I had completed my investigation, Sir Richard.’
But why had Erkenwald written nothing of this? ‘Tell me about your investigation.’
Cuthbert glanced down at a chair nearby.
‘Be seated,’ Ravenser snapped. He disliked the cellarer’s false humility.
Cuthbert’s slender hands swept out from his sleeves, gracefully smoothing the habit beneath him as he slid on to the chair. ‘ Deo gratias . It has been a long day.’
The cellarer’s movement stirred the scent of damp embers. Where did the man sleep?
‘Where to begin?’ the cellarer muttered to himself.
‘I should first like to hear the list of missing items.’
‘A list. Ah.’ Cuthbert glanced round, found no one to release him from this query. ‘The list.’
‘Are you not the one to ask, Don Cuthbert? Have you relinquished your post to another worthy canon?’
‘No. No, Sir Richard. The list.’ Cuthbert composed himself, hands returning to their comfortable nests within his sleeves. ‘Two tapestries, a golden chalice, a silver filigree missal cover with precious stones, a silver and pearl crucifix, several Italian glass goblets, an embroidered altar cloth, three blankets, and a tooled saddle.’ The canon’s attention was now on his sandalled feet.
‘Sweet Jesu . How could a thief walk off with so much and not be caught? There are so many of us here, we trip over one another.’
Red splotches spread on the cellarer’s pale neck. ‘In truth, I cannot say.’
In the ensuing silence, the scratching of Douglas’s quill attested to the length of the list. Cuthbert, for all his unpleasant qualities, had a keen mind and was excellent at detail.
‘Do you need anything repeated, Douglas?’ Ravenser asked, the scraping of quill against parchment reminding him of his clerk’s presence.
A further scratching, then Douglas asked, ‘How many goblets?’
‘Four,’ Cuthbert said softly, then cleared his throat. ‘I have retrieved two of them.’
‘Indeed! So you have found the thief?’
‘No, Sir Richard.’ Cuthbert pressed a pale hand to his blotchy neck. ‘But I have Honoria de Staines in custody as the recipient of stolen goods.’
‘ Jesu ! Your repentant Magdalen?’ How had his uncle known she would be involved? ‘She has told you from whom she received the goblets?’
‘She will not. In faith, she insists they are not the stolen ones.’
Had he been mistaken? Made a fool of himself as he had with the goldsmiths? ‘Are they at all similar, Cuthbert?’
The cellarer’s mouth pinched at the insult. ‘Sir Richard, I am no fool. They are of the set, I am certain.’
Ravenser groaned. ‘Perhaps it needs a gentler hand in questioning the young woman.’ He studied the uncomfortable cellarer. ‘In custody, you say?’
‘In the gaol.’
That meant all the inmates of St Leonard’s knew by now. ‘So you were wrong to trust her.’
Cuthbert straightened. ‘Nothing is yet proved against her.’
Why was the man so stubborn? ‘I shall have one of the sisters speak to her. When did these items disappear?’
‘The first we noticed was on the feast of St John of Beverley. The golden chalice.’
Early May. And had Erkenwald not summoned him, Ravenser might still have been unaware of it. Ravenser rose, paced to the window, stared out at the church, noting that work had begun on a small stained glass window. Why did benefactors choose such impractical gifts? ‘And why have you been questioning the goldsmiths? How might they help you?’
‘It is said that goldsmiths will sometimes take stolen items, melt them down, and make them into something new that cannot be identified as stolen.’
Ravenser turned to study his cellarer. ‘Are you suddenly mad or simple, Cuthbert? The goldsmiths of York are members of a guild. They would be cast out if caught thieving.’
Cuthbert lifted his hands, imploring. ‘Sir—’
‘Your theory is nonsense, Cuthbert. You will apologise.’
Cuthbert bowed. ‘Sir Richard, I—’
Ravenser
But why had Erkenwald written nothing of this? ‘Tell me about your investigation.’
Cuthbert glanced down at a chair nearby.
‘Be seated,’ Ravenser snapped. He disliked the cellarer’s false humility.
Cuthbert’s slender hands swept out from his sleeves, gracefully smoothing the habit beneath him as he slid on to the chair. ‘ Deo gratias . It has been a long day.’
The cellarer’s movement stirred the scent of damp embers. Where did the man sleep?
‘Where to begin?’ the cellarer muttered to himself.
‘I should first like to hear the list of missing items.’
‘A list. Ah.’ Cuthbert glanced round, found no one to release him from this query. ‘The list.’
‘Are you not the one to ask, Don Cuthbert? Have you relinquished your post to another worthy canon?’
‘No. No, Sir Richard. The list.’ Cuthbert composed himself, hands returning to their comfortable nests within his sleeves. ‘Two tapestries, a golden chalice, a silver filigree missal cover with precious stones, a silver and pearl crucifix, several Italian glass goblets, an embroidered altar cloth, three blankets, and a tooled saddle.’ The canon’s attention was now on his sandalled feet.
‘Sweet Jesu . How could a thief walk off with so much and not be caught? There are so many of us here, we trip over one another.’
Red splotches spread on the cellarer’s pale neck. ‘In truth, I cannot say.’
In the ensuing silence, the scratching of Douglas’s quill attested to the length of the list. Cuthbert, for all his unpleasant qualities, had a keen mind and was excellent at detail.
‘Do you need anything repeated, Douglas?’ Ravenser asked, the scraping of quill against parchment reminding him of his clerk’s presence.
A further scratching, then Douglas asked, ‘How many goblets?’
‘Four,’ Cuthbert said softly, then cleared his throat. ‘I have retrieved two of them.’
‘Indeed! So you have found the thief?’
‘No, Sir Richard.’ Cuthbert pressed a pale hand to his blotchy neck. ‘But I have Honoria de Staines in custody as the recipient of stolen goods.’
‘ Jesu ! Your repentant Magdalen?’ How had his uncle known she would be involved? ‘She has told you from whom she received the goblets?’
‘She will not. In faith, she insists they are not the stolen ones.’
Had he been mistaken? Made a fool of himself as he had with the goldsmiths? ‘Are they at all similar, Cuthbert?’
The cellarer’s mouth pinched at the insult. ‘Sir Richard, I am no fool. They are of the set, I am certain.’
Ravenser groaned. ‘Perhaps it needs a gentler hand in questioning the young woman.’ He studied the uncomfortable cellarer. ‘In custody, you say?’
‘In the gaol.’
That meant all the inmates of St Leonard’s knew by now. ‘So you were wrong to trust her.’
Cuthbert straightened. ‘Nothing is yet proved against her.’
Why was the man so stubborn? ‘I shall have one of the sisters speak to her. When did these items disappear?’
‘The first we noticed was on the feast of St John of Beverley. The golden chalice.’
Early May. And had Erkenwald not summoned him, Ravenser might still have been unaware of it. Ravenser rose, paced to the window, stared out at the church, noting that work had begun on a small stained glass window. Why did benefactors choose such impractical gifts? ‘And why have you been questioning the goldsmiths? How might they help you?’
‘It is said that goldsmiths will sometimes take stolen items, melt them down, and make them into something new that cannot be identified as stolen.’
Ravenser turned to study his cellarer. ‘Are you suddenly mad or simple, Cuthbert? The goldsmiths of York are members of a guild. They would be cast out if caught thieving.’
Cuthbert lifted his hands, imploring. ‘Sir—’
‘Your theory is nonsense, Cuthbert. You will apologise.’
Cuthbert bowed. ‘Sir Richard, I—’
Ravenser
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