The Nun's Tale: An Owen Archer Mystery Page 3

  Louth lay her back down on the benches, looked up at Ravenser. ‘What do you think?’

  Ravenser frowned down at the nun, pursed his lips, shook his head. ‘I do not like such things – Our Lady’s mantle … Rising from the dead …’

  They both gazed down at the woman, dirty, ravaged by hunger.

  ‘She is lovely, even in this condition,’ Louth said with a sigh.

  Ravenser glanced up, surprised by the comment. ‘A peculiar thing to be thinking.’

  Louth shrugged. ‘She touches something in me. Her delicacy. Her desperation.’ He shook himself and stood up straight.

  ‘We shall take her to Nunburton Abbey,’ Ravenser said. ‘There she can be tended and watched.’

  Maddy looked from one to the other. ‘She is truly alive?’

  Ravenser smiled. ‘Yes, Maddy, truly alive. Now tell me, did you actually see her dead?’

  Maddy thought, shook her head.

  ‘But you prepared her for burial?’

  ‘No. I was at market. I came back and she was wrapped in a shroud.’

  Ravenser glanced at Louth, then back to Maddy. ‘Dame Joanna died while you were out?’

  Maddy stared down at her feet, tears welling in her eyes. ‘It was so sad. I wouldn’t’ve gone if I’d seen she was worsening.’

  Louth did not like this new information. ‘You thought she was improving?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘She’d been up and dining with them.’

  ‘Longford and Jaro?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘And their two visitors.’

  Visitors. All this time Maddy had mentioned only Will Longford and his man Jaro. But then Louth had been interested only in Longford. ‘I will send for you tomorrow, Maddy. You must tell me everything you remember about Dame Joanna’s days in this house.’

  ‘But who’s to watch the house while I’m gone, Sir?’

  ‘I will set a watch, Maddy. I am more anxious than ever to find your master.’

  Richard de Ravenser left Dame Joanna, still in a faint, in the competent hands of his housekeeper and rode out to the Abbey of Nunburton. The abbess returned with him and took charge of Joanna. It occurred to Ravenser as he watched the litter and escort depart that he should write to his uncle, the archbishop, who had shown an interest in the nun’s story last summer. But what could Ravenser report? Perhaps he should wait until he and Louth had talked to Maddy again.

  Maddy did not like being alone in the house. She had heard Dame Joanna say she had risen from the dead, no matter that Sir Nicholas said it was untrue. Maddy knew the stench of the grave – its odour lingered in the rooms. And the way Dame Joanna had wept – that was not a holy vision. More like the dead returning to haunt the living.

  Maddy distracted herself with fantasies about John, Sir Nicholas’s squire. So courteous and handsome, so richly dressed. Maddy imagined lying in John’s arms, close to his heart, as Dame Joanna had. John had shown such tender concern for Joanna, cradling her gently in his arms. Oh, that it had been Maddy! She went to market for a blue mantle, found a large shawl that sufficed. Back at the house, she draped the blue shawl round her and danced about the hall. In her imagination John came in, found her a breathtaking vision. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her up to the master’s bedchamber.

  At sunset, Maddy’s dance was interrupted by the creak of the hall door. She had not yet latched it for the night, nor had she fastened the shutters. The grey twilight was the only illumination in the hall. She held her breath, listening. She heard nothing more, but she sensed someone in the shadows.

  ‘Who is there?’

  No answer, but now she could hear breathing, quick and excited.

  ‘This is Master Longford’s house.’ Maddy tried to sound stern. ‘You cannot just walk in off the street.’

  The intruder laughed, a sharp cackle of a laugh that echoed weirdly in the darkening hall.

  Maddy crept towards the door that led out to the kitchen. She could run into the street if she could only get there first. Her way brought her into the silvery light from one of the open windows. She pulled the shawl tighter and hurried.

  Someone grabbed at the shawl, pulled her backwards. Maddy screamed, fumbled with the knot she’d made to fasten the shawl beneath her chin. An arm squeezed her waist. ‘So slender,’ a voice hissed in her ear. The man stank of onions and sweat. This was nothing like Maddy’s imaginings. She gave up on the knot, tried to pull free of his grasp. His other arm came round her neck, then eased, feeling the knot. He yanked the shawl down off her head, twisted it so the knot pressed into her throat. Her screams were choked into desperate coughs. Maddy’s eyes hurt from the pressure in her head. She could not breathe. Her legs gave out. The knot pressed in, tighter, tighter. Sweet Jesu, it had been but an innocent fantasy …

  Louth showed Sir Thomas, the vicar of St Mary’s, into his parlour. He hoped to learn more about the events surrounding Dame Joanna’s time in Beverley. The priest seemed a likely informant, having given Joanna the last rites and buried her; but past experience with Sir Thomas prepared Louth for a difficult time. The man was devoted to his own self-preservation, nothing more.

  ‘Longford’s servant mentioned two visitors, Sir Thomas. Did Longford have any companions other than Jaro at Dame Joanna’s grave?’

  The priest frowned down at his muddy boots. ‘Two men.’ He raised his dull eyes to Louth. ‘Yes. I remember them.’

  ‘Had you ever seen them before?’

  The priest shook his head.

  ‘Describe them to me.’

  ‘I am afraid I can be of little help.’ Sir Thomas mopped his forehead with a large handkerchief. ‘My eyes have failed me of late.’

  Louth thought the blank stare bespoke a slothful nature rather than failing eyesight. Would he not squint more in an effort to focus? Louth sighed. He had a critical, uncharitable streak for which he continually did penance. ‘Tell me what you can, Sir Thomas. Anything will be most appreciated.’

  The priest’s face contorted in a childish fashion as he bit the inside of his mouth. Louth averted his eyes.

  ‘Longford is a dangerous man, Sir Nicholas. Much feared in Beverley.’

  ‘All I ask is that you tell me what you recall,’ Louth said with increasing impatience.

  The priest mopped his forehead again as he glanced round the room. ‘One was tall, fair-haired. He spoke like a foreigner. A Dane. Perhaps a Norseman. The other was of average height, sturdy build but not overly muscular. Thinning hair. Gentle spoken.’

  ‘Were they referred to by name in your presence?’

  Sir Thomas shook his head. Too quickly for Louth’s taste. The other questions had not been answered with such speed.

  ‘You gave Dame Joanna the last rites. Did you believe she was dead?’

  ‘Oh no. No. Longford said she was dying. And she did seem weak and pale. Her hands were cold, her forehead, too, as I recall.’

  ‘You buried her in haste. Why was that?’

  The priest squirmed under the intent regard. ‘It was to be temporary, until her family came for her. We worried it might be plague, you see.’

  ‘Who suggested plague?’

  The priest chewed the inside of his mouth and thought. ‘Jaro. ’Twas he suggested it. Said the body stank of plague and he would not have her in his kitchen. You cannot know how I prayed over it.’

  Louth had no trouble believing that the priest had prayed – but for his own health, not for guidance.

  ‘Has there been any … disturbance – around her grave?’

  The priest looked nervous. ‘What sort of disturbance?’

  Louth pressed his fingers together and closed his eyes, calming himself. ‘Does the grave look as if it has been untouched since the so-called funeral of Dame Joanna?’

  Sir Thomas took a deep breath. ‘I tell no tales, but since I heard of her return, I went to look, and, I must say, something has been at the grave in the past year. Though not so recently as Dame Joanna’s resurrection. Then again, would a
body disturb the earth as it rose from the grave? Seems to me –’

  ‘She did not rise from the dead,’ Louth said sternly.

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ The priest blotted his forehead.

  ‘Did Dame Joanna wear a blue mantle when you attended her?’

  ‘Our Lady’s mantle? Alas, no. I did not have the good fortune to touch it.’

  Louth sighed. ‘Yes. Thank you, Sir Thomas.’ He rose with the priest, escorted him out and called for his squire. ‘Come, John, let us visit little Maddy and ask her about the two men.’

  John knocked on the whitewashed door of Longford’s house. It swung open. He glanced back at Louth, puzzled. Louth nodded. They drew their daggers. John stepped inside and Louth followed. The afternoon sun poured through the unshuttered windows, illuminating overturned chairs and benches. An oil lamp lay on the floor next to a scorched chair. The house was silent but for a bird that took fright at their entrance.

  ‘Maddy?’ Louth whispered. He cleared his throat, repeated her name loudly. No answer. He moved slowly toward the door that led to the kitchen, stepped through, stopped with a sense of dread at the bloodstains in the courtyard, an uneven trail that connected the hall with the kitchen. He opened the kitchen door. ‘Sweet Heaven.’ Cooking pots lay scattered on the stone floor; the remains of a stew coagulated in a pot over the pale embers of the cooking fire; wine pooled on a trestle table, dripped onto the floor. ‘Maddy?’ A curtain was drawn across an alcove. Probably Jaro’s pallet. John reached it first, pulled back the curtain, turned away with a strangled cry.

  Louth crossed himself and joined his squire. Maddy lay on the wide pallet, coins on her eyes, her hands folded neatly on her breast, fully clothed, draped in a blue shawl. But the swollen face, split lip, the blood on her skirt and hands, and most of all the ugly dark bruise on her throat made it plain that Maddy’s death had not been peaceful, much as someone had carefully arranged her afterwards. Poor little Maddy. Louth fell to his knees and wept.

  Louth’s round, usually ruddy face was pale the next morning, his eyes shadowed. Ravenser invited him out into his garden, where the sun might draw the chill of death from his bones.

  ‘What have they done with Maddy’s body?’ Louth asked.

  ‘I have claimed it. The bailiff and the coroner will deliver her to me.’

  Louth leaned forward to touch Ravenser’s hand. ‘God bless you, Richard. Pray, let me bear the expense of her burial.’

  Ravenser withdrew his hand, discomfited by the canon’s emotion. ‘Why should you bear the expense?’

  ‘In Heaven’s name, it is my fault that she is dead. What was I thinking to leave her there alone?’

  Ravenser bowed his head to hide his agreement. ‘Did you notice the blue shawl, how like Dame Joanna’s it is?’ Best to engage Louth in searching for answers. The peacock would have made note of the bright shawl.

  ‘The blue shawl.’ Louth nodded. ‘Yes, I did see it.’

  ‘I wonder why she wore it? The day was warm.’

  ‘It must have happened at night.’

  ‘Yet she was fully dressed.’

  Louth raised a dimpled hand to dab at his eyes. ‘I shall never forgive myself. Maddy looked to me for protection while Longford was away. He may be a mercenary, and all the unsavoury things they say of him may be true, but Maddy was safe under his care.’

  ‘You do not think it might have been Longford who killed her?’

  ‘What?’ Louth looked puzzled.

  ‘Might he have walked in, thought she was Dame Joanna in that blue shawl?’

  Sweat beaded on Louth’s fleshy face as he considered it.

  Ravenser did not like the heavy man’s pallor, his shallow breathing. ‘But now that I think of it, we do not know whether Joanna had that mantle when she was here with Longford.’

  Louth blinked rapidly. ‘Of course. It need not have been Longford. Perhaps someone else mistook her for Joanna Calverley. Or perhaps – do you suppose they wrapped the shawl round Maddy as a warning?’

  The possibility made Ravenser uneasy. He wanted a simple solution, involving as few people as possible. ‘We have no proof of it, Nicholas.’

  Louth sighed, dabbed at his upper lip. ‘Has the abbess learned anything from Dame Joanna?’

  A safer topic. ‘She says the nun speaks dizzying nonsense.’ Ravenser stood up. ‘I see no choice but to open the grave they dug with such haste to see whether it reveals aught.’

  Louth crossed himself. ‘You do not mean to bury Maddy there?’

  Ravenser looked at the canon askance. ‘Do you think me a monster?’

  Louth rubbed his eyes. ‘Forgive me. I shall attend you at the grave, if you do not mind.’

  ‘I welcome your company, I assure you. It is not a thing I do lightly. I would also like you to send out your men to stir up gossip, see whether they learn anything new about Will Longford. Or Maddy. Let me know tomorrow morning what you’ve heard.’

  What Louth learned from his men about Longford’s reputation surprised neither him nor Ravenser. Longford was universally disliked and distrusted. His appetite for women had led most folk, upon hearing of the death of the nun in his house, to surmise that Longford had abducted, raped, then rejected the poor young woman, and that she had died of shame or fear for her immortal soul. Some even suggested that he had poisoned her. Now, with the news of Dame Joanna’s return, the consensus was that she had run away with Longford (no matter the delay in his departure) and he had rejected her. Some cynical souls even hoped that the nun had killed him.

  ‘Not a romantic figure,’ Louth said.

  Ravenser leaned back, his slender hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. ‘Eight months after Dame Joanna’s “burial” Longford disappeared. What if she was with child and he went to meet her after the birth? Then something happened to separate the happy family?’

  Then where is the baby?’

  Ravenser sat up, ‘Dead? Might that be why the grave has been disturbed?’

  ‘Or perhaps she lied about being with child. He discovered it. Rejected her.’

  Ravenser smiled. ‘We spin a good yarn.’

  Louth did not smile. ‘As I see it, Dame Joanna ran away to be with a lover, who may or may not be Longford, and something went wrong. Perhaps so wrong that he followed her back here to kill her.’

  ‘But why would he have raped Maddy?’

  Louth closed his eyes, shook his head. ‘My men heard nothing ill of her. A hard worker, bit of a dreamer.’ He dabbed at his eyes. ‘The poor, sweet child.’

  Old Dan took off his dusty cap and scratched his bald head. ‘A man buries so many as I have, can’t recall ’em all. But I remember Master Longford buryin’ someone, aye.’

  ‘Do you remember anything else about it?’

  The old man wriggled in his ragged clothes as if the question made him itch. ‘Not as such, Sir.’

  ‘Is that a yea or a nay?’

  ‘I remember the ale, Sir. A wondrous brew, thick and strong. The kind you chew before you swallow.’ He grinned at the memory.

  ‘Someone brought it while you filled in the grave?’

  Old Dan crushed the hat in his hands, stared down at his dirty boots. ‘I shouldn’t’ve touched it before ’twas done, but dear Lord, it was one of the sunniest days of that wet summer and steam come up at me with every spadeful of earth. It near boiled me. A thirsty man will drink.’

  ‘I am not judging you, Dan. Who brought you the ale?’

  ‘’Twas Jaro, Master Longford’s man.’

  ‘Do you remember filling the grave while you sampled the ale, Dan?’

  A dirty hand crept back up to the bald head, scratching. ‘Now there’s the problem, you see. I can’t say as I remember the filling in, but I’ve been digging graves all my life and I’m sure I did it right.’

  ‘Did anyone help you? Longford, perhaps?’

  Old Dan shrugged. ‘To speak truth, I can swear to naught once I tasted that wondrous brew.’

  �
�You know what you’re to do now, Dan?’

  They spoke true, then? You want it dug up?’

  ‘It must be done. Have you the stomach for it?’

  ‘Don’t know till I do. But if it must be done –’ Dan shrugged. ‘Can’t say as I wouldn’t welcome company.’

  ‘I shall accompany you.’ Ravenser wished to keep this incident quiet if possible. ‘And Sir Nicholas, also.’

  It had rained in the night. The morning was dry but overcast, the air heavy. Old Dan and his son fell to the task in silence, but soon they cursed the saturated earth. As they dug, water seeped in to fill the hole and make the soil heavy to lift.

  Ravenser slipped into his own thoughts. What if they found the real Dame Joanna rotting in her shroud? Then who was the woman at Nunburton who claimed to be resurrected? The abbess of Nunburton had noted that the woman’s French was genteel and her clothes, though travel-stained and torn, were new, not mended, and of costly wool. She also noted that the supposedly ancient, sacred mantle looked like good Yorkshire wool. Why would someone claim to be a dead person? What was to be gained? Was she dangerous? Or just confused?

  ‘They have reached the body,’ Louth said quietly.

  Ravenser apologised for his inattention. ‘I have been pondering this strange case.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Old Dan called out. ‘Knotted up in her shroud, just as I remember. Shall we lift her out, Sir Richard?’

  Ravenser knelt down and slipped his knife through the upper knot, blinking back the tears the odour brought to his eyes. ‘I should think we can come to a conclusion with a peek.’

  ‘Lord ha’ mercy!’ Old Dan covered his mouth and nose with a dirty kerchief as Ravenser peeled back the sheet. ‘Don’t like the looks of ’em when there’s still flesh. Nor the stink.’

  ‘What have we here?’ Ravenser muttered. ‘Much too much flesh for a year-old corpse, and it is not Dame Joanna, but a man with a broken neck. A huge man.’

  Louth held a scented cloth to his plump face and leaned down, examining the face and body. ‘Unmistakable. That is Jaro, Longford’s man.’ Louth pointed to an amulet on the chest. ‘The tooth of an animal he killed in the Pyrenees. Proud of it, he was. But his girth is enough to identify him.’ He turned quickly away.