A Twisted Vengeance

13 Uneasy Alliances

Kate interrupted Jennet’s laughter about Bran’s hasty departure with a reminder that telling tales about the hounds was dangerous at the moment, that she could be playing into the hands of the soldiers who thought wolfhounds wasted in the city. But she waved off Jennet’s apology. “It worked with the pretty cutpurse, I admit.”

As they headed toward home, Jennet asked why Kate had taken such a circuitous route. “Why didn’t we just turn up Hertergate from the staithes?”

“That way we would pass the Martha House. I am not ready to face Dina with the news.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Kate was trying to sort all she had learned, not liking where it led. Worst of all would be delivering the news of Robin’s death to Dina, who would take full responsibility, no matter that Prior Norbert had said he’d also been badly beaten. And how to approach her mother about Griffin’s meetings with her uncle the dean?

Berend greeted them as they reached the garden. “Muddy hems and damp clothes. Fishing in the rain?” He grinned.

“Pour us ales and we’ll tell you a tale,” Kate said, calling to Lille and Ghent as she passed the open door of the hall. “They deserve a treat as well, though they were part of it only in spirit.” She ruffled the rough fur on their heads, leaning to whisper their praises, then settled on the bench tucked up beneath the eaves of the kitchen. Jennet offered to find a treat for the dogs.

“The bone on the table,” said Berend.

Jennet saw to them, then pulled up a stool in the kitchen doorway.

Kate made short work of the first bowl of ale, recounting her conversation with Prior Norbert and their confrontation with Bran in between long drinks.

Berend raked his three fingers through imaginary hair as he listened, straddling the bench beside her. “I agree. It feels as if there is more to this than the theft of holy books and golden idols – Hans’s death, Nan’s disappearance, petty thieves hired by soldiers. Robin was Fitch’s brother, you say? Might Lionel be involved?”

“I mean to pay him a visit. But this does not smell like one of his schemes. Especially with the murder. Lionel is too much a coward for that. How are the sisters?”

“Pleased with the Franciscan. You will find them smiling about their new confessor, Friar Gerald. At least Sister Brigida was when she came to give the girls their lessons. She said Gerald is a scholar, and holds Meister Eckhart in high esteem.”

“Bless Jocasta. She listens and provides. Will you return to Toft Green after I’ve seen Lionel? Perhaps someone will have seen Thatcher. Or Griffin. I don’t like it that Griffin and Werner have separated.” She told him what Phillip had observed about Griffin and Dean Richard.

“Which one do you distrust?” asked Berend. “Griffin or Werner?”

“I don’t know. I’m worried about Nan. Bran had no news of her and no idea where to look. Surely he would know if she were involved in the attempted theft. And now Thatcher’s disappeared.”

“He might intend to break away from his thieving friends.”

“Because they failed at the Martha House?” Kate wondered. “They did bungle it badly.”

Berend nodded. “Yes, I want to hear it for myself from the men at the green. But we’ll dine before I go to the camps.”

Kate nodded. “I’ve invited the dean and Helen to dine with us tomorrow. He will send word in the morning. I pray he comes. Serve our strongest wine. I want him talking.” She rose. “I’ll spare the sisters the news of Robin’s death until after they’ve had their meal. First I’ll see Lionel.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Jennet asked.

“No. I’ll take Lille and Ghent.”

Walking up Coppergate to Fossgate, Kate encountered Dame Jocasta and took the opportunity to ask her to spread the word that she was worried for Nan and would be grateful for any news of her. Thatcher as well.

“Fair hair, peg leg?” Jocasta nodded. “I will do so.” In turn, she told Kate more about Friar Gerald – he had studied in Paris with several teachers who had known Meister Eckhart. “He was as excited to meet the sisters as they were to meet him.” Dame Jocasta stroked Lille’s back.

“Thank you for bringing them together.”

“I take much joy in it. In truth, I predict that in time all will thank Dame Eleanor for her generosity in bringing the beguines to York. Learned women eager to teach the girls, a gifted sempster with – I sense a depth of spiritual awakening in Sister Dina unlike anything I have encountered before, Katherine. Have you noticed it?”

“I sense a good woman in much pain. My gifts do not extend to loftier realizations.”

As they paused in front of Dame Jocasta’s house, she asked where Kate was headed.

“Lionel Neville’s, to tell his man Fitch of his brother Robin’s death.”

“Brothers? I never would have guessed. May Robin rest in the peace of God’s grace.” Jocasta crossed herself. “Then I will not keep you. It is best to arrive before he sits down to dinner.” As Jocasta was turning, she paused. “Your mother carries a terrible burden. I cannot guess what causes her suffering, but I pray that Friar Gerald will draw her out. I do not believe she is called to a life of service among the sisters, but for now they are a comfort to her.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Be patient with Dame Eleanor. You are everything to her.”

“You gleaned this in one brief encounter?”

“Some I have gleaned from you. God go with you, my friend.”

As Kate continued down Fossgate she puzzled over the sting she had felt in Jocasta’s comments regarding her mother. Be patient. She tried, but with lives in the balance she found it difficult to accept her mother’s secrecy. You are everything to her. Kate was all that survived of her mother’s marriage to David Clifford. But how much of that was her mother’s doing? She paused on the bridge, startled by that question. Is that what she thought? Did she blame her mother for her family’s troubles? Her brothers’ deaths? Walter’s death, yes, but Roland’s? Geoff’s? Of course not.

Father challenged Mother about everything, Geoff said in her mind. He taught us to doubt her.

Kate had forgotten. We were to check with him before doing what she asked. Is that why she took Ulrich as a lover?

You would be a better judge of that, Kate.

Kate stared out over the Foss, the brown waters calmly flowing down to join the Ouse. Dame Jocasta had given her much to ponder. She shook herself, remembering her mission. Once across the bridge, she must set her mind to how to give her brother-in-law the impression that her sole purpose in visiting was to bring the news of Robin’s death to his brother, when of course that was but a small part of her mission. Her mother’s landlord. She must tread softly.

Maud Neville, Lionel’s eldest daughter, answered her knock and surprised Kate with an enthusiastic embrace. When Simon was alive, Kate had spent many happy hours with Winifrith Neville and her children. She was fond of them all, save Lionel. “You never come! And you never, ever bring Lille and Ghent! Welcome! Mother would like to see them. She is abed. The babe is coming any day now. They can climb stairs, can’t they?”

“Yes, of course. But are you certain she will welcome them in her lying-in chamber?”

“She talks of the countryside, you know how much she misses it. A horse would be even better, but lacking that, dogs are the best I can imagine. They will cheer her.”

Of course Winifrith would need cheering. She had borne so many children, the house was bursting, and she’d come close to death bearing the last baby. Blessed Mother, bring Winifrith through this birth with grace.

Without giving Kate a chance to state the reason for her visit, Maud escorted her and the hounds up the outer stairway to the solar. Lille and Ghent hesitated on the threshold of Winifrith’s chamber, the room hushed and stifling, the windows shuttered and a smoky brazier adding to the misery. But seeing them in the doorway, Winifrith called out in delight, urging Kate to bring the hounds to her. Their training overruled their unease.

The expectant mother’s usually bony face was swollen and damp, as were the hands that reached out to stroke Lille and Ghent. Kate wanted to fling open the shutters and put out the fire, but it was not her place.

“I would so much rather be lying in somewhere far from the city, in the peace of the countryside, with my own hounds lying at my feet. Bless you for this moment, Katherine, the pleasure of stroking them, remembering my own. Though I suppose you are here to see my husband?”

“His manservant.” Kate told her about Fitch’s brother and the heavy news she bore for him.

Winifrith waved a swollen hand. “Half brothers, or so they believed. I doubt their mother, the strumpet, knew who had fathered them. But that is no matter. My discomfort makes me spiteful. I am sorry for him. Maud, help me sit up.” Winifrith reached out to the dogs.

Kate motioned for Lille and Ghent to put their front paws on the bed so that Winifrith might scratch their necks.

The woman cooed to them as she worked their necks and their ears, taking her time with them, drinking them in. At last, visibly weary, she nodded to her daughter that she’d had enough. “You will find Lionel in the hall. I will make sure he sees to the burial for Fitch’s brother. It is the least we can do for his long service in this challenging household.”

“Bless you,” said Kate, calling Lille and Ghent to her. “Have you a midwife you trust, Winifrith?” Sister Clara was an experienced midwife, though she had not put herself forward as such in the city, fearful lest she antagonize those already caring for the women of York.

“Are you offering one of your mother’s beguines? To irk Lionel?” Winifrith sighed. “I weary of his constant battle with all and sundry. The man lost all humor when Simon died. His adored elder brother. He blames you, though in truth I should think it was that whore in Calais who exhausted him. So many unnecessary journeys.”

Kate tried to ignore the prick, but it was difficult. “Would you prefer to tell Fitch?”

“No, no. And thank you, but no beguines in this house. I would never be at peace with that man.” With a great sigh Winifrith closed her eyes.

Kate could not escape from the stifling chamber fast enough. At the bottom of the stairs she paused, indecisive – find a servant to announce her, or simply enter the hall? She decided on the latter when, through the slightly opened door, she heard Sir Elric’s ringing tones. Elric and Lionel. How convenient.

Pushing the door wide, she startled Fitch, who was hovering at the edge of the hall, ready to jump at his master’s command.

“Just the man I came to see,” Kate said quietly.

The man squirmed in his master’s old clothes, always slightly too large for him and absurdly fussy for a servant. He backed away from Lille and Ghent, having experienced their strength once in an unfortunate encounter. “Me? Who is telling tales on me?”

Kate caught both hounds’ collars, keeping them by her side. “No one, Fitch. I saw Prior Norbert this morning, and I thought you should know that your brother Robin has died.”

A hand to the heart and his pained look were all Kate needed to see. He had heard.

“May he rest in peace,” she said, and began to step past him toward Sir Elric and Lionel, who were talking quietly now, their backs to Kate and Fitch. But she paused. “Might I ask who told you about your brother?”

“His friend Carter called this morning. Said Robin had passed at the priory, shriven. I was grateful.”

“Had you known he was there, that he’d been injured?”

Fitch glanced toward the hounds. “I might have heard it in the wind, mistress. Not much happens in the city doesn’t become gossip.”

“Of course. Your mistress assures me that she and Master Lionel will see to your brother’s burial.”

A frown, sharp shake of the head. “I would not ask for that.”

“You need not. Dame Winifrith wishes to do it in respect for your long service. Fitch, your brother had a sweetheart. Nan. Did you know her?”

He shook his head. “I knew little about his life.”

By now they had been noticed.

“Dame Katherine!” Sir Elric’s voice rang out across the room. “I was just speaking of you. Come. Join us.”

She bit back a smile at Lionel’s sour reaction, wrinkling his nose and waving toward Lille and Ghent. “If you would permit Fitch to watch them by the door.”

The poor manservant looked to Kate for help. She gestured for Lille and Ghent to stay, whispering to Fitch that he would be fine so long as he ignored them.

“We have just been to see Dame Winifrith,” said Kate as she approached the two men. “She is so fond of animals, is she not?”

Lionel grunted.

“As the two of you are here, I would like to ask what you think of my neighbor John Paris. Is he trustworthy?”

Lionel’s long face tightened with suspicion, an expression that brought his close-set eyes even closer, making him seem cross-eyed. Sir Elric merely tucked his hands behind his back and fixed his gaze on the floor.

“Why ask me?” Lionel inquired.

“You are his landlord, are you not? And employ him as a courier from time to time?”

Lionel squirmed. “Of course. Of course. I’ve no complaints about the man.”

She glanced at Sir Elric, but he continued to study the floor. It was enough that he knew she knew John Paris had a connection with him. “He was mentioned in connection with Fitch’s brother, Robin, and who might see to his burial.”

Lionel straightened, glancing toward Fitch. “Your brother is dead?”

“He died of injuries suffered in a brawl with soldiers,” said Kate. She saw no need to make Fitch tell the tale. “They did him the kindness of taking him to the Dominican friary. Prior Norbert asked me who might see to his burial. John Paris employed Robin at one time. But then I learned of the connection.” She glanced back at Fitch with an encouraging nod. “And Winifrith has assured me you will see to his burial. After all, you were so good to recommend him to John Paris.” It was a wild reach, but if she had learned anything from her mother, it was that speaking quickly and making connections that challenged the listener to keep up often resulted in responses of refreshing honesty – spoken in haste to silence her, regretted at leisure long after the damage was done.

“Yes, yes, well, I thought it best to set Robin an honest task, and Paris was happy to oblige. Winifrith promised, did she? Well,” a glance at Sir Elric, who now seemed quite interested in the conversation, “of course. Anything to keep the peace, eh?”

It was far more than Kate had hoped. “So. Trustworthy?”

Again Lionel glanced at Sir Elric. “Well, if you have spoken to John Paris, you will know that I did him no favor recommending Fitch’s half brother. He’s a thief. Was.” He crossed himself. “But Paris is a satisfactory tenant.”

“Why do you ask?” asked Sir Elric. “Are you considering some trade with him, Dame Katherine? Or using him as a courier?”

“I have from time to time considered some arrangement about his warehouse.”

“Business is good?” Lionel asked with interest.

“Not at present, with the soldiers on the roads, the king’s men on our ships, but when the royal cousins resolve their differences …” She shrugged. “I plan for better times.”

“So do we all.” Lionel tried to smile, a disturbing business.

Clearing his throat, Elric said he must take his leave. “Remember what I have told you,” he said to Lionel, who sniffed as if insulted but nodded, nevertheless.

Kate had noticed that Elric was dressed for hot weather travel, a linen shirt beneath a short, sleeveless leather jacket and leather riding breeches. He might have dressed so to ride into the city, but it was possible the earl had summoned him, and, if so, this might be her last chance to find out what he knew about the troubles at the Martha House. She declared herself ready to depart as well, telling Lionel she wished Winifrith a safe delivery.

As they stepped out into the warmth of midday, Elric said, “Why have you taken such an interest in John Paris?”

“I’m more interested in Fitch’s late brother, Robin.”

“Ah. And why is that?”

She gave a little laugh, glancing at him to see whether he was aware of what a ridiculous question that was. But he feigned confusion. Glancing round, gauging they were far enough away from the windows and there was no one about who might overhear, she said, “You ask why I am interested in the man who stabbed your man Kevin? The man whom Sister Dina surprised in the kitchen? You insult my intelligence.”

As they approached a stone archway into the main yard, Kate signaled the hounds to block Elric’s way. When he stepped toward them, Lille growled.

“What is this?” Elric looked at Kate. “You do not want to challenge me.”

“Oh, but I do. I want to know why you lied to me the morning after Kevin’s wounding.”

“I did–”

“You said you’d not yet talked to your men, yet you went straight to St. Mary’s Abbey, where your man Kevin lay in the infirmary.”

He took a step toward her. “Who–?”

Ghent growled as Lille blocked Elric with her body.

“A man is dead and a maidservant is missing, neither of which might have happened had you told me what you knew that morning. I’ve wasted precious time gaining the abbot’s trust, access to the infirmary–”

“And what have you held back from me?” Elric said. “Frost and Holme and their fellow members of the council sending money to Duke Henry – news I would have expected you to report to me. For the earl.”

“When we spoke, I only guessed they had some communication with the duke in Knaresborough. I knew no more than that. And then I hear you’ve gone to the abbey infirmary, and I find your men guarding Sister Dina at the maison dieu. By the time I learned about the funds for Henry I did not think I could trust you.” In truth, she had never yet felt she could trust him.

Elric bowed his head. “I see I was in error. I am sorry if–”

Kate shook her head to silence him as the door behind him opened, Maud Neville stepping out, a basket on her arm, a maidservant following on her heels.

“Oh, Sir Elric, did you annoy Dame Katherine? Mind the hounds!” Maud Neville giggled as she swept past.

Elric muttered a curse, but when Maud was gone he apologized for doubting Kate and any harm that might have come from it.

Kate nodded but did not call off the hounds.

“Do you believe the murder of your mother’s manservant is connected to the attempted theft?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps this Robin had thought the man bided in the kitchen of the Martha House.”

That was a possibility she had not considered. And she quickly discarded it. Robin seemed to have been acting on information either willingly or unwittingly shared by Nan, who knew there were no men biding on the premises at the time. But Kate pretended to consider it. “Perhaps. In truth I have not yet found the link between the two.” Judging that she had made her point, Kate signaled Lille and Ghent to release Elric, and, as they walked out of Lionel’s yard, she told him what she knew of Nan’s disappearance.

“And your redoubtable Jennet has found no trace of her?” he asked.

She shook her head. “A favor. Could you ask your men to help search for her?”

“I will tell them to come to you with any information.” He proffered his arm.

“I cannot – I have two leashes to hold.” But she thanked him, and they proceeded toward the Foss Bridge. “You are dressed for travel. Are you going away?”

“Soon, yes.”

Halfway across the bridge, they both began to speak at once. He laughed, his usually chilly blue eyes warm, his chiseled features softer. Dangerously appealing. Kate looked away.

“Do you think Lionel put Fitch’s brother up to the theft? Is that what you hoped to learn?” Elric asked.

“I am not inclined to suspect Lionel of the deed. I was more interested in how much of what John Paris told me was the truth.”

“Are you satisfied?” he asked.

“For the most part. I was curious to find you in my brother-in-law’s hall.”

“The earl bid me warn Lionel that if he should stir up trouble in York during my absence, he will pay, and pay dearly. It seems the powerful men of the city have offered their support to Lancaster – now is the time for peaceful cooperation. As you know, Lionel has on occasion interfered with the earl’s” – a shrug – “spy work in the city. I was also to advise you to send a messenger to the earl at Raby if Lionel should transgress. It seems my lord still hopes to make you an ally.”

“You might have thought of that before lying to me.”

“Surely you cannot fault me for expecting either your partner Holme or your cousin Frost to inform you of their support for Duke Henry?”

He’s right, Geoff whispered in her mind. Even you were surprised. You cannot fault him there.

No, I cannot.

She sighed. “I should think I have proved I am your lord’s ally.”

“In matters you deem safe for your friends.” Elric raised a brow. “Am I wrong?”

Kate smiled.

They were back to their familiar sword dance. Soon he would ask about the letters he still suspected she held, incriminating the earl. But Kate was not entirely averse to his request to keep an eye on Lionel. It was in her own interest to keep him in line.

“Of course I will inform the earl if Lionel should transgress. And I am glad of the chance to thank you for keeping watch on the Martha House.”

He glanced at her. “It was Kevin’s doing. At first. And after that – I did not know whether you would find it annoying or helpful, but I’d heard about Hans, and that Griffin and Werner had disappeared, and thought you could use some additional eyes.”

My, he knew much about her affairs.

“I still hope to make amends for my part in your troubles this past winter,” Elric added. “And–”

Kate grinned. “Your lord would like his letters.”

The skin round Elric’s eyes crinkled in his tanned face when he laughed, and his eyes, his broad shoulders … Kate was glad of the crowd round them, forcing her to pay attention to where she was walking. She had been far too long without a man in her bed.

“What word of your man Kevin?” she asked.

“I am aware that Berend has talked to him.”

Kate nodded. “But have you more recent news?”

“He is healing well. In time, he may recover his strength and faculties. But Brother Martin warns his will be a long healing. I wondered. Might he find a temporary place in your household? So that he might be near the abbey infirmary? Sheriff Hutton is too far. Not at once. He is still confined to bed. But by Martinmas at the latest …”

“Of course. He has done much for the sisters. If not mine, I will find him a place in a good household.”

Elric thanked her. “And the letters?”

She laughed. “If I were in possession of them, I might be quite disposed to hand them over to you. But as it stands …”

“They are of no use to you.”

“Then all the better I do not have them.”

They had reached Coppergate. Sir Elric paused, turning to her, his eyes warmer than she had expected after that exchange. “My plan is to depart tomorrow. I will leave two men here in the city. Should Lionel cause trouble for you–”

“Where do I find your men?”

She was interested to learn that they were lodged but five houses from her guesthouse, on Stonegate, in the home of a goldsmith. Very near the property her uncle was deeding to her.

“They take their midday meal at the York Tavern, so you might always leave word there as well. And I will not forget to tell them about Nan.”

How he smiles at you. And you, him, Geoff whispered in Kate’s mind.

Be quiet.

Elric had begun to take his leave. “Before you go,” she said, “what can you tell me of Sir Alan Bennet and his fellows?”

“Ah. A puzzle that intrigues me. No livery. Even those he hosted in your home on Petergate were circumspect, saying only that he had the ear of barons close to King Richard, that he had been sent by them to see that those arriving to hold York for the king were welcomed and honored. Have you any more?”

“No. My uncle sent him to me, yet now vaguely claims he was recommended by friends.”

“Richard Clifford, the noble dean of York Minster.” Sir Elric clasped his hands behind his back and gazed down at the cobbles for a moment. “He is a slippery one. My lord would give much to know where his loyalties lie.”

“I would say with the king, whoever he might be, and with the Church.” Kate smiled at Elric’s expression, how pleased he seemed. “Yes. Cliffords, Nevilles, Frosts – Northerners all, seeing to family first. Why risk land and status when one royal cousin is much the same as another?”

“They disappoint you?” Elric asked.

“I agree with them, more’s the pity. Lives will be lost. And for what?” Bidding Elric good day, Kate clucked to Lille and Ghent and moved on, hoping she did not show her dismay. She had shared too much, let him see her too clearly.

Do you believe that about all such struggles? Do you think we died for nothing? Geoff whispered in her mind.

I wonder, Geoff. I do wonder. And I hate that it might be so.

Dinner sat heavy in Kate’s stomach as she took a seat near where Sister Dina sat, examining the swirling pattern on a deep blue brocade. Quietly, Kate told her that Kevin, her rescuer, was on the mend, but that Robin, her attacker, had died. The brocade slithered off Dina’s lap as she covered her mouth. She stopped breathing, her eyes registering the enormity of her deed. Kate touched her shoulder, spoke about the rough handling by the soldiers, by Kevin, how there was every reason to believe he would have recovered had he suffered only the wound she inflicted. Kate sensed the other sisters crowding behind her as she spoke, recognized her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

Brigida and Clara flowed round Kate and knelt to their friend, touching her, offering her soft words. Kate rose, genuflected at the Lady altar, saying a prayer for Dina, Robin, Kevin, and all who were suffering, and then walked out into the sunny afternoon.

“What was the purpose of the intruders?” her mother asked.

Kate had not noticed her following. Turning, she was taken aback by the fear in her mother’s beautiful green eyes. “I do not believe they will be back.” She shared Bran’s account of their scheme, as well as Prior Norbert’s promise to see to Friar Adam. “Even Lionel Neville should be on his best behavior for the nonce. Rest easy, Mother.”

But Eleanor shook her head. “Someone wishes to discredit us.”

“Mother, I’ve just told you–”

“Of course Robin and his fellows would think it was a simple theft – why would those seeking to discredit me bother to explain that to such simpletons?”

Her mother seemed quite certain it was not over. “How would they discredit you? What is in the books?”

“Nothing but God’s word, Christ’s teaching. But the Church twists the lessons so that the people are humbled, fearful, so that we crawl on hands and knees to the priests begging for absolution and offer them all our wealth.”

What could Kate say? It was no more than what others thought but dared not say aloud. “Are you a Lollard, Mother? Do you renounce the authority of the pope and his priests?” She had heard sermons against the followers of the English theologian John Wycliffe, as well as much quiet agreement among her acquaintances.

“Lollards. Pah. I am merely a Christian who has heard Christ’s message of love. But what of Hans? And Nan’s disappearance? What did they have to do with the books and the Christ child?”

Good questions, all. Kate had been so busy trying to calm her mother she had forgotten how much remained unresolved. Particularly the murder of Hans. It was possible she was blinded by her insistence on seeking connections. These were troubled times, violence ever close to the surface. But so much coincidence? “I know you do not wish me to ask why you fled Strasbourg after Ulrich’s death, but–”

“I did not flee, Katherine. You make me sound like a criminal.”

Patience, Kate schooled herself. She touched her mother’s arm, gently, affectionately. “Forgive me, I did not mean it in that way. What I was suggesting is that you might share all that I have just told you with Griffin and Werner. It might help them in their investigation.”

Her mother said nothing.

“I trust that you have the items – the books, the Christ child – safely hidden? No longer in the chests that Nan told Robin about?” Kate asked.

“Do not worry. They are safe.”

Kate did not believe her. But challenging her would do no good. So she changed the subject. “Dean Richard is leaving the city. He believes he best serves the realm from Westminster during this – until the royal cousins resolve their differences. Did Griffin tell you? Dean Richard says he explained that to him.”

Now her mother turned. “What are you saying? Griffin met with Richard Clifford?”

“Did you not send him to my uncle to request his support?”

“No. What–” She shook her head, looked away. “Griffin seeks to protect me. But from whom?”

“If you would confide in me, I might help you.”

“No. No, I do not want this to touch you.”

For a moment Kate’s breath caught in her throat. An admission, however small and vague, that something was afoot. Gently she asked, “Is that why you will not tell me about Ulrich’s death – you fear for my safety?”

“Why do you think this is about his death?”

Because I see it in your eyes, Kate thought. She was certain of it now. But to say that would only push her mother away. “If it is not about what happened in Strasbourg, then what is it that you fear? What task have you set Griffin and Werner?”

Whispering to herself – a prayer? a vow? – Eleanor sat down on the bench outside the garden door and covered her face with her hands.

“Mother?” Kate sat down beside her. “Please, I could help if I knew what troubled you.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Eleanor straightened and patted Kate’s arm. “I see why you like Jocasta Sharp. She is so kind, so helpful. Friar Gerald will serve very well for us. Bless you, Katherine.”

Kate spent the time after dinner lazing in the river gardens, letting Lille and Ghent explore with Petra and Marie while she sat beneath a linden with Sister Clara. They began in silence, Kate listening to the life of the garden – the birds, a persistent woodpecker providing the rhythm beneath the songbirds’ melodies, with insects buzzing about in a wild counter-tempo. Her companion fingered beads, murmuring prayers. Petra and Marie addressed Lille and Ghent in French, dissolving into giggles whenever the hounds regarded them with their soulful eyes, as if asking for translation.

“Children, dogs, a garden, a river. God’s gifts for troubled hearts,” Sister Clara said, pausing in her prayer. Peering into Kate’s face, her own shadowed by her veil, the beguine whispered, “But not comforting enough for you, I see. Is it Hans’s death?”

“All that has happened weighs on me, but it is my mother’s silence that darkens this sweet moment.”

“Silence? Dame Eleanor?” Clara gave a little laugh, but quickly sobered. “I have noticed that she uses speech as if it weaves a protective shell round her. One cannot break through to what is truly in her heart.”

Well said. “She hides something that causes her pain. But it is that pain I must plumb to understand what is happening here – the murder, the intruder. I need to know what happened in Strasbourg so that I might prevent another death – perhaps hers.”

Clara placed a hand over Kate’s, pressing it gently. “I will pray for her heart to open to you. You are everything to her.”

“You are the second person who has told me that today. But we have ever been at war with each other.”

“Not war. I sense nothing but love. It is life that has come between you. If you put all that has happened aside when you come together, you will see only the love, the godhead, heart to heart, soul to soul.”

“Beautiful words. I have tried patience, stepping away, waiting – but I see no crack in the shell. She gives no hint of what happened.” Kate turned on the bench and took Clara’s hands, looking into the eyes that radiated such warmth. She could not imagine how someone could be so unguarded. “Would you speak to her as you just did to me?”

Clara blinked. “I would if I might speak so to her. With Dame Eleanor one must be less direct. I will think what readings might inspire her.”

Readings. Well, it had worked with Dina. Kate thanked her, and they resumed their former occupations, Clara praying, Kate worrying, both of them watching the girls, who were down by the water, picking flowers to adorn each other’s hair.

Petra and Marie still fought, yet it was clear that they also cared deeply for each other, Kate thought. Perhaps she should spend more time with them, discovering how they managed to have such peaceful moments.

As the afternoon lengthened, Sister Clara rose to go about her duties, and Kate gathered the wanderers and led them home. Too much sitting. In late afternoon, the two great oaks in Thomas Holme’s yard cast long shadows across Kate’s garden – the perfect time to practice at the butt without being blinded by the sun’s glare. The archery might help Kate collect and order her thoughts. Petra and Marie wandered over as she was stringing her bow, fingering the arrows, asking whether it was Seth’s father who had fletched them.

“Many of them,” said Kate. “Would you like Seth to show you how to do it? I could take you to the guesthouse one afternoon.” After guests had departed and before they arrived for their evenings.

“I would prefer to learn how to shoot the arrows,” said Petra. “How old were you when you learned?”

“My father had a bow made for me when I was ten, so a little older than you. But my brother Walter – your father – let me play with his old bow long before that. Out in the fields, where Mother would not see. She wanted my hands soft and smooth for embroidery and weaving.”

“But you weave.”

“I do. And I did with Mother.”

“But your needlework is sloppy,” said Marie.

“Thank you, yes, it is, and ever will be,” said Kate. “So you disapprove of archery?”

“No! If Petra learns, so do I.”

“And your soft hands?”

“Matt’s cousin Bella has lotions that will keep even a gardener’s hands soft and smooth, she says. And you wear those hand and arm guards.” Marie plucked at the leather.

“Ah.” Kate smiled. Marie’s affection for Petra seemed to inspire more curiosity. A blessing. “Your first lesson, then, is stillness. Sit down and be as still as you can be.”

The girls, giggling, sank down in the grass just behind her.

Kate paused a moment, eyes closed, quieting her mind. It took longer than usual, but at last she felt the calm spreading out to surround her. She had just reached for an arrow from her quiver when the gate in the hedge swung wide and Eleanor swept through, bearing a bowl.

“Sugared almonds, my dears. Would you care for some?”

Marie and Petra rushed to claim their share, inviting Eleanor to join them on the grass. To Kate’s surprise, her mother accepted, settling beside them.

“Are you comfortable there?” Kate asked.

“I am quite content,” said Eleanor, patting the girls’ hands.

But Kate was not. Her calm was already fraying at the edges with her mother’s presence. Eleanor had been furious when Kate’s father gave her a bow, a quiver of arrows, and lessons at the butt for her tenth birthday, and she had never changed her attitude. Kate felt her mother’s eyes on her now, but there was no courteous way to coax her away, and it was possible that her mother meant this as a gesture of peace. So she proceeded to notch the arrow, draw back the string, aim.

This one is for all the pain between us. She let fly the arrow. Centered. Perfect.

She reached for another, notched it, drew back the string, aimed. For Hans’s murderer. It landed just to the left of the first.

Your best form despite Mother’s presence, Geoff whispered in her head.

Kate ignored him, always worried her mother would sense him. She notched another arrow, aimed. For whoever put Robin and his fellows up to the theft. She let fly the arrow, knocking the other two out as it hit the center.

Another arrow notched. Her mother’s arrival in York had unsettled Kate’s life and that of those she most loved, even her uncle. But Kate loved her. She was her mother, all she had left of her family. Perhaps it was her own reaction to Eleanor that had kept her in the dark about what drove her here. Whom could her mother trust? Had she been betrayed like Kate, who had believed all Simon’s words of love, only to hear his cruel will and discover that he had a family in Calais? Had Eleanor discovered that Ulrich was not the man she had thought? Had his death dealt a blow to her love?

She drew the string, aimed. The arrow hit wide of center.

Dame Eleanor rose, brushing off her skirts. “A sugared almond?” She held the bowl out to Kate.

Setting the bow atop the butt, Kate accepted one of the treats as she searched for something to say, something that might bridge the divide, begin to build trust. Eleanor, too, seemed to be searching for words.

Petra and Marie chose that moment to hop up and retrieve the arrows for Kate.

“Tell us more stories about your brothers,” said Marie.

“Would you teach me to shoot?” asked Petra.

“Us, teach us,” said Marie.

“You are so young and slight,” Eleanor said to her.

“My da taught Aunt Katherine when she was just a mite,” said Petra. “Tell me more stories about my da. I want to know him.”

“Walter,” Eleanor whispered, her expression pained. “I– I have work to do,” she said, shoving the bowl into Kate’s hands and retreating to the gate.

It clattered loudly as it shut behind her.

Kate closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths. The girls were not at fault, and she did not want to snap at them.

“Should I not have mentioned my da to her?” asked Petra. “Is she angry with him?”

“No, not at all. She is grieving her son. Her eldest. You must never doubt our love for him. And you.”

“How did he teach you?” Petra asked.

“Please, Dame Katherine?” said Marie, taking her hand. “Show us!”

Such a gesture from Marie was a rare event, not to be wasted. “It takes strength,” Kate said, forcing a smile. “You must practice every day to build your strength. Are you ready for that?”

Marie nodded. “I want to be strong like you. Then nothing will frighten me.”

“Old Mapes said only a fool fears nothing,” said Petra.

Marie rolled her eyes and danced away toward where Lille and Ghent lounged beneath the kitchen eaves. The hounds glanced up at her approach. “With a bow and a quiver of arrows and two war dogs I will fear nothing!”

“You never want to excite them, Marie.” Kate grasped the opportunity to give both girls a lesson in the sort of discipline required to train as an archer. Working with the girls usually lifted her spirits, but not at the moment. Her mother’s pain and her own part in it weighed heavily.

The houses along Micklegate cast long shadows as Berend and Matt approached Toft Green, the elder instructing the younger in demeanor – walk with purpose, not too curious, skirt the clusters of tents, avoid any visible reaction to things overheard.

“Well, what have we here?” Berend said as they passed the first cluster of tents. He nudged Matt, nodding toward the priory wall, the camp circle that was their destination. “Sir Alan Bennet – the knight leasing Dame Katherine’s tenement beside the guesthouse.”

The knight was kicking a pile of blankets with his foot, then toeing the cold coals of an extinguished fire.

“At the camp where Thatcher was cooking? The men who came for Robin?” Matt gave a low whistle.

“Aye. The soldiers appear to have broken camp. Now what did Sir Alan want with them?”

“Wondering where they’ve gone? Shall we rush him?”

“And reveal our interest?” Berend shook his head.

He asked a few men about the one-legged cook as they picked their way through what was left of the campsites. Only four clusters of tents left. No one had seen the cook for at least a day, maybe longer. The stragglers were friendly enough until he pointed to Sir Alan.

“The king’s man? Who’s asking, eh?”

“Who’re you spying for?”

Berend asked no more.

“Sir Alan’s gone,” Matt muttered as they moved away from the last campsite.

“We know where to find him. Nothing to see here.” Though Berend did search the abandoned campsite, dreading to find Thatcher’s peg leg, evidence that the petty thief had been used by them and then cast aside. Or worse. But there was no sign of any of the men, nary a sharpening stone, a pot, or a jar of spices. As if they had never been there.

They caught sight of Sir Alan on Micklegate and followed him as he walked with seeming purpose, pausing only once, to talk to Severen.

“Now that’s an interesting acquaintance,” Berend said. “Nan’s night-watch friend, the one injured by Hans’s assailants.” He motioned to Matt to slip closer, see whether he might overhear. He was smaller than Berend, less noticeable. He’d almost reached the two, standing just beyond the fishmongers, when Severen bobbed his head and continued on in Berend’s direction. He had just enough time to slip into a crowd clustered round a street musician playing a hurdy-gurdy while his monkey hopped from shoulder to shoulder. As soon as Severen passed, Berend whispered to the woman beside him that the monkey had stolen her earring, then strode on to join Matt, grinning as the hurdy-gurdy stopped amid angry shouts. Bloody fool of a thief to weigh himself down with a costly instrument. Made him hesitate just long enough upon discovery to get jumped on by his victims.

“Could you hear anything?” he asked Matt.

“Too little. Something about all being quiet and departing soon. Nothing telling.”

“But that they know each other.”

They hurried after Sir Alan as he headed over Ouse Bridge. He turned into the alleyway on Petergate that led to the door to his lodgings. Berend heard him greet Griselde, who was sweeping the entrance to the guesthouse. When the knight had firmly shut the door behind him, Berend and Matt strolled up to the housekeeper.

“Bonny afternoon after all that rain,” she said, setting aside her broom. “And far fewer armed strangers on the streets. Once that lot goes,” she nodded toward the door through which Sir Alan had gone, “I’ll breathe easy. Some are already doing so. Master Frost and the widow Seaton will be our guests tonight. Dame Katherine will be pleased.”

Berend agreed.

“You two look thirsty. Come to the kitchen and tell me all the news.”

Clement nodded to them as they stepped into the kitchen. “Matt, my lad, it is good to see you.”

Berend left them to talk while he asked Griselde about Sir Alan’s visitors. She had set Seth Fletcher to watching for visitors in the evening, which was when they tended to arrive. But they all wore dark clothing, hats covering their hair and sometimes parts of their faces. Berend told Griselde about the meeting on the bridge between Sir Alan and Severen.

Her round, placid face registered no surprise. “The night watch, yes. They all seem to stop by sometime during their rounds. Seth thinks they are treated to food and brandywine. As they are elsewhere. How they all stay awake till dawn I will never understand.”

Laughing as they were caught in a downpour, Kate, Jennet, and Berend hurried into the kitchen, watched with interest by Lille and Ghent, who’d had the good sense to seek shelter with the first drop. The three had lingered out on the bench beneath the eaves, talking quietly while listening for signs of trouble. That was Kate’s doing. Or Geoff’s. He was strangely present in Kate’s mind this evening, worrying, wondering about Eleanor’s behavior, itchy with foreboding.

Earlier, Kate had found her mother in the Martha House garden and tried to make peace. “I have invited Dean Richard and Helen to dinner tomorrow. Will you join us?”

Instead of a surprised smile, Eleanor shook her head, a tight shake, more a shiver. “How well do you know your uncle?”

Kate thought about his surprising gift. “Not as well as I might like. He has been helpful.” Until Eleanor arrived, she thought. “But we have argued of late.”

“You are strong, Katherine. I am proud of you, of the life you have made here despite Simon’s regrettable behavior.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, surprised and moved by her mother’s praise, though uncertain what that had to do with her invitation.

“But the girls, the weaponry,” Eleanor added. “They are not being brought up on the border as you were, they are city girls. Such knowledge – it will only hurt them when it comes to marriage. Or the religious life.”

“They have both suffered much loss,” said Kate, “and the indifference of their parents. They both know how unreliable others can be. How important it is to know how to care for oneself.”

Eleanor covered Kate’s hand with hers. “They have you, my dear. Your task is to prove that to them. That you are always there.”

As Mother was not? She was so busy blaming Father for our troubles when we were small she could not be bothered protecting us. How would she? She disdained anything resembling a weapon. Geoff’s words were so loud in her head that she braced herself for her mother’s reaction.

But Eleanor was patting Kate’s hand and talking about Marie’s delicate frame, how Petra might benefit from more time with the sisters, learning to be quiet and still.

“Petra is skilled in the art of stillness,” said Kate. Be quiet, Geoff. I do not want her to know you are here. “Will you come to dinner with the dean tomorrow?”

That tight shake of the head again, the unease in her mother’s eyes. “No. No, I think not.” Eleanor rose, shaking out her skirts. “It is time for prayer.”

She trembles, Kate. What frightens her?

“Did the dean offend you, refusing to be the sisters’ confessor?” Kate asked.

Eleanor touched Kate’s cheek. “He is your family, not mine. I feel about the Cliffords” – she seemed to search for words – “much as you feel about the Nevilles. It is said we marry the families, not the individuals, but that is not true. We are tolerated by the families while there is the possibility of an heir, a son who will bring renown to the name. I lost my sons, you were denied them.” A shrug. “I have no quarrel with your uncle.” She emphasized the last word. “He is nothing to me.”

Not true. He is something, and it terrifies her, Geoff noted.

Kate saw it as well. He is a Clifford. This is about the Cliffords. Before she could ask her mother if that was so – she might not respond, but her reaction to the question might be telling – Eleanor had changed the subject.

“You should know, Thomas Holme says the sheriffs are making no effort to find Hans’s murderer. They presume it was one of many brawls among the soldiers and the men of York that begins in taverns and alehouses and spills out onto the streets, that he might have been as much to blame as the man who unwittingly killed him. I have never heard such nonsense. Thomas says they care naught because Hans was but a servant, not even a man of the realm, and therefore not worth the bother. He thought, hearing that, I would tell him where Werner is. He said Werner was his servant, his responsibility. But I cannot help Thomas. I’ve no idea where Werner might be.”

“Is that true? You do not know where he and Griffin are?”

“That part is true, Daughter. I deemed it best I knew nothing of their plan, how they intended to find out who murdered Hans, and why.”

“You said that part. What knowledge did you keep from Thomas?”

Eleanor waved away the question. “I misspoke. A storm is coming – can you smell it? My head is pounding. Of course I misspoke. You must have patience with me, Daughter. I am not so young as I was.”

“Werner is with Griffin, and they have a plan?”

A hesitation. “Of course they have a plan. They walked off together, did they not? They must have some plan. We would be lost without a path, an intention, a guide – that is what the beguines have given me, a guide for living.” She waved a hand and began to walk away.

There was cunning in her mother’s feigned confusion. “Werner has not been seen with Griffin.”

A shrug. “They are being cautious. That is all to the good.”

Frosts and Cliffords. Her uncle, her mother, both pointed to a rift in the bond of Kate’s two families.

Three. The Nevilles.

For once, that lot are not troubling me, Geoff.

Another feud. Will it prove as deadly as ours with the Cavertons? Or the king’s with his cousin?

Ever since Kate’s conversation with their mother, Geoff had whispered of feuds and imminent danger.

I will wish you gone if you persist, Geoff, she’d threatened at last.

He had been silent since that thought, his absence simply adding to Kate’s unease. Lille and Ghent had caught her mood, eyeing anything that moved, peering into the shadows.

Now, Kate tried to shrug off her concerns about that conversation as she rushed into the kitchen, forcing herself to laugh with Jennet and Berend. Laughter cleared the mind. She blinked in the light. The kitchen was bright with lamps and the fire that would keep the bread dough rising through the night. The three moved close to the fire, drying their clothes, grinning at themselves for biding there as the fat drops began. They’d all known that was prelude to a downpour.

“Aimed at us where we sat!” Jennet said with a laugh.

Berend nodded, but he eyed Kate with concern. “All the while we sat out there, you were listening for something. For what?”

How well he knew her. She told them about her conversation with Eleanor, all her pauses, the care with which she chose her words, words that denied the fear so evident in her cold hands, her shakiness. All so tangible that Kate could not even now, in the warmth and comfort of the kitchen, escape the sense that danger was near. She held up her cup for more ale. “And she will not dine with us tomorrow. My uncle distrusts the Frosts, Mother distrusts the Cliffords.” She paused there, glancing at her companions, waiting for them to say it.

Berend tilted his head, considering. “A feud between your families?” A slow nod as he left the fire and checked the large bowl in which dough was rising. Standing there examining it, he seemed at peace, as ever he did when going about his tasks. He once called his work in her household his redemption. “But you know nothing of a feud.” As he glanced up at her, she saw the lines of care return. Would there ever come a time when there were no cares?

She shook her head. “My uncle never approved of his brother’s marriage, and Mother’s hasty remarriage further soured his feelings for her. But it is a passing discomfort, surely. I believe this has more to do with the beguines. Heretics, in his mind. Their house founded by a woman who carries the Clifford name.”

“And why the theft?” asked Jennet. “What might the Christ child and religious texts mean to the Clifford family? They belong to the beguines, not Dame Eleanor.”

“By association?” Kate rubbed her eyes. “I do not see the whys or the wherefores yet, but one thing has occurred to me. My uncle was cordial to Mother at first, almost welcoming, remember? Yet recently, I think quite recently, he must have learned something, received a warning – whatever it was, he resolved to keep his distance from her. And to warn me away.”

“He warns you but will not tell you the cause,” said Jennet. “He cannot think to win you over with no explanation. Surely if it were merely the beguines, he would say.”

“Nor does it explain his gift.” Kate told them about the house in Petergate.

“A generous gift,” said Berend, giving a little whistle. “It’s a fine house.”

Jennet softly cursed. “It smells of blood money. What has Dean Richard done?”

“Families do this all the time,” said Kate. “It keeps the property in the family.”

“Will you sign the deed?” Berend asked.

“It is a clear deed, no conditions. I think I would be a fool to let it slip through my hands. What do you say?”

Jennet shrugged.

“It would be a fine addition to your holdings,” said Berend.

“But as for living there …” Kate shrugged.

“If you live there, so shall we, eh, Berend?” said Jennet with a conciliatory grin. “But it is not empty.”

“Who lives there now?” asked Berend.

“Knights,” said Jennet. “Only not so well behaved as Sir Alan’s lot. They have spent a great deal at the bawd houses at the edge of the Bedern, paying more than the vicars choral can afford. Poor laddies, they have felt the pinch. They will be glad to see the back of the knights.” She rose, stretched her arms, rotated her freckled wrists. “With Matt in the kitchen next door I should be in the house with the girls and allow Brigida to go to her evening prayers. Should I be wary of Griffin? Or Werner?”

“For the nonce, I am wary of everyone but my own household,” said Kate.

“Then I shall be likewise.” Swinging wide the door, Jennet apologized as a gust of wind sent rain into the kitchen, showering Lille and Ghent before she’d closed the door behind her. The hounds stood to shake off the spray.

“The girls will not like being alone up in the solar,” said Kate. But instead of rising, she asked for more ale, then settled back to tell Berend about Geoff and her own conflicted feelings about her uncle.

Berend put a cloth over the dough and stretched out beside her, stroking Ghent’s head. “You’ve plenty cause to wonder at Richard Clifford’s behavior. And Dame Eleanor’s, Werner’s, Griffin’s. Even Hans, stealing away to the taverns – something changed him. I wonder whether Werner might explain that. Do you believe Dame Eleanor, that she did not send Griffin to your uncle?”

“I don’t know what to believe where Mother is concerned. And Griffin – I think you trust him more than I do.”

“I did, but he’s given me cause to question my judgment, wandering off as he did. If she did not send him to the dean, what is his game?” Berend sat up and plucked a leaf from her hair, tossed it into the fire. “We need to find him. And Werner.”

Kate stared into the flames a moment. “Agreed. Tomorrow morning, you, Jennet, and I will go out in search of them – Griffin might hide his hair with a hat, but he cannot hide his west country speech. Or his brows – bushy, copper-colored. Someone will have marked him. And Werner – his size, his speech.” Kate set aside her bowl as the wind rattled the shutters. “The girls will be wanting me.”

Berend held out his hand to help her up. His was warm, his grip strong.

“Bless you,” she whispered, and hurried out into the night.