A Murdered Peace

17 A Vigil, a Hanging, and Too Many Questions

Elric insisted on escorting Kate home. Drained of all emotion, she did not argue, though heaven knew he still looked at her as if she were anathema. They walked in silence. Cuddy met them on the pathway to the kitchen, his arms loaded with wood.

“Dame Eleanor and Sister Brigida came for Marie and Petra,” he said. “The mayor – his daughter asked for them.”

Kate crossed herself. “Thank you, Cuddy. How were they when they left?”

“Brave, they were, doing their best not to cry.”

Elric touched her arm. “You will want to be there.” For the first time in what felt a long while he spoke gently, in kindness.

She left Lille and Ghent in Jennet’s care.

“What should I do about Henna?” Jennet asked.

Kate had forgotten her appointment with the cook. She asked that Jennet observe how the woman comported herself, think how she might fit into the household, and keep the food warm for the household to sample when they all returned.

As she and Elric made their way along the frozen ruts on the streets, they said little, nodding to those who greeted them. Much later Kate realized why so many smiled at them, she leaning on his arm – another kindness. Did people not know the mayor’s only child was dying? How could they smile so? But of course few knew about the family’s sorrow. What they saw was a knight and his lady proving the gossips right. No matter. His presence was a comfort, how he respected her need to be quiet with her memories of Hazel, prepare herself for a sorrowful vigil.

In the weeks after Hazel Frost’s death, Phillip worked on the angel statue, guided by master mason Hugh Grantham. Sister Brigida came each day to teach Marie and Petra at home, seeing them through their sorrow.

The Earl of Westmoreland summoned Elric to Raby to answer for his actions, but allowed him to delay the journey until the child’s funeral, deeming it important for his relationship with the mayor of York.

Kate arranged for the beguines to take meals to Cecily at the castle, and she herself went to see her. Now the widow was eager to talk about Merek, how he had threatened to expose her if she did not pay him hefty sums, including his passage on a ship that would take him across the North Sea. Cecily had guessed why Merek insisted she deliver the payment. Lionel Neville would start asking questions – he is a sly one, that Neville, always poking his long nose in others’ affairs – and she would be ruined anyway. Merek had to die. I convinced Jon of that. Pity he proved such a weakling.

Thomas Holme praised Kate’s solution to the problem of Cecily Wheeldon. “You saved my nephew from ruination. What if he had wed her and then she had been hanged for three murders?”

For hanged she was, a week after Hazel’s burial.

“I owe Leif an apology, but what can I say to defend myself? I used him.” Kate was not proud of it.

But Thomas scoffed. “Young fool should be grateful. I have told him to stand up and be a man. He will come round. He has met with Clement to go over your accounts?”

“He has, but Clement is wary of showing him too much. Will Leif try to retaliate?”

“I have made it clear to him that if he does not put this behind him I will change my will. He has assured me that he holds no grudge.”

“That is his head speaking. But what of his heart?”

“He’s an ambitious young man. Already he’s looking round at the daughters of the aldermen.”

Elric had been gone a week when Kevin rode into the city bearing the abbot of Cirencester’s response. That evening William Frost called on her. “I have received a letter from John Leckhampton, the abbot of St. Mary’s in Cirencester.”

“I have as well. Or, rather, Kevin has shown me the one sent to Sheriff Hutton Castle.” Kate invited William in.

The abbot of Cirencester Abbey offered his condolences to Berend, “should you see him,” on the death of his old friend Warren, the bastard son of Baron Montagu. He claimed Warren had chosen his fate, venturing into the town and right into the hands of King Henry’s men.

“What do you think?” Kate asked William as she poured wine. “Is the abbot honest?”

“I doubt it. I think he was fearful lest King Henry not support him against the townsfolk who have petitioned to be free of the abbey’s control, so he handed him over, violating the rules of sanctuary.”

“The abbey’s control?”

“The citizens of Cirencester have long contested the charter the abbey holds, giving it the rule of the city and much of the surrounding countryside. They claim an earlier charter granted them the right to rule, much as the one King Richard granted York. When the earls of Salisbury and Kent fled to Cirencester, the townsfolk saw their opportunity to ingratiate themselves with King Henry by slaughtering the rebels. No doubt the abbot thought that by giving up Salisbury’s half-brother he would show the king that he, too, rejected the rebels, but in a lawful manner.” He coughed. “Though one could argue that violating sanctuary is not lawful.”

Kate stared into the fire. Berend had saved Montagu’s bastard twice. Once from Pontefract, as the abbot had recounted to Kevin, once from King Henry’s wrath. He would mourn him. Would he blame himself? Who had chosen the abbey? She might never know. There was so much she might never know. “Have you any news of Captain Crawford’s hunt for Lady Kirkby?” she asked.

“No. Have you?”

“Why would I?”

“Berend?” William held her gaze. “I know what you did, you and Sir Elric. Cottesbrok and Wrawby confided in me.”

“They did? I hope they waited until after–”

“They did. Once they could see that I had taken up my duties.”

“I have heard nothing.”

“Had you known that Berend escorted Montagu’s bastard to sanctuary?” William asked.

“No.” But of course she had guessed that he was hiding something. Margery as well. In his letter, the abbot denied any meeting with Thomas Kirkby, any letter of safe passage. But that, too, might be for the benefit of his relationship with the crown.

“Do you doubt the wisdom of helping Berend?” William asked.

“No. He condemned the plot against the king and his sons. I do not doubt that. He answered the call of his lord’s son, honoring the memory of the man who helped him in his darkest time, who believed in him.”

“And Lady Kirkby?”

“No. Not at all. I am sick of women being punished for their husbands’ foolishness.”

William raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said only, “Sir Elric said much the same about both Berend and Lady Kirkby. Have you word from him?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you? Might I ask– Sir Elric loves you, you know, though he seems hesitant to surrender to his heart.”

She did know. On Elric’s last night in York she had invited him to dine at the guesthouse, intending to speak to him of her regret, to apologize, ask how she might make amends. That he’d accepted the invitation gave her hope that he was willing to listen. But the evening almost ended before it began. It seemed he had expected to dine in the hall, and when she had taken his hand to lead him up the stairs to the large chamber on the first floor, he had backed away from her, his eyes flinty.

She knew that look, and softened her voice as she would with the children when they needed reassurance. “I do not mean to seduce you, Elric. I merely want time with you without interruption, to enjoy a conversation before your departure, to speak of our friends near and far …” She stopped as she sensed her voice about to catch, already missing him, fearing for him, sick with remorse for her part in causing his lord’s anger.

It worked. He had followed her then, albeit grudgingly, not relaxing until he beheld the elegantly set table. Griselde and Marie had outdone themselves, with help from Henna.

While they ate they spoke of her cousin William’s courage, Hazel’s funeral, what Elric expected of his meeting with Westmoreland, the small shop about to open in the storefront on her home on Low Petergate, the promising cook Henna had recommended for Sheriff Hutton, anything but the two of them. They avoided the heart of their differences – trust. Until she poured the brandywine and set out the spiced nuts.

“I am grateful for this chance to explain how I came to shelter Lady Margery. Carl came to me just as the gates–”

Elric interrupted her. “I know. I understand why you helped your friend, Katherine. I would have done the same.”

“Then why have you been punishing me ever since I confessed all I knew?”

“Punishing you? I had been behaving as if–” He seemed to search for words. “My heart had misled me.” He met her eyes, and she caught her breath at the tenderness of his regard. His heart. “You are a remarkable woman, Katherine. Faith, you would make a fine captain of men.” He laughed, but his eyes did not. “I wanted– It does not matter. Forgive me if I have seemed to be punishing you.”

His awkward speech disarmed her. She, too, was at a loss about what to say. Arguments were easier than declarations of love. Or lust, if she was honest.

Time for me to leave, Geoff whispered. Speak to him. You both deserve joy.

“You thought I might love you?” Kate asked.

“I am not the first man to play the fool in love, and I will not be the last. At least I did not act on it.”

“A pity,” Kate murmured as she refilled their cups.

“What?”

“We might at least toast our success in freeing Berend and Lady Margery.”

“Indeed.” He tapped her cup and drank his down. “You are a master strategist.”

“I’d wondered whether you’d noticed.”

“Have I not celebrated how well it went?”

“Celebrated? Not with me. I had expected some expression of gratitude.”

“Is that why you poured such a stingy amount? I am grateful, Katherine. For all you did.”

“Now who is being stingy?”

He threw up his hands. “I am at a loss.”

“Are you? What if your heart did not mislead you?” She rose, stepping behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. When he twisted round to see what she was about, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. “I have yearned to do that,” she whispered, crouching down beside him, looking up into his widening eyes.

He touched her cheek. “Katherine?”

She learned toward him for another kiss, but he drew back, studying her face as if seeking a clue as to her sincerity.

“I feared I had lost any chance of being with you,” she said. “That night, celebrating Kevin’s recovery– I woke up to what I feel for you.”

“Yet you continued to lie to me.”

“I was trapped in Margery’s secret. It was not mine to share. I’ve told you–”

“Do not toy with me, Katherine.” He rose with an abruptness that almost knocked her over, strode to the door. In a moment, she was alone.

She sat down on the floor, stunned. How had it gone so wrong? Her face grew hot. Damn him, insufferable man. Unbending. His heart is ice. He–

Footsteps on the landing. He was still there, pacing back and forth outside the door.

All might not be lost. Pray God he just needed coaxing. Rising, she fortified herself with brandywine, brushed herself off, and opened the door. “I fear my boldness offended you. But we have so little time.”

Elric halted before her, shaking his head as if at a loss to understand. “Katherine–”

“I want to be with you, Elric.”

“What of Berend?”

“He is my friend, my brother, not my lover.”

Crossing his arms, Elric bowed his head, paced away, returned, his expression still cautious, questioning. “I cannot promise–”

She put a finger to his lips. “I don’t ask for promises. Only a night with you.”

She’d held her breath, and, as the minutes passed, felt a bitter defeat. But then …

“Are you armed?” A teasing smile.

She guided his hands to the front of her skirt. “You are free to examine me.”

He moved his hands out to cup her hips and methodically worked back to center, watching her face, witnessing what that did to her.

“Hah!” He drew out her dagger and tossed it into the room behind her, then pulled her into his arms, kissing her.

She was not shy in her response.

“Do you mean it?” he whispered. “That you want to be with me?”

“Can you doubt it? Must I take it into my own hands to drag you to the bed?”

“No need.” He lifted her up and carried her back into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, tossing her onto the bed.

She pulled him down to her. When they came up for air she rolled away, so that she could unbutton the bodice of her gown.

Gently brushing her hands aside, Elric took over. When it was her turn, she knelt on the bed, dodging his exploring hands to undress him. He was everything she had imagined he might be when she had watched him demonstrating his martial prowess at Sheriff Hutton on that Christmas Day long ago.

He moaned as he pulled her to him and rolled so that she was atop him.

They slept little that night. Just before daybreak, Elric drew her into his arms and asked whether she would consider marriage.

“To you?” She kissed his belly, his chest, then his mouth. “I might.”

“But …?”

“I do not trust myself to make a wise decision after such a night.”

His laugh was low in his throat.

She smiled now at the memory of that last lovemaking before parting.

“Katherine?” William was watching her with a bemused expression. “I believe you have answered my question.”

Feeling herself blush, she smiled at him. A knight and a woman in trade – with such a guesthouse as hers – she did not think it a likely match. But if it stopped William’s matchmaking …

Her cousin looked well pleased.

Her presence at Cecily’s hanging had been requested, as an “honor,” but Kate had excused herself. The truth was, Cecily haunted her. You, of all people, you should stand with me…. I earned the money … I earned it. And just when I was free at last, Merek intended to ruin me. Were they so different? Her anger stemmed from the opposite of Cecily’s, Simon’s extravagance – he had denied her nothing, but had she not plotted and schemed, and found part of the solution in a morally questionable guesthouse?

You never considered murder, Geoff said.

No? I’m not sure of that. But he was already dead.

Her dreams were as wild as Petra’s, though not the Sight, clearly her heart questioning, questioning everything. How childish she had been with Berend, seeing him as her anchor, her support, believing him when he had promised that she could depend on him. And now Elric – was she making the same mistake, seeing in him what she had believed she had with Berend, only more? Was he Simon Neville all over again?

You are robbing yourself of happiness, Geoff warned.

Am I? Or am I taking responsibility? The children depend on me. I must be clearheaded for them. They deserve all my love.

They sat in the hall of the Martha House, the altar cloth on their laps, Eleanor working a chalice in gold thread, Kate following Sister Dina’s faint sketch of the Virgin’s gown in shades of blue. Wind howled without, the fire crackled within, warming the two embroiderers and the hounds sleeping by the hearth. Such peace.

A cramp in her fingers forced Kate to pause and relax her hand.

“You hold the needle too tight, that has ever been your problem,” Eleanor murmured without glancing up. She hummed softly as she stitched.

“I know,” said Kate, smiling at her mother. “I admire you. You have created a sanctuary here, something precious.”

Now Eleanor looked up. “Bless you, daughter.” Her eyes glistened. “You are the one being fêted by the city, catching a murderer.”

“But I have no peace. You lost your sons, your husbands. You suffered such betrayal. Yet you have found peace in this house.”

“I am healing, yes.”

“How? How might I do the same? And please do not say I should ask for guidance.”

Eleanor laughed. “I am the last one to advise you to seek someone else’s advice on how to move forward. No one knowing me in the past would have advised me to found a house of poor sisters. You yourself thought I had gone quite mad.”

“I confess it seemed an unlikely match.”

Eleanor reached over to squeeze Kate’s hand. “You must be patient with yourself. You had a happy home, and now there is a yawning emptiness where Berend steadied it, always there, dependable, safe. And the girls lost him as well as their dear friend Hazel. It is a difficult time. You feel helpless, and that makes you angry.”

Did it? Was it that she felt helpless? “One night I dreamt I was hunting Lady Margery. I meant to kill her.”

“Perhaps you blame her for Berend’s absence? I do. Though it was not she who summoned him in the beginning, her presence now endangers him.”

“Her story was so riddled with coincidences,” said Kate, “I cannot trust it. The abbot denies having seen Sir Thomas. I thought, there it is, her lie. But William believes it is the abbot who lied, that he meant to ingratiate himself with King Henry.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Would such a small thing matter enough for him to lie about it? That he had seen Sir Thomas?” Kate did not see it. “Even more, Margery said the abbot tried to stop the violence, and that he prayed for the victims as well as for the souls of the townspeople who had so brutally taken the lives of their countrymen. She painted a man with no thought to pandering to the king.”

“Do you doubt Sir Thomas’s innocence?” Eleanor asked.

“I wonder. When Henry turned on him, and on Richard, was he able to remain neutral? Yet if I question that, everything is in question. It’s all ashes. Even Berend. He told me what he wanted me to believe.”

“And it seems a betrayal to you.”

“Perhaps I betrayed myself, depending on him. I knew better.”

Eleanor pressed Kate’s hand. “You are strong, Katherine. It is you who caught Cecily Wheeldon. You who devised the scheme to free Berend and Lady Kirkby. You who earned Sir Elric’s respect, and his love. You have a rich life. You will find your way, and your purpose.”

Kate threaded a blue the color of sky in early May.

“Do you love him, your knight?” Eleanor bent back to her embroidery as she asked the question, as if she were merely making conversation.

But it was no small question to Kate. “He is not my knight.”

“Do I hear a note of regret in that denial?”

“I care for him,” said Kate. “But I don’t know whether it is love.”

“Ah. Time enough for that.”

“He said I would make a fine captain of men.”

Eleanor smiled into her embroidery. “And a fine mother of sons.”

To Kate’s relief, Eleanor left it at that, humming as she completed the chalice. When she straightened to consider her work, she said, again as if simply making conversation, “Richard, he who was king, is dead. Have you heard? On the Feast of St. Valentine. They say he chose to starve rather than to live so confined and solitary. The same day as dear Hazel’s requiem.”

Her mother’s mind was a complex mosaic.

“Yes, I had heard,” said Kate.

But “chose”? That is not how Petra had seen it. Starving to death in the large chamber with its faded tapestries, waking each morning to the scent of bread baking in the ovens that warmed his floor, pounding on that floor, demanding service, until too weak to rise from his bed. But it was a murder Kate had no stomach to solve.

“May God grant him peace,” Kate said.

“Amen,” Eleanor murmured. “Shall we see whether the girls have finished their lesson?”