A Murdered Peace

8 A Victim, an Ally

“I will not have a mess in here,” Horner’s housekeeper warned, her beaky nose quivering as she focused her close-set eyes on Lille and Ghent. Goodwife Tibby was a small but solid woman with a fierce frown so habitual it seemed carved into her face. “And I’ve no time to prepare refreshments. I am just back from market.” Indeed, at her feet were two baskets filled with jugs and wrapped parcels.

“If you wish, we will speak with your master where we stand,” said Kate. “Let him know that we are here.”

“I don’t know …”

“We will stand here until we speak with him,” said Kate.

With a sniff, the woman lifted her baskets and nodded toward the far side of the hall. “He uses his parlor as his office. He has taken to sleeping there as well. The roof above the solar needs mending and he is too cheap–” she caught herself. “You’ve only to knock. If he’s in, he will see you, I’m sure. Always ready to take a client’s money, though where it goes …” Tibby shook her head as she bustled off to the kitchen.

Kate led with the hounds, Wulf and Kevin right behind her.

“Was a mistress of the house here once, you can see it,” said Wulf.

Large cupboards to either side held a few pewter tankards, some plates, and a skilled carving of a hawk on a pedestal. But all was powdered with a thick layer of dust. The housekeeper apparently did not see the cleaning of the cupboards, or, indeed, the hall, as her responsibility. And if Horner ate all his meals at the York Tavern, what precisely did Tibby do?

Kevin had gone over to the door the housekeeper had indicated and knocked. Clucking to Lille and Ghent to accompany her, Kate crossed the room as Kevin knocked again, then shook his head.

“Not here, I suppose,” he said. “Surely he would have heard our conversation with his harried housekeeper and come to see who we were. He cannot feel sanguine about her greeting his business associates.”

Considering what Jennet had found about his finances, Kate thought such visits might be a rarity. Although there might be more desperate fools who used him as a scribe than she would guess. “Try the latch,” she said.

Kevin merely touched the door and it swung open. Revealing chaos. The floor of the small room was littered with clothing, shoes, documents, bowls, feather pens – seemingly most of what had been on the cupboard shelves and the small desk near the one window. But that was not the worst of it.

Jon Horner lay on a small pallet tucked in a corner, his face and upper body caked in the contents of his stomach. The stench of vomit was strong in the enclosed space. Wulf groaned. Kevin crossed himself. Kate lifted a scented cloth to her nose and whispered reassurances to her hounds, though she was the one breathless with dismay.

Wulf reached the bed first, lifting one of Horner’s arms. “He’s not been dead long. There’s still warmth in the pit of his arm. But he’s not breathing.”

“Choked on his own vomit?” Kevin wondered. “Or poisoned?”

“Or both,” said Wulf, crossing himself.

“Stay,” Kate ordered Lille and Ghent at the door. “Watch.”

She entered the room slowly, shuffling through the debris, toeing things, wondering what someone had been searching for. A contract? The gold item Merek handed Horner at the market the previous day? Beneath a spare pair of boots she noticed something out of place – a woman’s glove. Picking it up, she fingered the buttery soft leather, pale, possibly lightened to show off the decorative stitching. An expensive glove, an unlikely item in the home of a man of Jon Horner’s means. She toed the debris around it, but did not find its mate. Seeing that Kevin and Wulf were distracted with cleaning the corpse on the bed, Kate tucked the glove into her scrip. Moving along, she looked at what was on the floor, what left on the shelves. Household items seemed untouched, for the most part. It was his business papers and writing utensils that littered the floor. She noticed a small pouch tucked behind a mortar and pestle on a shelf. Curious, she picked it up and opened it. Inside was an object that looked like a stone, hefty, yet the texture and faint herbal scent suggested a dried mass of plant material. She tucked it back in the bag and added it to her scrip.

Kevin finished cleaning Horner’s face as Kate joined them. She leaned past him to close Horner’s eyelids. “If only I had called on him earlier,” she said.

Kevin shook his head at her. “And been caught by the murderer? God be thanked you delayed.”

“So you think this is murder, not that he chose to end his life?” asked Wulf.

“Look at the room,” said Kevin. “Are you thinking he made this mess and then drank down some poison?”

“A man who drinks poison is not thinking clearly, eh?” Wulf countered. “No telling what he might do.”

“He’s dressed as if going out, or just returning,” said Kate. “Look how his boots soaked the bedclothes.” Wulf grunted. “He began to feel ill and headed home?” she suggested.

With the owner of the costly glove? Geoff asked in her head.

Indeed.

Lille barked, a quiet bark, warning of someone approaching, but no one she considered dangerous. Still, Kate stepped back from the bed and fingered the dagger hidden in her skirts as Ghent and Lille parted to allow the housekeeper through.

“Mother in Heaven, what has happened here? Has he gone mad? Does he think I’m–” As Tibby focused on the bed she stopped. “Is he–”

“Dead, Goodwife. Murdered,” said Kate. “How long ago did you leave for market?”

A hand over the small mouth, eyes flitting this way and that, not wanting to look. “Early. Very early. My sister’s abed. Going to give birth any hour now. I stoked the fire and woke her lazy husband and her little ones. Oh, sweet Master Jon. Who would want to harm him?”

“I hoped you might know,” said Kate.

“No,” Tibby whispered, backing away. “He was always good to me.” She surveyed the messy room. “I will never get this clean again.”

“Do nothing just yet,” said Kate. “Leave it as it is.”

The goodwife put a hand over her mouth as Kevin proffered the sheet he had used to clean the vomit from Horner’s mouth. “This you might want to launder,” he said.

She tucked her hands behind her and stepped back. “Put it out on the dung heap.”

With a warning glance at Kevin, Kate slipped an arm round the woman and walked her out into the hall.

“Men can be such lackwits. You have just discovered your employer dead in his chamber and he– I pray you forgive us, Goodwife Tibby. Might I get you something? Is there brandywine in the house?”

A little shake of the head. “I’ve too much to do. With my sister–”

“Oh, of course, you said. Forgive me, but might I just ask whether you noticed anything unusual about Master Jon this morning?”

“As I said, I left early.”

“Anything last night?”

Tibby’s nose and cheeks had reddened with emotion. “No,” she whispered. “Nothing.”

“A visitor perhaps?”

Swiping at a tear falling down her cheek, the woman shook her head. “I saw no one.”

“And you would?”

A teary glare. “Did I not see to you?”

“You did. It is plain you took good care of Master Jon.”

“I did that. He was good to me, bless him. A good man, God rest his soul.” A sob escaped with the last words.

Kate patted Tibby on the back. “Perhaps it is best you go to your sister’s.”

A sniff. “I believe I will.” She shuffled off.

When Kate returned to the room, Kevin apologized. “Wulf and I will raise the hue and cry after you leave,” he added.

“Leave?”

His dark eyes pleaded. “I pray you, we do not want you implicated in any way. You will be of no use to Berend if you are a suspect in a murder.”

She agreed, but she did not trust the housekeeper. “What about the goodwife?” Tibby had no loyalty to Kate. Her master was dead, an apparently undemanding master. “She means to seek refuge with her sister. If she mentions me …”

“I will escort her, and while we walk I will make it clear to her that if anyone should breathe a word of your presence, the blame falls on her, and she will regret the day she so misspoke.”

Kate considered. “While you wait for the sheriffs’ men, there is something you could do.” She told him what Coffey had told her, describing the small shiny item passed from Merek to Horner, something Merek did not wish Horner to flash about. “I would guess that item is what someone sought–” She gestured round at the mess. “Or a document. He offered his services as a scrivener.”

Kevin agreed. “We will search. Now I pray you, Dame Katherine, leave us to it.”

Gladly. She had too much to do, and clearly no time to waste.

Considering the fact that Merek’s lodgings had likely already been searched and were now being watched by the sheriffs’ men, Kate decided to head for her brother-in-law’s house across the Foss Bridge. But first she stopped at home to trade discoveries with Jennet and Matt over a hasty dinner. A hasty, tasteless dinner – Jennet was no cook without Marie’s help. The meal was not the only disappointment; neither Jennet nor Matt had learned much of use.

As she rose from the table, Kate asked Jennet to put a watch on Coffey and the chapel. A murderer was abroad in the city. She did not want anything to happen to the blacksmith or the priest.

Jennet was happy to oblige, but concerned about Kate. “Would you consider taking Matt with you? All the following and murdering, does it not make sense to be more cautious?”

“Then you will be here alone.”

“One of my lads is due here any moment.”

“I have the hounds. And Elric’s squire is watching Lionel’s house.”

“You do have the hounds, but these are not ordinary times. As for Harry, he can help you only once you reach your destination. And besides,” Jennet wrinkled her nose, “Matt is feeling useless.” She winked at Matt, who had perked up at the suggestion.

“We would not want that,” said Kate with a laugh. She might make light of it, but she did see the wisdom in Jennet’s argument. She nodded to Matt. “Come along with me.” She was rewarded by his beautiful smile.

“When will you tell your friend that her servant was murdered?” Jennet asked.

“After I talk to Lionel.”

As they crossed the Foss Bridge, Matt asked, “What if it’s clear Master Lionel is lying? Will you confront him?”

“We shall see. I need to know whether or not he is injured, whether he might have been involved. I hope to ascertain that without challenging him, or letting him know what I know. Let him stew. Cowards are best left to their imaginations.” As they neared Lionel’s home she warned Matt to wipe the grin from his face and quietly observe. “I depend on you to hear what I might miss.”

Straightening to the full extent of his considerable height, Matt cleared his throat and did his best to present a blank visage, but his eyes belied him, lit as they were with his excitement.

Well, she could but advise him. Kate took a tight hold of the hounds’ leads as she led them into the yard.

It was a large house, grand in its sprawl and the stone gateway leading into the yard, but lacking the attention that would make it truly gracious and inviting. The shutters needed painting, the oak standing in the center of the yard was scarred where branches had broken off, the splintered stumps giving a forlorn air to the place, saved by the clutter of abandoned toy swords and daggers and a headless doll lying in the dirt beside the grand door to the hall. Glancing round, she caught sight of Sir Elric’s squire Harry doing his best to blend into a small stand of trees by the river from which he was watching the entrance to the house. He had much to learn, as did Matt. Harry nodded, but no more. She did not do even that.

Matt knocked but once and the door swung open to reveal Fitch, Lionel’s longtime servant. He bowed to Kate, nodded to Matt, and attempted to hide the shudder that traveled through his body at the sight of Lille and Ghent.

“Is your master at home, Fitch?” Kate asked.

Another brief bob. “He is, Mistress, but he can see no one today.”

“Who is that, Fitch?” Winifrith called out from behind him.

As Fitch turned to respond to his mistress, she hastily set aside her embroidery, hurrying to the door to greet her visitors.

“My dear, dear gray giants, what a joy to see you!” As the hounds smelled Winifrith’s slender hands she glanced up at Kate. “I fear Fitch is correct. My poor Lionel is abed with an ague.”

Was it Kate’s imagination, or did Winifrith pause before the last word, as if searching for an appropriate excuse? Matt cleared his throat, a habit he had when he noticed something amiss. Good, it was not her imagination.

“You look well, my friend,” said Kate. “I can hardly believe we were so worried for you only months ago.” Winifrith’s latest pregnancy had nearly killed her. Her body had swelled dangerously and Lionel and the children had almost given up hope. But she was deceptively sturdy.

“Why, I am feeling quite recovered,” Winifrith said now, smoothing her skirt. With a little laugh she stood on tiptoe to kiss Kate’s cheek, then stepped back and complimented her visitor’s obvious health. “There are roses in your cheeks and sparks in your eyes. Is it that handsome knight of yours? Is he good to you?”

Kate made a face. “Not you, too, Winifrith. Of all people I thought you would know not to trust such rumors.”

A little shrug. “You are young, and without children of your own …” A little wink. “And who is this handsome man in your company? I do not believe we have met.”

As Kate introduced Matt she searched her mind for a compelling excuse to disturb Lionel on his sick bed. For it was clear that Winifrith was uneasy about something, her behavior was so unlike her. It was more than a possible lie about her husband’s being ill. And once Winifrith remembered her duty as a hostess and invited them in for some refreshment before trekking back across the city, Kate found her behavior even more suspicious. A whirlwind of children rushing to greet their Aunt Kate was sternly sent out to the kitchen. Not at all Winifrith’s usual behavior.

“Forgive me,” Winifrith said when she turned back to her guests. “But they are so loud, and their father’s head pounds when they shriek. I do pray you did not come all this way to see him?”

“I had hoped to see him – I have some news about our partnership. But I also hope to spend some time with you and young Simon. I am glad to see you looking so well. And all the children,” said Kate. “If I might just have a brief word with Lionel, I believe I will cheer him.”

Winifrith shook her head. “I am afraid that is not possible. The fever, you see. I would feel responsible if you took ill. And I could not bear for you to take it to the children.”

“Surely but a moment …”

“I am sorry.” Winifrith commanded Fitch to bring claret for her and her guests and then fetch Maud with baby Simon. “Come let us sit by the fire.” She herself settled on a stool near the hearth, encouraging Lille and Ghent to sit beside her. “I am so fond of them,” she cooed.

In a few moments footsteps clattered on the stairs outside the house and Winifrith’s eldest daughter danced in with tiny Simon in her arms. He had not been so quick to recover the ordeal of his birth and had the translucent skin of a child destined to sit and watch his siblings in their robust play, ever too fragile to join in. But he had a grin that lit his sweet face and a squealing laugh that inspired laughter in all who heard it. Even dour Fitch, sitting on a bench by the door, made a sound that might be a chuckle. Maud, with her mother’s delicate features and her father’s height, flashed a dazzling smile at Matt and had soon deposited baby Simon on Kate’s lap so that she might flit about pouring wine and showing off her charms. Matt was smitten, his own warm, engaging smile beaming brightly.

Simon gurgled and reached out a hand toward Ghent, who was nearest him. His little legs pumping in delight, the baby bounced on her lap. It heartened her to feel his surprising strength. Not so puny after all.

As Kate bounced Simon on her knee and chatted with Winifrith about the mayoral election and Isabella Frost’s boasts that the mayoral feast would be the grandest in the city’s history, she noticed Matt and Maud slipping away. Maud was often Kate’s quiet supporter in disputes with Lionel. She wished she had anticipated the attraction and primed Matt to ask Maud about her father’s illness, how long, details.

Winifrith moved on to the gossip about Margery Kirkby. “I do not know what to think. King Richard was our king for so long, the grandson of King Edward, and now he is imprisoned, or worse … And King Henry demands our loyalty, so it is treasonous to support the very man it was treasonous to betray. Were the men committing treason when they captured King Richard? For he was still king when they did. What a muddle.” She wagged her head. “So I do not know what to think of Sir Thomas Kirkby’s betrayal of King Henry in support of King Richard – or I should say Richard of Bordeaux, as we are now to refer to him. It is difficult to condemn Sir Thomas. And in all the confusion– Well, how does anyone know who is doing what to whom?”

Winifrith’s breathless expression of bemused indignation was clearly meant to distract Kate. She hoped it rather distracted Winifrith, and did her best to keep the conversation moving along.

“I find it difficult to believe Sir Thomas would take sides after risking his life and his reputation attempting to reconcile the royal cousins,” Kate said. “And to think of Lady Margery being hunted down as she grieves for her beloved husband– I begin to wonder what manner of man wears the crown.”

“Have a care, Katherine. Those are treasonous words.”

Simon had been nodding in Kate’s lap, but as Ghent shifted and meeped in his sleep the baby woke and began to bounce again. Kate turned the conversation to marvel at his strength.

Winifrith’s expression softened, and she reached over to tickle her son’s feet. “He is a miracle child. My last, I fear. The midwife does not think I can – or should – carry another.”

“You have a houseful of beautiful, healthy children to comfort you, eh?” said Kate.

“What about you? You have Simon’s, and your brother’s child, but what about one of your own, Katherine?”

“One day I should like that. When the time is right.”

“These are your best years for it. Carrying them, birthing them, it was all so much easier when I was younger. Sir Elric is so handsome. Do not put business before marriage for too long.”

Kate was only half listening to Winifrith, more intent on the sound of feet on the outer stairs to the upper story and a creaking above. Maud and Matt visiting Lionel? She hoped so. She bent to smell the sweetness of Simon’s downy hair and tickle him so that he giggled and shrieked, waking Ghent, who barked in response, a noise to disguise the sounds overhead.

“To be frank,” Kate said, amidst the ensuing laughter, “I think I shall just steal this adorable child and take him home.”

Winifrith was about to say something when the room grew too quiet and voices were suddenly audible up above. Maud’s and Matt’s … and Lionel’s. Rising with a gasp, Winifrith was out the door before Kate managed to stand up and resettle the baby in her arms so she might hitch up her skirts to climb the steps.

By the time Kate reached the bedchamber above, Winifrith was berating her daughter for her betrayal.

“It’s not right!” Maud exclaimed, her pretty face screwed up in anger. “Your lies could cost Berend his life!”

Simon began to fuss in Kate’s arms, and she rocked him gently, giving him a finger to hold. He stuck it in his toothless mouth and was content.

“Cost Berend his life?” Winifrith glanced to Maud, to Kate, then to her husband, who sat propped up against pillows with a bandage round his forehead and his arm in a sling, his eyes wide in uncertainty about what to do. “What has Katherine’s cook to do with your–” Winifrith threw up her hands, for it was clear he was not ill, but injured. “Your misadventure?”

“The sheriffs’ men are searching for Berend,” said Maud. “He was seen arguing with the spice seller the very night he was murdered. Father’s story might save him.”

Winifrith slumped down on the edge of the bed. “Is this true?” she asked Kate.

“Berend’s danger? Yes.”

The woman turned to her husband. “Did you know this?”

“I’ve been abed, weak from loss of blood. How could I hear of it?” He looked at Kate, and sighed. “But now you know, I will have no peace, will I?”

“Peace?” Kate repeated. “How could you ever have peace if you sent an innocent man to the gallows?”

“Amen,” whispered Maud.

Winifrith reared up and slapped her daughter. In the ensuing shouting match, Kate sidled over to Matt as she attempted to calm the baby’s frightened cries.

“Merek was being attacked and Lionel stepped between them,” Matt told Kate. “A brave act, but he was badly wounded. Someone else came along, scared off the attacker, and helped Merek and Lionel.” He held out his hands. “I can take the baby out on the steps. That should soothe him.”

Blessing him, Kate handed Simon over to Matt. When they were out the door, she went to sit on the bed by Lionel. “Do you recall the feast Berend prepared to celebrate Winifrith’s churching after her ordeal with Simon?”

“That was just a few months ago, of course I remember,” Lionel snapped, then whispered an apology. “I did not know Berend was blamed. It was not him, I can swear it was not.”

Kate’s heart raced. At last someone who could help. “I pray you, what did you see?”

“It was dark. I’d– God help me, I do not know what happened. We were talking, and suddenly a man came charging at Merek, calling him a thief and a swindler. He stabbed him once, and then again. At least twice. As Merek fell, I– I don’t know what I thought I might do, but I stepped between them.”

“You tried to save him?” Kate had thought Matt misunderstood. Lionel had always struck her as a coward who would cross the street to avoid an unpleasant encounter.

He sat up a little straighter, though it caused him to flinch from the pain. “I drew my dagger, we circled, and then he attacked. I never had a chance. Don’t know what I was thinking.” He blinked at the memory, seemingly as surprised as Kate was. Winifrith groaned and crossed herself. “When his dagger sank into my side I could not catch my breath. He reared up as if he was going to finish me off, but someone called out to him to halt. He looked up, then stumbled backward, turned, and ran. I wanted to run as well, but all I could manage was to crawl into the darkness.”

“So there was light,” Kate noted.

Lionel stared at her a moment, a flicker of something, then looked down, shaking his head slowly. “Yes, there was some light. I could see the attacker’s dagger. And Merek lying there. But I cannot think where the light came from. I had no lantern.”

“Was Merek dead?”

“No. I saw enough–” He looked at his daughter. “Maud says his throat was slit. Not then. He muttered something. A man makes no sound once his throat is cut.”

Was it the second man who finished off Merek? “You saw the man who frightened off the attacker?”

An ill-chosen shrug forced Lionel to bend over, panting with pain.

Kate gently suggested he rest a moment, catch his breath. Winifrith wanted her to leave, but Kate suggested she go take the baby from Matt so that he could come in and listen. To her surprise, Winifrith nodded and stepped out.

Maud took her mother’s place at her father’s bedside, helping him lie back against the pillows, giving him something to drink. “Forgive me, Father, but I could not let you burden yourself with such a terrible guilt.”

He was soaked in sweat, his breathing shallow.

“How extensive are his wounds?” Kate asked.

“The stab wound in his side.” Maud indicated a spot just below the heart. “And a deep slice to his upper right arm.” Hence the sling to hold it still. “And his head must have hit a cobble or something. The physician wanted to bleed him, but Mother refused. She said he had lost enough blood.”

Lionel opened his eyes. “I crawled to a place along the wall with some sort of beam sticking out. I used it to pull myself upright and lean against the doorway. When I caught my breath I saw the man kneel to Merek, help him rise.” Lionel coughed weakly. “I do not know how I managed, but I stumbled away and somehow made it home. I don’t remember much of the journey.”

“It was the middle of the night when he returned,” said Maud. “How he made it across the city when he was so weak, losing so much blood, and without alerting a night watchman …” She nodded to Kate and cocked her head toward her father as if this was his cue to explain.

Kate leaned close to Lionel. “He carried you home, didn’t he?”

Lionel bowed his head.

“Why did you not tell us?” asked Maud. “There is no shame in that.”

“I promised,” Lionel mumbled.

Maud reached out and lifted his chin. “Father.” Spoken as a warning.

“I swore I would not tell. He saved my life. And Merek’s. He was alive, Merek was. We left him standing up against a wall, waving us on.”

“But if you say nothing, this man would seem guilty of murdering Merek,” Maud pointed out.

“I had not thought …” Lionel groaned as if it were all too much.

“Berend?” Kate asked.

A nod.

“Was he alone?”

“I do not remember much.”

“Father,” Maud warned.

He closed his eyes. “I remember no one else. I told you, I recall little of the journey.”

“You were in pain, I know,” said Maud, touching his cheek.

He leaned into her hand, his face softening into a contentment Kate had never witnessed, never guessed he ever experienced.

“Why were you with Merek?” Kate asked.

“I– He had approached me about our spice shipments,” Lionel whispered.

“Thinking to trade with us?” asked Kate. “Is that why he had been asking our partners about you?”

“He had? What sort of questions?” Lionel’s voice was little more than a gasp, and Maud touched Kate’s hand, as if to stay her, but her father shook his head at her and looked to Kate.

“Holme said he was quite persistent with questions that went beyond trade,” said Kate. “He asked about your character, and your relationship with Sir Ralph.”

“He hoped I might afford him a tie to my cousin Westmoreland? I did not know – I have been a fool, Katherine.”

“Forgive me for assuming you would hear of it,” she said, pressing his hand, hoping for a little more before he must rest. “You say Merek was alive when Berend carried you away?”

“Yes.”

“So we don’t know who murdered Merek,” said Kate.

“No,” said Lionel. “I cannot swear to the sheriffs that Berend is innocent.” A pause for a cough.

Maud helped him to drink something in a cup. It smelled of honey and herbs.

“If I speak up they might accuse me.” His eyes reflected his fear, and also his pain and exhaustion.

“Of course they won’t accuse you. One need only see your wounds to believe your account,” said Maud. She drew back the covers, revealing a bloodstained bandage that wrapped round her father’s torso.

“One more thing and then I will leave you to your rest,” Kate said. “Where did this happen?”

“We were on our way toward Foss Bridge. We had just come through the Shambles. Near St. Crux, it was.”

“Oh,” Kate whispered.

Maud looked up. “Is that important?”

It was. “Merek’s body was found closer to the market, on the other end of the Shambles.”

“See? Not dead yet,” Lionel whispered. “Sounds like Merek was headed home.”

Kate nodded as she thought what that meant. “Merek’s attacker might have returned, found him struggling down along the shuttered shops,” she said. “Please, if you have any idea who the attacker was, now is the time to say.”

Lionel groaned. “Don’t know why I protect the bastard. Jon Horner. Talk to him.”

Startled, Kate said nothing for a moment, then, softly, “I cannot, Lionel. He was found dead this morning, possibly poisoned.”

“God help us,” Maud gasped. “Is father in danger?”

“Sir Elric’s squire is watching the house,” Kate assured her. Lionel was soaked in sweat, his eyelids flickering. Enough for the moment. “I am grateful for all your help, Lionel.”

A weak smile, though his eyes were already closed, his head listing to one side. “Me, a help to you.” His attempt to chuckle dissolved into a cough.

As they left him, they found the apothecary Gwenllian Ferriby waiting on the landing. Her eyes keenly studied their faces. Her rich dark hair was caught up in a bronze crispinette, slightly mussed from the fur-lined hood she had just pushed back, but the effect just seemed to emphasize her beauty. Kate had become acquainted with her while Kevin recuperated in her home. She was the foster sister of the infirmarian at St. Mary’s, Brother Martin, and had prepared Kevin’s tinctures according to her brother’s instructions once Kevin left the infirmary. Her apothecary was on St. Helen’s Square, next to the York Tavern, a long way to come from her shop in the middle of the day. Curious.

Maud reached out to embrace Gwenllian. “I am so grateful you’ve come. The drink has calmed Father, and eased his pain, but I fear he is feverish.”

“I will go to him, Maud. Rest easy. Between me and the physician, we will put him right.” She nodded to Kate. “Dame Katherine,” and stepped past them into the room, followed by a servant.

“Personal attention from the apothecary,” said Kate with a questioning look.

“She does it as a favor to me,” said Maud. “I once saved her daughter from a runaway cart, and we have been friends ever since.”

Yet another reason to love and respect the young woman before her.

“Thank you for your help today, Maud.”

“Father was of help?”

“He was. I doubt he would have spoken up without your encouragement. I am in your debt.”

“Mother was wrong to prevent him from speaking to you,” Maud said simply, then started down the steps.

“She means to protect her family.”

Maud paused, looking back over her shoulder. “A man who so easily slit another’s throat, he is a danger to us all and should not be free to walk the streets of York. If the constables spend all their efforts searching for Berend, the real murderer will go free. My regret is that it is still not proof enough to protect Berend.”

Nor, in her right mind, could Kate be certain Berend had not finished the man, except that she could not believe that of Berend. But Parr … She said nothing as they continued into the hall.

Winifrith glowered at Kate from her seat by the hounds, Simon asleep in her arms. “You have outstayed your welcome.”

“Hush, Mother,” Maud hissed. “If Dame Katherine comes to Father’s defense, the sheriffs will believe her, for all in the city know they are not friends.”

“You risked your father’s life before you knew whether she would defend him.” Winifrith did not look any more kindly on her daughter than she did on Kate, when she turned back to her. “Will you vouch for him, Katherine? Will you do that for him despite your differences?”

“Of course,” said Kate. “I seek the truth, always. And, as I told Maud, your house is being watched by one of Sir Elric’s men. Now I will leave you in peace.” Kate took Maud’s hands, pressing them. “Bless you.” Calling to Lille and Ghent, she slipped on their leashes, and departed.

Matt, who had stood quietly beside Fitch near the door, opened it for her and followed her out. A wintry sun had turned the snow underfoot to slush, forcing Kate to pay close attention to where she was stepping. As they reached the end of the bridge, she suggested that Matt head toward the Martha House on Castlegate and escort Marie and Petra home. She suddenly wanted them near.

“And you, Dame Katherine?”

“I am going to pass Jon Horner’s house, see whether the sheriffs’ men are there, and then stop at the guesthouse.”

“Ah.”

“I will see you at home.”

Not far down Davygate she passed Jon Horner’s house, unguarded. Damn the sheriffs. But they did not know all that she did.

She hurried on.

Margery pressed a hand to her stomach and moaned. “Oh, my dear man. I pray it was quick, that he did not suffer.”

Kate had mentioned only the wound that had killed Carl. A kindness. She impressed upon Griselde, Clement, and Seth that it was more important than ever that they keep “Mary” out of sight. Though, truly, whoever had tortured him would have come to the guesthouse by now if Carl had talked. But the violence inflicted on him was difficult for Kate to put out of her mind.

Marie and Petra rushed into the kitchen, breathless with their news, announced partially by each.

“Berend is in York!” Petra exclaimed. “We must find him.”

“We must find him and hide him. The sheriffs’ men want him for murder,” said Marie, her eyes brimming with tears. “He is no murderer.”

“And they call him a traitor,” said Petra.

Damn the gossips. Kate opened her arms to the children, hugging them tightly to her. “We will prove them wrong,” she said, banishing all doubt from her voice and her heart. She would find a way to prove his innocence.

Marie was the first to pull out of Kate’s grasp, sniffing the air. “Jennet, did you burn the stew again?” Stomping over to peer into the pot, she began quizzing the reluctant cook.

“She is a tyrant,” Petra whispered in Kate’s ear. “But she was so upset when we heard folk talking about Berend, and then when Matt admitted it was the truth she burst into tears.”

“And you?” Kate asked, smoothing Petra’s hair and kissing her cheek. “How are you?”

Petra bowed her head and shrugged. “I dreamed a woman plucked a rose from a rose bush growing in a little casket. She gave it to Berend, but as he took it, he was pricked by a thorn. A poisoned thorn. He fell, fighting for his breath.”

Kate drew her back into her arms, holding her close, kissing the top of her head.

Petra pulled away, her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what it means, but I do not doubt him. Or you. I know you will save him.”

But what if he did not want to be saved? Kate wondered. He had asked her to say nothing of what he had told her. What was Kate’s responsibility regarding him? Honor his wish, or help him? What was her responsibility to the community? Surely to do all that she could to find out the root cause of the violence and ensure that it stopped. And what if that meant betraying Berend in order to save him?

“You don’t doubt him, do you?” Petra asked.

“No, my sweet. No.”