Whoever the man was, it sounded as if he had tight control of the animal.
The bailiff’s man who’d gone on to Monk Bar to question the gatekeeper returned, shaking his head. ‘No one’s come through with a large dog today, Captain.’
Owen told him what he’d learned.
‘The Bedern. Bad luck for us. If he’s a churchman we’ll never draw him out, the devil piss on him.’
‘I very much doubt we seek a cleric,’ said Owen. ‘But we are not the law in the Bedern, that is true.’
The Bedern was part of the minster liberty, set aside to house the vicars choral, who said masses in the chantry chapels in the minster, and Owen would need the dean’s or the archbishop’s permission to search there. The bailiffs had no jurisdiction in there either. Damn Thoresby for dying. Damn him. Owen would waste precious time convincing the dean …
‘Might have ducked in and out the far side,’ said Hempe’s man. ‘Headed for the river. They’ll spit him out when they see he’s not one of theirs.’
‘Pass the word along the watch to keep an eye out for this man, and a dog, likely a large one.’ Owen said nothing of the woman’s description of the dog. He began to suspect that what Magda had meant was that folk saw not what was there, but the beast from their nightmares. ‘I’m going to take a stroll in the Bedern.’
A surprised laugh. ‘You’re not one for rules, Captain? Can we expect that when you’re our captain?’
Owen slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘If I captain your bailiffs, they’ll keep to my rules.’ He grinned, though he felt no cheer.
While in the kitchen fetching some brandywine for Magda, Lucie heard an unfamiliar voice out in the garden. Geoffrey had sent Dun to fetch a priest to say prayers over the dead man. Had the priest arrived? She should speak with him. She handed Magda the brandywine and headed out.
On her way she thought to check on Euphemia. She found her still asleep in the bedchamber whose walls were covered with small tapestries. Unfinished, Lucie realized, looking round, all religious scenes in vibrant colors, delicate, beautiful work.
‘She had great skill,’ said Eva.
‘They caught my eye as I came to check on your mistress.’
‘I am grateful for your care.’ The maid reached up to straighten one of the hangings.
‘You are devoted to her.’
‘She has been good to me, in her way.’
‘And her son? Is he difficult?’
‘He is a fair man. But–’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I should not speak of the master and mistress of this house.’
‘Even if it might help us catch the men who attacked your mistress?’
Eva toed something on the floor. ‘He cannot forgive Dame Euphemia for what she did. But she did it so that he might come home. If that poacher had not been hanged for the girl’s murder …’
Trying to sound as if she knew something of what the woman spoke, Lucie asked, ‘What was your mistress’s part in it?’
‘If the master had kept the boy’s secret, she would not have done it. And how people know that the mistress pushed him to name Warin as the girl’s murderer – I don’t know who told them.’
A thread of memory. A young woman’s drowning, the girls at St Clements’ whispering. ‘This Warin was not the murderer?’
‘No. He helped Master Crispin save her from drowning. Then the young master went away. No one knows why. Folk thought he might have done it, Master Crispin. Maybe he hid for a few days, made certain she was dead before she went in the Ouse this time, and then ran off to be a soldier.’
‘They thought Crispin saved the young woman, then murdered her?’
‘I don’t know that folk knew of the first drowning. But what if he hadn’t been trying to save her? What if Warin saw that?’ She met Lucie’s eyes, questioning. Unsure even now.
If this woman who had known him so well was unsure of his innocence … Was it this long-ago tragedy that haunted them now?
‘And he knows what his mother did?’
A nod. ‘I should not have told you, but–’
‘No, I am grateful, Eva. You have helped me see.’ Lucie might have gone on, but hearing once more the unfamiliar voice in the garden she remembered her mission. ‘The priest is here. Do you think Dame Euphemia would like him to bless her after he’s given the man the last rites?’
‘I meant to say – I have seen the dead man before, watching the house, sometimes from the back garden, at night, sometimes staying in the shadow of the church. I told the captain that. And I’ve seen his companion as well, the one who ran.’
‘Recently?’
‘This very day.’
Never underestimate the importance of household servants as witnesses. ‘How long has he watched?’
‘Since we moved here. More often of late. Both of them.’
‘You saw both men before you hid?’
An embarrassed nod and shrug. ‘And I believe I saw them talking to Wren, the Tirwhits’ maidservant, early this morning.’
‘Thank you. Again, you have been most helpful.’
‘I shamed myself, hiding from the wolf that attacked my mistress.’ Eva wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
‘The priest is here,’ Geoffrey announced from the doorway, startling them both.
‘You asked whether Dame Euphemia might wish the priest’s blessing, Mistress Wilton,’ said Eva. ‘I believe she would.’
‘I will tell him,’ said Lucie.
Just before he stepped out into the yard, Geoffrey turned to Lucie. ‘The Tirwhit maid, Wren. She has a great curiosity about what the Pooles are about when home. I notice her peering toward the house often. And I’ve just recalled seeing her earlier today with Alisoun near the chandler’s shop on Finkle Street. They were talking, but Alisoun was only half-listening, glancing about as if alert to danger. I cannot help but wonder whether something Wren said to Alisoun drew her here, ready for trouble.’
‘That would explain Alisoun’s presence.’ Lucie told Geoffrey what Eva had said about the two men watching the house, and speaking to Wren.
He looked chagrined. ‘I am a poor spy if I did not catch that. Both of them. So they chose a time when Crispin was called away. By the plotters?’
‘I wondered as well.’ Lucie had much to discuss with Owen. ‘I will talk to this Wren after we’ve spoken to the priest,’ she said.
‘If she returned to the Tirwhit home. Which, I am sure you’ve not forgotten, is Olyf Swann’s home.’ He raised a brow.
A complex web indeed. ‘I pray you, find Owen, tell him all this. And that Magda is here.’ She was quite certain he would wish to ask Magda what she had known, foreseen.
Geoffrey did not argue. ‘I will find him.’
A discreet brothel stood to one side of the alleyway to which the woman had pointed. Owen stepped inside, doffing his hat.
‘Now this is a day for celebration. Captain Archer himself gracing my house.’ The voice came from a settle piled high with bright cushions, but in the dim light Owen could not at once see the speaker. When she moved he found his bearings – the woman was stretched out on the settle, her gown the same fabric as the cushions.
‘My apologies for the intrusion,’ Owen said. ‘You are doubtless closed for business at this hour.’
‘There is no particular hour for pleasure, Captain. This is as good as any.’ Her voice was low, melodic, her tone teasing.
He counted on the women of this house being regular clients of Magda and Alisoun, and therefore motivated to assist him. ‘I am searching for a man and a dog who attacked the widow Poole at her home on Colliergate. The Riverwoman’s apprentice, Alisoun, was injured protecting the widow.’
‘Young Alisoun? How might I help?’
‘Word is the man fled into the Bedern. Have you seen him?’