A Gift of Sanctuary (17 page)
Read A Gift of Sanctuary Online
Authors: Candace Robb
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Crime
Burley took a deep breath, nodded as if satisfied. ‘I am glad to think well of him. You can tell me nothing else?’
‘I can think of nothing,’ Owen said.
‘Indeed,’ Geoffrey said, ‘Father Edern was commissioned by Bishop Houghton to learn why Reine and four more of your men were in the bishop’s March without permission.’
Owen and Geoffrey exchanged glances as Burley dipped his head and cleared his throat. They had agreed, with Edern’s blessing, that they would wait until Burley was alone to confront him about the men. As Lascelles did not seem to interfere in Burley’s command they assumed the constable was the one who had sent them.
‘How did you hear of them?’ Burley fought hard to control his voice, but a vein pulsed in his temple, revealing his agitation.
‘They pounded on the bishop’s door and demanded to see the body delivered up to him,’ Geoffrey said. ‘One might say they rudely announced themselves.’
‘Ah.’ Burley’s hands clenched the edge of the table. ‘And they were permitted to see him?’
‘No,’ Geoffrey said. ‘They had no letters of safe conduct. An unfortunate omission.’
Burley made a dismissive gesture. ‘I saw no need for such letters. My men were told to move discreetly along the trail of the thief.’
‘Doing what, Constable?’ Owen asked. ‘Pounding on the bishop’s door was hardly a discreet move. What is the vicar to tell the bishop?’
Burley had managed to compose himself. His hands relaxed, the pulse quieted. ‘That my men were after the thief of the exchequer.’
‘In St David’s?’ Owen asked.
‘They followed the trail of a man heard boasting in a Cydweli tavern that he would soon embarrass the entire garrison, and sweeten the victory with a fistful of gold.’
Interesting. The bishop had been told that the injured receiver had identified his attacker. ‘Who was this man?’ Owen asked.
‘A stranger. A Welshman.’
‘Might Edern speak with the man who reported this?’ Geoffrey asked.
Burley rose. ‘I am sorry to say he is one of the men who so disturbed the bishop. They have not yet returned. I thank you for taking the time to talk of this. I shall seek out the vicar and assure him that my men meant no disrespect.’
‘That will mean little to the bishop,’ Geoffrey said. ‘You sent men into his lordship without his permission to remove a felon. You have no such authority.’
Owen was puzzled by Geoffrey’s uncharacteristically sharp tone.
‘How could I know the trail would lead to St David’s? I shall express my deepest apologies,’ Burley snarled, and strode from the room.
‘Arrogant knave!’ Geoffrey hissed as the door closed behind Burley.
Owen found the parting more reassuring than Burley’s sincere guise. ‘I wonder what version of the story the constable provided for the steward?’ Owen said.
Geoffrey warmed his hands before the dying fire. ‘I wondered, too.’ He turned round, lifted the back of his gown to warm his ankles and calves. ‘I asked after the receiver – did I tell you? “He is still abed, his wits addled by the attack,” Burley said. More than a fortnight to recover, and yet he was able to identify his attacker at the time.’
‘What did Burley say to that?’
Geoffrey made a face. ‘I had not the courage to ask.’
‘His story is not very convincing. I should like to know more about the receiver.’
Geoffrey hopped up on to the edge of the table by Owen. ‘I was able to discover that he lives in the town, and that he was alone in the exchequer and thus the only witness, but no more. He is Welsh, though you would not guess it from his name – Roger Aylward. I thought you might have more luck with him than I would.’
‘Why so curious about all this? We should see to our business with the steward and the constable, then depart.’
‘How do we know none of this has to do with Owain Lawgoch? Or whatever Gruffydd ap Goronwy did that turned Pembroke’s mother against him.’
True enough. ‘The receiver lives in the town, does he? I like to hear that, but I wonder what it means?’
‘Means? It is not proper for the receiver to live in the town?’
‘There was a time when the Welsh were banned from the town. No doubt that is still the law, but it has become inconvenient. Still, I should think the Welsh who are accepted within the walls have proven themselves loyal to Lancaster.’
‘And thus a fitting choice for receiver.’
‘Or he has bought his way in, won the support of the steward or the constable . . .’
Geoffrey closed his eyes, nodded vigorously. ‘Of course. Well. You shall take the measure of the man when you attend his sickbed, eh?’
But Owen’s thoughts had turned to the strained relationship between Lascelles and the constable. ‘What of Burley’s comment that he had not known the thief’s trail would lead to St David’s? Is it possible that Burley’s men followed Reine’s trail? By design or by accident?’
Geoffrey jumped down from the table. ‘Enough of this. How did you find your brother?’
‘Ask me tomorrow,’ Owen said. ‘I have much to think about. And some mourning.’
Owen thought to excuse himself from supper, but he and Geoffrey were invited to dine with Lascelles in his chamber. Geoffrey considered it an honour; Owen dreaded it. What further unpleasantness was in store for him this day?
The steward’s quarters were not above the dais end of the hall as Owen would have expected, but rather above the south end, adjacent to the chapel tower. Two large rooms, one glimpsed through an inner door, with a huge, tapestry-hung bed and a high window that looked on the river, and the anteroom, in which they stood, with an ornate table and throne-like chairs.
‘Magnificent,’ Geoffrey said, running his hand along the back of a chair, feeling the intricate carving.
‘My parents thought to offer some civilised comforts to my new bride,’ Lascelles said as Owen and Geoffrey took their seats.
‘I am most grateful to them,’ Geoffrey said as he wiggled into a comfortable position. He was in remarkably good humour for a man who had spent the better part of the afternoon with Burley. The knack of a professional diplomat, Owen guessed.
Owen, on the other hand, found Lascelles a puzzle he could not resist. ‘You have been long in Cydweli,’ Owen said. ‘You must be anxious to return to England and present Mistress Lascelles to your family. Or did they journey to Cydweli for the wedding?’
Lascelles’s laugh was surprisingly bitter. ‘The table and chairs, the bed, those gestures might be made quietly, without being noted by gossips. I have not married well in their eyes – in anyone’s eyes.’
‘They will think differently when they meet her,’ Owen said, feeling guilty for having broached a painful subject.
‘Will Mistress Lascelles be joining us?’ Geoffrey asked.
Lascelles made a noise deep in his throat and motioned to a servant to pour the wine. ‘My wife took it into her head to pay a visit to her mother today. She will be gone the night.’
‘Is her mother unwell?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘Slow of wit is more like. Mistress Goronwy––’ As Lascelles’s tongue twisted on the name, Owen realised the man had already imbibed a goodly amount of wine. The steward shook his head as if to clear it. ‘My wife’s mother behaves as if I had not put all right with her good husband. She mourns her home in Tenby and complains that all her neighbours shun her. And yet she refuses our hospitality. Gruffydd must come without her to see his daughter. Thus I am denied my wife tonight so that she may stay in a common farmhouse and coddle her addle-brained dam.’
Owen found Tangwystl’s absence an odd thing for Lascelles to complain about after what he had heard from Geoffrey regarding the maid Gladys. Weary of courtesies, Owen asked, ‘Does her maid attend her?’
Geoffrey nudged Owen under the table and looked about to choke on a mouthful of wine.
Lascelles snorted. ‘Why? You have a taste for Gladys tonight? She is yours for the asking, Captain. She is any man’s for the asking, truth be told. They tell me even the one-legged beggar in the market square has tasted of her. No, she is not abroad with my wife. She has fallen out of favour with Mistress Lascelles since––’ He passed a hand over his eyes. ‘Forgive me. I invited you here to enjoy a quiet supper in thanks for your respect for John de Reine. Forgive me.’
‘Father Edern is as worthy of thanks as we are,’ Geoffrey said.
Lascelles adjusted his chair slightly, studied Geoffrey for a moment. ‘You offer him up as if the bishop honoured me with his presence. Yet just last night Father Francis told me of something you witnessed that should give you pause in praising the man.’
Geoffrey coloured. ‘In faith your chaplain is a meddlesome creature. I saw no purpose in telling you of the incident. But it seems Father Francis fears Edern has been sent to replace him. I am sure he wished you to know that Edern was no better than he. A sorry lot, these clerics.’
‘Which is why I never invite them to dine in my rooms,’ Lascelles said. ‘But you remind me of my duties. I shall send for him to join us afterwards for some brandywine.’ He called over the servant, explained the errand.
As the fish course was served, Owen thought to turn the conversation to something other than Gladys and Edern. ‘Gruffydd ap Goronwy was kind to seek out my brother and arrange our meeting,’ he said.
Lascelles nodded enthusiastically as he scooped up several cockles and popped them into his mouth. ‘He is a good man, Gruffydd.’ He wiped his mouth and took a long draught of wine. ‘A victim of panic, poor Gruffydd. Pembroke’s mother heard that Owain Lawgoch’s fleet was out in the Channel and she blamed the first man she saw. They were bound for Anglesey, for pity’s sake. That is where Lawgoch’s supporters lurk. Not Tenby.’ He shook his head. ‘Would an invader look so close to Pembroke Castle? Pah.’ He dipped into the seafood pastry.
‘Had you met Mistress Lascelles before this trouble?’ Geoffrey asked.
Slowly the man raised his head with a dangerous look in his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’
As if oblivious to the threat in that look, Geoffrey said pleasantly, ‘I am curious whether the tale I have spun in my head is close to the truth.’
‘If you imagined me making a fool of myself over a beautiful young woman, you would be right,’ Lascelles grumbled. ‘I learned of her family’s trouble, thought to save them and find my happiness all in one noble gesture.’
‘You are a fortunate man,’ Geoffrey said.
A joyless laugh escaped their host. ‘It is the way of enchantments, that the wish one is granted turns against him. I have known little happiness since our wedding night.’
Lascelles sank into a quiet study while the servant moved the fish pastry to one side and filled the table with venison and a pottage of early greens.
Owen toasted Geoffrey silently and turned his attention to the tantalising dishes before him.
Slowly Lascelles woke to his guests and tasted the venison. ‘From the Duke’s wood,’ he said. ‘I enjoy a hunt when my spirit is restless.’
‘It is a good way to exorcise demons,’ Geoffrey agreed. ‘A boar hunt even better.’
They fell to talking of hunting. Owen had nothing to contribute. He had been born to a life in which a felled animal was a blessing, not a sport, and used wisely to get all God’s grace from it. He spent the time studying Lascelles, a haunted man, far more intriguing than he had thought at first.
It was almost a pleasant end to a troubling day. But the day had been marked from the start. As a servant brought forth the brandywine another in the livery rushed in, white faced, and fell to his knees beside Lascelles’s chair. Lascelles leaned toward him, listening with a deepening frown, whispered something, shook his head, and rose, while telling the servant to stay in the room and await his return – in silence. ‘Captain, Master Chaucer, I should be grateful if you would accompany me.’ Lascelles strode from the room.
Whatever the news, it had rapidly sobered him.
Eleven
THE VICAR’S CLOAK
A
s they moved into the corridor without, Lascelles lifted a torch from a sconce. ‘A few more torches would be of use,’ he called over his shoulder. Owen and Geoffrey availed themselves of others in the corridor.
s they moved into the corridor without, Lascelles lifted a torch from a sconce. ‘A few more torches would be of use,’ he called over his shoulder. Owen and Geoffrey availed themselves of others in the corridor.
‘What do you suppose happened?’ Geoffrey whispered.
‘Something he would keep from the other servants, which means trouble to someone,’ Owen said.
Geoffrey nodded as if satisfied and hurried after Lascelles, whose light was disappearing down the tower steps. Owen followed with less enthusiasm. He wanted to back away, march straight to the guesthouse, lie down and end this miserable day.
Geoffrey paused on the verge of disappearing round the curved stairway. ‘Owen? Are you coming?’
Of course, cursed as he was with the most damnable sense of responsibility.
They continued to descend until they reached the buttery, then immediately turned to a door beside the one they had just exited. It led into the undercroft of the chapel tower. The small room beneath the sacristy was the chaplain’s chamber, which he presently shared with Edern. The door stood ajar. Lascelles held the torch before him, illuminating the room. It was so small as to be crowded with two pallets, a table, two chairs and a chest. And someone lying in a heap beneath the high window, one hand stretched towards the wall.
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