‘It is already at the Ferriby house,’ said Alisoun. ‘When Master Peter saw it he asked if he had wasted his money hiring a few men to protect us on the journey. I reminded him that I would be stopping at Freythorpe Hadden, so he would need the men for the completion of his journey to his manor.’ She laughed. ‘My bow is for hunting, helping with the meat supply on the manor.’
‘I count on you to have your bow ready to defend my children when out in the fields,’ said Owen. ‘Warning folk who might wander there that they are welcome to approach the gatehouse to ask for food or work, but should they choose to take without asking, they will pay.’
‘You depend on me to protect them?’
‘I do.’
She walked a few steps before responding. ‘You may count on me, Captain.’
‘We are grateful to you, Alisoun. I would not blame you for wishing you might stay with Magda in this strange time.’
‘I promised. And I love your children.’
They moved down through the Shambles, quiet at this time of night. A stray dog scooted out of their way, a cat streaked across the wet cobbles after a rat. The stench of the butchers’ street was subtler at night, the bloods washed down, the scraps fed to dogs or given to the poor, shops shut, housefires burning. The latter scent seemed stronger than usual. Or was it himself? Carn had guessed he’d been to the fire on the river. Had he smelled it on him despite his change of clothing? Perhaps, but as he turned into Hosier Lane, St Crux Church looming to his left, Owen noticed that the house next to the Ferriby’s was shrouded in smoke.
‘A fire at the Wolcott house?’ asked Alisoun.
‘I see no flames.’ Smoke, yes. Owen blinked to keep his one good eye clear as they passed. Peter Ferriby answered his door on the first knock, as if he had been watching out for them.
‘Burning rubbish in the yard,’ he muttered. ‘Owen, it is good to see you.’ Peter pressed his arm, an unusual gesture for the staid merchant. Though their wives were good friends and the families occasionally dined together on feast days, Peter had treated Owen with distant courtesy. ‘Alisoun, let me relieve you of that heavy pack.’ He set it in front of a collection of such packs piled round chests. ‘I am glad I arranged for a large cart, and still I am uncertain it will all fit.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘You heard about the fire at the staithe? A plague house, they say.’
‘I was there,’ said Owen. ‘By all accounts there is no pestilence on that street, though there are several families who have lost their homes. How did you hear of the fire?’
‘My servant saw it as he came across the bridge after making the arrangements for the cart.’ Peter frowned. ‘Not a plague house? Damn the gossips. But my neighbor had heard the same. Gavin said the victim was his laundress, Goodwife Brown. Poor woman. Folk will be wary of her. A pity. But with so much fear …’ He spread his arms as if to say what can one do. ‘I will be glad to escape the city.’
‘Gavin Wolcott. I wondered whether they’d had a fire,’ said Owen.
‘As I said, fools were burning bedding in the garden this evening and failed to control the blaze. I ran out with a bucket of water to douse sparks on my gate.’
‘Damage?’
‘Nothing to speak of. They were more careful with the children’s bedding in the autumn. A terrible loss for Guthlac and Beatrice.’ Peter crossed himself.
‘Why bedding?’ Alisoun asked.
‘When Dame Beatrice heard that the plague house was Goodwife Brown’s she ordered the servants to burn the bedding delivered this morning. Lettice Brown is their laundress. Gavin – her stepson – was out there as well. A rare truce between the two of them – they are usually at war. He made a right mess of it, but soon had it under control. But enough of them. Sit, sit. Ale? Wine?’
Though Owen would rather head next door to ask about the rumor and then return to the scene to find out whether anyone had seen Lettice Brown – he did not recall any mention of her – he felt it would be discourteous to rush off without expressing his gratitude for Emma Ferriby’s care of the children at Freythorpe Hadden and Peter’s accommodating Alisoun on the morrow. Alisoun joined them, putting their host at ease with questions about his sons Ivo and John. He, in turn, spoke of his gratitude that Emma’s favor for Lucie and Owen had sent her and the boys to the countryside before the mood in the city had grown so tense.
When the conversation wound down, Owen took his leave, repeating his thanks, wishing them both a safe journey.
As he crossed to the Wolcotts’ door Owen considered what he knew of them. He had encountered Gavin’s father, Guthlac, on occasion, a gruff elderly man who had been the gossip of the city four years earlier when he married a pretty young woman, a distant cousin. On all accounts, and much to everyone’s surprise, the marriage was reportedly a happy one, producing two children in quick succession, Guthlac doting on them. And then tragedy struck when both children died of the pestilence in late summer. It was said that Gavin, a son by an earlier marriage, heir to the business, had distanced himself from the couple for the years of their happiness, but had hovered like a carrion bird since his father’s loss, as if sensing that his time had come to take over the business.
At the Wolcott house Owen’s knock was answered by a servant, who had him wait outside. Gavin appeared at once, clearly annoyed though courteous, explaining that his physician was there to see to his burn and it was not a good time to entertain a guest. Owen had noticed that his right sleeve had been cut away to expose a large area of blistering. He was otherwise well dressed, a slender young man with expressive eyes, narrowed now as he impatiently awaited an explanation for the interruption. ‘What business might the captain of the city have with me?’
‘I understand you heard earlier that the fire near King’s Staithe had begun at Lettice Brown’s. Who told you that? How did you hear that so quickly?’
Gavin took a step back, the slight sneer replaced by wariness. ‘Dame Beatrice heard someone calling it out as they rushed past toward the river. Why do you ask? Was it not true?’
‘I wondered how they knew that before they had been to the staithe.’
Gavin said nothing for a moment, his eyes moving as if he were calculating what was best to say. ‘I see why you wished to know. It is unlikely. Was it true? I ask because Goodwife Brown has been our laundress for a long while so of course we are concerned.’
‘As far as we can ascertain there are no plague houses in that area,’ said Owen.
‘God be thanked,’ he said, but muttered a curse. Seeing Owen’s quizzical look he said, ‘Burned good bedding and suffered this burn for nothing. Silly woman. I should know better than to act on her word.’ He nodded to Owen. ‘I thank you for the news, Captain. I will inform the household.’ He began to shut the door.
Owen put out an arm to stop it. ‘While your physician sees to your burn, I would speak with Dame Beatrice about her late factor.’
‘About Sam Toller? She had nothing to do with him. And why now? No. As I said, she is with the physician and my father.’
‘You said the physician was here to see to your burn.’
‘And my father. Now if you will–’
‘Have you learned anything new about Sam Toller’s death?’
‘I– No. I thought it had been established that he drowned.’
‘The rumor about Dame Magda–’
‘Oh that. Women’s gossip. I can see no reason the Riverwoman would push Sam into the water.’
‘Your choosing to replace Dame Magda with Master Bernard was merely a matter of preference?’
‘My– What does that have to do with Sam’s death? What are you implying?’
‘I merely refer to Sam’s widow’s claim that he had gone to confront Dame Magda about your father’s illness.’