by Candace Robb
She pushed those thoughts away. Save the anger until she knew all there was to know.
Worry took over. Was Berend warm enough? How were his wounds? Could she trust Cottesbrok and Wrawby to protect him? Elric trusted them.
Damn Elric. She turned on her side, hoping a new position would bring on more relaxation.
But her mind would not still. Had it been only two days ago that she had paid off the last of Simon’s debt? Two days ago she had been so—No, she was forgetting Petra’s unhappiness. Berend’s disappearance. Kevin’s return to the earl’s service.
She stirred herself to remember how it had felt when she’d realized the extent of Simon’s debt. An impossible amount. She’d felt betrayed, robbed, angry—so angry. It had been her anger that had driven her to put all her strength in digging out from under it. She had accomplished it without help, certainly without resorting to something that would put her at the same risk—marriage. Standing on her own two feet, independent, self-sufficient, that had been her goal over these past three years. And she had succeeded.
She waited for the surge of joy, or at least satisfaction. Nothing. Only a yawning emptiness. And a rising fear of what more Berend was about to reveal to her.
Seeing Marie and Petra to school, Kate shrugged at their complaints about the unseasonably warm morning. Yesterday it had been too cold. Tomorrow the sun would be too bright. Mornings were difficult for both girls at the moment. Neither slept well, Petra because of her nightmares, the Sight, whatever it was, and Marie—Kate was not certain why she was wakeful, her queries met with stony silence. Marie’s pride might prevent her from admitting that she feared Petra’s whimpers and accounts of disturbing or prescient dreams. But when Kate had offered to move Marie to a separate bedchamber, the child would not hear of it. So every morning was a struggle.
Still, Kate disliked how the warmth of the rising sun caused a fog as it touched the moisture-laden chill of the ice- and snow-clad houses and streets. Even more troubling were the clusters of people here and there, their heads together, whispering excitedly. Only something serious would draw them out in such numbers to stand about chilled to the bone by the heavy mist that quickly penetrated all but the finest woolens and furs. She regretted leaving Lille and Ghent in the kitchen. She had not felt comfortable leaving Jennet alone while seeing to the morning chores. Matt had left early for her cousin William’s house. If all went well he would return soon with the new servant, Cuddy, and news of the king’s men. But she’d thought it best to leave the hounds with Jennet, worried about the jewels and coins, a treasure.
“Soldiers, they are talking about soldiers.” Marie grabbed Kate’s hand. “Are we under siege?”
Kate squeezed her ward’s hand and assured her that was not the case, that the soldiers were most likely Sir Elric’s men. He had sent for them to help search for the murderer.
But Kate was uneasy. She would have expected Elric to do all he could to avoid the trouble such a show of force might stir up. Bedlam, as in Cirencester. Berend’s tale should have reminded him of the danger of rumor, how stoking people’s fears might spark violence.
She breathed more easily once the girls had been bustled into the classroom by their schoolmaster, relieved that he had shut the door against the fog with naught but a nod to Kate. She was in no mood for a lecture this morning. But as she turned to leave, she heard the door open behind her, then felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Forgive me for my discourtesy,” said Master Jonas, “but I did not want my pupils to overhear.” With worried eyes the schoolmaster asked if she knew anything about the company of soldiers that had earlier swarmed down Petergate and up Stonegate.
Even he.
“I expect they were the Earl of Westmoreland’s men,” said Kate. “Come to help restore the peace.”
“Restore it? They have disturbed it.”
“They are here to solve the murders of Merek and Horner.”
“Sow trouble, reap trouble.” He wagged his head as if speaking of unruly children. “I see no need for an armed invasion. In any case, I thought the sheriffs had taken your cook into custody. Did they arrest him in error? Mind you, I do not believe Berend would do such a thing unless he did it for the good of the city. But murder is a crime. Not to mention a grave sin.”
Quite a speech from the schoolmaster, and it challenged Kate to listen with equanimity. “Of course Berend did not murder those men. Sir Elric and I agree that they arrested him in haste. As to the armed invasion, I did not witness their arrival. A pity that they inspired fear rather than reassurance.”
“Indeed. Well. I wish them success. Benedicite, Mistress Clifford.”
“Benedicite,” said Kate just in time before Master Jonas opened the door only so wide as to slip inside, as if fearful lest he let a child loose into the streets. He closed it softly behind him, and she waited for his usual loud tirade. But she was distracted by a sense of someone watching her. She felt rather than saw something in the mist, slipping back round the side of the building. Drawing her knife from her skirt, she concealed it beneath her cloak as she stole along the side of the building to Petergate and peered round the corner. No one. But out in the street someone slipped on the cobbles, cursed. Kate hurried forward, but she saw no one until she reached the intersection with Stonegate. There the sun shone down, thinning the mist, illuminating a crowd of folk congregating.
“Soldiers in the yard of the York Tavern,” a neighbor said as she joined him. “A great company.”
Elric’s men had indeed arrived.
As she passed the shop of Pendleton, the silversmith, she paused, remembering the jeweled girdle she had glimpsed on the shelf in his office, and her sense that Lady Margery did not wish her to know how it came to be there. She knocked on the door.
A young servant answered, the dust in his hair sparkling with traces of silver.
“We are not prepared to receive customers so early, Mistress.”
“Would you ask your master if I might speak with him? It is important. Tell him it’s Katherine Clifford.”
A man shoveled slushy snow away from the front of the shop next door, pausing for a moment to ask if she had seen the soldiers.
“Not as yet.”
“I thought we were well rid of them, drunk and rowdy, picking fights with us working folk.”
He shivered beneath his much-patched tunic, a skinny man, more bone than flesh. She was searching for a response when the door behind her opened.
“Dame Katherine, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?” Roland Pendleton’s hearty voice rang out, turning heads on the street.
“Might we talk inside?”
A glance at the sweeper, and another clerk across the way pretending to be checking one of the storefront’s latches, and Pendleton stepped aside, welcoming her in. In the shop the lamps were lit, the lad who had answered the door and another busily assembling materials for the day’s work.
“Is it about the soldiers? They’re from Sir Elric’s garrison, are they not? Sheriff Hutton?”
The lads looked up, eager to hear any news.
“Yes. But that is not why I have come.”
“Ah. Well then,” he gestured toward his office behind the workshop.
As Kate took a seat, she glanced at the shelf on which she had glimpsed the dymysent. But all she could see were records in a neat stack. “I will not keep you long. I noticed an item on your shelf the other day, a jeweled girdle, that I know to belong to Lady Margery Kirkby.” She saw by his expression that he had not known of the connection to Lady Kirkby. So Kate was right, her friend had not brought it here for repair. “Might I ask how you came to have it? A man’s life may depend on your answer.”
Roland nervously cleared his throat. “A jeweled girdle? Are you certain? I cannot recall—”
“Was it the spice seller Merek who brought it to you?”
“Merek? The man who was murdered?” Roland crossed himself and shook his head. “Lord have mercy.” He he
sitated. “Why would you think that?”
“Or was it my cook Berend who brought it?”
“Berend?” He blinked, as if caught without an answer. “Is it true what they say? That he has been accused of murdering Merek and Jon Horner? And took part in the rebellion?”
“He has been taken to York Castle. I am trying to prove his innocence.”
“I swore.” A sigh that deepened to a groan. “But this changes everything.” A long pause. “Yes, Berend brought it to me to raise some money. For a lady in need, he said. I thought a lady friend in the family way, though I should have wondered. A cook courting a woman who could afford such a piece? But it was Berend—we all trust him. I had no idea it was—Her husband was executed for treason, was he not?”
For a lady in need. Margery? Damn the woman. “When was this?”
“Several days ago. It is a fine piece. I paid him well. I did not know it was the property of a traitor, or that he was so accused. And then the murders—God help me. Dame Katherine, I pray you . . .”
“Berend brought it to you. Did he tell you anything about the lady, where she was, what trouble she faced?”
Roland shook his head. “Nothing. He did advise me to go elsewhere to sell it. I thought a summer fair . . . What should I do with it?”
“Keep it hidden.”
“I paid good money—”
“Patience, I pray you. All may yet be well. But say nothing.”
“I swear.”
“See to it.”
“God be thanked I am not always so easily led astray. I was offered another piece and, well . . .”
“Yes?”
“Stolen goods.”
“Do you have the piece?”
The man did not meet her eyes as he shook his head. “I expect a client any moment . . .”
She touched his arm. “Master Roland, I pray you. Two people are dead, another badly injured. Sir Elric and I are doing all we can to find the murderer before there is more tragedy. Who showed you a stolen item?”
“Sir Elric, you say? The earl’s man?” The silversmith searched her face. “You are asking for him?”
It rankled to play Elric’s subservient, but if it put Roland at ease . . . “Yes.”
He hesitated a moment, then sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “It was Jon Horner, God rest his soul. He brought in a gold brooch. Fine work, very fine. He wanted to know its worth, whether he had been charged a fair price. He had indeed.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But I told him there was nothing fair about his having been offered it for purchase. You see, I recognized the piece. It belongs to my sister-in-law. Stolen weeks ago.”
So not from the casket. “What did he do?”
“Plucked it from my hands and rushed out of the shop. My servant tried to stop him, but he moved too fast.”
“When was this?”
“The day before yesterday. We were just closing up. I meant to report it to the sheriff in the morning, but then I heard Horner was found dead in his room. Is it true that he took his own life? Surely not over a piece of stolen jewelry? Or was he murdered?”
“I do not know,” said Kate. She thanked him. “You can be certain that Sir Elric will appreciate your cooperation. And, for now, your silence.”
“I swear, Dame Katherine. But I mean to report the stolen brooch.”
“Describe it to me and I will search Horner’s house for it.”
“Why should I wait—” He breathed out. “Forgive me. I am not accustomed to such troubles. I was not thinking. Of course.” He described a golden feather caught in a bare branch. A delicate piece, exquisitely fashioned, with a small piece of coral on the reverse, said to prevent a flux of blood when warmed by her body. “A gift from her aunt for her first lying in. She treasures the piece and has grieved the loss of it, particularly now, as she is again with child.”
Kate assured him she would search for it, and they departed with vows of good faith.
Once out the door she let herself feel the full flush of anger. She had given Lady Margery the gift of sanctuary and the woman lied to her face. Why? Why should Kate trust her? What was Berend’s task? Gathering a sum of money to arrange for Lady Margery’s passage. And his? Damn them. She offered them help and they repaid her with deceit? She thought of the small pouch with the two rings from Salisbury’s hoard. She had tucked it in her scrip, thinking to force Berend into addressing its significance. Raising funds for someone dear to Salisbury as well?
Time to confront him, Geoff whispered in her mind.
Yes. But she might need an escort, someone who had permission to visit Berend.
The arrangement of the buildings around the graveyard in St. Helen’s Square allowed sufficient morning light for Kate to make out a dozen men in the livery of Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland. They stood in groups of four, one in the tavern yard, two in the square, Douglas, Wulf, and Stephen presiding. Elric and Kevin stood near the door of the tavern, in heated discussion with an elderly nobleman who had the bearing of a seasoned soldier. A younger man in the king’s livery stood to one side, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if impatient to move on. Sir Peter Angle and Captain Crawford, Kate presumed. She took her time walking toward them, straining to hear the matter of their disagreement. Bess Merchet leaned on her cane in the doorway. Noticing Kate, she nodded her head in greeting, but quickly returned her attention to the men. She, too, was listening.
“I should hope you would have already sounded the alarm, Sir Elric,” the elderly knight was saying, “encouraged the citizens of York to inform you of any strangers, questionable behavior, treasonous speech.”
“They are already uneasy,” Elric said, his gloved hands in fists behind his back, his words clipped. “Look how they’ve congregated at the edge of the square. They have heard what happened in other towns, the mobs taking it upon themselves to execute those rumored to be traitors. None of us want a repeat of that lawless violence.”
“It was effective,” said the old knight’s impatient companion.
“Your captain lacks experience, Sir Peter. I will not entrust my men to him,” said Elric.
“Then I must continue my investigations without your assistance.” The old knight bowed stiffly.
Kate did not linger, slipping past them, glad she had not brought the hounds and called attention to herself.
Old Bess motioned her into the tavern and waved her through to her quiet space.
“I thought Sir Elric would be discrete about the additional men,” Kate said.
“That was Wulf’s mistake,” said Bess. “Sir Elric’s orders had been to have the men arrive a few at a time, without fuss. But they all descended upon the tavern shortly after dawn. Before Sir Elric had returned. We’ve had all we can do to feed them. Heaven knows where they will all sleep tonight. I’ve not the rooms to spare.”
“Sir Elric was about so early? Before the men arrived?”
“Early? No. Late. He was out all the night.”
“Where?”
“He would not say.” The elderly woman busied herself folding some bedding. “He trusts me with what he learned from Berend but not that.” She shook out a partially folded sheet with a loud snap. Kate judged it best not to offer assistance. “Leaving Berend in the castle.” Snap. “Fearful lest Sir Elric and all his men are not enough against the king’s men? Have you seen Sir Peter? Rheumatic wheezing, a shoulder that barely moves. Pah.”
“He sounded eager to cause a riot.”
“So he’s a fool as well?” Snap.
“Did Sir Elric seem rested when he appeared this morning?”
“Rested?” A shake of her head, her ribbons bouncing. “No more than you do.” Bess looked Kate up and down. “Perhaps not quite so wilted as you. Who kept you awake?”
“I did.”
A nod. “I trust you were not doubting Berend’s innocence?”
“No. But at present we have only his word. We have no proof. To convince the sheriffs and Sir Peter we need more.�
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An impatient sniff. “Wulf should be the one in chains.”
“Sir Elric assures me that Berend is no longer in chains,” said Kate.
“Small comfort.”
“I agree.” Kate settled into a chair. “I need to find out from Berend what Sir Elric left out of his account.”
Bess frowned at her. “You do not trust that Elric told you all?”
“I know that he did not, at Berend’s request.”
“Ah. You will tell me what you learn?”
“Of course.” Kate told her about her conversation with Pendleton.
“It is time you speak with Berend.”
Kate agreed. “Might Elric have spent the night guarding Berend?”
“Only if Berend is sleeping out in the snow. Sir Elric’s leggings were soaked and his cloak heavy with damp.”
“It is a long walk from the castle.”
The taverner slapped a folded blanket onto the table.
Kate let it be, but she did wonder where Elric had spent the night. Was it possible he had stood watch on Jocasta’s house? Or hers?
“He might have warned me so many were coming, but men, they never consider such things.” Bess set her work aside and reached for Kate’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Forgive my temper. I see how all this weighs on you. I want to help, but there is little I can do. You must permit Sir Elric to bear the burden of protecting Berend and Lady Kirkby.”
“They are my friends.”
“Of course. But he meant to prove himself in this. Still does.”
“Has he told you . . . ?”
“That you have hidden her all this while?” A nod. “Your distrust cut him deep.” Hands on hips, Bess shook her head at Kate. “Do not pretend you were not aware of his feelings for you. That he should choose such a means of wooing might well amuse you—it does me. My Tom would be shaking his head and assuring me that I have it all wrong. What man would woo a woman in such wise, he would ask. But mark me, I have walked this earth a good long while and I know a man in love when I see one. You let Sir Elric help, and I thought you understood. But what you kept from him—you fettered him from the start. And me.”