The Riddle of St Leonard's by Candace Robb Page A

fair-haired, blue-eyed man with a sanguine complexion, always looking as if he had stayed too long in the sun, even in winter. He was large, but not portly; a man who did justice to the elegant mayoral robes. Ravenser noticed that he clutched a linen cloth in his hand; it would be needed at his brow. ‘God bless you for agreeing to this meeting,’ Savage said. ‘I am most grateful.’
    Had Ravenser had a choice? He had not considered the possibility. ‘Please, put yourself at ease.’ Ravenser indicated a chair by the window. ‘Sit and share some wine.’
    With a flourish of musty robes, Savage sat and dabbed at his forehead.
    When the wine had been poured and the servant dismissed and still the mayor had not declared his purpose, Ravenser inclined his head. ‘Do you come on official business, my lord mayor?’
    Savage set down his cup, his hand and eyes lingering on it momentarily as he collected his thoughts. Then he met Ravenser’s curious gaze. ‘I come on a private matter, Sir Richard. My wife’s mother has recently been widowed, and although we are much concerned for her and wish to ease her through this difficult time, she is in need of more attention than we can give her from day to day.’ The mayor’s expression changed subtly, a raising of the eyebrows, lowering of the corners of the mouth, as if pleading. ‘We hope, indeed we pray that you will accept her as a corrodian of St Leonard’s—’ He held up his gloved hand as Ravenser opened his mouth to speak. ‘We shall pay a fair price, Sir Richard. We should not think of asking favours.’
    Not asking favours. And yet Ravenser knew full well that the Savage house could accommodate another person, and its considerable staff could see to the dowager’s needs. The mayor simply did not wish his wife’s mother to burden them with a long illness. ‘Forgive me, Master Savage, but I must disappoint you. St Leonard’s is no longer selling corrodies.’
    The mayor’s blue eyes narrowed even as his mouth expanded in a smile. He lifted his hands, palms upwards in supplication. ‘But surely, Sir Richard, in certain cases—’
    ‘Again, I must disappoint you. Even His Grace Our King has been refused corrodies for his retainers.’ Ravenser nodded at the surprise registered on his guest’s face. ‘Indeed, you see the firmness of my resolve. It is a matter of survival. The selling of corrodies once seemed a sound financial scheme, but it has proved disastrous. The quality of our care appears to prolong life, you see. And with a corrody being a fixed sum … Well, to be blunt, the corrodians outlive their subsidies and become a burden on the house.’ Even as Ravenser spelled this out he heard his uncle Thoresby’s voice warning him against explaining oneself. Thus is an argument twisted and prolonged .
    Savage sat back, scratched a temple, all the while studying Ravenser with a hardened glint in his eyes.
    Ravenser tried to recoup his loss of ground by declaring the discussion closed. ‘I am pleased that you understand. Was there anything else on your mind?’
    A polite snort. Savage leaned forward. ‘But you are mistaken, Sir Richard, I do not understand. It seems to me there is ample room for one elderly widow who shows no signs of living so long as to burden you, God help her. And as I have said, I am willing to pay reasonably.’
    Ravenser considered what to say. Were he to complete the explanation, and say that accepting one corrodian would open the door to petitions from all over, and, worst of all, would anger the King, and the only way to mend that would be to accept one of his ageing retainers as a corrodian, for which the King rarely paid a fee, though he often promised one, Savage would argue that the King would understand that the needs of the mayor of York should be met. William Savage had never met the King.
    ‘Sir Richard?’ Savage was waiting for more discussion.
    Ravenser shook his head. ‘I cannot make an exception, Master Savage,