‘Tildy. Yes.’ Owen pulled Lucie close and she rested her head against his chest. They sat that way, in comforting silence, until Hugh and Gwenllian came thundering in from the garden.
Lena quickly opened the kitchen door and herded them in.
But Lucie sat up, the moment gone. ‘Will you join Geoffrey at the York this evening?’
‘I’d forgotten. I’d best, or he will tell tales about me.’
Owen’s distrust of Geoffrey Chaucer puzzled Lucie. Yes, Geoffrey was a gossip, but he was also a loyal friend who would never tell a tale that might damage or even challenge Owen’s standing in the city. He had hurried to Freythorpe Hadden upon arriving in York and hearing of Dame Philippa’s death. Geoffrey had been fond of Philippa, and she of him. While biding with them in York after the archbishop’s death, Geoffrey had endeared himself to Lucie by keeping her ailing aunt entertained. Arm in arm, he and Philippa would stroll round St Helen’s churchyard and down Stonegate, she telling him what she could remember of the people passing by – her memory came and went – he embellishing the bits with invented tales of their younger, secret exploits, inspiring much laughter. Philippa could talk of nothing else when he was called back to London. Such a storyteller, he is! And wise. Yet Owen now doubted his sincerity.
For the moment, Lucie bit her tongue, thankful that Owen asked for no response, deep in thought, reaching out to pour more ale. She sat sipping her own for a while, resisting the temptation to tease him about how eagerly he had taken up the search. She did not want to influence his decision about the future. For so long she had worried about how he would occupy himself without his work for Thoresby.
She had not pushed, knowing that he still mourned the archbishop, the man he’d resented in life. It was a hard lesson for Owen, seeing in hindsight the extent to which Thoresby had given him the freedom to go about his work as he saw fit. A betrayal and a death had cast an additional pall over his last days with the archbishop, and Lucie had suspected Owen wanted to be left in peace to grieve a while longer. But when Bartolf and Brother Michaelo hailed them on the road home, Owen had not hesitated to engage. It seemed God did not intend to allow him a moment of idleness.
The people of York would be pleased that he had taken this in hand. Their friends, the guildsmen, the city bailiffs, the mayor and aldermen, Princess Joan, Prince Edward, Geoffrey Chaucer – they had all anxiously waited for him to take the first step into his future. Especially Geoffrey, for it was he who had suggested Owen to Princess Joan. Would this investigation lead to his accepting the role of captain of bailiffs? Lucie had considered it a tame post relative to that proposed by Prince Edward, but Hoban Swann’s murder seemed to suggest otherwise.
‘The Swanns are fortunate to have your help,’ she said when Owen seemed to be surfacing.
He frowned down at the bowl he had just picked up. ‘I have learned nothing of use.’
‘You will.’
His dark eye bore into her, then he suddenly grinned, melting her heart. ‘Divine revelation?’
She leaned over to kiss his dimple. ‘Belief in you, my love.’
‘In truth I’ve come away with more questions than answers. Will you see Alisoun soon?’
‘I can. You said she seemed troubled?’
‘I did. It might be the weight of responsibility, but I would be grateful if you would talk with her.’ Owen drew her up into an embrace ending with a long kiss.
‘Well now,’ Lucie said as they parted. ‘I look forward to tonight.’
‘I will not tarry at the tavern.’
‘Best not.’ She laughed. ‘I forgot to ask how Brother Michaelo coped – the forest, the swamp, the blood?’
‘Better than I had expected. He is useful. Quite useful. Observant. It was he who found the pouch.’
‘So you will use him again?’
‘If he is willing, I am glad to do so.’
‘You secretly delight in his sardonic mutterings.’
‘At present there is little of that. Too little. I could use a distraction from the grim parts of the task.’
‘Then I pray he recovers his righteousness.’
After sending Alfred and Stephen away to spend the night in Magda Digby’s home so they might begin their search for Joss, Cilla, and the dogs at first light, Owen had spent a few hours in the York Tavern with Geoffrey and his friend George Hempe, a York bailiff. Geoffrey’s presence happily prevented Hempe from pursuing his campaign to convince Owen to take on the captaincy of the bailiffs. Both were keen to hear what he’d learned of Hoban Swann’s murder, and to offer their opinions. Bess suggested Owen ask Bartolf’s nearest neighbors about Cilla’s whereabouts. As Bartolf had said, she worked around, for whoever needed an extra hand.
‘But she may be of little help,’ Bess had said. ‘She’s a queer one, that woman, speaks in squeaks and squawks, growls, hisses, and moves in prances and springs. Mark me, she’s more than a little mad. Yet she’s a hard worker, will take on any task and do her best, which is better than most. But God help those fool enough to call for her when they need a midwife. I’ve heard such tales …’ Bess had rolled her eyes.
‘May God watch over Cilla.’ Lucie said when Owen told her.
‘Amen.’
Even with that worry, Owen had no trouble engaging Lucie in some bed sport before sleep.
Shortly after dawn, Alisoun woke to the sounds of Dame Muriel and her mother, who had chosen to sleep the night with her daughter. Muriel talked and wept as Dame Janet stroked her hair and assured her that all would be well, she must be strong for her child. Alisoun slipped away to fetch some food and replenish the watered wine mother and daughter had sipped through the night.
In the kitchen she found Bartolf Swann snoring by the fire, the cook grumbling as he moved about his morning chores trying not to wake the old man.
‘You’ll be comforted to know that Captain Archer’s men stayed the night at the Riverwoman’s,’ he said as he gathered bread and cheese for her, and filled the jug with more wine. ‘They will keep trouble from your door.’
‘What right had he–’ Alisoun stopped herself when she saw the curious look the cook gave her. Of course he would expect her to be eased by that. ‘How do you know this?’
‘The master. After the household went to bed he talked and talked. Much of it jabber – pushing away the devils that haunt a man when he’s gone past sensible drink. He’ll drink himself into the grave. But who can blame him, poor man, his only son?’
She remembered standing at Magda’s door in the deepening evening watching the broad back of Crispin Poole as he crossed over to the bank. And that other observer, standing at the edge of the wood. Had Poole dropped the salve, or had it been taken from him? Either way, she imagined him coming to the house yesterday at dusk, needing more, and discovering the captain’s men there. He would be angry, thinking she had betrayed him. But why would she? What had his misadventure to do with Hoban Swann? Except – the dogs. How he’d insisted it was but one dog, though she was certain she’d first heard a pair. God help her.
She should not have used that particular pouch. She and Jasper had found the scrap of leather, making up a story about what had scored it, silly chatter. And now, when the captain showed it to Jasper, he’d see the mark and remember. Would he betray her? Of course he would, he would do anything to earn the captain’s approval. He was ever talking about the time he’d helped the captain catch a thief and a murderer. That was when he’d began calling him ‘da’ instead of ‘the captain’.
She delivered the jug of wine to Muriel’s chamber. Mother and daughter were at last asleep, a small miracle. By the light coming through the shutters Alisoun guessed that Jasper might be up by now, readying the shop for early customers or sweeping the street in front. She could go to him, but he would want to know why she begged the favor of secrecy. What would she say? I know of a man who was attacked by dogs but I’m certain he did not murder Hoban Swann? But how could she possibly be certain? She knew little about Crispin Poole. She did not understand why she was so keen to defend him. Because she did not trust the captain to believe his innocence?