A Murdered Peace

14 The Feast of Candlemas

Candlemas Eve

Lille and Ghent sat up on alert outside the kitchen door of the Martha House while Marie and Petra questioned Kate about Berend. She did not lie to them, but there was little she dare say until Berend and Margery were safely away, and she did not believe it her right to tell them personal tales of his past. That would be up to him, if he should return to the household. When Sister Dina came to fetch the girls for their fittings, they bid farewell with sad faces.

“We will soon cheer them,” Sister Brigida reassured Kate as she bundled them out the door. “They will forget the moment they see the dresses.”

“They know there is much you have not told them,” said Dame Eleanor when the door had closed behind the children. She’d quietly observed Sir Elric while Kate spoke to the children, her silks whispering as she shifted on her seat to turn toward him though he was not the one speaking. Matchmaking, or just curious?

“They understand much of the world,” said Kate, “but I do my best to protect them.”

“You have done well,” said Eleanor. “Petra tells me she wore clothes more suitable for a lad until you took her in, and that she was not happy about wearing a skirt at first. Look at her now, preening in the mirror.”

Although Kate might have chosen other changes to celebrate, she thanked her mother for the compliment.

“So now that the children are not with us, will you share more with me?” asked Eleanor.

“I will when it is safe to do so,” said Kate.

Eleanor made a face. “You do not trust me.”

Not a safe topic. “I do have a question for you, about Philippa Atterby. Do you recall the name of the suitor she was so desperate to avoid?”

Eleanor perked up. “Is this pertinent to the murders?”

“Perhaps.” It was best to give her mother something. “I trust you to keep this between us.”

“Of course, my dear. But I am afraid she never said, though she did mention a suitor her family had sent away in no uncertain terms.”

“Jon Horner?” asked Kate.

“Oh, you knew.” Eleanor sighed. “The very man.”

“Had she cared for him?”

“I think not. Only in that encouraging him irritated her overbearing father. Surely you do not think she poisoned him? Philippa is a gentle, pious young woman.”

“Yet not pious enough to join the sisters.”

“We did not fault her sincere devotion, only her–” Eleanor frowned down at her hands. “We all believed that she would regret her decision as soon as she knew the suitor she so disliked was safely married to another. Impetuous youth. And now she is betrothed to a man she believes will make her quite content.”

“You have spoken to her?”

“She visits often, joining us in morning or evening prayers. In fact she will be with us tomorrow in the Candlemas procession. You will meet her.”

Now that was a piece of good fortune. “She need know nothing of this conversation,” said Kate.

“Of course!” Eleanor’s eyes shone as she asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “So Jon Horner did not poison himself? Do you believe Merek’s murderer came after him as well? The girls would tell me nothing.”

Kate bristled at the picture of her mother plying the children with questions when she knew they would have been instructed to say nothing. But she was a fool to be surprised. Best to tell her mother what it was safe for her to know and prevent another attempt.

“Might I tell her what we learned today?” she asked Elric, more to warn him than because she felt she needed his permission.

“I think it advisable,” he said, bowing to Eleanor. “You and your beguines go about the city seeing to the elderly and the infirm, you might have heard something you did not know to be of importance.”

Choosing with care just how much she shared with her mother, Kate repeated Skulker’s account of the night of Merek’s murder.

Eleanor listened with interest. “And Trimlow the baker? Did this lad see him out and about that night?”

Kate explained why she thought it quite unlikely that Trimlow witnessed anything at all.

“To lie about Berend, such a good man! I hope my nephew sees that Trimlow is run out of the city when he is mayor. But how did you learn of that?”

Kate explained how Bess Merchet had helped them.

Eleanor’s eyes had widened with surprise at the name. “Bess Merchet. Now there is a woman I would not wish to cross. Well, if she has seen through Trimlow, she will make certain that he never forgets his transgression.” A satisfied sniff. “So Jon Horner murdered Merek and then went home and took poison?” She sat back, frowning. “Do you believe that, either of you? It does not seem likely to me, a man who took great care with his appearance. Would he have taken his life so that he would be discovered in such a disgusting condition, the contents of his stomach soiling his face, his clothes …”

“How did you hear such detail?” Kate asked.

“Goodwife Tibby told Sister Clara. She delivered Tibby’s sister’s baby. You see? You should make it a point to confer with me on such matters. We hear much. But why are you so keen about all this, Katherine? Now that you can clear Berend’s name, what is the purpose?”

Well might she ask. It was a sense of unease. Merek and Horner dead, Lionel so badly injured, and someone still on the loose, someone who had silenced Horner. Would he seek to silence Lionel as well? “There is a murderer at large in the city, and the sheriffs are happy to call Horner’s death self-inflicted and be done with it.”

“Until someone else is poisoned,” said Elric.

“Ah.” Eleanor straightened. “If I hear anything else I think might be of help, I will send word.” She rose to check the pot she had been watching, then saw them to the door, thanking them for their patience, the kitchen being the least comfortable place in the house.

“Not at all,” said Elric. “It is warm and fragrant.”

“Oh, yes, it is a pleasing scent, the rosemary mash for a cough, though some find it overwhelming.”

“I remember you packing my chest with that when I was a child,” said Kate. “You said it is your maidservant who is ill?”

“Yes, poor dear.”

Now that was something her mother would never have done in the past, take it upon herself to nurse a servant.

Jennet poured bowls of ale for herself and Kate, and sat down beside her near the kitchen fire. “You look weary. Did Parr and Sawyer give you trouble?”

“No.” By the time Kate and Elric sat down in the unheated shed to question the prisoners, they were so cold and hungry they were far more docile than she had expected. She had deferred to Elric, guessing that they would be more likely to talk to him.

At first they had tried to lie.

“We chose to leave Salisbury’s household,” said Sawyer. “When he was caught up in Chester Castle with King Richard we joined up with all the others riding for King Henry.” He nodded toward the jacket with the Lancastrian arms.

“Those are, at best, stolen, and, more likely, you murdered a pair of the king’s men to steal their clothing,” said Elric.

Kate had moved to one side, crouching between the hounds, watching Elric with interest. He stood with ease, speaking in a conversational tone, his expression pleasant. She noticed how Parr and Sawyer kept glancing at him, as if expecting that expression to change.

“We stole them while they were bathing,” said Sawyer. “Left them ours.” A shrug.

“Why?” asked Elric.

“Like he said. To join up with the others riding for King Henry,” said Parr.

Elric was shaking his head. “I will tell you why,” he said. “You knew that Salisbury entrusted to Merek Lacy, the spice seller, a casket of valuables, and you followed him here to steal it, slime that you are.”

Parr opened his mouth, but thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. Shrugged.

“What do you want from us?” asked Sawyer.

“I want you to answer my questions. Truthfully.” Elric smiled, flexing his hands as if itching to punch them.

“And then you’ll let us go?”

Douglas, who had been standing in the open doorway, chuckled. Elric kicked shut the door.

“My man has a peculiar sense of humor. Where were we? Ah, yes. Did Merek give you the casket? Is that why you murdered him?”

Interesting, Geoff whispered in Kate’s head, pretending he doesn’t know the whereabouts of the treasure.

But hardly necessary.

“Don’t you have–” Parr elbowed Sawyer, shutting him up.

“Here’s the truth,” said Parr. “We’d been searching for Merek, and there he was, pulling himself along the storefronts in the Shambles, bleeding. We had no reason to harm him before we had what we wanted from him. Someone had attacked him, though. I offered him my arm, but he stabbed it and jerked away. Stumbled backward and fell on his ass.” He nodded toward Sawyer. “Will bent to help him up and he got a boot in the groin. So he put a boot on him.”

“And then someone was coming and we thought we’d best leave him be or we’d be blamed. We meant to check on him later.”

Frustrating that they had not been curious about who was approaching.

Kate shook her head at Jennet. “Even Dame Eleanor was helpful.” She told her what she had learned. “And the girls were squealing with delight when we walked beneath the window of Sister Dina’s sewing room on the way out. All sorrow forgotten for the moment in the thrill of new clothes.”

“That they will wear once a year. White.” Jennet chuckled.

“No, Sister Dina will dye them afterward.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, glad to be home, to have nowhere else she must trek until the morning. It had begun to snow as she walked down Stonegate. Blessed be the warm fire and strong ale.

“Was it difficult, with Berend, then?” Jennet asked, pulling up a chair.

“Like Petra, I want things to be as they were.”

“As do we all.”

He should be standing in the corner in his worn but always clean linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his muscular forearms flexing as he kneaded the dough, attentive to Kate, sharing his thoughts. God in heaven how it hurt.

And she had lost Elric as well. She shook herself and straightened. “Elric and his men will see to Berend. Bess Merchet has devised a plan for sneaking Lady Margery downriver. Her grandson delivers ale to Bishopthorpe weekly. Rent for his small farm downriver, where he grows the hops. Lady Margery will be the lad helping him the day after tomorrow. The casket will be in the barrel. A special barrel.”

“A sound plan. Bess Merchet is a resourceful woman.”

“She says she learned much from Gwenllian Ferriby’s father, a spy for the archbishop and others.”

“The one-eyed Welshman?” A nod. “I’ve heard much of him on the streets. I thought him a legend until I talked to Brother Martin.”

“Yes. His foster father. We could use him now.”

“You have Sir Elric. He does not dare disappoint you,” said Jennet.

“He does it for Berend now, not me. He has said as much.”

“Wounded vanity,” Jennet said with a little laugh. “He will recover. So Lady Margery departs the day of your cousin’s feast?”

“Early that morning, yes.”

“Means of travel?”

“A small boat. Colin Merchet likes to row there. Times it with the tides so that it is not too wearing. Lady Margery won’t need to help downriver, they will be moving with the tide. Kevin will already be at Bishopthorpe to meet them, stay with Lady Margery until Berend arrives with Douglas and Harry.”

“And how will Berend leave the castle?”

“That is Sir Elric’s task. He has taken care to get to know the guards, and has recommended to the sheriffs that on the day of the mayor-elect’s feast they post specific ones he deems most trustworthy. Then the sheriffs will be free to enjoy the festivities.” Kate yawned.

“Forgive all my questions. Drink your ale and rest. You will be rising early for the Candlemas procession.” Jennet rose to assemble her own bed for the night, still the pallet near the fire, close to the door.

But there was so much they still needed to discuss. Kate asked about Cuddy, the new servant from her cousin William Frost’s household. The girls had met him before leaving for her mother’s house, and declared him most handsome but irritating.

A broad grin. “Eager to be considered a man, though he’s not much older than Phillip.” Kate’s ward was thirteen. “Needs guidance. Matt corrected his use of both shovel and broom. But he’s quick to learn, and nary a complaint so far. He has offered to walk the hounds. Seems his family had large dogs, and he’s been missing them.”

“Trustworthy?”

“Time will tell.”

Kate poured herself more ale and returned to brooding. There was a smugness about Parr and Sawyer that troubled her. She had come away from the interview uneasy about what they might know, how they might damage Berend and Margery.

But she had encouraged Elric to hand them over to Sir Peter. “Let Sir Peter think you support his mission. He might relax his vigilance just long enough for our purpose.”

Elric had agreed to send word the morning of the mayor-elect’s feast.

She was drifting off to sleep when she sensed Geoff standing at the foot of her bed.

I choose to be here with you, Kate.

It is not fair to you. You should be at peace. Resting in– Are you in heaven?

I’m here with you.

I have robbed you of that.

She buried her face in the pillow, willing him to go away.

I will when you are ready.

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

You were a boy when you died. How are you now so wise?

She felt his grin in her mind. Sleep now. I will watch over you.

Candlemas

Statues of angels, Kate thought as she stepped into the hall of the Martha House and beheld Marie and Petra in their white gowns, their hair loose about their shoulders, their hands folded before them. And just beneath the neckline on their gowns, each wore the gold and jet brooches Lady Margery had given them. When she touched Marie’s, tears started in the girl’s eyes. Petra bit her bottom lip. Kate whispered her assurances that all would be well for their friend as she hugged them. How rigidly the girls stood. “You are making the day special for the sisters, do you see how they smile on you?”

For they did. All four sisters stood behind the girls, their faces alight with the sweetness of the vision.

“Poor Sister Brigida combed and combed Petra’s hair, trying to untangle it,” Marie whispered.

Kate touched her niece’s hair, so like hers. “How lovely. Are you pleased, Petra?”

A little smile. “Sister Brigida did not complain.”

“Of course not. And, when I speak with her, will she say that Marie sweetly combed her own hair and made no demands?”

Petra giggled, Marie turned away, but not before Kate caught the beginning of a grin.

As Kate rose, she found Brigida, Clara, Dina, and Agnes all laughing.

“Marie is a handful,” said Sister Agnes. “But we all enjoy fussing over both of them.”

Kate had wondered whether they, too, would wear white on this day, putting aside their simple gray gowns. But they had compromised with white capes over their usual attire. All held candles, ready to be lit as they entered the church.

It was strange for Kate to be in this house that was once her home, a place that held so many memories. The sisters and her wards stood before the Lady altar that had taken the place of Kate’s loom, where she had turned silken threads into colorful patterns that would remind her of the beauty of the north country of her childhood. Now that loom stood in her house on Low Petergate, the tapestry almost complete. She stood near the spot that had held the blankets on which Lille and Ghent slept. And just to one side was the spot where she had kept Geoff’s boots.

I remember, he whispered. For a time I could reach you only when you wore my boots or the other bits of my clothing you squirreled away.

What changed?

I don’t know. But it was lonely then. It isn’t now.

It isn’t fair to you. You should rest in peace.

I will when you are here with me.

She shivered at that, and forced her attention to the present, glad to see that Petra and Marie were now whispering and giggling, no longer intimidated by their part in the morning’s ceremony.

It was a warm, inviting scene. The candles on the altar were lit, and the scents of incense and beeswax filled the hall, following their early morning prayers and readings. So the sisters began each day, even on such a morning when they would attend a long mass. But there would be little work today, unless Sister Clara was called out to a birthing.

Kate shivered again as the hall door opened and closed.

“Such a snowstorm,” Dame Eleanor murmured at Kate’s back. “The girls were disappointed to see it.”

Kate had wondered where her mother was. “A white world for Candlemas. It seems appropriate,” she said. “How is Rose?”

Eleanor’s face sagged with weariness. Her veil and the shoulders of her gown were damp with melting snow. “Her fever broke in the night. She is resting now. Bella is with her.”

Matt’s cousin, a midwife and healer. The fact that Eleanor sent for her … “She was that ill?”

“I had not realized, not until after you left yesterday. When I went to sit with her, she was burning up and speaking gibberish.”

“You have her in the bedchamber off the kitchen?”

“Yes. Sister Clara thought it was best, we can keep it quite warm there, and it is quiet.”

They both turned as the hall door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a flurry of snowflakes.

“Forgive me, I pray I am not too late!” Philippa Atterby said in a breathless voice as she hurried into the hall, the servant Nan closing the door behind her.

“Here is just the person you wish to see,” Eleanor whispered to Kate. “I had time in the night to think how to broach the topic after mass.” She nodded to Kate, then opened her arms to the newcomer. “Not late at all, my dear Philippa. The church bells have not yet tolled. You have met my daughter, Dame Katherine?”

Kate offered to help her shake the snow from her cloak. Best to befriend her before mentioning Jon Horner. Pray God her mother’s plan was discreet. But just as she began, the church bell tolled. A ripple of movement as the sisters waved Eleanor, Philippa, and Kate to their places behind them, and Nan gave them each a candle, then went to open the street-side door. Slowly, in twos, the women processed out into the snow.

At the church they were ushered in by Magistra Matilda, whose sisters had begun to sing the hymn Nunc Dimittis. Eleanor’s sisters joined their voices as they walked up the nave, Sister Brigida’s clear soprano ringing out.

Kate caught her breath as the song transported her to her first Candlemas in York, entering the minster on Simon’s arm. The candlelight, the scent of beeswax, the voices of the vicars choral. Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Simon had whispered, pressing her arm. More beautiful than the windswept hills of the north country? More beautiful than watching the wolfhounds lope across a meadow? More beautiful than her twin’s face? No, she had thought, the statues are all staring down on me, judging me. It is just stone upon stone upon stone, a burial chamber of terrifying proportions. But she had forced herself to smile up at Simon, and he had looked satisfied. Her betrothed. In time she had grown fond of him, and looked forward to motherhood. She had prayed for a boy to call Geoffrey. As she grew large with child she envisioned the day when she would enter St. Mary’s for her churching. But that day never came, and now she knew that while she lay on the floor weeping for her lost child, Simon had lain in Calais with his whore.

“My dear?” Dame Eleanor whispered, putting an arm round her.

Startled, she glanced round, seeing the concern on the sisters’ faces. And on Kevin’s. He stood to one side, next to Elric, who stared ahead, stone-faced. Elric. He was nothing like Simon. Quite a superior cut of man. In body and soul. How she wished she might spend just one night in his naked embrace. She caught herself. The Candlemas service was not the time to fantasize about a lover who might have been.

Back at the Martha House, Nan welcomed them with hot spiced wine and a roaring fire in the hearth.

Eleanor drew Kate over to the widow Atterby. “Philippa thought to join our household,” she said to Kate, “but we knew she was meant to spread her light out in the world, grace one of the prominent families with her calming, inspiring presence.”

“Oh, Dame Eleanor, you flatter me,” Philippa sighed. Her speech truly was much like sighing, she spoke so softly, with little inflection. “The Graa family honors me.”

“You are betrothed to one of Thomas Graa’s nephews?” Kate asked, thinking his sons all too old for this child.

“His grandson Gregory.” Philippa blushed prettily.

Ah, well, no wonder there were roses in her cheeks and stars in her eyes. Gregory Graa was a handsome young man, well-spoken, and would one day inherit a substantial fortune. One day. Interesting that the family would permit him to wed so young. Perhaps grandfather Thomas was unwell.

“So much more appropriate than the man her parents first put forward, or the one who dared put himself forward,” said Eleanor, reaching over to pat Philippa’s hand. “You will be the most handsome couple in the city.”

“Someone dare put himself forward?” said Kate, picking up her mother’s prompt.

Philippa set aside her cup of spiced wine in order to make the sign of the cross. “May God grant him rest. Poor Jon.”

“Not Jon Horner?” Kate pretended shock.

“Indeed it was. Oh, he was kind to me, but he was such an odd man, and Father said that his business was, well–” She looked away as if embarrassed by what she had almost said. “He was unsuitable.”

“And, perhaps I am mistaken, but expected to make an alliance with another,” said Kate. “Cecily Wheeldon.”

“Oh, no.” Philippa shook her head, her pearl and silver crispinette catching the firelight. “The widow Wheeldon was his employer. I cannot think she ever meant to marry him. Indeed, I did at first accuse Gregory of having his eye on her. But he swears there has never been anyone for him but me.”

The young woman’s breathy speech had begun to irritate Kate. Why would she not speak out? But she focused on the information. “She employed him? I had no idea.”

“Oh yes, Jon kept her accounts as she took over more and more of her husband’s business. He was so frail at the end.”

Was he? Ross Wheeldon had walked with a cane and there were days when he conducted his business from his bed, but he had remained quite able to drive a hard bargain. Kate knew. She and Thomas Holme had negotiated a share in a shipment just a month before Ross’s death.

“Jon Horner told you this?”

“No, Dame Cecily, when she called on me to encourage me to fight for him.” A little frown. “She spoke as if she were giving me permission to wed him. Faith, she seemed offended when I explained that the interest was solely on his side, I had no intention of marrying him.”

Kate met her mother’s eyes, gave a little shrug. “And all this while Gregory Graa was pining for you.”

Another pretty blush. Poor Gregory.

“Aunt Katherine, come, look at the embroidery Sister Dina and Sister Agnes are working on,” Petra called from across the room.

Kate rose, congratulating Philippa on her betrothal. It was time to give the girls her attention, letting them extol the wonders of the beguines until she must bundle them off home. For they would have a long day tomorrow at her cousin William’s house. The first of the two days of celebration was for the entire city, and began with entertainment for the children.

And Kate had much to do to prepare for all that must happen while the city was so conveniently distracted. She must arrange her part today, for tomorrow she would have a care not to be seen anywhere near either the castle or the Sharp residence. One crucial item sat on the floor beside the sisters’ pattens and boots. She slipped over to where Sister Clara was watching her two companions work at their embroidery and quietly explained that it was Berend’s traveling pack. She must find a way to leave it with him when she took his meal to him.

Sister Clara looked at her with interest. “It shall be done.”

“Did he eat the treats I brought him?”

“He did. But not the meal I took him. I pray that he has done so by now. He will need his strength, I think?”

“He will.” Kate thanked Clara for taking such good care of Berend, and received a blessing in return.

“What do you think of the pattern?” Petra asked, having waited patiently for Kate’s attention.

Now Kate noticed that the altar cloth was bordered with thistles and gillyflowers, Petra’s favorites. “Did you design them?”

A proud nod. “I embroidered the first two.” She pointed to a corner in which the needlework was ever so slightly less exact than the rest of the border. But for a child who had sworn she was all thumbs with decorative needlework, it was a revelation.

“They are beautiful. Can you do other flowers?”

“Old Mapes always left the flowers for me to finish. I can do most that she knew.”

And as an herbalist Mapes would know quite a few. “We should have some of your work in our house, don’t you think?”

“Marie is good with trees and grass. We could do a forest meadow.”

Kate hugged her niece.

“You have done well with her,” Eleanor said. She stood close to Kate, smiling down on the altar cloth. “It is a joy to watch my granddaughter blossom. You were–” She caught herself and said, “I had my doubts about your capability as a mother, but you have proved me wrong.”

Kate knew what she’d been about to say, or at least she guessed. Her needlework had been no better then than it was now. Weaving, now that had always appealed, requiring movement. She glanced back at her niece, so like her, and pictured a boy standing next to her, all elbows and knees, nudging her, whispering that they were missing the snowfall.

Taking Eleanor’s arm, she drew her away from the clustered women. “What do you remember of the day they brought Geoff’s body home? What did I do?”

“What has that boy told you?”

She had created her own trap, opening a conversation about whether or not Geoff was still with her. Eleanor had dragged her down to York to shake him out of her.

“It is not Geoff. I sat with a friend who has had a loss. She was so unable to let herself mourn for the anger in her heart, she must needs first make things right. She is not the woman I knew. Did I change, after Geoff’s death?”

Eleanor looked away, fussing with some imagined imperfection in the drape of her skirt. “You pushed us all away. Only the hounds were permitted to comfort you.”

“I remember throwing myself on his body and screaming.”

“You lay atop him, but you said nothing. You voiced nothing for weeks. You insisted on wearing his clothes and walking. Walking for hours with the hounds. Of course your father followed you. He was so afraid for you, that you would go after the Cavertons, intent on vengeance. But he said you just walked. When the hounds were tired you would sit and stare.”

I remember that. The walks. And the silence.

Kate did not remember the silence. “When did I finally speak? When you brought me to York?”

“Long before that. You sat down to dinner and said, ‘Geoff has told me that I must reclaim my voice. Our voice.’ I knew at that moment I must forbid you to wear his clothes. And I began to plan our escape.”

I don’t remember that.

It happened, Kate.

Eleanor touched Kate’s cheek. “I cannot begin to understand how hard it was for you. Geoffrey was such a part of you. But I feared I was losing you as well. Now that you have the children, perhaps you see why I removed his things from your bedchamber and took you away from the places that could not but remind you of him?”

“I think I do. And I will always be grateful that you did not make me leave Lille and Ghent.”

“I knew better than to try that.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Are you worried about Lady Margery?” When Kate looked at her askance Eleanor said, “I have guessed you were hiding her. And see? I’ve told no one. Not a whisper, not even to the sisters.”

Kate pressed her mother’s hand. “I depend on her not to betray us, especially Berend. And to follow instructions.”

“You took no untoward risks on your walks, you saw to the needs of the hounds. Your father found no fault in your actions. But I do not know Lady Margery.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Eleanor embraced her, holding her tightly. “I am glad he is still with you, Katherine. I am so glad you are not alone.”

Startled, Kate said nothing, though she silently prayed that this was not a momentary truce, but a lasting peace.

“I should go now,” said Eleanor, “to sit with Rose. I had intended to go to William’s house and help prepare for tomorrow’s festivities – to annoy Isabella. Hah! But, alas, God saved me from myself. I do not begrudge Rose. She has been so patient with me over the years.”

The beguines had worked a miracle.

“However you are planning to save your friends, Katherine, I pray God watches over you. We are all praying for their safe escape.”

In the early afternoon, Kate saw Matt off to the York Tavern with the casket of jewels hidden in a crate of spices from her inventory, Jennet off to the Sharp residence where she would give Lady Margery her instructions, and then she and the hounds escorted Marie and Petra to the guesthouse. Griselde had promised to make a feast to celebrate the day, and Phillip would be joining them, as the stoneyard was closed for both Candlemas and the mayor’s celebration. He would sleep at home for the next two nights. It would be good to have them all under her roof again. Marie and Petra were particularly excited to show off their new dresses. The snow had stopped for the nonce and they danced down the street, nicely calling attention to the fact that Kate was with her wards.

And then she slipped out the back door of the guesthouse with the hounds. John Wrawby had agreed to meet with her and Sir Elric. She must also stop to speak with her friend Cam at the staithes, ensure that all was ready for the morrow.

Bess looked him up and down, tsking and shaking her head, the ribbons on her white cap fluttering. “As I told Dame Jocasta, the inn is filled with soldiers tonight, so there’s nothing for it but to put you on a pallet in my own.”

The boy, who kept his head bowed, shrugged to let her know he’d heard.

“Right then, come along.” About to send off the man who had delivered the boy, she hesitated, noticing his patched jacket and old boots. Told the cook to give him a bowl of stew and some bread, and motioned him to the bench just inside the door. Dame Jocasta did what she could for them, but the man had done a service, and he looked hungry.

He had also arrived promptly, in time for anyone lingering out in the yard to hear the irritation in her voice. Another good reason to feed the courier – the cold would drive any lurkers off before he finished eating and took his leave. No opportunity for questions.

And just in case someone recalled the lad, not seeing him around after tomorrow, she would shrug and roll her eyes and say Colin returned from a delivery without him. The strays would run away, thinking they’d find something better, or still escaping their own private devils. But she was counting on most folk being at William Frost’s celebration on the morrow. She herself would abstain, her old hips not liking such a long walk in the cold.

Once in her room she closed the door and took a good look at her guest. “You’re a wee bit too pretty for the soldiers.”

“I wanted to color my skin, but Dame Jocasta said that would just make me exotic, and some would find that even more appealing.”

“Once you’re on the road, will you go back to your skirts?”

Lady Margery shook her head. “I do not dare at first. With my shorn hair I thought I might not be a woman until we reach our destination. But Jennet, Dame Katherine’s maid, has fashioned a simple gown and wimple I will don when Berend says it is time.”

Her speech was fair, of course, being a noblewoman, but there was a toughness to her that explained how she had come so far. And why Berend would accept her as a companion in flight. But Bess felt compelled to warn her. “If you do aught to cause Berend’s mission to fail, you will be cursed. I will pray that your maggoty remains dissolve in unhallowed ground and that you burn in hell.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “How dare you–”

“Must I remind you what I risk in inviting you into my home for the night?”

The woman had the wisdom to doff her cap and bow her head, whispering an apology.

“You are no lady at the moment. You are a waif brought to Dame Jocasta and now delivered up to me as a servant. For your sake and for that of all the good people helping you, you had best remember that.”

A knock, Colin’s signal. Bess opened the door only so far as she must to allow him in, shut it quickly. “Take a look at her size. Will it work?” Bess put out an arm to stop his bow. “As I was just reminding this little gutter-snipe, such behavior will undo us all. This is a lad off the streets. You are annoyed to have him foist upon you, but I’ve insisted we give him a chance.”

Colin crossed himself. “God help me, I wasn’t thinking.”

“You had better begin.” She called him her grandson, but not a drop of her blood ran in his veins. His father was her Tom’s son by his first marriage. Still, her Tom would have been quick to understand the situation and would rise to the occasion. She wished someone else might take the lady downriver, but no one from Katherine Clifford’s house must be involved. They might be followed. “In the morning, as soon as Sir Elric leaves to deliver up those two recreants in the shack to the king’s men, you hie to the river. There will be some nice confusion amongst Sir Peter’s men, just enough to make them incurious about a cart of ale.”

Colin looked crestfallen. “I know my duty, Grandmother. I will not fail you.”

He’d best see that he didn’t.