A Murdered Peace

by Candace Robb

  Now, at twilight, Sister Brigida sat with the girls in the kitchen, helping them compose a letter to their friend. Her companion, Sister Agnes, busied herself making a calming tisane for the girls and preparing a stew for the next day. Matt and Cuddy had gone on errands. All was well in the household. Leaving Petra and Marie in the beguines’ loving care, Kate collected Lille and Ghent and went to the hall to work at her loom while she waited for Jennet. If all went as planned, she would soon be searching the Wheeldon home.

  Trying to still her mind, she remembered her mother saying that the beguines approached all that they did as prayer, offering up all effort to God for the benefit of others. Kate gathered the fine colors and sat for a while staring at the pattern emerging on the loom, choosing which colors would be prayers for Berend, which for Margery, which for Hazel. When she had settled that, she took a deep breath and began. Her hands steadied as she worked. Sensing her deepening quiet, Lille and Ghent moved from the fire to settle nearby, out of her way as she worked the shuttles, but close. The work warmed her, and the prayers absorbed her.

  Later, when Lille and Ghent rose to greet Jennet, Kate felt as if she were waking from a trance. Her body ached a little, but a glance at the loom confirmed that was reasonable—she had worked a long while. Hours.

  “Well?” She poured ale for both of them and settled on one of the chairs by the fire, handing a bowl to Jennet. She stood with her back to the fire, letting her skirts dry, while she took a long drink of ale. Her face was red from the cold, but her eyes shone.

  “Look in my scrip,” she said.

  Kate lifted the bag sitting on the other high-backed chair, and opened it. A gold brooch—“Jennet, this is the one Pendleton described.”

  A satisfied grin. “Seems Horner gave her the brooch despite knowing it was stolen.”

  Kate was excited. Also in the scrip was the mate to the glove she had found in the room where Horner died. “I might have left it lie there,” she whispered to herself.

  “But you didn’t,” said Jennet. “Most importantly, you’ll find by the door a box of tally sticks and accounts going back several years, showing how Dame Cecily had been siphoning off money Master Ross believed he was investing in property, through Horner, by way of Master Ross’s clerk. Evidently Horner had information about the clerk, wanted for theft in Lincoln. And, in that sack by the door that the hounds find so menacing, a gown stained by blood—a lot of it, and vomit.”

  “All that? Were you seen?”

  Jennet made a face. “Henna has a heavy tread, and a maidservant came up to see who was in her mistress’s chamber. But when she saw Henna—I was behind the door—she just asked her not to do anything she would be blamed for by ‘the whore’ and left.”

  “Beloved by all.” Kate rose. “How late is it?”

  “Matt is walking Sister Brigida back to the Martha House and the girls look ready for bed. I took it upon myself to have him call at Sheriff Wrawby’s home to ask that he meet you here shortly after dawn, to catch a murderer.”

  About to protest such certainty, Kate smiled at herself. The dress did seem damning. “You are a marvel, Jennet. I cannot think what else we might do to prepare before dawn, so I’ll to bed. An early night would be welcome.”

  The morning dawned with a hard frost and the scent of snow, though none yet fell. As Kate stepped into the kitchen she paused, her heart quickening. Elric sat with Jennet and Matt, listening to their accounts of the previous day’s discoveries. His jacket was not as clean as was his wont, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but he was here.

  He glanced up, nodded to her.

  “How do you come to be here? Did you escape?” Kate asked.

  “I would like to hear that as well,” said Sheriff Wrawby, joining Kate in the doorway. “Did that fool Sir Peter finally see reason?”

  “Not as such,” said Elric. “Mayor Frost has a backbone. He said he might not be able to help his child, but he would be damned if he would let an incompetent jeopardize the city’s relationship with the Earl of Westmoreland. He released me and said he would deal with Sir Peter. Who is no longer biding in their home, by the way. Dame Isabella sent them to Micklegate Priory. Sawyer and Parr as well. She permitted me to spend the night, locked in the shed in which Crawford had stuffed me.”

  “She might have done better for you,” Wrawby growled. “But I am much relieved to hear that about Frost. I feared he would prove the king’s toady.”

  Elric rose. “Are we ready? Harry and Douglas are at the guesthouse, ready to detain Dame Cecily if she leaves before we arrive.”

  “Cecily Wheeldon?” Wrawby gave a little whistle. “Are we also going to find that she hurried my friend Ross’s death?”

  “One accusation at a time,” Kate warned. “I must make a stop in Stonegate before I join you.”

  Elric and Wrawby chose to go straight to the guesthouse.

  At the silversmith’s Kate was rewarded with an excited nod.

  “That is it, my sister’s brooch,” said Pendleton. “Might I have it?”

  “Soon. Very soon.”

  Satisfied, Kate continued on with Lille and Ghent, joining the sheriff and Elric at the table in the guesthouse hall, the door ajar so they could watch the steps. Seth was in the kitchen with Griselde and Clement, and Harry and Douglas were out in the alleyway beneath the stairs. All ready for Leif and Cecily to appear on the landing.

  At last the footsteps. Cautious, light. It would be Cecily. Leif would have no cause to depart quite so early, and certainly not before Cecily. He would wait to make certain she encountered no trouble from Griselde. Lille and Ghent sat up, sensing the interest in the hall. Wrawby rose and quietly moved to the door. As Cecily reached the bottom step, the sheriff called out to her.

  “Dame Cecily, if you would be so kind as to step inside.”

  “What? Sheriff Wrawby? Oh, my dear man, it is not what you think.” With a little laugh she stepped to the door, but retreated as soon as she saw Kate and Elric. She turned to hurry away, but found Douglas and Harry blocking her escape. Face flushed, she demanded they let her pass.

  Sheriff Wrawby repeated his request, his tone sharper than before.

  With a dramatic sigh Cecily marched up to Wrawby, forcing him to take a step backward. “Explain yourself,” she demanded.

  Quickly regaining his composure, he gestured toward the items displayed on the table—the soiled gown, the opened box of accounts, the brooch. “It is you who must explain, Dame Cecily.”

  Someone clattered down the stairs. Leif burst into the room.

  Kate did feel for him as his eyes widened in horror.

  “What is happening? Cecily, I am so sorry.”

  “You. You set this up so that they might search my house, you—” She slapped him. Hard.

  Holding his cheek, he protested that he knew nothing.

  “Sit down and be quiet, Leif,” the sheriff commanded.

  Kate motioned to him to sit down beside her.

  “What have you done?” Leif hissed.

  “Saved you, and your family. Now hush.”

  Sir Elric had risen, and approached Cecily. “What sort of person stands by and allows an innocent man to be imprisoned for a murder she knows he did not commit? The sort of person who would then poison the murderer? So that no suspicion would fall on her? The sort of person who would steal money from her own husband? Perhaps hasten his death?”

  Cecily had gone quite still. She stood with hands at sides, staring at Elric. But Kate could imagine how her mind was working to come up with an explanation.

  Wrawby cleared his throat, said, “Dame Cecily, do you care to respond?”

  “The gown—I thought the laundress had ruined it. I’ve not seen it for months. Why in heaven’s name would I know who murdered Merek Lacy? I presume that is the murder of which you speak.” She glanced at Kate, her eyes burning. “You are so desperate to clear the name of your lover. Open your eyes, woman, he is an assassin. To think you welcomed him
into your home, with those innocent children.”

  “And these accounts that tell the tale of your deception?” Elric asked, lifting a parchment roll from the box. “How do you explain them?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. I trusted Jon Horner. I saw no need to inspect his work. I am but a woman, sir. I have no head for numbers.”

  “So it was all Jon Horner?”

  “He—He loved me, you see. He gave me that brooch as a token.”

  “A stolen token, did you know?” asked Kate.

  “Is that what this is about? I wondered why he asked me not to show it to anyone. He said he wanted to wait until the bans. Poor fool. He thought I would marry the likes of him?”

  “You spent much time with him. You were with him the night he murdered Merek Lacy,” Kate said as she tossed the glove onto the table. “I found its mate on the floor of his room that morning.”

  “That is proof I was with him? Hah! You think yourself so clever. Had I been wearing those gloves that night they would be soaked . . .” Cecily stopped.

  Kate felt weak with relief. The moment she had challenged Cecily she had wished she might take it back. Berend, Elric, Margery, perhaps even Lionel depended on her keeping her head. Yet she had lashed out in anger. Her heedlessness might have made Cecily more cautious. God be thanked it had not. But only a fool depended on God’s help to correct her missteps.

  “If you would come with me.” Sheriff Wrawby touched Cecily’s arm.

  She backed away from him, pointing at Kate. “You, of all people, you should stand with me. For years I tolerated that old man’s hands on my body, for years he refused me money of my own, doling out every penny with those palsied hands. I earned the money Horner set aside for me. I earned it. And just when I was free at last, Merek intended to ruin me. I rejected his advances and then he meant to ruin me. What happens when your late husband’s family discovers you poisoned him? he crooned in my ear. The man stank of spices. And who fueled his suspicions? Ross, the old wretch, arranging for his own tomb. Merek thought I had planned that. As if I would waste the money on such a memorial to that hateful old man.”

  Leif made a little noise.

  Cecily glanced at him. “I might have made you rich. But you proved a craven coward.”

  “And when you tired of me?” Leif asked.

  “Are you confessing to the murder of Merek the spice seller, Dame Cecily?” asked Wrawby.

  “I dragged Jon to the Shambles to finish what he had begun. But he could not do it. Sniveling coward. Merek accused me. He lunged for me. I finished him. You are all so weak. So weak. I am finished with you. With all of you.” She pulled something from her scrip.

  At Kate’s signal Lille and Ghent knocked Cecily into the table. A small metal vial fell to the floor and Elric retrieved it.

  “Come now, Dame Cecily.” Wrawby helped her up, but did not release her once she was standing.

  Leif jerked to his feet as Douglas grasped Cecily’s free arm and the two led her toward the door. “Don’t hurt her!” he cried.

  Cecily turned and spat at him. “Craven coward.”

  17

  A VIGIL, A HANGING, AND TOO MANY QUESTIONS

  Elric insisted on escorting Kate home. Drained of all emotion, she did not argue, though heaven knew he still looked at her as if she were anathema. They walked in silence. Cuddy met them on the pathway to the kitchen, his arms loaded with wood.

  “Dame Eleanor and Sister Brigida came for Marie and Petra,” he said. “The mayor—his daughter asked for them.”

  Kate crossed herself. “Thank you, Cuddy. How were they when they left?”

  “Brave, they were, doing their best not to cry.”

  Elric touched her arm. “You will want to be there.” For the first time in what felt a long while he spoke gently, in kindness.

  She left Lille and Ghent in Jennet’s care.

  “What should I do about Henna?” Jennet asked.

  Kate had forgotten her appointment with the cook. She asked that Jennet observe how the woman comported herself, think how she might fit into the household, and keep the food warm for the household to sample when they all returned.

  As she and Elric made their way along the frozen ruts on the streets, they said little, nodding to those who greeted them. Much later Kate realized why so many smiled at them, she leaning on his arm—another kindness. Did people not know the mayor’s only child was dying? How could they smile so? But of course few knew about the family’s sorrow. What they saw was a knight and his lady proving the gossips right. No matter. His presence was a comfort, how he respected her need to be quiet with her memories of Hazel, prepare herself for a sorrowful vigil.

  In the weeks after Hazel Frost’s death, Phillip worked on the angel statue, guided by master mason Hugh Grantham. Sister Brigida came each day to teach Marie and Petra at home, seeing them through their sorrow.

  The Earl of Westmoreland summoned Elric to Raby to answer for his actions, but allowed him to delay the journey until the child’s funeral, deeming it important for his relationship with the mayor of York.

  Kate arranged for the beguines to take meals to Cecily at the castle, and she herself went to see her. Now the widow was eager to talk about Merek, how he had threatened to expose her if she did not pay him hefty sums, including his passage on a ship that would take him across the North Sea. Cecily had guessed why Merek insisted she deliver the payment. Lionel Neville would start asking questions—he is a sly one, that Neville, always poking his long nose in others’ affairs—and she would be ruined anyway. Merek had to die. I convinced Jon of that. Pity he proved such a weakling.

  Thomas Holme praised Kate’s solution to the problem of Cecily Wheeldon. “You saved my nephew from ruination. What if he had wed her and then she had been hanged for three murders?”

  For hanged she was, a week after Hazel’s burial.

  “I owe Leif an apology, but what can I say to defend myself? I used him.” Kate was not proud of it.

  But Thomas scoffed. “Young fool should be grateful. I have told him to stand up and be a man. He will come round. He has met with Clement to go over your accounts?”

  “He has, but Clement is wary of showing him too much. Will Leif try to retaliate?”

  “I have made it clear to him that if he does not put this behind him I will change my will. He has assured me that he holds no grudge.”

  “That is his head speaking. But what of his heart?”

  “He’s an ambitious young man. Already he’s looking round at the daughters of the aldermen.”

  Elric had been gone a week when Kevin rode into the city bearing the abbot of Cirencester’s response. That evening William Frost called on her. “I have received a letter from John Leckhampton, the abbot of St. Mary’s in Cirencester.”

  “I have as well. Or, rather, Kevin has shown me the one sent to Sheriff Hutton Castle.” Kate invited William in.

  The abbot of Cirencester Abbey offered his condolences to Berend, “should you see him,” on the death of his old friend Warren, the bastard son of Baron Montagu. He claimed Warren had chosen his fate, venturing into the town and right into the hands of King Henry’s men.

  “What do you think?” Kate asked William as she poured wine. “Is the abbot honest?”

  “I doubt it. I think he was fearful lest King Henry not support him against the townsfolk who have petitioned to be free of the abbey’s control, so he handed him over, violating the rules of sanctuary.”

  “The abbey’s control?”

  “The citizens of Cirencester have long contested the charter the abbey holds, giving it the rule of the city and much of the surrounding countryside. They claim an earlier charter granted them the right to rule, much as the one King Richard granted York. When the earls of Salisbury and Kent fled to Cirencester, the townsfolk saw their opportunity to ingratiate themselves with King Henry by slaughtering the rebels. No doubt the abbot thought that by giving up Salisbury’s half-brother he would show
the king that he, too, rejected the rebels, but in a lawful manner.” He coughed. “Though one could argue that violating sanctuary is not lawful.”

  Kate stared into the fire. Berend had saved Montagu’s bastard twice. Once from Pontefract, as the abbot had recounted to Kevin, once from King Henry’s wrath. He would mourn him. Would he blame himself? Who had chosen the abbey? She might never know. There was so much she might never know. “Have you any news of Captain Crawford’s hunt for Lady Kirkby?” she asked.

  “No. Have you?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Berend?” William held her gaze. “I know what you did, you and Sir Elric. Cottesbrok and Wrawby confided in me.”

  “They did? I hope they waited until after—”

  “They did. Once they could see that I had taken up my duties.”

  “I have heard nothing.”

  “Had you known that Berend escorted Montagu’s bastard to sanctuary?” William asked.

  “No.” But of course she had guessed that he was hiding something. Margery as well. In his letter, the abbot denied any meeting with Thomas Kirkby, any letter of safe passage. But that, too, might be for the benefit of his relationship with the crown.

  “Do you doubt the wisdom of helping Berend?” William asked.

  “No. He condemned the plot against the king and his sons. I do not doubt that. He answered the call of his lord’s son, honoring the memory of the man who helped him in his darkest time, who believed in him.”

  “And Lady Kirkby?”

  “No. Not at all. I am sick of women being punished for their husbands’ foolishness.”

  William raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said only, “Sir Elric said much the same about both Berend and Lady Kirkby. Have you word from him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you? Might I ask—Sir Elric loves you, you know, though he seems hesitant to surrender to his heart.”

  She did know. On Elric’s last night in York she had invited him to dine at the guesthouse, intending to speak to him of her regret, to apologize, ask how she might make amends. That he’d accepted the invitation gave her hope that he was willing to listen. But the evening almost ended before it began. It seemed he had expected to dine in the hall, and when she had taken his hand to lead him up the stairs to the large chamber on the first floor, he had backed away from her, his eyes flinty.