A Twisted Vengeance

11 Poisonous Roots and Penances

Evening was settling in. Though the gathering clouds were still lit by the setting sun, down on the ground there was little light. Lille and Ghent flanked Kate as she moved down the alleyway between her mother’s house and John Paris’s. Though disturbing, the visit had been well worth it for many reasons – she had names for Robin’s cohorts, and a connection between Lionel and Sir Elric through Paris. Much to consider, including warning the beguines about the rumors being spread about them. So much turmoil. It was as if the contest between the royal cousins had poisoned the land. Unholy alliances running underground like the roots of invasive weeds were sending up shoots everywhere. Lionel, Elric, Griffin, Werner, John Paris, Nan and her lover, Beatrice Paris – Isabella Gisburne Frost? Her uncle, the dean? Her mother? Could she trust any of them? When even the anointed king might be toppled by men’s ambitions, where was the healthy heartwood?

“Who goes there?” a man’s voice demanded.

For a second Kate’s heart jumped, until she recognized Matt’s voice. He must be watching the Martha House. “It’s Dame Katherine.” She reached the edge of the house and stepped into the light from his lantern.

“God go with you, Dame Katherine.”

“By your presence I assume Griffin has not returned?”

“No. Jennet told us you were paying John Paris a visit. Was he of any help?”

“I have the names of two of Robin’s cohorts – Bran and Carter. Do either of those names suggest anyone to you?”

Matt seemed about to speak, but hesitated. Then, “I wonder. Could Bran be Brandon, the lout Seth’s father hired last Michaelmas? Was about to send him packing when he disappeared. With a few of Seth’s father’s best fletching tools.”

“I hope so. And I hope Seth would be able to recognize him.”

“Oh, I expect so.”

“Any news of Nan?”

“No. Nothing.” As Kate continued on into the garden, Matt added, “Sister Agnes wishes to speak with you.”

Complain, more like. “Tell her to come to my house. I’ve been gone too long.”

She pushed open the gate, allowing Lille and Ghent to precede her into her own garden and through the open door of the well-lit kitchen. For a moment she simply stood in the doorway, drinking in the looks of joy mixed with concern on the faces of her loved ones. Marie scrambled to her feet and poured Kate a bowl of ale. Petra shifted to the floor, offering Kate her seat. Berend sat back, his muscular arms folded over his chest, shaking his head; he’d been worried. Jennet poured a bowl of water for the hounds.

“Bless this house,” Kate said as she settled and took a sip of ale. “Come, sit with me,” she said to Marie, who hovered, asking if she wanted anything else. “This is all I need for now. Would it trouble you if I told the others what you told me?”

“Not if it might help us find Nan.” Marie settled beside Kate and leaned against her with a sigh.

Kate kissed her forehead. “Bless you.” By the time Kate was recounting her own conversation with Brigida and Agnes, the child was asleep, her head heavy in Kate’s lap. She stroked the girl’s soft curls, remembering her own relief when a worry had been handed on to her parents.

Berend was nodding. “Friar Adam might be a key to the puzzle.” Kate listened with interest as Berend shared what he’d heard at the camp about the injured man left at the friary and the disagreement among the men who had taken him there. “What did John Paris have to say for himself?”

Kate started with Beatrice Paris and the impression Magistra Matilda had given her that beguines were to be shunned. While describing the unpleasant exchange, Kate noticed Agnes Dell peering in the doorway.

“Is there room for one more?” she asked.

“Come in, Agnes, do. No need to stand out in that chilly breeze,” said Kate.

Jennet was quick to offer her chair, hoisting herself up on a corner of the table near the fire. Lille and Ghent lay on their sides in the doorway. Lifting her skirts, her expression one of mild fear, Agnes picked her way between them. The chair received her bulk with a creak. She blew up on the strands of hair escaping her cap and fanned herself. The woman certainly burned hot. Berend offered a bowl of ale, but she declined.

“I cannot stay long. I intend to keep vigil with Sister Dina tonight.”

“Keep vigil?” Kate assured her that Matt was keeping the watch.

“Not that sort of vigil. Sister Dina is doing penance for all the troubles in our households and more. She intends to spend the night lying prostrate before the altar in prayer.”

“But she did nothing,” Petra protested.

Agnes agreed. “But she sees it otherwise. I’m here to offer my help in finding those responsible.”

Kate thought she understood Dina’s sense of guilt. “We see what she did as a courageous act, but she sees it as a breach of her dedication to God.” She wondered how best she might test Agnes’s sincerity. “Have you an idea where Nan might be? A friend who might give shelter to her and Robin?”

“I fear I have paid little attention to Nan’s prattle. I know nothing about her friends or kin. I regret that.”

She seemed sincere enough. “John Paris gave me the names of the two men he caught helping Robin steal from the warehouse,” said Kate. “Bran and Carter.”

“Bran. The name Goodwife Hawise whispered,” said Jennet.

Noticing Agnes nodding her head, Kate asked if she knew Carter – she’d already denied knowing anyone named Bran.

“I do know a Carter,” said Agnes, “and that he was part of it does not surprise me. Always complaining his work was not appreciated. And he had a temper. He once threatened my husband with a knife when Leonard caught him slacking on the job and reeking of ale. He was supposed to be loading a vessel down on the staithe. I heard about it for days. Leonard would not have him near the house after that, told John Paris he was not to load his shipments either.”

“Did he have any trouble with him after that?”

Agnes shook her head. “Do you remember Leonard? How strong he was? Berend reminds me of him.” Her eyes lingered on Berend’s bare forearms.

Kate remembered Leonard Dell as a man with a temper, loud, red-faced when in his cups, which seemed to be whenever he was home. But in form, perhaps, a little like Berend, without the scars, with more hair. No, it was impossible to compare the two. She simply nodded. “What of Bran? Still no memory?”

Frowning, biting her bottom lip, Agnes shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Were there any other troublemakers working for your husband or John Paris?”

“I knew only the ones who came for the midday meal. A dozen or more, and John Paris never shared enough of the expense. When I was told Leonard had been lost at sea, I put an end to feeding all those men, told John it was not seemly for a widow to have so many men in the house. I sent off the cook – he was none too pleased with being shown the door, but, truth be told, I was not easy having that one-legged letch sleeping in my kitchen.”

“One-legged cook? Did you hear that?” Jennet asked Berend.

Kate looked from them to Agnes, who was shaking her head. “Is he here? In York?”

“Fair-haired, pale eyes?” Berend asked.

“That is him. He calls himself Thatcher. Would never give me a Christian name. Slippery, like Carter.” Agnes looked round. “But what does he have to do with Robin’s trespass? Or Hans? He surely could not be Hans’s murderer. With one leg he’s not likely to have gone down the gardens at night. And Nan surely knows not to trust him.”

“What of the boarders?” Kate asked. “Who sent them to you?”

“John Paris arranged for the boarders, all respectable men, though not wealthy enough to rent a set of rooms in the city. I had no trouble with them. Nor did Nan. They watched her, but I made certain they understood I would have no such trouble in my house.”

Jennet stretched. “Much to sleep on. Looks like I should tuck in the children.”

Agnes rose. “And I must return to Sister Dina.”

As Jennet made to follow her out, Kate caught her arm. “A moment.”

Jennet settled back on the chair.

“We have a name, Thatcher, connected to the soldiers who plucked Robin away from Kevin,” Kate noted.

Jennet nodded. “Perhaps Friar Adam hired a thief he knew to be familiar with Agnes’s house, for the purpose of stealing the Christ child, but it all went wrong, so Robin’s mates then went after Hans, to force him to help steal it?” She frowned at the silence that met her scenario. “I know, but it fits together.” A shrug.

“Why did Friar Adam want the Christ child?” asked Berend. “If he wishes to spread rumors about the sisters, he need only join Magistra Matilda’s effort.” He shook his head. “Or was it Robin’s rescuers, the soldiers who took him to the friary, who then went after Hans?”

“But why?” asked Petra, rubbing her eyes.

“And how would they know Hans had worked for Dame Eleanor?” Kate wondered.

“He talked in his cups?” Jennet suggested.

Seeing Petra’s exhaustion, Kate thought better of more discussion. “It grows late. I think we will all be the better for some sleep.”

Within moments Jennet had Marie and Petra in hand and led them out the door.

When Kate and Berend were alone, she slipped off her shoes and settled on the high-backed chair Jennet had abandoned, closing her eyes. The packed earth floor was cool on her feet, the sounds of Berend gathering ingredients to make bread dough for the morrow comforting.

Her thoughts drifted to Agnes Dell, how humbly she had offered her help. No imperious posturing, her voice soft, her tone beseeching. This night she had truly become Sister Agnes, inspired by Sister Dina’s remorse.

Amends – her mother’s homecoming with the beguines certainly seemed an act of penance. For what? She responded to any mention of Ulrich Smit by slamming the door on his memory – because she was wracked with guilt? She had embraced a work of penance – the beguines, perhaps coming home to be with Kate as well. Perhaps even her fatal interference in her son Walter’s life had been meant as amends. What had she done? And how might Kate discover it without pushing her away?

“What happened between Mother and Ulrich?” She spoke into the silence that had stretched out too long. “And why is my uncle so keen to remind me that Mother is a Frost, but I am a Clifford? He is warning me about something, and I believe it has to do with Mother’s silence on the subject of Ulrich Smit. How can I win her trust?”

“God knows you’ve tried. Stubborn woman,” Berend muttered, but he did not look up, the table creaking as he kneaded the dough.

Was he angry with her for the risk she’d taken with John Paris? As her brothers would have been? “I am home, safe, unscathed,” she said softly.

“God be thanked.” Now he looked up, his scarred face dark with imagined grief. “I would kill anyone who harmed you.”

“I can defend myself. I took Lille and Ghent, and was armed with a dagger and my axe.”

A long silence. She could hear Berend breathing, a rhythm that matched her own heartbeat. Lille turned over with a shuddering sigh, causing Ghent to shift and thump his tail. It broke the tension. Berend returned to kneading the dough, Kate poured herself more ale.

“It is strange that Dean Richard considers Dame Eleanor a Frost,” said Berend. “His brother’s wife. And she took your father’s name, she’s kept it. It is as if he needs to remove all connection with her.”

“I have never known my uncle to behave so. Could it just be the connection to the beguines? Has he heard about some incident in Strasbourg? Or is this not about Mother but about her nephew William Frost?” Kate drank down the rest of the ale, hoping it would stop her mind from spinning with questions. “If only Marie had come to me when the man asked about the Christ child. It was two days before Robin frightened Sister Dina. We would have been prepared, one of us watching the Martha House. I should have seen that Marie was troubled.”

“She guards herself closely. How could you know? I noticed nothing out of the ordinary when she helped me in the kitchen, though now I look back and see that she has been too quiet, too courteous. I wonder whether the thieves moved when they did because Griffin was away, and they knew the house unguarded?”

“That might have been any time,” said Kate. “Griffin had not planned to return to the Martha House. The sisters wanted no men on the property. But I see what you mean, Nan might have complained to Robin about not having a man around the house to see to the heavy chores. She inspired him to take the risk. Poor fool. I pray we find Nan attending Robin at the friary.”

“I would not hold out hope. Would she not send word to her mother and the children if that were so?”

“That worries me as well.” Kate reached down to stroke Ghent’s ears. “Werner and Griffin – Mother knows something about their disappearance, I am certain.”

“They’ve been seen at Toft Green. Asking questions. They were not well received. A dangerous time to be asking questions of strangers, especially armed strangers.”

Lille whimpered in her sleep, waking herself, shifting so that she was reclining with her front paws crossed, watching the doorway. Not yet on alert, but watchful. Perhaps she’d heard someone passing the kitchen on their way to the privy behind it.

“What does Lionel have to do with any of this?” Kate wondered.

“Perhaps nothing but that he seems to ally himself with the underbelly of York.” Berend wiped his brow, leaving a streak of flour. “Though no one seems to be behaving honorably at present. It was a bold move, for William Frost and the others to send money to Duke Henry. They are betting on Lancaster and want to be in his good graces.”

“That is the prevailing wind. We never saw the number of soldiers we’d expected. And those who did answer the call are slipping away. It seems no one wishes to be remembered as having supported the king against Lancaster.” Kate rubbed her temples, her head aching with all the threads she was trying to follow. “Damn the royal cousins. Where do our troubles end and theirs begin?”

Berend gave the dough a few more thumps, brushed off his hands, and covered the bowl with a cloth. He came round the table and drew her up onto her feet. “Time to rest. You will sleep better in your own bed tonight.”

She touched Berend’s flour-streaked cheek. “You never fail me. I can say that of no one else, at any time in my life.”

“My life is yours.”

She was blessed with her loyal household. “Good night, my dear friend.” Calling softly to Lille and Ghent, she walked out into the night, heading to the main house, and sleep, if it would come.

A soft rain had begun, the air sharp with the smell that presaged a storm. Kate stepped out from beneath the overhanging trees and lifted her face to receive the cool drops.

He is the only one who has never failed you? You forget your twin.

No, Geoff. You took a risk that led to almost certain death, and you lost. I lost. Having you in my mind is not the same as having you beside me, to fight beside me in the flesh.

She felt the heat of her twin’s emotion. It was an old argument, never resolved because it was true. Lille made a soft sound and headed toward the hedgerow gate, Ghent following. Someone stood there, reaching out a hand, tentative, shy, letting the hounds sniff it.

“Mother?” Kate stepped between the dogs. “Are you wakeful?”

“I heard the rain. Smelled it. I love this moment, when the rain returns after the heat. Like a benediction, God’s grace lightly touching us.”

A memory. Sensing her mother in the doorway of her tiny bedchamber. Eleanor had taken her hand and led her out into the fields. The trees rustling with the freshening breeze, the grasses swaying, clouds scudding across the night sky, making the stars wink out until the darkness was vast and terrifying. Too big! Kate had whispered. But her mother had laughed and told her that nothing had changed but the light, the sky was just as big in bright daylight as in a storm. But Kate could not stop shivering. Dance with me, Daughter, dance with me! Her mother had taken her hands and led them in a jig. Laughter rose up, and her fears were forgotten as Kate and her mother danced until they tumbled down in giggly exhaustion.

“Do you remember the night we danced in the rain?” Kate asked.

Eleanor reached out and touched Kate’s cheek. “I do. The memory is precious to me. For once you found courage in dancing in joy rather than in weapons and war dogs. You were mine that night. For one sweet moment before it all fell apart.”

Kate took her mother’s hand and kissed it. “I am glad you are here.” She meant it.

An intake of breath. Eleanor squeezed Kate’s hand. “Bless you for saying that. I wish – I should have told you at once. I set Griffin and Werner the task of finding Hans’s murderer. I believed they were better suited than you and your – household to do so. They know him far better.”

At last, a slight opening. “Do you know where they are?” Kate asked, gently withdrawing her hand.

“No. I told them to return when they had news.”

A very slight opening. Kate could not think what to say that would not dislodge the wedge in the doorway.

Eleanor leaned back as if to feel the rain on her face, a glimpse of the impetuous young woman her father once described as a forest sprite, never still, always flitting from place to place, never settling. Kate had laughed at the description, so opposite to her own experience with her mother, always sitting at her embroidery or the loom, urging her daughter to sit beside her and learn a woman’s ways. Finding fault with everything and everyone.

“Sir Elric’s men are watching from across the way,” said Eleanor. “I invited them to come in out of the rain, but they said that was no way to stand watch. Shall I send Matt home? I see no need for him to stand watch in the kitchen tonight, with the men guarding on Hertergate.”

For once Kate was glad that Sir Elric was still watchful. But it was not enough. “Their presence across the way merely shifts the trouble to the back gardens. Where Matt is.”

Eleanor sighed. “As you wish.”

“Sleep well, Mother.” Kate turned into the rain, which was coming down harder now, and ran across the garden, in turns buoyant with hope – perhaps she and her mother might heal the rift – and ready to scream with frustration.

Up in the solar, as she stripped off her wet clothes, Kate questioned her purpose in searching for the reasons behind Robin’s trespass and Hans’s murder. If her mother preferred the help of Griffin and Werner, Kate was interfering.

Except for Marie’s experience. And the men who had tried to take Lille and Ghent. But was the latter even connected to the incidents in her mother’s household? Doubts – could she afford this when lives might be at stake?

Weary of heart, Kate worked her way into the crowded bed next to Petra, who was curled up against Jennet, who had an arm round Marie. Grateful for the warmth of her companions, she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Sometime in the night Kate woke with Petra’s head resting on her chest. Rain drummed overhead, wind rattled the shutters. She lay awake for a long while, imagining Berend lying near the kitchen fire, smelling of yeast and sweat and spices.

In the morning, Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet down an alley off Colliergate to a tall, skinny house surrounded by a dirt yard and a noxious midden. Two young girls straddled a long bench set out of the rain beneath the eaves of the house, a pile of clothing between them. Wielding scissors meant for much larger hands, the children were cutting buttons and decorations off the clothing, dropping the trimming in a basket on the ground and tossing the stripped clothing in a pile that would be sorted into salvage and rags. They were tidy children, their gowns clean though much mended.

“Piece work,” said Jocasta. “It brings in a little coin, along with what the two lads make sweeping out the shops on the Shambles.”

“How long has their mother been ill?” Kate asked.

“Since the birth of the youngest – little Ann.” Jocasta nodded to the smallest child. Kate guessed her age to be about five. “For a while Hawise’s sister helped out, assisting with baby Ann and teaching the children how to do the chores. She expected Nan to give her notice and return to take care of the family. When Nan refused, her aunt left. Families.” Dame Jocasta laughed as the two girls came rushing to her, asking if she had any sweets. “They live on the upper floor. Goodwife Ellen is there with Hawise now.”

As Kate climbed the steep outer steps with Jennet, she imagined the children climbing them with buckets of water, food, coal, or peat if they were so fortunate. Exhausting work for a strong adult – she could not imagine how the children managed. Stepping through the open door, she paused to adjust to the dim interior. The chamber was loud with a painful wheezing in rhythm with a woman’s chant, “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out.” Hawise was a pale, skeletal woman who sat on a cot against the far wall, propped up on cushions. A large woman sat at the edge of the cot, nodding in encouragement as she chanted. One small window let in a bit of air, but not nearly enough to freshen it. Other than that the house was tidy, the bedclothes washed. Bless Dame Jocasta, this was her work, Kate was sure of it.

The wheezing suddenly broke cadence as Hawise stirred and pointed toward Kate.

Breaking off her chant, the large woman turned to her.

Kate introduced herself.

A nod. “Goodwife Hawise wishes to speak with you.”

Hawise’s wheezing was more of a pant now as she reached out a hand, grasping Kate’s.

“Bran. Nan’s cousin.”

“Yes, the one who came for her?”

Hawise shook her head. “No. It was not Bran who came. He must find her.”

Jennet stepped forward. “Forgive me, Goodwife, I misunderstood.”

“Who came for her?” Kate asked. “Did you know him?”

“No.” Hawise held up a hand as she took a few labored breaths. “I’d never seen him.”

“Forgive me for so many questions,” said Kate. “Can you describe him?”

“Wore a hat.” Her gesture described a hat pulled down to below the ears. “No beard.” A shrug. “A man.”

“Where might I find Bran?”

“Thursday Market. Or Ouse Bridge. Crowds.” Hawise bit her lip and wheezed a few times, her breath catching at the edge of the inhale, as if trying for more. Kate found herself trying to breathe for the woman. “A cutpurse.” Another few labored breaths. “Or with my boys. Sweeping out the butchers’ stalls. In the Shambles. Blue eyes. Too pretty for a man. His bane.” Still holding tight to Kate’s hand, she shook it. “Do not tell him I told you. About the thieving. He thinks I don’t know.”

“Your secret is safe with me. You trust him?”

Hawise nodded. “Simple. Foolish. But loyal.”

“I will look for him. We will do all we can to find Nan.”

“Robin turned her head. Silly sot she is.”

“If she has chosen to hide, where would she go?”

Hawise shook her head. “Holds her secrets close, Nan does.”

Goodwife Ellen walked Kate and Jennet to the door. “I would not count on Bran. He’s taken up with Robin and his lot, none of them meaning any good to anyone. Thieves for hire. Or worse. Bran is Hawise’s kin. She will not believe he’s gone over.” A nod. “Best to look for Nan yourself. She’ll be with a man, like as not.”

“But who?”

Ellen paused, thinking. “She’s friendly with the night watch. If any are unmarried, they might hide her.”

“A bawd house?”

“No, never. Nan’s determined to wed.”

So were all the poor women left to their own devices, at least at the beginning, Kate thought. She thanked Ellen and hurried down the steps, Jennet right behind her.

Joining Jocasta, who was praising the girls for their work, Kate asked the children whether they knew the man who had come for Nan.

Both girls shook their heads.

She asked a few more questions, but they were of little help. They’d seen enough to know he was no one they recognized, but there had been nothing that stood out about him.

Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet away. “Children have poor recall of things they do not wish to remember, such as the man who took their sister away.”

“Who will take care of them when Hawise dies?”

“Ellen and her husband, Jed, might, if the landlord will agree to their taking over the room. Or the children might go into service. It would not have been much different had their mother been healthy.”

As they walked toward Colliergate, hoods up, the rain coming down more steadily now, Kate told Dame Jocasta enough about Sister Dina that she would understand her fragility, her need for a kind, compassionate, gentle confessor. Jocasta meant to pay a visit to the beguines so that she might describe their needs to her confessor.

“I cannot think how Friar Adam gained Isabella Frost’s trust.” Jocasta gave a little shiver. “A man devoid of heart. The sisters are best rid of him. I will ensure that their confessor is his opposite, one who listens through his heart. But may I say, Sister Dina could not have a better model for healing than she does in you, Katherine, the strength with which you protect yourself and your family, the wisdom with which you’ve chosen your household. At so young an age, you are remarkable.”

Unaccustomed to such compliments, Kate could not at once think how to respond.

“Forgive me for presuming,” said Jocasta, “but it is so.”

“Your words are a gift. In truth, I do not think most see me so. I am all too often tormented by doubt. My mother disapproves. I fear the sisters do as well.”

“Sister Dina would not have confided in you had she any doubt.” Jocasta kissed Kate’s cheek. “I am curious to meet Dame Eleanor.” With an enigmatic smile, Jocasta set off down Colliergate.

“I am off to learn more of pretty Bran,” said Jennet, “and I’ll ask round the bawd houses. I will meet you at the deanery.”

Wise and strong. Kate smiled to herself as she blended into the crowd of folk moving toward Holy Trinity Church, the rain forcing them to move with heads down, watching for puddles. She kept one hand on the dagger hidden in her skirt, more aware than ever of the number of armed men on the streets. Without Lille and Ghent flanking her, Kate was jostled by passersby far more often than was comfortable. The crowd thinned as she passed round the church, crossing into Low Petergate. A passing group of vicars choral greeted her as they flowed toward the minster, merrily shaking the rain out of their hair into each others’ faces. She followed in their wake, smiling at their casual banter, an argument about the best ale in the city, a complaint about the peculiarities of a particular canon, the strange echo in one of the chantry chapels in the minster. She parted from them in the minster yard – all but one, who strode along with her to the deanery. She tried to recall his name.

“I was summoned to assist the redoubtable Dame Helen in packing,” he confided as Kate knocked on the door. “Can I satisfy her standards, I ask myself, or will she toss me out by my ear? But if there is any chance I might be rewarded with one of her custard tarts, or a meat pie, it is worth the risk.”

“Packing?” Only now did Kate notice the carts, two of them off to the side of the deanery, one already sprouting her uncle’s writing desk and several chests.

“Yes, they plan to leave two days hence.” He doffed his hat and bowed as Helen flung open the door.

“There you are, Arnold. Two hours late, I note. Were you so wearied bringing the chests and packs up from the undercroft yesterday that you could not stir until now? Pitiful for a healthy young man such as yourself. Clovis has already begun. Shame on you. Go on, then, up the steps, you will find him up there.”

“Sounds like no custards for my troubles,” he whispered to Kate as he trotted past Helen and disappeared into the hall.

The dean’s housekeeper shook her head as she turned to Kate. “Your uncle prefers these petted and pampered lads of the Church to ordinary hardworking servants. I will never understand how men’s minds work. They are quite a mystery to me. Now, my dear Dame Katherine, you are wet through.” Without bothering to ask permission she untied Kate’s light hood and held it away from her, tsking at the damp skirts and sleeves. “You might have done better with a cloak.”

“Too warm. And I like the dampness after all the heat.”

“Oh, to be sure, you flaunt your northern upbringing. Well, I expect you are here to say your farewells to the dean, and just in time.”

“No. I had no idea. I came to ask his advice about Prior Norbert. Where are you going?”

“The dean did not get word to you? He has been called back to Westminster. We leave Friday. Just two days hence. I do not know why we could not delay until Monday so we might have one more Sunday mass in the minster.”

“Is he summoned by King Richard? Has the king returned?”

“No, called by his conscience. The dean says he is needed there. The work of the government rolls on, and clear heads are essential.”

“But it is so sudden. What caused his abrupt attack of conscience?”

Helen shook her head. “Heaven knows.”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Kate felt tears starting.

“Oh, my dear, I will miss you, and all your household. I’ve grown so fond. Phillip was beside himself when I told him this morning.”

“I believe it, poor child.” Kate’s ward, Marie’s brother, was living with Hugh Grantham, a master mason overseeing the work on the east end of the minster. As an apprentice, Phillip worked in the minster yard just outside the deanery, where he had stayed during a difficult time the past winter. He found solace in Helen’s kitchen.

“I daresay you will now see far more of him,” Helen said. “He often tells me of the wonders of Berend’s kitchen. He’s another one I shall greatly miss, Berend, your rough giant. But I am keeping you from your mission. Your uncle is in his parlor.”

“His temper?”

“Reflective.”

“Is the archbishop still in the city?”

“He took leave of Dean Richard last evening. They shared a remarkable amount of brandywine. When His Grace departed, your uncle went to the minster and did not return until just before dawn, hollow-eyed and silent. Whatever His Grace shared with him, it was disturbing and secret. He has not said a word.” A sigh. “Go to him, my dear. I will dry your hood by the fire and bring something to warm you.”