by Candace Robb
A door opened behind her, the girls tumbling out of their bedchamber. They were arm in arm, friends again.
“Ask Dame Katherine for something to help you sleep,” Marie was saying. “Oh. Dame Katherine—”
Crouching down to look into Petra’s eyes, Kate saw the telltale signs of weeping. She stroked the girl’s dark curls, gently lifted her chin. “The nightmares again, my love?”
A solemn nod. “The monster crowned with worms came down the crowded streets wielding a great sword as he cut off people’s heads.”
“Crowned with worms?” Kevin whispered. “Do you speak of King Henry?”
Kate had heard him climbing the steps, recognizing his gait. She glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”
“At Henry of Lancaster’s coronation it is said that when the Archbishop of Canterbury removed the cap the king was wearing those around him gasped, for his head was raw with sores and crawling with lice.”
“That was my first dream.” Petra’s voice shook. “Is the king beheading people? Is Berend going to lose his head?”
Kate took a breath to calm herself. “Why do you say Berend?”
“He is in danger. My dreams show him running, hiding.”
“No!” Marie whimpered.
Kissing her niece’s forehead, then her ward’s, Kate tried to calm them. “Berend is an experienced soldier. He knows how to protect himself. Better to pray for his safety than to believe bad dreams, eh?” She looked from Marie’s wide blue eyes to Petra’s deep-set brown ones, eliciting nods. Another kiss each, smoothing their hair, pressing their hands. “Now go out to the kitchen. Jennet will have risen early to stoke the fire. Warm yourselves.”
As Kate rose, she motioned for Kevin to stay. When the girls had clomped down the steps and she saw them crossing the yard, Kate turned to her companion. Kevin exuded solidity with his strong upper body, muscular legs, heavy brows, and abundant dark hair framing his strong-jawed face. He met her eyes with a solemn expression.
“Your captain tells me you’ve said nothing to him about Berend’s disappearance,” said Kate. “Nor have your fellows.”
A nod. “The four of us have a pact.”
“Bless you. I don’t know how I deserve such loyalty.”
“You have given me back my life, Dame Katherine, and a family. I will not be a stranger to the children. The three of them—” He cleared his throat, gave her a sad smile. “The girls sang for me last night. Two angels.”
She touched his cheek. “They love you. Rest assured you are always welcome in my home.”
He bowed, blushing. “But Sir Elric knows much.”
“Bess Merchet?”
“I don’t believe she has yet decided how much to trust him.”
“Yet he is lodging there in the hope she will be of use.”
“Yes. But he has other sources.”
“Has he told you what he learned about Berend? His property?”
“Do you mean that he was one of Baron Montagu’s men, Salisbury’s father? And that the baron left him some land?”
Kate nodded. “And do you know why your captain is in the city?”
“Lady Margery. We are to search for her.”
“On the king’s orders. You dare not disobey.”
“Sir Elric will see that she comes to no harm.”
“So he promised me.”
“You can trust him.”
“And will he see that Berend comes to no harm?”
“If he said so. He is a man of his word.”
She prayed he was right. “What you said about the king, the lice. Did those who witnessed it take it as an omen?”
“The king and his councilors are assuring everyone that it is due to King Henry’s stringent penances with which he means to scour out all sin. They twist it to be a sign of his grace. But the folk, they are afeared it is a sign of damnation, that he transgressed in unseating the divinely anointed king, his cousin.”
Of course they would believe that, Kate thought. And now Henry would be ever more defensive, overbearing. Hence Elric’s warning. “A bad beginning,” she said.
“Yes.” Kevin shifted his feet. “You should go down to the kitchen, warm yourself. I was just coming to say farewell. For now.”
“If I should need you—”
“You have only to send me word.”
“Your captain. You are certain I can trust him?”
About to nod, Kevin paused. “He holds you in high regard, Dame Katherine, and I believe he means to keep you safe, no matter his orders. But he is the earl’s man, and he will not overtly challenge his orders.”
“You are saying that I am safe, but perhaps not Berend, or Lady Margery.”
“As I said, he will ensure that she comes to no harm under his watch.”
Kate nodded. “And if I asked for your help with the other?”
“If you trust Berend, so do I.”
His ardent gaze gave her pause. She was taking advantage of his regard for her.
“You would risk antagonizing your captain and the earl?”
“God is my conscience, no earthly lord.” He bowed to her, proffered his arm.
She could not deny it was good to have such an ally, but she must have a care not to ask for too much from this gentle man. Lightly touching his forearm, she crossed the landing with him.
As they began to descend the steps, he asked, “Petra’s dreams. Does she have the Sight?”
“She believes that she does, but I am unconvinced. In training her in archery I’ve witnessed her remarkable concentration, and her ability to recall every detail of the instruction even so far as what she sensed I judged most important. And she guesses rightly. I prefer to admire these abilities and think she simply hears and understands far more than she realizes.”
“You are very proud of her.”
“Of all three children. They have brought me great joy.”
“I will miss sharing their lives.”
“They will miss you, and we shall all miss your stories.” He had a keen eye for people’s quirks, turning them into amusing stories lacking all malice. Every evening Marie and Petra would beg him to tell them tales of the folk he had encountered on the street that day. She always knew when he obliged, hearing the peals of laughter even from across the yard.
They parted at the bottom of the steps, Kevin bowing to her, then continuing on toward Kate’s manservant Matt who was shoveling a pathway out to the street. As the two men greeted each other, Kate took the already cleared path from the house to the kitchen.
Jennet left a lively argument with the girls to see to Kate as she entered the kitchen.
“Fresh bread and cheese, some ale?”
Kate nodded. “Any news yet?” After the children had gone to bed the previous night, Kate had told Jennet all she had learned from Elric. Jennet was far more than a servant to Kate, she was a friend, confidante, business partner, and a connection to the invisible folk of York, the poor, young, and old, who survived by their wits and little else, her eyes and ears. As a sign of her trust, Kate never asked how Jennet contacted them, who they were, or how they gathered their information.
“So far no word of a bald man,” said Jennet. “Or two, one alone, badly scarred. But I extended that to anyone new in the city the past few days. A few had caught sight of a pair who seemed to be traveling together. Flickers, there and gone.”
“So they will let you know when they catch glimpses of anyone?”
Jennet grinned. “They will. It is just the sort of tracking we loved best as children on the streets. Ghosting, we called it.”
“Sometimes I think you miss it.”
“I enjoy being out among them, but I am ever grateful for a true home, safe, dry, warm.” A shrug. “They will now also keep an eye out for Berend.”
“He was not one of the pair by any chance?”
“You are thinking of Petra’s dream, are you?” Jennet asked.
Kate nodded.
“They could not s
ay.”
Later, after breakfast, when Marie returned to her bedchamber to change the ribbons in her hair, Kate took the opportunity of asking Petra more about her dreams of Berend. “In the first one, he said he was duty-bound to leave, is that right?” Kate asked.
“That was not the first one,” the child said as she rubbed Lille’s ears, “but he did say that in the one about leaving.” She suddenly dropped her hands to her sides and frowned up at Kate. “You are worried about him. More than you were.” A statement, not a question.
But Kate did not want to lose the thread. “In last night’s dream you saw him running and hiding. He is in danger?”
Her dark eyes boring into Kate, Petra nodded.
“Is he alone?”
“I saw only him.”
“Who is chasing him?”
“The Sight is not like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“God does not explain what he shows me. And I cannot look round to see what else is there.”
A few months ago Petra had feared she might be cursed by the Sight. But she now framed it as a gift from God. Sister Brigida’s doing, perhaps, the girls’ tutor in French, Latin, and music, a challenging, but kind, teacher. Whoever had changed the child’s mind, Kate was grateful.
“Have you tried praying for guidance?” Kate asked.
“No. Old Mapes said to accept what was given with grace and never ask for more.”
Old Mapes was the elderly healer who had raised the child in the Scottish highlands, before her uncle claimed her and brought her to York. Kate stretched out her legs, thinking. “So you had dreamed of Berend before?” Ghent rose and came to settle beside her. She rested a hand on the wolfhound’s back.
Petra averted her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Even if it might help a friend in danger?”
The girl bit her lip, frowning. “I promise I will tell you anything that might help.”
Kate leaned over and touched her niece’s cheek. “I am grateful. So what is Brigida teaching you today?”
Petra’s face brightened. “We are learning new songs in praise of the Virgin Mary for Candlemas.” Hence their skipping their usual morning lessons at the school on Petergate for additional time with Sister Brigida. Candlemas was just days away. “Sister Brigida says I have a strong, beautiful voice. Marie is too breathy. I think that means she does not sing, she whispers.”
“Did Sister Brigida say that to Marie?”
Petra shook her head. “She said not to fear being heard. Let her voice soar to heaven. She said we must not ask God and his blessed mother to strain to hear our devotions.”
They shared a smile at Brigida’s discretion.
“Might I hear a little of the song?” Kate asked.
“I would rather wait to sing it when I know all of it.”
Kate loved how comfortably the child expressed her preferences. She considered walking with the children and Dame Brigida, as she was heading to the house next to her mother’s Martha House. The girls loved walking with the hounds, and she felt in need of their good cheer this morning. But she suddenly had a better idea. She would stop at the chandler’s shop near the market that sold wax writing tablets. Petra’s was chipped and Marie’s cracked. She would have them delivered to them in the classroom. Such a gift might brighten their day, and, in so doing, brighten hers.
“Then I shall look forward to hearing the song anon,” she said, kissing Petra’s cheek.
The long shelf on which the chandler displayed his goods always caught Kate’s attention as she passed into the marketplace, the scent of the more expensive beeswax candles reminding her of the chapel of her youth, the various lengths and shapes, the candles marked for the hours, they spoke to her of evenings in her mother’s bedchamber listening to stories, playing with the kittens her mother favored over the hounds. She liked this reminder of the happy moments in her childhood. But this morning she was after items the chandler did not have on display.
“Wax writing tablets?” the shop clerk smiled at Lille and Ghent as he repeated Kate’s request. “Oh, yes, the master has a wide selection, and they are easily joined into sets if you wish.” The young man whipped out a stack of three connected with leather thongs to open like a book.
“Single tablets will do for my girls,” she said. “Do you have any with a nice wood frame?”
A twinkle in the young man’s eyes. “I do, mistress.” He handled the book-like set with care as he returned it to the shelves behind him, and after a bit of rummaging presented two good-sized waxed tablets framed in a wood with a beautiful grain. “They were prepared for the mayor-elect’s daughter, but her mother refused them. Too heavy for her frail daughter.”
Poor Hazel. Kate’s girls had studied with her cousin’s daughter for a time, but of late Hazel had been too weak. Taking one of the tablets in hand, she knew Isabella Frost had been right in rejecting it for her daughter.
“My master might have pointed out that Mistress Frost had never specified the weight, as he would do with any other customer,” the clerk continued. “But one does not cross the wife of the mayor-elect. Especially one chosen by royal decree.”
“I do not think the king decreed William Frost’s election,” Kate suggested softly. The young man amused her, but her cousin would bristle at the suggestion that he had not been elected based on his own merits. “Marie and Petra will love these.”
He proposed a price higher than she intended to pay. She counter proposed. He argued, then named a sum slightly higher than her counter, and she agreed.
“Could I ask you to deliver them to the little schoolroom on Castlegate, the one run by the beguines?”
“We are happy to deliver, Mistress Clifford. To your niece and the bonny French girl?”
Kate smiled. “Yes, to them.” She glanced up for a moment and noticed Jon Horner hurrying into the market square, heading straight toward the booth of a spice seller new in the city. Horner, a scrivener, seemed a bit of a lackwit, with a soft, mincing way about him and a comic delight in bright colors and dramatically draped velvet hats. But those clothes cost more than a scrivener might honestly earn, and it was whispered in the guild that his appearance was a clever façade masking a cunning gamester who preyed on trusting folk who employed him to copy out wills and contracts.
Merek the spice seller was another unsavory character. Together they made a curious pair, their heads bent close now, Merek handing something to Horner, something the peacock began to examine, but the spice seller motioned to him to hide. The peacock seemed uncertain, but Merek waved him on, as if he considered the business concluded. Curious.
Kate had noticed Merek before Christmas, slouching down Petergate as if hoping to avoid notice. Folk said he claimed to sell varieties of pepper never encountered in the city. The guilds were aware of him. He was permitted only to sell in the market one day a week.
The chandler’s clerk interrupted her observation with a question about the delivery, and she was just tidying up details when a commotion distracted them.
The spice seller and the peacock had apparently finished their business. Horner stuffed something in the scrip at his waist as he glanced anxiously about, then scurried back in Kate’s direction, and Merek was already trotting off at a good clip as a customer shouted at him, “Come back here. I came out of my way—” He cursed as the spice seller disappeared amidst the stalls.
“Passionate about peppers,” the clerk quipped.
“One never knows another’s heart,” Kate said with an exaggerated sigh.
The two of them laughed as they completed their transaction.
Thomas Holme wagged his bushy white brows and congratulated Kate with all the heartiness she might have wished for. He proposed a toast to her success. But by the time he handed her the goblet of wine he was frowning and shaking his head.
“I need to review my accounts. As you should yours,” he said. “You know Lionel, he will demand to see them, ensure ther
e are no outstanding payments or debts.”
“Clement has already reviewed mine,” she assured him.
“Ah. Clement is a good man. Still fit for the work, is he?”
“His body fails him, but his mind is as sharp as ever.”
Clement had been her late husband’s business factor, the one who had fixed Simon’s books so that his debts were invisible to his partners and the guild. And Kate. He had been well paid for the deception. But his conscience prevailed, albeit belatedly. An old man, bedridden for the most part, fearing eternal damnation should he not repent and make amends upon Simon’s death, he had given Kate money toward her late husband’s debts. A penance. In turn, Kate had installed Griselde and Clement in her guesthouse. It benefited Kate, as had the money, and she had entrusted Clement with her accounts, satisfied that he had learned his lesson.
“It is good you are wary of Lionel,” Thomas said. “A spice seller has been asking rather impertinent questions about him, his properties, and his connection to the powerful Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland. Nor am I the only merchant he’s approached with such curiosity about your brother-in-law. Tongues are wagging in the guild.”
“I had not heard.” That did not bode well for Lionel’s future business. “This spice seller. Does he go by the name Merek?” Kate asked.
“The very man.” Thomas nodded. “So he has approached you as well?”
“No. I just saw him with Jon Horner—”
“A pair of weasels.” Thomas sniffed. “In any case, once my contract with what is now Lionel’s business expires I mean to investigate his relationship with Merek before I agree to work with him again.”
“You have a reasonable concern,” Kate said.