A Murdered Peace

16 To Catch a Murderer

Moments after Kate lay down, exhausted, Petra’s shriek rent the night. Stumbling in her weariness, Kate was opening the door when Marie rushed into her arms.

“She frightened me,” the girl sobbed, clinging to her.

Kate crouched down, taking her ward’s face in her hands. “You are safe, my love. Come, sleep in my bed and I will go to Petra. She sounds as terrified as you do.” She embraced the girl, rubbing her back, then invited her to climb under the covers. Marie needed no more persuasion.

Stepping into her shoes, Kate closed the door behind her.

Phillip stood outside his door wrapped in a blanket, rocking side to side for warmth. “Was that Petra?”

“Yes.” The dreams came far more frequently than they had before Phillip began his apprenticeship and moved to his master’s house. “We have grown accustomed.” Kate touched his cheek. “Go back to sleep. I will see to her.”

“She has the Sight, she said.”

“I begin to believe that is so.”

He retreated to his room, closing the door behind him.

Kate paused, looked out at the night sky, bright with stars, and prayed that this one time it might simply be a bad dream. She regretted that after putting the girls to bed she’d returned to the kitchen to tell Jennet and Matt all she had learned. After the long day and all the wine and ale she wanted only sleep.

Opening the shutter of the small lantern that hung on a hook outside the girls’ door, Kate stepped across the threshold and shined the light on the bed. Petra sat with her back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chin, whispering prayers.

“Oh, my poor love.” Kate set aside the lantern and climbed onto the bed, taking the child into her arms. “What is it?”

“He hunts them. He has archers with him.”

“Sir Peter?”

The child shook her head. “His captain.”

“Berend knows how to lose them,” Kate assured her. “Come. Let’s get under the covers and sleep.”

Up too late, and then awakened by Petra’s dream vision, the girls lay abed, emotionally and physically exhausted. No school for them this day, though Phillip had been up at dawn clamoring for some food before he returned to the stoneyard. Kate laughingly warned him that she had seen some of the stoneworkers draped over each other in the yard after the feast the previous night.

“Stay far from them when they are wielding tools today.”

Curfew had been lifted for the night, and it seemed as if all the city had taken advantage of it, for fun but also for darker deeds. Jennet had greeted her with the news of burglaries in aldermen’s homes during the evening. Her eyes and ears had been discomfited by the lawlessness. Drunk revelers daring one another to break into homes.

“And where were the servants?” Kate wondered, nursing her own aching head with some strong ale.

“Out drinking,” Matt had answered. “One of my old mates tried to drag me out. As if I would be such a fool.”

Cuddy, the new servant, looked less delighted about missing the festivities. “It might have been a lark, just this once.” But the walkways around the house had all been shoveled and swept clean before Kate awoke. He might do. If he chose to stay.

Kate walked Matt to the door. He was off to her cousin the mayor’s home for his morning report. She was anxious to hear of Sir Peter’s frame of mind. “And make certain to ask after Hazel. Remember, only if you manage to find a moment alone with my cousin should you tell him that Berend and Lady Kirkby departed as planned.” Matt nodded and reached for his cloak. Kate caught his arm. “What do you think about Cuddy?”

“I would not go trusting him just yet.”

Perhaps he would not work out. A cook is what they needed. Marie was too young to carry the burden of such duty, Jennet was an indifferent cook, and Griselde had enough to do at the guesthouse and caring for Clement.

Kate thanked Matt and saw him off, then gave Cuddy instructions for the morning, which would entail ensuring that Marie and Petra, once awake, made use of their day off by making a stew. The sharp blue eyes burned beneath the fair curls that kept falling into his eyes. He did not like the prospect of watching the girls. But Jennet had matters to put into motion before Kate’s midday meeting with Leif Holme.

Kate brushed the lad’s hair back and made a point of holding his gaze. “If my wards stray, I will hold you responsible. You do not want to cross me.”

“I will not, Mistress Clifford. But – young Marie seems difficult to guide.”

Kate relaxed. “She is. But I ask you only to give my instructions to the girls and then to watch the house, see that no strangers try to enter. Are you able to defend yourself?”

He fisted his hands and took a fighting stance. “I am.”

No weapon. Well, if he stayed, Matt could train him.

“Petra is a skilled fighter. If there is trouble, call her to assist you.” His eyes had gone wide. “Not that I anticipate such a need. I simply wanted you to know that you are not alone.”

Satisfied that Cuddy would make it through the day, Kate reached for the hounds’ leads. “I am off on errands,” she announced, nodding to Jennet.

Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening more snow. Already the streets were dotted with mounds of filthy, frozen slush that had carters cursing. The relief she had felt last night in the garden had been replaced by a dread of the reckoning ahead. The sheriffs would be more supportive if she found proof that Jon Horner had murdered Merek. And she would not rest until she knew who had poisoned Horner.

A flaxen-haired woman about Kate’s age answered her knock at the Ferriby house.

“The mistress is expecting you,” she said, eyeing the hounds with poorly concealed alarm.

“If you have some something I might dry them with, they will track in no more damp than I will,” Kate assured her. “As for discipline, they spent the entire mayor’s feast under the high table with nary a bark.”

The woman nodded and hurried away, returning quickly with two large rags – old table coverings, by the look of them. A household with such cloth to spare was rich indeed.

As Kate was rubbing down Ghent, Lille already standing by dry and fluffed, she was greeted by Gwenllian Ferriby with a babe in arms.

“Come through, I pray you.” Gwenllian told the maidservant to see to the damp rags.

The hall was bright from a wide window looking out to a large winter garden blanketed in snow. A long table held a jug of ale and two carved bowls. “Merchet ale,” said Gwenllian. “Shall I pour?”

After they were settled, Lille and Ghent curling up at Kate’s feet, Gwenllian apologized for not speaking out sooner. “I vowed I would never endanger my family as my parents had at times endangered us, so I turned a blind eye on– Well, Ross Wheeldon’s death, for instance, and how he did not want his wife to know he was consulting me.”

Watching the emotions playing across the woman’s face, Kate chose to say nothing, simply nodding as she sipped the ale.

Gwenllian turned her bowl round and round, the carvings of herons becoming a moving study of one heron taking flight. The room grew so quiet that the baby’s gurgling sigh and the stealthy approach of a curious cat drew Kate’s attention. The cat, a ginger female, stopped a short distance from Lille and Ghent and hissed. Kate quietly commanded the hounds to ignore her. With a sigh, Ghent lay his head back down on his forelegs. Lille turned her head away from the glaring feline.

“And though I am not in the habit of repeating rumors, I thought you should know that folk have wondered about a grand chapel in a church north of Easingwold being fitted out with grillwork by Coffey the blacksmith – for Ross Wheeldon. He’d been up measuring the space long before Ross’s death.”

Kate remembered her visit to Coffey’s workshop. “I saw a piece of the grillwork. Quite elaborate.”

“I would think nothing of it but for the fact that Ross was better. But why would Cecily risk so much? He left her wealthy. Could she not wait?”

“Why indeed? A troubling tale.”

They talked a while longer, sharing stories of their children, until one of the apprentices appeared at the garden door, begging a question. Kate thought it best to move on before the ale made her drowsy.

She rose, thanking Gwenllian for the information. “I will use it only to find out the truth. I will not share it. Nor will anyone know the source.”

“I trust you.” As Kate moved away, Gwenllian called out, “My girls are eager to see yours again soon.”

A welcome bonding.

Bess Merchet received Kate in a chamber that was clearly the elderly woman’s living quarters. Harry and Elric sat at a table making short work of a savory stew and hot bread. Hearty meal for first thing in the morning.

“We can talk while they eat,” said the taverner, smiling at the men’s appetites. “Here we’re safe from prying eyes and curious ears.”

Kate reported what she suspected of Cecily Wheeldon. “We need to find something to connect her to Jon Horner’s poisoning.”

“That would most likely be in her home,” said Elric. “No doubt you have a plan.”

He managed to make the comment sting.

“Rest easy, it does not involve you. Thomas Holme and Jennet are my conspirators. What is crucial is that we resolve this quickly, to appease the sheriffs. We need their support.”

They all turned at the sounds of an argument in the public room. Bess rose, opening the door just wide enough to hear Sir Peter loudly demanding to see Sir Elric.

Kate began to reach for his hand, stopping herself just in the nick of time. “Show him the list. He cannot scoff at such information. Swear to him that you saw Lady Kirkby neither arrive nor leave the city. You’ve sent your men home because Parr and Sawyer have been delivered, Lady Kirkby is nowhere to be found, and Berend provided the information the king wanted.”

Elric rose. “Go. Leave this to me.” With a tug on his jacket, he strode out to face the king’s man.

“Come.” Bess gestured to Kate. “I will take you out through the kitchen. Move quickly. I will put up a fuss so that you can go wherever you need to be.”

Kate said a silent prayer for Elric’s safety.

Coffey knelt to Lille and Ghent, praising them, clearly a play for time to think how he should respond.

“As a merchant yourself, you understand the need for customer trust, Mistress Clifford. I cannot be sharing such information without good cause.”

“What if I were to say folk are talking about this elegant tomb being prepared long before Ross Wheeldon gave anyone cause to believe he would soon be dead?” Kate knew it a risk, that it might make put him even more on the defensive, but she did not have time to dance about with him.

His large hands, every crease lined in soot, paused on Lille’s and Ghent’s backs. Ghent put his muzzle to Ben’s hand, wanting more. They had taken a liking to him. It spoke well of the man.

“I mean to make no trouble for you,” she said. “But it is important that I know if the grillwork is for Ross Wheeldon’s tomb, and who commissioned it.”

“You will not mention me?”

“Only to the sheriffs, if necessary. They can be trusted.”

He grasped the side of his worktable and eased himself up. “I suppose, as he’s passed on … It is for Ross’s tomb, but he is the one approached me in the autumn. Said he wanted it rightly done, for his wife would not be so keen. He paid me up front, a goodly sum.”

Kate was disappointed. All the fuss was about an elderly man’s mistrust of his wife’s willingness to honor his memory. She saw enough of that. “Has his widow consulted you?”

“She has. A fine woman, the widow Wheeldon. A fine woman.”

“Your work is so skilled, she must be pleased.”

The smith scratched his cheek and seemed about to shake his head, then shrugged. “She did worry it was too grand, might offend those with more call to be so remembered in the church. But I told her that I contracted with her late husband, and I would break such an agreement at the peril of my own soul.”

So Cecily hoped to recover some of the money Ross had invested in his memorial. “You are a man of conscience,” said Kate. “I should think she found that reassuring. A man who honors his contracts is a man who can be trusted.”

Coffey was shaking his head as he fiddled with a tool on his workbench. “You are kind to say that, Mistress Clifford. But I do not believe the widow would agree. She accused me of taking advantage of a dying man’s vanity.”

“No!”

He shrugged. “As far as that, I never guessed he would die so soon. He rode with me to the church on several occasions and met with me weekly as I began the work.”

“Rode through the Forest of Galtres to Easingwold with you?”

“He did. Our last journey was in early December – Feast of St. Nicholas, it was. Cold, a sharp rain, but he would not turn back. And we sat in the tavern just outside the gates there having several tankards afterward. I saw him once more after that. I felt the news of his death like a blow, I did. I had become that fond.”

“He was fortunate to make such a steadfast friend,” said Kate. She let Ghent comfort the man, butting his head against his hands, begging to have his ears rubbed. When the strain of Coffey’s emotions softened in response to the dog’s sweetness, she felt she might ask her last question. “Did Jon Horner prepare the contract for the tomb?”

“Ah, no, that would–” Coffey shook his head with vigor. “Master Ross would have nothing to do with that man.” The look on the smith’s face suggested he had more to say about that.

“I thought he saw to his accounts.”

“That knave Merek thought that as well.”

“Merek?”

“He came sniffing round here about the work I was doing for Master Ross as well. Fool I was, giving him my good coin for nothing.”

“Merek knew about the memorial?”

“Claimed Horner told him about it.”

“When was this?”

“After Master Ross was dead, to be sure. So I thought, well, the widow must be using Horner to sort through her late husband’s papers. But I did not like Merek coming round asking about that. What business was it of his?”

What indeed? Kate thanked him, her initial sense of defeat quite turned around. Here was evidence of Ross Wheeldon’s good health. No wonder his death had caused gossip.

A dark mood closed in around Kate as she passed the Frost residence on her way from the smithy to Thomas’s warehouse. In the yard, Sir Peter paced in front of Elric, who stood between two men wearing the king’s livery. Would Elric have gone to Berend’s aid if not for her? Would he have Lady Margery safely lodged at Sheriff Hutton awaiting the earl’s pleasure? Would the earl have believed Lady Margery’s innocence?

How would she bear it if Elric lost his standing, perhaps even his land, and then they found Berend and Margery had been part of the Epiphany plot? God help her, what was her responsibility to Elric? What had she done?

Everything you have done, you have done with the best intentions, Geoff assured her.

Small comfort if I have ruined a man for nothing. I’ve lost his love, his respect, and ruined him?

Busy rebuking herself, she was halfway down Micklegate before she realized she had not seen Captain Crawford in her cousin’s yard. She must pay more attention to the crowds, especially as she crossed Ouse Bridge. To her surprise, folk were talking about Berend’s escape – so it was common knowledge now. Many waved to her and expressing their delight. Some were more cautious, no doubt fearful of king’s spies. She pushed herself along, keeping the hounds on a short leash.

Once across the bridge, Lille gave a soft bark as the warehouse came into view. Jennet stood across the way, in the company of a woman in a thin cloak over a simple, oft-mended gown. One of Jennet’s eyes and ears, perhaps? As Kate drew closer, Jennet came forward to greet her and the hounds, who were ready for some affection, made skittish by their mistress’s agitation.

“Leif arrived a little while ago. Dressed as if attending the more private feast at Master William’s home today.” The second day was for the aldermen and other powerful men of the city.

Kate was relieved. “And the woman with you?”

“My new friend Henna, currently the widow Wheeldon’s cook, but eager to work for you – until Berend returns.”

“You are a wonder, Jennet.” Kate glanced at Henna, wondering at the old clothes – she hardly looked the part of a cook in the household of a prosperous York merchant. “How did you meet her?”

“Asking round the market, I learned that she has been keen to leave since the master died.”

“Loyal to Ross Wheeldon, not his widow?”

“Much to say about that, I think.”

“She will help us tonight?”

“If you agree to test her skill on her day off tomorrow. Will you speak with her?”

“I will. But briefly. I must not miss Leif.”

Jennet motioned to Henna to join them. As the woman approached she held her skirts close and leaned away from Lille and Ghent.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Kate said, “they are well trained.”

“Do they– Would they be in the kitchen?” Her face was chubby, but pinched, as if wary of the world, expecting the worst of it.

“They would be, yes. Are you willing to try to trust them?”

An honest hesitation, then Henna nodded. “Yours must be a grand kitchen to have room for them.”

She might be disappointed in that. It was large, but not at all grand. Kate considered her. Good teeth, apparently robust health, that spoke well of her own cooking. Time would tell. “Come tomorrow, mid morning. Jennet will tell you what you will need, how many dine most days, the girls’ preferences.” She excused herself, whispered some instructions to Jennet, and crossed over to the warehouse.

Her breath smoked in the cold, damp building. It was the first staging area for their goods before being moved to various storerooms around the city, drier, warmer, better for spices and the rolls of cloth being counted by an elderly clerk who stood near the entrance. Seeing Kate and the hounds, he made a face.

“Velvets, Mistress Clifford. Their fur. If they shed on–”

“My merchandise. You would be wise to remember that.” As the man hurried to apologize she waved him silent. “I am meeting Leif Holme. Fetch him for me.” She was sorry to snap at old Arn, about whom her late husband had once joked that he had been born in the warehouse. But the clerks had been slow to accept her as their superior, and she would not tolerate chiding from the man.

My oh my, she thought, her mood brightening as Leif approached. A dark blue padded jacket in the latest style over deep red leggings and knee-high leather boots with pointed toes, a dark red hat with a hawk’s tail feather swooping from it and down along his cheek. He had not been so impressive at yesterday’s feast. He would do as a factor based on his looks alone, that was certain. Pity that so few were women, but she knew several cloth and spice merchants who might find him appealing. And the wives would think of him when they were entertaining. He would have access to the best houses.

“Mistress Clifford,” he bowed to her. “My uncle said you wanted a word?”

Well spoken. “Shall we walk? I have a few matters I would like to discuss with you.”

As they stepped out into the snow, he gave not a thought about his clothing, intent on declaring his eagerness to prove himself as a factor. She asked whether he had traveled to Calais or the Low Countries, knowing full well that he had made several trips with his uncle to the former, but had never been elsewhere, except London. He did not try to claim experience he did not have, though he did express his interest in traveling far and wide, and prided himself in having never been seasick. He admitted to a tendency to be truthful. “Some might find that a flaw in a factor, for sales.” She liked his crooked grin.

“We do not trade in inferior quality goods, Leif. You have no need for concern about that. But you cannot be shy about encouraging customers to buy as much as they can afford, nor should you permit them to go away and consider. They rarely return.”

“I have no qualms about that.”

“And what about keeping the accounts? Have you any experience there?”

“In truth, that is my strongest skill.”

“So you would not mind taking on some additional duties in that regard? For me. My guesthouse accounts.”

“I would be happy to do so.”

“I understand you are thinking of marriage. A wealthy widow would suit you?”

His silence caught her attention.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to embarrass you.”

“I– Mistress Clifford– I would not presume to think– You will be my employer …”

“Oh. No, I did not mean me, Leif. I noticed you with Cecily Wheeldon yesterday.”

An enthusiastic nod. “Dame Cecily has my heart. She is beautiful and clever, and she puts me at ease like no other woman. At first I thought she saw me as a sweet boy and was being kind. But then she kissed me.”

Bold woman. Was she kissing Jon Horner and Leif Holme at the same time? Merek? Was that possible? Patience, Kate schooled herself. All might be revealed if this interview went well, and the widow cooperated. Her heart raced a little – so much depended on her being right in her impressions of Leif and Cecily. “A kiss! When will you pledge your troth?” She asked it teasingly.

He answered sincerely. “She will observe a year of mourning. She said she would be pilloried if she wed betimes.”

“Being a widow as well, I agree, she must have a care if she wishes to protect her good name. That did not prevent my husband’s brother from trying to match me up with a husband within the year, but he had his reasons. Do you know, he went so far as to suggest I visit my mother in Strasbourg, let my intended follow me as if for trade, and we might wed there, then I might return to York in a few years, no one the wiser about how long we’d been wed.”

Leif gave little laugh. “So that is not so uncommon.”

“You thought of that?”

“It was Dame Cecily. She asked me what I thought of such an arrangement.”

“What did you say?”

“I disappointed her. Or, no, I am not certain she was serious.”

Kate put a hand on his forearm. “Do not doubt your worth.”

A grateful smile. “I told her I need to establish myself here.” He sighed. “I might be a fool. I believe she is willing– very willing to– I did not know a woman could– We have– In the garden– But I stopped, fearing someone might see us. She laughed at me.” He turned a deep red. “Forgive me for saying such things. You are so kind, I forgot myself.”

“No need to apologize. I have encouraged you. I hoped to understand you, what would make you content in your work, your life. I do have an idea … But you must be careful, for your sake and for hers, and as quiet as possible.” She smiled at the irony of what she asked, and how impossible that was. “I would not want Griselde, who runs my guesthouse, to think I’d become a bawd. Or expected that of her.” It was important for him to believe Griselde would not know he had a companion in the room.

Leif’s handsome face registered both shock and hope. “You do not mean– Dame Cecily and I spending the night there?”

“Would you dare?”

“Is this a test? If I say yes–”

“No test. A sincere offer.”

His brows knit together in a suspicious frown. “Why would you do this for us?”

“Our trade is nothing if our factor is disloyal. If you are happy, that should not be a problem.” He still looked doubtful. “But tonight is the night,” she said. “Tell her that you are staying at my guesthouse because something is amiss at your lodging and I have kindly offered a room, and you thought, ‘might this be our chance?’ Paint yourself as the bold one.”

“Oh, if she would–”

She had him. “You will not know unless you try. But I should think that a woman of her … experience, well, she might wish to sample the goods.” She gave a little laugh and patted his hand, telling him to send word if he decided to take her up on the offer, and if Dame Cecily seemed willing. If so, Kate would have her servant Seth there at the bottom of the steps at the designated time. “But you must be quiet.”

“And the job as factor? And accountant?”

Once he had reaped the rewards of the guesthouse, he might just be her solution to the problem of Clement’s decline.

“Suppose this proposition is a test – of your determination and your skill in persuasion.” God in heaven, she was playing the bawd. She would do penance for this.

It took little time to sort out duties at the guesthouse, though Griselde expressed some surprise. Kate assured her she was seeing to the safety of York.

Back at the house, Marie and Petra were squabbling about the proper way to cut a carrot for stew. Cuddy, his back to them, played sentinel by the partly opened door. The poor lad looked weary.

“Has anyone been about?”

“I thought I heard someone in the yard not long after you left. I searched. Nothing. No one.”

“But you believe you did hear something? Where?”

“By the steps up to the first story.”

“But no creak of the gate.”

An eager nod. “That is it! Yes. That is what I heard. And then it stopped. Like it scared them and they moved off.”

Working as planned.

“Matt is in the hall,” Cuddy added.

Kate left Lille and Ghent resting by the fire with some water as she went to hear Matt’s report.

“I was there when Sir Peter returned to the mayor’s house with Sir Elric,” said Matt. “But your cousin’s man Roger said he’d already looked to burst earlier, when Sheriff Cottesbrok admitted that Berend was gone. Sir Peter had heard folk talking.”

“All the city seemed to know this morning,” said Kate. Who had spread the word? The goodwife who had taken Berend’s place? One of the injured guards? “Did they know of injuries amongst the castle guards?”

“Cottesbrok said nothing about that. Roger says the sheriffs distrust the king’s men.”

“What about Captain Crawford? What was his response?”

“Roger said he had gone out early, before dawn, returned at some point and rounded up men, then hurried away.”

“Before Cottesbrok arrived?”

Matt nodded. “As you said, folk were talking about it all over the city. Berend’s a hero.”

Kate laughed. “Because he did not murder Merek Lacy? I’ve heard no mention of Lady Kirkby on the street.”

“Nor have I.”

“And Hazel Frost?”

Matt crossed himself. “The child is dying. The household– The feasting tables are being disassembled, no preparations for the second feast. Roger took me outside to give me the news, and told me that Dame Isabella told Sir Peter he must find lodging at Micklegate Priory, he and his men must leave, the household must be quiet, peaceful.”

“Oh my dear child.” Kate slumped down on a bench and let the tears come. Sweet sweet Hazel.

A late afternoon nap with the girls revived Kate and seemed a comfort to them. They had felt responsible for endangering Hazel’s health, fearing they had caused her too much excitement.

Kate assured them that was not true. “Remember how she laughed, how she enjoyed every moment, sending you out to see more, bring back more stories. Your visit yesterday brought her joy.”

Marie woke from her nap with a plan – to persuade Phillip to carve a likeness of Hazel as an angel for her tomb.

Petra crossed herself and warned Marie against planning a tomb before a death. “She will return to haunt you. Old Mapes said so.”

What about if the person planned their own memorial? Kate wondered, thinking of Ross Wheeldon.

Now, at twilight, Sister Brigida sat with the girls in the kitchen, helping them compose a letter to their friend. Her companion, Sister Agnes, busied herself making a calming tisane for the girls and preparing a stew for the next day. Matt and Cuddy had gone on errands. All was well in the household. Leaving Petra and Marie in the beguines’ loving care, Kate collected Lille and Ghent and went to the hall to work at her loom while she waited for Jennet. If all went as planned, she would soon be searching the Wheeldon home.

Trying to still her mind, she remembered her mother saying that the beguines approached all that they did as prayer, offering up all effort to God for the benefit of others. Kate gathered the fine colors and sat for a while staring at the pattern emerging on the loom, choosing which colors would be prayers for Berend, which for Margery, which for Hazel. When she had settled that, she took a deep breath and began. Her hands steadied as she worked. Sensing her deepening quiet, Lille and Ghent moved from the fire to settle nearby, out of her way as she worked the shuttles, but close. The work warmed her, and the prayers absorbed her.

Later, when Lille and Ghent rose to greet Jennet, Kate felt as if she were waking from a trance. Her body ached a little, but a glance at the loom confirmed that was reasonable – she had worked a long while. Hours.

“Well?” She poured ale for both of them and settled on one of the chairs by the fire, handing a bowl to Jennet. She stood with her back to the fire, letting her skirts dry, while she took a long drink of ale. Her face was red from the cold, but her eyes shone.

“Look in my scrip,” she said.

Kate lifted the bag sitting on the other high-backed chair, and opened it. A gold brooch – “Jennet, this is the one Pendleton described.”

A satisfied grin. “Seems Horner gave her the brooch despite knowing it was stolen.”

Kate was excited. Also in the scrip was the mate to the glove she had found in the room where Horner died. “I might have left it lie there,” she whispered to herself.

“But you didn’t,” said Jennet. “Most importantly, you’ll find by the door a box of tally sticks and accounts going back several years, showing how Dame Cecily had been siphoning off money Master Ross believed he was investing in property, through Horner, by way of Master Ross’s clerk. Evidently Horner had information about the clerk, wanted for theft in Lincoln. And, in that sack by the door that the hounds find so menacing, a gown stained by blood – a lot of it, and vomit.”

“All that? Were you seen?”

Jennet made a face. “Henna has a heavy tread, and a maidservant came up to see who was in her mistress’s chamber. But when she saw Henna – I was behind the door – she just asked her not to do anything she would be blamed for by ‘the whore’ and left.”

“Beloved by all.” Kate rose. “How late is it?”

“Matt is walking Sister Brigida back to the Martha House and the girls look ready for bed. I took it upon myself to have him call at Sheriff Wrawby’s home to ask that he meet you here shortly after dawn, to catch a murderer.”

About to protest such certainty, Kate smiled at herself. The dress did seem damning. “You are a marvel, Jennet. I cannot think what else we might do to prepare before dawn, so I’ll to bed. An early night would be welcome.”

The morning dawned with a hard frost and the scent of snow, though none yet fell. As Kate stepped into the kitchen she paused, her heart quickening. Elric sat with Jennet and Matt, listening to their accounts of the previous day’s discoveries. His jacket was not as clean as was his wont, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but he was here.

He glanced up, nodded to her.

“How do you come to be here? Did you escape?” Kate asked.

“I would like to hear that as well,” said Sheriff Wrawby, joining Kate in the doorway. “Did that fool Sir Peter finally see reason?”

“Not as such,” said Elric. “Mayor Frost has a backbone. He said he might not be able to help his child, but he would be damned if he would let an incompetent jeopardize the city’s relationship with the Earl of Westmoreland. He released me and said he would deal with Sir Peter. Who is no longer biding in their home, by the way. Dame Isabella sent them to Micklegate Priory. Sawyer and Parr as well. She permitted me to spend the night, locked in the shed in which Crawford had stuffed me.”

“She might have done better for you,” Wrawby growled. “But I am much relieved to hear that about Frost. I feared he would prove the king’s toady.”

Elric rose. “Are we ready? Harry and Douglas are at the guesthouse, ready to detain Dame Cecily if she leaves before we arrive.”

“Cecily Wheeldon?” Wrawby gave a little whistle. “Are we also going to find that she hurried my friend Ross’s death?”

“One accusation at a time,” Kate warned. “I must make a stop in Stonegate before I join you.”

Elric and Wrawby chose to go straight to the guesthouse.

At the silversmith’s Kate was rewarded with an excited nod.

“That is it, my sister’s brooch,” said Pendleton. “Might I have it?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

Satisfied, Kate continued on with Lille and Ghent, joining the sheriff and Elric at the table in the guesthouse hall, the door ajar so they could watch the steps. Seth was in the kitchen with Griselde and Clement, and Harry and Douglas were out in the alleyway beneath the stairs. All ready for Leif and Cecily to appear on the landing.

At last the footsteps. Cautious, light. It would be Cecily. Leif would have no cause to depart quite so early, and certainly not before Cecily. He would wait to make certain she encountered no trouble from Griselde. Lille and Ghent sat up, sensing the interest in the hall. Wrawby rose and quietly moved to the door. As Cecily reached the bottom step, the sheriff called out to her.

“Dame Cecily, if you would be so kind as to step inside.”

“What? Sheriff Wrawby? Oh, my dear man, it is not what you think.” With a little laugh she stepped to the door, but retreated as soon as she saw Kate and Elric. She turned to hurry away, but found Douglas and Harry blocking her escape. Face flushed, she demanded they let her pass.

Sheriff Wrawby repeated his request, his tone sharper than before.

With a dramatic sigh Cecily marched up to Wrawby, forcing him to take a step backward. “Explain yourself,” she demanded.

Quickly regaining his composure, he gestured toward the items displayed on the table – the soiled gown, the opened box of accounts, the brooch. “It is you who must explain, Dame Cecily.”

Someone clattered down the stairs. Leif burst into the room.

Kate did feel for him as his eyes widened in horror.

“What is happening? Cecily, I am so sorry.”

“You. You set this up so that they might search my house, you–” She slapped him. Hard.

Holding his cheek, he protested that he knew nothing.

“Sit down and be quiet, Leif,” the sheriff commanded.

Kate motioned to him to sit down beside her.

“What have you done?” Leif hissed.

“Saved you, and your family. Now hush.”

Sir Elric had risen, and approached Cecily. “What sort of person stands by and allows an innocent man to be imprisoned for a murder she knows he did not commit? The sort of person who would then poison the murderer? So that no suspicion would fall on her? The sort of person who would steal money from her own husband? Perhaps hasten his death?”

Cecily had gone quite still. She stood with hands at sides, staring at Elric. But Kate could imagine how her mind was working to come up with an explanation.

Wrawby cleared his throat, said, “Dame Cecily, do you care to respond?”

“The gown– I thought the laundress had ruined it. I’ve not seen it for months. Why in heaven’s name would I know who murdered Merek Lacy? I presume that is the murder of which you speak.” She glanced at Kate, her eyes burning. “You are so desperate to clear the name of your lover. Open your eyes, woman, he is an assassin. To think you welcomed him into your home, with those innocent children.”

“And these accounts that tell the tale of your deception?” Elric asked, lifting a parchment roll from the box. “How do you explain them?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I trusted Jon Horner. I saw no need to inspect his work. I am but a woman, sir. I have no head for numbers.”

“So it was all Jon Horner?”

“He– He loved me, you see. He gave me that brooch as a token.”

“A stolen token, did you know?” asked Kate.

“Is that what this is about? I wondered why he asked me not to show it to anyone. He said he wanted to wait until the bans. Poor fool. He thought I would marry the likes of him?”

“You spent much time with him. You were with him the night he murdered Merek Lacy,” Kate said as she tossed the glove onto the table. “I found its mate on the floor of his room that morning.”

“That is proof I was with him? Hah! You think yourself so clever. Had I been wearing those gloves that night they would be soaked …” Cecily stopped.

Kate felt weak with relief. The moment she had challenged Cecily she had wished she might take it back. Berend, Elric, Margery, perhaps even Lionel depended on her keeping her head. Yet she had lashed out in anger. Her heedlessness might have made Cecily more cautious. God be thanked it had not. But only a fool depended on God’s help to correct her missteps.

“If you would come with me.” Sheriff Wrawby touched Cecily’s arm.

She backed away from him, pointing at Kate. “You, of all people, you should stand with me. For years I tolerated that old man’s hands on my body, for years he refused me money of my own, doling out every penny with those palsied hands. I earned the money Horner set aside for me. I earned it. And just when I was free at last, Merek intended to ruin me. I rejected his advances and then he meant to ruin me. What happens when your late husband’s family discovers you poisoned him? he crooned in my ear. The man stank of spices. And who fueled his suspicions? Ross, the old wretch, arranging for his own tomb. Merek thought I had planned that. As if I would waste the money on such a memorial to that hateful old man.”

Leif made a little noise.

Cecily glanced at him. “I might have made you rich. But you proved a craven coward.”

“And when you tired of me?” Leif asked.

“Are you confessing to the murder of Merek the spice seller, Dame Cecily?” asked Wrawby.

“I dragged Jon to the Shambles to finish what he had begun. But he could not do it. Sniveling coward. Merek accused me. He lunged for me. I finished him. You are all so weak. So weak. I am finished with you. With all of you.” She pulled something from her scrip.

At Kate’s signal Lille and Ghent knocked Cecily into the table. A small metal vial fell to the floor and Elric retrieved it.

“Come now, Dame Cecily.” Wrawby helped her up, but did not release her once she was standing.

Leif jerked to his feet as Douglas grasped Cecily’s free arm and the two led her toward the door. “Don’t hurt her!” he cried.

Cecily turned and spat at him. “Craven coward.”