She should go down, tell Owen, send Tildy for Bess. No need for a priest, Anselm had already given him the last rites. There was nothing to do but prepare the body for burial, wrap it in a shroud. Bess would send her stable boy to Cutter's for the coffin.
Lucie would have liked to bury Nicholas in his garden — it was there he had been happiest — but it was not possible. He must be buried in hallowed ground. She must get up, go downstairs, take care of the details. But she lingered, feeling close to him even though his eyes were closed and his soul had passed on, knowing that once she left Nicholas's side, he would be truly, completely gone.
This evening her feelings for him had been confused. She had felt betrayed. Her mother had been poisoned by the man in whom Lucie had placed all her trust. All her hope for the future. The father of her only child. That brief joy, so sharp and pure. Nicholas had acted irresponsibly and handed her mother her death. He had sought out the advice of his former lover, someone bound to be jealous of Nicholas's feeling for Amelie D'Arby.
It was the Archdeacon Lucie should hate. She had lashed out at Nicholas, but it was Anselm she should hate. Anselm.
He must pay for all this pain.
Owen cursed as the shop bell rang. He needed to think. But he could not ignore the bell. No one came to them at this time of the evening except with an emergency. Melisende guarded her catch and watched Owen as he walked past her.
'God be with you.' A young monk, flushed, out of breath, eyes shining with troubled excitement. 'I must speak with Mistress Wilton’ Brother Sebastian from the abbey.
'There is illness in the household. Mistress Wilton watches over her husband.'
The young monk bowed. 'My Abbot sends me to warn you that Brother Wulfstan has been poisoned.'
Owen was surprised. Brother Wulfstan attacked, even with Anselm out of the way? 'Is he dead?'
The Lord spared him. But he is ill. And the Abbot worries that Mistress Wilton is in danger. He wants you to take the Wiltons to Freythorpe Hadden. They should be safe there with Sir Robert and his retainers.'
'An odd choice. It would be easier to set up a defence in familiar territory. Why Freythorpe Hadden?'
Brother Sebastian shrugged. 'I am just a messenger.'
Such messengers often knew far more than the players. 'Think. What could be his reasoning?'
'Perhaps he feels York is dangerous. Enemies could be anywhere. It was one of our brethren who tried to poison the Infirmarian. Brother Michaelo, acting for the Archdeacon. Perhaps my Abbot suspects he has more agents.' Sebastian frowned, fearful he had said too much. 'But I am only a messenger.'
'And where is the Archdeacon now?'
'On the road to Durham.'
'And if Anselm doubles back,' Lucie asked from the doorway, 'and finds us.gone, will he not think to go to my father's house?'
Brother Sebastian bowed to her. 'God be with you, Mistress Wilton. My Abbot is concerned for you. He says Owen Archer and Sir Robert's retainers can better protect you at Freythorpe’
'Owen can protect me here. My husband has just died. I want to bury him here, among the people who loved him.'
'Nicholas is dead?' Owen went over to her.
Lucie held herself stiffly, as if any softening would undo her. Her face was pale, making her eyes look huge in her face. 'Please thank Abbot Campian for his warning and his concern. Tell him that we will be watchful.' Lucie excused herself and went back up the stairs.
Brother Sebastian gave Owen a worried look. 'My Abbot will not like it.'
Owen considered him. 'Did Brother Michaelo say that the Archdeacon meant to kill Mistress Wilton?'
'I do not know.'
'I understand the Archdeacon was sent to Durham. Surely not alone?'
'Brandon, a novice, accompanies him.'
'And who else?'
'Just Brandon.'
'That is all? One novice?'
Sebastian looked uncomfortable. 'Brandon is strong’
Owen laughed in disbelief. He was surrounded by fools. 'One strong man is no match for the Highlanders on the road.'
Brother Sebastian shrugged.
Owen patted him on the shoulder. 'I know none of this is your doing. I do not mean to badger you. But you must see that I cannot argue with Mistress Wilton on the night of her husband's death. I am afraid you must tell your Abbot what she said.'
The messenger gone, Owen climbed the steps. Lucie sat beside Nicholas, studying him with a faraway look.
'I sent Brother Sebastian on his way.'
Lucie shook herself, rubbed her forehead. 'I will not bury Nicholas at Freythorpe Hadden’ she said.
'Why not?'
'That place brought only sorrow to both of us. I wish I could bury him in his garden. But certainly not at Freythorpe. Sir Robert pushed me away. There is no love there for me or Nicholas.'
'But it was your home.'
She gave him a strange look. 'You chose not to return to the place where you were a boy. Perhaps you were right.'
Owen could think of no response to that. 'What can I do to help you?'
'Aunt Phillippa must sleep. Ask Bess to come help me prepare Nicholas for burial.'
Owen took her hands in his. 'Your aunt is not the only one who needs sleep.'
'I cannot sleep.'
'Lucie, think what you've been through the past two nights. The fire. Now Nicholas.'
'I will prepare him. Then keep vigil.'
'Let someone else keep vigil.'
'No. I will do it. I killed him. I will keep the vigil.'
Owen's heart sank. Killed him? Had they come full circle? Was she the murderer after all? Had Nicholas been killed by a slow poison so he would never recover enough to remember and possibly accuse her?
Lucie laughed, a brittle, chilling little laugh. 'You are shocked that I killed my husband.'
'I'm confused. How did you kill him?'
Even lacking sleep and in the first stages of mourning, Lucie could look at him with those eyes of hers and make him feel that she could see into his soul. 'I'm not a poisoner, if that's what you're thinking.' Spoken without anger. She sounded merely tired. 'I told him that his friend had tried to kill me. I blamed him for my mother's death. When he tried to tell me that he had killed Montaigne for me, I turned away from him. And then 1 went downstairs. I should have been with him.' Gently she smoothed the grizzled hair back from Nicholas's forehead.
'He was already dying, Lucie.'
She kept her eyes on her husband. 'I was wrong to blame him. All of this has been the fruit of the Archdeacon's unholy love for Nicholas, a mean, suffocating love. It is Anselm who will burn in Hell for all this, not my Nicholas.'
'Think about this tomorrow.'
Lucie was not listening. 'I came and found Nicholas whimpering in his sleep. I tried to comfort him. I told him I forgave him. But I don't know if he heard.'
'I am sure he did.'
'You say that because you want me calm. Then you can persuade me to take him to Freythorpe.'
'That's not true, Lucie.'
'Go fetch Bess.'
Owen, seeing she would not be comforted, went for Bess.
Twenty-four
A cart came up behind Anselm, rumbling and squeaking. It was a farmer's cart. It trundled by, then stopped. The farmer looked back, took in the priest's garb and its state, tipped a greasy cap. 'What is this, the thieves don't even respect the cloth now? Have you been overtaken, Father? Lost your horse?'