The Service of the Dead

7 Sly Sympathies

William Frost’s mistress Drusilla Seaton lived with her son and his family on Stonegate, inhabiting a suite of rooms with its own entryway, in the part of the house that extended into the garden. Welcomed warmly, Kate settled beside the fire to warm herself, Lille and Ghent beside her, while her hostess fussed with the maidservant over the wine she was mulling.

“Just back from market with new spices. I believe they’re from your warehouse, Kate. I have a new recipe you must taste!”

“It is a day for hot spiced wine,” Kate said, pretending interest. Lille and Ghent made noises about a dog outside the window, scratching in the frozen turf. So cold. Had Phillip dressed warmly? She fretted that she wasted time here. She should be out searching for her ward.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Drusilla inquired, leaning forward and resting a lavender-scented hand on Kate’s shoulder.

“The usual worries about Phillip and Marie, whether I am doing what is best for them. William does not approve of Phillip’s work for Hugh Grantham.”

Drusilla Seaton wrinkled her nose. “Your cousin is too influenced by his wife’s prejudices. The woman sees everyone as a threat to her own interests, just as her father did before her. You are a capable young woman. Do not doubt yourself. You are giving Phillip a profoundly generous and wise gift in allowing him to find out for himself what will give him the most satisfaction.” The widow sipped her wine, her clear blue eyes watchful over the edge of the cup. “Margery Kirkby is fortunate to be hosted by you and the incomparable Goodwife Griselde, my dear Kate, her every comfort seen to so seamlessly. I do pray she is not tempted by your welcome to extend her stay. For all his faults, three weeks without William seems an eternity.”

“A fortnight, not three weeks, Drusilla.”

“Three weeks for me. I did question the wisdom of your giving up revenue for a week prior to her stay so that you might prepare. She is not so fine as all that. But I suspect it was Goodwife Griselde who persuaded you. Clement’s illness…”

Kate had stopped listening. So William had never intended to stay that night with Drusilla. The stranger’s evening there had been planned in advance, and William had waited until Griselde had little time to warn her. Why did this make her heart race when she’d already guessed he dissembled with her?

Realizing that her hostess awaited a response, Kate said, “I am quite fond of Margery. But it was my uncle Clifford who insisted I treat her as an honored guest.” She could see by the widow’s expression that she had not guessed correctly what the unheard question had been, but she could hardly ask Drusilla what she had missed. Something about Griselde and Clement. “As for Griselde, I’ve hired young Seth Fletcher to help her,” said Kate. “Some brawn about the house.”

Drusilla chuckled. “Well, the lad’s better than nothing, I suppose. But what of Matt? Oh – I’d forgotten. The runaway wagon. Will he walk again, do you think?”

Kate did not answer, thinking about what Matt had told Berend, a vague memory of a man behind the wagon. Perhaps the murderer – or William? – had disabled Matt so that he might not interfere that night at the guesthouse. It seemed far too much of a coincidence.

“My, you are preoccupied this morning, Katherine.”

“Forgive me. Poor Matt. I should pay him a visit and see how he fares.” No need to let people know how quickly Matt was recovering.

“Such a tragedy for him. And for you at such a time.” Drusilla shook her head. “A man of Richard Clifford’s stature – well, he might be your uncle, but you could not have denied him this. He will not be dean of York Minster for long, I hear. A bishop’s miter is in his future. Though with King Richard planning an expedition to Ireland there may be more of a delay than your uncle might like.”

Kate felt a twinge of regret. She enjoyed her uncle’s company, and the added security of his presence in the city. But she was not surprised he would soon be promoted. “Yes, that branch of my family is well-placed at court, and particularly my uncle – privy seal, wardrobe. They are also well liked by the Lancastrians, if it should come to that. As for my mother’s kin – the Frosts are ever the opportunists, like the Nevilles. William has not spoken of the king of late. Is he still in his favor?”

“Is that what this visit is about? You want to know whether William sympathizes with King Richard or the Duke of Hereford?”

Of course Kate’s purpose was to learn what was more likely, that William’s secret guest was King Richard’s man or an envoy from the Lancastrians. An unknown, or Hubert Bale. She had no idea how far she might trust Drusilla. “I cannot deny that I wonder where he stands, but no more so than I do about anyone of stature in York. King Richard gave us our charter as a self-governing city, and William was very much a part of that. But to exile the Duke of Lancaster’s heir–”

“And that he might confiscate his property. I know.”

They both shook their heads.

“William has been quiet about the affair,” said Drusilla. “Perhaps he and Isabella disagree about which side to support, if it comes to that. And considering the power and wealth of the Lancastrian affinity, I expect Duke Henry might well return with an army.”

Yet another who saw it as the most likely result.

Drusilla glanced out the window. “Oh, my dear, you cannot see the garden for the falling snow. Will this winter never end? You must stay to dine with me.”

Cursed weather. “I should see to my wards.”

“I pray you, wait here until the storm passes, Katherine. Stay and break bread with me. See? My maidservant is already bringing the food. And I have a fine wine.”

Perhaps over a meal and some wine Drusilla might forget herself and confide something useful. Kate agreed it was best to wait out the worst of the storm, so she took Lille and Ghent out into the wintry garden while Drusilla’s servant set the table for the meal. Wrapping her fur-lined cloak tightly round her, Kate stood beneath the eaves while the wolfhounds hesitantly explored the sheltered space, Ghent snuffling out in the wind, Lille pressing into the corners. Despite the sheltering overhang, she was buffeted by the gusts that caught her skirts. The blowing snow stung her face. Where was Phillip?

She forced her thoughts to the task at hand. Drusilla was being as cagey as William. Kate did not believe that her cousin had not discussed the tension between the king and the duke with Drusilla; he valued his mistress’s insight into the state of the realm and civic issues, seeking her counsel in such matters.

She felt more and more certain that the meeting in the bedchamber had not been an accidental encounter. As for Matt’s injuries and Griselde’s “few cups of wine” that made her sleep so soundly through what must have been a noisy brawl – they fit with a planned ambush. Even Clement, who often lay awake through the night, had slept through the event. It was all too tidy.

If this was William’s doing, Drusilla was likely involved. Or had it gone wrong because William had not taken her counsel?

Had it gone wrong? William seemed frightened. But so might he be after executing a daring plan, for he was not by habit a man of action, prizing comfort over courage.

She must have a care in talking to Drusilla. She valued the woman’s friendship, appreciating her clear-eyed outlook, her curiosity, and her sense of humor. But Drusilla loved William, risking her reputation to be with him.

No one could be trusted.

When the serving woman stepped out to say the meal was ready, she held out a thick cloth to dry the dogs. “I dare not try to wipe them myself, mistress.”

Kate laughed. No, they would not tolerate such handling by a stranger. Calling Lille and Ghent to her side, Kate dried them off as best she could before they reentered the parlor. Drusilla fussed over Kate, offering her a pair of soft leather slippers to warm her feet while her boots dried.

“I should have forbidden you to stay out so long, my dear. You had only just recovered from your journey here – though I suspect you had not come directly from home – you and your hounds were so wet and cold when you arrived. What drew you out early on such a morning? I did not see you at the market.” Drusilla’s blue gaze expressed both concern and affection, her hand warm on Kate’s.

“My household is busy with so many biding at the guesthouse and young Seth being so new. I took the dogs for their run in the gardens across Castlegate and then walked Marie to school. This snow is nothing to me, growing up on the northern border.”

A nod and a pat on the hand, and Drusilla launched into questions about Margery Kirkby. “Tell me all about her wardrobe. How many chests? Still the bright henna in her hair?”

Kate went on at length about all she had observed of Margery’s gowns, boots, slippers, and jewelry, hoping to exhaust her hostess so that she might forget herself and voice some opinion regarding Margery’s mission. But by the time Kate grew hoarse and the stew tepid, Drusilla had not yet uttered a wayward word. No wonder William trusted her.

“I pray Lady Kirkby is able to convince those with influence of her husband’s sincere wish for peace,” said Drusilla.

Ah. Now? “What of William? Should I suggest that she invite him to dine with her?”

A chuckle. “As I said, William looks to his wife, the imperious Isabella, in such matters. I have little insight into the woman married to the man I love. Faith, I try not to think of her. After all, I intrude on her marriage.”

Defeated, Kate complimented Drusilla on the delicate spicing of the stew and the remarkable wine she was serving.

“The wine – yes, it is exceptional, is it not? A gift from William. I should have thought he would share some with you. His factor made a clever deal with a vintner who found himself short on funds in Calais. Which reminds me, how are you faring with Lionel as your factor?”

Kate groaned.

Drusilla laughed and took Kate’s hand. “Something clearly troubles you, Kate. I believe your trade is doing well, both the guesthouse and your shipping, yes? So it is Lionel Neville who troubles you?”

“Not just Lionel.” She told her about the king’s men searching the ship.

“Oh, my dear, that is troubling. Perhaps it is time you remarried. The Nevilles are clearly not protecting you sufficiently.”

“I am better off on my own. You know the terms of Simon’s will.” Kate fought to keep her tone light, teasing.

“From what I’ve heard, not one of those who have approached William for his consent is worth less than Simon.”

It would not take much to be worth more than Simon. But it infuriated Kate that William took it upon himself to advise her to remarry. “My cousin should not jeopardize friendships with offers he’s no right to make.”

“Katherine, your mother, my dear friend, asked William to watch over you. Any one of the men he’s chosen for you would make you a good husband. And save you from the clutches of the Nevilles.”

“I will decide whether or not to wed again. And, if I do, I will make my own choice. William should see to his own. What has he done for Alice Hatten? Did he help her make a new beginning?”

Drusilla flushed. “Alice Hatten. Another woman I choose not to think about. You might have simply told me to mind my own business. You did not need to bring her up. But as you did, I know nothing of her fate. He never speaks of Alice.”

That had been clumsy. “Forgive me, Drusilla. Clearly the wine has gone to my head, and it is time I left.” Kate rose. Was this the same wine that William had sent to the guesthouse? It was strong. But not so unusual, not enough to topple the sturdy Griselde with two cups.

Drusilla hurried round the table to embrace Kate and apologize for bringing up the subject of marriage.

Kate forced a laugh. “I trust you to advise William to inform potential suitors that he has no say in my affairs.” She glanced out the glazed window. The snow had stopped, though the wind was still blowing the already fallen snow into drifts. Kate thanked Drusilla for the meal and the companionship before stepping out once more into the blustery weather.

Lille and Ghent set their muzzles to the wind and pranced up Stonegate and across High Petergate, clearly glad to be out and about. Kate was headed to the deanery to tell her uncle that she had changed her mind about Sam going to Beverley, so she would not need the letter of introduction from him. But her uncle was not at home. His secretary, Alf, informed her that Dean Richard was dining at the guesthouse with Lady Margery. He did not expect him back until evening.

As she headed back toward Stonegate, trying to decide how she might best use what was left of the afternoon, she was surprised to find the dean striding toward her. That was not a good sign; Lady Margery’s dinners usually lasted through the afternoon. Kate hailed him. “I came to tell you I’ve changed my mind about sending Sam to Beverley.”

“Too late, Katherine. Your servant came for the letter of introduction this morning. He hoped to be on the road before the storm.”

“But I had told him–” Kate closed her eyes against the self-blame. How could she know Sam would suddenly decide to go against her wishes? But it was disturbing news. “How did he seem to you? Anxious?”

“I do not know him well enough to say. Do you not trust him?”

“I told him to wait until the snow passed. He’s not a young man.”

“He is not an old man.” Richard Clifford put his gloved hands on Kate’s shoulders and gave her a long look. “You carry such a weight, Katherine. I pray you, let me help. Tell me what I can do.”

She nodded, knowing she could trust him. Perhaps in telling him all that was on her mind, she would see the way forward. “Come. Let us take shelter for a moment in St. Michael’s.” Once settled on a bench set beneath a window in the corner of the nave, she recounted the incident with Sam.

“Who do you think followed him?” the dean asked.

“Whoever murdered William’s guest? Or perhaps it was merely someone who hoped to follow him into the house and steal the pewter plates. The cloak was old, the wool threadbare in places, much of the fur matted. It had been fine at one time. A servant wearing his master’s old clothes? A thief, as Jocasta Sharp assumed? Someone disguised as lesser than he is?”

“You know more about the murder than you told me, don’t you?”

She told him about the pack, the letter, and Berend’s description of Hubert Bale.

“That is a worry. How might I help? Should I send my groom after your servant? He loves nothing better than an excuse to ride out. He might at least find Sam if he’s been waylaid, help him home.”

“No, uncle, I will not have two frozen corpses on my conscience.” She squeezed his hand. “But thank you.”

“There is more?”

“Phillip is truant from school today. Yesterday as well. Did you see a messenger from Hugh Grantham while at the guesthouse?”

“Is the lad daft? Does he not understand the danger?”

“Neither he nor his sister know of the murder.”

A frown. “Is that wise? Perhaps if they knew…” Richard shook his head. “Forgive me. I am not a parent. I trust you have good reason to keep it from them.”

“Nor am I their mother. We exist in an uneasy truce.”

“The Nevilles should have claimed them. You might petition the earl–”

“Too late, uncle. To my surprise I have grown fond of them.”

A grunt. “Again, forgive my blundering advice. Do you have any idea why he’s truant?”

“I wish I knew. He seems to care overmuch for the stoneworker who was guiding him, who now rarely shows up to work. It seems Connor is a drinker. I pray Phillip is not in a tavern with him.”

“Surely most innkeepers in the city know better than to serve your young ward. You mentioned Jocasta Sharp. I suggest that you talk to her about Phillip’s wanderings when you next see her. She will have her people watch out for him.”

“Her people?”

“The poor. She is a patron saint to them. They will do anything for her. Under her guidance the poor of York are learning to support one another, and to be guardians to others in the city. Many have found work in service through their good deeds – returning a lost scrip, rescuing stray animals.” He patted her hand. “I believe I see the hand of the Divine in your encounter with Jocasta this morning.”

Her uncle rarely invoked the divine. Indeed, it was easy to forget he was a priest, so seldom did he reference his calling. “I will ask her. And thank you, uncle. I feel better to have shared my burden.” She kissed his cheek. “So. I was surprised to see you away from Lady Kirkby’s dinner table so early in the afternoon. Did the mayor attend?”

“He did, as did several other aldermen and their wives. But your cousin William Frost declined the invitation, and they all took that as a sign not to support her.”

“And said so?”

He bowed his head. “They did. Leaving no one in the mood to linger. Lady Margery went up to bed with a pounding head.”

Her cousin had much to answer for of late. “I was not aware she had invited William. Had I known that was her intent I would have dissuaded her. I cannot imagine his feeling easy in that house just now. But of course his fellows would not know why.”

“Perhaps we should have told her all that happened?”

“Not yet, uncle. Right now I need to talk to Griselde and Clement, then stop at the school to make sure Jennet fetched Marie. And consult with Jocasta Sharp.”

“If I hear anything of your ward I will send you word at once.”

He drew her up and kissed her on each cheek. “May God watch over you and your household, Katherine.” As Lille and Ghent rose, Richard Clifford bent to pet them. “And you, my regal friends, I entrust my niece to your protection in these troubling times.”

For once it was Kate urging Lille and Ghent to hurry along the snowy streets. As she negotiated the drifts and frozen ruts she whispered a prayer that she would find Phillip safe at home. Her relief that Jennet had collected Marie at the school had been dampened by the schoolmaster’s shake of the head – no, Phillip had never shown up.

But she found only Berend and Marie in the kitchen. Jennet had gone back out.

Marie glanced up from her stirring to inform Kate that she must have a word with her maidservant when she returned. “When she arrived at the school she had dressed with such haste she had missed a button and her gown was askew. Her slovenly appearance embarrassed me.”

“You are one to throw stones. You did not give me the note your schoolmaster entrusted to you. That is far worse than a missed button.” Kate held out her hand. “I would see it now.”

A shrug. “I lost it.” Marie returned to her stirring.

Kate grabbed the spoon from the girl’s hand and pushed the bowl aside. “Find it. Now.”

With a sniff, the girl tossed aside her apron and pulled off the cloths protecting her long sleeves, narrowly missing the bowl as she tossed them onto the table. As she flounced out the door, Lionel Neville entered.

From bad to worse. “Dear Lionel. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“I would have a word.”

Kate had passed through the hall on her return to collect her bow and a quiver of arrows for some time at the butt. Scooping them up she stepped across the threshold, glancing back to invite him to follow. “We will talk out in the fresh air.”

His look was pained. That pleased her. And it interested her that Lille and Ghent fell to sniffing intently at him as he stepped into the yard.

“Would you at least do me the courtesy of keeping them away from me?”

Agreeing that it was enough to make the man stand out in the cold with her, she shooed the dogs into the hall where they could happily nap by the fire, and alert her to any unexpected activity. That settled, she knocked the snow and ice off the straw-stuffed butt and turned it so that the wan winter sunlight was behind her. Then she notched an arrow, aimed. A superstitious thought arose as she let it fly – If it lands in the center, Phillip will come home safe and sound. It landed ever so slightly off center. She silently cursed herself.

“So? Speak, Lionel.” She reached for a second arrow.

“I ask you to introduce me to Lady Kirkby.”

She laughed. “If she wishes to confer with a Neville, it would not be you she would call on.”

Most people would have rosy cheeks out in the snow, but his narrow face was pinched and pale though there was some spark in his eyes. “It was my cousin the earl who suggested it.”

“If he writes a letter, I promise to deliver it.” She aimed. Dead center. “He doubts Lady Kirkby’s professed mission?”

“King Richard did not send Lord Kirkby to the continent to make peace with his cousin Bolingbroke. In whose name, then, might he sue for peace? Why would Bolingbroke trust Kirkby with his fate?” Lionel stomped and blew on his gloved hands. “Are you impervious to cold?” He tucked his hands inside his cloak.

“I find it refreshing. As to your questions, I of course cannot answer for Lady Kirkby. All I can say is that if she wishes to invite a member of the Neville family to dine with her, she would confer with your powerful cousin the Earl of Westmoreland as to whom he would care to have represent him. And as the earl does not reside in York, I doubt she has him on her list for this visit.” Kate turned back to the butt and notched another arrow.

A brief silence ensued. She shot several arrows before he spoke again, startling her.

“I understand you are concerned about Phillip, that he has been absent from school for two days and you have no idea where he goes instead.”

She lowered the bow and turned to him, the arrow still notched. “Have you information?”

“In fact, I do. He’s been seen at the bawdy houses round the Bedern, and in a tavern with a drunk stonecutter. My nephew. A Neville. Disgraceful!”

She took a step toward him. “Where? Take me there.”

“Gone now. I will bring him to you next time I catch him – in exchange for a meeting with Lady Kirkby.”

Hah! She could not imagine him dragging Phillip away from Connor. She watched Lionel for a moment, how his face tensed and relaxed as he studied something off in the distance. He was scheming, as usual. What she could not make out was whether it was as he said, that he wanted to trade information for an introduction, or whether there was more. His nervous eye movements would suggest more.

“I will consider your proposed trade and let you know what I decide.” She turned back to the butt, raised the arrow, and hit dead center. First she would talk to Phillip. She hoped.

Lionel cleared his throat.

“Still here, are you?” She glanced at him.

He grimaced, apparently an attempt at a smile. “I wondered where I might find your man Sam. I have something of Simon’s I meant to give him. I think he would appreciate it.”

God only knew where Sam was. Frozen in a snowdrift on the road to Beverley? Lying wounded on the ice in a ditch beside the road? “He is on an errand for me. You can leave the item here. I will see that he knows it is your gift to him.”

“I would prefer to present it to him myself. When will he return?”

She pulled another arrow from her quiver, notched, aimed. A little off to the right.

Why does he bother you so? Geoff wondered.

It’s Sam’s journey to Beverley that troubles me.

“Katherine?”

“I gave him leave to attend to some personal business as well, Lionel. He might not return tonight.”

“Oh.”

The worry in that one syllable caught Kate’s attention, but when she turned to see Lionel’s expression, he was gone. It left her wondering what he meant to give Sam. She looked down at the bow in her hands. The practice had not relaxed her. She had wasted it, using it to irritate Lionel. Gathering the arrows from the butt, she tucked them in the quiver and withdrew to the hall, where she found Marie sitting by the fire, combing Lille.

“Have you met Connor, the stonemason your brother admires?”

A pouty shrug, then a vigorous shake of the head that set her dark curls dancing. “Phillip said I would only insult him, so he would not introduce me. I have seen him, though, drunkenly tottering down Low Petergate, his torn and tattered clothes filthy with stone dust and who knows what else.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Has Phillip been with Connor the past few days?”

“He will not say. Even after I hid the schoolmaster’s letter to you he would not say.” Marie reached down, picked up a soggy piece of parchment and offered it to Kate. “So here. Here is the letter. Phillip does not deserve my loyalty.”

“Thank you for combing Lille.”

“I’m not a bad person, Dame Katherine.”

Kate bit back a smile. “No. No, you are not, Marie.” She wished she knew how to cheer the girl.

And why Phillip was following Connor about to bawdy houses and taverns.