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did not sputter, then drew herself up to stand taller than the canon. ‘I find little comfort in your words after seeing how you cared for my uncle’s grieving friend. Of course, it is impossible for you to imagine what one feels when deprived of one’s life mate. But if you are to accept substantial sums of money from lay folk to see them easy through their last days, you ought to make it your business to learn about such things.’ And with that, Bess turned and swept out of the hospital grounds.
    As she turned down Blake Street, she paused at Walter de Hotter’s house, its windows and doors boarded up to prevent trespassing. Now another corrodian’s property had come to the hospital. She was not easy in her mind as she headed back to the York Tavern.
    Nor was Don Erkenwald easy in his mind. He thanked the Lord for his foresight in writing to Sir Richard. He had lately received a message from the master of the hospital in which he agreed that it was time for him to come north and set his house in order. Pray God he arrived soon.

Four
An Unnatural Mother?
     
    M agda had shooed Owen away when he’d offered to help her pull the boat up on to her rock in the Ouse. ‘Hurry home, see to thy household, Bird-eye.’
    The gatekeeper at Bootham Bar confirmed Magda’s pronouncement of a fire.
    ‘Aye, Captain Archer. They say ’twas near the great spital.’
    That would be St Leonard’s. But how near was near?
    Owen ran down Stonegate. Once in St Helen’s Square, whence he could see the apothecary, he paused to catch his breath and calm himself. The smoke was to the north. The queue of folk spilling out of the shop was waiting for service, not moving pails of water. God was merciful.
    As his worry faded, Owen grew more conscious of his filthy clothes; his tunic and leggings reeked of the grave. He turned down Davygate. Next to the shop, the narrow end of his large house gave on to the street, with only a tiny window facing out from the jettied second storey. He could tell nothing of his household’s welfare from the street.
    ‘Captain Owen, welcome home. Did you find the little girl?’
    Owen squinted, his eye not yet adjusted to the gloom in the entryway. At the end of the little passage stood a vague form, lit from behind by the windows of the hall. By her voice, he knew it was Kate, their new serving girl, a younger sister to their housekeeper and nurse, Tildy, who was at Freythorpe with Gwenllian and Hugh. Kate was learning her job well, but she had no talent for silence. Owen already wearied of her continual chatter. ‘Aye, Kate, we found the girl, buried her family. The household is fine? No one was injured in the fire?’
    Kate shook her head. ‘’Twas a fire at St Leonard’s. The house of a corrodian caught fire. He is dead, his house ruined.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Master Warrene.’
    ‘So soon after his wife. It seems a heavy burden on one family.’ And on St Leonard’s. John Rudby, Walter de Hotter, Laurence and Matilda de Warrene – four corrodians now dead. More fuel for the rumours. ‘Mistress Lucie and Jasper are in the shop?’
    ‘Aye, Captain.’
    ‘Thank God we are all safe.’ Owen crossed himself, as did Kate. ‘Now I must make myself presentable for Mistress Lucie. Can you bring water up to the solar?’
    ‘At once, Captain!’ Kate bobbed away, appearing for a moment clearly lit by the hall casements. She was a short, round, muscular young woman, yet light and quick on her feet, with rosy cheeks, unruly blonde hair, and an almost comically wide mouth that seemed to smile even when in repose.
    As Owen climbed to the solar he realised that her cheeriness jarred for the very reason he should appreciate it: few folk found cause to smile or laugh at present. A gloom hung over the city with the return of the Great Mortality. Kate was not ignorant of it – she had wept with relief a few days before when she’d returned from visiting her siblings, the little ones left at home. ‘They are all