Good news? Sister to Sir Thomas Percy, Maud might be willing to vouch for Marian at St Clement’s, which would be helpful if the prioress was hesitant to accept the young woman back in the fold. It was also possible that the family considered Marian wayward, partly to blame. ‘Will Lady Maud lodge with her husband at the palace?’
Thomas presumed so. But he seemed far more interested in complaining about Ronan’s deception, enumerating the many people who had sought his advice – all the resident canons, the heads of the religious houses, prominent merchants and officers of the city. ‘Many of those noted in the account book he carried.’
God’s blood, the imbecile. Owen checked his temper. ‘He showed it to you?’
‘Pushed it at me. I refused it, but he stuffed it into a pile of books and fled. He said someone was following him. He feared for his safety. No one would know—’
Fighting a desire to grab the man and shake him, Owen quietly asked where the book was now.
‘I am sorry to say it is gone. Stolen by the intruders who injured my serving man.’ Apparently sensing Owen’s growing anger, Thomas held up a hand as if to ward him off. ‘I know I should have told you of this when you first asked. I know. But I thought— To my shame I thought I might make a good impression with Sir John were I to deliver it up to him.’
‘Sir John? Not His Grace?’
A frown. ‘You do not for a moment believe Alexander is suddenly the power in the family? Everything he has he owes to his eldest brother. No, I meant to give it to Sir John.’
By now Owen was only half listening to the chancellor. He had learned what he needed, that the account book was now in Sir John’s possession – unless Porter and Diggs were fools. Now it was Ambrose’s disappearance that distracted him. It weighed on his conscience. His duty to the prince was clear. He must protect Ambrose, which meant finding him. When it was plain he would learn no more of immediate use from Thomas, he excused himself.
‘Call on me at any hour, Captain. I wish to help in any way I can. I pray you forgive me—’
But Owen was at the door, off in search of Hempe, hoping one of his men might have seen or heard something of Ambrose.
FIFTEEN
Ouse Bridge, the Cross Keys
In the course of his long service to the late Archbishop Thoresby, Brother Michaelo had become far more than a personal secretary, eventually running the household. He’d prided himself on his efficiency, and organized many a journey for His Grace. He was no stranger to all that such preparations entailed, and he had doubted that Crispin Poole would fulfill his promise to move his elderly mother and her belongings in a matter of a few hours. Yet by the early December dusk Michaelo found himself walking down Petergate behind a cart carrying Dame Euphemia and her belongings, as well as her companion Dame Marian. Crispin had recruited a strong young man, Drake, who worked in his warehouse near the staithes, to guide the donkey that pulled the covered cart. Alisoun Ffulford had chosen to walk with Drake, keeping an eye out for trouble as they made idle conversation. Crispin, walking alongside Michaelo, spoke only when passers-by curious about the procession called out to him. My mother’s health is failing and she has chosen to retire to St Clement’s Priory. When asked the purpose of a covered wagon Crispin gestured upward, indicating the soft drizzle.
Michaelo stayed close to the cart so that he might listen to the conversation between the blind widow and the nun, for Euphemia seemed fascinated by her companion.
As soon as Marian had stepped into the elderly woman’s room she had been ordered to approach so that Euphemia might stroke her face and feel her hands, which she pronounced too rough to be those of a Percy. Marian had explained that all the sisters in the abbey worked with their hands, and as she had been traveling through the summer … Euphemia had interrupted her to ask whether it was true she was an obedientiary at the esteemed Wherwell Abbey. Marian said that she had been training as sub-cantrice. And what is that, precisely?
And so it had gone, and continued for a time until Crispin had announced their departure.
‘At last. Difficult to arrange for a covered cart with such little notice, but one of my guild members came to my aid, bless him.’ Crispin had not wished Marian to be visible as they moved through the city. Although Euphemia’s maidservant provided an appropriate gown and a hat that covered the young woman’s hair, Marian’s pale brows were distinctive. ‘Few people have seen her, yet the ones most keen to find her will know of her pallor.’
Indeed, Michaelo had felt his heart in his stomach as he and Marian, dressed as a humble monk, had walked through the Bedern, choosing the less-traveled alleyways, taking advantage of a loud argument over a spilled cart to rush across St Andrewgate and into the rear garden of Crispin Poole’s home. Whisked inside by Crispin himself, Michaelo had crumpled onto a bench as the maidservant led Marian away to change clothing.
‘Were you followed?’ Crispin had asked, no doubt alarmed by Michaelo’s behavior.
‘I pray God we were not. No one seemed unduly interested in our passage. But one skilled in stealth would not permit himself to be seen.’
Crispin seemed satisfied.
As her belongings were carried out to the cart, Dame Euphemia had taken Marian’s hand and declared, ‘We travel under the protection of my son, a citizen of York and a member of the archbishop’s household. Be assured that you are safe in our care.’
And Alisoun’s, Michaelo thought, her strung bow and quiver of arrows concealed beneath her cloak.
Now, as they approached the ever-crowded bridge over the Ouse, Michaelo sensed Crispin tensed for trouble. He said
