In a garden shed she lay, clammy with a fever, her heartbeat fluttery, her feet and hands cold. A gentle rain was falling, seeping through the ruined roof of the shed and dripping on Beatrice Wolcott. But that was not what soaked her skirts. She cradled in her arms a slip of flesh, bloody, still connected by the cord.
‘Blessed Mary and all the saints,’ Kate sobbed.
Lucie whispered a prayer for the dead child, then, bending to the woman’s ear, said, ‘Beatrice, can you hear me?’
The eyelids flickered. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. The bottom lip was split as if she had been hit, her cheek and chin bruised.
Kate drew Beatrice’s upper body onto her lap and Lucie knelt to her, filling a small bowl with wine, dribbling a little in the woman’s mouth.
Beatrice coughed, gasped, then licked her lip. ‘More,’ she whispered.
Warning her to just sip, Lucie dribbled more as she told Beatrice who they were and that they had come to help.
‘Too late,’ she whispered, turning her head to the side, closing her eyes.
‘Beatrice? I need you to wake.’ Lucie tapped her cheek. ‘You must wake.’ But the woman was still. Yet her heart beat, and she breathed, shallowly. Where there was breath there was life.
It took more work turning round the cart than it had redistributing the contents to make room for bound and injured passengers. But a widening of the track farther on helped. Soon the solemn party turned back toward the city, John and the maidservant on the seat of the cart, Stephen riding beside the carthorse.
‘Was this the plan all along?’ Michaelo asked Owen. ‘Gemma and Gavin?’
‘If so, I fear we will not find Beatrice Wolcott alive.’
Michaelo bowed his head and began to pray.
Alert to noises or furtive movement in the woods to either side as he rode, Owen could not understand Einar’s sudden appearance. One moment there was no one to either side of the track ahead, the next he was halting the company to make way for Einar, who was leading Magda’s donkey cart out from – where? Owen saw no path. Was he truly so depleted by the fight with Wolcott and his party that the young man and donkey cart could be upon them before he noticed? And from where?
‘Delivering the cloth?’ Owen asked.
‘Yes.’ Einar stared at their overflowing cart. ‘So many injured. An accident? Do you need help?’
‘I could use the cart,’ said Owen. ‘We’re taking these folk to the castle jail. But the leech I must deliver to the king’s men at St Mary’s Abbey.’
‘Alan? They know about him?’ Einar sounded disappointed. Perhaps realizing in that moment his missed opportunity. He might have delivered up the man to the prince.
‘Help us deliver him,’ said Owen. ‘I know Magda would not deny me the use of her cart that far, and for the leech who battered her daughter.’
Einar nodded. ‘Gladly. I will accompany you and return the cart afterward.’
With Alfred’s assistance, Owen transferred the still unconscious Alan Rawcliff to Magda’s cart.
‘His lips are cracked,’ said Einar. ‘I have water.’
As Owen lifted Alan’s head, Einar helped him drink. But though he swallowed, he did not open his eyes.
‘Did you drug him?’ Owen asked Gemma Toller.
‘I don’t know. I did not know he was with us.’
Gavin Wolcott did not stir.
The maidservant wriggled in her bonds. ‘If I help you, will you let me go free?’
‘I can promise nothing,’ said Owen, ‘but I will tell the sheriff you willingly helped us.’
She hesitated. ‘You will do that?’
‘I promise.’
‘They gave him something to drink in his wine. From the jar of physick for the old master,’ she said in a rush, as if racing against second thoughts. ‘Then when he was stumbling about howling that he was betrayed those two men hit and kicked him until I thought he must be dead.’ She indicated the two who had followed the cart.
‘Did Gemma Toller witness this?’ Owen asked.
‘I told you–’ Gemma began.
‘No. She came this morning.’
‘Is the physick still in the house?’ Owen asked.
The maidservant shook her head. ‘Packed in the cart. If you loose my hands I will find it for you.’
He freed her hands. Out of a trunk she lifted several men’s shirts, a few cushions, two decorated mazers, finally drawing out a pouch that she handed to him. Within was a small covered pot tied closed. He opened it and sniffed – too many scents for his limited knowledge, but he was confident that either Brother Henry, the abbey’s infirmarian, or Lucie would be able to identify the contents. Entrusting the Wolcott cart and the captors to Crispin Poole, Owen led the serving maid to Einar’s cart, helping her into the back with Alan.
‘Call out to us if he wakes,’ he said. He meant to take her to the Wolcott house to see to Beatrice, if she yet lived.
With Einar seated on the cart, Owen rode to the front of the group and led them out of Galtres.
After praying over the stillborn, Lucie wrapped him in rags that Luke had brought from the Ferriby home and handed Luke the bundle to bury in the garden. Malformed and premature, the child would not have lived even if a midwife had been present. It was Beatrice who might have benefited from proper care, and Lucie cursed Gavin for his cruelty to his father’s widow. Beatrice still did not wake, and grew colder despite the fire they had stoked in the Wolcott kitchen where she now lay.
A pounding on the door. ‘Where is the thief? I will have his head!’ a man shouted. ‘Come out, you coward, and face me.’
Lucie rushed to silence the intruder and discovered the mayor, Thomas Graa, his round face purple with rage. He took a step back when she appeared. ‘Mistress Wilton?’
‘If it is Gavin Wolcott you seek, he is gone,’ she said, ‘leaving his father’s widow to suffer alone in a filthy shed.’
That quieted the man. ‘Dame Beatrice? What has happened?’
‘I do not know. Luke Ferriby came searching for–’ she paused, realizing the mayor had no idea Owen had been watching the Wolcott house, ‘his gardener. He discovered Dame Beatrice in a faint in the shed and came for me.’
Trying to peer past Lucie into the room, Graa said, ‘Gavin has gone mad. We must hunt him down.’
‘My husband took men to track him.’
‘The captain? Excellent. Best thing we have done, offering Archer the captaincy.’
‘My concern is Dame Beatrice.’
‘Ah. Of course. I will send a cart to fetch her, bring her to the sisters at St Mary’s in Castlegate.’
‘That is kind of you,’ said Lucie. ‘But I thought to take her to my home, where I might see to her.’
‘Of course. Yes. That is good of you. I will send a cart to carry her to your home.’ He turned away, muttering to himself. ‘That monster. Fled with our goods. Damn him. I thought him such a fine young man. How I could be so wrong …’ He paused, turning back to ask, ‘And Bernard the leech?’
‘I know nothing of him since he beat the healer attending Jack Fuller,’ said Lucie. ‘I pray my husband discovers him with Gavin Wolcott. Now I must return to Dame Beatrice.’
‘My servants will come with the cart to assist you.’ Graa hurried off.
As Owen led his men and captives out from the cover of the trees he discovered a crowd on the riverbank. He did not see the cart from the morning. Glancing back, he called Michaelo forward, asked him to find out if their men needed help.
‘I will go,’ Einar offered. ‘I would see whether Dame Magda needs me.’
‘And if she does need you?’ asked Owen. He looked to Michaelo. ‘I want the others to press on to the castle. You will accompany me to the abbey.’