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…
‘Anticipating your generosity I already told her to send someone to you for anything she needed,’ said Michaelo. ‘I do not think she will be leaving that house for a day or two. If it is the pestilence, Jack Fuller will die quickly. And then, I fear for Mistress Cilla. She is already frail.’ Michaelo rose. ‘I will leave you now. I know you have much to discuss.’
Owen escorted him to the door. ‘You are not worried for yourself?’
‘I have lived through numerous returns of the Death. My bile is too bitter for its tastes.’ A smirk.
Owen felt Lucie’s eyes on him as he turned from the door. It lifted his heart to see the laughter in her eyes. ‘He might be right,’ he said.
She burst out laughing. ‘Pray God he is.’ It was but a momentary jollity. ‘I do not think I should like to lose him so soon.’ Already her eyes were sad. ‘So many dead in the ship.’ She crossed herself.
They adjourned to the hall, carrying in ale. Kate would bring in the food.
Settled near the window, Owen began his tale with an account of what had happened at the river the previous evening, Einar’s injury. Alfred would have told her much of it, but he knew she would want to hear his account. And then, after answering her questions, he told her of Lettice’s fears regarding her husband’s death, particularly his treatment by Graa’s warehousemen and Gavin Wolcott, and continued on to Beatrice’s pregnancy.
‘I had not expected that,’ said Lucie. ‘Poor Lettice, I can understand her fear. As their laundress she might very well be silenced. That alone …’ Lucie paused, frowning down at her ale.
‘What is it?’
‘I wonder whether you might have been better to take heed of Gemma Toller’s distrust of Beatrice’s intentions with her late husband. Is it not possible that Sam was the father of her child?’
‘Possible.’
‘Or you are wrong about Gavin’s feelings for her. She is a beautiful woman and far closer in age to him than to his father.’ Lucie glanced up. ‘Did I understand Brother Michaelo to say Bernard is Janet’s brother?’
He told her about Einar’s calling Bernard ‘Alan’ and what Michaelo had learned from Cilla.
‘A snake. Dear Cilla,’ said Lucie. ‘She is so like her mother in everything but physical wellbeing. I tried every tonic I could imagine, as did Magda.’
‘What is wrong with her?’
‘A faulty heart perhaps. She has ever been weak, any exertion robbing her of breath in short order. Her mind is sharp. When she was younger Janet and Jack arranged for a tutor to come each morning.’
Owen’s thoughts turned to his eldest daughter. ‘Gwenllian will be missing her classes.’ Through winter into spring she had attended a small school for girls. He took Lucie’s hand. And so they sat for a long while as the rain gathered strength out in the garden.
‘Alan.’ Lucie sat forward. ‘Janet’s brother. He was in service in the household of a wealthy man in London. She never mentioned him but to say an unpleasant encounter reminded her of him. When I laughed at her calling him a leech, thinking it cleverness, she admitted that he was more properly a barber, Alan’s master having trained him in bloodletting, but he was a blood-sucking worm.’
Owen had noticed how Janet spoke her brother’s name as if taunting him. He had thought it was her omission of the Master before it. ‘Why would he change his name?’
‘Driven from his post? If he posed as a physician there as he has here but has in truth little training … Owen, what if Guthlac need not have died? What if his decline and death are the fault of a man posing as a physician?’
‘We cannot prove that.’
‘But if his London master discovered Alan posing as a physician in London …’
‘And so Alan fled and changed his name to escape prosecution.’
‘Yes.’
‘We might be wrong.’
‘But if not. Owen, we must stop him before he causes more deaths.’
‘And how to you propose to do that?’
‘How indeed?’ Lucie folded her arms and lay her head down on the table.
Owen rubbed her shoulders, kissed her neck. ‘Meanwhile there is still Sam’s murderer to hunt down. I will try to speak with Gemma.’
‘But you’ve not eaten.’ Lucie sat up, glancing at the door. ‘Kate did not bring the food.’ She was up and rushing to the kitchen before Owen caught up with her thoughts.
He found her with an arm around Kate, who stood in the doorway to the garden, her shoulders heaving with her sobs. Out in the rain stood her siblings, the twins Rose and Rob. It was clear from their faces they had brought unhappy news.
‘Our sister Meg. The Death has taken her and her mistress,’ said Rose when Owen drew them into the warmth of the kitchen.
Meg was Kate’s younger sister by a year, maidservant to an elderly widow in Fossgate.
Owen left them to Lucie’s care and carried the food out to the hall, then called them all in to nourish themselves as they might. He fetched Jasper from the shop, seeing to a last customer before shutting it for a time. The Death walked the streets of York. They all needed their strength.
Rain had slowed by the time Magda stepped out from the cover of trees. All seemed peaceful in the ramshackle settlement on the riverbank. Rowing to the rock, she touched the dragon, nodded her thanks. Within she found the fire stoked and something savory bubbling in a pot. Einar rose as she entered, plucking up his tunic.
‘Thou wilt need help with that.’ Magda set down her baskets and assisted him, offering a small pack to carry from his belt with items Brother Michaelo might not have. For of course that is where Einar was headed.
‘Thou hast cared for those suffering the great sickness?’
‘With my father.’
‘Thou wilt be of much help to the fussy crow. Return this evening. Magda would check thy wound before sleep.’
Einar nodded and departed.
Magda hummed to herself as she sorted the contents of her basket and set her mind to her visitations on the morrow. Einar was reclaiming himself, she felt it deep within. Soon he would confide in her.
10
Patterns
The house showed a plain front to the street, but within Dame Gemma had created a space of color and warmth. Several large wall hangings either embroidered or painted could be drawn over the windows to shut out drafts, and otherwise brightened the walls. Owen took a seat on one of three benches made comfortable with colorful cushions set around the fire circle, accepting a bowl of ale with thanks. He had come so far by choosing his words with care when the widow had opened the door and looked ready to slam it shut, saying he had thought much about what she had said when they had last spoken and had come to believe she was one of the few people who might help him find Sam’s murderer. He told her that he was particularly interested in Sam and his work for the Wolcotts.
‘I pray you, tell me all that is on your mind.’
To his relief, she had merely nodded and invited him in, offering him ale, even setting out a bowl of roasted nuts. As he looked round, he noticed that on the wall over the entry someone had painted IHR in yellow.
Taking a seat, Gemma followed the direction of his gaze. ‘You have noticed the charm,’ she said, crossing herself.
It was believed that the initials indicating Jesus Christ might serve as powerful protection. ‘Against pestilence?’ Owen asked.
‘All manner of harm to our household. I gave it a fresh coat of paint after Sam’s death, but it is not new.’
‘I was also admiring the wall hangings. You painted them as well?’
The small smile in a face drawn down in distrust transformed her for a moment. ‘I have not always been a shrew, Captain. It is only in the past several years that taking joy in beauty deserted me. When worries beset me I can no longer see God’s gifts, only the pain ahead.’