Muttering a curse, Owen went to answer. He was relieved to see Rose and Rob, interested by their report: trouble in Ronan’s chamber.
‘His neighbor heard unholy bumping and sliding above, and feared it was poor Master Ronan’s confused spirit,’ said Rose. ‘Something about how the murdered do not know they are dead until their murderer is found.’
‘Fool,’ Rob muttered.
‘How did you hear of it?’ Owen asked.
‘From our landlord,’ said Rose. ‘Ma provides his meals for part of the rent. He’s Ronan’s landlord as well. While he broke his fast he spoke of the trouble. He found the furniture all flung about. A gaping hole in one wall. And Beck, Master Ronan’s clerk, lying on the floor face down, the back of his head bloody.’
Beck. The weasel haunting Ronan’s lodging the previous day.
‘He said he righted the bed and laid him on it, then went to Master Adam, the precentor. It is to him they go if the residents of the Bedern cause trouble. But they told him Master Adam had called on you, so he sent us to fetch you.’
‘Did Beck wake? Did he know him?’
‘He opened his eyes. Said nothing. Will you come, Captain?’
‘I will be there as soon as possible.’
Their mission accomplished, the two were off before Owen closed the door.
Lucie stepped out onto the landing when Owen knocked, closing the door so the children would not hear, listening to the news with growing concern. ‘What of Marian and Alisoun?’
‘I will escort them back here. Neville’s men are less likely to walk into our home. If you are able to learn any more about Marian, I would be grateful.’
‘Of course.’
Once Owen escorted Alisoun and Marian back to the house, Lucie stood for a moment staring out of her bedroom window saying a silent prayer for the injured clerk. Owen had seemed relieved that something had happened, as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for it. But how he might cut through the maze of incidents …
Lucie crossed herself. God protect her family.
Three men dead – a cleric who had been Archbishop Alexander Neville’s vicar, murdered; one of Sir John Neville’s men, drowned; a man whose clothes suggested he, too, was a lord’s retainer fallen from a roof. The Nevilles had become one of the most powerful Northern families, whom Owen was to watch for the prince. Ambrose Coates had spied on the Nevilles while on a mission to alert Prince Edward that his French physician meant him harm, that he and his cohort had already weakened the prince with illness. He had come from the Neville gathering with Marian, who had been hiding as a boy in a traveling company of musicians and players. One of the dead men had watched Marian at Cawood. The man who had fallen from the roof. For whose death she claimed guilt. What had she done before? Why was she running? Why had she hidden her name even here? Surely if she were hiding from the Nevilles she would not have risked performing at Cawood. Yet someone knew her. So many questions.
Even so, there was no question in Lucie’s heart – she would do her best to help the young woman.
A voice drifted down from above, soft, conversational. Alisoun had seemed hopeful, whispering as she passed Lucie on the landing that Marian had eaten, and was more at ease, talking more. Lucie had suggested that with Magda gone to the Swann home Marian might help with some darning while in the company of Alisoun and the children. She would fetch the sewing basket from the kitchen, and then speak with Marian before she joined Alisoun and the children. It was time she did that.
When Lucie entered the guest chamber she found Marian standing at the window, her hair aglow in the morning light.
‘With Dame Magda gone, Alisoun must attend her duties with the children,’ said Lucie. ‘I thought you might like to join them while you work.’
She smiled to see what Lucie carried. ‘I would like to be of use. You will trust me?’
‘Mark me, the vicar’s murderer is still abroad,’ said Lucie. She recounted what had happened at Ronan’s lodging. ‘And you heard the men in the shop. You must keep yourself hidden.’
Marian hugged the sewing basket and nodded. Lucie opened the door and motioned to her to join Alisoun in the nursery.
‘May God bless you for your kindness, Dame Lucie.’
‘May He watch over us and keep us safe,’ said Lucie.
At the minster gate Owen was hailed by Brother Michaelo.
‘Well met! I am on my way to Ronan’s lodgings. There has been trouble. I would welcome your company.’
‘I will attend you, of course,’ said Michaelo.
While they walked, Owen told him all he had missed.
‘Dame Marian,’ he whispered to himself. ‘It sounds as if she has suffered much.’
Owen did not reply, his attention drawn to the men lounging in front of Ronan’s lodgings, men dressed much like Pit. Yet familiar. One of them turned to grin crookedly, a scar puckering one side of his mouth. Crispin Poole’s men, the retainers he had brought with him to York, now dressed as part of the Neville pack. Not the pair who visited the shop earlier, but bad news all the same.
‘What is your business here?’ Owen asked.
‘You will need to ask Master Crispin,’ said crooked grin. ‘He is up above, in the dead man’s chamber.’
Owen was already halfway up the steps, Michaelo following. He reached the landing as Crispin stepped out of Ronan’s room.
‘And so we meet here again, Owen.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘A rumor of trouble here. It’s Beck, the clerk. Wounded.’
‘You brought your men to guard you? Is Beck so dangerous even when wounded?’
Crispin looked pained. ‘One of His Grace the archbishop’s men arrived this morning with livery for my men and orders that they now serve His Grace. They seem to have interpreted that as being promoted, now my peers. Insisted on accompanying me, though they could not be bothered to climb the steps.’
‘I trust you
