A Twisted Vengeance

9 Thieves and Monsters

Having read the letter, Abbot Thomas glanced up at Kate. “I am advised to give you my complete cooperation.” He did not hesitate but told the novice to fetch Brother Martin from the infirmary. “Forgive our earlier silence, Dame Katherine, but in such times …”

“Of course,” said Kate.

The abbot bent down to offer Lille and Ghent his hand for inspection.

“Such noble creatures, and courteous. So finely trained.” He shook his head as if in wonder, his round face lit by a smile of pure joy. “Bless you for bringing them. They are a benediction in a troubling day.”

Kate took the comment as a sign he wished to say more. Perhaps about the presence of two of Sir Elric’s men outside the gates? “I pray your troubles are not connected to the injured man in your infirmary.”

First Lille, then Ghent sniffed the abbot’s hand and approved his touch. He took a moment to stroke their heads, then sat back with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. “Our troubles are insignificant. Your prayers are better spent on a peaceful solution to the kingdom’s developing crisis. I cannot help but think that our patient’s suffering is connected to that. There is madness in the air. The soldiers, all the weaponry …”

Kate could not argue with that.

Abbot Thomas suddenly turned an ear toward the door. “Brother Martin is here. I will let him explain.”

Berend rose as a tall, fair monk ambled into the room, solemnly bowing to all of them, pausing over the dogs seated between Kate and the abbot. “Mistress Clifford’s magnificent wolfhounds.” He glanced at Kate. “May I touch them?”

“After they have taken your measure, Brother Martin. Too soon and they will not be at ease.”

He bowed to her and took his seat between Berend and the abbot. “Master?”

Thomas handed him the archbishop’s letter. Kate watched as the monk read. He did so quickly, moving his lips, but silent, then sat back with a frown. “I wish you had brought this yesterday, Berend. It might have avoided much pain on the part of the man in the infirmary.”

Kate breathed out, grateful to hear that the man was still there. “There has been trouble?” she asked.

“His friends returned for him in the early evening, saying their captain wished him taken to Sheriff Hutton Castle to be tended by their leech. I protested. Earlier, when I cleaned the pus from the man’s wound, the bleeding had resumed. I had covered it in a paste of comfrey leaf that staunched the flow and gave him some ease, but any movement would disturb it. Of equal concern was his fever, and the chills that required a fire in the brazier and – well, Berend is welcome to come see how we have managed to cover him but keep the weight of the blankets off his wound. Poor man. Kevin is his name. I suspect you already know that he belongs to a group of Westmoreland’s men stationed in the city.”

Kate nodded. Kevin. He was always polite when she encountered him on the street. A cut above the rest, in her mind. “I am sorry to hear it is him,” she said. “So his comrades came for him?”

“Yes. They were determined to move him.” Brother Martin passed a hand over his eyes. “One of them coaxed Kevin in his delirium to attempt to stand, and the wail of anguish startled the comrade so that he let go.” The monk’s face creased in remembrance of the scene. “God be thanked that the strength I gained from training long ago as an archer did not fail me. I caught him and eased him back onto the bed. He clung to me, begging me to keep him here.”

“His comrades complied?”

“Not happily. But I believe their affection for him won out over their fear of their captain’s anger. They withdrew but warned me that I would receive another visit from him.”

“Sir Elric.”

A bow. “He had come earlier in the day–” Martin glanced at his abbot. “It is more appropriate that Master Thomas tell you.”

The abbot cleared his throat. “Sir Elric, Westmoreland’s man” – a disapproving twist of his full upper lip – “commanded silence on the matter of Brother Martin’s patient. I am pleased that His Grace’s letter relieves me of that order.” A little smile. “It galled me to support the captain of that traitor to our good King Richard.”

“Why would he request your silence?”

“They are soldiers. Spies, more like, sneaking about the city watching the soldiers mustering in support of King Richard. I presumed Sir Elric considers his men vulnerable, liable to be attacked. With Kevin so weak, helpless …” The expressive brows rose. “I assured him that although St. Mary’s Abbey is not officially a sanctuary, most Christians put aside their weapons on abbey grounds, and thus Kevin is safer here than out in the city. But my argument did not convince him.”

“And he did not give you the courtesy of an explanation? Why no one must know Kevin was here? Why he wished to remove him?” Kate asked.

“No, he did not. He said that he would continue to check on his man, and move him as soon as possible.”

“We noticed at least two of his men standing guard outside the abbey gates and wondered why,” said Kate. “I will inform the archbishop of Sir Elric’s behavior.”

Abbot Thomas shook his head. “There is no need. When they appeared I sent a message to His Grace at once.”

Kate did not like that. “His Grace knew all of it? Elric’s threat? The men involved? The extent of Kevin’s injuries?”

A nod. “I assumed that is why he provided you with this introduction and instructed me to tell you all. That you will arrange our protection.” He glanced from Kate to Berend. “I see I was mistaken.”

“I will think how we might help,” said Kate. She turned back to Brother Martin. “How was Kevin injured? Has he told you anything?”

A nod. “I regret I said nothing when Berend was here earlier, but as Abbot Thomas explained …” He shrugged. “Kevin thinks he was stabbed by the man who had dragged the sister out of the Martha House. It might have begun as a small wound, but he fought with his attacker and was then kicked and punched by some others. How he managed to cross the city to the lodgings of his comrades …” Martin shook his head.

“We find the strength to save ourselves,” Berend said softly.

Martin studied Berend’s face, glanced at his hand. “Ah, of course you would know.”

“I am glad to hear he is able to speak,” said Kate.

“Now and then. And he talks in his fever dreams. He worries about the sister. His comrades had assured him that she is recovered.” He glanced up, smiled at Kate’s nod. “I listen, hoping to learn something that might help me heal him.”

“How is Kevin now?” Kate asked.

Brother Martin rose. “Poor enough that I feel I must return. Berend is welcome to sit with him a little while.” He bowed to Kate. “Some of my brethren are in the infirmary, else I would welcome you as well.”

“I trust Berend to be my eyes and ears, Brother Martin. And now, before you depart, Lille and Ghent would be honored to make your acquaintance.” She signaled the hounds to rise and approach the infirmarian.

He touched their heads, then crouched to meet them eye to eye. “A pair of your cousins once saved my life. They leapt on my assailants without hesitation, bringing them down so that my father and I might–” He glanced up, as if remembering himself. Thanked Kate, rubbed Lille’s and Ghent’s ears, and excused himself, holding the door open for Berend.

As the two men left the room, Thomas chuckled. “It is ever so with brothers who take the tonsure after full lives out in the world. Forever half-wild, their memories confound them.”

Kate liked Brother Martin. So did Lille and Ghent, who stood gazing at the door for a few moments before resettling.

“Forgive me for my hasty departure yesterday,” said Brother Martin.

Berend appreciated the apology. “You had your orders. Do you think Kevin will live?”

“It is in God’s hands,” said the monk, smiling down at his sandaled feet as they walked along a garden path that connected the abbot’s house with the infirmary.

“You smile?”

“I hear my teacher’s voice when I say such a thing in this garden. For it was here that Brother Wulfstan walked with me when my heart was heavy.”

“You were fortunate to have such a guide.”

“I was. I would have taken his name when I took the cloth, but it came to me that I should take the name of the man who saved my life – the first time.” A little laugh. “A pirate and a knave, and one of my dearest friends.”

Berend was quiet, letting the monk enjoy his memory, inhaling the fragrance of the garden, clearing his mind so that he might give Dame Katherine as much detail as possible. After what she had learned at the deanery, he deemed it even more important that he keep his eyes and mind open. Nothing might be as it seemed. Nothing.

In the infirmary, a screen gave Kevin some privacy and kept the heat of the brazier in his corner, though on the other side of his bed a window let in heat of a different sort. Flushed and sweating, the man lay beneath a tent of blankets. He lay so still, his breathing so shallow, that Brother Martin leaned down to listen and to feel the breath on his cheek. Nodded.

“He is still with us.”

An elderly monk sat beside the bed, nodding over his prayer beads. Martin lay his hand on his elder’s shoulder and leaned down to say in a soft voice, “Brother Henry, you are relieved.”

A sputter, a confused glance at Berend, some alarm, then awareness. “Ah. Good, Martin. I fear I am of little use in this heat.”

“No matter. If Kevin had thrashed or called out, you would have awakened.” Martin assisted the elderly monk in rising.

“God go with you,” Henry murmured as he shuffled past Berend.

Martin lifted the covers to show how they protected the wound. Hazel wands had been fashioned into an arch over the man’s torso so that the blankets warmed but did not touch him. Blood seeped through the bandage that covered Kevin’s stomach. The man stirred, muttered something unintelligble. His eyelids flickered.

“Might he speak to me?” Berend asked.

“You are welcome to sit here awhile, see if he fully wakes.”

Berend moved the chair directly beneath the opened window, for the screened area was so warm and he did not wish to miss a chance to talk to Kevin by falling asleep; he’d had little sleep the previous night. This man had fought the intruder, might have recognized him or those who’d spirited him away. From his position Berend could see past the screen to a table at which Brother Martin worked, mixing herbs, writing notes in a journal. His motions were easy, assured. Berend wondered about the monk’s life before the monastery. Trained as an archer, he had said, yet when Berend had first come for healing, Brother Martin had told him he’d been an apothecary out in the world. He was tall, broad-shouldered. What would move Berend to leave the world and enter a monastery?

“Berend?” Kevin blinked, licked his lips.

“Yes.” It was a good sign, that he could so quickly recall a name.

“The sisters on Hertergate – they are safe?”

“Yes.”

“My comrades. I asked them to protect them.”

“Ah, that is why they keep watch. But there is no need, Kevin. We are taking care of them, and Dame Eleanor’s retainer, Griffin, is sleeping in the kitchen.”

Brother Martin joined them, apologizing for the interruption. “But Kevin will be thirsty, am I right?” He looked at the man, who licked his lips again but held up his hand to wait.

“I have tried to remember more. The man who dragged the sister from the house,” said Kevin. “We fought. He stabbed me. Then others came. Kicked me, pulled me away from him. Soldiers. From Toft Green. They knew him. Called him Robin. Said they knew he would be trouble. They took him away.” He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I didn’t understand. Why take him?”

So it was Robin. Berend lay a hand on his hand. “Enough for now. More than enough – this is helpful, Kevin, bless you. Unless you can give me names of any of the soldiers who took him away?”

“Seen them.”

“At Toft Green?”

“Yes. Sent my comrades to find them. Tents near priory. Tall man with one leg cooks for them.”

The one-legged cook Berend had noticed recently at the market. “I have seen him. One last question. Do you know Dame Eleanor’s servant, Hans, who worked for Thomas Holme this summer?”

A blink.

“He was murdered last night. His neck broken. Does Robin have such strength?”

“Hans murdered? Why? No. Not Robin.”

“I don’t know why. Did you ever see those soldiers talking to him?”

“No.” A shuddering breath. Kevin closed his eyes.

Berend stood back. “Enough. I am most grateful.”

The infirmarian helped Kevin sip from the cup he had filled with his herbal concoction. “This will dull the pain while I change your bandage and repack the wound,” he told his patient.

The man winced. A memory of pain. Berend offered to help, but Martin assured him there was no need.

“Go. Find the men who have caused so much sorrow. May God watch over you.”

Midday, Kate’s household chose to take their main meal out in the garden, beneath the shade of the lindens. The sisters and Eleanor’s servant had prepared a cold repast for all, though they chose to eat separately, in their hall. Kate was grateful Berend was relieved of the duty. She smiled down at Petra, who lounged against her, smoothing her curly raven hair, so familiar, so like her own. Kate dropped her hand as she noticed Marie observing them from where she sat beside Jennet. Jealously watching. Yearning. The child ached for a love that was already offered; she could not see it. What she knew was that Petra was Kate’s niece; she envied their blood bond. Needlessly.

Kate patted the bench beside her, but Marie looked away. Such a beautiful child. There was truly nothing of the Neville family in their looks, yet their mother had named Simon the father of Marie and Phillip, and Lionel Neville had sworn it was true. She suspected that Lionel, hoping the knowledge of his brother’s infidelity would break her, might have exaggerated the certainty of the claim. But though she sometimes had her doubts, she had never regretted taking them in. They had enriched her life, and she loved them both as much as Petra.

The rest of the household, including Griffin, sat at a second table a few feet away. All eyes were on Kate and Berend, who had returned from the abbey deep in excited conversation. Though Kate had been tempted to tell Jennet everything at once – this was what they had hoped for, confirmation that Nan’s Robin was the intruder – she had disciplined herself to wait until all were present. Now she nodded to Berend.

“I have spoken to Sir Elric’s man who lies wounded in the abbey infirmary.” Berend recounted what he had learned from Kevin.

When he was finished, everyone began to talk at once, and Kate found herself clapping her hands for order. “One at a time, I pray you. All your thoughts are welcome. Jennet? You have been seeking information about Robin.”

Jennet nodded. Summer had brought out the freckles that ran across her cheeks and nose, making her seem even younger than usual. But she was no naïve youth, and Kate pitied anyone who mistook her for one. “I’ve learned that he is known across the city as a thief for hire.”

Berend leaned forward. “For hire, you say? No ordinary thief, then?”

“As with an assassin for hire, such a thief is caught between the devil and the temptation,” said Jennet, “never satisfied, never at rest. He is not his own man. We must find his employer.” As soon as she had spoken, Jennet covered her mouth, blushing. “Forgive me, Berend. I did not mean to imply …”

He shook his head. “You are right. It needed to be said.”

Kate turned to Griffin. “Did Mother manage to send the Dominicans away, as she planned?”

He glanced up from his food, nodded. “They left not long after you did. The sisters were quiet as they prepared food in the kitchen. Took it back to the hall. All in silence. I was loath to speak. I thought they might be praying for Hans. So I know nothing new.” He shrugged, drank down his ale, poured more.

Jennet fidgeted, a sign that she was annoyed with Griffin. “Did you notice anything about the men who had Hans?” she asked him.

“Only that there were three of them. I was seeing to Severen.”

“He was not so injured that you would have risked his life by following the men,” said Jennet.

“I did not know they were about to murder Hans, did I?”

“You saw someone dropped on the road, apparently lifeless.”

“I thought him just one of the soldiers, falling down drunk. Do you imagine I don’t blame myself for my mistake?”

Shrugging, Jennet took the jug of ale. After filling Matt’s, Berend’s, and her own bowl, she set the jug out of Griffin’s reach. Berend looked to Kate to intercede. He was right. There was no benefit to antagonizing Griffin. She motioned to Berend to change the topic. Petra had rested her head in Kate’s lap and fallen asleep. She preferred not to wake her.

“So we know that Kevin came upon Robin dragging Sister Dina down the alley, and as he freed her he was accosted by a group of soldiers from Toft Green,” said Berend.

“Who know Robin,” Matt added.

“Perhaps as a thief for hire,” said Jennet.

“Nan should be told that the intruder was Robin,” said Griffin. “She should be warned he might seek her help.”

“You think he was able to break away from the soldiers?” Berend asked.

Griffin shrugged. “Anything might happen. We owe it to her to warn her.”

“Unless she set him on us,” said Jennet. “Thieves often band together in support. And to protect one another.”

Berend nodded to Griffin. “Pay attention. Jennet was once one of them.”

Marie whispered something to Jennet, who whispered something back. The child nodded solemnly.

Jennet continued. “They find allies in the servants of the households they are watching. The unhappy ones are the easiest to befriend. And Nan certainly seems to have given her heart to Robin. How do we know what she might do for him?”

Griffin raked a hand through his hair and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the shade evidently not cool enough for him. “Do you think that is likely with Nan?” asked Griffin. “Was she so dissatisfied?”

“Nan’s home is dark, mean, crowded,” said Jennet. “You see how much she loves color, pretty baubles. Easy to woo when almost any life would be brighter than what she has.”

“Dame Eleanor’s house is comfortable,” said Berend. “And Nan had another sharing the duties. The sisters as well. They all appear to take their turn in household tasks.”

“That might be true,” said Griffin, “but I understand Nan’s discomfort. Dame Eleanor distrusts her, watches her, never has a good word for her. No wonder the woman ran off every night into the arms of a man who promised to take her away from her misery, gave her pretty trinkets.”

“Stolen baubles,” said Jennet. “Possibly provided to him for the purpose.”

“So you think that Nan told Robin about something worth taking from Dame Eleanor’s house?” Griffin wiped his forehead with his sleeve again. “But what? We brought so little with us. Each of the women had a trunk. One trunk each, and not very large, except for Dame Eleanor’s. But that is said to be filled with gowns, should she change her mind about the life of a beguine. She said she had little room for anything but clothing.”

“Jewels take little room,” Jennet noted.

So do documents, Kate thought.

“I was told to protect the women, not the trunks. And I’ve not seen Dame Eleanor wear anything of significant value – nothing I would think Nan would boast about to Robin.” Griffin finished off his bowl, set it aside. “Though Werner did make a point of staying with the baggage at all times.”

“Perhaps one of us needs to talk to Werner,” said Berend. “And Nan. Who has her trust?”

“Agnes Dell,” said Griffin. “But do we trust her?”

“Nan has sought me out now and then,” said Jennet. “I might talk with her.” She glanced at Kate, who nodded.

Griffin offered to talk to Werner.

“Let us give Werner the day to grieve,” Kate said softly. “Then we can choose who should talk to him. We have already learned much.”

It was true. Berend had spoken to Werner earlier. Apparently Thomas Holme had discovered Hans was good with numbers – he had worked in Ulrich’s office as well as serving in the household – and had set him the task of helping with the household accounts. Considering what Kate had learned about the money Thomas and his coterie, including her cousin, had sent to Duke Henry, she and Berend wondered whether Hans could have been approached by spies for the king.

“I will be glad to talk to him if that suits you,” said Griffin. “I am more at ease with Werner than I was with Hans – my soldierly ways disturbed him.” When Berend raised a brow, Griffin added, “Women in the taverns.” A shrug. “None of the servants had taken vows, but Hans seemed to feel we were on a sacred mission and should behave as befit clerics.”

Jennet gave a little snort. “Like the vicars choral at the bawdy houses round the Bedern?”

“And yet Hans had recently turned to drinking,” Kate noted. “Something had changed him.”

“I cannot reconcile that with the man I knew. I thought his lack of curiosity kept him innocent,” said Griffin. “Poor man, to die unshriven.” He crossed himself.

“From what you say, he had no sins to confess,” Berend said softly. He had often told Kate that God accounted for those who died sudden, violent deaths – he was sure of it, else he could not have borne his days soldiering. So many rotted on the battlefields awaiting a priest’s blessing. Surely God did not condemn all those souls.

“Had someone rescued him, we might have found out why he had turned to drink,” Jennet muttered, glaring at Griffin.

But the man seemed oblivious to her anger, reaching over to pet Lille and Ghent, then stretching farther to grasp the jug.

Sister Dina took the cup of brandywine with trembling hands. “May the Mother show me the way, guide me in my speech,” she whispered, sipping the wine as if it were the communion offering.

Kate and Dina sat near the window of her mother’s bedchamber. They had been offered the choice seats, two high-backed, cushioned chairs facing each other, so that they might look out on the view of York Castle, the Franciscan friary, the river, the sweet summer afternoon. And it afforded them a slight breeze as the solar warmed beneath the sun-hammered roof. Kate had suggested they gather in the garden, where they might sit in the breezy shade of the great plane tree. Lille and Ghent could alert them to anyone approaching. But Dina had chosen this enclosed space, and so the five women had climbed the steps to the solar in communal silence. Brigida and Clara sat with Eleanor on her bed. All, including Kate, no doubt, gave face to their dread, Dina looking as if she wished it were over. For this would be no happy telling.

Still, Kate was grateful to be included, and that the sisters had been encouraged by Dina’s growing strength and restored spirit to coax her out of her silence. Sister Brigida had come to Kate in the garden bearing the news that the reading during the midday meal, wisely chosen and read by Sister Clara, paired with the terrible news of Hans’s murder, had convinced Sister Dina that those present deserved to hear all she remembered, and had inspired her to trust that they would receive her tale with compassion, not judgment.

“May something I remember help find the man who took Hans from us,” Dina said, “and help me begin to make amends for my own part in the tragedy.” She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross.

“You are innocent,” Eleanor whispered.

Dina lifted her head, shook it once. “I have caused great harm.” She shivered, despite the warmth of the day.

“The brandywine will soothe you,” Kate said.

Dina took a sip, coughed, took another, sat back with a little sigh. “You are kind, Dame Katherine. I fear – He is dead?” She added something in German to Sister Brigida, who explained to Kate, “The one whom she stabbed in the gut.”

“We have not found him,” said Kate. “But Berend spoke to the one who helped you. Kevin.”

She understood that without need for Brigida, and asked, “How is Kevin?”

“Wounded. He is being cared for by the infirmarian at St. Mary’s Abbey.” Kate paused as Brigida explained. “He asked after you. He’s asked his comrades to protect you and all the ‘good sisters.’”

“God bless him.”

“I pray you, tell me what you remember,” said Kate. “Just speak in your own tongue. Sister Brigida will tell me what you are saying.”

Another shiver ran through the woman. She set aside the brandywine and turned her gaze to the window as she began to speak, and Brigida to translate.

“I was suddenly awake, aware that someone was in the kitchen. It was still too dark for it to be Nan. But I’m not certain that I thought so clearly at that moment. I feared it was happening again. That he’d come back.” Brigida shook her head at Kate’s frown. She did not know of whom Dina spoke. “I reached for the dagger beneath my pillow. Listened. Prayed that he would not be aware of me in the room. I heard noises. Perhaps someone searching through the pots and the bins. And then he was at my door, pressing the latch, slowly opening the door.” Dina’s hands traced the motion. “So frightened.” Her eyes were huge in her face. “He was in the room. He was in the room.” Shaking her head. “I threw myself at him. We toppled, slid through the doorway into the kitchen. And I was stabbing him, stabbing him.” She jabbed the air, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “In my fear–” She shook her head. “I thought he was my father returned. He said he would. He swore he would. And I remembered what I had to do. Never speak, never make a noise, he would kill me if I woke the others.” Her gaze was unfocused, frightened, her voice but a whisper. “But I did not need to say a word. My dagger said it all. You will not hurt me again. You will not!” She sobbed, her hand in the air, clutching the imaginary dagger. “He lay there, clutching the dagger’s haft. He groaned. He said something. I don’t know. I don’t know. God forgive me. This was not my father. It was not his voice. Soft. So soft, this voice. Fear. Pain.” She covered her face with her hands, breathing shallowly.

Kate touched her hand, offered her the cup of brandywine. After a few moments, Dina took it, sipped while gazing out the window, and her breathing steadied. Kate sensed the three on the bed holding their breaths. No one stirred. Dina took another sip, then set the cup aside, her hand trembling.

“I went back into my room and dressed. I would go to your house for help.” She looked Kate in the eyes, nodding. “I would seek out Berend, who sleeps in your kitchen. He would make it right. But the man – how he had the strength – he caught me as I stepped out of my room. Covered my mouth. Carried me out into the garden, round to the alley. He stumbled once, twice, but held me ever tighter – so tight I could not breathe – and kept going. How did he have the strength?” She searched Kate’s face as if thinking to find an answer writ on it.

“I don’t know,” Kate whispered. “Are you certain he was the same man as the one you stabbed?”

Dina frowned down at her hands, as if considering whether she might be mistaken, but then nodded. “It was him. His blood soaked my gown.” A pause. Kate heard dogs barking out on the street. Dina held up a finger as if to say, Listen! “Your dogs began to bark. Like that! And then the soldier who watches, he came out of the darkness and grabbed my – the one dragging me. He made him let go of me. All this time, no screams, no screams. I could not make a sound, even when I tried.” With a trembling hand she rubbed an eye. “The soldier told me to run to the church. ‘Do not stop. Do not look back.’ I did what he said.” A shrug. “I woke in the maison dieu.” Tears streamed down Dina’s cheeks. “He ruined me. Bloodied, cursed, dirty. And now I have taken a life because of the fear he burned into my soul.”

“Your father?” Kate asked softly.

Dina leaned toward Kate, grasping her hands. “Pray you not to judge me.” She looked at the others. “I was but a child. So young. I did not know why he was hurting me and saying he loved me, that I was his angel.” A sob. “He knew me until I became a woman. Then he sent me away.” She bowed down over her hands.

“You are no sinner,” Clara whispered.

“You are safe in our love,” said Brigida, looking to Clara and Eleanor, who nodded.

Eleanor began to assure Dina that they would not send her away, but Kate interrupted her. She felt ill and angry at the monster who had raped his daughter, then turned her out when she became fertile and might quicken, exposing his terrible sin. “I see you as a strong, courageous, unblemished woman,” she said, nodding to Brigida to translate. Her voice broke as she did so.

Dina reached for Kate’s hands, pressed them, looked up at the three on the bed. “I still cannot forgive him.”

Eleanor shook her head.

“Your heart will know when you are able to do so,” Sister Clara said in the gentlest of voices. “Drink some more brandywine. You have lived through it all over again. Warm yourself.”

As Dina sipped at the wine, Kate asked, “Forgive me, but I must ask, would you know the man in the kitchen if you saw him again?”

“It was dark. But maybe his voice?”

“Do you know where your dagger is?”

Dina shook her head. “I did not see it after I” – a breath – “stabbed him.” She crossed herself.

Kate wondered about the dagger – who had given it to Dina, whether she had ever thought to use it on her father – but she had no right to ask. “I am grateful to you, Sister Dina. Rest now. I will not disturb you further.”

“May God bless you and bring you peace.” Hands pressed together in prayer, Dina bowed to Kate.

The sorrow and the beauty that was Dina moved her. Kate mirrored the gesture, her heart too full for words.

Eleanor offered her bed, but Dina preferred to return to the chamber she now shared with Brigida and Clara, who assisted her out the door.

When the sisters had departed, Kate and Eleanor sat for a while, facing out the window, deep in their separate sorrows, blind to the summer day. The voices of the three women in the adjoining chamber rose and fell.

Outside, Petra laughed her deep-throated laugh, Marie screeched with delight, drawing Kate out of her thoughts. The innocence of children. An innocence taken from Dina.

Eleanor had taken Dina’s chair and now stared out the window with the same stricken expression she had worn as they’d prepared the torn bodies of Kate’s brother Roland and her twin, Geoffrey. It would not do. This was not the way to find Robin and Hans’s murderer.

“Did Sister Dina think Friar Adam an acceptable confessor?” Kate asked.

Eleanor started at the sound of Kate’s voice. “Ah me, I lost myself for a while. Dina and Adam?” She shook her head. “None of the sisters cared for him. His is not the gentle faith of the Dominican friars they knew in Strasbourg. They felt he had condemned them before he ever met them.”

“What did he say that gave that impression?”

“I might have influenced them with my warning, but his chilly gaze and impatient manner proved my point. He prodded the sisters with questions that had little to do with such an interview.”

“Such as?”

“He asked whether they could read, which puzzled them, for they have yet to encounter a beguine who does not read, write, and know her numbers. Many of them teach. Perhaps he asked Sister Dina because she is a sempster, but Sister Brigida?”

“What else?”

“What books they had read, whether any member of the household owned any, and something about golden idols. God help us, does he think them pagans?”

“Or does he want to know whether they own something worth stealing? Or that would brand them as heretics?” Kate said it more to herself than as a response.

But Eleanor heard. “Heretics. I had not thought – But the other makes no sense. Friars take a vow of poverty, do they not? Do you think they might be thieves?” She glanced at the door, uneasy. Because she had not thought of that? Or because there was something of value in the house that Eleanor realized she must guard? The books? Perhaps Marguerite Porete’s work?

Kate had not considered the possible value of the books from which the sisters read at meals. They were brought out for the event, then put away. Books were certainly items of worth, especially those that were adorned with colorful images. She had not looked at the pages.

Or Friar Adam wanted to know whether the books preached interpretations of the Bible and God’s message of which the Church did not approve.

“Did any of the sisters tell him about the books?” Kate asked.

“Sister Clara says they did not admit to the books, as his attitude toward their revered teachers troubled them. They feared he might confiscate them.” Eleanor’s worry had given way to indignation. “We would see about that.”

Kate bowed her head to hide her smile at the image of her mother confronting Friar Adam should he try to walk away with anything at all.

Unaware of her daughter’s amusement, Eleanor continued. “Sister Clara assures me they did not need to lie, they simply asked whether it is his experience – or expectation – that poor sisters bring such valuable items as dowries, suggesting that he confused them with nuns. She explained that beguines do not bring dowries, they support themselves by working in the community.” Eleanor chuckled. “Sister Clara claims difficulty with our language, but there is more subtlety in her speech than most people I know.”

“It is good to hear you laugh.”

“And to see you smile.” But Eleanor’s momentary cheer faded with a sigh. “My dear Dina. I did not know what she suffered, the burden she carries.”

“What did he say about golden idols?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Clara did not tell me his precise words. But it troubled them, all three of them. Of course it did. Heretics? Pagans? As if he was searching for the most damning accusation. God help us. I expected better of York, though I do not know why. So many are stuck in the mire of the old ways. I blame Isabella Frost for this.”

Kate reached out for her mother’s hand, drawing her attention back to the present. “Friar Adam’s sudden appearance is troubling. You know that Griffin followed Sir Elric’s men to the camp on Toft Green?” Eleanor nodded.

Kate deemed it time to inform her mother of all that Berend had learned from Kevin.

As she recounted it, Geoff whispered in her head, It is the connection. Perhaps Friar Adam has Robin in the priory infirmary.

You might be right. But quiet now, Geoff. Mother might sense your presence. I do not want more of her lectures about letting you go.

“So Sir Elric’s men are not our enemies but our allies,” Eleanor noted with a small smile.

“Matchmaking again, Mother? You should know better by now,” Kate warned, but she was relieved that her mother’s preoccupation with having a knight for a son-in-law drowned out any tingle she might have sensed from Geoff’s presence. “You mistake the man for the man he serves. Kevin, who lies wounded in the abbey infirmary, is our ally, it seems, but I would not be too quick in extending that to Sir Elric or the other men.”

Eleanor wagged her head, unconvinced. “I will send Griffin to the priory with a message for Friar Adam, informing him that we have found another spiritual guide,” Eleanor said. “But who? Would Richard Clifford reconsider? As Dean of York Minster, your uncle has power in the city. He might fend off any trouble from the Dominicans.”

Kate was shaking her head. If her mother only knew how impossible that was! “He will not reconsider. If we have any trouble with Friar Adam or Prior Norbert, I will bring it to the attention of His Grace the archbishop.” She told her mother about their alliance.

“My. You do know how to bargain with the mighty.” Eleanor shook her head at Kate, her expression one of wonder. Leaning over, Eleanor adjusted the sleeve on Kate’s gown, tugging it down over her wrist, then reached for her hand, studying her fingernails. “I do wish you would pay more attention to your appearance.”

“I am not a child for you to poke and prod and correct.” Kate withdrew her hand.

Eleanor raised her eyebrows as if to say that was debatable.

Kate regretted her outburst. She’d hoped that her mother’s compassion for Sister Dina might inspire her to be more forthcoming about whatever frightened her. Taking a deep breath, she apologized, taking heart as her mother patted her hand. Perhaps it was an opening. “Is it possible that the intruder and Hans’s murder are connected through Ulrich?” Kate asked quietly. “Might someone suspect you carry something of his, something Hans might know about, that is valuable? Value of any sort – information, gold?”

Lips pinched, eyes pressed shut, knuckles white as she clutched the arms of her chair, Eleanor was a study in unease. “You are determined to lay the blame at my feet.”

“That was not my intent. It is a question that arises naturally out of the facts. And as I know nothing of what happened to Ulrich, what brought you back here in such haste, I ask in the hope that you will confide in me. Help me, Mother, before someone else comes to harm.”

Silence. Tears stood at the corners of Eleanor’s eyes, and her breathing was ragged.

“Mother?” Kate said softly, laying a hand on one of Eleanor’s.

A rustle of silk. Eleanor caught her breath, opened her eyes, blinking in the light from the window. “What about a Franciscan friar? The friary is close, just over there.” She gestured to the right, toward the river.

Silently cursing at her mother’s continuing secrecy, Kate bit back a retort and just nodded. “My friend Jocasta Sharp might be willing to speak with her spiritual counselor there, ask him to recommend someone.”

“Jocasta Sharp. You have mentioned her before. You respect her.”

Eleanor’s voice trembled. Whatever Kate’s questions had conjured had brought up strong emotions. How she yearned to ask more. But the change in topic was her mother’s way of slamming the door on further discussion. Perhaps if Kate kept her talking, another opportunity might arise.

“Yes, I respect and admire Jocasta,” said Kate. “Much as the beguines, she has answered a call to help the neglected members of the community. She does it in such wise that she wins their affection and loyalty. They will do anything for her. According to Agnes, Jocasta has been seeing that Nan’s mother and the children have a good meal each day. Perhaps …” She heard someone leaving the bedchamber next door. As Brigida appeared, Kate asked after Dina.

“I believe she will sleep,” said Brigida. She sank down on the bed, drawing a piece of linen from her sleeve with which she dried her sweaty forehead. “How is it that we were all so blind? Our families were friends. I knew her father when I was small. I never guessed. Everyone treated him as if he were the best of men.”

“Of course he knew the enormity of his sin,” said Eleanor. “You heard Dina, he frightened her into silence. And anyone who guessed would be threatened as well, you can be certain. I imagine he presented himself to the world as a most honorable man with a horror of sin.”

Kate watched her mother’s face, the pinched mouth as she paused – she described someone she’d known. But of course – hypocrites were legion.

Brigida stared down at her hands. “The apostle John said that God is love, and anyone who lives in love lives in God, and God lives in him. Yet God permits such sins against children, in whom he dwells. Nor does he strike down such a monster as Dina’s father. I do not understand.” She looked up at Eleanor. “Friar Adam cannot hear Dina’s true confession, nor could I ever confide in him. He – We all felt judged. For my part, I did not sense God dwelling within him, though I know that he must. The apostle John–” She broke off, eyes closed, shaking her head.

“Would you consider a Franciscan friar?” Kate asked. “The friary is so close, and I know someone who would commend you to them. Her confessor is a grayfriar and a kind, gentle soul. I have met him.”

Sister Brigida nodded. “Thank you. I will ask the others, but I believe they will all be grateful. Agnes had suggested the grayfriars.”

“What of Agnes?” asked Kate. “Is she to bide with you?”

“For the nonce. As we would with anyone new to the house, we will watch her, guide her, and, in time, we will know whether or not she is suited to this life. It would help to have a confessor who is a guide, not a judge.”

Eleanor had sniffed when Brigida said Agnes would bide with them for the present, but she’d held her tongue. Now she shifted, her gray silk gown rustling.

“You do not agree, Dame Eleanor?”

“I cannot trust the woman.”

“What has she done that you cannot forgive?” Brigida asked.

“She hid the truth of who owns this house. What else might she be hiding?”

“Have you never held something back for fear that you might be shunned? Denounced? Might lose everything?”

Kate watched with amazement as her mother crumpled in the face of Brigida’s gentle rebuke.

“Once again you guide me to the light, Sister Brigida. My old ways are rutted and too familiar.” Eleanor pressed her hand to her heart and bowed to the beguine.

Speechless, Kate turned to gaze out the window.

When Brigida and Eleanor went down to the hall to pray, Kate wandered out into the summer afternoon. She found Lille and Ghent lying in the shade near Marie and Petra, who napped together in a hammock tied between the two lindens. They were both so precious to her. Kate would do anything to protect her girls from what Dina had suffered. Could Dina’s mother really not have known what was happening under her own roof? How could she value her own safety above that of her daughter? Lille raised her head, sensing her distress. Kate knelt beside her, stroking her back, letting her nuzzle her neck.

Matt sat nearby, whittling. He was good with the children, thoughtfully sharing his favorite things from his own childhood.

He looked up now. “How is Sister Dina?”

“Resting.”

He nodded. “You will want to talk to Jennet. She’s in the kitchen.”

“She has news?”

Matt was not smiling. “Let her tell you.”

In the kitchen, Berend, the sleeves of his thin linen shirt rolled up above his elbows, chopped vegetables for a pottage as he listened to Jennet, who sat across from him shelling peas into a bowl in her lap. Kate’s gaze lingered on the pale down of Berend’s forearms. So strong, yet so gentle, so loving. None of the men in her household – she could not imagine them harming a child even to save their own lives.

“Did Matt tell you about Nan?” Jennet asked.

Kate shook herself, slipped down next to Jennet. “No. Tell me.”

“I told Berend I would go to check her at her mother’s, let him get on with his work. She’s gone. The children – it was only the girls there when I went to warn her about Robin – said that a man came for Nan not long after Agnes left her. Told Nan that Robin was dying and he had asked for her. She must come quick.”

Kate muttered a curse.

“I know. The children – they were so frightened. Their mother is in a bad way, clawing at her throat trying to breathe. I sent two of them to fetch Dame Jocasta. I managed to prop Goodwife Hawise up enough that she could breathe better by the time Dame Jocasta appeared, and shortly after a healer, who made a soothing drink and a paste for Hawise’s chest and throat. She was much better when I left. Dame Jocasta will have the healer stay with them, and a man to watch.”

“Bless her. And bless you for knowing what to do.”

“The children had seen the man before, with Robin. The girls said they did not know his name. But Dame Hawise – I swear she whispered, ‘Bran.’” Jennet scooped up more pea pods. “A woman who has so little breath does not waste it with nonsense. But I know no Brans.”

Berend rubbed his neck, thinking. “No one comes to mind.”

Nor could Kate think of anyone. But Agnes might know. What was the pattern here? The house, Hans, Nan? “It must be theft. Something the sisters brought. We must search for Nan. And I need to talk to Agnes.” Kate rose.

“I have a few of the best trackers searching for her,” said Jennet. “What of Sister Dina? Did she remember anything of use?”

All the sorrow welled up, and Kate needed to sit down for the telling. She wanted them to know all, that Dina must in no way ever feel blamed. When Kate was finished, Jennet sat silently, staring at her feet.

“May her father be thrown into the fires of hell and forgotten,” Berend growled. He put a pitcher of ale and three small bowls on the table beside the vegetables and settled down across from Kate.

“As you see,” she said, “her memory of the morning agrees with Kevin’s, once he arrived, though it is incomplete.”

“So Robin was searching the kitchen.”

“Nan kept a key to the house there,” Kate said.

“I should have gone to Nan earlier,” said Jennet.

“There is no point to such self-recrimination,” said Kate. “None of this might have happened if … We can always say that. What could Nan know? How can she be of help to Robin now? Might it be true – that he’s dying and he’s asked for her? They would not want to give away their hiding place.”

“If she isn’t part of the plan, what happens to her now?” Jennet’s frown made it clear what she thought.

“I’ll go to Toft Green this evening,” said Berend. “We need to know the gossip in the camp.”

Kate agreed. “I will accompany you.”

“If I may advise, it would be best if I take Matt. This is a camp of soldiers, and you are a woman. Not only that, but there are those in the camp, many, I suspect, who think Lille and Ghent should be put to better use than guarding your interests here in York. You’ll be noticed and I’ll hear nothing.”

Kate did not like it, but Berend was right. “I will talk to Agnes.”

The former mistress of the house was standing over the kitchen fire watching a pot of water, muttering to Eleanor’s maidservant about her mistress’s cursed insistence on boiling everything. She glanced up when Kate stepped into the kitchen, and began to apologize.

The steam in there was enough to make anyone testy. Kate held up a hand in peace. “I do not disagree. I never knew my mother to require boiled water. Some odd advice taken to heart?” A cure for some pain? A fear of poison? “Heaven knows. Agnes, might we have a word? Rose, would you watch the water?”

The maidservant gave a reluctant shrug.

Agnes wiped her brow and neck with her apron, tucking damp strands of her hair back into her plain white cap. Kate led her round to the back of the kitchen, an area of deep shade beneath the eaves and the plane tree, beside the tall hedge. She told her about the man coming for Nan.

“Dying? Poor Nan! Her heart will be breaking. She bragged that they were to marry and he promised her a house, pretty clothes, a cow, and a hen. I told her that a man will promise anything to get up a woman’s skirts. But she would not hear me, she so wanted to believe him.” Agnes muttered an apology as she drew off her veil and shook out her long braid. “God help us, there is so little breeze.” Strands of wet hair now clung to her damp face.

As she could do nothing about the woman’s discomfort, Kate ignored her complaints. “Do you know a man by the name of Bran?”

“Bran?” Agnes cocked her head. “I’ve heard it, but where? It will come to me.”

“Do you have any idea where Robin might be?”

Agnes shook her head. “I never knew where he lived.”

Nor had Nan. “What might Nan have seen in this house that was worth stealing? Some valuables she mentioned to Robin?”

“Nothing. There is nothing but the house itself. The sisters live so simply. The offerings on the altar are of no value but to them. I’ve no idea what Dame Eleanor has in her chests, but Nan had no reason to know either. Truly. The sisters have so lit–” Her voice trailed off as a man’s voice rose in anger out in the garden.

Thomas Holme. And now Dame Eleanor’s voice rose in injured retort. Kate caught Agnes’s arm and stopped her from stepping out to look.