Stacked high with planks of wood on the decks, the small, high-sided boat bobbed peacefully at the dockside. Its curved sides gave it a rounded appearance, and its furled sail sat neat on the single mast.
“Hallo?” Benedict gave a loud call. “Captain Donne?”
A slack-jawed member of the crew appeared, his head and shoulders visible as he looked down on them. “Not ’ere at the minute. Who’s asking?”
Theodosia let her breath out. “Oh, still nothing,” she murmured to Benedict.
“My name is Sir Benedict Palmer, and my companion is Theodosia Bertrand.” He looked at the sailor for any sign he knew her name, the same name as one of the next passengers. None came.
“I’ll tell him you came by when I seen him,” said the sailor.
“When will that be?” said Palmer.
The sailor shrugged. “Dunno, mate.” He disappeared from sight behind the side of the ship.
“Oh, how can this be?” Theodosia balled her hands into fists. “We are close, yet not close enough.”
“We are,” said Palmer. “We’ll just have to wait here.”
“But what if Brother Edward spies you first?” She gestured to the crammed quayside. “He could easily do that, and we would have no chance to tell him of your innocence. He’d raise the hue and cry, have you arrested. The reeve has already marked us as suspicious.” She swallowed. “You might be hurt, or even worse.”
The sailor reappeared, a wooden pail in both hands. “Still ’ere?” He emptied its contents of stinking liquid into the ocean.
“Yes,” said Benedict. “We need to speak with Captain Donne. It’s urgent.”
“Oh. Why din’t you say?”
As Palmer’s arm muscles engaged, Theodosia put a hand on his arm. “Steady,” she whispered. “God forgive me, I want to strike him too.”
“He’s gone to Saint Michael’s maison-dieu. Feller who booked the passage wanted to see him.”
“And who was that?” said Benedict.
“A monk. Brother Edmund, Edwards. Summat like that.”
Her gasp of joy. “Oh, Benedict. We’ve found them.”
“And where’s this hostel?” said Benedict.
“Back through the defenses, French Street, then up High Street. Saint Michael’s has the tallest tower, hostel’s behind it. You can’t miss it.” He gave a lopsided nod. “Follow yer nose if you get lost. Stinks o’ the fish mart.”
Theodosia didn’t wait, and Palmer matched his fast steps to her own.
EPISODE 5
CHAPTER 22
“Sister Theodosia! God in his blessed goodness be praised.” In the narrow ground-floor vestibule of Saint Michael’s maison-dieu, Brother Edward Grim stepped from the bottom of the flight of wooden stairs.
“Brother Edward!” Hands clasped, Theodosia bowed to him for a blessing. He smelled so familiar: clean, soapy, the sweetness of frankincense.
His depth of emotion showed in his tone as he held his hands over her head and thanked the Lord.
When he finished, she raised her head once more.
“My child. I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “It is indeed a miracle, though your roughened appearance troubles my soul.” His green eyes scanned her face. “I could not believe it when Brother Paulus here came to me with the message you were downstairs.”
Brother Paulus, thin, sparse-haired, and elderly, and in charge of the hostel, kept a polite expression fixed on his face. His question of what relationship Brother Edward would have with a young woman showed clear as day, yet he kept his counsel.
“Neither could I believe I’d finally found you,” she said.
“But those murdering knights had you in their clutches,” said Edward. “That evening in the cathedral when they put their foul hands on you, abducted you so roughly. How in heaven’s name did you get away?”
“I had the best of help, Brother.” She raised her voice. “You can come in now.”
Benedict entered through the door from the street, a cautious look on his face.
Edward’s brows drew together. “You.” His tone reverberated low and furious.
“Sir Palmer helped me — ”
With a swish of his black robes, Edward was across the vestibule in three strides. “You have the nerve, the gall, to present your shameful visage to mine.” He struck Benedict hard in the face. “Brother Paulus, fetch the authorities.”
Benedict clutched his jaw with one hand, the other on his dagger. “Don’t even try.”
The old man gaped. “I’m not going past him. He’s a ruffian, Brother.”