven, you cannot believe … Whose gloves were those?’

‘You said “were”. And you are right. They were in Cisotta’s house.’

‘And you believe they are the ones I discarded? Then how did she get them?’

‘I hoped you might know.’

‘I … I cannot imagine.’

At last Owen saw honest fear in Adeline’s eyes.

‘How long has May been in your household, Mistress Fitzbaldric?’

‘Since we married. Seventeen years.’

‘And before that?’

‘She was in my mother’s household, the daughter of the gardener. Mother had — ’ She stopped herself, shaking her head, sitting down again to sip at her wine.

‘May had blood on her face the night of the fire, yet she has no wounds on her face. What do you make of that?’

‘Oh, dear God, I do not know what to make of it, Captain, any of it. She is a good woman, though of late she has been clumsy and distracted.’

‘What of her relationship with Poins?’

Adeline glanced up at him, all subterfuge gone. ‘Have you looked at them? No, of course not, he is in bandages so thick you cannot see his youth, his beauty. Yes, I have gone to see him since yesterday. Poor man.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I had not understood the extent of his burns.’

‘So May is too old and plain for him?’

‘Yes. It is uncharitable, but it is true. They say the dead woman was beautiful and flirtatious. Perhaps Poins — ’ She covered her face. ‘I do not want to believe it of him, that he could do such a thing to his leman.’

So she thought Poins the murderer. ‘This is the most difficult question of all, Mistress Fitzbaldric, but I must ask it. Are you and your husband happy in one another?’

She gave a little sound like a laugh, but she had tears in her eyes and her voice trembled with emotion as she said, ‘You cannot believe Godwin was in some way connected to the dead woman?’

‘He is a man like any other.’

‘Are you happy in your wife, Captain?’

I was, Owen heard himself respond somewhere deep inside, and the answer shook him.

‘I see you, too, find it a difficult question to answer, Captain. Godwin and I have rejoiced in our children and lost them, we have built a business and lost most of our goods, we have aged, quarrelled, loved and hated. Am I happy in him, and he in me? We are accustomed, Captain. And some days more than that. I did not lie with Poins, and I doubt that my husband lay with either May or Cisotta.’ She rose with a commanding dignity, though she was trembling with emotion. ‘I shall say no more, Captain.’

‘I wish to speak with May and Bolton. Do I have your permission?’

Adeline had already turned from him. She inclined her head, whispered, ‘Do what you will’ and crossed the hall to the screens passage.

Owen sent a servant for May, tucked the gloves in his scrip and sat back to finish his ale. He did not feel good about cracking Adeline Fitzbaldric’s façade, particularly as he had been wounded in the assault. Of course he was happy in his marriage. Lucie’s pregnancy had been difficult and had ended in sorrow. He had been so frightened he might lose her. Of course he loved her. But that momentary doubt unsettled him.

The archbishop entered the hall, in better colour than he had been of late. He approached Owen, but when he caught sight of May making her way towards Owen he simply nodded and said, ‘Come to me before you leave the palace. I shall be in the chapel.’

As Thoresby passed her, May stumbled against a piece of furniture, which so flustered her that as she sat she hit her knee on the chess table, then brushed her sleeve over the chessboard, sending several pawns spinning. Owen caught them. She was indeed a clumsy woman. As he leaned close to replace the pieces, he smelled her fear, saw terror in her eyes. That was not good. It was easier to draw information out of someone angry or secretive than someone so frightened.

He would go slowly, try to put her at ease. ‘I am glad that you do not seem to have suffered injury in the fire,’ he said.

‘I … I am so grateful to you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for saving my life.’ She blushed crimson and kept her gaze on the chess pieces.

‘Are you comfortable in the palace? Have you everything you need?’

She nodded.

‘It is a lovely chess set, is it not?’

‘Yes, Captain.’ She put a hand to her chest, as if trying to quiet her pounding heart.

He could think of no more idle talk. He had never been good at it. ‘I need you to tell me what you remember of the night of the fire, what your actions were, say, from the time your master and mistress departed.’

‘There is little to tell, Captain. I had not slept well for a while. I am not accustomed to the noise of a city and my bedroom was so high up in that house.’

‘You were uncomfortable there?’

‘I should not say so — my mistress dearly loved the house — but I am glad to be out of it.’

‘Closer to the ground.’

A shy smile and a glance at him. ‘Aye.’

‘So, you were tired that evening.’

‘I was. And as Bolton was out, and my mistress, I had little to do. So I went up to nap.’

‘That is all?’

She nodded. ‘Then I heard you calling and breathed in a mouthful of smoke.’

‘What of the blood on your face?’

May touched a temple absently. ‘I told you, I suffered many scratches and cuts.’

‘Have you been feeling well of late?’

She glanced up, her eyes huge with fear. ‘A little tired, Captain, as I said.’

He drew out the gloves, laid them on her side of the chess table.

May sat so still that Owen could hear her breath rasping as she stared at the gloves.

He said nothing for a little while, waiting for some reaction. But at last he asked, ‘Have you seen these before?’

She nodded.

‘Where?’

‘They were my mistress’s. She would not wear them after little Sarah died. She gave them to the church for the poor.’

‘Are you certain of that?’

May nodded.

‘And you have not seen them since?’

May shook her head.

‘Aren’t you going to ask how they came to be stained?’

She lifted her other hand to her chest, then dropped both in her lap. ‘Much might have happened to them since they left my mistress’s house,’ she said.

‘Did you have need of a healer, May?’

She shook her head.

‘Did you see Cisotta about a charm, perhaps?’

‘No.’

It was uncanny how she resisted glancing up to see his expression. It was unnatural.

‘Tell me what frightens you so, May.’

Silence.

‘May?’ he whispered.

She took a deep breath. ‘You think evil of me. I’ve done nothing.’ Still she did not meet his gaze.

‘Do you know who murdered Cisotta?’

May shook her head.

Owen felt in his gut that she was lying. But so far she had not run away. He doubted she would now. He would give her some time to stew in her fear.

‘They are bloodstains, May. A lad was killed for those gloves, but the murderer left them with him. Why do you think a man would do that?’

Now she looked up at him. ‘What lad?’

‘A thief, who had stolen the gloves from my wife.’ He could see the confusion on her face, but also that fear. It seemed a good time to stop. Perhaps she would come after him with questions. He reached over. She leaned back away from him as if fearing he was reaching for her. He took the gloves and, as he stood, tucked them in his scrip. ‘I have kept you from your duties long enough. Thank you for giving me your time.’ He bowed to her and crossed to the screens passage, listening to May’s stumbling rise from her seat. There was something about her clumsiness that bothered him.