A Twisted Vengeance

8 Sheriffs and Archbishops

“Maddening woman! How can I help her if she will not confide in me?”

“I am glad that the children are in the main house doing their lessons with Sister Brigida,” Berend said, calmly closing the kitchen door behind Kate. He leaned against it, arms folded. “Jennet told me of Hans’s death and Nan’s disappearance. Would I be correct in guessing that Dame Eleanor is the maddening woman, and that she still will not confide in you?”

“How could you know?” Kate could not help but smile at his teasing eyes.

Sitting down near the window, she welcomed Lille and Ghent to settle at her feet. “Bless you,” she whispered, rubbing their ears. She saw that Berend had been chopping meat and vegetables for a stew. Wonderfully ordinary work.

He handed her a bowl of ale. “What of the friars?”

She had forgotten them. “They have been sent away. Unsuitable. But I cannot help but wonder about their appearance. They say Isabella Frost suggested they come. But is it possible they came here, today, because of Griffin’s presence on Toft Green last night? Or for the same reason that Elric’s men went there, something related to the intruder in the Martha House?”

Berend frowned, considering. “Their abbey does overlook the green. And if they are ministering to the soldiers, they might hear much. So what are you thinking?”

“I wish I knew. It’s all a jumble.” She smiled as Ghent responded to her tone by resting his great, grizzly head on her lap, gazing up with soulful eyes. “Griffin puzzles me. I begin to trust him, then he fails to follow the men out on the street and loses Nan. As Ulrich’s retainer, surely he was trained to consider priorities. Which makes me wonder whether his are the same as ours. And Mother seemed distracted, as if the news of Hans’s death–” Kate shook her head.

“You wonder whether Dame Eleanor and Griffin have a secret purpose here?”

“Yes.” She told him what she had just overheard. “She has been secretive about so many things. How did Ulrich die? Why did she leave Strasbourg? Do we know all the reasons why Griffin is in her company? Answers would help me set aside my suspicions.”

“Or prove you are wise in not trusting either Dame Eleanor or Griffin.”

Distrust her mother. Put so bluntly, it unsettled Kate, not because it was unimaginable but because she could not imagine the reverse. “Precisely. And if Hans was part of whatever they might be hiding, might Werner be as well?”

“All questions we must answer, eh?” Berend shook his head as Kate bent to remove her shoes. “You have no time for that. Your uncle’s secretary, Alf, was here. You are summoned to the deanery. His Grace the archbishop has just arrived in York. He is with your uncle and wants to talk to you.”

“The archbishop? Why?” Kate knew him only slightly – a few dinners, brief conversations.

“Alf did not say.”

If he would not say, he had not been told. “Am I cursed?” For a moment, Kate forgot to breathe.

Berend touched her shoulder. “Shall I go to Nan’s mother’s house? Ease our minds that she is there, and safe?”

“I would be grateful. Meet me at the deanery when you are finished. If I’ve already been dismissed, Helen will know where I’ve gone.” Her uncle’s housekeeper, Helen, was a strong ally. As was her uncle, usually. And Alf.

Lille rose to look out the doorway. Ghent followed.

“One of the sheriffs’ sergeants approaches,” said Berend. “It’s Selby. Good. He is happiest when reassured that all is taken care of, eh?”

A small gift in the midst of trouble. The sergeant was accompanied by Thomas Holme, Matt, and Werner.

“Would you like me to talk to them?” Berend asked.

“A generous offer, but no, I must see this through.” Kate was about to step out the doorway when she remembered one more thing Berend should know. “I spoke with the man who sleeps in John Paris’s warehouse on the corner. He heard and saw nothing the past two nights. But it’s no wonder – he is very deaf. I had to shout to make myself understood.”

Berend nodded. “John Paris cares only that there is a body by the door. Will you mention the intruder in the Martha House to Selby?”

Kate reminded him that Magistra Matilda had already told the sheriffs of it when complaining about Elric’s men. “I will let Selby mention it, and then deal with him.”

“He has a fear of dogs, as I recall.” Berend grinned.

“So he does!”

Kate signaled Lille and Ghent to accompany her as she stepped out into the yard. “Master Selby, Thomas, I trust you are here about Hans.”

Selby took a few steps backward, tucking his hands behind him. “As you are the finder, we require your silver to ensure that you will stay in the city while we have need of your witness, Mistress Clifford.” It was the law, the money to be held by the coroner.

“Ah. I will fetch it. If you give me a moment …” She made as if to hand the leads to Selby, who blanched.

“No,” said Thomas Holme, stepping between them. “I will see to the fee. He was my servant.”

Selby shook his head. “My good man, the finder pays the fee.”

“And I said I would see to it,” said Thomas.

Kate touched her partner’s arm, thanking him. And she thanked Selby for seeing to this himself rather than sending one of his constables.

Selby shifted feet, no doubt questioning the wisdom of his choice. “As this is the second incident in as many days …” His attention was on Lille, who sniffed the air in his direction. “I understand that the Earl of Westmoreland’s men were set to guard Magistra Matilda’s maison dieu while a Sister Dina, from Dame Eleanor’s house, was being cared for. After an intruder–”

“A drunk, yes. He stumbled into Dame Eleanor’s kitchen, frightening Sister Dina.” Kate kept her voice level, no excitement. “I cannot guess what he thought to gain – the sisters have few possessions. Perhaps the statue of the Blessed Virgin?” She shook her head. “I suspect he sought a warm, dry place to sleep off the ale. I am more concerned about Hans’s murder and the watchman’s injury. You have talked to Severen? It is he who tussled with the men. Indeed, his description of Hans, lying lifeless on the street, would suggest he was the one from whom you should collect the silver. It was Severen who was the finder.” Smiling, she touched Lille’s head, signaling her to be still. “And now, if you will pardon me, I have been summoned to the minster by His Grace the archbishop.”

“Archbishop Scrope? Of course, of course. One does not keep His Grace waiting,” said Selby, bowing to her and shuffling off down toward Castlegate. Without the fee.

Kate drew Thomas aside to ask whether he had learned anything of interest from Magistra Matilda.

“Nothing you had not already heard. I do begin to wonder whether she is right to distrust Dame Eleanor’s beguines.”

“You blame the victims? And who is to blame for the murder of your servant?”

“I wish I had never hired Hans and Werner, truth be told. Though they both work hard, my wife could not abide being near Hans after one of his nights out drinking. She said she could smell the ale from across the hall.”

“And Werner?”

“He is a cipher to me, though a hard worker, I admit.”

Kate did not pursue the argument. She knew Thomas had a good heart. He would think better of all this in a few days. She excused herself and hurried to the hall to tidy her hair and shake out her gown.

Kate fought to regain some sense of peace as she let Lille and Ghent lead the way from the more open spaces on Castlegate, where the birdsong and the sounds of the river soothed the mind, into the crowded streets of the city center. But the city was a hellhole in summer, hardly a place that might lift her spirits. The heat and the river damp coaxed out all the noxious odors of the trades and the crush of people and animals. She lifted her skirts and wished she had remembered a cloth soaked in lavender to hold up to her nose. But it rarely worked to have Lille’s and Ghent’s leads in one hand, and today she was grateful for their presence to either side, steering the flow of people well away from her.

As she was crossing Ousegate she was hailed by a familiar voice, and turned to find Agnes Dell approaching. Lille and Ghent sniffed in her direction but knew not to get too close – Agnes was skittish around them. The woman looked wretched, hollow-eyed and drained, her borrowed gray gown wrinkled and so tight around her ample breasts and upper arms that Kate could imagine the woman’s discomfort. Dina had hemmed up one of Clara’s gowns for her, but Agnes was much rounder than her benefactor.

“I cannot go back to Dame Hawise’s house, Dame Katherine,” Agnes began as she reached Kate. “I pray you, speak with Dame Eleanor, tell her that Nan is far better seeing to her mother than I am. And she seems to want to be there. She came back to the house this morning, asking whether her man had appeared – he has not – and fretting over the children. And she told me about Hans.” She crossed herself, breathing hard.

So Nan still expected Robin to appear.

The crowd of people flowing to and from the shops and offices on Ouse Bridge parted around them with curious glances.

“I was on my way to the minster deanery,” said Kate. “Where are you going? Home?”

“To the minster to pray for Nan’s wretched mother. And for Hans.”

“Why there?”

“I want my prayers to be heard. Such a great holy place – I prayed there for my Leonard’s soul.”

Agnes’s reply silenced all argument. “Then walk with me,” said Kate. “We will be less noticeable than we are standing here, eh?” She signaled to Lille and Ghent to continue up Coney Street as Agnes fell into step beside her.

“Did you know that Jocasta Sharp sends food to Dame Hawise and the children each day?” said Agnes. “She is a good woman, much like the beguines in her work but that she is married.”

“Dame Jocasta is a very fine woman.” Kate admired her friend, a wealthy woman who had made it her mission to care for the city’s poor. Jocasta carried out her work with the enthusiastic support of those she had assisted in the past. “Agnes, you say that Nan should have the care of her mother, yet surely she went into service for you in order to support her family. What do you propose?”

“That Nan do her duty. I have released her from our service.”

“So harsh, Agnes?” The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Kate ignored her. “In any case, that decision was not yours to make.”

“We can find another maidservant. She is not happy with the beguines.”

“And you, Agnes. Are you?”

“Do you doubt me? Did I not obey Dame Eleanor and sit with Nan’s mother, listening to Dame Hawise wheezing and sighing and complaining all through the night? I invited her to pray with me, explained to her the joy of the beguines’ faith, but she cares nothing for that. And the children are wild, the house filthy. I yearn to be back with the others, Dame Katherine.”

“So you released Nan from Dame Eleanor’s service for your own comfort.”

A little gasp. “I – no! Nan is unhappy. Would you speak with Dame Eleanor?”

“I will, but I cannot promise she will hear me.”

Agnes thanked her. For what, Kate did not know. She was not greatly inclined to help the woman at the moment.

“Do you know anything of Nan’s lover, Robin?” Kate asked.

“Now that she’s confessed who he is, yes. He was one of John Paris’s warehousemen. When he worked during the day he was one of several of the men who would come to my house for dinner midday. John considered it part of Leonard’s duties, though my husband was often away, so, in truth, it was my duty. It also went toward the rent on our house. As for Robin, when he was promoted to the night watch at the warehouse, he betrayed John’s trust, consorting with thieves, and John let him go, though he kindly did not hand him over to the sheriff.”

“Why not?”

“I never asked. I have not seen Robin in a long while. Of course he would avoid being seen on Hertergate. Nan did not tell me it was Robin she met at Hawise’s. I trust she knew I would warn her away from him. He knew the house, Dame Katherine. No wonder he knew where to search for the key. I am that angry – I told Nan that even if she were happy, she is no longer welcome in any household in which I reside.”

She seemed quite certain that Robin was the intruder. Kate wanted proof. “Do you feel Nan shares the blame for his act?”

“She admitted to me how she bragged about all the lovely things in the Martha House. What things? I have seen nothing of great value. Though it is said that Dame Eleanor has some grand gowns in her chest, and jewels, Nan should not have seen them.”

As they parted in the minster yard, Kate encouraged Agnes to speak to Dame Eleanor herself. “You must convince her that you are sincere in desiring a life of prayer and work, a life without a man, Agnes.”

“Why would you doubt it?”

“I know that you and John Paris were guests in my house on High Petergate.”

Agnes blushed and averted her eyes, uncertain what to do with her hands of a sudden. “That was – I feel only shame for that.”

Kate watched the woman cross the yard to the minster, broad shoulders hunched, head bowed. The brief encounter had changed Kate’s impression of the woman. “Go in peace,” she whispered. There was a story to her relationship with John Paris. But that was a conversation for another time.

Dean Richard’s housekeeper, Helen, greeted Kate at the deanery door with a little frown.

“Oh, my dear, I have heard about the troubles at your mother’s Martha House. I am so sorry.”

“Bless you, Helen.” As Kate stepped into the hall she noticed enticing smells from the kitchen – cinnamon, butter, fresh-baked pies. “My uncle and the archbishop are expecting me.”

“They are, to be sure.” Helen reached down to rub Lille’s and Ghent’s ears and whisper a promise of ham bones. “I am about to take Dean Richard and His Grace the archbishop some refreshments in the parlor. Go ahead in.” She paused, touching Kate’s arm. “Your uncle did not like that His Grace wished you summoned here.”

“Why?”

“When Scrope requested the meeting, his stated purpose was to discuss the defense of York. He wishes to be seen as doing all he can to support it.”

“Against his mentor’s prodigy, Henry of Lancaster?”

“I know, it seems to go against his natural inclination, but as Archbishop of York his fealty is to the anointed king.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“That? Nothing. Richard Scrope arrived this morning with a different matter on his mind, rumors about the events at your mother’s house.”

“God help us.”

“Yes. In truth, both men are quite disturbed by Dame Eleanor’s ambition to establish a beguinage, as they are calling it, in York. This is one issue on which they are quite agreed. You are forewarned.”

“But why summon me? Why not Mother?”

“Your uncle and your mother? Have they ever conversed without argument?”

No indeed. But then, who did escape argument with her mother? “Is that why he declined to act as spiritual guide for her Martha House?”

“As I said, it is more. He disapproves the beguinage. And – well, I do wonder what Dame Eleanor has done that so alienated him. In the past he has regarded her with mild irritation. But this – your uncle is rarely so sharp. I am doing my best to ignore him.”

“All this because Mother chose to found a Martha House?”

“Truth be told, I doubt he could tell us the cause. Men’s feelings are as mysterious to them as they are to us. Now go, before they hear us and think we are conspiring against them.”

“Is that the mood?”

“That is my sense of it.”

“Do they know I found a body on the riverbank this morning?”

A nod. “The sheriffs’ men can go nowhere without gossips following on their heels. His Grace brought word of it. How awful for you, my dear. Your mother’s servant. Did you know him well?”

“No, not well. Hans moved to Thomas Holme’s household after accompanying Mother on her recent journey to Northumberland.”

“Ah. But he did arrive in Dame Eleanor’s company. More cause for distrust, you see. Poor man. May Hans rest in God’s grace.” Helen crossed herself, then patted Kate’s shoulder. “Go on. I will settle Lille and Ghent in the kitchen, then come serve the three of you.” She clucked to the dogs and herded them off to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her.

Outside her uncle’s parlor Kate paused, gathering her calm like a protective cloak. She reminded herself to take time to think about a question before answering it, to offer nothing beyond a simple answer, then wait for more questions. Nodding to herself, she lifted her hand to knock, but paused. Helen’s comment about their suspicions that the women were conspiring against them gave her an idea. What if she conspired with them, bargaining a fair exchange, favor for favor? The air felt slightly lighter, her mood brighter. Fear fell away, allowing space for cunning. Smiling to herself, Kate knocked, then entered.

Lamplight played along the rich colors in the tapestries, and on the cushions spread around the chamber. The shutters of the one window were flung wide, inviting the air from the shaded garden into the chamber. But not enough. Her uncle’s forehead glistened with sweat as he rose to welcome her, gesturing toward a chair that had been placed so that both he and the archbishop could observe her. Richard Scrope inclined his head to her respectful greeting and asked whether her beautiful hounds had accompanied her.

“They have, Your Grace, and are now enjoying the hospitality of Helen’s kitchen.”

She took her seat, fussing for a moment with her sleeves while composing herself. It was most appropriate that the archbishop had not risen; he was the power in the room. Even so, she took it as an ill omen of the outcome of this bargaining session, that the two Richards held themselves so stiffly. She felt herself following suit, perched at the edge of her chair, resenting the atmosphere in the room. If either of them had just hours earlier stumbled upon the body of a man beaten to death, they would not subject themselves to such a meeting.

“Now then,” said Helen from the threshold as she held open the door for a young clerk to set a tray on the table near the dean. A pie heaped with spiced fruits and custard, bread, butter, cheese, bowls, goblets, and a servant holding a flagon of wine and pitcher of water, ready to serve.

Though Helen was almost as skilled in the kitchen as Berend, Kate had no stomach for food at the moment. She did accept a goblet of wine, unwatered, the better to dull her irritation.

Her uncle and the archbishop each accepted a slice of pie, tasting it with apparent pleasure. But as soon as Helen and her helpers withdrew, they put aside their bowls.

Dean Richard leaned toward Kate, his brows pulled together in a concerned frown. His gray eyes softened for a moment. “My dear Katherine, is it true that you came upon a murdered man on your walk this morning? One of Dame Eleanor’s servants from Strasbourg?”

“It is, Uncle.”

“May God calm your troubled heart.”

“It was a disturbing beginning to my day.”

“What do you know about this man?”

“No more than you do, I imagine, Uncle. He was most recently employed in the household of my neighbor, Thomas Holme. Why do you ask?”

The archbishop made a little sound.

Her uncle’s frown deepened, his dark brows pulling together. “We are merely concerned.”

Clearly it was more than that. “You are most kind.”

“And what of the beguine who sleeps with a dagger, whose gown and shift were stiff with someone else’s blood?” asked the archbishop.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I do not understand what it is you wish to know.”

“What do you know of Sister Dina?” her uncle asked in a quiet voice.

“She is a skilled needle woman. Mother hired her to make her mourning robes in Strasbourg, and she was impressed by her compassion and quiet wisdom. I know little more.”

“I heard that she became agitated while Dame Eleanor was sitting with her at the maison dieu,” said Scrope.

Magistra Matilda must be quite the tittle-tattle. “Your Grace, I humbly suggest that you continue this conversation with Dame Eleanor. She is the one who knows her servants and the beguines whom she brought with her from Strasbourg.”

Scrope nodded, sat back in his chair, elbows on the arms, hands steepled. “What do you know of beguines?”

“They are dedicated to God and good works, celibate, and, rather than bringing large dowries to convents, they work to support themselves – which means the life is available to women of lesser means. Other than their work outside the Martha House, I see little difference between them and the poor sisters of York.”

“Pope Clement condemned them,” said her uncle, picking up his goblet, sipping his wine. “And the Holy Fathers who have followed him have concurred.”

“I am fond of the three sisters. I see much good in them, no harm. They do not preach, as did Marguerite Porete.”

“How do you come to know about the heretic Porete?”

Kate had stepped in it now. Brigida had told her of Marguerite. “I cannot recall. Perhaps you, Uncle?”

The dean frowned, shook his head. “Not I. Dame Eleanor, no doubt.” She saw what Helen meant – he spoke her mother’s name as if it were a curse.

Archbishop Scrope leaned forward. “You say you see no harm in them. Even Sister Dina, with her dagger beneath her pillow?” He held Kate’s gaze, as if eager to hear her rebuttal.

“A woman must often defend her virtue and her life against those who would force themselves on her, Your Grace. I assume she suffered some terrible experience in the past, a terror she has not yet forgotten. How could I condemn her for finding comfort in a form of protection? We do not as yet know what the intruder was after, or what he had done to Sister Dina. Which brings me to my proposal.”

Her uncle shook his head in warning, but the archbishop sat back and sipped his wine, gesturing to her to continue.

“In exchange for introductions and information, I will keep you apprised of my investigation into the intruder and Hans’s murder.”

“You have agreed to assist Dame Eleanor in this?” His Grace asked.

“I have chosen to do so.” Kate glanced at her uncle, who scowled into his cup. She had never seen him like this. “Kin help kin.”

His eyes, when he lifted them to hers, were most unfriendly, his strong jaw, usually expressing a comforting air of command, jutted forward, as if challenging her. “Cliffords do, but Frosts? That would be news indeed.” He snorted. “You would be best to remember how much trouble your cousin William and your mother, both Frosts, have brought you. How much sorrow.”

She could not deny that. But neither could she reconcile this angry man with the uncle who had supported and comforted her during those troubles. His voice was sharp, his tone challenging. What did he know? “Do you mean to warn me, Uncle?”

“I do.”

The archbishop cleared his throat. “I will leave that to the two of you to discuss. You speak of introductions, Dame Katherine. To whom?”

Kate was relieved to break away from her uncle’s scowl. “Abbot Thomas of St. Mary’s and Prior Norbert of the blackfriars, to begin.” She explained her interest – Sir Elric’s visit to the abbey, the infirmarian’s caution, the brawl at Toft Green so near the Dominican friary, Friar Adam’s subsequent visit to the Martha House.

Richard Clifford muttered something that sounded very much like a curse when she mentioned the blind friar and his assistant. “Friar Adam. Why did Dame Eleanor send for him?” he growled.

“It is puzzling,” said Scrope. “It would be far more convenient to approach the Franciscans. Their friary is so close to her house.”

“Friar Adam had no invitation. He came of his own accord,” said Kate. “Hence my interest. He heard of their need for a confessor from Isabella Gisburne Frost. He claims to be her confessor.”

“Frosts,” the dean muttered.

“Isabella is far more Gisburne than Frost, Uncle.”

The archbishop chuckled. “She speaks my own thoughts, Richard. Isabella Gisburne is her father’s daughter through and through, God help her.” He turned back to Kate. “And the information you require?”

“My usual sources have become secretive when I most need to understand who is fighting for what.”

“Your usual sources being your influential guests on High Petergate?” asked the archbishop.

Kate appreciated Scrope’s blunt question. She had long guessed he knew the nature of the local patrons of her guesthouse. “Yes, and my fellow guild members. I sensed a great deal of conflict in the aldermen and their friends at the guild meeting yesterday.”

“Ah, the meeting at the merchants’ hall, yes. What was the purpose, might I ask?”

“The guild master read out the orders from the Duke of York, listened to members’ concerns, and then made a modest attempt to organize help toward those here to defend the city against Henry of Lancaster. The ease with which he withdrew the proposal was telling. All the while he watched the row of aldermen. I know, I sat at the end of it.”

“With your partner, Thomas Holme?” asked the dean.

She nodded.

“And has he become secretive as well?” the archbishop asked.

He had. And perhaps not only because of the political conflict but also because he regretted hiring Hans and Werner.

They are challenging you, Kate, Geoff whispered in her head. Even our uncle, who has been your ally in the past.

No one trusts anyone at present, Geoff. Now quiet. I must be sharp.

Kate remained silent.

“And was your cousin William Frost in attendance?” asked the archbishop.

Pointed questions might mean they knew something. “He is not a guild member, Your Grace,” she said. “Do you ask because of his wife’s connection to Friar Adam?”

It was her uncle who responded to the question. “Two violent incidents connected to Dame Eleanor’s household – past or present – in as many nights, Katherine. And, coming in the midst of the threat to the peace of the realm, my inclination is to suspect everything, everyone. It is all one dangerous knot, and we must tease out the threads, discover how they are intertwined.”

“I do not know that both incidents are connected, Uncle. The city is teeming with restless soldiers. That is why I need information.”

“You spoke of conflict among the merchants, Dame Katherine.” Scrope nodded to the dean. “We have been discussing that very issue, have we not, Richard? It is time to share what we have heard.”

The dean frowned at the archbishop as if questioning his judgment, but Scrope merely motioned for him to speak.

The dean cleared his throat. “William Frost and his colleagues have sent a messenger to Duke Henry at Knaresborough carrying a sum of money to assist him in his efforts to reclaim his inheritance.” Her uncle’s face was now a study in quiet. Kate guessed that he was as yet unsure with whom his own loyalty lay. “In their message they said nothing of Henry’s shifting intention – to take the crown from his cousin and place it on his own noble head. But such have been the reports.”

“The promises he is making only a king has the power to fulfill,” she said.

Scrope sat up. “You heard that at the meeting?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

“Hm. Yes, it does appear that he has been persuaded by the Lancastrian forces to reach higher than he had set out to do.”

“Or than he had dared admit even to himself,” the dean said softly. “It appears that we’ve no need to fortify the city. The Lancastrian army is headed westward.”

God be thanked! Her mood lifted. For a moment. “Who will tell the men gathered on Toft Green, hungry for a fight?” Kate asked. Which reminded her of the question she’d meant to ask her uncle. “Sir Alan Bennet. How did he approach you about leasing my house, Uncle?” He’d asked about the abbey, had his men watching Elric.

“How?” He bowed his head as if to hide his reaction, allow himself a moment to craft his response. A shrug, a slight frown. “I told you. He asked about lodgings, I thought of your empty house for lease. Why? Is he unsatisfactory?”

“I am not sure. What do you know about him?”

“I know little, to be honest. A mutual friend provided him with a letter of introduction. Staunch king’s man. Should I have a word with him?”

Kate shook her head. “No. I hoped for some further background, that is all. Duke Henry’s heightened ambition – is it more than gossip? How are people receiving it?”

“I do not believe it is widely known yet,” said the dean. “But Frost’s friends sitting together at the meeting today, and joining him afterwards – that would suggest they fear the word has spread.”

“How did you know that William joined Holme and the others?” Kate asked.

The archbishop smiled. “You miss nothing, Dame Katherine. My secretary passed them near the council offices on Ouse Bridge.”

So they had moved on to a meeting of the council. Kate stared at the floor, digesting all she had heard, wondering whether Hans died because he worked for Thomas Holme, one of her cousin’s associates, not because he had come to York in her mother’s party. But why had Isabella sent Friar Adam sniffing around her mother’s household?

Scrope was nodding and speaking. Kate forced herself back to the room. “We have an agreement. In exchange, you will provide an account to us of all you learn concerning the events in your mother’s and your neighbor’s household.”

Your neighbors to either side … Geoff whispered.

I know.

“What do you know of your mother’s late husband, Ulrich Smit?” her uncle asked.

Kate stared at him for a moment, the question was so unexpected. “Ulrich? Very little, except what he told us when he was our guest in Northumberland. Mother has said nothing about him since her return.”

“Where are her loyalties – with the king or with the duke?” asked the archbishop.

Ulrich. Hans. The beguines. Something they brought with them? Or her mother brought with her? Something connected to the conflict between the royal cousins? Now that was a nasty thought, though Kate could not imagine what the connection might be. “We have not spoken of it, Your Grace.”

“If you should have such a conversation, I wish to hear about it,” said Scrope, softening the demand with a warm smile. “Forgive me. I hear myself lacking all courtesy. That is not my intention.”

Kate inclined her head toward him in acceptance of his odd apology.

“I do not know how long I will be in York,” he continued. “So we must rely on trusted messengers. Who shall be our go-between here, Clifford? Your secretary, Alf?”

“Alf? Your Grace, I keep him quite busy …”

“I will provide the deanery with any news,” said Kate. “I leave it to the dean to pass it on to you. Will that suffice, Your Grace? Uncle?”

The archbishop nodded. Her uncle looked relieved, calmer now. Kate rose to help herself to some pie. As she ate, she listened to the two men discuss the leanings of the Dominican Prior of St. Mary Magdalene and the Benedictine Abbot of St. Mary’s. Prior Norbert had been known to criticize King Richard in his sermons, whereas Abbot Thomas had little to say about the crown or court but was devoted to the archbishop “for some small favors I had it in my power to confer, to the good of the abbey and the poor of the city.” St. Mary’s was one of several abbeys and friaries in the city that fed the poor.

“I should like to speak with Abbot Thomas as soon as may be,” said Kate. “Prior Norbert as well.”

“I shall summon my man from the kitchen and have him write an introduction while we talk,” said Scrope.

The dean rose and opened the door, speaking quietly to the clerk who sat at the ready. When he returned, he was grinning. “I am enjoying the image of Dame Eleanor rounding on Friar Adam, while he sniffs and chuffs.”

“The situation does not incline me to smile,” said Scrope. “Adam is a dangerous one for Dame Eleanor and her beguines. He is of the opinion that Meister Eckhart, the theologian whom the beguines revere, was as much a heretic as their own Marguerite Porete. That Eckhart was a fellow Dominican makes it all the more personal for him. Does he mean to condemn them, make an example of them? In a city armed for war? No, I do not like this at all.”

If publicly condemned, they would be shunned, unable to support themselves. Kate could well imagine the rumors that might arise in a city already awash in suspicion. How would her mother cope with such a crisis? “I know nothing about the teachers the sisters from Strasbourg revere,” she said. “If I might ask, Your Grace, why would you assume my mother’s companions claim Eckhart and Porete as their teachers? Did Magistra Matilda tell you this? She certainly did not share it with me, nor did any of the others.”

“We are merely pointing to a possible danger, Katherine,” the dean said with a warning look.

“If we are to work together, we must be honest with each other, hold nothing back that might be of use,” said Kate. “I need to know who else is providing you with information so that I know who else is interested in what has happened.” The archbishop seemed to be giving her argument some thought when someone knocked, then entered. Scrope’s clerk. “I hope to speak of this later,” Kate said.

“I am afraid I must soon be away. Your choice is the letters or more conversation,” said the archbishop.

Kate considered. “The letters, thank you, Your Grace.”

She sat back to finish the remarkable pie and attempted to engage her uncle with news of the children.

But he rose and began to fuss with a pile of documents on a table by the window, and Kate lapsed into hurt silence.

In the kitchen, Kate found Berend had come to meet her, as agreed. It was a peaceful scene, Berend kneading dough, his arms dusted in flour, while Helen stirred chopped vegetables into a large pot, and Lille and Ghent slept near a door opened onto the garden. The two cooks were discussing various herbs and spices that might improve the broth. When Kate cleared her throat, Helen glanced up with a worried expression.

“You are unscathed?”

“At moments I did not recognize my own uncle, but I found an ally in His Grace.” Kate held up two scrolled letters bearing the seal of the Archbishop of York. “He has written to both Abbot Thomas and Prior Norbert telling them to cooperate with me.”

“What did you give them in exchange?” asked Berend, wiping his hands and arms.

“I will keep them both informed of what we learn as we proceed.”

Berend nodded. “Seems fair enough.”

Helen was beaming. “You have prevailed, dear Katherine. I am so relieved.”

As they walked to the abbey to speak to Abbot Thomas, Kate told Berend all that she had learned. “My uncle knows so little about Sir Alan. Why would he send him to me?”

“As I said before, you might have done much worse. What most troubles me is the prospect of all those soldiers told to pack up and leave with nothing to show for their time here.”

Kate heard the concern in his voice and crossed herself. “Aye. We will do much praying before it is over, I fear. But what to make of my uncle’s comments about the Frost family? They were never fond. He clearly felt his youngest brother might have made a better marriage. But I’ve never heard him speak so harshly about Mother, indeed all the Frost family and those in her company.”

They grew quiet as they approached Bootham Bar. Kate sensed that Berend was on high alert, watching all who looked their way. When for the third time he’d stepped in her path as if to take an arrow for her, she demanded to know what trouble he anticipated. He reminded her of the men who had followed her, speaking of her war dogs.

“I’ve seen no soldiers arriving,” she noted, though gently, moved by his concern.

They were through the gate now, and turning toward the abbey.

Berend paused to look back, studying the crowd. “An ordinary market day, it would seem. Perhaps word has gotten round that the threat of a siege is past? Let’s pray the soldiers choose to move north and west, following the duke. Friend or foe, where he is, there will the battle be.”