The Lady Chapel

9

Owen had just come downstairs to the warm fire, his mind still muddled with sleep, when Alfred and Colin burst into the hall with a bedraggled traveler in tow. Blast, Owen thought, Paul Scorby is the last person I want to see this morning. Anna Scorby had cried out with fever dreams in the night, and Owen had worked over her, bringing down the fever. Cecilia had been too drugged with the valerian to rouse. She was with her daughter now, having come to check on Anna in the early morning when the root wore off. It would be the Devil's timing for Scorby to arrive now.

"Captain Archer, this lad says he comes with messages from your wife," Alfred said as he roughly pulled back the captive's hood.

"John!" Owen said.

"Aye, Captain Archer. Tis only me, not a Highlander."

"You know him?" Alfred asked.

Owen slammed his cup down on the table. "Where did the Archbishop find you men? Do you attack anyone who comes to the gate?"

" 'Tis early in the day for an honest traveler to arrive," Colin said in a whining voice that irritated Owen even more.

"Early in the day?" Owen repeated angrily. "Is there an ordinance against arriving at certain hours, then?"

Colin shrugged.

"I rode hard, Captain," John said. And he did look it, wet and spattered with mud, his nose red and his eyes bloodshot.

"Surely you didn't ride through the night?"

"Nay, I don't know the countryside well enough for that. I found an empty hut."

"Didn't Mistress Wilton give you coin for an inn?"

"Oh, aye, Captain, but I'd as lief stay away from other travelers."

Owen knew little about the groom, but he did know that John did not like to explain himself, so he accepted his odd answer without further question. "Good lad. When you've given me your message, these two louts will show you to the kitchen, where you'll be well rewarded."

John handed Owen the pouch and the letter. "That pouch is Master Ridley's, may he rest in peace. Mistress Wilton said to read the letter first."

"Is she well?"

"Oh, aye, Captain. All is well at the shop. This has naught to do with shop matters."

"Good. I will look at these. Now off to the kitchen with him, men." Owen, satisfied to hear their polite request that John follow them, turned at once to the letter.

What he read disturbed him. Arsenic in the remedy. And Cecilia Ridley so vague about what Ridley had been taking. Owen did not like this. Could he have been so wrong about Cecilia Ridley? Or was there someone else in the household who had hated the Master?

Sweet Heaven, how was he to approach this? "Mistress Ridley, were you poisoning your husband for any particular reason?" Blast. Jehannes would be better at this than Owen.

Owen read on, about Jasper's disappearance from the minster and the evidence of a struggle. Damn Thoresby. Owen had told him the boy would be in danger.

"What's amiss?" Cecilia asked.

Owen started. He had not heard her come down to the hall or approach him. She wore a kerchief to hold back her hair and her sleeves were pushed up.

"How is your daughter this morning?" Owen asked.

"Cool. She took a little watered wine, and I've come down to see what Angharad might fix for her." Cecilia sat down by Owen. "I heard voices."

Owen nodded. "A messenger from York with your husband's other baggage-the pack you said was missing, most like. We will look at it later, after you've seen to Anna."

"Other baggage?" her voice was nervous.

"Nothing to worry about," Owen lied.

"The messenger has gone out to the kitchen?"

"Aye. Shall I go out and speak with the cook about some broth for Anna while you have a cup of hot wine?"

Cecilia looked anxiously toward the back door, then sighed and nodded. "I am in need of something warm."

Owen left her there, taking the letter with him, but leaving the pouch. When he returned a while later, followed by the servant Sarah carrying a bowl of broth, Owen noted a flush on Cecilia's face. And the pouch had been moved. So she had examined it. That did not necessarily mean she feared there was something incriminating in it, but it could. Owen did not like the complexities that he'd begun to see in this family.

In the morning, Jasper seemed out of danger. He understood what Lucie said to him and managed to swallow some broth. Lucie and Tildy fixed up a bed for him in Tildy's tiny room behind the kitchen. It shared the chimney with the kitchen, and he could stay warm there and yet be out of sight of any visitors. Melisende circled the boy's pallet, sniffing and considering, then jumped up on his chest and stared at him for a while. When Jasper reached out and stroked her gently between the ears, she gave her approval, turned three times round, and settled on the boy's stomach, purring. Jasper fell into a healthy slumber. Lucie and Tildy were just sitting down to some bread and cheese when the shop bell rang.

"Lord have mercy, what now?" Lucie muttered as she went to answer the door.

A youthful-looking man in the colorful livery of a Town Wait stood without. "Ambrose Coats," he said with a bow. "Are you Mistress Wilton?"

"I am." Lucie stood aside for him to enter, noting that he carried a bundle. She lit a lamp by the counter and studied her visitor. His green eyes were large in a slender, bony, but not unhealthy face. He looked worried or frightened. "How can I help you, Master Coats? It is unusually early. . "

"Forgive me, I could wait no longer. A friend advised me to bring my trouble to you." Ambrose Coats smiled shyly and took off his felt hat. Dark blond curls tumbled into his eyes, and he pushed his hair back with a gloved hand.

"What trouble?"

Ambrose set the bundle on the counter. "It is this- I apologize for bringing such a hideous thing into your shop, but I could not think what else to do. I understand that Captain Archer is helping the Archbishop look for the murderers of the two mercers. I- Oh dear, perhaps if I just-" He unwrapped the bundle.

Lucie crossed herself and whispered a prayer. "Gilbert Ridley's hand?"

"That is what I fear, Mistress Wilton. It was on my doorstep yesterday. I thought perhaps my neighbor's pig had dug it up somewhere and had left it there."

"It was just sitting there, unwrapped?"

"Yes."

Lucie noted that his voice changed with that answer. Ambrose Coats was lying. About what?

"Why not take it to a city bailiff?"

Ambrose looked down at his boots. "I–I prefer that no one know. I am employed by the city. I must not be connected to any scandal." He shrugged.

"Why do you assume this is Gilbert Ridley's hand? Pigs are outlawed in the city because of their habit of digging up graves. It could be anyone's hand, gnawed off any corpse."

Ambrose grimaced. "But the wrist. It was done with a sword or ax, don't you see? Not a pig's teeth." He was shifting from foot to foot now, and his voice slightly breathless, as if-

"Are you going to be sick, Master Coats?"

"Oh dear me," he passed a gloved hand over his forehead, "I think not. But it is not easy to speak of it."

"It could be the hand of a thief cut off and buried outside the gates."

Ambrose shook his head. "Too far for the pig to carry."

"You are rather set on its being the pig's treasure."

"I suppose I could be wrong."

"Did you know Will Crounce or Gilbert Ridley?"

"I knew Master Ridley only to nod to. I knew Will better. Because of the pageant. We had rehearsed together. Yes, I knew Will. A gentle, talented man."

"Is it possible that someone left this on your doorstep as a warning?"

The green eyes widened in alarm. "A warning? How could it be? I knew Will, but how could I be connected with Master Ridley?"

Lucie took his answer to mean that he had thought about it. And again, she felt that if he was not lying, he was at least not saying everything that was on his mind. She had a thought.

"Do you live alone?"

"I- Yes. I live alone." Ambrose nodded too eagerly, as if convincing himself.

"Please, Master Coats," Lucie said with rising irritation, "if you did not want to be honest with me, why did you bring your trouble here?"

"What else could I do?"

"Rebury it?"

"But the pig, you see."

"Why does it concern you what happens to the hand, Master Coats?"

"I thought it might help Captain Archer to see it. To know that it was in the city." Ambrose shook his head. "I don't really know what I thought. I just wanted to get it out of my house."

That sounded honest enough-who could blame him? Lucie relaxed a little. "Who advised you to bring it here?"

"A friend."

"Someone I know?"

"You are the Master Apothecary. Everyone knows you."

"That is not an answer. Who is your friend?"

Ambrose looked down at the cap in his hand. "I cannot say, Mistress Wilton."

Lucie sighed. "I do not appreciate your giving me half the truth, Master Coats. It makes me wonder what you are hiding. Whether you have good reason for not going to the bailiff."

"I am sorry I bothered you. Would you like me to take it back?"

"No, of course not. But you might give me more information. Have you nothing more to tell me?"

Ambrose shook his head.

"Then let me get this out of my shop and get back to my breakfast." Lucie came round the counter and opened the door.

"God be with you, Mistress Wilton." Ambrose Coats whisked past her and disappeared into the foggy morning.

Lucie rewrapped the hand and took it out to the potting shed, scrubbed the shop counter, and washed her hands before she returned to her bread and cheese. She decided to put the bundle in a large stone jar and bury it in the back of the garden until Owen returned. At least their garden was walled in. No pigs would dig it up and present it to another innocent neighbor.

But was Ambrose Coats innocent? He hid something from her, and yet he had brought the hand. The murderer would not have done that. And if Ambrose felt he might be the next victim, would he not have admitted that?

Lucie wished Owen were home.