The Service of the Dead

by Candace Robb

  So William had the body. Kate had wondered how he would dispose of it without sparking his wife’s disapproving curiosity. A cart toward Bootham Bar. Would he take it into the Forest of Galtres, burying the body somewhere deep in the woods? Or might he weight it with stones and send it to the depths of the River Ouse? She wondered what it was like, knowingly depriving an acquaintance of the last rites, a burial in consecrated ground. Would William sleep tonight? Would she?

  “Mistress Clifford?” Jennet touched Kate’s hand.

  She shook herself out of her thoughts. “I did not realize that Lady Kirkby’s visit was common knowledge.” Perhaps the archbishop had mentioned it to someone? Kate sensed that her uncle, the dean of York Minster, was not a close confidant of the Archbishop of York, Richard Scrope. He might not have felt comfortable telling him of Kate’s request for discretion. If Scrope had spoken of it, might the murder have anything to do with it? Kate could not know that yet, so she pushed the thought aside. What mattered was that there was much work to do to prepare. Margery Kirkby was expected midmorning on the morrow, and would bide for a fortnight in the large chamber on High Petergate, her retinue in the hall below. And the smaller chamber needed freshening for tonight’s guests, in fact, so the larger chamber could be aired after cleaning. Those were her priorities at present.

  “I should see that the laundress has collected the bedclothes, mistress, and help Goodwife Griselde,” said Jennet.

  “When you’ve eaten. I will join you at the guesthouse after I see Hugh Grantham.”

  In the kitchen, Kate had a word with Berend about protecting her wards. Fingering a meat cleaver, he assured her she had nothing to fear. “We will work on a meat pie. That will keep them in the kitchen until your return.”

  Simon had laughed at her choice of cook, predicting that Berend would desert their kitchen as soon as someone noticed him at market and offered him a job as a retainer. But she had stood her ground, and Berend had rewarded her confidence with five years of loyalty, and a willingness to step outside the kitchen when she needed his strength or comfort or advice when she fought inner demons. She had grown to think of him as her guardian. Marie and Phillip would be safe with him.

  To compensate them for having their morning routine disrupted, Kate took Lille and Ghent across Castlegate and let them off leash so they might run through Thomas Holme’s extensive gardens to the river. A generous swathe of his property across Castlegate was given over to a park, a number of small gardens, and a wild band of underbrush and trees that Lille and Ghent loved to explore. Their enjoyment of the area was part of Thomas’s payment for his use of the guesthouse with his mistress. Kate’s kitchen also enjoyed the bounty of the herb and vegetable gardens, but that was an arrangement she had made with her cousin and Thomas’s second wife, Catherine Frost—a young woman with her own secrets to keep.

  Midday the grounds were a quiet refuge within the city, the calls of songbirds and waterfowl, wind in the trees, the rushing river all masking the usual street sounds. No matter the weather, Kate often used the peace of the place to restore her sense of balance before heading back out into the fray.

  By the time she, Jennet, and the dogs set out for their afternoon appointments, the morning’s snow flurries were replaced by an icy sleet. But Kate’s squirrel-lined cloak and hood were warm, her rabbit-lined boots kept out the damp, and she counted her blessings.

  In Stonegate, Jennet went on to the guesthouse while Kate stopped at a goldsmith’s shop to see whether a brooch she had brought for repair was ready. As she left the shop, tucking the small pouch in the purse she wore at her waist, she heard her cousin William greeting someone. His expression was so uncommonly grim that the mercer who had called out to him hurried away as if grateful to have escaped his bad humor. Kate hooked her arm in William’s and drew him into the shadow beneath an overhanging story. The dogs stood sentinel to either side of her.

  “Have you disposed of it?”

  “Can’t you smell it on me?”

  “No.” She pressed his arm. “Are we safe? You know I have an important guest arriving for a fortnight.”

  “God help me, Katherine, is that all you can think of? Your trade?”

  Glancing nervously about, he tried to push her aside, but she widened her stance and stood firm.

  “If you would tell me who he was, I might be able to judge for myself what precautions I should take.”

  “And I might be able to judge that as well, if I knew who had murdered him. But I was not there.” He kept his voice low and watched the street.

  “You are in trouble, cousin, I can see that. I have a right to know what it is.”

  “Have you found Alice?”

  Telling, that he should ignore her demand. “No. You might send one of your retainers to Beverley, eh? Find out whether she returned on her own? I am worried for her. And for Griselde, if the murderer heard her out on the steps. Was the man from King Richard? A messenger? Or from the exiled Duke of Lancaster? Are you in the middle of that?”

  “I’ll send one of my men to Beverley.”

  So he would not comment on that, either, though she guessed he was aware of the rumored escalation in the conflict. She would remember his reluctance to reveal his loyalty, king or duke. For now, she said simply, “Thank you.”

  “Why is Lady Kirkby biding with you?”

  “My uncle Richard arranged it. She is on a mission for her husband, raising support for a peaceful reconciliation between the king and his cousin.”

  “The dean of York is a confidant of Lord Kirkby? I would look to your uncle then for news of the king or the duke.”

  Clearly he had no intention of confiding in her. “Thank you for doing as I asked, William.”

  He bowed and bid her good day. “I am off to the York Tavern for several ales to wash away the taste of death.”

  She caught his arm. “You sent a cask of wine to the guesthouse yesterday?”

  “I did.”

  “For Alice and your guest?”

  He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “Griselde and Clement partook of it. They found it uncommonly strong.”

  “That will teach them,” he muttered. “Is that all?”

  “For now.”

  He moved on, but after a few steps, he turned to say, “Have a care, Katherine. Go nowhere without the hounds.”

  “I will not.”

  He nodded and set off again, this time continuing down Stonegate.

  As if she understood, Lille leaned against Kate’s hip, earning an absentminded ear rub, which inspired Ghent to lean against the other hip. Such canine affection would usually warrant a laugh, but Kate was not even smiling when she motioned them to move on. As she crossed to Grantham’s house the burdens of the day weighed Kate down. Had she known when she woke what troubles this day would bring . . . Added to her worries was a new, nagging question—had her cousin arranged the murder? His belated concern had not dislodged that idea. She did her best to push that aside as she knocked on Grantham’s door. Hugh’s servant welcomed her into the hall.

  Kate apologized for intruding, seeing that Grantham was still at his dinner with his family. But Hugh rose from the table at once, assuring her it was high time he returned to work. His wife Martha asked after Marie, and commented on what a fine young man Phillip was. Her kindness was a welcome distraction from Kate’s troubles.

  Hugh continued in the same vein as his wife while leading the way to his office in a separate building behind the house. “I must commend you on your gifted ward. My factor is mightily pleased with him. He says he has never felt so at ease handing over the account books. Very satisfied with young Phillip’s work, very satisfied.”

  “It is about Phillip I wished to speak to you, Hugh. And your journeyman Connor. Phillip tells me Connor is often absent, and he worries about having so little instruction. I am determined that he should be accepted as apprentice in the minster stoneyard. He needs some basic instruction, for there are plenty young
men with the same dream. If you cannot provide that, I must find another place for him.”

  Hugh fussed with a chisel he was using to anchor a stack of parchment. “I am sorry about Connor. It’s the drink, you see. He has no sense of when he has had enough. No doubt that is why he did not come today. I have spoken with him about this problem, and he has expressed remorse, promised to reform. I thought having Phillip depending on him might give him a reason to keep his word. But the devil has him in his grip and will not let go.”

  “I am sorry to hear of this. To be frank, it makes me even more determined to find another journeyman for my stepson’s purpose.”

  “Not so hasty, Katherine.” Hugh patted her arm. “I don’t overstate the case regarding Phillip’s value to me in keeping the accounts. I don’t want to lose him. What if I were to work with him here, in my workshop, on the carvings I have undertaken to finish? I have promised Sir Ranulf that we will complete his family’s chantry chapel before Easter, so I have taken up the chisel and hammer once more.”

  She placed her hand on his, nodding. “That is a generous offer, Hugh. I shall present it to Phillip.”

  “Surely he could hope for nothing better than what I offer, to study with a master?”

  “No, I cannot imagine so. But Simon’s children would rather be contrary than wise.”

  Hugh nodded. “I’ve children of my own. I understand.”

  “There is another matter to discuss. I have a guest arriving tomorrow for a fortnight’s stay in the house on High Petergate. She travels with a not-so-small retinue, enough that we have much to prepare. So that we might not disturb you, tonight, you will be entertaining in the smaller chamber.”

  “Katherine . . .”

  “It is a lovely room, the bed almost as large and just as elegantly appointed. You are the last of my York customers to stay there until she departs.” She saw his expression soften to know others would be far more inconvenienced. I’ve got him now.

  “We shall be quite comfortable, I am sure.”

  At sunset, a mere erasing of the slight contrast between the sleet-heavy clouds and the gray sky, Kate and Jennet hastened back across the city along the slushy streets. They hurried to reach Castlegate before the deepening chill froze the slush into dangerous ruts and ridges, the dogs straining at their leads. The two women had worked hard to bring order to the house after the events of the morning, and now, weary in bodies and spirits, they moved along in focused silence.

  Kate had left instructions for young Seth, the new manservant eager to win her approval, to tend the fragrant fire in the large bedchamber throughout the night in order to hasten the drying of the scrubbed floor. She wanted no trace of the tragedy lingering to greet Lady Kirkby on the morrow.

  Berend welcomed them back with a spicy meat pie and mulled wine. Kate tried to relax beside the crackling fire in the hall hearth, assuring herself that she had done all that she could, though she imbibed slightly more wine than she usually permitted herself. Phillip and Marie tried to trap her into revealing what had so upset Griselde, and she derived some enjoyment from disappointing them. They were even more curious to hear that Jennet was sharing Kate’s bedchamber.

  “A lady’s maid often shares her mistress’s bed.” Kate laughed at their protests that she was no lady, though she was not so lighthearted as she pretended. She thought it prudent to have Jennet near in case the dogs woke them in the night, to help her defend her wards. Jennet’s lodging in the small house between Kate’s home and the street felt too far away that evening.

  When at last Kate readied for bed, it was with a prayer that she might sleep soundly.

  As she closed the shutters against the cold, she noticed that it was snowing again. Big, lazy flakes. But the beauty of a snowy night held far less appeal for Kate than the soft, warm bed. Jennet was already snoring as Kate pulled closed the curtains and slipped beneath the bedclothes, head and all. Soon the warmth drew her down, her body growing heavy, her prayers confused.

  5

  A TRAVELER’S PACK

  Kate sat before the kitchen fire wrapped in Berend’s blanket, sipping watered wine and watching him knead bread. Just being in his presence comforted her. His strength was not only in his powerful body, but also his quiet clarity.

  She had come out to the kitchen after a panoply of nightmares involving hangings and unmarked graves—Jennet’s presence had not been enough to calm her. She had stoked the fire, hoping not to wake Berend, wanting simply to be here and know he was just beyond the carved wooden screen; but he had sensed her presence, and her need, and asked what was on her mind.

  “That man, whoever he was, unshriven, buried without prayers—”

  “Your cousin may have said a prayer over him.” Berend had risen, taken her damp cloak, and put it near the fire to dry, wrapping her in a blanket warmed by his body.

  “His praying over the dead man is not the same as a priest’s doing so. And someone surely waits for him. They will wait and wait.”

  Berend had added a few logs to the fire and warmed some wine, spiced it, poured them each a cup. After kneading the rising bread dough he’d begun before retiring, he settled down beside her. Wearily she leaned against him. Though he wore only his linen tunic and leggings, he radiated warmth.

  “This trouble between King Richard and his cousin Henry, how did it become our trouble?” she asked into the silence.

  A log shifted, giving off a shower of sparks as it settled.

  “Our king’s quicksilver moods worry both the nobles and the merchants, eh? He is unpredictable. No one feels safe.”

  “If Duke Henry returns to claim the throne, will the nobles side with him?”

  “I pray he has the wisdom to return to help his cousin, not overthrow him. Such an act would unsettle the kingdom for generations.”

  “I fear you waste your prayers,” said Kate. “Duke Henry knows his cousin will take advice as treason. He will not make that mistake twice.”

  “Apparently Lord Kirkby hopes that he will. But I fear you are right.” Berend stroked Kate’s hair. “And I fear I’ve been small comfort. Forgive me.”

  “I prefer truth, Berend. That is why I trust you over all men.”

  So this was how it would be, factions circling each other, everyone suspect. For generations. As it had been up on the border. Well, she had been trained for it. That was a blessing. Kate rose now and opened the shutters on the window that overlooked the yard. “It is almost dawn.”

  Berend glanced up, nodded. “And a busy day for you. Will you invite Margery Kirkby to dine with you while she is in York?”

  “Are you asking whether you will have the opportunity to prepare a feast? I hope so.”

  Berend grinned, and as he rose and returned to kneading the dough, he began to hum.

  The draft from the window awakened Lille and Ghent, who had been sleeping beneath the table where Berend was working. Strange how the thump of the dough in the bowl did not wake them, but the draft did, despite all their fur. They stretched and padded over to the door in expectation. Kate stepped into Geoff’s boots, picked up her cloak, and opened the door. “Bless you, Berend. Thank you.” She stepped out onto the snow, her booted feet breaking the top layer of ice. Gingerly she made her way across the garden in Geoff’s too-large boots.

  “You’re right, you know, just like on the border. Be vigilant, Kate.”

  “I am, Geoff.”

  In the hall, Jennet glanced up from the hearth, where she was stoking the fire.

  “Bad dreams?”

  Kate nodded. “I’ve left Lille and Ghent outside. Fetch some ale for both of us before you come to dress me. And let them back into the kitchen to break their fast.”

  Back up in her bedchamber Kate threw open the shutters. The soft light of dawn spread across the sky, silver tinged with rose, gradually reddening. She stood there long enough to witness the sun rising over the snowy rooftops and the bulk of York Castle to the east, setting the wintry city aglow. Even the bare b
ranches wore sparkling coats of white.

  “Do you think the snowfall will delay Lady Margery?” Jennet asked from the doorway.

  “I doubt it. If her mission is important enough to bring her north in winter, she will be impatient with anyone or anything that threatens to delay her.” Kate smiled to think of Margery Kirkby. She had been so preoccupied with her immediate troubles she had forgotten how much she had enjoyed the woman’s company on her previous visit. “I should wear something bright today.”

  Jennet grinned. “Your red wool gown with the dark gold surcoat.”

  While they fussed over Kate’s dress, Marie woke and stomped through the room to close the shutters. “I’m freezing. Is that what you want? What is wrong with you? Come dress me, Jennet.”

  Kate glanced over her shoulder at the petulant girl. “Perhaps I should sprinkle angelica on my threshold to protect myself from demons.”

  Marie made a face.

  “Jennet will assist you when she is finished here, and not a moment sooner.”

  “Witch.” Marie stomped her foot, then crawled into Kate’s bed, burrowing down beneath the bedclothes.

  “You let her speak to you in that way, she will be a shrew all her life.”

  “So be it.” Kate had no time to dance the dance with Marie. She let her lie there and stew until Jennet had teased out the last tangle in Kate’s hair and gathered it into a gold and silver crispinette. “Come out now,” Kate called to Marie. “Time to dress.” She lifted the covers to discover the girl softly snoring.

  “I will see them to school and then join you at the guesthouse.”

  “Bless you, Jennet.”

  Despite the crisp beauty of the morning, Kate moved through the city preoccupied with questions and uneasy with secrets and worry, grateful that Lille and Ghent tugged on their leads now and then, reminding her to glance up and smile at passersby. It would not do to start rumors with her dour expression. No one must guess that her thoughts were out beyond Bootham Bar with the corpse of a man unshriven, wondering what had happened and what trouble was yet to come. And whether her neighbor’s warning had anything to do with the death in the guesthouse.