The Service of the Dead

15 The Lion

The sun had been low in the sky as the mourners departed the minster, but now, as Kate stepped from the deanery, it warmed her uplifted face and brightened her heart. She was grateful to have been called out so early, for the breeze carried a chill and the scent of rain; she might easily have missed this glorious moment. Breathing in, she filled her lungs with the freshness of the morning, and, for a little while, let her mind go blank, forgetting her cares.

Cares. Such an innocent word, suggesting domestic trifles or misunderstandings among friends. Not three unsolved murders, a missing servant, and a killer so confident as to stay in the city and taunt her by trying to burn down one of her properties. Lady Margery might see it as her battle to fight, but Kate was not so certain as to risk the safety of her wards.

Which is why she had turned a deaf eye and ear to Marie when she appeared in the hall of the deanery with her pack, demanding to return to the house on Castlegate. Kate had relieved Marie of her burden, taken her firmly by the hand, and led her back to the kitchen, placing her in Helen’s competent care.

“I will watch her like a hawk, Dame Katherine,” the cook promised.

Kate had slipped away before Phillip could take up Marie’s cause. No doubt he would feel the wrath of his sister – she would blame him for inviting her there in the first place. And, knowing Marie, she would extend that to his affection for Connor. Had he not befriended the dead man, they would both be back on Castlegate. Not that the girl seemed happy there. It was a matter of control. Kate understood, but she would not bend to the child’s latest whim.

A scent of roses announced Lady Margery just before she slipped her arm through Kate’s. “I thought my daughters had vile tempers at certain ages, but your ward Marie – there is a special place in heaven for you, taking in that child and giving her such good care. At least you cannot blame your blood. She is all Neville. Her poor mother. No wonder she died young. Now, where are you headed?”

“To see whether the workmen have arrived to repair the once-lovely residence I own next to the guesthouse.”

“Then let us be off.” Margery signaled to her servants to follow.

Jennet broke away from her examination of the deanery yard, quietly reporting to Kate that she had found no broken locks or loosened shutters that might invite a trespasser. Berend had gone on ahead to organize the workmen and see whether Clement felt capable of some work in the undercroft.

“Forgive me for bringing up my trivial concerns when you have so much on your shoulders.” Lady Margery pressed Kate’s arm. “But far from being frightened away by recent events, I would like to extend my stay for a few days beyond the fortnight we had arranged. Once your cousin William recommends me to his colleagues I hope to have quite a few visitors. I will pay, of course.”

But not long-term, as did Kate’s regular clients. In faith, if the troubles were aimed at frightening Lady Margery away, Kate looked forward to her departure. “Invite a half-dozen couples to each gathering,” Kate said. “Better to entertain the merchants in the company of their peers – it will shame the reluctant into committing some funds for your husband’s mission. The guesthouse hall is quite large, and you can borrow additional seating and tables from the deanery.”

“Then your answer is no?” A pretty pout. “You have clients waiting?”

“Are you not expected elsewhere?”

Margery shrugged. “Lincoln is next. But the wealth is here, in York.” No pout this time, instead a winsome sigh. “Ah me. Perhaps your dear uncle would accommodate me at the deanery… ”

Better him than me, Kate thought. “The guesthouse is not an extension of my home, but a trade concern, Lady Margery. Had I the room in my home to welcome your entourage, I would.” Not quite true, but courteous, and apparently well received.

Smiling, Margery assured Kate that she understood, and, arm in arm, they turned onto High Petergate, greeting passersby as they progressed toward the guesthouse. One or two paused to ask them about the shouts and smoke the previous evening. Lady Margery was at her best, telling a tale of elderly, befuddled Odo and an attempt to light a lamp in the undercroft. No one questioned his being down there. All clearly found Lady Margery charming.

A neighbor glanced up as young Seth and Odo approached. “Poor old man. He is so fortunate to have such care in the two of you gentlewomen.”

In fact, Odo looked scrubbed, tidy, and alert, doffing his hat to them before Kate had spoken a word.

“We are out for a brief walk to escape from the hammering,” Seth explained. “The workmen arrived eager to begin, and Berend has them repairing the shutters and doors first.”

“I would like a word with both of you,” said Kate. “Come to the guesthouse when you have had your walk. Goodwife Griselde will not begrudge us her kitchen for a little while.”

Odo began to turn to follow the women, but young Seth stopped him. “The walk will do you good. Once down to the crossing and we will return,” he said, encouraging Odo forward.

“You have remarkable servants,” said Margery. “No doubt because they are yours to choose, unlike your late husband’s.” She gave a little laugh.

“Simon’s servants? Oh, you mean Sam? He seemed better than the others at the time.” Or perhaps she had simply worried that he was too old to find different employment.

“Was he Simon’s man? That explains much. But I meant…” Margery sighed.

“His bastards? True. But there are times I am glad to have them with me.”

“The boy, yes, he is a dear. But Marie?”

As they turned into the alleyway they found Berend stepping out from the undercroft, shaking his head at Clement, who breathed hard as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance.

The invalid gave Kate a wry smile. “I saw Odo shuffling down the alleyway and imagined myself nimble in comparison. The truth is not so sanguine.”

“We have kept the door opened and guarded all night,” said Lady Margery. “How is the air in there, Berend? Is it still too foul for Clement’s weak chest?”

“It is far better than I had expected.” But Berend asked Clement whether he was sure he felt strong enough to spend the day in there. Clement assured him that he was quite capable of breathing some smoky air.

“Speaking of that…” Berend asked if he might have a word with Kate.

While Lady Margery continued on into the guesthouse, her lapdogs barking wildly to see her, Kate stepped aside with Berend.

“The workmen discovered rags stuffed in all the smoke holes,” he said. “No wonder Odo’s fires created such smoke. Fortunately there are gaps all over the house and roof, and a serious leak over the solar. He would be dead if the house were in proper repair.”

“So whoever lit the fire last night had prepared the house?”

“And Odo was to be the next to die.”

Kate told Berend she would come speak with him more after she talked to Odo.

In between spoonfuls of Griselde’s meaty stew, Odo excused himself for not telling Kate of the intruder from the start.

“I just thought it was Master Neville. He always makes a fuss when he comes to the undercroft, and he whistles a few notes over and over.” Simon had complained endlessly about his brother’s whistling. On Channel crossings he swore he was some day going to silence the man with his fist. “But the other one hums just off the note so it makes me grind my teeth,” said Odo.

“The only difference is the humming off-key rather than the whistling?” Kate asked.

Odo frowned down at the food. “I could not swear to that. But if there is something else, I cannot recall it.” And he was helpless regarding when anything had occurred or whether he remembered hearing someone up on the roof. He was quiet for a while, happily eating, then suddenly looked up. “Is Master Neville now in charge of this guesthouse?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I saw his servant Sam over here. As he is Master Neville’s manservant…” He waggled his head, reaching for the small bowl of ale beside the trencher.

Kate put her hand on his, staying him for a moment. “Sam works for me, Odo.”

“Good. That should make Sam’s brother happy.”

“Why should it matter to Sam’s brother?”

“He and Sam had a falling out over Master Neville. I heard them in the alleyway, arguing. His brother said Sam had shifted his loyalties, working for ‘the Lion,’ the bastard they all hate on the staithes, the one who had almost lost him his work, accusing him of stealing a pouch his own servant had set aside. He never apologized.”

Nor would he. No wonder Lionel had so few allies. “This argument, was that after you had seen Sam over at the guesthouse just the other day?”

“Maybe before that?” He shook his head. “My mind is a muddle.”

Kate remembered how Lionel had asked after Sam the night of the murder in the guesthouse. She thanked Odo and handed him the bowl of ale.

Seth sat shaking his head, his bowl long empty. Kate had already asked him about the fire the previous night, but learned nothing new.

“What of you, Griselde?” Kate asked as she rose from the table. “Have you ever seen Sam and Lionel together, or Sam lurking about before?”

“I am certain I have seen him come and go, Mistress Clifford, like the day of – you know.” She glanced over at Odo and young Seth, lowered her voice. “He came with Master Frost’s boy Tib to deliver the barrel of wine. The gift for putting us out. Though I cannot say I ever noticed Master Lionel. I never thought to question Sam being about as you own both these houses.” She leaned close to add, “The old man is fairly muddled in his mind. If you want the truth of it, you might wish to talk to Sam’s brother Cam. He works on the King’s Staithe. He looks much like Sam before his hair went white.”

“Sam accompanied Tib with the wine?”

“It was Sam who carried the barrel to the kitchen. I thought it peculiar – it is Tib who has the muscle – but you had offered Sam’s help earlier. As I recall Sam took his time about it. He helped himself to a bowl, you see. Left it sitting there with a drop in it, bold as could be. I never did understand why you kept him on after Master Simon passed.”

“You never spoke up to warn me against him.”

“Clement had betrayed you in so many ways, all that he kept from you. I could not warn you against doing for Sam what you were so kind to do for us. But he has always been a man looking to make some money on the side.”

Kate thanked her, thanked Odo and young Seth, and returned to the hall. She found Jennet talking to one of Lady Margery’s men. She must be back from examining Connor’s lodgings. She rose to join Kate.

“Are we off to see Master Neville?”

“With a stop at the King’s Staithe. But first I want a word with Clement. Did you learn anything?”

“Connor’s landlord already has a new lodger in the room. I spoke to the landlord’s wife, who had cleaned it, and she said Connor had left only some clothes, some tools.” She held up a pack. “They are all here. She was going to sell them in a few days. I have not given it a good look.”

“We will do that later. Has Lady Kirkby’s man told you anything of use?”

“He noticed a lad poking about the outbuildings the other day, and thinks he has seen him before. Slight, about Marie’s age. Wears an overlarge hat and runs like a girl, he said.”

They exchanged a look.

“Not you?” Kate smiled.

“No, but we know why she might be dressed so. A boy is a wee bit safer out on his own than a young girl.”

“Tell him to tell the others to watch out for the child. Perhaps our intruder has a helper. Or the child might have noticed something. We need all the help we can get. And ask Odo if he recalls a youth hanging around. Then join me in the undercroft.”

Lady Margery was hastening down the outer steps from the solar when Kate stepped out of the hall. “When you see Lionel Neville, tell him to call on me this evening.”

Kate frowned up at her guest. “You have changed your mind?”

“I should like to know what his cousins are thinking about the king and the duke.”

“You should not expect him to be honest with you.”

Margery chuckled. “I am quite aware of that. But how he lies might reveal quite a lot.”

“Why now?”

“Have you not wondered whether your late husband’s family is behind all that has happened? Nothing deters a Neville from his ambition – or hers, I daresay. My husband warned me that their loyalty will shift from moment to moment. If I have the misfortune to be perceived as in their way, well, I may learn something from him.”

Had Sam seen his service as to the Neville family, not simply to her late husband? Kate nodded. “I shall tell him.”

“I know that your uncle Sir Thomas Clifford has served as Warden of the West March with Sir Ralph Neville, now Earl of Westmoreland, and I might think I insult you by questioning the honor of that family. But you seem to have no love for them.”

“I feel much the same as you. And so does my uncle Sir Thomas.”

“There was a time when Sir Ralph, the head of the family, mind you, supported King Richard. But as his second wife is a Lancaster…”

Kate shrugged. “At present I suspect the Nevilles cannot fathom that someone could be loyal to the king without being an enemy of the duke.”

“Precisely,” said Margery. “This man who was murdered here, with letters of introduction from both the king and the duke, reeks of Neville.”

Dean Richard was certainly keeping Margery informed. All for the best, it seemed to Kate. Lady Margery’s suggestion, that Simon’s family was behind all the recent trouble, warranted consideration.

“Come first thing tomorrow,” said Lady Margery. “I will tell you all I observed. And Katherine, have a care when you meet Lionel today. If he has been sent by his powerful cousins…”

“Jennet is accompanying me. We will both be armed.”

Lady Margery raised her eyebrows. “I did not mean that, but – you are a woman of many talents.” She kissed Kate’s cheek. “I wish my sons were not so young. I should welcome such a daughter-in-law into my family.”

“I pray you, do not sour our friendship by matchmaking.” Kate pressed her hand and excused herself.

In the undercroft, Clement and Berend sat at a table piled high with ledgers, stacks of counters, and weights. A clerk stood at the ready to hand them the caskets, barrels, packs of spices.

Kate told the clerk to step out into the alleyway for a moment while she had a word with Clement. As the man hustled out, Berend rose, giving her his seat, and began to leave. “No, stay. You should hear this.” She told Clement what Griselde had said about Sam – the barrel of wine, her impression of him.

“Tell me all that you know about Sam.”

Jennet appeared in the doorway. Kate nodded to her, returned her attention to Clement.

His eyes were bright with interest. “Do you think he meddled with the wine? Is that why we slept so soundly?”

Clement’s body might be broken, but his mind was still sharp. “He had the opportunity,” said Kate. “And the bowl Griselde found, could it not be where he mixed something, poured it back in?”

Closing his eyes, Clement slowly shook his head, his jowls swinging. “You never know about folk, do you? Not really.”

“Tell me about Sam.”

He scratched his head, looked down at his shoes. “He was loyal to Master Simon. No question. Never spoke a word against him. He liked traveling with the master, always ready to jump to his orders. But he was a tattler when it came to his fellow servants and those of us above him in the household. We all knew to go quiet when he was slithering about. More than one of us paid him for silence.”

“Paid him?”

“I am shamed to say so, but we did.”

“What sort of secrets?” Jennet asked.

“I am not a tattler, Jennet. Never have been. I will tell Mistress Clifford what she needs to know, but that is as far as I go.”

“Why did you not warn me about Sam when Simon died?” Kate asked.

“I expected you knew, that you would have heard the servants talking. Women have the ear for whispered conversations, it seems to me.”

Apparently Kate did not. “Anything else I should know about him?”

“Of course he knew of Mistress Anne and the children in Calais. But I am not surprised he would not speak of that with you.”

She left him with the request to tell Berend whatever else he might recall.

“Bring home anything you find in here today that does not seem to belong,” she told Berend. “Anything.”

Connor’s pack they left with him as well. No need to scurry about with it.

By the time Kate and Jennet reached the King’s Staithe, clouds hid the sun and a sharp breeze snapped the sails of a ship at anchor. Many of the dockworkers greeted her, some expressing their outrage that her ship had been boarded by the king’s men in Hull – “That would never happen here,” one bragged, “I wouldn’t let them past me, Mistress Clifford” – and some asking after young Phillip, poor lad, finding Connor hanging in the minster. One asked whether it was true Connor had killed Alice Hatten. She spoke the truth by saying she did not know who had killed Alice, but a terrible thing it was. They were quick to point out Sam’s brother Cam when she asked after him. She realized that she had met him once before, unloading one of her ships.

He seemed oddly happy to see her, quickly explained by his asking, “Has my brother returned, Mistress Clifford?”

Of course he would wonder. “I fear I have no news to give you, Cam. But I have just heard something that concerns me. Is it true that Sam works for Lionel Neville as well as for me?”

“Lionel Neville.” Cam turned the name in his mouth as if it were spoiled fruit, then suggested they step aside so they might not be overheard. “I hope that my brother took my advice and stayed well away. He feels caught between the Nevilles and you. Master Lionel says my brother owes it to Master Simon’s memory to help him, tell him things.”

“What sort of things?”

“He would not say, but what else would it be but to round upon someone, give Neville something he can use against them? For the life of me I cannot think why he would choose Sam for that. What could Sam hear?”

There was plenty Sam might tell Lionel. Had he? “Sam felt he could not refuse?”

“He has no backbone, my brother. Do you think he got in trouble for something Master Lionel put him up to? Is that how he went missing?”

“As far as I know he went off to Beverley for me. He left before Alice Hatten was found. He was to see whether she had simply gone home without telling anyone.”

Cam looked doubtful. “I would not trust that Master Lionel had naught to do with my brother’s disappearance. He’s always nosing round in folks’ affairs. We all know to shut our mouths when word goes along the staithe that ‘the Lion’ is about. If he did that with someone powerful, and Sam was caught at it–” He cursed, then apologized.

So Sam and Lionel were two of a kind, though Kate could see Cam was blind to his brother’s faults. She thanked him. “One thing more.” She described Hubert Bale as best she could. “Did you ever see your brother with such a man?”

“I did.” He looked pleased with himself.

“Can you remember when you saw him?”

“Not so long ago.” He scratched his chin, then nodded. “Just before ‘the Lion’ came sailing in complaining of being boarded by the king’s men downriver. I remember thinking you might do well to hire that bull to guard your ships. Will you?”

“Do you think it would discourage the king’s men?”

Cam laughed. “No. Once they put on the livery you would think they were first knight, all of them.”

She thanked him again and promised she would get word to him the moment they had any news of his brother.

Jennet had disappeared while Kate talked to Cam. Off hunting for information in her own manner, Kate guessed. She made her way back through the crowd of workers, pausing here and there to respond to their queries and concerns. She was proud of how they greeted her. When she had reached the bridge, she looked round, and not seeing her servant, she started across. Jennet joined her halfway, as Kate paused at a shop stall to admire a display of silk thread in jewel colors. The cushions in the deanery had inspired her to brighten her own home.

“Several men reported seeing Lionel and Sam together, and recently,” Jennet quietly reported. “And perhaps Sam with Hubert Bale as well.”

Together they continued on.

“Cam thought he had seen his brother with Bale, so I would guess that is true,” said Kate. She told Jennet the rest. “To think that I laughed at Lionel’s poor choice in servants when we caught Fitch. It seems I may have made an even poorer choice. Perhaps Fitch truly was hoping to see Sam, but not because they are friends.”

“I could gut him,” Jennet said.

“Sam or Lionel?”

“Both!”

“You warned me. You never trusted him.”

“Nor Master Lionel, but you needed no warning about him.”

They passed a crowd gathered round a juggling act and then glanced at some bows a man was hawking – good quality, most made from yew, but too ornate for Kate’s taste. She liked her bows simple, supple, just the right length and heft.

The question that nagged Kate was whether Lady Margery was right, that Bale was the creature of Sir Ralph Neville. If so, had Lionel sent him to William? Had Sam been the go-between? If Jennet did not gut Lionel, Kate might do it herself.