‘Who told you?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I rule out nothing as unimportant at this point.’ Lucie heard her husband’s frustration in his comment. ‘Was it Dame Olyf?’ he asked.
A strangled laugh. ‘Olyf? It is one of the few things she will not speak of.’
‘So you asked her about it?’
‘I did. And the look on her face – I would have guessed she was the one who had crippled his beloved hound. But she and Paul are still friendly.’ A shrug.
‘Do you have any idea who might have done it?’
‘None.’
‘Is that Warin’s son lying in the garden?’ Lucie asked. ‘Avenging his father?’
‘Yes. He was the man in the wood, with the dog or wolf that attacked me. I don’t know his name. There was another brother, and the daughter, but I never knew their names.’
To Lucie’s surprise, Owen rose. ‘I have heard enough for now. I must return to the Swann home.’
‘Shall I come?’ Lucie asked.
‘No,’ said Magda. ‘Hast thou not heard the cart on the cobbles?’
Owen had walked over to the window. ‘It’s Jasper, with Bess’s donkey cart.’
‘The lad comes for Alisoun,’ said Magda. ‘Good.’
Not so ready as Owen to cut off the conversation, Lucie turned back to Crispin. He stood looking about as if uncertain what he should do. ‘Dame Euphemia accused an innocent man?’ Lucie asked, hesitated, then added, ‘Knowingly?’
‘She did,’ said Crispin. ‘Plucked his guilt out of the air and embroidered a tale to fit it, then gave my father not only the tale, but a list of folk who should sit on Bartolf’s jury. Ask Janet Braithwaite. She threw that in my face when I called at the house. It killed my father, I’m sure of it. He could not live with the guilt. Monstrous woman. She-devil.’
Owen had turned to listen. ‘You said you saw the coroner’s report. Did they list the names on the jury?’
‘No. They seldom do, unless one of the members added information, argued a certain point.’ Crispin frowned. ‘My father was on it. He mentioned John Braithwaite, Will Tirwhit – Adam’s father, and the master of hounds who was training Paul at the time – I cannot recall his name …’
‘Was John Gisburne on the list?’ Owen asked.
‘He did not mention him, and I thought at the time it was unusual for men of Braithwaite’s and Tirwhit’s stature to sit on a coroner’s jury; they rarely do. My father had sat on a few, but it’s usually those hoping to make a name for themselves, not those who’ve sat on the council.’
Someone knocked on the hall door.
‘That will be Jasper,’ said Lucie. She crossed the hall to welcome him.
He bobbed his head to her as she opened the door. ‘I thought Alisoun would be more comfortable in our home. And you would not need to be away.’ Jasper’s eyes pleaded.
Magda joined them at the door. ‘Alisoun agrees.’
Jasper’s face brightened. ‘She is awake?’
‘She will be more at ease in thy home. Thou shouldst attend her, Lucie, settle her. Magda will soon join thee.’
Lucie stepped back, inviting Jasper in. ‘But who is with the children?’
‘Master Geoffrey and Brother Michaelo.’ He nodded to Owen as he approached. ‘They both have much to tell you. Will you be there soon?’
‘Let’s move Alisoun, and then I will talk to them. Did Geoffrey say whether the guests are still gathered at the Swann home?’
‘They’ve gone. Dame Muriel felt ill.’
Crispin followed them to the door. ‘I will send for my men. I can at least ease you of the burden of concern for us. If mother needs help, I will seek your advice, Dame Lucie.’ He thanked them both, and Magda, for all they had done. ‘I owe much to you, and especially Mistress Alisoun.’
‘Do not let down your guard,’ Owen warned. ‘Nothing is resolved.’
13
Bitter Words
As they followed the clattering wagon down Low Petergate to Stonegate, Owen and Lucie compared Euphemia’s version of Gerta’s story to Crispin’s.
‘To accuse Warin,’ said Lucie. ‘I would have bid her good day, but I did not trust myself.’
Nor had Owen. ‘We have a name now. Hempe says the dead man went by the name of Roger.’ Hempe had arrived just as they were about to depart. He had no news, but it was helpful to have a name.
‘Roger, son of Warin,’ Lucie said softly. ‘Is this all about vengeance for their father’s wrongful execution? Certainly the attack on Euphemia would make it seem so. She seemed to think what Geoffrey saw as a beast was a woman.’
‘So is that what Magda meant?’ Owen wondered. He found it difficult to believe. ‘Could Geoffrey be so fooled?’
‘A person wearing a skin, some claws – fear can twist our minds to see what we expect,’ said Lucie.
‘How do you think he, or they, chose the order, and how they attacked?’ Owen asked.
‘If it is vengeance, Roger – and perhaps his brother or a cousin – considered Bartolf as much to blame as Euphemia – or more so. First her son was attacked, but the way he described it, it was a gesture, meant as a warning. Warin might have told his children the tale of Crispin’s brave rescue. Then Bartolf was made to suffer his son’s murder – or perhaps that was a mistake, corrected the next night when Bartolf was taken. Paul’s dogs were the spark, so he lost a dog. Then Euphemia, but Roger had not counted on Alisoun. The Tirwhits’ maidservant Wren is a puzzle. If she watched the house, had Roger placed her there? Was it she who learned of Crispin’s summons?’
They were interrupted by passing folk telling Lucie that they prayed for Alisoun. She reassured them that she and Magda were caring for her. A few asked after Dame Euphemia. More were concerned about their own safety. Owen told them that he and George Hempe had their men searching for the man and dog. As happened since Bartolf’s murder, some folk reported sightings of fearsome beasts in the streets, or, more typically, in the alleyways. Owen had come to disregard them after Hempe’s men exhausted themselves hunting down phantoms. And if the beast were a woman in costume …
At the house, Geoffrey rose from the floor, where he had been entertaining the children. Brother Michaelo sat on the bench outside the long hall window, in the shelter of the linden.
‘Escaping the children,’ Lucie quietly commented to Owen. ‘He winces when they speak, as if their high voices offend him.’
‘Our children might just save his soul,’ Owen said, winning a surprised laugh from Lucie.
But levity soon vanished as the children observed Alisoun being carried in, their faces puckered in fear, while Geoffrey attempted to report all he’d observed. Lucie hugged Gwenllian and Hugh and whispered assurances.
Owen rubbed the scar beneath his patch, the familiar shower of needle pricks joined now by a pressure between his eyes, as he listened to Geoffrey’s description of Paul Braithwaite’s face when he heard about the men who’d attacked Euphemia Poole. Owen could not quite gauge Paul’s part in all this, but it felt more significant than an old resentment regarding his dogs. Michaelo wanted to tell Owen something, in private, something he thought important. Owen put him off, telling him he hoped to return within the hour, asked if Michaelo could stay that long.
‘I could, I’ve little else to do, but I would rather be of help than stand about waiting for a moment to speak.’
Lucie looked up from Alisoun’s pallet. ‘I’ve a favor to ask. Would you inquire about Muriel Swann? Find out whether she needs me?’
‘As you wish,’ said Michaelo, following Owen to the door. ‘And while we walk, I can briefly give you my news.’
Moving out into the garden, Owen said, ‘I take it you did not want someone in that room to hear what you have to say?’