Owen did not argue that. ‘Return to your watch on the house and shop. I will come for you when Gabriel is ready to be moved.’
Lucie had heard much of their conversation. Now she smiled as Owen approached.
‘Might we leave Alisoun with Gabriel and go to Marian?’ he asked.
She hesitated, searching his face for a sign of what he hoped to accomplish. Her own anger at the presumption of men sounded a warning in her head that Marian had suffered enough of men’s company for a long while. Yet, hearing his talk with Ned she knew that Owen had been much moved by Marian’s story. Still … Lucie drew him out to the hall where they might speak in private, settled on a bench near the window.
‘Why now?’ she asked gently. ‘Why you?’
‘I understand your hesitance. I mean to recount Gabriel’s story. Whether or not she chooses to correct, add, that is for her to decide. She deserves to hear what he said of her.’
That seemed fair. Lucie agreed, beginning to rise, but Owen stayed her.
‘Ned is not the only one with much to learn from the story of Phillip’s and his brother’s transgressions against Marian. Watching how Ned watches Alisoun reminds me how I watched you, how I yearned to possess you. I was fortunate. Somehow I earned your love. But I see how it poisons love to think of possession. What she suffered. What right had he to pluck her away? To decide for her?’
Lucie had never loved Owen more than she did at this moment. She studied him as she thought what to say.
‘If I—’ he began.
She pressed a finger to his mouth. Shook her head. ‘If you express this to her, I believe she might be inspired to trust us. To trust you.’ She took his hand. ‘Come. Let us meet with Dame Marian.’
Setting aside the basket of needlework she had carried from the nursery, their guest sat with hands folded in her lap, head bowed, listening to Owen’s account, occasionally nodding. Lucie had chosen a seat to the side, allowing him to have his say. She was there if Marian wanted her, but she wished the woman to hear how a man might respond to the story.
Arriving at the end of Gabriel’s account, Owen said, ‘We wanted you to know what he said of you, what he might tell your aunt and uncle. And I wished to say …’ He paused. ‘As a man I recognized myself in Phillip’s and Rupert’s behavior, and I am ashamed for us all. Forgive me for threatening you last night.’
Marian looked up, startled. ‘No, Captain. You are nothing like them. Nothing. But …’ She caught her breath, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Bless you,’ she whispered.
Lucie moved to sit beside her, gathering her into her arms, holding her as she wept. ‘Perhaps we should leave now,’ she whispered when the storm passed.
‘No. I pray you, stay.’ Marian sat up, wiping her eyes. ‘Gabriel and Rupert did find me in Cawood. They had heard about me at a tavern there, and that the company I was with were to perform at the palace. All the village were talking about it. At the palace they recognized Master Ambrose as well.’
‘Did Gabriel tell you this?’ Lucie asked.
‘Later, yes. They had been watching Tucker’s house. Gabriel caught me out at the midden one night. He told me that Master Ambrose had long lived at the court of King Charles and was known to be a spy for the French. As he said, he promised to take me to Sir Thomas if I told him whatever I might glean about Master Ambrose’s movements in the city. Anything useful I might overhear.’
‘Is it true what Gabriel said about Ambrose and your stolen prayer book?’ asked Lucie.
‘Yes. All this trouble is my fault.’ Marian’s voice broke.
‘No,’ Owen said. ‘You are not to blame. You have been ill used.’
‘I have trusted the wrong people. I believed Gabriel. Master Ambrose had spoken French, told the leader of the company of his fame among the nobles there. Gabriel said he must have guessed who I was and pretended to help me, thinking to use me in some way, spy that he was, and Sir Thomas being trusted by the king and his son Prince Edward.’ As she spoke her voice grew hoarse. ‘Might I have some water?’
Lucie began to rise but Owen insisted on going.
‘I would prefer honey water to wine, with some of Dame Magda’s physick. Alisoun will know,’ said Marian.
When Owen had left the room Marian said, ‘You are most fortunate in your husband.’
‘I am.’ Lucie smiled. ‘While we wait for him, tell me about Wherwell Abbey. Were you happy there?’
‘How could I not be? Dedicating my life to God, using my one gift to sing His praises. It is all I ever wanted.’
Lucie recalled many a girl silenced by the nuns at St Clement’s when she boarded there. ‘You were encouraged to sing?’
‘My voice was the reason they welcomed me to Wherwell. The cantrice herself, Dame Eloise, undertook my training. I worked hard, learned all that she set before me, devoted myself to my lessons. She is aged, her health failing. She said she was at peace knowing that I would be there in the abbey to lead the sisters in song when she was gone.’ Again, Marian’s voice broke. ‘It hurts to speak of this when I have had no word about her, whether she survived the fire.’
‘I pray some of your kin coming for the archbishop’s enthronement will have news for you.’
A knock. Owen entered with a tray of cups and flagons of water and wine. Lucie offered to pour.
‘How is Gabriel?’ Marian asked.
‘Resting,’ said Owen. ‘Alisoun is satisfied that his forehead is cool.’
‘I would not have expected her to be skilled with a bow,’ said Marian.
‘We were speaking of how Dame Marian came to Wherwell Abbey,’ said Lucie. ‘She studied under the cantrice.’ She handed Marian a cup of honeyed
