A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  Taking Eleanor’s arm, she drew her away from the clustered women. “What do you remember of the day they brought Geoff’s body home? What did I do?”

  “What has that boy told you?”

  She had created her own trap, opening a conversation about whether or not Geoff was still with her. Eleanor had dragged her down to York to shake him out of her.

  “It is not Geoff. I sat with a friend who has had a loss. She was so unable to let herself mourn for the anger in her heart, she must needs first make things right. She is not the woman I knew. Did I change, after Geoff’s death?”

  Eleanor looked away, fussing with some imagined imperfection in the drape of her skirt. “You pushed us all away. Only the hounds were permitted to comfort you.”

  “I remember throwing myself on his body and screaming.”

  “You lay atop him, but you said nothing. You voiced nothing for weeks. You insisted on wearing his clothes and walking. Walking for hours with the hounds. Of course your father followed you. He was so afraid for you, that you would go after the Cavertons, intent on vengeance. But he said you just walked. When the hounds were tired you would sit and stare.”

  I remember that. The walks. And the silence.

  Kate did not remember the silence. “When did I finally speak? When you brought me to York?”

  “Long before that. You sat down to dinner and said, ‘Geoff has told me that I must reclaim my voice. Our voice.’ I knew at that moment I must forbid you to wear his clothes. And I began to plan our escape.”

  I don’t remember that.

  It happened, Kate.

  Eleanor touched Kate’s cheek. “I cannot begin to understand how hard it was for you. Geoffrey was such a part of you. But I feared I was losing you as well. Now that you have the children, perhaps you see why I removed his things from your bedchamber and took you away from the places that could not but remind you of him?”

  “I think I do. And I will always be grateful that you did not make me leave Lille and Ghent.”

  “I knew better than to try that.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Are you worried about Lady Margery?” When Kate looked at her askance Eleanor said, “I have guessed you were hiding her. And see? I’ve told no one. Not a whisper, not even to the sisters.”

  Kate pressed her mother’s hand. “I depend on her not to betray us, especially Berend. And to follow instructions.”

  “You took no untoward risks on your walks, you saw to the needs of the hounds. Your father found no fault in your actions. But I do not know Lady Margery.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Eleanor embraced her, holding her tightly. “I am glad he is still with you, Katherine. I am so glad you are not alone.”

  Startled, Kate said nothing, though she silently prayed that this was not a momentary truce, but a lasting peace.

  “I should go now,” said Eleanor, “to sit with Rose. I had intended to go to William’s house and help prepare for tomorrow’s festivities—to annoy Isabella. Hah! But, alas, God saved me from myself. I do not begrudge Rose. She has been so patient with me over the years.”

  The beguines had worked a miracle.

  “However you are planning to save your friends, Katherine, I pray God watches over you. We are all praying for their safe escape.”

  In the early afternoon, Kate saw Matt off to the York Tavern with the casket of jewels hidden in a crate of spices from her inventory, Jennet off to the Sharp residence where she would give Lady Margery her instructions, and then she and the hounds escorted Marie and Petra to the guesthouse. Griselde had promised to make a feast to celebrate the day, and Phillip would be joining them, as the stoneyard was closed for both Candlemas and the mayor’s celebration. He would sleep at home for the next two nights. It would be good to have them all under her roof again. Marie and Petra were particularly excited to show off their new dresses. The snow had stopped for the nonce and they danced down the street, nicely calling attention to the fact that Kate was with her wards.

  And then she slipped out the back door of the guesthouse with the hounds. John Wrawby had agreed to meet with her and Sir Elric. She must also stop to speak with her friend Cam at the staithes, ensure that all was ready for the morrow.

  Bess looked him up and down, tsking and shaking her head, the ribbons on her white cap fluttering. “As I told Dame Jocasta, the inn is filled with soldiers tonight, so there’s nothing for it but to put you on a pallet in my own.”

  The boy, who kept his head bowed, shrugged to let her know he’d heard.

  “Right then, come along.” About to send off the man who had delivered the boy, she hesitated, noticing his patched jacket and old boots. Told the cook to give him a bowl of stew and some bread, and motioned him to the bench just inside the door. Dame Jocasta did what she could for them, but the man had done a service, and he looked hungry.

  He had also arrived promptly, in time for anyone lingering out in the yard to hear the irritation in her voice. Another good reason to feed the courier—the cold would drive any lurkers off before he finished eating and took his leave. No opportunity for questions.

  And just in case someone recalled the lad, not seeing him around after tomorrow, she would shrug and roll her eyes and say Colin returned from a delivery without him. The strays would run away, thinking they’d find something better, or still escaping their own private devils. But she was counting on most folk being at William Frost’s celebration on the morrow. She herself would abstain, her old hips not liking such a long walk in the cold.

  Once in her room she closed the door and took a good look at her guest. “You’re a wee bit too pretty for the soldiers.”

  “I wanted to color my skin, but Dame Jocasta said that would just make me exotic, and some would find that even more appealing.”

  “Once you’re on the road, will you go back to your skirts?”

  Lady Margery shook her head. “I do not dare at first. With my shorn hair I thought I might not be a woman until we reach our destination. But Jennet, Dame Katherine’s maid, has fashioned a simple gown and wimple I will don when Berend says it is time.”

  Her speech was fair, of course, being a noblewoman, but there was a toughness to her that explained how she had come so far. And why Berend would accept her as a companion in flight. But Bess felt compelled to warn her. “If you do aught to cause Berend’s mission to fail, you will be cursed. I will pray that your maggoty remains dissolve in unhallowed ground and that you burn in hell.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “How dare you—”

  “Must I remind you what I risk in inviting you into my home for the night?”

  The woman had the wisdom to doff her cap and bow her head, whispering an apology.

  “You are no lady at the moment. You are a waif brought to Dame Jocasta and now delivered up to me as a servant. For your sake and for that of all the good people helping you, you had best remember that.”

  A knock, Colin’s signal. Bess opened the door only so far as she must to allow him in, shut it quickly. “Take a look at her size. Will it work?” Bess put out an arm to stop his bow. “As I was just reminding this little gutter-snipe, such behavior will undo us all. This is a lad off the streets. You are annoyed to have him foist upon you, but I’ve insisted we give him a chance.”

  Colin crossed himself. “God help me, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You had better begin.” She called him her grandson, but not a drop of her blood ran in his veins. His father was her Tom’s son by his first marriage. Still, her Tom would have been quick to understand the situation and would rise to the occasion. She wished someone else might take the lady downriver, but no one from Katherine Clifford’s house must be involved. They might be followed. “In the morning, as soon as Sir Elric leaves to deliver up those two recreants in the shack to the king’s men, you hie to the river. There will be some nice confusion amongst Sir Peter’s men, just enough to make them incurious about a cart of ale.”

  Colin looked crestfallen. �
�I know my duty, Grandmother. I will not fail you.”

  He’d best see that he didn’t.

  15

  THE MAYOR-ELECT’S FEAST

  Musicians, puppeteers, jugglers, dancers—the yard that separated William Frost’s elegant home from his shops and offices on Micklegate had been transformed into a fairground covered by a brightly painted pavilion. And there was more—tables and carts serving savory pies and ale lined the alleyway leading to the back garden where musicians and jongleurs who had not been hired for the main festivities would continue to entertain the throngs of folk who had no invitations for the feast in the hall and beneath the pavilion later in the day. Kate had attended the mayor’s feast every year since arriving in York, all lavish affairs, but none could compare with this. Isabella and William had outdone themselves. Even the weather had cooperated, with clear skies and little wind, though it was cold.

  Although the festivities had just begun, Kate already found it difficult to maneuver through the crowd. Marie, Petra, and Phillip shouted with glee and tugged her this way and that. Kate almost regretted having brought Lille and Ghent, but if things went wrong, she might need them, and quickly. Instructing Phillip to take charge of his sister and Petra and see to their safety, she was making her way to a relatively quiet spot near the house when Winifrith Neville caught her arm.

  “My dear Katherine, I want to apologize for my behavior when you visited.” Over her shoulder she commanded her daughter Maud to see to the young children hanging onto Winifrith’s skirts. With a laugh, Maud plucked them off and swept them away. “I have some information that might make it up to you,” Winifrith said with a conspiratorial nod.

  When they had found a bench on which they might sit with the hounds at their feet, Winifrith began.

  “While Lionel’s been abed I took the opportunity to tidy the small room he uses as an office. And I found, well, he had hidden away—quite clearly meaning for no one to find it—a cache of silver coins and some jewels.”

  That interested Kate. “Jewels? What did you do?”

  “I confronted him, of course. He admitted to having taken payment from Merek the spice seller through Cecily Wheeldon for his passage on a ship.”

  “For Merek’s passage? What had Cecily Wheeldon to do with that?”

  Winifrith nodded. “I wondered that as well.”

  “When? Did he say when Cecily delivered the payment?”

  “He said it was the day of his ordeal. He had become impatient and sent his servant Fitch to warn Merek that he must receive payment before their meeting or he would not be sailing the next day. Apparently she appeared at his office shortly after that.”

  Cecily Wheeldon. Jon Horner and Merek Lacy both had connections with her. She searched the crowd for the woman. “Lionel truly had no idea why she became involved?”

  “None. He was taken aback, to put it mildly. He worried that Merek was up to mischief.”

  “How did he know Merek?”

  Winifrith looked down at Lille and Ghent, stroking their heads. “Oh, Katherine, you know how he is. He was so certain that you were cutting him out of his due. So he thought to partner with Merek on a shipment. Approached him with the idea, citing his experience with spice shipments and contacts that Merek would not have, not being from York.” A shrug. “My husband can be quite the fool. Even I, who have little time to go about in the city, knew the man was disliked, distrusted. And not merely because of being from the South.”

  “I will call on him in a few days.” If all went well today. Kate had done her best. The rest was up to her co-conspirators. If . . .

  Stop it. You need a clear head right here, Geoff hissed in her head.

  “Lionel has been changed by this experience, Katherine. And he wanted me to tell you that he has spoken to both sheriffs, Wrawby and Cottesbrok, about how Berend saved his life. He has told them that he cannot believe Berend returned to the Shambles and murdered Merek.”

  “Both of them?”

  “He insisted.” Winifrith shook her head. “But it is the king’s man who worries me. If there is anything we can do.”

  “I am grateful.” Kate rose as Thomas Holme approached, expecting him to greet her. But his attention was on his nephew, Leif, and a female companion who leaned on his arm and touched his cheek as they watched a group of jugglers.

  “Go on, do. I am content to sit here for a while,” said Winifrith. “Thomas looks as if he’ll have quite a lot to say about his nephew’s paramour. Come report back to me.”

  Her tone was good-humored, with a touch of relief, as if she had not expected to mend her friendship with Kate so easily. It had never been Kate’s intention to carry a grudge against her.

  Kate promised to find her again later, and signaled to Lille and Ghent to accompany her.

  “You look concerned,” said Kate as she joined Thomas.

  “That Wheeldon woman,” he growled. “She is too bold with my nephew in public.”

  Now, as the couple turned toward another group of entertainers, Kate could see that it was indeed Cecily Wheeldon who hung on Leif’s arm, and now patted his chest as she spoke. No question about her intentions. “You were not so against her the other day. Have you heard something to change your mind?”

  “I know little except that there is some gossip about the manner of Ross Wheeldon’s death. How suddenly he was gone, and how little she seemed to mourn him.” He glanced at Kate with a sad smile. “I fear it might be so when I die, they will wonder what my Catherine saw in me, an old, plain man, and she so fresh and beautiful.”

  Yet he met a mistress at Kate’s guesthouse. As did Sheriff John Wrawby, who was just now nodding to Kate as he passed her with his wife on his arm.

  Elric turned his back to Berend to give him some privacy while he struggled into the women’s garb that Jennet had provided him. The goodwife who had accompanied Elric would remain behind, surprising the evening guards when they came to check on Berend. She was at present happily dining on the meal the beguines had delivered earlier. She was almost as large as Berend, a precautionary accomplice urged on him by Bess Merchet in case one of Sir Peter’s men were watching and had noticed Elric arrive alone and leave with a companion. He’d agreed, having learned to trust Bess’s judgment. Pray God his own proved as good. All night he had tossed and turned, questioning his reason. Today he would risk all that he had fought so hard to gain—his place in the earl’s household, the land that the earl had granted him for his service. Already he had risked much with Parr and Sawyer, though Sir Peter had expressed only gratitude when he delivered them up.

  But what he was about to do—no, this Sir Peter would not forgive. And if he discovered that Lady Margery had been in York, and this evening would be ferried across the Ouse with Berend, then riding north with him—oh, that he would most definitely not forgive. Nor would the earl.

  Elric risked much. For Katherine? No. He understood now that he’d never been more to her than a tool to be discarded when she had no more use for him. Had he really believed she might choose him over Berend? He’d seen how her eyes softened when she spoke of the man. He could not fault her taste. Berend was one of the most honorable men he’d encountered. And if even half the stories about his feats as an assassin were true, he was a skilled, fiendishly clever warrior. Elric admired that. So would Earl Ralph, if he were to meet him. If there had been a way . . . But Berend had a mission, a quest. God grant him the grace to complete it. Elric paced, waiting for Berend to tell him he might look.

  Wulf and Stephen were guarding the door. Once Elric and Katherine had devised the plan, he’d sent two of his other men with Skulker—Wulf and Stephen were too crucial to the mission, men who were committed to Berend’s escape. At the door with them was a lad who could run like the wind and could quickly dispatch any necessary messages to Douglas and Harry, Elric’s men awaiting them at the staithes. From there, Berend would be taken downriver to Bishopthorpe, where Kevin waited with Lady Margery. Elric had sent him with a letter
to the archbishop’s steward, who was a distant cousin of the Earl of Westmoreland. Another mad risk, using his earl’s name to beg a favor. But if all went well, the earl might never know. Pray God it was so.

  Katherine had made this all possible, with a visit to Sheriff Wrawby and to one of the workers at the staithe yesterday. He had not been invited to the latter meeting, but he had played a role in her meeting with Wrawby, which had been one of the most uncomfortable interviews of his life. Elric knew Katherine was no more comfortable than he, but no one watching her could have guessed, and certainly not Wrawby, who squirmed and complained and then bowed his head and agreed. He was a customer at the guesthouse and feared being exposed not only to his wife, but to his fellow sheriff. God help him. Elric had asked what she would have done had Cottesbrok been the one who would be checking in on the day of the feast and she’d laughed—he was also a patron, though his wife knew of it. A cripple, his wife did not begrudge him his entertainments. She could not predict whether it would be Cottesbrok or Wrawby responsible for choosing who would be on duty today. She needed people who were sympathetic to Berend, or easily moved out of the way.

  As Elric paced in the castle chamber the goodwife startled him, bursting into laughter. Looking up, Elric did as well.

  “Jennet will pay for this,” said Berend, but he was grinning. The dress was made of undyed wool, the girdle woven flax and leather—a bit too nice for a washerwoman, Elric thought, but behind, beneath the darker cloak, it held Berend’s sword in a scabbard. The veil—oh dear God the wimple and veil accentuated the scars on his face, though they did cover the missing ear.

  “Hell’s bells, you’re an ugly woman,” said Elric.

  “No surprise there. I’m an ugly man.” Berend grew serious. “How safe is Lady Margery?”