A Murdered Peace

4 The York Tavern

Kate awoke haunted by questions about Berend, doubting all that she had believed they shared. And Margery Kirkby – the tragedy of her husband’s violent death chilled Kate. A man who had risked his life and reputation to broker peace between the warring royal cousins, only to be accused of treason by the victor. How was Margery to prove him innocent? Was he? Was Berend? Kate had so much to lose, so much that she had hoped to build on to secure good lives for her wards.

Her head pounding from last night’s wine and her heart bruised, she dressed quickly, throwing on a warm mantle before stepping out onto the landing. There she paused in awe. Snow blanketed the rooftops, softening them, mirroring the pale clouds that vaguely muted the darkness of the predawn sky, the steeples and chimneys reaching out of the ethereal whiteness, calling on heaven to look down at the beauty. Each limb of the great oak rising up from her back garden was outlined in white and lit by the light spilling out from the kitchen window and doorway down below. Even the sounds of the carts on the cobbles were muffled by the snow.

Another time, the quiet scene would bring her great peace, but not today.

She reminded herself of her morning’s mission, telling her partner and former neighbor Thomas Holme that she had done it, she was free of Simon’s debt. He would be pleased. She was no longer burdened with her brother-in-law as a partner in her husband’s former business; now she would trade in her own right, as Katherine Clifford, femme sole. With her own property, her dower, and her inheritance from the Clifford estate in Northumbria plus the gift of her uncle Richard’s house and horses, she had established her guesthouse – a business her clients protected with silence for the sake of their own reputations. She had also formed a small trading concern with her wealthy friend, the widow Drusilla Seaton, buying materials for silk purses and other small items to be made by Jennet and one of her mother’s beguines, both skilled sempsters. Simon’s former partner had already expressed interest in partnering with them on a shipment. With those prospects and the rents on her houses, Kate might be quite comfortable. Might be.

A door opened behind her, the girls tumbling out of their bedchamber. They were arm in arm, friends again.

“Ask Dame Katherine for something to help you sleep,” Marie was saying. “Oh. Dame Katherine–”

Crouching down to look into Petra’s eyes, Kate saw the telltale signs of weeping. She stroked the girl’s dark curls, gently lifted her chin. “The nightmares again, my love?”

A solemn nod. “The monster crowned with worms came down the crowded streets wielding a great sword as he cut off people’s heads.”

“Crowned with worms?” Kevin whispered. “Do you speak of King Henry?”

Kate had heard him climbing the steps, recognizing his gait. She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

“At Henry of Lancaster’s coronation it is said that when the Archbishop of Canterbury removed the cap the king was wearing those around him gasped, for his head was raw with sores and crawling with lice.”

“That was my first dream.” Petra’s voice shook. “Is the king beheading people? Is Berend going to lose his head?”

Kate took a breath to calm herself. “Why do you say Berend?”

“He is in danger. My dreams show him running, hiding.”

“No!” Marie whimpered.

Kissing her niece’s forehead, then her ward’s, Kate tried to calm them. “Berend is an experienced soldier. He knows how to protect himself. Better to pray for his safety than to believe bad dreams, eh?” She looked from Marie’s wide blue eyes to Petra’s deep-set brown ones, eliciting nods. Another kiss each, smoothing their hair, pressing their hands. “Now go out to the kitchen. Jennet will have risen early to stoke the fire. Warm yourselves.”

As Kate rose, she motioned for Kevin to stay. When the girls had clomped down the steps and she saw them crossing the yard, Kate turned to her companion. Kevin exuded solidity with his strong upper body, muscular legs, heavy brows, and abundant dark hair framing his strong-jawed face. He met her eyes with a solemn expression.

“Your captain tells me you’ve said nothing to him about Berend’s disappearance,” said Kate. “Nor have your fellows.”

A nod. “The four of us have a pact.”

“Bless you. I don’t know how I deserve such loyalty.”

“You have given me back my life, Dame Katherine, and a family. I will not be a stranger to the children. The three of them–” He cleared his throat, gave her a sad smile. “The girls sang for me last night. Two angels.”

She touched his cheek. “They love you. Rest assured you are always welcome in my home.”

He bowed, blushing. “But Sir Elric knows much.”

“Bess Merchet?”

“I don’t believe she has yet decided how much to trust him.”

“Yet he is lodging there in the hope she will be of use.”

“Yes. But he has other sources.”

“Has he told you what he learned about Berend? His property?”

“Do you mean that he was one of Baron Montagu’s men, Salisbury’s father? And that the baron left him some land?”

Kate nodded. “And do you know why your captain is in the city?”

“Lady Margery. We are to search for her.”

“On the king’s orders. You dare not disobey.”

“Sir Elric will see that she comes to no harm.”

“So he promised me.”

“You can trust him.”

“And will he see that Berend comes to no harm?”

“If he said so. He is a man of his word.”

She prayed he was right. “What you said about the king, the lice. Did those who witnessed it take it as an omen?”

“The king and his councilors are assuring everyone that it is due to King Henry’s stringent penances with which he means to scour out all sin. They twist it to be a sign of his grace. But the folk, they are afeared it is a sign of damnation, that he transgressed in unseating the divinely anointed king, his cousin.”

Of course they would believe that, Kate thought. And now Henry would be ever more defensive, overbearing. Hence Elric’s warning. “A bad beginning,” she said.

“Yes.” Kevin shifted his feet. “You should go down to the kitchen, warm yourself. I was just coming to say farewell. For now.”

“If I should need you–”

“You have only to send me word.”

“Your captain. You are certain I can trust him?”

About to nod, Kevin paused. “He holds you in high regard, Dame Katherine, and I believe he means to keep you safe, no matter his orders. But he is the earl’s man, and he will not overtly challenge his orders.”

“You are saying that I am safe, but perhaps not Berend, or Lady Margery.”

“As I said, he will ensure that she comes to no harm under his watch.”

Kate nodded. “And if I asked for your help with the other?”

“If you trust Berend, so do I.”

His ardent gaze gave her pause. She was taking advantage of his regard for her.

“You would risk antagonizing your captain and the earl?”

“God is my conscience, no earthly lord.” He bowed to her, proffered his arm.

She could not deny it was good to have such an ally, but she must have a care not to ask for too much from this gentle man. Lightly touching his forearm, she crossed the landing with him.

As they began to descend the steps, he asked, “Petra’s dreams. Does she have the Sight?”

“She believes that she does, but I am unconvinced. In training her in archery I’ve witnessed her remarkable concentration, and her ability to recall every detail of the instruction even so far as what she sensed I judged most important. And she guesses rightly. I prefer to admire these abilities and think she simply hears and understands far more than she realizes.”

“You are very proud of her.”

“Of all three children. They have brought me great joy.”

“I will miss sharing their lives.”

“They will miss you, and we shall all miss your stories.” He had a keen eye for people’s quirks, turning them into amusing stories lacking all malice. Every evening Marie and Petra would beg him to tell them tales of the folk he had encountered on the street that day. She always knew when he obliged, hearing the peals of laughter even from across the yard.

They parted at the bottom of the steps, Kevin bowing to her, then continuing on toward Kate’s manservant Matt who was shoveling a pathway out to the street. As the two men greeted each other, Kate took the already cleared path from the house to the kitchen.

Jennet left a lively argument with the girls to see to Kate as she entered the kitchen.

“Fresh bread and cheese, some ale?”

Kate nodded. “Any news yet?” After the children had gone to bed the previous night, Kate had told Jennet all she had learned from Elric. Jennet was far more than a servant to Kate, she was a friend, confidante, business partner, and a connection to the invisible folk of York, the poor, young, and old, who survived by their wits and little else, her eyes and ears. As a sign of her trust, Kate never asked how Jennet contacted them, who they were, or how they gathered their information.

“So far no word of a bald man,” said Jennet. “Or two, one alone, badly scarred. But I extended that to anyone new in the city the past few days. A few had caught sight of a pair who seemed to be traveling together. Flickers, there and gone.”

“So they will let you know when they catch glimpses of anyone?”

Jennet grinned. “They will. It is just the sort of tracking we loved best as children on the streets. Ghosting, we called it.”

“Sometimes I think you miss it.”

“I enjoy being out among them, but I am ever grateful for a true home, safe, dry, warm.” A shrug. “They will now also keep an eye out for Berend.”

“He was not one of the pair by any chance?”

“You are thinking of Petra’s dream, are you?” Jennet asked.

Kate nodded.

“They could not say.”

Later, after breakfast, when Marie returned to her bedchamber to change the ribbons in her hair, Kate took the opportunity of asking Petra more about her dreams of Berend. “In the first one, he said he was duty-bound to leave, is that right?” Kate asked.

“That was not the first one,” the child said as she rubbed Lille’s ears, “but he did say that in the one about leaving.” She suddenly dropped her hands to her sides and frowned up at Kate. “You are worried about him. More than you were.” A statement, not a question.

But Kate did not want to lose the thread. “In last night’s dream you saw him running and hiding. He is in danger?”

Her dark eyes boring into Kate, Petra nodded.

“Is he alone?”

“I saw only him.”

“Who is chasing him?”

“The Sight is not like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“God does not explain what he shows me. And I cannot look round to see what else is there.”

A few months ago Petra had feared she might be cursed by the Sight. But she now framed it as a gift from God. Sister Brigida’s doing, perhaps, the girls’ tutor in French, Latin, and music, a challenging, but kind, teacher. Whoever had changed the child’s mind, Kate was grateful.

“Have you tried praying for guidance?” Kate asked.

“No. Old Mapes said to accept what was given with grace and never ask for more.”

Old Mapes was the elderly healer who had raised the child in the Scottish highlands, before her uncle claimed her and brought her to York. Kate stretched out her legs, thinking. “So you had dreamed of Berend before?” Ghent rose and came to settle beside her. She rested a hand on the wolfhound’s back.

Petra averted her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Even if it might help a friend in danger?”

The girl bit her lip, frowning. “I promise I will tell you anything that might help.”

Kate leaned over and touched her niece’s cheek. “I am grateful. So what is Brigida teaching you today?”

Petra’s face brightened. “We are learning new songs in praise of the Virgin Mary for Candlemas.” Hence their skipping their usual morning lessons at the school on Petergate for additional time with Sister Brigida. Candlemas was just days away. “Sister Brigida says I have a strong, beautiful voice. Marie is too breathy. I think that means she does not sing, she whispers.”

“Did Sister Brigida say that to Marie?”

Petra shook her head. “She said not to fear being heard. Let her voice soar to heaven. She said we must not ask God and his blessed mother to strain to hear our devotions.”

They shared a smile at Brigida’s discretion.

“Might I hear a little of the song?” Kate asked.

“I would rather wait to sing it when I know all of it.”

Kate loved how comfortably the child expressed her preferences. She considered walking with the children and Dame Brigida, as she was heading to the house next to her mother’s Martha House. The girls loved walking with the hounds, and she felt in need of their good cheer this morning. But she suddenly had a better idea. She would stop at the chandler’s shop near the market that sold wax writing tablets. Petra’s was chipped and Marie’s cracked. She would have them delivered to them in the classroom. Such a gift might brighten their day, and, in so doing, brighten hers.

“Then I shall look forward to hearing the song anon,” she said, kissing Petra’s cheek.

The long shelf on which the chandler displayed his goods always caught Kate’s attention as she passed into the marketplace, the scent of the more expensive beeswax candles reminding her of the chapel of her youth, the various lengths and shapes, the candles marked for the hours, they spoke to her of evenings in her mother’s bedchamber listening to stories, playing with the kittens her mother favored over the hounds. She liked this reminder of the happy moments in her childhood. But this morning she was after items the chandler did not have on display.

“Wax writing tablets?” the shop clerk smiled at Lille and Ghent as he repeated Kate’s request. “Oh, yes, the master has a wide selection, and they are easily joined into sets if you wish.” The young man whipped out a stack of three connected with leather thongs to open like a book.

“Single tablets will do for my girls,” she said. “Do you have any with a nice wood frame?”

A twinkle in the young man’s eyes. “I do, mistress.” He handled the book-like set with care as he returned it to the shelves behind him, and after a bit of rummaging presented two good-sized waxed tablets framed in a wood with a beautiful grain. “They were prepared for the mayor-elect’s daughter, but her mother refused them. Too heavy for her frail daughter.”

Poor Hazel. Kate’s girls had studied with her cousin’s daughter for a time, but of late Hazel had been too weak. Taking one of the tablets in hand, she knew Isabella Frost had been right in rejecting it for her daughter.

“My master might have pointed out that Mistress Frost had never specified the weight, as he would do with any other customer,” the clerk continued. “But one does not cross the wife of the mayor-elect. Especially one chosen by royal decree.”

“I do not think the king decreed William Frost’s election,” Kate suggested softly. The young man amused her, but her cousin would bristle at the suggestion that he had not been elected based on his own merits. “Marie and Petra will love these.”

He proposed a price higher than she intended to pay. She counter proposed. He argued, then named a sum slightly higher than her counter, and she agreed.

“Could I ask you to deliver them to the little schoolroom on Castlegate, the one run by the beguines?”

“We are happy to deliver, Mistress Clifford. To your niece and the bonny French girl?”

Kate smiled. “Yes, to them.” She glanced up for a moment and noticed Jon Horner hurrying into the market square, heading straight toward the booth of a spice seller new in the city. Horner, a scrivener, seemed a bit of a lackwit, with a soft, mincing way about him and a comic delight in bright colors and dramatically draped velvet hats. But those clothes cost more than a scrivener might honestly earn, and it was whispered in the guild that his appearance was a clever façade masking a cunning gamester who preyed on trusting folk who employed him to copy out wills and contracts.

Merek the spice seller was another unsavory character. Together they made a curious pair, their heads bent close now, Merek handing something to Horner, something the peacock began to examine, but the spice seller motioned to him to hide. The peacock seemed uncertain, but Merek waved him on, as if he considered the business concluded. Curious.

Kate had noticed Merek before Christmas, slouching down Petergate as if hoping to avoid notice. Folk said he claimed to sell varieties of pepper never encountered in the city. The guilds were aware of him. He was permitted only to sell in the market one day a week.

The chandler’s clerk interrupted her observation with a question about the delivery, and she was just tidying up details when a commotion distracted them.

The spice seller and the peacock had apparently finished their business. Horner stuffed something in the scrip at his waist as he glanced anxiously about, then scurried back in Kate’s direction, and Merek was already trotting off at a good clip as a customer shouted at him, “Come back here. I came out of my way–” He cursed as the spice seller disappeared amidst the stalls.

“Passionate about peppers,” the clerk quipped.

“One never knows another’s heart,” Kate said with an exaggerated sigh.

The two of them laughed as they completed their transaction.

Thomas Holme wagged his bushy white brows and congratulated Kate with all the heartiness she might have wished for. He proposed a toast to her success. But by the time he handed her the goblet of wine he was frowning and shaking his head.

“I need to review my accounts. As you should yours,” he said. “You know Lionel, he will demand to see them, ensure there are no outstanding payments or debts.”

“Clement has already reviewed mine,” she assured him.

“Ah. Clement is a good man. Still fit for the work, is he?”

“His body fails him, but his mind is as sharp as ever.”

Clement had been her late husband’s business factor, the one who had fixed Simon’s books so that his debts were invisible to his partners and the guild. And Kate. He had been well paid for the deception. But his conscience prevailed, albeit belatedly. An old man, bedridden for the most part, fearing eternal damnation should he not repent and make amends upon Simon’s death, he had given Kate money toward her late husband’s debts. A penance. In turn, Kate had installed Griselde and Clement in her guesthouse. It benefited Kate, as had the money, and she had entrusted Clement with her accounts, satisfied that he had learned his lesson.

“It is good you are wary of Lionel,” Thomas said. “A spice seller has been asking rather impertinent questions about him, his properties, and his connection to the powerful Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland. Nor am I the only merchant he’s approached with such curiosity about your brother-in-law. Tongues are wagging in the guild.”

“I had not heard.” That did not bode well for Lionel’s future business. “This spice seller. Does he go by the name Merek?” Kate asked.

“The very man.” Thomas nodded. “So he has approached you as well?”

“No. I just saw him with Jon Horner–”

“A pair of weasels.” Thomas sniffed. “In any case, once my contract with what is now Lionel’s business expires I mean to investigate his relationship with Merek before I agree to work with him again.”

“You have a reasonable concern,” Kate said.

“As for you and I, our ship is expected soon,” said Holme, smiling. “As soon as all the fuss of the mayor’s feast is past, we will be busy. You will examine the shipment with me?”

“Of course.” She took pride in her eye for quality. Her partners appreciated it.

“I do have a proposal.” He cleared his throat. “My nephew Leif is a personable young man, has managed my warehouses, and my late brother’s, for almost a decade. Honest, hardworking. I believe we would be all the better for employing him as our clerk for sales.”

“You no longer need him as a manager?”

“He would continue in that capacity as well. The truth of it is, Leif has a mind to marry.”

“I had not considered him,” said Kate. Leif Holme was a comely man, in his early thirties, she reckoned, with a good reputation and a pleasant manner. He just might do. “Who is the woman?”

“Cecily Wheeldon.” Holme nodded. “I see that frown. He knows he must bide his time, she is so recently widowed. Christmastide, was it not?”

“Forgive me, I should not judge. I do not know her well.”

Thomas peered at her. “But?”

With her partner, she could be honest. “There is something sly about her. Too curious, too many questions about the guesthouse.” Ever a concern, but more so at present. “I am not at ease in her company.”

“Oh?” Thomas and his mistress were regular patrons of Kate’s guesthouse. “Hm. I have my concerns as well. And I wondered– You have assured me in the past that you are well acquainted with the financial health of your clients, ensuring that no one has cause to betray a fellow they might encounter at the guesthouse.”

Kate, Jennet, and Matt did indeed investigate potential clients. “You wish me to look into the widow Wheeldon? Something in particular?”

“I am concerned that she uses Jon Horner as a sort of factor, representing her in financial matters, but not precisely an accountant. I do not trust the man.”

“Did he play that role when her husband was yet alive?”

“I don’t believe so. I might be mistaken.”

Jon Horner. Kate remembered the incident in the market, Horner and Merek. “I will see what I can learn.”

“You are a good friend, Katherine.”

“And if you do not like what you hear?”

“I will warn Leif. He might have his choice of young women in the city, being a Holme.” A shrug. “I cannot tell whether he is in love with her, or merely keen to make his mark and settle down.”

“He sounds an excellent candidate for us. Will he be comfortable coaxing money out of customers? He seems of a generous nature.”

“Oh, he has a way with him, Leif does. He will enjoy it. And we want no one too greedy, eh?”

“That we do not.” Kate smiled. “I believe we have a new clerk.”

They shook on it and parted on that satisfied note.

With a firm hold on the hounds’ leads, Kate picked her way down the poorly cleared path from Thomas Holme’s house to Castlegate, avoiding the deeper drifts of snow. For a moment she enjoyed a sense of satisfaction. She liked working with Thomas Holme, and he clearly meant to continue the partnership.

“Katherine. What a pleasant surprise!” Her mother, Eleanor.

How did she know her daughter was next door? It was possible she might see Kate from her own kitchen doorway – had it been open. But on the morning after a heavy snowfall, with the wind still brisk?

Wrapped in a costly fur-lined cloak, Eleanor waved to her from across the fence. “Rose and Nan have swept a path for you. Come along!”

A passing whim to wave gaily and hurry on gave way to the practical. Sisters Agnes, Brigida, Clara, and Dina, lay sisters in the tradition of the beguines of Strasbourg who comprised her mother’s Martha House, worked among the common folk in the city. In the course of a day they heard all the gossip. If anyone had heard about Lady Margery’s presence, or that of her serving man, they would have. Though it was early in the day for them to have been out and returned. Still, her mother expected her now, and so she played the obedient daughter.

A fire blazed in the hearth and lamps lit up the well-proportioned hall, Kate’s hall since shortly after she and Simon were wed until Michaelmas, just months ago. How she missed it. She watched Lille and Ghent take up their customary spot by the fire.

“You had business with Thomas Holme so early?” Eleanor asked as they settled on facing benches. “Or are you searching for the woman your knight’s men seek? Lady Kirkby?”

A thrust to the heart of her troubles. Her mother had an uncanny aim. But of course Elric’s men would inquire at a Martha House, an establishment that might take in a woman in peril. Even more so one founded by the mother of someone known to be Margery’s friend.

“He is not my knight.”

“As you wish.” A little smile. “I see you know something of this,” said Eleanor.

“Sir Elric did mention that Lady Kirkby might be in York.”

“This is the lady who gave Marie and Petra the brooches?”

“How did you know that?” Delicate gold filigree nests with jets in the shapes of eggs tucked inside.

“Oh, Marie talks of her all the time, Lady Margery said this, wore that, she is beautiful, witty, kind, and loved Marie best of all.” Eleanor smiled fondly. “Petra scowls every time, which is just what Marie intends. I am sorry that such a friend is in trouble. Would she seek you out?”

Was it a graver sin than usual to lie to the founder of a house of beguines? “Too dangerous. Too many know we are friends.”

“Do you believe she is part of the rebellion?”

“I find it difficult to imagine either Lady Kirkby or her husband plotting to murder the king and his sons.”

“But not impossible.”

Escaping her mother’s close regard, Kate rose and crossed the room as if to admire the statue of the Blessed Mother on the Lady altar. “I cannot imagine the circumstances that would so change them from ambassadors of peace to murderers. Has a traveler come seeking sanctuary, Mother?”

“No,” said Eleanor as she joined Kate, putting an arm round her. “But if she should, would you advise that we take her in?” she asked softly.

Kate met her mother’s steady gaze. “If she should appear on your doorstep, get word to me at once.”

“And keep her here until you arrive?”

“Yes.”

“Would you then give her up to your – Sir Elric?”

“I would hear Margery’s story before I decided. But that is not why I came,” said Kate. “I hear a little from Sister Brigida, but I wished to see you. It has been too long.”

“And so you see me.” Eleanor gave her an affectionate shake. “We are comfortable here. I pray we can look forward to a long lease?”

“I am happy with the arrangement,” said Kate. Though she wondered whether her mother would still prefer a more central location, such as the house on Low Petergate. Might they swap? She turned and took her mother’s hands, smiling into her startlingly green eyes. “I have some news. As I’ve just informed Thomas Holme, I have paid off the last of Simon’s debts.”

Her mother’s face lit up. “By the saints, you have done it, Katherine. I bow to you.”

Kate impulsively embraced her mother.

“Well, well,” Eleanor murmured as she patted her daughter’s back, then withdrew her arms. “Now what? Will you wed? Now that your cousin William is to be mayor you will have your pick of the eligible men in the city – faith, in the shire.”

“I am content as I am at present.”

“What of Sir Elric?”

Hoping to hide the flush as she remembered the warmth of his hands around hers the previous evening, Kate moved on to examine a new tapestry hanging on the wall. “He is not quite as irritating as he was, but ours is not that sort of relationship, Mother.”

“You may be the only person in York who does not see how he looks on you. But if you do not feel the same, well. What of Berend? Any word of him?”

“None.”

“I am sorry.” Spoken softly, her expression sincere.

Kate glanced away, fighting tears. “This is French?” she asked, fingering the heavy silk of the tapestry.

“It is. I saw it in a shop on the bridge and I could not resist. The colors are so lively, and the Virgin and Christ child so regal, yet tender.”

“And I trust you haggled over the price until the shopkeeper sold it to you for half its worth?”

“Well, there are imperfections. Notice the angel’s toes, and that thing that might have been intended to be a tree in the background?”

Kate laughed. “I do see. But is this behavior suitable to a beguine?”

“We work hard for our money.”

“You are a wealthy widow, Mother.”

“Founding a Martha House is costly. And you charge us a considerable rent.”

Kate embraced her mother. “I tease you. I am glad to see the sparkle in your eyes. You seem content in this life.”

“It suits me. I feel blessed.” Eleanor pecked Kate on the cheek, then held her at arms’ length. “So what is next? Will you still have some trade with Thomas Holme?”

“We expect one of our ships any day. Silks and spices. A contract I signed in my own name. Free and clear.”

“Will your brother-in-law see it so?”

“I ensured that Lionel would have a separate contract with Thomas, though it is of short duration.”

“Sufficient to appease him.”

“For now.”

“Clever. But what of this woman, Lady Kirkby? Can she harm you? You will not play the fool for her and risk everything, Katherine?”

Yes, yes, Mother, I am doing just that, she thought. Could she read Kate’s heart? After all, she had carried in her womb the twin who lived on in Kate so long after his death, why doubt that she had some uncanny powers?

“Katherine?”

“Sir Elric vows to keep Lady Kirkby safe, unharmed, until he delivers her up to the king’s men.”

“Your voice quieted with those last words. You do not trust what will happen to her then.”

“It is said that King Henry knows his reign will not be secure until Richard is dead, and that he sent one of his henchmen to Pontefract to see to it. The French king believes Richard is already dead. If King Henry has so little care for his cousin’s life, I cannot think he would blink at ordering Lady Kirkby’s death. Her husband was executed without trial.”

“What did he do?”

Kate repeated what Elric had told her.

“Mon Dieu,” Eleanor exclaimed. “He was executed for committing an act of mercy?”

Kate knew the look in her mother’s eyes, the sideways glance, the frown. A test, to prove to herself that her mother did not read her mind. “You will tell me if she comes to you, Mother?”

“Do you promise to follow your conscience?”

“In faith, Mother, I find I trip myself up if I attempt to go against what I know is right.” Her mother’s approving nod seemed a benediction. For a moment she felt good about hiding Margery.

A nod. “I will send you word, Katherine.”

Kate thanked her mother and bent to slip the hounds’ leads through their collars while she struggled with the urge to confide in Eleanor.

“I must say, I would very much like to meet this Margery.”

Kate glanced up in time to catch her mother’s sly smile and asked the question before her mother could ask it of her. “She is not already here?”

“No. I am not so cunning as that. I leave that to you.”

Kate studied her mother’s face, but saw no challenge. God be thanked.

As Kate walked back out onto Castlegate the sun broke through the clouds, turning the gardens across the way into a dazzling world of diamond-encrusted trees, shimmering in the updrafts from the river below. She was tempted to let the hounds romp in the snow, but she was anxious to talk to Griselde and Jennet, see whether they’d had any news of Carl, or rumors of Lady Margery’s presence. And Berend. Where was he?

She was beset with questions and disturbing possibilities. Had Margery somehow drawn Berend into another plot dreamed up by her too-trusting husband? May he rest in peace. No, Berend would not be so foolish. Or would he? Even if he felt a debt to his former lord’s heir? Whether Petra’s insight came from something overheard or was truly a glimpse through the Sight, the “duty bound” was far more likely to have drawn Berend. God help him.

He is a seasoned warrior, her twin Geoff said in her mind. You have trusted him with your life and those of your children. Why doubt him now?

I don’t doubt him, I fear for him, Geoff.

And?

And I’m angry. She felt her twin’s nod. I feel betrayed. He hid all this from me, his connection with Montagu, the gift of land. That is no small gesture from his former lord. Did he not trust me?

I will be curious to hear how he explains himself.

If he returns.

Too restless to enjoy the snowy gardens, she headed back toward the center of the city.

On Coney Street, just beyond the Ouse Bridge, Ghent startled her with a bark. Lille followed suit. Their eyes were trained on a man standing at the corner of the church of St. Michael, beneath the eaves, in a shadow so dark Kate might never have noticed him without their warning. Something about him was familiar, and when he carefully raised a three-fingered hand to his mouth, Kate caught her breath. It was Berend, gesturing to the hounds to be quiet. They obeyed, looking away. Her heart raced. Berend, alive and well enough to be standing there, to respond quickly to what must have been an unexpected encounter. But why silence the hounds’ greetings? And why was Berend now slowly backing round the corner of the church? Ah, he was not looking at her, but across the street as he disappeared.

Whispering a command to the hounds to continue walking, but slowly, Kate studied the passersby, then looked across the street. Two men in travel-stained clothes tensely watching the crowd, their eyes darting back and forth. She guided Lille and Ghent diagonally so they wound up close to them. She nodded to one as he doffed his hat and bowed to her.

Lancastrian livery. King’s men, Geoff whispered in her head.

I noticed.

The second man bobbed his head, but was clearly impatient to be moving on, edgy. King’s men tracking Berend and they’d lost the scent?

“Fine hunting dogs,” said the more courteous one. “Unusual to see such fine beasts in the city.”

Kate nodded. “I take pride in them. I trained them myself.”

“But not here, I warrant. I hear the North in your speech.”

“This is the North,” she said. “Good day to you. God speed.”

He was bowing when she moved off, Lille and Ghent obediently trotting on either side, though she sensed their confusion, which only echoed her own. Why had Berend been lurking just there? Was he observing the king’s men? Or was she wrong about the connection? Perhaps they were simply passing through the city on some business related to the Lancastrian properties. Or searching for Lady Margery, not Berend. As she crossed into St. Helen’s Square, Kate paused, considering the York Tavern. The yard was empty at the moment. The quiet before the bustle of the midday diners. She might catch Sir Elric, find out whether he knew anything about the two men she had encountered. As she skirted round the cemetery in the middle of the square and crossed into the yard, she was busy fabricating a story about why the men made her uneasy without mentioning Berend. But it was simple – he would want to know.

The taverner Colin Merchet welcomed Kate as she stepped through the doorway into the public room, but shook his head at the hounds. “Forgive me, Mistress Clifford, but we permit no dogs on the premises. My granddam will not have them.” He was a pleasant-faced man, short, muscular, with the beginnings of a prosperous belly. Fair hair curled round his face, damp beneath a felt cap, a contrast to his dark eyes and ruddy complexion.

“Then would you kindly ask Sir Elric to come out to the yard?” asked Kate. “I will wait there.”

“I would, but he is not here,” said Colin with an apologetic shrug.

“Ah. Then if you will tell him I wish to speak to him.”

Colin was about to answer when he glanced at someone who had just come up behind Kate and said, “And just like that, he appears.”

Turning, she found herself face to face with Sir Elric, who smiled as he greeted her with warmth, then crouched to greet the hounds. There was a time not so long in the past when they would have growled at him as they had the king’s man, baring their teeth, sensing Kate’s distrust. But as she’d grown more trusting of the knight, so had they. They sniffed his face, the hands he rested on his thighs, and then Ghent nudged him with his head.

“Do give their ears a rub. They sense Colin Merchet’s disapproval and could use some affection.”

“It’s not I who disapproves,” Colin protested.

Elric glanced up at the taverner. “Disapproval? Merchet, how can you look on this fine pair and not admire them? What problem do you foresee?” He rubbed Ghent’s ears, then Lille’s.

“They are dogs,” Colin said with a shrug.

“They are indeed. Your point?”

“We do not allow dogs in the tavern. Dame Bess’s orders.”

“No wonder the stable lad is so busy chasing rats,” Elric muttered. After one more affectionate rub for each, praising Lille and Ghent as both brave and gentle, Elric rose and turned to Colin. “I vouch for these noble hounds, Merchet. They are better trained, better behaved than most humans, and are worthy guests of your tavern.”

“I pray you forgive me, Sir Elric, but my granddam has never permitted dogs in here.”

“If you turn them away, you turn me away, for Mistress Clifford is my dear friend.”

His dear friend, Geoff repeated in her head with a chuckle.

You may be amused, but his friendship has proven useful, she noted to Geoff.

“My granddam will have my head,” said Colin, shaking his head at Elric.

“Then you have little to lose, for she will either way. You might recall that Dame Bess was eager for my patronage. She will not be so sanguine when I ask her to give me the bill. But so be it.” Elric shrugged and turned to Kate, his back to Colin, his eyes laughing. “You had suggested an alternative lodging in the city. Is it still available?” Clearly he expected to win this.

“It is indeed,” she said, making as if to depart with Lille and Ghent.

“No, I pray you, be not so hasty. I will make this right,” said Colin as he stepped aside, motioning them to enter. “Forgive my hesitation, Mistress Clifford.”

Kate inclined her head, acknowledging his apology.

“I regret that I returned to the inn only to fetch something from my chamber,” said Elric. “I must be away to a meeting.”

“A pity,” said Kate.

“Indeed.” Elric bowed. “I would fain have whiled away an hour in your fair company.”

“But it is no matter. I had a question, that is all.” She drew him away from the hovering taverner, briefly describing the two men.

Elric thanked her for the news. “If they are the king’s men we’re expecting, I am glad to be forewarned.”

“So you know nothing of them?”

“No. I will find out and send you word.” He quickly bowed to her and strode off across the tavern to the corridor beyond.

“I pray you, Mistress Clifford, do have a seat by the fire and dry your skirts. I will bring you a bowl of ale.”

It was inviting, now she was here. “And some water for Lille and Ghent?” Kate asked.

“Of course,” said Colin, now eager to serve. “In truth I found it hard to part with my own dogs when I inherited the tavern. Granddad had not warned me that Granddam’s rule would apply to my dogs.” He bustled away, returning with the ale, quickly followed by a large bowl of water, and two sizable ham hocks on a platter. Ghent and Lille sat up sharply as they smelled the peace offering.

Kate thanked the taverner for his generosity and nodded at the bowl of ale in her hands, which she found a perfect blend of bitter and sweet, and thick yet not chewy. “Your granddad’s recipe?”

Colin nodded with pride. “Best in shire, maybe best in the realm. Granddad was so revered for his ale that folk came from all corners of the North to attend his requiem.”

Tom Merchet had died before Kate arrived in York, but she had never heard a cross word about the man, and there was no question this was the best ale she’d ever tasted. The Merchets were respected in York. She had been remiss in not befriending them. She must correct that. Shaking her head at Colin’s offer of more ale, Kate was gathering the hounds’ leads when Elric returned, nodding with satisfaction to see Lille and Ghent finishing off their treats.

“You’re a good man, Merchet,” he said, just as the outer door opened and Douglas, Stephen, and Wulf entered the tavern.

Elric greeted them with a puzzled shake of his head. “I thought to meet you later.”

“We have something for you,” said Douglas. “Thought it should not wait.”

As Kate bent to slip the hounds’ leads into their collars she overheard a little of Stephen’s report to Elric, her ears pricking up at “Lancastrian livery” and “Ouse Bridge.”

Elric caught her eye and motioned her over.

“They would state only that they came to York in pursuit of three folk, a woman and two men, perhaps her menservants,” Douglas was saying.

Margery, Carl, and–? Kate tried to quiet her mind so she could listen.

“The important thing is the king’s men are in York, and need watching,” Elric said to his men. “Why is Kevin not with you? Did he follow them?”

“We’ve not seen him this morning, captain,” said Stephen. “We’re hoping he’s not run off with young Marie Neville. Dame Katherine will have her hounds after him if that’s so, eh?” He grinned at her.

“Poor man. He would soon come back of his own accord. The child has sharp teeth,” Kate said, and was laughing with them when she noticed a shadowy figure standing quite still in the kitchen doorway. Guessing it to be Old Bess, she thought it wise to take her leave. “Forgive me, but I must be off.”

Kate glanced back as she led Lille and Ghent toward the outer door and saw that it was indeed Bess Merchet, now standing in the room, the ribbons on her white cap trembling as she looked aghast at the dogs. She called sharply for Colin.

As the door closed behind Kate she heard Elric using his most silken tone with the elderly taverner. Crossing the yard, she smiled to herself, imagining him charming Old Bess out of her anger.

Old Bess is hearing too much. How much does Elric tell her?

I thought you trusted him, Geoff.

So far as a knight can be trusted. He owes everything to his lord. As does Berend?

As he did, Geoff. I would think Berend owes nothing to his lord’s son. Why would he answer his summons?

If he did, Kate. We don’t know.

God help her. Berend’s disappearance was painful, but Elric’s revelations, and seeing Berend this morning, having him flee from her, the possibility that he was running from the king’s men … She did not know what she felt. Anger? Frustration? Fear?

Dare I trust Elric? With my secret guest?

I suppose you must wait and see. At least you know you can trust Kevin, Geoff assured her. He might be of help, and I’ve no doubt he will warn you if his captain does anything that might bring you harm.

But would he disobey the command to search for Lady Margery?

Ah. That is the question.

Kate thought not. Nor would she ask it of him.

The wind had begun to pick up and she hurried the hounds down Stonegate and round the corner to the guesthouse. She wanted to find out whether anyone in Lancastrian livery had come there with questions about either Berend or Margery.