The Riverwoman’s Dragon
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: Owen Archer #13
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Severn House
- ISBN: 978-1-4483-0563-6
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Riverwoman’s Dragon». Краткое содержание книги:
When the wise woman Magda Digby is suspected of murder, Owen Archer sets out to prove her innocence in this intricately plotted medieval mystery.
May, 1375. Owen Archer returns from London to find York in chaos. While the citizens are living in terror of the pestilence which is spreading throughout the land, a new physician has arrived, whipping up fear and suspicion against traditional healers and midwives. With the backing of the new archbishop, he is especially hostile towards Magda Digby, the wise woman who has helped and healed the people of York for many years. At the same time, Magda is uneasy about the arrival of two long-lost kinsfolk. Though they say they are seeking her help, she senses a hidden agenda.
Magda’s troubles deepen when she discovers a body in the river near her home – and finds herself under suspicion of murder. Days later, fire rips through a warehouse in the city. Amongst the charred debris lies the body of a man – not burned, but stabbed in the back. Could there be a connection to the corpse in the river?
Determined to prove Magda’s innocence, Owen sets out to find answers – but the more he uncovers, the deeper the mystery becomes…
‘We work hard here, Captain Archer. But I would like very much to shift to working with the bailiffs. This is steady work, but my back aches most nights.’
‘I will mention you to George Hempe.’ Though he doubted Hempe would be interested, he could not resist ingratiating himself. ‘Mayor Graa will have some merchants complaining, I expect. Was there much loss?’
‘For some, not all. I won’t forget the look on Master Surrey’s face when he found so much of his goods ruined. A few others lost some, but we salvaged more. Master Ferriby’s nephew Luke was furious. Claimed his cloth should have been the other side of the warehouse. Wanted to know why it had been moved, but no one could tell him. Most fortunate were the Wolcotts, with little lost, I think. The son moved out two chests of goods just the day before the fire. An angel watching out for him, that is certain.’
Indeed. Most interesting. ‘How did Luke Ferriby discover their goods were moved?’
‘Came in just to be sure. Found none of it where it should have been. We searched. Found nothing until he discovered some bits in the debris. He will be reporting to his uncle. Master Ferriby’s away in the country, but we will hear of it anon.’
Owen thanked him and promised to speak with Hempe.
Ferriby’s shop door was open to the warm afternoon. Knocking first on the doorframe, Owen stepped within, calling out a greeting. Luke appeared from behind a tall cabinet. A wonder it was, freestanding, made of some exotic wood said to protect the fabric from insects and dust. When the carpenter installed it Peter and Emma had invited them to admire it – the maker hoped to sell more like it, and the Ferribys had thought it might be something for the apothecary. Luke gave it an affectionate thump and invited Owen to join him in the back chamber where the chairs were more comfortable. On a table was a flagon of wine and two plain wooden mazers, both with a bit of wine in them.
‘It is a fine day for guests. You’ve just missed our parish priest, Dom Paulus. He’d come from the bedside of Guthlac Wolcott. Gave him the last rites. Poor man is expected to die any time now. “A most inhospitable home,” Paulus said. By nature a jovial man, but not so today.’
‘I am sorry to hear Guthlac is in his last hours.’
‘Thanks to the ministrations of that slimy Bernard. To my thinking, it’s men like that leech feeding the gossips in the city who are to blame, frightening folk away from the healers who have always seen to us.’
‘You’ve met Bernard?’
‘To my misfortune. Arrogant, telling folk what ails them without bothering to listen. He’s the one should be chased out the gates and good riddance.’
Offered a mazer of wine, Owen asked for just a little. ‘My business should not take long.’
‘Ah, forgive me. I was shaken by Dom Paulus, his worry about parishioners spreading rumors not only about the Riverwoman, but now most of the midwives and healers we need this summer. And I’m repeating myself. Forgive me.’ He poured Owen a small measure of wine, handed it to him, poured much more for himself. ‘How might I help?’
Owen explained that he had been to Graa’s warehouse and learned what had happened to Ferriby’s stock, pausing to allow Luke to express his anger, then asking how much access people other than the warehouse workers had as a rule.
‘Little. The clerk is a tyrant, terrified of his employer. But I noticed before the fire that Gavin Wolcott and Sam Toller, may he rest in God’s grace, well, they seemed to have privileges the rest of us did not. Apparently the young Wolcott has won Thomas Graa’s favor, often dining there according to my uncle.’
Owen thanked him for the information, waving off the offer of more wine. The man was clearly feeling the solitude with all the family away. While passing the Wolcott home Owen noticed a servant standing in the shadows beside the house, weeping. Calling to her, he asked whether her master had died. She shook her head, lifting it enough for him to see the blood at the corner of her mouth. Concerned, he went to her aid.
‘Who did this to you?’
She backed away from him, shaking her head and putting a finger to her lips. Now he heard, from within, Gavin Wolcott shouting at another servant.
‘Is he often like this?’
‘No. But he’s not like the old master, so kind. I pray you, go. He must not see us speaking.’
In truth, it was not Owen’s business. But he thought it a good time to speak with Graa. Hurrying to Castlegate, he learned that the mayor was out of the city for a few days. A family member ill. Convenient.
Late afternoon, no line of folk for the shop. Owen stepped within to find Lucie dictating to Brother Michaelo a list of items to replenish – myrrh, bugloss, butterbur, marigolds. She looked up with a surprised smile.
‘You are home early.’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘No dearth of custom?’
‘No. Folk seemed comforted by Brother Michaelo’s presence in the doorway, welcoming them in, speaking to those who waited.’ Lucie touched Michaelo’s hand. ‘I am grateful to you.’
Though he gave a little sniff, the monk’s eyes were warm with pleasure.
‘You had success at the warehouse?’ she asked.
‘A goodly amount. I’d hoped also to speak with the mayor, but an illness in the family has taken him away.’
‘I know. His wife was here. I counted it a friendly gesture to seek my help so openly, though Dame Katherine did push through to the front of the line, one of her manservants guarding the door so that she might consult with me without gossips hearing it.’
‘Would the gossips have learned anything worth repeating?’ Owen asked.
‘She wanted whatever might draw the poison from the pustules, and juniper to burn to protect those in the family not yet stricken.’
‘For whom?’
‘Her sister and elderly mother in Beverley.’
‘Has there been any more trouble?’
‘Not from the lads,’ said Michaelo. ‘But a pair of youths showing off for a foul-mouthed young woman hung around the graves in the square calling out insults to the customers. The mere sight of Stephen bearing down on them put them to flight.’
Owen grinned.
A customer stepped into the shop, leaning on a cane. Lucie moved toward the beaded curtain to help him.
‘Do you want to send Jasper in from the garden?’ Owen asked her.
‘No need,’ she said. ‘I doubt many more customers will appear.’
He had much to mull over with her, but the customer’s cane called to mind what Hempe had told him about Asa. ‘I will be back in a while,’ he said, hurrying off.
8
Chaos
The fire crackled and snapped, Fergus stoking it as the evening cooled the room. Magda smiled at the sound of the children settling down to food after the long day of distracting their laboring mother with the wonders of the old woodland. As the shadows lengthened and the birds quieted, the family had tucked themselves inside the house, ready for a hot meal and the wait for the birthing. Helen was now lying on her side in the bedchamber, Lettice, calm now, rubbing her back and her ankles. As soon as Helen drank the tisane Magda was mixing they would help her to the birthing stool. The drink would strengthen Helen for the work she must do this night.
Before entering the house Magda had rested by the beck, scooping up chill water in a small wooden bowl, drinking it down, imagining it cleansing her mind of the troubles of the day – illness, life-changing injuries, fear, loneliness, gnawing anger. Closing her eyes, she reached out to Asa, born of her womb, concerned about the jolt she had felt in the midst of setting a broken bone, a sudden sense of her daughter in pain. An attack. Injuries. Fear. With Asa that would quickly turn to anger, and more trouble. Thou art welcome to come to the rock. Magda will see to thine injuries. A tumble of emotions, Asa’s anger turned inward. Unworthy. Cursed. Thou art worthy, daughter. Or she could be, if she could but embrace her artistic gift, if she could see that she might be the healer she yearned to be through her creations. Magda’s heart ached for the blindness of her child.