The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Twenty-three

Owen discovered the physician’s house locked, the windows on his ground floor boarded up. He had hoped to look at the house, see whether someone might have stayed there and spied on Walter de Hotter. But the boards were well fastened. He moved on to the hospital to speak to Honoria about the foul-smelling physick that Nate said Julian had been taking the day he died.

But the sight of the almoner playing gatekeeper put all else out of his mind for a moment. Owen was accustomed to seeing the canon going among the poor, not guarding the gate. ‘Benedicte, Don Erkenwald. Where is Barker?’ In truth, the muscular, scarred almoner looked more at home in a gatehouse than among the poor.

‘He is assisting in the search,’ Erkenwald said with a grave nod.

Owen understood the nod as an invitation for questions. ‘You have found something?’

‘Nay. Lost. Two members of our community disappeared in the night.’ Erkenwald sank down on to a bench with a sigh, rested one elbow on his knees, his eyes level with Owen’s. A soldier’s pose, not a canon’s. ‘Matters have gone from bad to worse.’

‘Who has disappeared?’

‘Anneys, one of our lay sisters, and a child from the orphanage, Alisoun Ffulford. Did the boy not explain why Sir Richard sent for you?’

‘I must have been gone when he came. I had hoped to search the house of Master Saurian. But it is boarded up.’

Erkenwald sniffed. ‘And so it will be until the first frost. The physician fled the city.’

‘I had heard.’

‘I always counted him a coward.’

‘Some find it unbearable to work among the dying.’

Erkenwald looked at Owen askance. ‘A physician? Pah! I pray you, go to Sir Richard. He awaits you.’

As Owen crossed the yard, he wondered what new mischief was afoot. Had Alisoun’s lurker taken action? But what had Anneys to do with it?

A servant showed Owen into Ravenser’s parlour, where Owen was greeted by not only the master, but also Don Cuthbert, Dame Constance and Dame Beatrice. Ravenser rose to greet him, an unusual gesture. His expression echoed Owen’s anxiety. ‘We are guarding all gates to the hospital, and the lay brothers have begun a search with Barker in command. But I fear the man has fled with the child and the woman.’

‘Barker did not see them pass last night?’

Ravenser looked to Dame Constance.

‘Anneys lives in the lay sisters’ house in the city. Barker would have noted nothing unusual in her passing through, and he does not remember a child,’ Dame Constance said.

‘You have found no sign of the man?’

Don Cuthbert shook his head. ‘They have been searching since matins and have found no strangers amongst us.’

‘Tell me how you discovered they were missing, Dame Constance.’

‘Alisoun was not in her bed this morning, nor anywhere a child might roam. And when the lay sisters arrived they were without Anneys. Not that she is always prompt.’

‘You have searched for Anneys?’

‘We do not know where to begin.’

Nor do I, Owen thought. But it was not the sort of thing he cared to admit aloud.

Ravenser dismissed Don Cuthbert, Dame Constance and Dame Beatrice. When the others had departed, the master drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘The situation is worse than it was when you began, Captain Archer. Why is that?’ At that moment he looked more like his uncle than usual.

And had the same effect on Owen. ‘Have I kept aught from you, Sir Richard?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Have you kept aught from me? What of your argument with William Savage. Should I know the details?’

Ravenser’s colour heightened; his uncle knew no blushes. ‘You presume-’ He shook his head. ‘No. You are quite right. I attacked you for no reason.’

‘And William Savage?’

A sudden interest in arranging the items on the table. ‘Savage. It is quite simple. I refused his wife’s mother as a corrodian, though the terms promised to be generous. The discussion grew heated, we both said things we should not have.’

‘Such as?’

Ravenser paused in his fussing, frowned up at Owen. ‘You truly think it important.’

‘As you say, the situation grows worse. I am obviously missing vital pieces of the puzzle.’

A nod. ‘Savage mentioned the rumours of our financial straits, the corrodians dying conveniently, and then crowned it all with a new rumour, that Honoria de Staines was sleeping with corrodians of the hospital.’

‘A rumour? Or a fact, I wonder. With whom did he say she was sleeping?’

Ravenser looked alarmed. ‘It is of some import, then?’

‘It might be,’ Owen said.

‘He would not say. Hence I believed it was a bluff.’

‘Why was Savage so angry?’

‘I accused him of fearing his wife’s mother would take over his household. She is known to be most unpleasant.’

‘Sweet Jesu. His Grace could hardly be more tactless.’

‘My uncle would not have put himself in this situation, Captain.’

True enough. ‘Is there aught else you have not told me?’

‘I have bared my soul to you. Now make something of it.’

Owen rose. ‘Patience, Sir Richard.’

‘I am impatient only because I have been called south. The Queen is failing rapidly. But I do not like to leave until I know that the reputation of St Leonard’s is saved.’

‘Then pray that my day is fruitful.’

As Owen crossed the yard he met Don Erkenwald. Hands on hips, he looked militant despite his robes and sandals. ‘They have searched most of the area, Captain. No strangers.’

‘It tells us nothing. He would have been a fool to stay.’

‘The lay sisters mentioned a deserted house next to them, one that has seen trouble.’

‘Aye. And many another house emptied by the Death.’

‘Quite right. Where will you look?’

‘First I must speak with Honoria de Staines. Where might I find her?’

‘At the Barnhous. She is watching the sick infants. Then what?’

‘If I learn nothing from her, I have a mind to travel to a farm.’

‘Would that I had an excuse to accompany you.’

‘How are you with a shovel?’

Erkenwald grinned. ‘Very good. But that is not a unique skill.’

‘I might also need you to take up a weapon.’

‘What of your men?’

‘They will be busy searching the city. I would welcome your help.’

Erkenwald nodded. ‘Come for me when you are ready.’

Wulfstan woke once to feel someone brush by him. Then a child’s voice cried out, ‘Here. Is this the one we seek?’

A woman leaned close. ‘You have saved my son. I shall do what I can for you.’

‘Sweet Mary, pray for me,’ Wulfstan whispered.

Someone lifted him and carried him into a bright place. Wulfstan’s eyes could not yet open before the Divine Light, but his heart was filled with joy to know that he had reached his Heavenly reward.

By the time Bess arrived at St Leonard’s, Barker was once more in charge of the gate. ‘Do you remember my uncle, Julian Taverner?’

Barker brushed off the seat of a chair, beckoned Bess to sit. ‘Master Taverner. He was a man respected all, no matter their station.’

‘He did that, Barker,’ Bess said as she settled down. ‘And he was a fair man, was he not?’

‘Oh, aye.’

Bess kept her eyes downcast as she said, ‘He left me with a delicate problem, my uncle.’ Now she peered up, pretending embarrassment.

The man’s bulbous nose twitched. ‘Oh, aye?’

‘As he was dying, he said to me, “Swear you will take care of her.”’

‘Who?’

Bess threw up her hands. ‘There. You see the problem. He died without breathing her name. But I have a thought it might have been his — his leman. And, well, you can see the care I must take in enquiring about her. I must avoid those who might talk to others afterwards. Ruin a good woman’s name.’

Barker made a sympathetic face.

‘Still, I feel a duty to find her and discover what I might do. What needs doing. And I thought — I hoped that you might have seen him walk out now and then. I know you would not be gatekeeper were you not a trustworthy, discreet man, and yet one who notices.’

Barker pulled himself up to his full height. ‘’Tis a delicate matter indeed, Mistress Merchet. And you are a good woman to wish to see justice done. Many would not feel so obliged.’

‘I would not think of ignoring my uncle’s last request.’

‘Surely. He had a honeyed tongue, your uncle. Any of the women might have been with him one time or another.’

‘Were there none he saw more than others?’

‘That would be Felice Mawdeleyn. And, well, there was a lay sister of late. But Mistress Mawdeleyn and your uncle were longtime friends.’

‘Will Mawdeleyn’s wife?’

‘Aye, the very same.’ Barker shook his head. ‘Will should have beaten her when she was contrary. ’Tis ever the problem.’

Bess bit her tongue. She had better things to do than argue with a thick-headed man. ‘And one of the lay sisters, you said? Who was that, Barker?’ Knowing of Honoria’s attachment to her uncle, Bess asked the question as a test, to see whether the man’s information was accurate. Many a gossip filled in the gaps in their knowledge with rumour.

Barker frowned and rubbed his shoulder. ‘I should say no more, Mistress Merchet. Felice Mawdeleyn is more likely to be the one you want, eh?’

Very likely. Felice was the sort to inspire confidence. Yes, it was very likely. Still. ‘You can trust me, Barker. I have no reason to make public my uncle’s sins.’

‘True enough. ’Twas Anneys, the one who has disappeared.’

Bess almost nodded, so certain had she been about what he would say. It took a moment to realise he had not said it. ‘Anneys. Not Honoria de Staines?’

‘Anneys. He was fond of Honoria, but like a daughter.’

‘How do you know?’

The chest puffed up. ‘A man can tell such things of another man, to be sure.’

‘You say Anneys disappeared?’

‘Aye. Last night. With the Ffulford child.’

Well. That would keep Owen occupied for the day. ‘Bless you, Barker. You have been most kind to me. Come to the tavern some evening and we shall treat you well.’ She walked slowly away, searching her memory for all she knew of Felice Mawdeleyn. Of Anneys she knew nothing. But Anneys was Owen’s problem now.

Owen found Honoria de Staines folding laundry at a table outside a curtained alcove in the Barnhous. She nodded to him, put a finger to her lips and opened the curtain to show him three sleeping infants.

‘God go with you, Captain Archer,’ she said softly as she stepped away from the curtain. ‘What would you ask me today?’

He chose first to broach the unpleasant topic. ‘Forgive me, Mistress Staines, but I must know whether the late mayor, William Savage, spoke the truth when he claimed you were sleeping with corrodians at this hospital.’

The pretty woman coloured. ‘William Savage said that?’ She snapped the blanket she was folding. ‘So that was his revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

‘Let us speak of William Savage, Captain.’ Honoria placed the blanket on the table and took time to smooth it. When she turned to Owen, her eyes glittered with emotion. ‘God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but William Savage played false with me. Oh, at first he was generous and kind, assisted me in my petition to work here as a lay sister. And then he demanded I lie with him. I refused.’ She glared at Owen’s questioning look. ‘For fear of his wife, Marion, Captain.’

‘Go on.’

‘But she had already condemned me. She is a woman who believes the worst of everyone, and she was certain that he helped me because he had bedded me. She ordered him to make amends by purchasing a corrody for her mother so that she might be free of her.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘He told me. And he said she meant to blacken my name at the hospital. Can you guess why he told me, Captain? So that I might agree to enjoy the sin for which I was to be condemned.’ She was finding it difficult to keep her voice low.

An ugly story, if true. ‘Did you tell anyone of this?’

‘Don Cuthbert. He believed me.’

Easy enough to confirm. ‘And you had no relations with the corrodians?’

Honoria bristled. ‘I am not a fool, Captain. I wished to stay here.’

One of her charges had begun to whimper. She disappeared through the curtains, emerged rocking a boy of Hugh’s age in her arms.

‘Is that all, Captain?’ Her eyes were cold.

‘Just one thing more. Julian Taverner’s last illness. Old Nate mentioned a foul-smelling physick.’

‘There was one with a bitter taste. Master Taverner complained of it.’

‘It was one of the physicks Mistress Merchet brought?’

‘I could not swear to it, Captain. Anneys had charge of his care. And now if you will excuse me, I must change this little one.’

‘God go with you, Mistress Staines.’

Owen strode away with mixed feelings. A part of him pitied her; he knew that men treated women so. But he would have thought such a man as Savage above that. Only a man who had earned his comrades’ respect attained a position as mayor. Or was Owen naïve? Even so, why would Savage risk spreading a rumour that could return to bite him?

It was past midday by the time Bess made her way up Spen Lane towards Mawdeleyn’s house, and a good thing it was that time or she might not have seen the black-robed monk slumped in the doorway. But with the sun overhead he lay in a pool of light, his hood pulled up to shield his eyes. It was not the sort of thing Benedictines did, sleep in doorways. And why should they with such a lovely abbey? Still, here he was. Bess stepped closer, then backed up when she caught the unmistakable odour of pestilence. The monk had sensed her presence and struggled to sit up. As he clutched the doorway, his hood fell back.

‘Brother Wulfstan!’ Bess pressed her scented sachet to her nose and mouth and crept forward.

Wulfstan gazed round, confused. ‘I am yet on mortal soil?’

Bess knelt down, touched Wulfstan’s forehead with the back of her free hand. He was on fire. Sweet Heaven, how was she to get him to the abbey?

She stood up, looked round. The normally busy street was deserted. No doubt all feared walking past the monk in the doorway. Still, it was disgraceful, with churches to either side, that no man of God had offered help or sought it for him. ‘I am going to find a horse or a cart, Brother Wulfstan. I shall return quickly.’

Down Spen Lane she hurried and out on to St Saviourgate. In a short while, Seth, the ragman, came down the road, leading his donkey cart. ‘Mistress Merchet. A queer place to find you of an afternoon.’

Bess was disappointed to see the cart almost empty. The rags would have made a nice cushion for Wulfstan. But no matter. ‘I have found a soul in need, Seth, and you are a good Samaritan sent by God. I must get Brother Wulfstan to St Mary’s. He is ill. He cannot walk.’

Seth’s eyes grew big as he crossed himself. ‘The Death?’

‘I shall purchase every rag in the cart.’

‘He will die, whether or no he makes the abbey.’

‘A free tankard of ale each night for a week? ’Tis more than you deserve. You should do it for love of the man who has sat with so many who would have been abandoned.’

‘Two tankards.’

‘You will be the ruin of me.’

‘I give you the rags.’

Wulfstan stood with Bess’s help, and with Seth’s aid she eased him into the cart. As she let go of him, Wulfstan touched her sleeve. ‘I promised … shrive … must go back.’

‘We are going to St Mary’s. Do not try to talk,’ Bess said, arranging the rags around Wulfstan, who shivered though the day had grown warm. She pulled the hood down over his eyes. ‘Rest now.’

As they led the donkey cart through the streets to St Mary’s, folk fled before them. Bess felt as if she were Moses parting the Red Sea. And it came to her that this plague with which God punished them for their sins made greater sinners of them all. Or most of them.

Brother Henry knelt in prayer at Wulfstan’s bedside while the novice Gervase kept cool compresses on the old infirmarian’s brow and sponged his face, neck, and arms with strawberry and sage water.

‘John,’ Wulfstan whispered.

Henry glanced up from his prayers. ‘Who is John?’ he asked again.

Wulfstan’s eyes fluttered open. He put a trembling hand on his assistant’s head. ‘My attacker. He did not have the sacrament.’

‘I do not understand, Brother Wulfstan.’

Wulfstan closed his eyes, asleep once more. Brother Henry wiped his own eyes and bent back to his prayers.