Alfred insisted on coming across the stones to help Lucie over to Magda’s rock. ‘They’re slippery at the beginning of low tide.’ Rob and Rose were already hopping across, balancing small bundles of clothing on their heads. ‘Am I to mind them?’ Alfred asked.
‘No,’ Lucie laughed. ‘They’re relieving you of your watch. My husband needs you.’
‘Bartolf Swann’s murder?’
‘You’ve already heard about it? Out here?’
‘A visitor told me. You’ll want to talk to him. He’s why Stephen went to Bartolf’s alone this morning.’ Alfred called out to the twins to wait for him before opening the door. ‘I don’t want to startle him,’ he said. He was not smiling.
By the time Lucie and Alfred reached the rock the twins had disappeared round the side of the house. Everyone in York was curious about the strange, dragon-guarded dwelling, and they were clearly no exception. Alfred knocked on the door and called out that Dame Lucie Wilton, the apothecary, was with him, then pushed it open.
Someone wrapped in a blanket was struggling to rise from a seat close to the fire.
‘I pray you, rest easy,’ Lucie said. ‘I will come and join you.’
Letting the blanket slip down from his head to settle on his shoulders, Old Bede greeted her hoarsely.
‘God be thanked. I am so glad to see you.’ Bess had told her he was missing. Lucie noticed his clothes hanging from the rafters. ‘What happened?’
‘I swam here in the dark of night. Upriver. They didn’t think a dried old bean like meself had it in him. Faith, I wasn’t so certain meself. I’m thankful it’s late in a dry summer. I wouldn’t have made it when the rain on the moors comes thundering downriver.’
Lucie glanced up at Alfred, who nodded. ‘He was soaked through and shivering so hard he couldn’t talk until he’d shed his clothes and I’d rolled him in blankets and stoked the fire.’
‘Tell me what happened,’ Lucie said. ‘Did someone follow you when you left the York Tavern last night?’
Old Bede nodded. ‘They came up behind me down on staithe, as I was doing my business. Stopped me from heading upriver to bridge. Two of ’em, big men. I reckoned I’d seen them playing drunk earlier, coming out of that very gate Bartolf Swann had gone through and died, eh? But now on staithe they’ve another with ’em, has a dog, all teeth and straining to break free and jump at me. Between the wolf and the dog, I was, so to speak, them or the river. With the river I had a chance. I dived in and pushed down, down. God was looking out for me, leading me to piss at staithe, where river’s dredged and I could go deep. I fought current till my chest wanted to burst. They couldn’t find me in night black as pitch, water such a good brown. But I can’t go home now, can I?’
From the doorway, Rose said, ‘We’ll keep you hidden here, Old Bede. No one will know.’
Lucie nodded. Rose and Rob could do it. ‘You can trust them. We’ll take care of the rest. You’ve seen any of them before?’
‘Mayhap the one with the dog. Can’t say for certain. Minds me of one worked on staithe. He’s been gone some time. Ran off after some trouble. Bailiff Hempe could tell you his name. Always with a dog back then, nasty. Had the devil in ’im. Not the same dog now, but those same teeth …’ He shook his head.
For once Lucie was grateful for Old Bede’s love of gossip.
As they crossed back over the bridge, Geoffrey noted how folk watched them, ‘Or, rather, you. They bow to you, grateful for your protection. What is it like, having such a noble calling?’
‘Burdened by their faith that all will be as it was as soon as I’ve caught the guilty. It won’t. It can’t be. Men are dead, Hoban Swann’s child will never know his father, the Swanns’ lives are forever changed. And how many more will suffer?’
‘Ah. I am humbled.’
‘No. I am. I’ve discovered nothing of use. Nothing.’
They walked in silence for a while, until Geoffrey tapped Owen’s arm. ‘The prickly bailiff approaches.’
George Hempe strode toward them with two of his men, his expression grieved. ‘I’ve heard about Old Bede’s disappearance after leaving the York, heading for the King’s Staithe. My men will search the riverbanks up and downstream.’ Owen offered to help, but Hempe shook his head. ‘Janet Braithwaite awaits you at her house. Olyf Tirwhit and her husband Adam are with her, planning the Swanns’ burials. John Braithwaite’s expected by nightfall – he had business in Kingston-Upon-Hull. But Janet will brook no delays. She means to hire you to bring to justice the murderers of her son-in-law and his father. The mayor and council approve of her plan.’
As Jasper had said. ‘I will attend her this afternoon,’ said Owen. ‘Lucie should be back, perhaps with Alfred and Stephen. They might have noticed something on the river.’
Hempe nodded. ‘I’ll set my men to the search and join you at your house. I’d like to hear what your men have to say.’
‘You might ask the gatekeepers whether anyone arrived with a large dog yesterday, and whether they’ve left.’
‘I will.’
Owen thanked him and hurried down Coney Street.
6
A Matter of Conscience
In the early hours, after Dame Janet at last departed for her own home, Muriel fell into a deep sleep. Alisoun was sitting in a chair beside the bed, dozing fitfully, when one of the servants placed a blanket over her. The warmth was welcome, but steady sleep still eluded her. She’d dreamt of her parents, faceless, but somehow recognizable. Sometimes, when surprised by her reflection in water, she saw her mother in the set of her own mouth, her cheekbones, her hairline, and her father in the shape of her eyes and nose. But she could no longer put those features together into clear memories of their faces. How long would it take Muriel to forget Hoban’s appearance? Would she remember that her husband was handsome, but be unable to see what made him handsome?
Alisoun gently rubbed the ribbon edging of the scrip she wore to hold her medicines. Jasper had bought the ribbon for her at the Lammas Fair, and she’d sewn it to her scrip so that it would be with her wherever she went, reminding her that she was loved. She had felt so alone since her father’s death, the one person who had made her feel as if she had blessed his life. Magda was good to her, but Alisoun did not feel she had a place in the Riverwoman’s heart. Jasper’s love had been a revelation. She’d felt whole again. But she had ruined that when she lied to the father he respected above all others. Alone again. She tucked her hands beneath her and bit back tears, refusing to cry over Jasper. No, refusing to cry over her own fecklessness. She could think of no way to explain why she protected Crispin Poole, except that she had promised. Magda would never break a promise.
But would she have agreed to such a secret?
Was it just the promise? Wasn’t it more than that? He’d been bitten. A deep, bone-scraping bite. And he’d been shaken by the experience. That was not the reaction of a guilty man.
What she needed to do was prove his innocence.
Her charge stirred in the bed. Alisoun did not wish Muriel this awakening, as the horror and sorrow of the previous evening added to that of her husband’s death. She worried for the health of the baby.
‘Alisoun?’
‘I am here beside you.’
‘My husband. His father. Was it a dream?’
She felt the question like a hand squeezing her heart and heard Magda’s voice in her head, Breathe deep. Know her pain, but do not take it on. She needs thee sound, whole, strong, unwavering. ‘No. Not a dream.’ Alisoun took Muriel’s hand and guided it to her stomach. ‘Bring your heart here. Here there is life.’
Muriel pulled her hand from Alisoun’s and turned on her side as a sob racked her thin frame. Alisoun rose to gather the herbs for a morning tisane, then opened the door to tell the maidservant to bring hot water. And so a new day of grieving began.