The Service of the Dead

9 Above the Chapter House

Despite her worry, Kate must have slipped into a deep slumber. When a loud knocking on her chamber door wakened her, she was confused for a moment by the tangle of arms, legs, and hair trapping her in the soft feather bed. Ah. Marie.

Matt called through the door that she was summoned by her uncle, Dean Richard. Gently disentangling herself from Marie, Kate slipped out of bed, shivering as her sweaty flesh met the predawn chill of the bedchamber. She wrapped herself in a blanket that had slipped to the floor and opened the door to Matt, who stood on the landing with an oil lamp in hand, leaning heavily on his crutch.

“My uncle the dean summoned me? But it is not yet dawn, is it?”

“No, not yet, but Dean Richard’s secretary waits at the threshold. Lille and Ghent will not let him cross it. I did not know the command for them to stand down. He says you must come as soon as you can. To the minster yard. It is your ward, Phillip. He found the stonemason hanging from the rafters of the chapter house.”

Marie wailed from the bed. “Phillip? My brother is dead?”

“No, Marie. Phillip found – someone in trouble.” Kate nodded to Matt. “I will dress quickly. Do you need help going down?”

“I need the practice.”

“Come, Matt.” Already dressed, Jennet slipped out in front of Kate. “I will go first, and if you need to, use my back to steady yourself.” Over her shoulder she told Kate that she would wake Berend and tell him where they would be.

Pulling on her clothes from the previous day, still heavy with weaponry, Kate was out the door before Marie crawled out of bed. When she reached the hall she found the dogs calmly standing to either side of Matt, keeping a close watch on her uncle’s secretary, Alf, who bent toward the fire, warming his hands.

“Connor? Was the stonemason’s name Connor?” she asked.

Alf straightened and gave Kate a little bow. He was an earnest man, his brows always knit together over his pug nose as if to ensure all that he was reliable. “Yes, that was the name, Mistress Clifford. Can you come?”

“At once. Matt, when Marie comes downstairs, she will be in a fury that we left without her. Do not let her out of your sight. Take her to the kitchen. Berend is good with her. Tell him there will be no school for her today because I cannot trust her not to run off in search of her brother.” She felt for Matt, seeing the anxiety in his dark eyes. “I am sorry to burden you with her, but it cannot be helped.”

“I am here to serve, Dame Katherine. Perhaps I can charm her with my smile.”

He did have a winning smile. One of the reasons Kate had stationed him at the guesthouse rather than her own home was that smile, and the rest of his quite pleasing person. As a young widow, she had quickly registered the danger and kept him across the city. Seeing his smile at this early hour cheered her, but her worry quickly reinstated itself.

“You may find Marie far less susceptible to your winning ways than most females, Matt. I pray you, do not despair. Berend will busy her with something in the kitchen.” Kate called the dogs to her, slipped their leashes through their collars, and nodded to Alf. “Lead the way.” They collected Jennet in the yard.

“What about dressing Marie?”

“She is perfectly capable of dressing herself, Jennet. At least for a morning in the kitchen.”

The snow glistened with a crust of ice that had formed in the night. Kate appreciated the substantial lantern Alf carried. Even so, she stepped with care. They saw few citizens other than a watchman on his rounds, who hailed them to ask if they needed assistance. Kate thanked him and sent him on his way, though she noticed him following them at a distance. A watchman rarely paid for his ale, trading the stories gathered on his watch for drink. Kate did not begrudge him, though she hoped he gave a true account of whatever he witnessed.

Torches and lanterns made pools of light in the snowy yard, casting shadows against the dark mass of the minster and upon the small building that sheltered the stonemasons’ workshop from the weather. As they entered the yard, Kate asked Alf to stop a moment. She needed to compose herself. The minster filled her with unease. Stone should not soar into the heavens; it should be stacked solidly on the earth. She disliked the lifelike statues painted bright colors and adorned in silver gilt, ever watching with their shifty eyes. She hated the feeling of being watched, judged. It was worse at night. She hurried past trying not to look toward it.

Her uncle was pacing at the door of the unfinished east end, casting an eerie shadow on the decorated stone as he moved in and out of the lantern light. Kate focused her eyes on him as she approached. It helped that her uncle caught sight of her and hurried forward to embrace her, kissing her forehead, filling her vision.

“Katherine, God be thanked.”

“Where is Phillip?”

“He is still inside with the body, in the roof of the chapter house. Even after I gave Connor the last rites your ward refused to leave his side. Lady Margery is with him.”

“Lady Margery? Why?”

“Her men alerted her.”

That was no answer, but Kate did not pursue it, concerned about her ward. “Is Phillip hurt?”

“Only his heart. Perhaps his pride.”

“What happened?”

“All I know is that he tried to cut the man down, but could not reach the rope.”

“Of course he could not, he is but a child.” But she knew the frustration he must feel, how he would blame himself. “How did you find out?”

“A scrubwoman came for me, saying Dame Jocasta Sharp had put out the word to watch for Phillip Neville. When she heard a commotion at the stonemason’s shelter, she overheard Phillip’s name. I hurried here fearing the lad was the one hanging.” He wiped his brow. “I thanked God when I saw Phillip. But Connor – from all accounts he was a gifted stonecutter. Clearly he had won your ward’s allegiance.”

“I can stay with the dogs while you go in, Dame Katherine,” Jennet offered.

“No. I would prefer you beside me, noting things.” And keeping her safe. Jennet would strike out at anything that leapt out in the yawning cavern of the minster. “Alf, would you wait with Lille and Ghent, perhaps walk them back and forth? Can you do that? They know you now.”

He nodded. “I am happy to walk them if they will permit me.”

She knelt to tell Lille and Ghent they must wait for her with their new friend. Alf crouched beside her, gently patting their backs.

“I had a dog at home.”

“What was his name?”

“Nosewise.”

“Was he–”

“Oh, yes. Quite a tracker.”

“Lille and Ghent are named for Flemish cities my parents’ friend spoke of as places of wonder.” She rose once she sensed the three were at ease.

Dean Richard picked up a lantern and led the way into the incomplete east end of the minster.

Kate shivered as the door closed behind her. Such immense darkness, only slightly illuminated by her uncle’s lantern. Their footsteps whispered on the stone and tile floors, and faraway voices echoed eerily beneath the massive stone vaulting. She tried to focus on the patterned tiles beneath her feet as her uncle led them past the choir, his light picking out the silver gilt on statues, the shadows seeming alive. It shamed and troubled her to be overwhelmed by fear of marble, stone, and painted plaster – something that no one else counted a threat. Some night she should come sit in the dark and make her peace with it. That is how her father had broken her fear of the cave to which they retreated when the Scots came en masse, burning their barns and stealing their livestock.

She was relieved when they came to the far transept, to the warren of booths in which lawyers would be conducting church business later that day. The crowded area felt more like a human habitat. Richard Clifford paused before a small door that stood ajar. “Have a care, the steps are shallow, uneven, and narrow. I will lead.”

“How did Phillip know of these?” Kate wondered aloud as she climbed. The steps were carved into the thickness of the stone walls, the stairway like a catacomb.

“The masons use these daily. They have workrooms up above the chapter house.”

So it was no mystery how Phillip knew of these steps. “But he could not have simply happened on Connor. He must have been following on the man’s heels. Did he witness what happened?”

“I have not been able to make much sense of his story.”

Quiet voices echoed along the steps, and soon Kate emerged into a space dominated by huge wooden beams angling up into the darkness.

“These immense rafters support the chapter house without a central pillar,” Richard said in a hushed, reverent tone. Lanterns hung in regular intervals from the thick beams.

“How could anyone climb up to hang themselves so high?” she asked.

“Over there.” He led her about ten steps farther, to a board balanced on trestles, a stool providing a step up. “The men say it’s always placed over here and moved about as they hang the lanterns, but someone had taken the board and hidden it in one of the rooms. This is where Connor was, and this the noose.” He lifted the thick rope, nodded to where several men stood with heads bowed by something on the floor. “The broken nose, split lip, and the fresh wound on the back of Connor’s head were noted before they cut him down. None of it the result of their rough handling. They swear to it. He was one of their own.”

Kate crossed herself and nodded.

Near the men sat Lady Margery, her legs curled up beneath her. She was offering a wineskin to Phillip, who sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth and wringing his long-fingered hands as he gazed at the body, ignoring her. Someone had kindly covered the dead man’s head with a jacket.

As Kate crouched down in front of Phillip, Lady Margery touched her arm. “Dear Katherine, I am so glad you are here.”

“And I you. Thank you for staying with him.” The boy’s fine eyes were swollen, his nose red. “Phillip?” Kate cupped his ice-cold hands in hers, stilling them. Someone had brought him a fur-lined mantle, but he had let it drop behind him. He wore his favorite jacket, not nearly warm enough for the weather. She draped the mantle across his slender shoulders.

“I could not save him,” he whispered. “Not tall enough, not strong enough, too late.” Phillip did not look at her, but down and to one side, numbly staring at the draped body.

Kate took the wineskin from Lady Margery and tried to put it in the boy’s hands, but he would not grasp it. “Drink some of the wine, Phillip. Drink.”

He shook his head. “They would not listen to me.”

She smoothed the hair from his face, kissed his forehead. “Who? What did you want them to hear, Phillip?”

“Too late, now.”

“Drink some wine. When you are calm, you can tell me everything. I will listen. I promise you we will do what needs to be done.”

At last he took the wineskin, lifted it to his mouth.

While he drank, Kate asked Lady Kirkby how she came to be there.

“My men alerted me to all the lights and the shouting in the minster yard. After that, I could not go back to sleep. I found Richard here, with this poor boy – your ward, he said. Such a sad meeting. I saw my own sons in him. If I can help in any way, I pray you, come to me.” Margery rose. “Here, this is your place.” She went over to stand by Dean Richard and Jennet, who were talking to the workers.

“Do you mind if I look at Connor?” Kate asked Phillip.

He shook his head.

She lifted the jacket covering Connor’s head, steeling herself for a face like the one she had encountered in the guesthouse bedchamber days before. But Connor had not been dead so long, nor had the noose remained round his neck. His features were not so distorted as the stranger’s. She bent closer – a split lip, dried blood from that and his nose, which looked broken. Curious, she lifted his head, felt behind, and came away with blood. A fresh wound, as the dean had said. A badly injured man climbed onto a platform on trestles and managed to hang himself from those high beams? Of course not. With such wounds, was this a third murder? Stranger, Alice, Connor. Victim, witness, and the witness’s confidant? Kate closed her eyes, fighting down fresh rage. Pointless at the moment, when William was not here to receive it. When she had composed herself, Kate covered Connor’s head once more and returned to Phillip. Was he now on the murderer’s list, another witness?

“What did you see, Phillip? Did he struggle with his attacker before the hanging?”

Phillip looked her in the eye as he wiped his mouth. “You see it? That he did not kill himself?” His expression broke her heart, the grief, the hope, the gratitude.

“Yes. What did you witness, Phillip?”

“By the time I found him, he was hanging. Will they believe me?”

“My uncle is a reasonable man. I will ask him to examine Connor’s wounds. I believe he will agree to bury Connor in sacred ground.”

Phillip handed her the wineskin.

A sip emptied it. Good. She hoped it had numbed his grief. She held out her hand. “Lille and Ghent are down below, in the yard. Shall we go down to them? Perhaps we could walk them to the deanery where we might all warm ourselves and break our fasts. What do you think? Jennet can go home to fetch a change of clothes for you and let Marie and Berend know you are safe. They have been praying for you.”

Phillip wiped his nose on his sleeve. “No one prayed for Connor.”

“You did,” Kate reminded him. “And you stayed with him in his grief. You did all that you could, Phillip. You eased his pain, I am certain. It is no small thing to have a friend such as you near.”

Phillip bowed his head and said nothing.

“Should we send for Marie?” Kate asked him.

“No. Keep her from all this.”

Dean Richard grunted as he crouched down to speak to Phillip. “Connor’s body will be cleaned and prepared for burial by my own trusted servants. You can rest at the deanery and I will bring you to him later, when you are ready to sit the vigil.”

Phillip nodded. “Thank you, Dean Richard.”

For a second time in as many days Kate’s heart warmed to her uncle’s regard for the strong bond of family.

Though it was a short walk across the yard and beyond the stonemasons’ hut, by the time they reached the deanery Phillip’s knees were buckling beneath him. Alf called for a serving man to set up a cot in the warm kitchen, screened off so that Phillip might rest undisturbed. The boy fell asleep before Kate tucked a second blanket round him. She kissed his forehead and left him in peace.

She, her uncle, and Lady Kirkby retired to the dean’s parlor where a brazier warmed them. A servant brought mulled wine. They were a quiet trio, absorbing the events of the early hours – the horrible death, the boy’s grief.

“Such desecration of a sacred space,” the dean muttered, breaking the silence.

Margery set aside her cup and rose. “I sense that you have much to discuss, but it is not for my ears.”

“My lady–”

“No, Richard, you need not apologize. I hope that when you are both more at ease with me you will let me help, if I can. Katherine, I pray you send word if there is anything I can do.”

“Thank you for staying with Phillip, comforting him,” said Kate.

“You would have done the same.”

“Perhaps it is time to take her into our confidence,” Kate said when Lady Margery had departed.

Her uncle sighed as he settled back in his chair. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed, the lines more etched than usual. “We shall see. Tell me what you noticed, eh?”

“Connor’s broken nose and split lip might be from the incident in the alehouse, but not the injury to the back of his head.”

“The alehouse?”

She recounted what Jennet had learned about Connor’s reaction to the news of Alice’s murder.

He nodded. “As I mentioned, the men who cut Connor down noted the injuries as well.”

“You agree it was murder?”

“I do. And as he died in the minster liberty, I have the authority to decide what is to be done. Connor will be buried as one murdered, not as one who committed the sin of taking his own life. If asked, I will say that in my judgment a man so injured could not have managed such a hanging. But I will ask all to be circumspect with the news, to neither confirm nor deny the rumors, so that we might have a better chance of flushing out the murderer.”

Kate nodded, agreeing. “But we will not be able to keep this quiet.”

“Of course not. The rumor will spread, connecting Connor’s death to Alice Hatten’s murder. A lovers’ quarrel ended in tragedy. Perhaps that is not a bad thing. His fellows know of his wounds, and how he could not have hanged himself. They have sworn to say nothing.”

“So Connor will not be buried as an apostate?”

“No. I would not so rob him of salvation. I will be criticized for that, but no matter. I gladly absorb the blame in order to shield you, Katherine. For I cannot help but think it is your favor to me, welcoming Lady Kirkby to your guesthouse, that has brought on this triple tragedy.”

“You believe this is all connected to Margery’s arrival?”

“If not, it is an extraordinary coincidence.”

“Hence your hesitation to speak in her presence.”

“Hm… Yes. I confess I had misgivings about her visit. Archbishop Scrope was too keen for me to arrange it. I find it difficult to trust Scrope, with his mentor Arundel in exile with Bolingbroke. I feared her mission might not be so innocent, though she might be unaware she is being manipulated.”

“I do not believe much slips past Lady Margery, uncle.” But it was good to know her uncle was not at ease with the archbishop. Friction between the dean and chapter of York Minster and the archbishop was to be expected – they presided over the cathedral and its operations, yet it was the seat of the archbishop’s authority. But this was about Scrope’s personal, not his professional, integrity. “What did you learn from the workers?”

“Your serving maid asked them whether the rope would have been out near the platform. Good question. The men said it would have been stored in one of the rooms up there.”

“So the murderer was familiar with much about the minster.”

“Too familiar. The workers were stealing glances at their fellows, worried that the murderer is among them.” He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, shaking his head. “I fear that your trust in Lady Margery might be misguided, and that I have been foolish in supporting her husband. Stealing away as he did has colored his actions in men’s minds. Some call him a traitor to King Richard, others suspect the king has sent him to assassinate Duke Henry.”

“Perhaps I am too close to these tragedies, uncle, but I find it difficult to see them as part of the rift between the royal cousins.”

“Did you feel so about the unrest in the borders where you grew up, Katherine? That, too, was born of the wars begun by our king’s great-great-grandfather.”

“I did. Our feuds grew out of the fields soaked in our family’s blood.”

“And that began with King Edward leading his army into Scotland.”

“Providing the opportunity to resume a feud under cover of war.” Kate rose. “I would like to see Connor’s body before I go comfort Marie. I will return in a while to wake Phillip, so that he might tell us all he knows.”

In late morning Dean Richard had moved Phillip to his own bedroom so that work might resume in the kitchen. In thanks for preparing Connor’s body, the lay sisters from St. Leonard’s Hospital deserved a warm meal.

Now the boy blinked in the soft midafternoon sunlight as Kate opened the shutters. She stood a moment looking out at the minster, watching water coursing out the downspouts. The thaw had begun and the world, so quiet in snow, was loud with water dripping, sloshing in the street. People cursed as their boots sank into the ooze.

Remember the stink of the spring thaw? All that had frozen in the snow, rotting corpses of birds, rats, squirrels, mice. All the dung and piss from the horses and cattle.

A city is worse yet, Geoff. Now go. I need to speak with Phillip.

She sat down at the edge of the bed. “Marie picked out fresh clothes for you. Dean Richard’s serving man will help you dress.”

“I dress myself.”

“Let them fuss over you. They all feel helpless.”

Phillip sat up. She handed him a cup of honeyed milk, his favorite.

“Sleep well?”

“I remember someone carrying me here. But even that did not wake me.” A sigh. “I feel guilty. I should be praying.”

“Self-abuse will not bring back the dead. I know. I have tried it.”

“Your twin?”

“Yes.”

He finished the milk, setting the cup aside and swinging his legs out of the bed. “Soft,” he said as he stepped onto a bearskin.

“My uncle enjoys his comforts.” The walls were hung with hunting tapestries, small tables held pewter lamps and candlesticks, and a bench and a chair were piled with cushions embroidered in jewel colors.

Phillip gazed round the room, but his expression was grim as he turned to Kate. “I know about the murder in the guesthouse. And now Alice Hatten, and Connor.”

God in heaven. “How do you know about the guesthouse?”

“I will explain. But the dean will want to hear as well.”

“Of course. Would you prefer to talk in here, or in his parlor?”

“The parlor. You can call the serving man to come dress me.” He still looked weary.

“Would you eat something first?”

“I can eat while we talk. I mean to sit the vigil.”

Before she closed the door behind her she asked, “Does Marie know of the earlier murder?”

He shook his head. “And she must not, not until the killer is found and put away.”

Kate intended a swifter, more satisfying end, but she simply nodded.