A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  Elric rose. “Go. Leave this to me.” With a tug on his jacket, he strode out to face the king’s man.

  “Come.” Bess gestured to Kate. “I will take you out through the kitchen. Move quickly. I will put up a fuss so that you can go wherever you need to be.”

  Kate said a silent prayer for Elric’s safety.

  Coffey knelt to Lille and Ghent, praising them, clearly a play for time to think how he should respond.

  “As a merchant yourself, you understand the need for customer trust, Mistress Clifford. I cannot be sharing such information without good cause.”

  “What if I were to say folk are talking about this elegant tomb being prepared long before Ross Wheeldon gave anyone cause to believe he would soon be dead?” Kate knew it a risk, that it might make put him even more on the defensive, but she did not have time to dance about with him.

  His large hands, every crease lined in soot, paused on Lille’s and Ghent’s backs. Ghent put his muzzle to Ben’s hand, wanting more. They had taken a liking to him. It spoke well of the man.

  “I mean to make no trouble for you,” she said. “But it is important that I know if the grillwork is for Ross Wheeldon’s tomb, and who commissioned it.”

  “You will not mention me?”

  “Only to the sheriffs, if necessary. They can be trusted.”

  He grasped the side of his worktable and eased himself up. “I suppose, as he’s passed on . . . It is for Ross’s tomb, but he is the one approached me in the autumn. Said he wanted it rightly done, for his wife would not be so keen. He paid me up front, a goodly sum.”

  Kate was disappointed. All the fuss was about an elderly man’s mistrust of his wife’s willingness to honor his memory. She saw enough of that. “Has his widow consulted you?”

  “She has. A fine woman, the widow Wheeldon. A fine woman.”

  “Your work is so skilled, she must be pleased.”

  The smith scratched his cheek and seemed about to shake his head, then shrugged. “She did worry it was too grand, might offend those with more call to be so remembered in the church. But I told her that I contracted with her late husband, and I would break such an agreement at the peril of my own soul.”

  So Cecily hoped to recover some of the money Ross had invested in his memorial. “You are a man of conscience,” said Kate. “I should think she found that reassuring. A man who honors his contracts is a man who can be trusted.”

  Coffey was shaking his head as he fiddled with a tool on his workbench. “You are kind to say that, Mistress Clifford. But I do not believe the widow would agree. She accused me of taking advantage of a dying man’s vanity.”

  “No!”

  He shrugged. “As far as that, I never guessed he would die so soon. He rode with me to the church on several occasions and met with me weekly as I began the work.”

  “Rode through the Forest of Galtres to Easingwold with you?”

  “He did. Our last journey was in early December—Feast of St. Nicholas, it was. Cold, a sharp rain, but he would not turn back. And we sat in the tavern just outside the gates there having several tankards afterward. I saw him once more after that. I felt the news of his death like a blow, I did. I had become that fond.”

  “He was fortunate to make such a steadfast friend,” said Kate. She let Ghent comfort the man, butting his head against his hands, begging to have his ears rubbed. When the strain of Coffey’s emotions softened in response to the dog’s sweetness, she felt she might ask her last question. “Did Jon Horner prepare the contract for the tomb?”

  “Ah, no, that would—” Coffey shook his head with vigor. “Master Ross would have nothing to do with that man.” The look on the smith’s face suggested he had more to say about that.

  “I thought he saw to his accounts.”

  “That knave Merek thought that as well.”

  “Merek?”

  “He came sniffing round here about the work I was doing for Master Ross as well. Fool I was, giving him my good coin for nothing.”

  “Merek knew about the memorial?”

  “Claimed Horner told him about it.”

  “When was this?”

  “After Master Ross was dead, to be sure. So I thought, well, the widow must be using Horner to sort through her late husband’s papers. But I did not like Merek coming round asking about that. What business was it of his?”

  What indeed? Kate thanked him, her initial sense of defeat quite turned around. Here was evidence of Ross Wheeldon’s good health. No wonder his death had caused gossip.

  A dark mood closed in around Kate as she passed the Frost residence on her way from the smithy to Thomas’s warehouse. In the yard, Sir Peter paced in front of Elric, who stood between two men wearing the king’s livery. Would Elric have gone to Berend’s aid if not for her? Would he have Lady Margery safely lodged at Sheriff Hutton awaiting the earl’s pleasure? Would the earl have believed Lady Margery’s innocence?

  How would she bear it if Elric lost his standing, perhaps even his land, and then they found Berend and Margery had been part of the Epiphany plot? God help her, what was her responsibility to Elric? What had she done?

  Everything you have done, you have done with the best intentions, Geoff assured her.

  Small comfort if I have ruined a man for nothing. I’ve lost his love, his respect, and ruined him?

  Busy rebuking herself, she was halfway down Micklegate before she realized she had not seen Captain Crawford in her cousin’s yard. She must pay more attention to the crowds, especially as she crossed Ouse Bridge. To her surprise, folk were talking about Berend’s escape—so it was common knowledge now. Many waved to her and expressing their delight. Some were more cautious, no doubt fearful of king’s spies. She pushed herself along, keeping the hounds on a short leash.

  Once across the bridge, Lille gave a soft bark as the warehouse came into view. Jennet stood across the way, in the company of a woman in a thin cloak over a simple, oft-mended gown. One of Jennet’s eyes and ears, perhaps? As Kate drew closer, Jennet came forward to greet her and the hounds, who were ready for some affection, made skittish by their mistress’s agitation.

  “Leif arrived a little while ago. Dressed as if attending the more private feast at Master William’s home today.” The second day was for the aldermen and other powerful men of the city.

  Kate was relieved. “And the woman with you?”

  “My new friend Henna, currently the widow Wheeldon’s cook, but eager to work for you—until Berend returns.”

  “You are a wonder, Jennet.” Kate glanced at Henna, wondering at the old clothes—she hardly looked the part of a cook in the household of a prosperous York merchant. “How did you meet her?”

  “Asking round the market, I learned that she has been keen to leave since the master died.”

  “Loyal to Ross Wheeldon, not his widow?”

  “Much to say about that, I think.”

  “She will help us tonight?”

  “If you agree to test her skill on her day off tomorrow. Will you speak with her?”

  “I will. But briefly. I must not miss Leif.”

  Jennet motioned to Henna to join them. As the woman approached she held her skirts close and leaned away from Lille and Ghent.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Kate said, “they are well trained.”

  “Do they—Would they be in the kitchen?” Her face was chubby, but pinched, as if wary of the world, expecting the worst of it.

  “They would be, yes. Are you willing to try to trust them?”

  An honest hesitation, then Henna nodded. “Yours must be a grand kitchen to have room for them.”

  She might be disappointed in that. It was large, but not at all grand. Kate considered her. Good teeth, apparently robust health, that spoke well of her own cooking. Time would tell. “Come tomorrow, mid morning. Jennet will tell you what you will need, how many dine most days, the girls’ preferences.” She excused herself, whispered some instructions to Jennet, and crosse
d over to the warehouse.

  Her breath smoked in the cold, damp building. It was the first staging area for their goods before being moved to various storerooms around the city, drier, warmer, better for spices and the rolls of cloth being counted by an elderly clerk who stood near the entrance. Seeing Kate and the hounds, he made a face.

  “Velvets, Mistress Clifford. Their fur. If they shed on—”

  “My merchandise. You would be wise to remember that.” As the man hurried to apologize she waved him silent. “I am meeting Leif Holme. Fetch him for me.” She was sorry to snap at old Arn, about whom her late husband had once joked that he had been born in the warehouse. But the clerks had been slow to accept her as their superior, and she would not tolerate chiding from the man.

  My oh my, she thought, her mood brightening as Leif approached. A dark blue padded jacket in the latest style over deep red leggings and knee-high leather boots with pointed toes, a dark red hat with a hawk’s tail feather swooping from it and down along his cheek. He had not been so impressive at yesterday’s feast. He would do as a factor based on his looks alone, that was certain. Pity that so few were women, but she knew several cloth and spice merchants who might find him appealing. And the wives would think of him when they were entertaining. He would have access to the best houses.

  “Mistress Clifford,” he bowed to her. “My uncle said you wanted a word?”

  Well spoken. “Shall we walk? I have a few matters I would like to discuss with you.”

  As they stepped out into the snow, he gave not a thought about his clothing, intent on declaring his eagerness to prove himself as a factor. She asked whether he had traveled to Calais or the Low Countries, knowing full well that he had made several trips with his uncle to the former, but had never been elsewhere, except London. He did not try to claim experience he did not have, though he did express his interest in traveling far and wide, and prided himself in having never been seasick. He admitted to a tendency to be truthful. “Some might find that a flaw in a factor, for sales.” She liked his crooked grin.

  “We do not trade in inferior quality goods, Leif. You have no need for concern about that. But you cannot be shy about encouraging customers to buy as much as they can afford, nor should you permit them to go away and consider. They rarely return.”

  “I have no qualms about that.”

  “And what about keeping the accounts? Have you any experience there?”

  “In truth, that is my strongest skill.”

  “So you would not mind taking on some additional duties in that regard? For me. My guesthouse accounts.”

  “I would be happy to do so.”

  “I understand you are thinking of marriage. A wealthy widow would suit you?”

  His silence caught her attention.

  “Forgive me, I did not mean to embarrass you.”

  “I—Mistress Clifford—I would not presume to think—You will be my employer . . .”

  “Oh. No, I did not mean me, Leif. I noticed you with Cecily Wheeldon yesterday.”

  An enthusiastic nod. “Dame Cecily has my heart. She is beautiful and clever, and she puts me at ease like no other woman. At first I thought she saw me as a sweet boy and was being kind. But then she kissed me.”

  Bold woman. Was she kissing Jon Horner and Leif Holme at the same time? Merek? Was that possible? Patience, Kate schooled herself. All might be revealed if this interview went well, and the widow cooperated. Her heart raced a little—so much depended on her being right in her impressions of Leif and Cecily. “A kiss! When will you pledge your troth?” She asked it teasingly.

  He answered sincerely. “She will observe a year of mourning. She said she would be pilloried if she wed betimes.”

  “Being a widow as well, I agree, she must have a care if she wishes to protect her good name. That did not prevent my husband’s brother from trying to match me up with a husband within the year, but he had his reasons. Do you know, he went so far as to suggest I visit my mother in Strasbourg, let my intended follow me as if for trade, and we might wed there, then I might return to York in a few years, no one the wiser about how long we’d been wed.”

  Leif gave little laugh. “So that is not so uncommon.”

  “You thought of that?”

  “It was Dame Cecily. She asked me what I thought of such an arrangement.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I disappointed her. Or, no, I am not certain she was serious.”

  Kate put a hand on his forearm. “Do not doubt your worth.”

  A grateful smile. “I told her I need to establish myself here.” He sighed. “I might be a fool. I believe she is willing—very willing to—I did not know a woman could—We have—In the garden—But I stopped, fearing someone might see us. She laughed at me.” He turned a deep red. “Forgive me for saying such things. You are so kind, I forgot myself.”

  “No need to apologize. I have encouraged you. I hoped to understand you, what would make you content in your work, your life. I do have an idea . . . But you must be careful, for your sake and for hers, and as quiet as possible.” She smiled at the irony of what she asked, and how impossible that was. “I would not want Griselde, who runs my guesthouse, to think I’d become a bawd. Or expected that of her.” It was important for him to believe Griselde would not know he had a companion in the room.

  Leif’s handsome face registered both shock and hope. “You do not mean—Dame Cecily and I spending the night there?”

  “Would you dare?”

  “Is this a test? If I say yes—”

  “No test. A sincere offer.”

  His brows knit together in a suspicious frown. “Why would you do this for us?”

  “Our trade is nothing if our factor is disloyal. If you are happy, that should not be a problem.” He still looked doubtful. “But tonight is the night,” she said. “Tell her that you are staying at my guesthouse because something is amiss at your lodging and I have kindly offered a room, and you thought, ‘might this be our chance?’ Paint yourself as the bold one.”

  “Oh, if she would—”

  She had him. “You will not know unless you try. But I should think that a woman of her . . . experience, well, she might wish to sample the goods.” She gave a little laugh and patted his hand, telling him to send word if he decided to take her up on the offer, and if Dame Cecily seemed willing. If so, Kate would have her servant Seth there at the bottom of the steps at the designated time. “But you must be quiet.”

  “And the job as factor? And accountant?”

  Once he had reaped the rewards of the guesthouse, he might just be her solution to the problem of Clement’s decline.

  “Suppose this proposition is a test—of your determination and your skill in persuasion.” God in heaven, she was playing the bawd. She would do penance for this.

  It took little time to sort out duties at the guesthouse, though Griselde expressed some surprise. Kate assured her she was seeing to the safety of York.

  Back at the house, Marie and Petra were squabbling about the proper way to cut a carrot for stew. Cuddy, his back to them, played sentinel by the partly opened door. The poor lad looked weary.

  “Has anyone been about?”

  “I thought I heard someone in the yard not long after you left. I searched. Nothing. No one.”

  “But you believe you did hear something? Where?”

  “By the steps up to the first story.”

  “But no creak of the gate.”

  An eager nod. “That is it! Yes. That is what I heard. And then it stopped. Like it scared them and they moved off.”

  Working as planned.

  “Matt is in the hall,” Cuddy added.

  Kate left Lille and Ghent resting by the fire with some water as she went to hear Matt’s report.

  “I was there when Sir Peter returned to the mayor’s house with Sir Elric,” said Matt. “But your cousin’s man Roger said he’d already looked to burst earlier, when Sheriff Cottesbrok admitted that B
erend was gone. Sir Peter had heard folk talking.”

  “All the city seemed to know this morning,” said Kate. Who had spread the word? The goodwife who had taken Berend’s place? One of the injured guards? “Did they know of injuries amongst the castle guards?”

  “Cottesbrok said nothing about that. Roger says the sheriffs distrust the king’s men.”

  “What about Captain Crawford? What was his response?”

  “Roger said he had gone out early, before dawn, returned at some point and rounded up men, then hurried away.”

  “Before Cottesbrok arrived?”

  Matt nodded. “As you said, folk were talking about it all over the city. Berend’s a hero.”

  Kate laughed. “Because he did not murder Merek Lacy? I’ve heard no mention of Lady Kirkby on the street.”

  “Nor have I.”

  “And Hazel Frost?”

  Matt crossed himself. “The child is dying. The household—The feasting tables are being disassembled, no preparations for the second feast. Roger took me outside to give me the news, and told me that Dame Isabella told Sir Peter he must find lodging at Micklegate Priory, he and his men must leave, the household must be quiet, peaceful.”

  “Oh my dear child.” Kate slumped down on a bench and let the tears come. Sweet sweet Hazel.

  A late afternoon nap with the girls revived Kate and seemed a comfort to them. They had felt responsible for endangering Hazel’s health, fearing they had caused her too much excitement.

  Kate assured them that was not true. “Remember how she laughed, how she enjoyed every moment, sending you out to see more, bring back more stories. Your visit yesterday brought her joy.”

  Marie woke from her nap with a plan—to persuade Phillip to carve a likeness of Hazel as an angel for her tomb.

  Petra crossed herself and warned Marie against planning a tomb before a death. “She will return to haunt you. Old Mapes said so.”

  What about if the person planned their own memorial? Kate wondered, thinking of Ross Wheeldon.