A Murdered Peace

5 Questions of Trust

Fragrant warmth welcomed Kate as she opened the door to the guesthouse hall. As she crossed the room toward the kitchen she paused, hearing a familiar voice behind her. “Phillip?” She checked her progress and turned back to the door of Clement and Griselde’s bedchamber.

“Mistress Clifford, I can explain,” said Griselde, hurrying out from the kitchen to intercept.

But Kate was already at the door, pushing it open to reveal her ward Phillip sitting beside Clement in bed, both bent over a portable writing desk. Abacus, tally sticks, ledgers – it was clear her ward was assisting Clement with Kate’s accounts. The boy had a skill with numbers and had kept his mother’s accounts from an early age. He currently kept the accounts of the master mason to whom he was apprenticed as a stoneworker in the minster yard, but Kate had gently refused his offer to work on hers, for many reasons.

Phillip was intent on completing an entry in the ledger, but Clement glanced up and cleared his throat, nudging the lad.

Quietly, Kate asked, “Phillip, how long have you been assisting Clement?”

Only now did the boy pull his eyes away from the ledger and straighten, his eyes begging her for clemency. “A while. But Master Hugh is pleased with my work in the stoneyard.”

“Are you still keeping his accounts as well?”

Phillip nodded. “Just the daily tallies. I do them after Mistress Grantham serves dinner, before I return to the stoneyard to complete my assignments for the day. Please don’t be angry with Master Clement.”

“I am not your master, dear boy,” Clement said gruffly.

Poor Clement. His health continued its steady decline. The only color in the old man’s wrinkled face were unhealthy red spots on his cheeks, and the smells of sickness soured the room despite Griselde’s efforts to mask them with fragrant wood burning in the brazier and dried herbs hanging near the door and over the bed.

Kate bent to kiss Phillip on the forehead. “I am not angry, but worried. When do you rest? When do you sleep? And why are you not at work in the stoneyard this morning?” She did not need to ask why he had not told her. He knew full well she was already concerned that his accounting work for the master mason added too many hours to his day as an apprentice.

“I completed my morning’s work betimes. I am well, Dame Katherine. I am. And Clement needed me. It is not arduous, there are not nearly so many entries as with Master Grantham’s accounts.”

“The guesthouse and my businesses? I doubt that,” said Kate. Though Hugh Grantham was a merchant as well as a master mason, he limited his trading, of necessity.

Phillip bowed his head and gave a little shrug.

Clement patted the boy’s hand. “It is my doing, Mistress Clifford. I asked if he might help me. I could not think of anyone else I might trust.”

That was the other reason Kate had refused Phillip’s offer to keep her books. When she had learned the extent of her late husband’s debts, she had received promises from her fellow executors, Thomas Holme and Thomas Graa, that Simon’s secret was safe with them; particularly safe from the guild and her brother-in-law, Lionel. Clement had taken on the burden of secrecy as a penance for having kept Simon’s situation a secret from her. Such secrecy was a not something she wanted burdening her ward.

“I would have preferred that you consulted me, Clement.” She waved him quiet as he began to excuse himself. “The deed is done, but Phillip cannot continue here indefinitely. He has worked hard to become an apprentice at the minster. This is a great opportunity for him to realize his dream.”

“Dame Katherine,” Phillip pleaded with his eyes.

“It takes you away from the work you love.” Kate smoothed his hair.

A reluctant nod.

Behind Kate, Griselde moaned. “Mistress Clifford, I pray–”

“Do not fret, Griselde. Your role in this household is not in jeopardy. I value both of you, and I have long thought Clement needed an assistant. We must put our heads together and find one for him, eh?”

“And until you do?” Phillip asked.

“You may continue to assist until I do.” His smile and Clement’s tears were Kate’s reward. But at what cost to the boy?

She nodded to all of them and withdrew. Clearly it was up to her to find a replacement. Clement had been largely housebound for several years, so any clerks he might have known were either employed or gone. And he would have no idea of their allegiances. She must find someone who could be trusted to be discreet. A challenge.

She found the hall empty, the hounds gone. Out in the kitchen, Lille and Ghent were sharing a plate of cold meats – at this rate they would soon be too fat to run. She stepped over to where the young manservant Seth was demonstrating to Lady Margery how to cut up vegetables. In a plain gown, simple leather shoes, and hair hidden beneath a short veil secured at the nape of her neck while she worked, Margery, or “Mary,” looked small and insignificant.

Seth glanced up with a little frown. “I should have told you about Phillip.”

“But you did not want to be a tit-tattle,” said Kate.

He shrugged. “No excuse.”

“What’s done is done. Why does Clement have need of Phillip?”

“It is his memory, Mistress Clifford,” said Griselde from the doorway. “It slips and slides, upending his tallies, confusing him. And it’s not drink. He’s had little ale or wine. He wants his wits about him.”

Seeing the sagging shoulders and the pain in the housekeeper’s eyes, Kate took Griselde’s arm and led her to a bench, where she settled beside her.

“You must keep me informed, else how can I help? How often does Clement leave his bed?”

“Not often. His legs are so weak and twisted. I can see it’s painful for him to pull himself along on the crutches Seth made for him.”

“I’d hoped they’d help,” said Seth.

“They do. But he tires so easily.” There was a catch in Griselde’s voice.

“You did your best, Seth,” said Kate. She had a thought. “You are so handy with carpentry. I wonder whether you might be able to replicate Beatrice Paris’s chair.” She told them about the wheeled chair that had allowed her neighbor’s wife to move about the house.

Griselde’s face brightened. “A wheeled chair! I do believe he would perk up if he could move about more easily.”

“I could make one.” Seth loped over to the corner of the kitchen where he slept on a pallet. From a shelf he plucked a wax tablet and stylus, sat down on a bench and began to draw. “The wooden wheels on the old barrow in the garden shed might do. What sort of chair did they use?”

“It was cobbled together from parts of the cart, as I recall.”

“We can do better,” said Seth, glancing up at Griselde.

“You are thinking of the old chair in our bedchamber?” she nodded. “I used to set it out in the garden so he might have some fresh air. An ugly chair, but serviceable.”

“Just the thing,” said Seth.

“Is it just the accounting work that challenges Clement?”

Griselde shook her head. “He has been trying to recall something he once learned about Berend, something he has a feeling might suggest where he has gone. Master Simon was concerned that you had hired a criminal out of sympathy for his war wounds. He wanted to know more about Berend. Clement discovered something but failed to write it down, and now he cannot quite grasp it – it stays just out of reach. Something about a place. That he owned, mayhap? But not his parents’ tavern?” That was where Berend had learned to cook. “A small farm, he thought.”

Her late husband had learned of Berend’s gift of land from his former lord? The one she had just learned of? “Did he not share the information with you when he first heard of it?” Kate asked Griselde.

“No. He says he feared I would tell you Simon was interfering. He remembers that part.” Griselde sighed. “Maybe once he’s able to move about more in the wheeled chair the fog in his head will clear.”

“I pray it does,” said Kate. She wondered what else he knew about Berend.

“But you did not come for all this, I trow.”

Kate nodded toward Lady Margery. “Has Phillip met the new maidservant?”

“No. Mary has stayed out of sight,” said Griselde.

“I am becoming well acquainted with the storeroom,” Margery said, motioning with the cutting knife toward the curtained doorway to one side of the kitchen. “I have a mind to make up my bed in there tonight. But I am grateful.”

“No word of Carl?”

Both Margery and Griselde shook their heads.

“Jennet stopped by to ask whether he had arrived, and brought this gown for me.” Margery held up the skirts and bowed.

Kate had wondered where she had procured the gown of undyed wool. “I trust she included a linen underdress?” Or it would be scratchy to a woman accustomed to fine clothes.

“Bless her, she did,” said Margery.

Without the red hair and bright clothes, the noblewoman was quite transformed. Only those who knew her well might pause before her, wondering what had brought her to mind. Still, Elric knew her well enough. As did all three of her wards.

As Margery turned back to her work, Kate softly instructed Griselde to keep Mary hard at work. The more she inhabited the role of Mary the maidservant, the less likely she would be to move and behave as a noblewoman. And she must earn her keep, she told her quietly. They were risking everything for her.

“Her hands …”

“We want them rough,” said Kate.

“Of course.”

Seth glanced back at them. “You told me to remind you of two things you must tell Mistress Clifford.”

Griselde’s hands flew to her face and she muttered something about her failing memory. “Oh dear me, forgive me, Mistress Clifford. I meant to tell you something that slipped my mind last night. Come, have a seat. Seth, some ale, if you would.”

Kate was about to decline, but, seeing the worry etched in the lines on her housekeeper’s face she thought she might need it. “Tell me.”

“There is a spice seller with a stall next to Old Cob the eel man in the market. Merek, he is called. Yesterday, when I bought the eel for your celebration, this Merek wanted to know why he’s not seen Berend in the market of late.”

Kate did want that ale after all. “I’ve noticed him.” Just this morning, in fact. “A sly one, he seemed to me.”

“That would be him. Berend had warned me to have nothing to do with either the man or his goods.”

“Did he? Why?”

“Said he was the devil, out for souls, not money.”

“Berend said that?”

“He did, and with such a scowl that I’ve heeded his advice without question.”

“But yesterday Merek spoke to you?”

“He did. And as Old Cob wrapped the eels I’d purchased the dear man leaned close and said under his breath, ‘Begging your pardon, Goodwife Griselde, but most folk at the market have naught to do with yon merchant. Too many questions about our friends. He is cooking up a pot of poison, that one. Just a warning.’”

“So Old Cob knows his reputation.” Kate nodded. “Did you say anything to the spice seller, Griselde?”

“I said I could not see as it was his concern where you sent your cook and for how long.” Griselde gave an indignant sniff.

“Bless you. That was the best answer.”

The wrinkles rearranged themselves in a bright smile. “I hoped it was the right thing to say. Seth thought it was.” She nodded to him.

“Come, sit with us a moment,” Kate said to the young man, who was hovering over Margery’s hesitant gestures with the knife. Jennet was teaching Seth how to listen and watch, skills Kate valued in her servants, so she asked, “What did you notice about this Merek?”

Seth was quick to bring a stool to the table and sit down, leaning toward her, eager to add his observations. “He watched us all the while we were in the market. I noticed him when we arrived, trying to listen in to Goodwife Griselde’s chatter with Old Cob – not that there was anything to hear, except that the earl’s men would be dining with you at the guesthouse.”

Griselde frowned. “Perhaps I should not–”

“No.” Kate touched the woman’s folded hands. “I am glad he knows the stature of our dinner guests. He might be less likely to meddle.” She motioned to Seth to go on.

“Merek watched us even after we moved on,” said Seth. “Whenever I glanced back toward him his beady eyes would be just flicking off, pretending I hadn’t caught him. He went hurrying away when we were leaving the market.”

“With someone?” Kate asked.

“Not that I could see. I slipped round behind a stall to watch him. He was in a hurry, dodging round people.”

“Good work,” said Kate. She turned back to Griselde. “You had two things to tell me – the second?”

“The visitors, yes. We had visitors, well-spoken men, though not of noble status, two of them, travel-worn, but their clothes were of fine cloth and leather, and beneath their cloaks I noticed badges, livery, but you know I am not good at recognizing the houses.”

Kate described the two men she’d encountered by St. Michael’s near Ouse Bridge.

“The very men. They said they were stopping at all the inns and guesthouses in the city to warn us of two men and a woman looking for a place to hide. One of the men was probably limping on his left leg. And a woman, not young, but still handsome, well dressed.”

Margery had gone quite still.

Lady Margery, Carl, and– Berend? “What did they want with them?” Kate asked.

“They warned me not to give them shelter. That they are wanted by King Henry and it would be treason to help them.”

“Was there another man in your company, Mary?” Kate asked.

Without turning to look at Kate, Margery said, “We did walk for a while with a farmer coming to market.”

Was Margery lying? Did she come with Berend? “Did they say anything else?” she asked Griselde.

“They warned me to insist on seeing whoever wanted lodging, not agree to make arrangements with a third person.” Griselde smiled. “Of course they could not know how careful we are.”

“Did you say any more to them?”

“They asked whether we had rooms available. I explained we have no rooms to let at present, so we were in no danger of accepting such lodgers. Then they wanted to know who was lodging here. I told them that we obey all the laws of the city regarding notifying the council of strangers biding here.”

Which was rare indeed. “And they accepted that?”

A sniff. “What could they say? They had no standing here.”

“Good. You must send Seth to tell me if the men return, or if Carl appears. At once.”

Griselde frowned. “Should I keep the men here until you come? What if–”

“No. I just want to know. Seth, watch which way they go as they leave, if you would.”

“Do you know who the men were, Mistress Clifford?” asked Seth. Too eagerly.

“Your visitors might have been the king’s men as their badges were Lancastrian livery. The king is calling on Lancastrian retainers from all his holdings, so not all wear the royal livery. But now you know, so tell me if you see any others with such badges, or wearing blue and white livery, for that matter.”

“God help me,” Margery whispered.

Griselde crossed herself. “And Merek the spice seller?”

“Next time, ignore him.”

“Gladly,” said Griselde. “Cock of the walk, he counts himself.”

Seth did not look so sanguine. “He should be watched.”

Kate promised him that he would be, by Sir Elric’s men. Rising, she thanked all three, then called to Lille and Ghent and began to depart.

“About Phillip,” said Griselde, hurrying to escort Kate to the door, “I had not thought how it would rob him of time to rest.” She searched Kate’s expression, clearly looking for forgiveness.

Kate understood why they had done it, but a woman must always be firmer with her business associates than a man needed to be, else people would take advantage. “I was surprised you risked keeping it from me. I might not be so understanding next time.” She was fond of Griselde, and compassionate toward Clement, but disappointed, and wanted them to know that. She put up her hand to quiet another apology. “I will find help for Clement. Until then, Phillip may continue to help him. But you will not send for him. Let him come in his own time.”

Chastened, Griselde nodded. “God go with you, Mistress Clifford.”

“And you, Griselde.” And with us all.

Back at her own home, Kate led Lille and Ghent round the back of the house to the kitchen, where she found Jennet standing over the fire, her freckled face flushed from the heat and the vigor with which she was stirring. “Marie will have my hide if she discovers I let her fine stew stick to the bottom of the pot.” With Berend gone, Marie and Jennet were sharing kitchen duties, Marie assembling something for Jennet to cook before leaving for her lessons. “I don’t know how Berend does three things at once. I cannot seem to watch the yard and keep dinner from burning.” With her forearm she blotted the sweat from her brow, taking a moment to look Kate up and down. “You might want to dry your skirts and boots before you go up to talk to him.”

“Him?”

“Berend.”

“He’s here?” Kate went back to the door, half-expecting to see the king’s men. But the yard was empty.

“Up in your chamber, I should think, not in the yard,” said Jennet. “He doesn’t think I saw him, but I told you making the gate at the bottom of the steps open with a creak would stand us in good stead. I caught a glimpse of him as he was climbing up.”

Pray God he meant to tell her who he’d been watching, and why he’d left without a word, how he was tied to the uprising.

Jennet tilted her head, studying Kate. “You are not half so surprised as I expected. You knew he was back?”

“I did not expect him to come to the house. But yes, I saw him earlier, near Ouse Bridge.” Kate told her of the encounter.

Jennet muttered a curse. “King’s men. I don’t like the sound of that. Nor his stealing up the steps without even peeking into the kitchen. But he’s up there waiting for you. I’ve had my ears pricked since then. He’s not come down.”

Kate went to the fire and shook out her skirts, stalling for time to resolve her roiling emotions – joy that he had come to her, fear for him, dread about what he would reveal.

“Well?” said Jennet. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“We need to listen for Berend,” said Kate, taking care to speak softly. “Or for whoever might follow him. Where’s Matt? Did you alert him?”

A nod. “He’s in the hall. When I went in to warn him we got to talking – well, whispering so Berend could not overhear us from above. That’s when this stuck to the bottom of the pot.” Jennet muttered a curse and resumed stirring. “I do not want to think what punishment awaits me. That child is cunning.” But she was smiling. Both girls loved Jennet and would do anything to be permitted to follow her on her perambulations around York and out the gates, checking in with her eyes and ears. No matter how difficult the lives Jennet described, the girls thought it all exciting. And, in truth, both had lived through difficult times before they had come into Kate’s household that hardened them in ways that broke her heart. But Jennet agreed with her that they must now be kept safe and away from danger.

“If a stranger comes asking questions, you know what to do,” said Kate. “And don’t let the hounds fool you into feeding them – they’ve just had a feast at the York Tavern, and more at the guesthouse.” She returned their leads to their hook by the door.

Jennet whistled. “The York? Old Bess permitted it?”

“I will tell you all about it. And I have a new task for you. Learn what business Cecily Wheeldon has with Jon Horner. Or, rather, what role he plays for her.” She met Jennet’s curious gaze. “No, not a prospective client. Thomas Holme’s nephew is interested in the widow.”

“Horner’s slippery as an eel. I look forward to it.”

Still Kate hesitated. “I don’t know what to expect of Berend. He seemed a stranger out on the street.”

“Not to the hounds.”

“No, not to them.” Kate looked over at Lille and Ghent, stretched out near the fire, calm, satisfied after their outing and unexpected treat. She had trained them well. They had seen Berend, known him, obeyed his signal, no hesitation.

“Go on, then,” Jennet said softly. “At least he’s alive, and moving about on his own two feet.”

She was right. Many a night Kate had stared at the ceiling worrying about Berend, what had become of him, fearing that she might never know. No matter what he told her, it was better than forever wondering. She went out into the yard, stepping back close to the wide trunk of the oak, seeing that no one was visible on the second story landing and the doors were shut. Hers was nearest the stairs, then the girls’ room, and a spare for Phillip or guests. Each had a small shuttered window looking out onto the landing, and hers had another on the street. None of the shutters were open. Even the snow on the railing was undisturbed. One would never know she had a visitor. Crossing back to the bottom of the steps, she noticed wet prints leading up, but none of them were complete prints, certainly not enough to tell anything about Berend’s condition, whether he was limping. She almost wished Matt were not so efficient about clearing the snow from the steps.

You are stalling, Geoff whispered in her mind.

She was. All she need do was go up, see him for herself.

In her old house, the steps up to the solar were inside the hall, an added security; here, the stairs to the second story chambers were outside the house. In warm weather they might keep the door near the foot of the steps open, so that anyone in the hall might see someone approaching, but in winter that was not feasible. So they’d installed a noisy gate at the bottom, not locked, but hung on its hinge so that it gave a loud, harsh squeak when swung open – unless one knew how to lift it and swing it out. Berend knew to do this, but Jennet said she’d heard the squeak; he’d intended to alert whoever was there of his presence. Heartened, she climbed, avoiding the two creaking risers rigged by Matt and Jennet in case an intruder managed to open the gate silently.

She paused on the landing before her own door, taking a deep breath, then drew her dagger from the hidden scabbard in her skirt and kicked the door wide. Just in case.

“It’s me. Berend.” The familiar voice came from the far corner.

Strange how even now the mere sound of his voice comforted Kate. But she reminded herself to stay alert. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that he had the street-side shutters slightly opened and stood where he could watch the busy intersection of Petergate and Stonegate. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“I expected you sooner,” he said. “I watched you arrive a while ago.”

Kate told him to step away from the window. “I want some light to see you while we talk.”

Berend moved aside as she crossed the room, still holding her dagger at the ready, and opened the shutters.

He eased himself down onto the bench at the foot of Kate’s bed with a soft sigh and bent and flexed his left knee a few times, then began to rub it. Limping on his left leg – yes, he would be. So he must be the one seen traveling with a woman and another man. How many trios like that could there be on the road to York?

“An injury?” she asked.

“You know what days on horseback are like.”

She crouched down in front of him, lifting his chin. “A new scar beneath your eye.”

“It is nothing.” The angry flesh twitched as he spoke, belying his casual tone.

Compared to missing toes, fingers, ear, that was true. But the cut had come perilously close to his left eye, and the flesh was still red, angry, likely still painful. He should be applying a comfrey or arnica cream to draw out the heat and keep the skin soft to minimize the scar so that it did not pull. But he did not seem in the mood to welcome advice, no matter how well meant. “Left knee, left eye. Battle wounds?” she asked.

“The knee is stiff from travel, that is all.”

His voice was hoarse, and Berend sagged as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders. Sitting back on her heels, Kate studied his shadowed eyes, sunken cheeks, filth caked into lines of weariness. His tunic, shirt, hose, cloak all needed laundering. He stank. As had Margery.

“You left abruptly without a word to me,” she said. “Why?”

He fixed his eyes on the floor just past his feet. “So I need not explain.”

That he had lost his bearings? That he meant to slaughter the king’s sons? She prayed he had not so betrayed his soul. “Why are you here now?”

“The Lancastrians I was watching – they are searching for someone,” he said. “Did they question you? Is it Margery Kirkby they seek?”

He had come to find out what the Lancastrians had said to her, nothing more. Her disappointment surprised her. Kate did not know what she had expected – had she thought he would say he’d come because he needed to see her, make sure she was safe, that when he’d seen her on Coney Street his heart had called him to her? Was she so foolish?

Margery Kirkby was uppermost on his mind. She was curious about that, curious about many things. She wanted to learn as much as she could before she told him what she knew of the men, and Margery, not simply spit it out and risk that he would vanish again.

“The spice seller, Merek,” she said. “What is he to you?”

Berend glanced up, surprised. “Is he still in York?” He nodded as if that was good news.

So he did know him. “He is. And he seems far too interested in you – where you’ve been, how long ago you left,” she said. “Shall we trade stories? You first.” Kate leaned against the wall, too agitated to sit, her arms crossed, holding her breath as she watched Berend, who worked his stiff knee.

In the silence, she could hear a cart clatter by down on the street, a woman shouting, “Stay out in the middle, you blind arse!”

Berend looked up and met Kate’s eyes, grinning at the woman’s cry. Kate did not mirror his smile.

“Merek,” she said.

“I know him,” he admitted. “From long ago. He carried messages for the lord I served at the time, but I knew him to be slippery. He would not flinch about betraying anyone for a price. He came here on a mission for the son of my former lord.”

So Merek had come here in the service of John Montagu, Earl of Salisbury. Kate had not expected that. “Is he in York because of you?”

Berend winced as he stretched out his left leg. Kate fought her instinct to offer to send for Matt’s cousin Bella, a skilled healer.

“Well? Is he?”

“I was his original purpose. Or one of them. Had delivering the message to me been his sole purpose, he would be gone. I fe– I thought he would have been long gone.”

Feared he would be long gone, that is what he’d begun to say, what his face expressed, and the relief when she’d said he was still in York. “He frightened Griselde with questions about you,” she said.

Berend leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “I will talk to him.”

“So he came to find you for the Earl of Salisbury? What was the message?”

He looked stricken. “You already knew of my connection to Salisbury?”

So it was true. “That you were in his father’s household. Yes, I just learned of it, and I know that Salisbury was one of the leaders in the plot to assassinate Henry and his sons. Were you part of that?”

A subtle squirm. “I would never agree to the murder of children. His sons are boys – fourteen, thirteen, eleven, eight. It was madness from the beginning. To think they might put Richard back on the throne by committing such a heinous act – madness.” Berend sat up straight enough now, his eyes on fire, challenging her and all the world for questioning his honor. But he knew much, that was plain. And the question had discomfited him.

Kate felt she was at last seeing his sincere emotions – outrage, pain, exhaustion. And something else – guilt? For what? He had been among the rebels. She sank down on a bench across from him and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. “I could not imagine you harming a child,” she admitted. “But when you left without a word I doubted what we had. What was the message?”

“The earl wanted something of me, but when I learned what it was, I refused him. I did not mean to cause you pain.”

“Refused to murder the king’s sons?’ she asked softly.

Her question was met with silence.

“What are we doing, Berend?” When he still did not answer, she opened her eyes and sat up, reaching for his hands, his scarred, strong hands. For the first time in her experience they were cold. He looked away, as if rebuking her gesture of friendship. “You are in danger,” she said. “I know that much. I know the king believes you were part of Salisbury’s conspiracy.”

“Sir Elric told you that?”

“Yes.”

Still he did not look her in the eye. “What do you know of the Lancastrians we saw today?” he asked.

She told him what little she knew, including the description the men had given Griselde. “It was you, wasn’t it? With Margery and her manservant?”

Berend bowed his head, whispering a curse.

“What has this to do with you?” she asked.

“Nothing but that I chose the worst time to return.” His voice was rough with weariness.

“Because you are known to be connected to the Montagu family, now marked as traitors to King Henry? And traveling with Lady Margery Kirkby, whose husband was marked as a traitor?” She did not mention Berend’s known itinerary, the most damning piece.

He withdrew his hands – gently, not in anger – and looked her in the eyes. “Salisbury, Montagu, Kirkby. It is dangerous to be associated with any of those names at present. Even you look at me differently.”

“I am angry about how you left. And – what I said – I doubted everything, the trust I thought we had. And what I’ve learned about you since – there is so much I did not know.”

“You have been investigating my past as you do potential customers?”

“No! It is not like that. Your disappearance has been noticed. People talk. And I feared for you.”

“How much do you know?”

She chose which details to share. “I know that at one time you served John, Baron Montagu. I know that he left you a piece of land in his will. Which made me wonder why you came to work for me. A cook who owns land? Why would you so humble yourself?”

“Land is only so good as the people who work it. I’m a much better cook than a farmer. My property is better off in the hands of my tenant. All revenue goes right back into the land, the crops, the house.”

“That is where you go when you leave for a few days?”

“Sometimes. If I intend to stay sober. My tenant is a grim, God-fearing man and his wife finds me frightening on my calmest days. I would not impose on them when I drink until my devils take over.”

Kate did not like the ache with which she imagined this life she knew nothing about, these people who knew things about Berend she had never guessed – Montagu, Merek, the tenants. Why had she thought a servant would bare his soul to her?

Because he had been so much more than a servant.

“I always meant to tell you.” He leaned his forearms on his thighs, his face close to hers, his hands pressed together as if praying for her to believe him. “But I knew you would find it suspect that a propertied man would wish to work as a cook. I would. For once, my courage failed me. Am I correct in guessing that Sir Elric is the source of this information as well?”

“Yes.”

Nights of worrying about him, the hollow ache of his absence, the memories like open wounds, burning when touched. Kate reached out and cradled Berend’s face in her hands.

“Why did you return to York?”

She felt him flinch.

“I count this city my home. Where else would I go?”

The city, not her household. She tried not to react. “But you said you are not back to stay.”

“Not yet.”

“So why are you here now?”

Berend moved her hands from his face and held them. “I did not expect the king’s men to be in the city. Not yet.”

“Sir Elric believes Margery Kirkby to be in the city. Why? She has no family here.”

“Why do they want her?”

Just ask him if he brought her here, and why, Geoff hissed in her mind. And why he was in Pontefract, Oxford, Cirencester.

Be quiet.

“Something to do with her husband’s part in the plot,” she said.

“I still doubt that Thomas Kirkby was part of it,” he said. “He is – was so determined to find a peaceful way forward. But then I hardly believed it when I heard of the plot.” Berend turned toward the window, his head tilted toward his missing ear. “Do you know whether anyone has seen her?”

Kate knew that posture. He was thinking. “Not that I know of. Why are you here now, in this room?”

“I told you. To find out what you know about Lady Margery. And whether anyone is asking about me.”

Now. Tell him now, Geoff insisted.

“I’ve already told you about Merek,” she said.

“Anyone else?”

“Unfortunately for you, my cousin William’s wife considers your absence a personal slight. Isabella Frost is furious that you are not available to cook for William’s mayoral feast, and she’s made moan to all the wives of the council.”

“Overbearing shrew.”

“You are not the first person to call her that,” said Kate, trying to lighten the blow. For she saw that it had been a blow to him. “And Sir Elric has been asking as well. How can I help you?”

He turned back to her, pressed her hands, then let go to knead his leg. “You cannot. It is too dangerous. You have too much to lose. The children need you. I pray I have not brought attention to you.”

Knowing how he cared for Petra, Marie, and Phillip, Kate could not believe that Berend would risk endangering them merely to question her about Lady Margery. And what of Lady Margery seeking sanctuary with her? Is it possible he did not know? “If that concerns you, why did you come? The truth, Berend.”

A fleeting smile. “I trusted that once I slipped away you would be forewarned, take precautions to protect the household from king’s men, or men pretending to be his. It would be wise.”

Kate agreed. “The king’s men will hear soon enough that I am Margery’s friend. You cannot protect me from that.”

“No. At the moment I have all I can do to protect myself.”

“And your traveling companions?”

He had averted his eyes again, but she knew that fixed jaw. “The less you know, the better.”

“Damn you, Berend. Help me help you.”

He bowed his head. “You have. Bless you. Thank you for warning me.”

Kate touched his shoulder. “Petra misses you so. She wants everything to be as it was. So do I.”

“The royal cousins have murdered peace.” He raised his head, rubbing his eyes as if that might revive him. Or had there been tears? No, his eyes were steady as he gazed on her with the saddest countenance. “Wresting the crown from Richard was the worst thing Henry might have done for the realm. With the uprising– He cannot allow Richard to live. So now he not only plucked the crown from the anointed king but he will have his blood.”

“God help us.”

“We must help ourselves. Look to the children. Keep them safe.”

“I will guard them with my life.”

Berend rose with a grunt – the leg must be far more painful than he would admit – and limped to the window staying out of sight as best he could while peering out. “Would you check to see if my path is clear to slip away?”

He was leaving so soon, too soon. Kate felt in her bones the danger he faced. Would they ever speak again? She went to him, wanting to embrace him as a friend. But he held her at arm’s length, shaking his head.

“Do not make this harder than it already is, Katherine.”

“Kevin and his men might help you.”

First he looked shocked, then angry. “No. Tell them nothing. Nothing, do you hear me?”

“You’ve told me nothing that I might share. I merely meant …”

“And do not set Jennet on my trail. This is not your battle.”

Battle? “I don’t even know who they are, or what Salisbury wanted of you.”

His expression relaxed. “That was my intention.”

He had succeeded. “Will I see you again?” she asked softly.

Now he rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed his forehead to the top of her head. “I pray that you do. And the children, Lille and Ghent, Jennet, Matt. You are my family.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I must go.”

Kate lifted her face to his and kissed his cheek, then held him tightly for a moment, listening to his strong heartbeat, faster than usual, and no wonder. Injured and on the run. “Come back to us,” she whispered.

A deep breath. “If God wills it,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

“Lady Margery is as safe as she can be,” she said, despite herself. “But Carl is missing.”

She saw how that worried him. Yet he tried so hard to hide that they had traveled together.

“Did you part ways before York?” she asked.

“I will tell you no more, Katherine.”

“So be it.” She crossed the room to see whether he could safely depart. Checking the shutters, the landing, the stairway. She turned as she felt him behind her. Hood up, cloak belted close, gloves hiding his missing fingers, he might be any traveler.

“God go with you,” she whispered as he passed her, beginning his descent. Though a large, muscular man, he moved silently, avoiding the creaking steps, opening the gate with nary a squeak this time. Pausing at the bottom he glanced back, one hand raised, then slipped out into the crowd moving along Petergate.

Kate slumped down on the top step, covered her face, and prayed.

Holy Mother, I pray you, intercede with your son on Berend’s behalf, ask him to watch over my friend, see that he comes to no harm. And, if it please your son, send him back to me.

And then she cursed the royal cousins for murdering the peace in her home, the city, the realm. Arrogant knaves. You use us as if we’re merely tokens on a game board.

It has ever been so, Geoff said in her head. Look how the French and the Scots ruined our family.

I know. It was simple of me to think the peace might last. Me, of all people.

What will you do?

She wiped her eyes, forced herself up on her feet. Prepare.