When Lucie slipped down to the kitchen the next morning, hoping to break her fast with some bread and ale and be off to the abbey before anyone stirred, Sir Robert was already there, ale in hand, watching Tildy stoke the fire. Lucie cursed silently. On the walk home the previous night Sir Robert had insisted that he and Daimon would escort Lucie to meet Dame Joanna in the morning. Lucie had countered with the suggestion that Sir Robert do some gardening for her. He had assured her that there was time for both tasks, that he was there to do her bidding. But his first duty was to protect her.
And now Sir Robert was up betimes and eager to go. Tildy’s smile was sympathetic as she set some breakfast before her mistress.
Lucie tried once again. ‘Sir Robert, I would prefer to do this alone.’
‘I would not think of it.’
‘The archbishop’s man Gilbert will accompany me.’
‘It is best that Daimon and I are also with you. I shall not hover while you speak to the nun. I can be discreet.’
Lucie sighed. ‘You are stubborn, Sir Robert.’
When they left the narrow city streets, passing out through Bootham Bar, the sun shone down on the little party and lifted Lucie’s mood.
Sir Robert, however, found the open sky threatening. ‘The abbey should have a gate within the city walls. It is unsafe for you to leave the protection of the walls.’
‘The postern gate is just here, Sir Robert.’ They were already upon it.
But Sir Robert continued to fret as they passed through the gate. ‘They do not post sentries along the abbey wall, and the outlaws know it.’
Lucie made soothing noises and walked on, grateful for once to see Dame Isobel, who met them at the gatehouse, aflutter with gratitude. ‘God bless you for this, Mistress Wilton. I could not contain my joy when His Grace sent word you would come today. Every time I question Joanna she becomes more distant.’
Lucie followed Dame Isobel. ‘Does she expect us?’
‘Joanna looks forward to your visit.’ Isobel paused and turned to Lucie with a worried look. ‘But be forewarned, her moods are unpredictable.’ With a sigh, she resumed her heavy-footed march across the yard.
At the guest house, Sir Robert stopped and bowed to Dame Isobel. ‘I shall wait in the church. Come, Daimon.’ He pressed Lucie’s hand, then walked away with stiff dignity.
Lucie and the prioress mounted the guest house steps. Isobel turned at the top, her bulk making her breathless from the climb. She pressed her chest, motioning that she was catching her breath. ‘I shall accompany you, but if she prefers to speak with you alone, I am willing to accommodate her — are you?’
Lucie nodded.
The hospitaller opened the heavy oak door and bowed them in. His sandalled feet whispered across the wooden floor as he led them to Joanna’s room overlooking the garden.
The curtains of the great bed were open, the bedclothes straightened. Wrapped in the shabby blue mantle, Dame Joanna stood at an unglazed window, her back to her visitors, seemingly unaware of their presence.
‘Benedicte, Joanna,’ Isobel said loudly.
Joanna started, then turned. ‘Benedicte, Reverend Mother.’ Her eyes flitted over to Lucie, her face warming. ‘Mistress Wilton, you were kind to come.’ The mantle dropped back from her head, revealing a cloud of unruly red hair that curled to Joanna’s shoulders.
‘How is your throat?’
Joanna touched the bandage. ‘It is nothing.’
‘May I see it?’
Joanna shrugged.
Lucie unwrapped the bandage around Joanna’s neck. The skin had been scratched raw, not torn. Already it healed. ‘You are lucky someone watches over you.’
Joanna said nothing.
Lucie replaced the bandage. ‘How do you feel otherwise?’ Despite the scarred throat, Lucie saw a marked improvement in Joanna’s appearance. The pale, freckled skin was no longer a sickly grey. The shadows under Joanna’s eyes had faded. She stood up straight, her expression alert and friendly, though she had not yet actually smiled.
‘Does an apothecary know remedies of the spirit?’
Lucie paused a moment, considering her reply. She did not wish to get off to a bad start. ‘We can do much to balance the humours. And we have remedies for simple maladies of the spirit. Rosemary and mint to wake up a sluggish spirit, balms, bedstraw, catnip and camomile to soothe an agitated spirit before sleep, lavender to cheer up a sad spirit.’
Joanna clutched the blue mantle. ‘Rosemary helps the memory.’
‘Do you need a rosemary tisane to help your memory?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘I remember far too much.’
‘That mantle. Will Longford’s maid wore something similar when she was murdered. Do you know why?’
‘Murdered?’ Joanna looked alarmed.
‘You did not know?’
‘I — ’ Joanna covered her eyes with her hands, shook her head.
‘Maddy was wearing a blue shawl much like yours.’
Joanna dropped her hands to the shawl, stroked it. Her expression was no longer one of alarm. She smiled. ‘Poor Maddy. We all long for a sign of favour from God’s Mother.’
‘That is not an answer, Dame Joanna. I am not here to play games with you. I must open the shop before sext.’
The half-shut eyes widened in surprise. Joanna sank down on a bench beneath the window. Lucie pulled a chair over and motioned to the Reverend Mother to do likewise.
‘Now, please, Dame Joanna, tell us how you first came to Will Longford’s house.’
Joanna eyed Isobel, then dropped her gaze to her hands, clasped in her lap. ‘It rained. The streets were muddy rivers. My feet got cold. I got lost and walked in circles.’ Joanna glanced up at Lucie, back down to her hands.
Lucie wondered what that glance had meant. And the speech — it was as if she’d begun in the middle of her story. ‘Did you know Will Longford before you arrived in Beverley?’
Joanna shrugged.
‘Joanna! Mistress Wilton deserves your respect!’ Dame Isobel said.
Lucie saw a flicker of irritation in Joanna’s eyes as she glanced at her prioress. This would not do at all. ‘Reverend Mother, might I speak with Joanna alone?’
Joanna glanced over at Lucie with a look of profound gratitude.
Isobel inclined her head. ‘This does not mean we shall now allow you to rule us, Joanna. But I shall leave you with Mistress Wilton this morning.’ Isobel rose. ‘God bless you for your patience, Mistress Wilton.’ With that, she left the room.
Lucie studied the nun’s face. Except for the freckles, which were considered blemishes by many poets, Joanna was a comely young woman, with high cheekbones, pale lashes and brows, and eyes whose colour shifted according to the light, from deep to sunlit green. It was easy to imagine her catching a man’s eye. ‘Perhaps we should just talk, Joanna. Do you know anything about me?’
Joanna nodded. ‘I have heard how you escaped St Clement’s and married a man who taught you a trade, and when he died you became a master apothecary and married for love.’
Lucie winced. ‘Twice I married for love.’
Joanna smiled. ‘I have met your captain.’
Lucie waited for further comment, but Joanna said no more.
‘So. You know something of me. Now tell me about you. You speak of my “escape” from St Clement’s as if you are unhappy there. Yet they say you performed heavy penances, so I would think you devout.’
‘Without God’s love there is nothing.’
‘And you worry that God will cease to love you?’
Joanna twisted her head to look out of the window. ‘I was betrothed to a fat old man who scolded me. I dreamed of a man like my brother, Hugh. Strong and courageous. Someone who laughed. Someone who loved me as God loves His chosen ones. I wanted my one love. Jason Miller was not he. Jason did not love me. He wanted a nurse for his children.’
Hugh. It was her brother she called for at night. ‘So you asked to go to the convent.’
Joanna nodded.
‘But surely there was no need to take vows? By then Jason must have married someone else?’
The full lips pouted childishly. ‘I am devout.’
‘You felt you should take your vows?’
‘My parents paid a great sum to St Clement’s for the promise that they would be bothered with me no more. I was dead to them.’
‘In a sense, that is the custom, is it not? You are a bride of Christ and finished with the passions of this world?’
Joanna fixed her green eyes on Lucie. ‘I died, Mistress Wilton.’
‘You mean the burial?’
Joanna’s gaze seemed as if it could penetrate Lucie’s eyes, look through them into Lucie’s soul. ‘I received the last rites.’
Lucie must ask the Reverend Mother what it meant to receive the last rites. She had a vague memory that it permanently altered one’s standing in the eyes of God. ‘So the priest saw you before you were tied in the shroud?’
Now the gaze broke, the eyes moved over to the bed. ‘I lay there on the bed, my hands folded over my chest.’ There was something so focused about Joanna’s stare; Lucie wondered whether Joanna realised that it was not the same bed.
‘He must have touched your forehead in giving the blessing. You would not have felt dead to the priest’s touch.’
There was a flicker of annoyance in the eyes that moved back to Lucie. ‘I was dying, not dead then. But they had made me drink something to draw the warmth of life out of my hands and feet.’ Joanna touched her left shoulder with her right hand, a protective gesture, wadding the blue cloth of the mantle in her hand. ‘Nothing would warm me after I woke. That’s when he gave me her mantle.’
‘Who? The priest?’
Joanna stroked the worn wool. ‘You can see the radiance of Our Lady’s love. Would you like to touch it?’ she asked softly, looking shyly through her pale lashes.
‘So this is truly the Blessed Mother’s mantle?’ Lucie touched the cloth, then crossed herself. Was it wrong to pretend to believe? But how else was she to earn Joanna’s confidence?
‘You are protected now,’ Joanna said softly.
‘How does it protect you, Joanna?’
‘The Blessed Virgin watches over me. She keeps me from harm.’
Now Lucie understood why Wulfstan and Isobel said Joanna was confused. Should Lucie challenge this theory by asking Joanna about the bruises? About her own ability to hurt herself? She decided she should not. ‘Who gave you this wonderful gift?’
Joanna’s eyes darkened abruptly. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘It was a most loving gift. They tell me that two men visited Will Longford and were at your funeral.’
Joanna looked down in confusion.
‘You said “he” gave it to you when you were so cold. Was it one of the visitors? Or Will Longford?’
‘I was frightened. He put the mantle over my shoulders and told me it was the Blessed Mother’s mantle. She would now protect me. I was a virgin risen from the dead — as Mary was.’
‘Joanna, do you truly believe that you died and rose from the dead?’
The eyes challenged. ‘I did.’
‘And this man, the one who gave you the mantle, was with you when you. . rose?’
‘Stefan,’ Joanna whispered, her eyes focused on a distant memory.
‘He had been Will Longford’s guest?’
‘He was kind to me. He found my medal, too.’ She pressed a spot above her breast.
‘He found the medal you wear about your neck?’
Joanna nodded. Her eyes were still far away.
‘Tell me about Stefan.’
Joanna looked surprised, then frightened.
‘I am not here to judge you,’ Lucie implored. ‘I know what it is to love a man. I imagine it would comfort you to speak of Stefan. He was kind to you. He gave you something that must have been precious to him.’ Lucie touched Joanna’s hand. ‘Tell me about him.’
Joanna dropped her head, pressed her chest. ‘When I got to Beverley I was thirsty. I stopped for water in a churchyard. While my back was turned at the well, a boy tried to steal my Mary Magdalene medal. He dropped it when I shouted at him, but it was so muddy, and I was crying and so tired, and I could not find it. Stefan found it for me.’
‘You must have been very grateful.’
Joanna drew the medal out of the neck of her gown, gazed at it. ‘My brother Hugh gave it to me when I was thirteen.’
Hugh again. ‘Mary Magdalene, the penitent. A curious choice for a young girl. Is your brother older than you?’
Joanna looked up through her eyelashes, an odd half-smile on her face. ‘My big brother Hugh. He said the Magdalene would understand if I wasn’t perfectly good. He said she could forgive anything, so I need never be afraid to pray to her.’
Lucie wished to find this merely charming, but the smile and the sentiment, spoken to a young girl. . something about it disturbed her. ‘He knew you would be tempted to misbehave?’
‘Noli me tangere,’ Joanna whispered.
Lucie recognised the words that Christ had said to Mary Magdalene when she’d found Him outside His tomb. ‘ “Touch me not.” What does that mean to you?’
Joanna’s eyes changed from bright to wary, as though a cloud had covered the sun. ‘My parents said we were the children of Cain.’
‘You and your brother Hugh?’
Joanna nodded.
‘You have other brothers and sisters?’
‘One other brother, two sisters.’
‘Where is Hugh now?’
The eyes grew darker still. ‘That is who I wished to find.’
‘But you did not find him?’
Joanna bowed her head and gave a great, shuddering sigh.
‘So you met Stefan at Will Longford’s?’
Joanna hesitated.
‘Is he handsome?’
A fleeting smile. ‘Oh, yes. Blond and strong like Hugh. But tall. With eyes that laugh even when the rest of his face tries to look grim.’
‘You love him?’
A vague frown. ‘I did.’
‘Was it Stefan who helped you get away from Beverley?’
Joanna hugged herself. ‘They bound me tight so I would feel more like a corpse.’ Her eyes were far away again, frightened. ‘When I woke I was so cold.’
‘And he gave you the mantle.’
Joanna nodded, stroking the mantle with one hand, clutching the medal with the other. Stefan and Hugh, her saviours. Where were they now?
‘Why did Stefan help you leave Beverley?’
‘He had a customer for the relic. And he thought he knew where Hugh was. And Longford said he could not keep me in Beverley. Folk would know he was hiding a nun.’
‘Did Stefan find Hugh for you?’
Joanna turned to look out of the window. ‘He did not really want to,’ she said in a small voice.
What did that mean? Lucie wished there were some way she might write all this down as she heard it. By the time she was home, would she remember all the twists and turns? ‘Was it Stefan’s idea, your death and burial?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘Longford’s.’
‘So why did Stefan get involved?’
Joanna pressed her arms down impatiently. ‘I told you. He could sell the relic. And he thought he could find Hugh. And Longford didn’t want me staying there too long.’
‘Because Stefan was a relic dealer? Or Longford?’
Joanna shrugged.
‘What made you think Will Longford was a relic dealer?’
Joanna looked down at her hem, then up at Lucie. ‘What happens to those who play God?’
Lucie breathed deep and prayed for patience. ‘Is that an answer?’
Joanna looked towards the bed. ‘I am tired.’
So was Lucie — yet she had a day of work ahead of her. Perhaps it was best to stop here for now. She rose. ‘I can see you do not wish to talk to me.’
Joanna grabbed Lucie’s arm. ‘Please. I–I knew. Hugh had taken me on the way to my aunt’s seven years ago. Six?’ She shook her head, uncertain. ‘I knew Longford sold relics.’
Lucie faced Joanna, but did not sit. ‘Your brother Hugh also dealt in relics?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘Just once. Just to get some money to start his own life. He was to take vows. But he knew he was meant to be a soldier.’
‘Where did he get the relic?’
‘From my father. Only part of it. My father will never know. He would never think to open the reliquary.’
Lucie sat back down. ‘So you went to Will Longford, and he went to Stefan?’
Joanna nodded.
‘How had you intended to leave Beverley?’
‘I thought I would just walk away. Towards Scarborough.’
‘That’s where you thought to find Hugh?’
Joanna closed her eyes. ‘He talked of Scarborough. I thought he hoped to become a guard at Scarborough Castle, but Longford said it was more likely that he had sailed from Scarborough harbour to join the Free Companies.’
Thoresby would be keen to hear this. ‘Why would Longford think that?’
Joanna shrugged.
‘So he convinced you that Hugh must be on the continent?’
‘It sounded very likely.’ Joanna’s voice sagged.
‘You were disappointed?’
Joanna bit her lower lip. ‘It all seemed hopeless. I said I ought just to go back to St Clement’s.’
‘And what did Longford say to that?’
‘He would not have it. They had a customer for the relic by then. They had it all planned out. I would leave with Stefan, wearing my habit, to convince the buyer that the convent was selling the relic through him.’
‘Clever.’
‘When we got to the manor it was noisy with soldiers and foreigners.’
‘This is the manor of the customer for the relic?’
Joanna looked confused.
‘Where was this manor?’
‘Near Scarborough. On the North Sea.’
‘Noisy with soldiers?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘Archers, they looked like. So I stayed at a cottage with Stefan.’
‘This is where you lived while you were away from St Clement’s?’
‘Mostly.’
‘But the relic had not come there with you,’ Lucie said, more to herself than to Joanna.
The stricken look on Joanna’s face made it clear she had heard. ‘He lied to me. From the beginning he lied to me.’
‘You mean Stefan?’
Joanna bit her lip and frowned.
‘Perhaps he just wanted you with him, Joanna.’
She remained silent.
‘Tell me about the manor.’
Joanna took a deep breath. ‘Soldiers all over, all the time. Some of them I could not understand. They spoke in tongues. I sometimes thought they were devils, carrying off all those beautiful young men and dropping them off the edge of the earth.’
It was the same story Joanna had told at Nunburton. ‘The young men would disappear?’
Joanna nodded. ‘I would meet someone and he would sail away.’ She shook her head. ‘No one returned.’
‘Were they going to join the Free Companies?’
Joanna closed her eyes. ‘I am cursed.’ Her teeth were clenched, sweat beaded on her upper lip.
Lucie studied the face, wondering whether these shifts were purposeful. ‘When you lived at the manor, did you live there as Stefan’s leman?’
Joanna hesitated slightly before nodding her head.
‘So you are no longer a virgin.’
Joanna bit her bottom lip.
‘Do you see why we wonder whether you are telling us the truth?’
‘They did not want the King to know about them.’
‘Who, Joanna?’
‘The archers.’
‘The ones who sailed away?’
‘Not all of them left.’
‘Why did you leave Scarborough, Joanna?’
Joanna clutched her medal and began to rock.
‘How did you get back to Beverley?’
‘Walked.’
‘That is a long way to walk, Joanna. Had you no horse? No escort?’
Joanna said nothing, her eyes unfocused.
Scarborough. Stefan finding Hugh. The relic sale being a myth. All subjects that made Dame Joanna clutch the medal, turn inward. Lucie sat up, pressed her fists into her lower back. She was exhausted. ‘Shall we stop for today, Joanna?’
Joanna opened her eyes, let go of the medal. ‘God bless you, Mistress Wilton.’
Lucie rose. ‘Send word when you wish to speak with me again.’ She left with so many questions crowding her mind she almost walked right into Dame Isobel.
‘Benedicte, Mistress Wilton,’ the prioress said. She was waiting right outside the room. ‘You have been with her a long time.’
‘Benedicte, Reverend Mother.’
‘Did she make any sense?’
‘I believe she did.’ Lucie rubbed her back. ‘I must think about it.’
Dame Isobel nodded. ‘I shall be patient.’
In the nave of the abbey church, Lucie knelt beside Sir Robert and prayed to the Virgin. She prayed that at the end of all this Joanna might discover a way to leave St Clement’s and find some happiness. If it was not too late. Lucie was less sure than she had been before this morning’s interview that Joanna was untouched by whatever had befallen her. The inconsistencies, the sudden changes in mood and subject, all suggested a woman under great strain. Because she hid something? Because she harboured guilt? She must die, she must be punished, she must not be healed. Guilt — that is what Lucie read in her. What had Dame Joanna done? As she walked back into the city with Sir Robert, Lucie told him about the manor outside Scarborough, with the soldiers and the foreigners. It seemed a safe topic that would interest him enough to keep him from fretting about her involvement. It did distract him and he left her in the shop and went out to work in the garden without further argument.
But it brought its own problems. Lucie had just finished with her first customer and was settling down to record her interview with Dame Joanna when Sir Robert came into the shop, frowning.
‘What is it? You cannot find the right tools?’
‘The garden is fine. ’Tis the soldiers. Archers. Archers sailing away. You heard the chancellor. They are significant, Lucie. You must pursue that. You must learn where this manor is. And foreigners, she said.’
‘I intend to speak with her again, Sir Robert. I am well aware that there is much detail to fill in. I did not wish to press her and make her uneasy.’
‘A gathering of archers and foreigners. This might be treason, daughter. Pursue it.’
‘The garden, Sir Robert.’
He nodded and departed, still frowning.
Lucie groaned. The shop bell jingled. It was mid-afternoon before she was able to return to her notes.
As Lucie closed up the shop for the day, Bess Merchet poked her head inside to invite her over for a tankard of ale in the kitchen of her tavern round the corner. Lucie accepted with pleasure. She was not ready to face Sir Robert across the table, and she welcomed Bess’s opinion on the previous evening.
As the good innkeeper she was, Bess knew all the news of York, including Lucie’s supper with the archbishop, and was eager for details. A good friend of seven years, she could be trusted not to divulge anything that Lucie asked her to keep to herself, so Lucie was free to talk.
At the close of Lucie’s summary, Bess sat back in her chair and squinted at Lucie over the rim of her tankard. ‘A passing strange story, indeed. But Owen will not be pleased by your involvement.’
‘No.’
‘He does not like his own work for the archbishop.’
‘You do not think I should do this for His Grace.’
Bess shrugged. ‘I see no harm in it. Nay, I merely point out that you and Owen will be shouting at each other over this one.’
Lucie stared down into her cup, imagining the argument, ‘I do not know how I would live if I avoided everything that might start an argument with Owen. He has a quick temper.’
Bess chuckled. ‘And you do not?’
Lucie shrugged.
Bess laughed louder.
Lucie could not help but smile. In truth, she had a temper at least as hot as Owen’s. She tapped tankards with Bess and downed the rest of her ale. ‘Now that you know the tale, you might listen for any gossip in the tavern that might pertain?’
Bess nodded. ‘I shall do more than listen, I promise you.’
Lucie hugged Bess. ‘You are a good friend.’
‘Come. I shall escort you out.’ Bess offered Lucie her muscular arm. Laughing, Lucie put her hand on it. They strolled out into the stable yard.
Lucie sighed at the sight of her father’s horses. ‘’Tis good of you to stable Sir Robert’s horses.’
Bess eyed her with interest. ‘Never call him “father”, do you?’
Lucie shook her head.
‘He tries, you know. He’s an old man to make this journey and offer help.’
‘Yes, he’s an old man, and a soldier who knows nothing of the shop or gardening. What is he good for?’
‘Those are spiteful words, not thoughtful. They’re unworthy of you, Lucie. You’re a fool to shun an earnest worker.’
Lucie did not like being called spiteful. ‘I have put him to simple tasks in the garden. But beyond that, what can he do, Bess? Tell me that.’
Bess shrugged. ‘Try him till you find out, woman. For pity’s sake, when Nicholas first brought you to the shop, did he throw up his hands and say you could do naught to help?’
‘That was different, Bess. I was to live here. I was his wife.’
Bess grinned. ‘Well, God help you if Sir Robert stays above a week, eh?’
‘He just might do that, Bess.’ Lucie told her of his offer of Corbett’s house.
Bess rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that’s a sticky one. If he meant to buy it for you and stay away, I would call it most generous. But if he means to visit often — ’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps if you let him help you in these small ways — the garden, innocent things. .’ She patted Lucie’s arm. ‘You must not waste your father’s good intentions. You must guide him to those favours you can accept.’
Lucie found this conversation discomfiting. ‘Please, Bess. You know how busy I am. Busier now with the archbishop’s request. To put Sir Robert to work in the garden or the shop would require instruction. In the same time I could finish the chore.’
Bess had retrieved her arm and stood, hands on hips, looking stern. ‘True, you must train him the first time. But the next time he would do it without instruction.’
‘I hate to think of his staying that long.’
Bess shook her head slowly, as if not believing what she was hearing. ‘Are you not at all curious about him? Have you never wondered whether you have any of his traits? Besides his stubborn chin.’
Lucie touched her chin. ‘Sir Robert’s chin?’
‘Aye. Must be the D’Arby chin. Your Aunt Phillippa has it. And a backbone to match. Your father’s family outlives its spouses, have you not noticed?’
Lucie crossed herself. ‘Don’t say that, Bess. I do not want to outlive Owen.’
Bess rolled her eyes. ‘That was not the point. Your father is not the frail old man you think him.’
With a sigh, Lucie agreed. ‘I will put him to serious work in the garden on the morrow.’
Bess pressed Lucie’s arm. ‘You will not be sorry. You will be the better for it.’
Lucie did not think so, but she was tired of the argument. And perhaps a little curious. She rubbed her chin as she pushed open her garden gate.