A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  “What do you want from us?” asked Sawyer.

  “I want you to answer my questions. Truthfully.” Elric smiled, flexing his hands as if itching to punch them.

  “And then you’ll let us go?”

  Douglas, who had been standing in the open doorway, chuckled. Elric kicked shut the door.

  “My man has a peculiar sense of humor. Where were we? Ah, yes. Did Merek give you the casket? Is that why you murdered him?”

  Interesting, Geoff whispered in Kate’s head, pretending he doesn’t know the whereabouts of the treasure.

  But hardly necessary.

  “Don’t you have—” Parr elbowed Sawyer, shutting him up.

  “Here’s the truth,” said Parr. “We’d been searching for Merek, and there he was, pulling himself along the storefronts in the Shambles, bleeding. We had no reason to harm him before we had what we wanted from him. Someone had attacked him, though. I offered him my arm, but he stabbed it and jerked away. Stumbled backward and fell on his ass.” He nodded toward Sawyer. “Will bent to help him up and he got a boot in the groin. So he put a boot on him.”

  “And then someone was coming and we thought we’d best leave him be or we’d be blamed. We meant to check on him later.”

  Frustrating that they had not been curious about who was approaching.

  Kate shook her head at Jennet. “Even Dame Eleanor was helpful.” She told her what she had learned. “And the girls were squealing with delight when we walked beneath the window of Sister Dina’s sewing room on the way out. All sorrow forgotten for the moment in the thrill of new clothes.”

  “That they will wear once a year. White.” Jennet chuckled.

  “No, Sister Dina will dye them afterward.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, glad to be home, to have nowhere else she must trek until the morning. It had begun to snow as she walked down Stonegate. Blessed be the warm fire and strong ale.

  “Was it difficult, with Berend, then?” Jennet asked, pulling up a chair.

  “Like Petra, I want things to be as they were.”

  “As do we all.”

  He should be standing in the corner in his worn but always clean linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his muscular forearms flexing as he kneaded the dough, attentive to Kate, sharing his thoughts. God in heaven how it hurt.

  And she had lost Elric as well. She shook herself and straightened. “Elric and his men will see to Berend. Bess Merchet has devised a plan for sneaking Lady Margery downriver. Her grandson delivers ale to Bishopthorpe weekly. Rent for his small farm downriver, where he grows the hops. Lady Margery will be the lad helping him the day after tomorrow. The casket will be in the barrel. A special barrel.”

  “A sound plan. Bess Merchet is a resourceful woman.”

  “She says she learned much from Gwenllian Ferriby’s father, a spy for the archbishop and others.”

  “The one-eyed Welshman?” A nod. “I’ve heard much of him on the streets. I thought him a legend until I talked to Brother Martin.”

  “Yes. His foster father. We could use him now.”

  “You have Sir Elric. He does not dare disappoint you,” said Jennet.

  “He does it for Berend now, not me. He has said as much.”

  “Wounded vanity,” Jennet said with a little laugh. “He will recover. So Lady Margery departs the day of your cousin’s feast?”

  “Early that morning, yes.”

  “Means of travel?”

  “A small boat. Colin Merchet likes to row there. Times it with the tides so that it is not too wearing. Lady Margery won’t need to help downriver, they will be moving with the tide. Kevin will already be at Bishopthorpe to meet them, stay with Lady Margery until Berend arrives with Douglas and Harry.”

  “And how will Berend leave the castle?”

  “That is Sir Elric’s task. He has taken care to get to know the guards, and has recommended to the sheriffs that on the day of the mayor-elect’s feast they post specific ones he deems most trustworthy. Then the sheriffs will be free to enjoy the festivities.” Kate yawned.

  “Forgive all my questions. Drink your ale and rest. You will be rising early for the Candlemas procession.” Jennet rose to assemble her own bed for the night, still the pallet near the fire, close to the door.

  But there was so much they still needed to discuss. Kate asked about Cuddy, the new servant from her cousin William Frost’s household. The girls had met him before leaving for her mother’s house, and declared him most handsome but irritating.

  A broad grin. “Eager to be considered a man, though he’s not much older than Phillip.” Kate’s ward was thirteen. “Needs guidance. Matt corrected his use of both shovel and broom. But he’s quick to learn, and nary a complaint so far. He has offered to walk the hounds. Seems his family had large dogs, and he’s been missing them.”

  “Trustworthy?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Kate poured herself more ale and returned to brooding. There was a smugness about Parr and Sawyer that troubled her. She had come away from the interview uneasy about what they might know, how they might damage Berend and Margery.

  But she had encouraged Elric to hand them over to Sir Peter. “Let Sir Peter think you support his mission. He might relax his vigilance just long enough for our purpose.”

  Elric had agreed to send word the morning of the mayor-elect’s feast.

  She was drifting off to sleep when she sensed Geoff standing at the foot of her bed.

  I choose to be here with you, Kate.

  It is not fair to you. You should be at peace. Resting in—Are you in heaven?

  I’m here with you.

  I have robbed you of that.

  She buried her face in the pillow, willing him to go away.

  I will when you are ready.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder.

  You were a boy when you died. How are you now so wise?

  She felt his grin in her mind. Sleep now. I will watch over you.

  Candlemas

  Statues of angels, Kate thought as she stepped into the hall of the Martha House and beheld Marie and Petra in their white gowns, their hair loose about their shoulders, their hands folded before them. And just beneath the neckline on their gowns, each wore the gold and jet brooches Lady Margery had given them. When she touched Marie’s, tears started in the girl’s eyes. Petra bit her bottom lip. Kate whispered her assurances that all would be well for their friend as she hugged them. How rigidly the girls stood. “You are making the day special for the sisters, do you see how they smile on you?”

  For they did. All four sisters stood behind the girls, their faces alight with the sweetness of the vision.

  “Poor Sister Brigida combed and combed Petra’s hair, trying to untangle it,” Marie whispered.

  Kate touched her niece’s hair, so like hers. “How lovely. Are you pleased, Petra?”

  A little smile. “Sister Brigida did not complain.”

  “Of course not. And, when I speak with her, will she say that Marie sweetly combed her own hair and made no demands?”

  Petra giggled, Marie turned away, but not before Kate caught the beginning of a grin.

  As Kate rose, she found Brigida, Clara, Dina, and Agnes all laughing.

  “Marie is a handful,” said Sister Agnes. “But we all enjoy fussing over both of them.”

  Kate had wondered whether they, too, would wear white on this day, putting aside their simple gray gowns. But they had compromised with white capes over their usual attire. All held candles, ready to be lit as they entered the church.

  It was strange for Kate to be in this house that was once her home, a place that held so many memories. The sisters and her wards stood before the lady altar that had taken the place of Kate’s loom, where she had turned silken threads into colorful patterns that would remind her of the beauty of the north country of her childhood. Now that loom stood in her house on Low Petergate, the tapestry almost complete.
She stood near the spot that had held the blankets on which Lille and Ghent slept. And just to one side was the spot where she had kept Geoff’s boots.

  I remember, he whispered. For a time I could reach you only when you wore my boots or the other bits of my clothing you squirreled away.

  What changed?

  I don’t know. But it was lonely then. It isn’t now.

  It isn’t fair to you. You should rest in peace.

  I will when you are here with me.

  She shivered at that, and forced her attention to the present, glad to see that Petra and Marie were now whispering and giggling, no longer intimidated by their part in the morning’s ceremony.

  It was a warm, inviting scene. The candles on the altar were lit, and the scents of incense and beeswax filled the hall, following their early morning prayers and readings. So the sisters began each day, even on such a morning when they would attend a long mass. But there would be little work today, unless Sister Clara was called out to a birthing.

  Kate shivered again as the hall door opened and closed.

  “Such a snowstorm,” Dame Eleanor murmured at Kate’s back. “The girls were disappointed to see it.”

  Kate had wondered where her mother was. “A white world for Candlemas. It seems appropriate,” she said. “How is Rose?”

  Eleanor’s face sagged with weariness. Her veil and the shoulders of her gown were damp with melting snow. “Her fever broke in the night. She is resting now. Bella is with her.”

  Matt’s cousin, a midwife and healer. The fact that Eleanor sent for her . . . “She was that ill?”

  “I had not realized, not until after you left yesterday. When I went to sit with her, she was burning up and speaking gibberish.”

  “You have her in the bedchamber off the kitchen?”

  “Yes. Sister Clara thought it was best, we can keep it quite warm there, and it is quiet.”

  They both turned as the hall door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a flurry of snowflakes.

  “Forgive me, I pray I am not too late!” Philippa Atterby said in a breathless voice as she hurried into the hall, the servant Nan closing the door behind her.

  “Here is just the person you wish to see,” Eleanor whispered to Kate. “I had time in the night to think how to broach the topic after mass.” She nodded to Kate, then opened her arms to the newcomer. “Not late at all, my dear Philippa. The church bells have not yet tolled. You have met my daughter, Dame Katherine?”

  Kate offered to help her shake the snow from her cloak. Best to befriend her before mentioning Jon Horner. Pray God her mother’s plan was discreet. But just as she began, the church bell tolled. A ripple of movement as the sisters waved Eleanor, Philippa, and Kate to their places behind them, and Nan gave them each a candle, then went to open the street-side door. Slowly, in twos, the women processed out into the snow.

  At the church they were ushered in by Magistra Matilda, whose sisters had begun to sing the hymn Nunc Dimittis. Eleanor’s sisters joined their voices as they walked up the nave, Sister Brigida’s clear soprano ringing out.

  Kate caught her breath as the song transported her to her first Candlemas in York, entering the minster on Simon’s arm. The candlelight, the scent of beeswax, the voices of the vicars choral. Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Simon had whispered, pressing her arm. More beautiful than the windswept hills of the north country? More beautiful than watching the wolfhounds lope across a meadow? More beautiful than her twin’s face? No, she had thought, the statues are all staring down on me, judging me. It is just stone upon stone upon stone, a burial chamber of terrifying proportions. But she had forced herself to smile up at Simon, and he had looked satisfied. Her betrothed. In time she had grown fond of him, and looked forward to motherhood. She had prayed for a boy to call Geoffrey. As she grew large with child she envisioned the day when she would enter St. Mary’s for her churching. But that day never came, and now she knew that while she lay on the floor weeping for her lost child, Simon had lain in Calais with his whore.

  “My dear?” Dame Eleanor whispered, putting an arm round her.

  Startled, she glanced round, seeing the concern on the sisters’ faces. And on Kevin’s. He stood to one side, next to Elric, who stared ahead, stone-faced. Elric. He was nothing like Simon. Quite a superior cut of man. In body and soul. How she wished she might spend just one night in his naked embrace. She caught herself. The Candlemas service was not the time to fantasize about a lover who might have been.

  Back at the Martha House, Nan welcomed them with hot spiced wine and a roaring fire in the hearth.

  Eleanor drew Kate over to the widow Atterby. “Philippa thought to join our household,” she said to Kate, “but we knew she was meant to spread her light out in the world, grace one of the prominent families with her calming, inspiring presence.”

  “Oh, Dame Eleanor, you flatter me,” Philippa sighed. Her speech truly was much like sighing, she spoke so softly, with little inflection. “The Graa family honors me.”

  “You are betrothed to one of Thomas Graa’s nephews?” Kate asked, thinking his sons all too old for this child.

  “His grandson Gregory.” Philippa blushed prettily.

  Ah, well, no wonder there were roses in her cheeks and stars in her eyes. Gregory Graa was a handsome young man, well-spoken, and would one day inherit a substantial fortune. One day. Interesting that the family would permit him to wed so young. Perhaps grandfather Thomas was unwell.

  “So much more appropriate than the man her parents first put forward, or the one who dared put himself forward,” said Eleanor, reaching over to pat Philippa’s hand. “You will be the most handsome couple in the city.”

  “Someone dare put himself forward?” said Kate, picking up her mother’s prompt.

  Philippa set aside her cup of spiced wine in order to make the sign of the cross. “May God grant him rest. Poor Jon.”

  “Not Jon Horner?” Kate pretended shock.

  “Indeed it was. Oh, he was kind to me, but he was such an odd man, and Father said that his business was, well—” She looked away as if embarrassed by what she had almost said. “He was unsuitable.”

  “And, perhaps I am mistaken, but expected to make an alliance with another,” said Kate. “Cecily Wheeldon.”

  “Oh, no.” Philippa shook her head, her pearl and silver crispinette catching the firelight. “The widow Wheeldon was his employer. I cannot think she ever meant to marry him. Indeed, I did at first accuse Gregory of having his eye on her. But he swears there has never been anyone for him but me.”

  The young woman’s breathy speech had begun to irritate Kate. Why would she not speak out? But she focused on the information. “She employed him? I had no idea.”

  “Oh yes, Jon kept her accounts as she took over more and more of her husband’s business. He was so frail at the end.”

  Was he? Ross Wheeldon had walked with a cane and there were days when he conducted his business from his bed, but he had remained quite able to drive a hard bargain. Kate knew. She and Thomas Holme had negotiated a share in a shipment just a month before Ross’s death.

  “Jon Horner told you this?”

  “No, Dame Cecily, when she called on me to encourage me to fight for him.” A little frown. “She spoke as if she were giving me permission to wed him. Faith, she seemed offended when I explained that the interest was solely on his side, I had no intention of marrying him.”

  Kate met her mother’s eyes, gave a little shrug. “And all this while Gregory Graa was pining for you.”

  Another pretty blush. Poor Gregory.

  “Aunt Katherine, come, look at the embroidery Sister Dina and Sister Agnes are working on,” Petra called from across the room.

  Kate rose, congratulating Philippa on her betrothal. It was time to give the girls her attention, letting them extol the wonders of the beguines until she must bundle them off home. For they would have a long day tomorrow at her cousin William’s house. The first of the
two days of celebration was for the entire city, and began with entertainment for the children.

  And Kate had much to do to prepare for all that must happen while the city was so conveniently distracted. She must arrange her part today, for tomorrow she would have a care not to be seen anywhere near either the castle or the Sharp residence. One crucial item sat on the floor beside the sisters’ pattens and boots. She slipped over to where Sister Clara was watching her two companions work at their embroidery and quietly explained that it was Berend’s traveling pack. She must find a way to leave it with him when she took his meal to him.

  Sister Clara looked at her with interest. “It shall be done.”

  “Did he eat the treats I brought him?”

  “He did. But not the meal I took him. I pray that he has done so by now. He will need his strength, I think?”

  “He will.” Kate thanked Clara for taking such good care of Berend, and received a blessing in return.

  “What do you think of the pattern?” Petra asked, having waited patiently for Kate’s attention.

  Now Kate noticed that the altar cloth was bordered with thistles and gillyflowers, Petra’s favorites. “Did you design them?”

  A proud nod. “I embroidered the first two.” She pointed to a corner in which the needlework was ever so slightly less exact than the rest of the border. But for a child who had sworn she was all thumbs with decorative needlework, it was a revelation.

  “They are beautiful. Can you do other flowers?”

  “Old Mapes always left the flowers for me to finish. I can do most that she knew.”

  And as an herbalist Mapes would know quite a few. “We should have some of your work in our house, don’t you think?”

  “Marie is good with trees and grass. We could do a forest meadow.”

  Kate hugged her niece.

  “You have done well with her,” Eleanor said. She stood close to Kate, smiling down on the altar cloth. “It is a joy to watch my granddaughter blossom. You were—” She caught herself and said, “I had my doubts about your capability as a mother, but you have proved me wrong.”

  Kate knew what she’d been about to say, or at least she guessed. Her needlework had been no better then than it was now. Weaving, now that had always appealed, requiring movement. She glanced back at her niece, so like her, and pictured a boy standing next to her, all elbows and knees, nudging her, whispering that they were missing the snowfall.