The Guilt of Innocents (21 page)

Owen wondered whether Thoresby would give him leave to send Rafe and Gilbert back to Sir Baldwin to ask for his help in searching for Aubrey de Weston.

A dozen or so boys and girls of varying ages were solemnly listening to Master Nicholas explaining the value of committing passages to memory. The classroom door was open to the alleyway yet those closest to the brazier in the room looked sweaty and sleepy. Hempe hesitated, loath to interrupt a lesson, but neither did he wish to return later, when he might very well find the same situation. He stepped into the doorway.

A young girl gasped to see him and tugged on
the sleeve of her neighbour. Soon all were looking his way, which at last drew the grammar master’s attention.

‘Master Bailiff,’ he said with a nod. ‘Are we disturbing the King’s peace with our lesson?’ He smiled and winked at the young scholars, some of whom giggled or chuckled, some of whom were not comforted by his demeanour.

Hempe forced a laugh. ‘Nay, your lesson is blessed noise. I pray you, would you step out with me for a moment. I would talk to you, but I will be brief.’

The grammar master forced his smile to stay and asked his assistant to read a passage from the bible while he stepped out with Hempe.

‘I trust you believe that their lessons are important?’ Nicholas said when they were a house away. ‘I hope that your behaviour in interrupting us does not bespeak your opinion of education.’

‘It is in your power to make this very brief, indeed,’ said Hempe. He sensed that Nicholas’s expression of irritation was an attempt to cover fear. ‘Why did you seek Captain Archer’s counsel yesterday?’

Nicholas squirmed as he glanced up and down the alleyway. But he looked Hempe in the eye at last. ‘I merely wished to know whether Captain Archer felt my name had been cleared, whether he’d heard any more gossip concerning the poor man who bled as I prayed over him.’ He lifted his chin as he completed his little speech.

‘But surely Dame Lucie might have answered that for you. Why did you not ask her whether you had won back your good name?’

‘I did not consider that Dame Lucie would know of all that Captain Archer had heard. Is that all?’

Hempe shook his head. ‘Nay, I doubt that is all. You sought out the captain for more than that. You seemed worried. Perhaps a little frightened.’

‘You were not there. How can you know how I behaved?’

‘I ask questions. I am working with Captain Archer at present, so I can tell you that the journeyman’s death has quieted the rumours about you and Drogo.’

Nicholas crossed himself. ‘I’d heard of another death on the river. But what has that to do with Drogo’s death?’

‘Perhaps people think it unlikely that you would attack two men. But I don’t know that. Where were you that afternoon?’

‘In the schoolroom.’

‘What are you fearfully worried about?’

Nicholas shook his head, but now he did not meet Hempe’s eyes. ‘My good name, that is all. You must understand, as a schoolmaster and a vicar I must be above suspicion, else parents will not trust me with their children, and my flock will not trust me as confessor. Not to mention my trouble with the dean and chancellor of St
Peter’s. I’ve no doubt you are well informed about that issue.’ He paused to catch his breath.

He had resumed eye contact, and Hempe did not doubt that all he said was true. It was what he was not saying that Hempe wished to know.

‘I know about that, yes, and I am aware of the import of scandal attached to the name of a priest and grammar master. But I trow you have more to tell.’

‘Is it not enough that my livelihood is threatened?’ Nicholas cried. ‘You say you are aware of the
import
. You aren’t. You’ve no idea.’

Hempe was glad of the emotion and thought he might push a bit more. ‘You’ve more to tell, Master Nicholas, and I’ll keep asking you until you satisfy me.’

‘You may believe whatever you please, Master Bailiff, but you’ll get no satisfaction from me, for there’s no more to tell. I’ve answered your questions in all honesty and now I must return to my scholars.’

With a huff, the grammar master tugged at his gown to smooth it over his belly and marched back to his classroom. Hempe had no authority to keep him away from his scholars, and he knew to relent before he’d made an enemy. With a sigh, he headed for the nearest tavern outside the minster liberty. It was time for that cup of wine.

Brooding over a claret quite inferior to that which he’d served himself at the goldsmith’s, he eventually let go of his irritation with the grammar
master and considered what would be most useful. It was mid-afternoon by now. He was spending far too much time on this. Investigations were not his job, but he could not shake thoughts about it so he’d might as well do something constructive. That the murders were connected he felt in his bones. He had only to find the link, and that might lead him to the murderer. He thought about Drogo and remembered someone searching his house. He’d forgotten to ask Master Edward where Nigel had lodged. The man down the bench, deep into his cups, growled as Hempe rocked the seat in his haste to leave.

The lad who greeted him at Munkton’s was glad to give him the information, and Hempe was off at a trot to Petergate and the house of Dame Lotta, a wealthy widow known for her charitable gifts to the churches of the city. Munkton had certainly settled his journeyman in respectable lodgings. Perhaps the guild had insisted.

An elderly manservant opened the door, ‘Master Bailiff? How did you know my mistress –?’

‘Did she send for me?’ How strange.

‘Aye. Just now.’

The elderly servant was eased aside by the tiny widow. ‘George Hempe, I think?’ Her dark eyes seemed intense in her exceedingly pale face, and a beautiful contrast to the fair hair braided beneath her veil. Hempe thought her one of the handsomest women of York. ‘Come in, I pray you. I’ve made an unpleasant discovery and need
your counsel.’ She led him to a door at the end of the hall farthest from the street.

‘Dame Lotta, I’ve come concerning your lodger, Nigel, the journeyman –’

‘For Master Edward. Do you mean you know why I sent for you?’

‘You sent for me?’

‘What else would a bailiff of York want with me?’ Her dark eyes watched him with lively curiosity.

‘I wished to ask you about your tenant.’ Hempe wondered how she remained unwed. Might she consider a mere bailiff? He shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

‘You shake your head, Master George?’

‘A crook in my neck, that is all. Pray ignore my twitches. What was your unpleasant discovery?’

Obeying a nod of her head, the manservant slipped past Hempe to the door and swung it wide.

‘Behold my late lodger Nigel’s room, Master George,’ said Dame Lotta with a sweep of her arm.

Bedding twisted and mounded on the floor, a good mattress slit open, feathers everywhere, the contents of a chest spilling out.

‘I assure you, had the young man done such damage, even once, he would have been back at Edward Munkton’s.’

‘When did you find this?’

‘Just a while ago.’ Lotta bowed her head and apologetically said, ‘I did not like to go in last night, not with him just murdered. I feared his spirit might be flitting about in agony, and where would he come but his last home. Nor did I want my servants frightened.’ She peered up at him with the sweetest expression of fear Hempe had ever seen. ‘Perhaps it is unwise to say this of the dead, but he was not a nice man, though tidy and quiet. I’d thought about asking him to leave.’

Hempe asked permission to go into the room and look around, which Lotta readily gave. Clothes, a writing slate, a small book of notes regarding the working of gold which had been his mystery, a pair of worn boots, prayer beads – Hempe found nothing of interest. But of course whoever had searched before him would have removed anything that might point to his murderer, assuming that his murderer was the searcher. He tried the door leading to the side alley and found it locked.

The servant, standing in the doorway to the hall, said, ‘I found it unlocked this morning, sir. Mistress told me to lock it.’

‘Had the lock been damaged? Or the door?’

‘The lock, sir. I had to put another one on it.’

Dame Lotta kept a supply of padlocks, it seemed. Returning to the hall, Hempe asked her what she meant by ‘not nice’.

‘I did not care for the way he looked at me,’ she said. ‘And of late I’d heard another man’s
voice a few times. His guests were to come to the street door so that I might know who was in my house.’ She nodded her head as if to emphasise the correctness of the rule. ‘But this one would come by way of the alley door. Nigel also seemed secretive in other ways. Not that I cared to know much of his life, but he’d grown rude in his responses to my questions.’

‘And yet he looked at you with too much interest?’ asked Hempe.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘There was variance in his behaviour. I do not dissemble with you.’

‘I never thought that you did, Dame Lotta. I beg you, forgive me if I have offended you.’

She smiled and gave him a little bow. ‘Of course, Master George.’

‘Did this visitor by any chance wear a fancy hat? Fur and feathers?’

‘As I said, I did not see the visitor.’

‘Ah. Yes, you did say.’ He learned little more, and as he left her home he wondered whether she was truly God’s most adorable creation, or whether he’d had too much wine too early in the day.

Jasper guided his horse close to the captain’s. ‘Da, I just remembered something. Osmund Gamyll was in the city the night of Drogo’s death. It was when he was talking to Master Nicholas that I learned Aubrey and Sir Baldwin were alive and home.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Yes.’

The captain grinned and nodded. ‘You are proving to be an excellent spy, my son.’

W
hile Kate instructed Gwenllian and Hugh in some kitchen chores and Phillippa napped by the fire, Magda tried to engage Alisoun, just home from school and rosy-cheeked from the cold, in a discussion about her future.

‘I never wished to be a nursemaid,’ said Alisoun, her pouting face above her thin neck giving her the look of an indignant bird. ‘I’ll be relieved to quit this house.’

Magda could tell by the girl’s jagged breath that it was not so, but she did not intend to argue with her.

‘Kate’s cousin Maud needs the warmth and healing of this household, so Magda is glad thou hast no desire to remain here. Thou needst not worry about thy schooling – it will not be interrupted unless thou shouldst choose to journey with Magda when the floods begin.’

Alisoun sat a little straighter, subtly fluffing her feathers. ‘You’d let me come with you?’

Magda nodded. ‘Unless thou art needed in the city. Thou needst a lodging, so it is thy choice whether to bide with Magda or accept another post. Magda thinks thou couldst do much for an ailing young woman, the daughter of a shipman. Thou wouldst get much practice in healing by attending her.’

Conflict shone in Alisoun’s eyes. ‘You would teach me how to care for her?’ she asked.

‘Aye. Her healing requires both physicks and a supportive presence, a listening friend. Wouldst thou have the patience for that?’

‘I want to be a healer, not a friend.’ Alisoun almost growled the last words.

Now she reminded Magda not so much of a chick as a small, testy dog. ‘Thou hast much to learn about what a healer does. When Maud is ready to come here, Magda will take thee to meet the young woman and thou canst decide for thyself.’

‘And if I don’t choose to take care of her?’ Alisoun barked.

‘The city and the countryside overflow with people in need, young Alisoun. Thou shalt not lack for work if thou art willing.’

The question remained in Magda’s heart – was the girl willing? She must be patient, for only time would provide the answer to that troubling question.

*      *      *

Her lower back aching and her ankles swollen after a full day of sitting on the high stool in the shop, Lucie was glad to accept Edric’s offer of his arm for support as they crossed the garden to the hall. Frost softened the winter twilight, and where the lamplight spilling from the hall window illuminated the wisps of air and the stark winter garden, Lucie felt as if she’d stepped into another world, one more magical, with different standards of beauty. She mentioned this to Edric and he paused to look around.

‘It
is
wondrous,’ he said in a reverent whisper. ‘The world must be so beautiful seen from your eyes, Dame Lucie.’

Sometimes it was difficult for Lucie to remember that he was older than Jasper, he seemed so artless in his youthful infatuation.

‘I was so caught up in how cold I am that I had not noticed how the fog swirls,’ he said.

Lucie had noticed that he seldom seemed aware of his surroundings. ‘Your apprenticeship is a time for learning how to live a good life in your mystery as well as how to mix physicks, Edric. You will be a better apothecary by knowing life.’ She stopped herself. This was not the moment for such a discussion. ‘And you are right, it
is
cold out here.’ Lucie picked up her pace, still with her hand in the crook of Edric’s arm.