Lotta sighed. ‘You should know, Sir John Neville’s party has arrived in the city. They will be occupying the palace in the minster yard. It is dangerous for her there.’
‘So soon?’ Lucie felt her heart racing.
‘Let me accompany you,’ said Ambrose. Lucie and Lotta both protested the idea, but he argued that he was responsible for bringing Marian to York. ‘If she is causing trouble, I want to help.’
‘You have no need to make amends,’ said Lucie. She told them a little of what they had learned about the evening in the minster, enough to explain why Marian had been there, and that she had betrayed him.
Ambrose shrugged it off. ‘I care not whether she betrayed me. You are the ones I want to help. With my hair shorn and colored, who will recognize me?’
‘And how would you help?’ Lucie asked, though a possibility occurred to her. ‘Is Martin Wirthir in the city?’
Ambrose looked pained. ‘Well you might wonder. I have as well, ever since safely crossing from Calais. My sudden decision to leave the court and return to the country I had seemingly abandoned … Those who had spoken so freely in my presence, would they not be alarmed? I felt almost certain I would be followed, at least for a time. Or worse. That I would not reach Dover. One hears tales. To drown on the crossing is a common way to eliminate the inconvenient.’
‘Yet you left,’ said Lotta.
‘No one deserves to suffer as Prince Edward is suffering. He is at the mercy of treacherous physicians and godless nobles who laugh at his pain, who applaud his humiliation. I want to believe that my empty years in that court will benefit the realm. That God meant me to be there to learn this.’ Ambrose seemed alight, as when he performed. This appeared no artifice, but a passion that arose from deep within him.
‘I pray Owen may convince the prince’s envoys to hear you out and help you carry out your mission,’ she said. ‘But what of Martin Wirthir?’
‘Martin.’ A whisper. ‘I felt his protection throughout my journey. It gave me the courage to continue. But he has not revealed himself to me.’
‘Someone else?’
‘It is possible. Denis, a friend from court. A close friend. A man much like Martin, but until now loyal to King Charles. He divined my reason for leaving and encouraged me.’ Ambrose shrugged at Lucie’s frown. ‘I fail in subtlety, I know. He might have betrayed me. But I think not. And if he is here in the city he might have gathered information for me while I have been off the streets.’
‘Do you believe he would help us?’ asked Lotta.
‘If he sees that I walk freely with Dame Lucie, I believe so.’
‘Your hair? Will he know you looking like that?’ asked Lucie.
‘If he is here, he doubtless followed the captain and your husband from the riverbank yesterday.’
So many ifs. It was a risk, either way. But with the Nevilles so close, Owen would be pressed to resolve the murder quickly to avert the risk that they, or others, would falsely name someone convenient to them, whose death would serve as a warning. An innocent would suffer. And the murderer would still be free.
‘No gloves, no singing,’ Lucie warned.
Ambrose hurried to fetch his cloak, but Lotta stopped him, offering one of her husband’s cloaks. ‘You must not walk out in clothes they will know.’
Glancing up from his work, Brother Michaelo discovered goodwife Anna hovering in the doorway of his chamber. He must remember to close the door while he worked. When the archdeacon was out the cook seemed unable to pass an hour without a question for Michaelo.
‘A woman to see you,’ said Anna. ‘I think she is the one you rescued in the minster. Pale hair and eyes, tall, skinny. She calls herself Dame Marian.’
‘Alone?’
A nod.
Had she run away? Michaelo took a deep breath.
‘May God watch over us,’ said Anna. ‘The Nevilles are at the palace in the minster yard. All the yard is talking about it. So many servants and armed men. Trouble will come of it.’
Two pieces of unwelcome news. ‘I know you are a busy woman, goodwife Anna. But might you ask your husband to watch for Captain Archer, tell him who is here, and what you’ve told me about the Nevilles?’ Her husband was a stonemason working on the minster.
‘Now?’
‘I would be most grateful.’
A momentary twinkle in her eye. ‘I might take him some of the pork pie, still warm.’
‘Bless you.’
‘What about the woman?’
‘Invite her to sit by the fire. Tell her I will join her there.’
‘Wine?’
‘Yes.’
With a sniff, the goodwife flounced away. A woman as changeable as a Yorkshire sky, glowering one moment, shining brightly the next. He never understood how he had offended or pleased. At times he felt his mere presence in this house irritated her, though she told him often that he was good for the archdeacon. In what way, he could not imagine. He sanded the letter he had been copying and covered his work against prying eyes. With a prayer for patience, he set off for the hall.
Dame Marian glanced up and then stood, asking Michaelo when Dom Jehannes might return, she had a favor to ask.
‘Does Captain Archer know you are here?’ Michaelo asked.
‘No.’
‘Dame Lucie?’
‘No.’
He’d thought not. Pray God the captain passed near the stonemasons’ lodge, and soon.
Already hatted and cloaked, the goodwife bustled in with a flagon of wine and two cups, set them down with a nod, and hastened out the door.
‘Have I offended her?’ asked Marian.
‘More to the point, I have no doubt you have offended the captain and Dame Lucie, who mean only to protect you.’
‘I know how much I owe them,’ said Marian. ‘My purpose is to protect them. Twice today they suffered intruders because of me. I hope to convince Dom Jehannes to escort me to St Clement’s himself, without endangering Dame Lucie.’
‘Without her, I am not certain the prioress will take you in. Dame Lucie knows Prioress Isabel, and how to persuade her to take such a risk. But come, have some wine while you tell me about these intruders. Then I must think what to do.’
As she walked with Ambrose, Lucie related what had happened with Gabriel, his tale, and Marian’s.
‘Deus juva me,’ Ambrose said, crossing himself. ‘I shudder to think how, but for her crying out, I might have abandoned her.’
‘But you did not,’ said Lucie.
‘No. I brought the trouble to your door. I am sorry.’
She paused inside the minster gate, drew him toward a quiet spot where she might watch those passing yet not be overheard. ‘Why did you not tell Owen about the prayer book?’
Ambrose looked aggrieved. ‘Forgive me. But I felt it was for her to tell you, if she trusted you to know of it.’
Misplaced courtesy. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘I had noticed a pack that Tucker took with him on occasion, careful to hide it beneath his cloak. For a man whose wife complained of their ability to feed two more mouths I wondered what he shielded with such care. When the prayer book disappeared I feared I had lodged us with a thief. When next he left with the pack I followed him – to Ronan the vicar’s lodging. I cannot be certain the bag was empty when he left Ronan’s, but I heard rumors about the vicar collecting tribute for the new archbishop that included fines for transgressions that should be the concern of a summoner. And as Tucker went there …’ He made a face as if uncertain that his reasoning made sense, now that he heard himself speak it aloud. ‘I thought it worth asking Ronan. Putting it as a request to advise me who in the Bedern might be receiving such items.’
‘That is why you met him in the minster?’