When Owen returned, dirty, sweaty, relaxed, Tildy put a cup of Tom Merchet’s ale in his hands. He sat down with a contented sigh and drained the cup with one tilt of the head.
Tildy hovered. “Mistress Lucie is dressing, Captain. I would hurry if I were you. The provost of Beverley is expecting you.”
Owen groaned. “I had forgotten.”
Sir Robert came in from the garden. The elderly man wore a homespun tunic and breeches, spattered and caked with dirt.
“Have you been gardening, Sir Robert?”
Owen’s father-in-law raked a hand through his white hair, streaking it with dirt. “I have indeed. A fine garden you have out there. Healthy.” He eyed Owen’s sweaty state. “You have not been idle this day either, I see.”
Owen told him about Alfred. “We worked him hard. He will sleep till morning, I think.”
Sir Robert nodded enthusiastically. “Just the thing for a fighting man. You must have been a good captain.” He motioned for Owen to come away from Tildy’s hearing. “By the by,” he said, lowering his voice, “I wanted a word with you about Dame Joanna’s stories of Scarborough. Have you heard about the soldiers who sail away, never come back? Archers, she said once. I told Lucie it was important, but I am not sure she appreciated the significance.”
Owen bit back a grin. Lucie had told him of Sir Robert’s attachment to this detail. “Lucie did tell me. After meeting the woman, I did not put much faith in my understanding of her meandering speeches.”
Sir Robert held his hand up, palm forward. “Pray hear me, then. ’Tis not the sort of thing a young woman would make up. That is my point. You must see that.”
Owen considered it. “Aye, ’tis true. But her brother is a soldier. If she did find him in Scarborough, and listened to him talking with his fellows, she might have heard something and misunderstood, or made it into a more intriguing story.”
Disappointment rounded the old soldier’s shoulders. “In faith, perhaps I make much of nothing.”
“Not at all. Lancaster shares your interest in the story.”
Sir Robert straightened up. “Excellent. Stealing our fighting men—it is the sort of small, sneaky maneuver King Charles favors. And du Guesclin.”
Owen hoped he had as sound a mind at his father-in-law’s age. “How do you find your daughter, Sir Robert?”
Sir Robert smiled fondly. “A formidable woman, Owen. Lovely as her mother, but much stronger. In spirit more like my sister Phillippa than Amelie. I am much relieved. I had thought Lucie’s marriage to Wilton a terrible mistake—all my fault, of course, but still a mistake. Yet had she not married him, she would not have this life that contents her.”
This was a new tone from Sir Robert. “I am happy you see that she is content.”
“Owen!” Lucie called from the top of the stairs. “Did I hear you come in?”
“I must go to her.” Owen tapped Sir Robert’s sleeve. “And you must ready yourself. Ravenser seems anxious that we all attend.”
Sir Robert patted Owen on the back. “You are a good man, Owen. My daughter chose wisely.”
Lucie and Owen slept little, talking into the night after they returned from Ravenser’s, wondering what Owen might discover in Scarborough, trying to organize what they knew about Will Longford and Joanna Calverley. Owen had proposed that they go first to Beverley to speak with the vicar of St. Mary’s and the gravedigger. Rather than find the suggestion an insult, since he had spoken with them several months before, Louth was in favor of doing so. He did not trust his talents in this endeavor. But Thoresby insisted that they follow Lancaster’s orders and go first to Scarborough in hopes of finding Captain Sebastian. Lancaster sought to have Captain Sebastian back on his side before he left for Gascony in the autumn.
Lucie had been surprised by Thoresby’s support of Lancaster. “I did not foresee His Most Arrogant Grace the Archbishop bowing to Lancaster’s interests.”
Owen wagged his finger. “You misunderstand, my love. It is a matter of priorities. Thoresby wishes to resolve the matter of Dame Joanna and the deaths surrounding her, surely. But his hatred for Alice Perrers takes precedence. And if he becomes Lancaster’s ally in the matter of Captain Sebastian, Lancaster may become Thoresby’s ally in the matter of ousting Mistress Perrers from the King’s bedchamber.”
“Ah.” Lucie could hear the smile in Owen’s voice. It irked her that he was in such good spirits when he must leave her in the morning. “I think you begin to enjoy taking part in these weighty matters of the realm.”
Owen pulled her over on top of him, stroking her hair. “I prefer matters of the bedchamber. My own bedchamber.”
Lucie kissed him and resolved to enjoy tonight, worry about the morrow on the morrow.
It required considerable noise on Tildy’s part to wake them in the morning, and Owen had just finished dressing when one of the archbishop’s grooms arrived leading a fine mount. Lucie watched Owen strap his pack to the saddle, check all the fittings. He hummed as he worked. She remembered his high spirits last night. It had not been her imagination—he was happy to be on the move.
“Will you be back for Corpus Christi?” She hated the yearning in her voice.
Owen heard it, turned round, pulled her to him. “Unless fortune shines on us, I think not, my love. But once back from this, I shall not leave your side until the baby comes. Thoresby be damned.” He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. “Promise to take every care, Lucie.”
She held him, drinking in his scent, his warmth. She forced herself to smile up at him, not wanting him to remember her with tears in her eyes. “I have no reason to risk my life, and every reason to stay well, my love.”
They kissed. Lucie handed Owen a cup of warmed, spiced wine. It was a damp, cool morning for summer. He drank, kissed her again, hugged her hard, and took his reins in hand.
“They await me at the minster gate.”
Lucie nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. What was the matter with her? In their nineteen months of marriage she had seen him off enough times to be over this anxious care. He always returned. She touched his arm. He put his hand over hers, pressed it, and slowly led the horse out to the street.
“God go with you,” Lucie called softly.
Owen did not hear over the horse’s hooves.
Lucie watched his broad back until he disappeared beyond St. Helen’s Square. She hugged herself and pressed her feet into the ground, resisting the urge to run up the stairs and hang out their chamber window for one last glimpse. It took all of her will to stay put.
What was the matter with her? A premonition of danger? Or was it merely her condition making everything difficult? She would go to the minster and say a prayer at Vespers.
Alfred sat stiffly in his saddle, fighting to keep wide the eyelids that preferred to close. Perhaps the workout had been too exhausting. But once they were on the move, he would perk up. Owen was glad to see Ned and Louth plainly dressed for the journey. They were headed into rough country and he did not relish attracting thieves. Ravenser saw them off, with Jehannes, as Archdeacon of York, giving the blessing.
It was a long, slow journey up onto heather-clad moorland. They spent their first night in the modest guest house of a Gilbertine priory in Malton. Owen and Ned rubbed Alfred’s upper back down with hot oil to loosen his cramping muscles. Louth watched the proceedings, amused.
“I would fain pity you, but it was your own doing,” Louth told Alfred. “The best remedy for sorrow is the solace of a head full of wine. What you chose was penance, not solace.”
Owen scowled at Louth. “If Alfred had passed out last night with a head full of wine, he would have slept fitfully and been no good for the journey today.” He grew weary of Louth’s pampered paunch. Twice today they must needs halt for him to rest a while. Owen hated traveling with such folk. He might have said much, but seeing Louth’s frown at his sharp tone and scowl, he stopped at that. For now it sufficed that Louth knew he did not agree, not at all.
The second day was an easy journey to Pickering Castle, one of Lancaster’s, where the company were to be joined by a Percy youth who would escort them through the forests and bogs that stretched out from Pickering to the North Sea. The castle was often used as a grand hunting lodge for nobles taking their sport in the Forest of Pickering, and their accommodations, in the Old Hall, were much more comfortable than those of the previous night. Although the castle stood on a bluff overlooking marsh and moor and caught the northern winds, the Old Hall was built into the curtain wall and enjoyed a sheltered situation.
After a pleasant evening meal, the travelers shared wine and swapped travel stories. Owen thought he might learn something of Hugh Calverley from the young John Percy.
John grimaced. “Oh, aye, Hugh Calverley. Once met, not forgotten, unless you’re a fool. Cross him and he butts you with his horns, make no mistake about it. I have been so unfortunate.” The young Percy was fair, with a toothy grin and boyish features.
“You crossed him and he struck out?” At a boy? Owen found that surprising.
John nodded. “I greeted him out on the street in Scarborough. When next he came up to the castle he sought me out and beat me, said I might have revealed him to the enemy. I have never seen a man so angry for so little cause.”
Owen thought it passing strange the Percies had allowed one of their own to be treated in such a manner by a merchant’s son. “Your family did not punish Calverley for such behavior?”
John shook his head. “Nay. They looked the other way.”
Ned nodded. “Thought it a good lesson, didn’t they?”
John shrugged, but his eyes spoke of a festering anger.
Owen thought it best to speak of other matters. “How long have you been away from Scarborough?”
“I have spent two years at Richmond Castle sharpening my bones, as my father says.”
“There are Percies at Richmond?”
“Nay. I have neither seen nor heard from my family in that time.”
“Why are you now to Scarborough?”
John drew himself up straighter, puffing out his chest. “I am to be a customs warden, searching ships for wool and hides not customed and cocketed.”
And confiscating the goods for the King. Owen knew of such wardens. They tended to have short, tragic careers or turn smuggler themselves. He wondered how much the lad understood about such a post. “’Tis dangerous work. Folk who have dared defy the King will not be shy of throwing a young customs warden overboard.”
The cocky young man grinned ear to ear. “I am a Percy, Captain. I live for danger.”
Owen and Ned exchanged amused looks over the lad’s head.
Louth had no confidence in such a young, cocky guide. “Are you certain you remember the way from here to Scarborough? They say one needs a guide who knows the way well, so well that fog and mist do not turn him round. If it has been two years since you traveled there…”
The young Percy shrugged. “It will be different, for certain. The forests and bogs keep the trails ever changing. But I shall get us through.”
“I have traveled this way with the archbishop in those years,” Alfred offered.
His companions turned to him, surprised.
Alfred ran a hand through his coarse, sand-colored hair, making it stand up in random peaks. He seemed unaware that he should have offered this information long ago. “We twice came this way, once to join another party making for Whitby, once to meet with Sir William Percy at the castle. Between John and me, we can find our way to Scarborough.”
“Twice over terrain does not make you sure-footed.” Louth still had his doubts.
“Meaning no disrespect, Sir Nicholas, twice as one of the forward party teaches you much about the lay of the land.”
Owen and Ned agreed. Louth shrugged. “I do not have another plan to offer, so I must be content. But I shall pray all the more fervently tonight.”
Contrary to Louth’s expectations, they passed through Pickering and Wykeham forests without mishap. John Percy did know his way, that was clear. And Alfred worked well with him. When the path forked and John hesitated, considering, Alfred would sniff the air and search the ground like a bloodhound. Between the two of them, the forks hardly slowed down the party.
The boggy moorland proved more difficult. The wayside was laid with stone slabs to support the horses and donkeys slung with panniers that carried loads across the moorland, the rocks and bogs being too treacherous for carts. The company followed alongside the slabs, walking their horses so that they might feel and sidestep any softness in the ground. It was slow going, and even worse when the slabs forked, for the road snaked round dangerous pools and outcroppings and it was not always the fork that seemed most direct that moved them toward their goal.
Once they chose the wrong fork and rode on unaware until young John Percy’s horse reared. Concentrating on steadying his mount, John paid no heed to his footing and slid backwards into a bog. Alfred and Owen ran to his aid, fishing him out, while Ned calmed the horse and studied the cause of the near disaster. The horse had stepped onto a slab that teetered over the bog. The tip of what had once been the next slab could be seen sticking out of the muck. John wrapped himself in the blanket from his pack and gamely led the way back and onto the correct fork, determined to make it out of the bogs before dark. Louth pulled his own cloak closer about him and prayed for their deliverance from this hellish landscape.
At sunset they could see the castle of Scarborough rising far to the east, seemingly carved out of the rocky headland. A magnificent and comforting sight, but too far to reach tonight. “There is an inn just over the next rise,” John said. “We should stop there for the night.”
All agreed.
The innkeeper’s surly greeting changed to a welcome when he recognized the Percy among them. “My father was groom at the castle as a lad. Sir Henry de Percy would let no one but my father touch the destrier that he rode against David the Bruce.” He was even friendlier when he learned that the company traveled under Lancaster’s protection. The innkeeper led them to an airy sleeping loft, relatively clean, where they stored their packs, then provided a simple but hearty meal for them.
Owen soon realized they were most fortunate for the man’s interest. The inn filled quickly, and latecomers were given the bad news that there was no room. In fact, some earlier comers were being displaced by Owen’s party.
Two of these unfortunates took exception to the news that they would be spending the night in the stables. A well scarred pair, their daggers notched and worn with use, they drew themselves up to full height and threatened the innkeeper, telling him they would upend everything not nailed down and skewer him on the signpost.
Owen and Ned rose to reason with them. Doe-eyed, elegant Ned whipped two daggers seemingly out of the air and threw one at the upraised arm of one of the men, nailing his sleeve to an oak beam. As Ned slowly approached the man, he tossed the other dagger from hand to hand and grinned lazily. Owen stretched out a long leg and tripped the other man, then grabbed him by the collar and lifted him until only his toes touched the ground.
Ned’s man looked uneasily at his mate, dangling in Owen’s grasp, then at the dagger that now rose and fell inches from him. “The stables will do us for tonight, gentlemen,” he assured them.
“And what do you say to our host?” Owen asked.
“We meant no harm. ’Twas the ale talking.”
Ned pulled his dagger from the oak beam, touched the man’s startled face gently with the blade. “’Tis a wise man knows when he’s had his fill.”
Owen released his catch, who stumbled again but jerked away from Owen’s steadying hand. Ned returned to the table, still tossing the daggers back and forth.
“I grow eager to pass through the town gates,” Louth muttered, wiping his brow.
“Scarborough is a fair town, gentlemen,” John Percy assured them. “My family are right proud to be stewards of the castle.”
“I could see the great wall that snakes up the hill from the town and surrounds the keep,” Louth said. “Perhaps it protects the castle folk from the town folk, eh? If it guards such a wild and lawless people…”
John Percy grinned. “Aye, you’d be hard pressed to find a worse lot all in one place. Pirates, every one of ’em. Even the Accloms and Carters, who take turns as bailiffs. Ask your lord of Lancaster about them. He has had to put them straight once or twice. But where is the honor in defending something that is never threatened? The Percies embrace the challenge.” He nodded to Ned. “That was fancy work with the daggers.”
Ned flicked one out, tossed it, spinning, from hand to hand several times, then put it away. “It impresses the court ladies and discourages trouble. A worthwhile skill to develop, even if one has the formidable Percy clan behind him.”
John Percy blushed, hearing the tease in Ned’s words.
Owen grinned into his cup. It was good to be on the road with Ned. He felt alive.
Scarborough was walled on three sides, the forth being the harbor; but it had long ago outgrown the walls. Almost 200 years earlier a wide, deep ditch had been dug to encircle a new outer wall, but funds were never forthcoming to build it, and now houses straggled far outside the old ditch. Within the walls the timbered, gabled houses squeezed one atop the next, down steep streets that ended abruptly at the sands of the harbor. Crowding was such that solars and stalls stretched out over and in the harbor; in every generation there were fools who built out onto the sands and foreshore and had their homes and shops washed away by the fierce storms of the North Sea. It did not stop them rebuilding; everyone wished to be within convenient reach of the lucrative pirate trade and the fairs and markets that set up on the sands of the harbor.
As the company rode along the top ridge of streets to the castle walls, Owen stared down at the townspeople going about their business seemingly unaware of the steep incline, the growling sea below. Were they spiders that this dizzy slope bothered them so little? Or was it peculiarly disturbing to him, with his one-eyed balance? He did not ask the others, for to ask would be to admit his weakness. It was hard enough to know it himself. He just hoped that Hugh Calverley lived up in the castle precinct so he would not need to spend much time on the steep, narrow streets.
The way from the outer gatehouse of Scarborough Castle to the inner bailey climbed steeply heavenward. Sir William Percy had given orders that the company be shown directly to his parlor when they arrived. He had been expecting them since Lancaster’s messenger arrived three days past. And this morning he’d had word of a small company putting on a show in an inn outside the city gates; one of that company had sounded like his son John.
Sir William studied Owen with interest. “You have been described as a one-eyed giant who held Tom Kemp off the ground while another of your company threw a dagger at John of Whitby, attaching him to a beam and frightening him so thoroughly he agreed to sleep out in the stables with his horse.”
Owen laughed, nodded toward Ned. “The two men wished to fight for the room. We merely wished to warm your son after a tumble in the bogs and to get a good night’s sleep. So Ned and I convinced those two to oblige us.” He shrugged. “As you can see, I am no giant.”
Sir William was shorter than Owen, but looked no less a soldier, sturdy and battle-scarred. He nodded at Owen. “I’d not call you a giant, ’tis true. But I can tell you keep the strength of an archer.” He gestured to the travelers with a large, beringed hand. “I am pleased to welcome you all, though I admit to being ignorant of your mission. My lord duke did not enlighten me in his message. Obviously business of a delicate nature. But I shall help you as I may. My lord duke is a good friend to my cousins Henry and Thomas. First, however, you must break your fast.” He clapped the servants into action, setting up a small table. “And John must attend his mother who is most anxious to see how he fares.”
Ned slapped John on the back. “He’s a fine lad, Sir William. Led us straight and true and carried on even when soaked and bruised.”
When the company had eaten their full of brown bread, cheese, a hearty broth and cold venison, the servants cleared the table and left the room. A shorter, wirier version of Sir William entered the room.
Sir William motioned for the newcomer to sit. “My brother, Ralph.”
Ralph Percy nodded to the company without lifting his eyes to them.
Sir William leaned into the table. “Now. Tell us what the stewards of Scarborough can do for you.”
Louth cleared his throat and bowed slightly to the two Percies. “We hope to find three men, one of whom is in your service, Hugh Calverley of Leeds.”
Sir William grunted, frowned over at his brother, shrugged back at Louth. “I can show you where we buried him.”
“Hugh Calverley is dead?”
Sir William nodded.
“How did he die?” Louth’s disappointment rang in his voice.
“Servant found him lying in a puddle of blood in front of his own fire. House had been searched, everything turned over, out of place. Someone looking for booty, no doubt.” Sir William shook his head.
Louth looked to Owen.
“When did this happen?” Owen asked.
Sir William closed his eyes, screwed up his face. “I recall something in the service at his grave about St. Ambrose.” Early April.
“Shortly after Will Longford disappeared,” Louth muttered.
Ralph turned beady eyes on Louth. “Longford?”
“Aye,” Owen said. “The man Hugh tried to catch for you.”
Sir William nodded. “Was a time he came often to Scarborough, disappeared into the town with uncanny ease. We set Hugh to catch Longford in his game. Too slippery. Knew Hugh was up to something before the boy learned a thing.” He downed some ale. “You think he came after Hugh? After so much time?”
Owen shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“What else do you know about Longford?” Sir William asked Owen.
“Little more than that. We are here to discover what we may about him.”
Sir William sat back, arms folded, one of his pointy eyebrows cocked. “Perhaps you should just tell us all of your business.”
Owen nodded to Nicholas de Louth, who did not look pleased with the request. But he complied, giving a brief, clear account of the peculiar events of the past year.
Sir William shook his head over the tale of Joanna Calverley. He nodded enthusiastically at Lancaster’s connecting Captain Sebastian with the soldiers Joanna had seen. “I would fain know where she saw them. We had word of Sebastian and his company crossing the Channel to recruit men. We have looked for their gathering place. Hugh searched for it. How is it his sister knew of it and he did not tell us?”
“How well did you know Hugh?” Owen asked.
“He was not a boon companion, if that is what you ask. I never looked into his heart. But he dug a few Frenchmen and Scots out from under the rocks hereabouts. Did well for me.”
Owen had not thought they would know Hugh well. He’d been a lackey, expendable. They were Percies, above everyone else in the town. “Your son had some trouble with him.”
Sir William frowned, displeased. “John whined about it?”
“No. I had asked what he knew of Hugh Calverley. He told me of the incident.”
“It was a lesson John needed to learn. Hugh was not openly connected with the castle.”
Owen nodded. “We have told you of Hugh’s sister. Did Joanna come looking for Hugh this past year? A red-haired woman? Green eyes. Pretty.”
Sir William looked to his brother.
“Hugh said nothing about a sister, but he was a quiet one.” Ralph frowned, drew his brows together. He had no right earlobe and a scar on that side of his neck told the tale of a near fatal sword blow. “But Hugh was away round that time. Perhaps he met her somewhere else.”
“Away?”
At last Ralph looked Owen in the eye. “He was gone for ten days or so not long before his murder. Said he was hunting down a man might lead him to Captain Sebastian. He was always looking for folk he thought would lead him to the captain. Got a bit single-minded about Sebastian.” Ralph shook his head. “Good luck to you in finding Sebastian.” Ralph Percy gave an ill-humored grin, looked down at the floor. It was obvious he had done with them.
Sir William made a conciliatory gesture. “It is possible Hugh was murdered because he had got close to Sebastian, but he had not found him. Or if he had, he had not yet told us.”
“Where had Hugh gone?”
Sir William shook his head. “He came and went all the time. I never felt the need to watch him.”
“Who went with him?”
“His two men.”
“They are your men also?”
“No.”
“Unusual practice.”
Sir William took another drink.
“I should like to speak with Hugh’s men.”
Sir William looked down at his boots. Ralph Percy was left to explain. “They did not return with him, far as I know. He came back without his quarry and without his men.”
Owen sat with his back pressing against the wall, his long legs stretched out to the side of the table. Sir William and his brother Ralph were fighting men. He understood them. He could tell that at the moment Sir William was uncomfortable and angry with his brother. “Tell us about Hugh, if you would, Sir William. What was he like?”
Sir William raised puzzled eyes to Owen.
“You’re wondering why I ask such a question about a soldier?” Owen said.
“Most folk do not wonder about a soldier’s character, just his strength, his skill with weapons, his courage, his trustworthiness.”
“A good place to begin. I assume you would not have used Hugh had you not trusted him.”
“He proved eager to do my bidding. I tried him sorely with the Sebastian seal. He failed, but he did not tuck his tail between his legs and cower away. He asked for another chance to prove himself. Courage. Perseverance. Good soldierly qualities.”
“You never doubted his loyalty?”
Sir William tucked his chin in and frowned up through his eyebrows. “Should I have doubted it?”
Owen shrugged. “Did he ever do anything to make you doubt him?”
“Nay.” His voice went up at the end of the word—with doubt?
“But there was something about him that made you pause.”
Ralph snorted. “Pause? Nay, run, by God. The man had a temper. Never cross him, that’s what we learned. Not us, mind you, his partners. So we let him choose his own men.”
“He killed partners?”
“No,” Sir William said quickly, silencing his brother with a stern look. “No,” Sir William repeated, this time softly, pleasantly, with a smile to Owen. “He fought with them. Came to blows. Afterwards they preferred to work with someone else. Said his temper flared with no spark that they could see. They were—uneasy about him.”
“Word gets round the barracks and no one will partner him.” Ned nodded. “I’ve known some like that.”
Sir William looked grateful. “But we never had reports of his turning on us, if I understand that to be your question.”
Owen nodded. “Where did he find the two who disappeared?”
Both men shrugged.
“You were not concerned?”
“They looked as if they would fight well,” Ralph said. “’Twas enough.”
Owen decided to ignore their puzzling indifference for now. “Hugh lived alone, did he?”
“Aye,” Ralph nodded. “A small house up on the bluffs south of here. Well hidden.”
“Did he have a woman?”
Sir William shrugged. “We would not know that.”
“Servants?”
“Harry, his manservant. He’s round here somewhere. Want to speak with him?”
“I do indeed.”
Owen leaned over toward Ralph. “You did nothing about his murder, did you?”
Ralph looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You did not ask round about it, try to piece it together. You thought it was one of his old mates, didn’t you? Perhaps the two missing men?”
Ralph snorted. “And who would have cared?”
“Why have you said nothing to his father about his murder?”
Ralph reddened.
Sir William coughed. “We have not had a messenger headed for Leeds since then.”
Owen grinned.
Louth looked at him, puzzled.
Owen shrugged. “Can you find Harry for us?”
Sir William nodded to Ralph, who departed without a word.
The middle-aged Harry was hard of hearing. Owen sat close to him and spoke loudly into his ear. “Was there any trouble at the house before Hugh Calverley died?”
Harry grinned a devilish grin. “A pretty redhead. Aye.”
“He doesn’t understand,” Louth said softly.
Owen ignored him. “A woman visited him?”
Harry nodded. “Called him brother.” He rolled his expressive eyes.
“What was her name?”
Harry shook his head. “Never gave it.”
Or Harry never heard it. But Owen had watched him when he first came in the room. He seemed to get the gist of what people were saying by watching their lips. “Any other trouble?”
Harry chuckled. “Always trouble round Master Hugh. He was watching a house, I can tell you that. I can even show you. Got interested when I told him I’d seen that one-legged man there.”
“Longford?”
“Aye.” Harry nodded. “That’d be him.”
“How long ago did you see Longford there?”
Harry shrugged. “A few years past.”
Owen sat back, frowning. “Do you mean to say Hugh watched this particular house for a few years?”
Harry held his hand up to his ear. “What?”
Owen leaned closer and repeated the question.
“Oh, aye. On and off, you see. I’d tell ’im when I saw folk he might find interesting.”
“What sort of folk?”
“Soldier types. Or folk who seemed out of place.”
“And who was it most recently?”
“The redhead.”
“You will take us to the house?”
Harry nodded. “This evening. Better then. In the dark.”
Louth knocked on the door to the small room Owen was sharing with Ned and Alfred. Being a canon of Beverley and clerk to Prince Edward, Louth had been offered his own chamber, equally small, but private. Ned had gone off with Alfred in search of amusement, and Owen had been lying on his cot, thinking over the morning’s business. He did not welcome an interruption and sighed at the second round of knocking. “What is it?”
Louth opened the door only wide enough to poke his head in. “I would speak with you.”
Owen nodded.
Louth settled on the edge of Ned’s cot. The flesh on his round face was slack, as if the trip was taking its toll. “You were on the heels of something about the Percies’ not reporting Hugh’s death. Why did you veer away?”
“I want to worry them.”
Louth blinked. “Why?”
“People do foolish things when they worry.”
“What do you expect them to do?”
Owen shrugged. “We shall see.”
Louth lowered his eyes. “You do not trust me.” Petulant.
Did he trust Louth? Owen had little confidence in him, but he believed Louth meant well. “I don’t know what they are hiding, Sir Nicholas. It is but a feeling I have.”
Louth met his eye again. “You might have gotten it out of them right away.”
“No. They have no reason to confide in me, much less confess to me if it comes to that. Not now. Not yet.”
“What do you think we shall learn seeing the house Hugh was watching?”
“Perhaps nothing. But Harry himself is interesting. Joanna came to mind when I asked him about trouble. Why?” Owen nodded. “Harry will be far more helpful than the Percies, I think.” He slapped his thighs, rose. “I need a good walk, fresh air. Want to walk the battlements with me?”
Louth’s eyes widened in horror. “Faith, no. I shall go to the chapel.”
Owen grinned. He had guessed that Louth would shrink at the suggestion. Now he would have time alone to think. Though he was not himself easy about going up there, which was the point.