The Guilt of Innocents (25 page)

‘I intend to.’ Owen wondered about William’s loyalties. ‘To explain my hesitation about Nicholas Ferriby’s guilt or innocence requires that I tell you all that I have learned, Your Grace.’

‘Then begin, Archer, begin.’

The prospect suddenly seemed exhausting. Owen took the chair opposite the archbishop and forced himself to begin with Hubert and his mother. When he reached Nicholas’s meeting with Robert Dale and his mention of gold cross pendants, Thoresby snorted.

‘This is the evidence that he is a murderer?’

‘Your Grace knows me better than to suggest that,’ Owen said. ‘If I might inquire, Your Grace, would money assist Nicholas in opposing the chancellor’s intention to close his school?’

‘Fetch the wine and cups from the table.’ Thoresby sat back, fussing with the drape of his sleeves. He nodded his thanks to Owen before he took a sip. ‘Ah. Better. I found the minster air filled with stone dust. Difficult on old lungs.’

Owen settled back with his own cup, willing to wait for Thoresby to come round to answering his question. He’d managed to communicate what he’d learned without many interruptions, so he felt he should now be patient.

‘If I were not opposed to excommunicating Nicholas, he would need to raise money to put a petition before the pope,’ said Thoresby. ‘But I am on his side, so there is little chance they will prevail. The school is small, and his own parish church is not particularly well endowed, so he might welcome more money, but so might we all. There is precedent for the chapter’s reaction to a grammar school in the liberty – or at least near it. Years ago the dean and chancellor were incensed by St Leonard’s grammar school. But the school remains. I believe this tempest will pass as well, and Master Nicholas’s school will survive. It is a modest institution, and girls are accepted – certainly nothing St Peter’s will ever consider.’

‘All Nicholas need do is wait?’

‘I believe so. But whether he has the wisdom to do so, I cannot judge.’ Thoresby sipped his wine. ‘What will you do now?’

‘I must see Master Nicholas and his brother. Nicholas came to the shop while I was away but would not talk to Lucie in my stead.’

Thoresby tilted his head as if thinking. ‘Do you expect another murder?’

‘Until I find the murderer that is always the danger, and the motivation for dropping all other responsibilities and searching in every way I can think of.’

‘God go with you, Archer, and with your family. Dame Lucie is well?’

Owen smiled. The archbishop was godfather to both Gwenllian and Hugh, and intended to stand for the child to come. ‘She is as well as a woman might be as she slows and grows anxious for the babe to arrive.’

‘Cherish her, Archer. Do not stint in your attentions to her because of these crimes.’

The comment confused Owen, made him suddenly wonder whether he had neglected her, whether Thoresby had heard she’d complained. But Owen knew that to be unlikely. ‘I do cherish her, Your Grace.’ He resented feeling the need to defend himself. But perhaps he did need to express his affection for her more.

Thoresby rose. ‘I want to hear what Nicholas and William have to say to you.’

Owen had thought that would be the case. He
bowed and took his leave. As he departed the hall he wondered why he’d taken Thoresby’s admonition about Lucie to heart, a cleric never wed, though with experience of women, never having lived with one so long as Owen had with Lucie. He thought of how she’d pulled him down onto the bed when he’d returned last night – there was a time when they’d lustily taken every chance to lie together. But that was before the children, and before Lucie’s aunt had moved in. Perhaps since her accident the previous year he’d been reluctant to make love to her too often.

He realised he’d been so distracted he’d missed his turning and had to double back. Enough. He did not need his mind clouded with doubt about his treatment of his beloved wife. As he headed down Vicar Lane towards Master Nicholas’s school he fought a twinge of anger. Thoresby meant well. He was good to Owen’s family, very good.

It was the supper hour for the scholars and Nicholas was able to withdraw into his large chamber with Owen. He did not look well, as round as ever but with a pallor that seemed excessive even for the sunless season.

‘Captain, I am in your debt for coming. I am not one to scare easily, but I’ve –’ he flung wide his arms, ‘well, since the goldsmith’s journeyman was murdered I’ve not known what to do with myself to stay calm, which of course I must do for my scholars.’ He’d begun to sweat.

‘You knew Nigel, the journeyman?’ Owen asked.

Nicholas shook his head. ‘No, no, I knew him not, but –’ He took a deep breath and reached beneath his collar, pulling out a gold chain from which hung a delicate gold cross. ‘This is a birthing cross belonging to Sir Baldwin Gamyll. Drogo brought it to me for safekeeping the day before he died.’

‘Holy Mother of God, it’s here.’ Owen caught his breath.

‘Have you been looking for this?’

‘Looking for it? You f –’ Owen caught himself and dropped the fist he’d raised. ‘This was in the scrip Drogo took from Hubert.’

Nicholas had flinched at the sight of the fist. ‘God help me,’ he murmured.

‘You not only lied to me, but you kept this a secret?’ Owen struggled to keep his voice low. ‘How could you not guess how important this is, eh? By the rood, you had better have a good reason for keeping this from me – and the fact that you knew Drogo.’

Nicholas threw up his hands. ‘Drogo came to me once, a few months past, to inquire about the fees for the school, having heard that I accepted girls as well as boys. He has two daughters. My fees were more than he could afford, but he said his circumstances might improve over the winter and he might see his way to sending one of his daughters. He was courteous and seemed a loving
father. So we were not entirely strangers, but that is the extent of it.’

Owen tried to calm himself. He needed answers. He needed to ask and listen. ‘Did he say how it came to be in his possession?’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘Well, yes, he made up a tale about a buyer trying to trick him. But I knew what it was, having handled it in my parish so often, I know the imperfections, the wear on it – and that it’s been missing for months.’

‘Why did he come to you?’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘He would not tell me. I asked, believe me, for it was a great puzzlement to me and he seemed frightened. He said he did not want it found on him. How he knew it belonged in my parish I don’t know, but why else would he entrust it to me?’

‘He did not want it found on him? He said that?’

Nicholas nodded.

‘He said nothing of Hubert’s scrip when he brought the cross to you?’

Nicholas sagged against the wall, his head in his hands for a moment. ‘He did not mention the scrip.’

‘Are you ill, Master Nicholas?’

‘No. Merely – oh, this is why I said nothing to you. After that horrible moment when Drogo began to bleed as he lay before the Virgin I knew I would be suspect if I came forth with this.’ He pulled the chain over his head and held it out to Owen. ‘When he died, and then a goldsmith’s
journeyman, I feared I was next, that someone was tracking the cross.’

‘Do you know whether Drogo showed it to Nigel?’

‘No – how could I? But when I heard about the man’s death, the goldsmith’s journeyman, well, I connected the two deaths.’

‘Have you shown it to anyone?’

‘No!’ Nicholas’s colour had returned with a vengeance. ‘Oh, you see, you see, I knew I was cursed by accepting it from Drogo. God’s blood, what am I to do?’

‘I’m sitting down,’ Owen muttered. He tucked the cross into the small pouch he wore on his belt.

Nicholas gestured towards several short benches.

Owen settled on one. ‘Tell me what you know about Hubert de Weston’s family.’

‘What?’ Nicholas blinked at the abrupt change in topic.

‘Sir Baldwin told me that Aubrey de Weston yearned for his wife all the while he was away, but shortly after returning home he’d disappeared, apparently in a temper. Is that surprising?’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘Ysenda seems to be poison for Aubrey, and he for her. Their fights are legendary in the parish. He is a soldier at heart, a man who is quick to anger, quick to attack. I believe they love each other in their own tortured way, and I think them both good people, though she has little faith, it seems to me. In fact I worried about her that she did not know how to ask for
Divine guidance in her grief when I told her that her husband might be dead at La Rochelle. I’d thought of asking Osmund Gamyll to restore her post as housekeeper in his family hall. She’d been sent away when Sir Baldwin remarried, despite his not bringing his young wife to the house until he should return.’

This was a new twist. ‘Ysenda de Weston saw to Sir Baldwin’s home?’ Owen wondered why Baldwin had said nothing about this. Keeping his mistress close at hand?

‘She took care of the house after his first wife died, and before he wed Lady Janet. There was gossip about Ysenda and Sir Baldwin, with Hubert having the Gamyll hair, but he was born before she worked at the house. Gossips are often slack about their facts.’ Nicholas nodded at the sounds growing in the hall beyond the door. ‘The afternoon begins, Captain.’ He rose. ‘I pray I can depend upon you to protect my good name, knowing that I have told you this in confidence.’

Owen rose with a little bow and said, ‘You have been most helpful, Master Nicholas. I am going to set a guard on the school. He’ll be in His Grace’s livery.’

‘To watch me or to protect me?’ Nicholas asked in a testy voice as he saw Owen to the alley door.

‘To protect you, of course,’ said Owen. He made certain the door did not latch tightly, and then headed towards the deanery.

*      *      *

Chancellor Thomas appeared behind the servant who answered the door. Recognising Owen, the chancellor thanked the servant and sent him away.

‘Why do you wish to speak with Canon William?’ he asked in a wary tone, his eyes searching Owen’s face.

‘I am here on the business of His Grace the Archbishop,’ said Owen.

The chancellor was a distinguished scholar and considered himself a figure of authority, but he was not Owen’s authority. It was moments like this that made his connection with the archbishop worth all the aggravation of the old man’s self-interest. God forgive him but Owen enjoyed discomfiting men like the chancellor who wished to command him but could not.

‘Might I know the nature of the business?’ Thomas predictably asked.

Owen pressed his shoulders up to his ears and rubbed his hands together. ‘I am in danger of freezing on your doorstep.’

‘Of course,’ the chancellor said down his nose and stepped aside to allow Owen into the hall, then snapped at a servant that Canon William might be found in the minster choir and to fetch him here.

Relieved to hear that, Owen said, ‘There is no need for Canon William to come here. I’d as lief attend him in the minster.’ Owen bowed to Farnilaw and thanked him, having remembered that in another circumstance he’d admired the man, and then departed.

The choir was fragrant with beeswax and incense, though only a few candles and lamps were lit at present. Canon William’s sandals whispered on the tiles as he came to greet Owen.

‘How might I be of assistance, Captain Archer?’ he asked with courteous puzzlement. ‘I pray this does not concern my imperilled brother.’

‘I’ve a few questions to ask you, and this might take some time,’ said Owen. ‘Might we sit?’

Gesturing to a gracefully curved bench towards the entrance, William gave a worried shake of his head as he settled down beside Owen. Turning so that he might see Owen’s face he asked, ‘Is this about my brother?’

‘In part. Master John of St Peter’s School told me that you were with him when he put Hubert de Weston’s scrip away in the schoolroom.’

William frowned at the floor for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, I was.’

‘Have you told anyone of seeing the scrip?’

Lifting his eyes to Owen, William frowned, apparently understanding the significance of the question. ‘Let me think, Captain. I’d no idea it would signify.’ He joined his hands as if praying, then lifted them, pressing his fingertips to his forehead. After a few breaths he dropped his hands and nodded. ‘Perhaps I did.’ He grimaced with embarrassment.

Owen tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. ‘Is there anyone in particular you might have mentioned it to?’

‘God help me, but it would have been Dean John and Chancellor Thomas. I had a small group to dinner – it might have been that same day – and they were among my guests.’

‘Do you recall why you spoke of it? Did either of them ask about it?’

William shook his head. ‘No, neither asked about it. I mentioned it because they’d expressed an interest in this tragedy – they are the only ones. The indifference of my fellows has been most disturbing. They were our students who rushed the barges. It is our student who is missing. It goes hand in hand with this ridiculous idea of excommunicating my brother because of where he situated his school. They all think they are superior, more than human.’ By the end of his little speech William was talking loudly, and now he pressed a hand to his mouth and crossed himself with the other.