The Riverwoman’s Dragon

As the shadows lengthened in the garden, Ned Cooper had burst through the gate breathing hard as if from a brisk walk. While Owen wiped down the spade and put the tools in the garden shed he’d listened to Ned’s account of finding Magda’s coracle hidden in the underbrush near where Asa and Einar had made the crossing. While his partner had returned it, Ned had waited to see whether someone might come for it. He’d witnessed Einar searching, then cursing as he saw the boys crowding round the coracle on the north bank. Owen had sent Ned off with praise, and now, after cleaning off the worst of the mud clinging to him and changing his clothing, he was on his way to call on Gavin Wolcott. Bernard seemed the key and Owen was determined to learn what he could of the man.

The servant who’d answered the door stepped aside for his master. Owen saw the unease in Gavin Wolcott’s posture and the set of his jaw before he put on the crooked, self-effacing grin meant to charm. ‘Come within, Captain, share a bowl of ale with me. You must forgive my appearance. I have been in the garden seeing what I might do to repair the neglect in father’s illness.’ Though he was sweaty and disheveled, no soil clung to the man’s clothes or shoes, only cobwebs in his hair and a smudge of ink on his chin and right hand.

Dame Beatrice entered the hall and came swiftly toward them. Noticing Owen watching her she gave him a nod, but her focus was Gavin.

Owen commended his host on his apparent skill at gardening. ‘After an afternoon digging in our garden I am covered in dirt.’

‘No doubt you apply yourself more heartily to the task than I do,’ said Gavin, gesturing to the servant who brought a jug and three bowls to the table to pour and leave them. When she was gone, he sipped the ale and asked what he might do for Owen.

‘I’ve a simple question. I understand it was while you were away on business that you met the physician Bernard. Where? What town? Or was it at a fair?’ As a merchant, it would have been one or the other.

‘Who told you this?’ Gavin asked, his genial mask slipping.

Beatrice had taken a seat beside him. ‘I fear I erred in speaking of it to the Captain on an earlier visit. With your father so ill I forgot to tell you.’

Gavin scowled. ‘Taking it upon yourself–’ He stopped. ‘We will discuss this when we do not have a guest.’ He turned back to Owen. ‘I do not consider the first encounter a meeting. I was at an inn with a group of merchants when one of our party fell ill. Master Bernard presented himself as a physician and offered the man assistance. That was in Lincoln.’

‘Who fell ill?’ Owen asked.

‘Why the devil–?’

‘Surely it is a simple request,’ said Beatrice, giving Owen an encouraging smile as if to smooth any feathers ruffled by Gavin’s curtness.

‘God’s blood, woman, you don’t know what you ask. The man in question has suffered the loss of his infant son to the pestilence. I would not have him bothered.’

‘Do you mean John Stone of Easingwold?’ breathed Beatrice. ‘May heavenly angels watch over the baby’s tender soul.’

Gavin glared at her.

‘I assure you I will not intrude on his grief,’ said Owen. ‘Regarding Bernard, those in your company were pleased with his care of your friend?’

‘We were,’ Gavin said through his teeth. ‘Quite. And I might have said something to the effect that we were ever in need of skilled physicians. At least, that is what Bernard claims.’

‘I sense you are no longer satisfied with him?’

‘I understand you have seen my father, how he hangs on to life by a thread.’ Gavin looked away.

‘Yes. I was sorry to see him brought so low. I pray you, my wife prepared a few items, one that might help strengthen him, the other to ease his breathing …’ Owen placed the pack on a small table beside him.

‘How kind,’ said Beatrice. ‘Do thank Mistress Wilton for us.’

Gavin cleared his throat. ‘I hesitate to try anything more. He has suffered enough.’

‘The tincture sealed with blue wax might, as I said, ease his breathing. I will leave them here. A gift. Yours to use or not.’

‘We are grateful,’ Gavin said, sounding anything but.

Rising, Owen thanked them both and took his leave. But for what was he thanking them? The exchange felt false to him, both Gavin and Beatrice hiding far more than they revealed.

He was still taking apart the conversation, the gestures, the glances, searching for the hidden truth, when he returned home.

‘Will you march through the kitchen with nary a greeting?’ Lucie asked, startling him out of his tangled thoughts.

He had walked right past both Lucie and Kate without seeing them. ‘God help me,’ he groaned, bowing his head.

‘So troubling?’ She took his arm. ‘Come into the hall and tell me everything.’