Jehannes nodded to Lucie as he followed, gesturing that he would see the intruders out.
Taking Jehannes’s place on the bench, Lucie identified herself to Beck and assured him that the secretary and his armed escort were back in the hall where they could not hear. ‘Did you recognize the voice of the guard?’
‘It was him and another I came upon in Master Ronan’s lodging. The ones who blinded me.’
‘I will tell my husband. He will know what to do.’
‘You will not send me away?’
Lucie squeezed his hand and assured him that he would be cared for.
Moments after Leufrid and his guards departed, Hempe arrived, curious about armed guards escorting the archbishop’s secretary from Jehannes’s home. He laughed when he realized his mistake, a brief moment of jollity dampened by Owen’s account of his meeting with Sir John Neville.
‘Two days,’ Hempe growled. ‘Who does he think he is, arriving in the city and ordering us about?’ He slumped down in a chair, joining Jehannes, Owen, Lucie, Michaelo, and Ambrose, a dour group.
‘We’ve no time to waste on complaints.’ Owen removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. ‘We can only hope that they believed Ambrose and Marian to be household servants, but we cannot depend on that. Leufrid and the guards may have decided to withdraw and consider how to proceed. We need to move her to St Clement’s tonight.’
‘What of Ambrose?’ asked Jehannes.
‘They may not have seen him,’ said Owen. ‘Were you able to speak with Tucker’s wife?’
‘I was. Dame Judith says Percy’s men did pay her to care for the young woman. She seemed not as worried about Tucker as she was about losing the money. I permitted her to keep it, as Tucker will be bringing nothing home for a while. The fiddler complained loudly all the way to the castle, but being closed in a damp room silenced him. After a night in there I believe he will talk.’
‘Pray God he does,’ said Owen. ‘And that he knows something of use. We have another concern.’ He told them how Carl, the leader of the company with whom Marian had traveled, had been watching Ambrose out near the midden, but ran off when he noticed Owen observing him with interest. Hempe would tell his men to watch out for Carl, follow him, find out whether the company was in the city to perform, or the man had followed alone. And then they fell to planning how they would escort Marian to the priory outside the city walls.
A knock on the door interrupted their tense debate.
Lucie touched Owen arm as he rose to answer, his hand on the dagger beneath his jacket. ‘Should I withdraw to Jehannes’s parlor with Ambrose and Marian?’
Jehannes rose to help but Owen motioned him down. ‘Only Ambrose and Marian in the parlor. Then return to us.’
With a nod, Lucie went to fetch them.
Owen crossed to the door. A lad bowed to him, the movement releasing a puff of sparkling powder. Dust from a goldsmith’s workshop.
‘You’ve been sent by Robert Dale?’ Owen guessed.
Startled, the lad stuttered, ‘Y-yes, Captain. I am glad to find you here. My master begs to speak with you. At his shop, sir. As soon as you might, sir.’
‘Is he in danger?’
‘I am to say no more, but to implore you to come quickly.’
‘I will come.’
Closing the door Owen was barraged with questions he could not answer.
‘Robert Dale is not one to waste my time. I will return as soon as I may. Ambrose will accompany me. If there are other members of Carl’s company about, he can point them out.’
Lucie rose to follow him to the parlor, asking why the musicians were important to him.
‘I am not sure. Marian thought she saw the drummer Paul in the minster that night. Carl is watching Ambrose. I want to know why.’
‘Your eye warns you of them?’
She knew him well. ‘It does.’
‘Will we take her to St Clement’s tonight?’ she asked.
‘I think it best. I hope you need not come.’ He kissed her and called to Ambrose.
Outside, the shadows were already lengthening, a chill dampness rising. They must hurry.
14
An Unlikely Ally
Robert Dale led Owen and Ambrose to his office behind the bustling shop. Even here, Owen felt the heat from the fire over which the gold was softened.
Crispin Poole rose from a seat, leaning heavily on his cane as he greeted Owen and glanced with interest at Ambrose.
‘What is this?’ said Owen, looking to Robert.
‘You have Poole to thank for this meeting,’ said Robert. ‘Hear him out. He has convinced me that I have information you need. As does he.’
A lad brought in a flagon of wine and three cups, then apologized, noticing there were four to serve. After he delivered a fourth, Robert told him to close the door as he left.
‘We can speak freely?’ asked Crispin indicating Ambrose.
‘That depends,’ said Owen. ‘Are you here as Neville’s man?’
‘No. As your friend, and a concerned citizen.’
‘I just encountered one of your men escorting Dom Leufrid. The one with the scarred cheek.’
‘Diggs. You met him at the archdeacon’s house?’
‘You knew of the visit?’
‘Diggs says the woman who fled Cawood with the French spy is there. They planned to search the house.’
It was as Owen had feared.
‘The Nevilles want her,’ said Crispin. ‘They believe her to be someone of value to them. Their interest should concern you.’
‘It does.’
‘Good. We have little time. It might help me to know who she is.’
‘We? How do I know your men–’
‘I have told you, they are not my men. Never were. For a while I thought they might be useful, but they have become my bane, my curse. I sent them off to lodge with their fellows, my excuse my mother’s failing health.’
‘You serve Archbishop Neville.’
‘No longer, though he does not yet know. I thought it best to do what I could for you before speaking with him. So that I might still receive reports. I know Sir John has given you two days to find Ronan’s murderer. He’s keen to put the blame on the French spy.’
‘French spy?’
‘You know of whom I speak. The musician Ambrose Coates.’
‘He is no spy for the French,’ said Owen. ‘But you are right about Sir John’s threat.’
‘Who is she?’
Owen glanced at Robert. ‘What was it you wished to tell me?’
Fine, close work had ruined Robert’s eyesight, his habitual squint giving him the air of a man whose worries weighed him down. Yet Owen knew him to be blessed with a successful business and a happy family life. He peered at Owen, then Crispin, who, with a sigh of frustration, resumed his seat, plucking a cloth from his sleeve and wiping his brow.
‘It is about Ronan’s book,’ said Robert, ‘what he called his psalter.’
‘A prayer book?’
‘No. His distasteful humor.’
Owen sat down as well and poured himself some wine. ‘Go on.’
‘A few days before his death Ronan swooped into my shop with a nasty glint in his eyes, trailed by that clerk of his, Beck. He dared accuse me of being late to deliver a gold cross the new archbishop had ordered from me. I questioned his authority to represent His Grace, for he had taken no part in the original transaction, it was all done by messenger through His Grace’s secretary Leufrid, the usual empty flattery, currying favor with local merchants. Months ago Leufrid had sent a message, all apologies, His Grace had changed his mind and was cancelling the order. I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but my questioning Ronan’s authority set him to spewing vile things. Vile. He accused my beloved wife Julia–’ Robert paused a moment to breathe and calm himself. ‘I left the room to fetch the message and the two halves of the tally from the desk of one of my clerks who was working with the accounts in the shop. When I returned Ronan did not at first notice me. He had brought out the little book in which he jotted down items – parchment sewn together with a leather cover, costly for keeping accounts, but that was the man, vainglorious, delighting in show. He called it his psalter, and indeed the outward appearance would fool one.’