by Candace Robb
“It is indeed,” she said, making as if to depart with Lille and Ghent.
“No, I pray you, be not so hasty. I will make this right,” said Colin as he stepped aside, motioning them to enter. “Forgive my hesitation, Mistress Clifford.”
Kate inclined her head, acknowledging his apology.
“I regret that I returned to the inn only to fetch something from my chamber,” said Elric. “I must be away to a meeting.”
“A pity,” said Kate.
“Indeed.” Elric bowed. “I would fain have whiled away an hour in your fair company.”
“But it is no matter. I had a question, that is all.” She drew him away from the hovering taverner, briefly describing the two men.
Elric thanked her for the news. “If they are the king’s men we’re expecting, I am glad to be forewarned.”
“So you know nothing of them?”
“No. I will find out and send you word.” He quickly bowed to her and strode off across the tavern to the corridor beyond.
“I pray you, Mistress Clifford, do have a seat by the fire and dry your skirts. I will bring you a bowl of ale.”
It was inviting, now she was here. “And some water for Lille and Ghent?” Kate asked.
“Of course,” said Colin, now eager to serve. “In truth I found it hard to part with my own dogs when I inherited the tavern. Granddad had not warned me that Granddam’s rule would apply to my dogs.” He bustled away, returning with the ale, quickly followed by a large bowl of water, and two sizable ham hocks on a platter. Ghent and Lille sat up sharply as they smelled the peace offering.
Kate thanked the taverner for his generosity and nodded at the bowl of ale in her hands, which she found a perfect blend of bitter and sweet, and thick yet not chewy. “Your granddad’s recipe?”
Colin nodded with pride. “Best in shire, maybe best in the realm. Granddad was so revered for his ale that folk came from all corners of the North to attend his requiem.”
Tom Merchet had died before Kate arrived in York, but she had never heard a cross word about the man, and there was no question this was the best ale she’d ever tasted. The Merchets were respected in York. She had been remiss in not befriending them. She must correct that. Shaking her head at Colin’s offer of more ale, Kate was gathering the hounds’ leads when Elric returned, nodding with satisfaction to see Lille and Ghent finishing off their treats.
“You’re a good man, Merchet,” he said, just as the outer door opened and Douglas, Stephen, and Wulf entered the tavern.
Elric greeted them with a puzzled shake of his head. “I thought to meet you later.”
“We have something for you,” said Douglas. “Thought it should not wait.”
As Kate bent to slip the hounds’ leads into their collars she overheard a little of Stephen’s report to Elric, her ears pricking up at “Lancastrian livery” and “Ouse Bridge.”
Elric caught her eye and motioned her over.
“They would state only that they came to York in pursuit of three folk, a woman and two men, perhaps her menservants,” Douglas was saying.
Margery, Carl, and—? Kate tried to quiet her mind so she could listen.
“The important thing is the king’s men are in York, and need watching,” Elric said to his men. “Why is Kevin not with you? Did he follow them?”
“We’ve not seen him this morning, captain,” said Stephen. “We’re hoping he’s not run off with young Marie Neville. Dame Katherine will have her hounds after him if that’s so, eh?” He grinned at her.
“Poor man. He would soon come back of his own accord. The child has sharp teeth,” Kate said, and was laughing with them when she noticed a shadowy figure standing quite still in the kitchen doorway. Guessing it to be Old Bess, she thought it wise to take her leave. “Forgive me, but I must be off.”
Kate glanced back as she led Lille and Ghent toward the outer door and saw that it was indeed Bess Merchet, now standing in the room, the ribbons on her white cap trembling as she looked aghast at the dogs. She called sharply for Colin.
As the door closed behind Kate she heard Elric using his most silken tone with the elderly taverner. Crossing the yard, she smiled to herself, imagining him charming Old Bess out of her anger.
Old Bess is hearing too much. How much does Elric tell her?
I thought you trusted him, Geoff.
So far as a knight can be trusted. He owes everything to his lord. As does Berend?
As he did, Geoff. I would think Berend owes nothing to his lord’s son. Why would he answer his summons?
If he did, Kate. We don’t know.
God help her. Berend’s disappearance was painful, but Elric’s revelations, and seeing Berend this morning, having him flee from her, the possibility that he was running from the king’s men . . . She did not know what she felt. Anger? Frustration? Fear?
Dare I trust Elric? With my secret guest?
I suppose you must wait and see. At least you know you can trust Kevin, Geoff assured her. He might be of help, and I’ve no doubt he will warn you if his captain does anything that might bring you harm.
But would he disobey the command to search for Lady Margery?
Ah. That is the question.
Kate thought not. Nor would she ask it of him.
The wind had begun to pick up and she hurried the hounds down Stonegate and round the corner to the guesthouse. She wanted to find out whether anyone in Lancastrian livery had come there with questions about either Berend or Margery.
5
QUESTIONS OF TRUST
Fragrant warmth welcomed Kate as she opened the door to the guesthouse hall. As she crossed the room toward the kitchen she paused, hearing a familiar voice behind her. “Phillip?” She checked her progress and turned back to the door of Clement and Griselde’s bedchamber.
“Mistress Clifford, I can explain,” said Griselde, hurrying out from the kitchen to intercept.
But Kate was already at the door, pushing it open to reveal her ward Phillip sitting beside Clement in bed, both bent over a portable writing desk. Abacus, tally sticks, ledgers—it was clear her ward was assisting Clement with Kate’s accounts. The boy had a skill with numbers and had kept his mother’s accounts from an early age. He currently kept the accounts of the master mason to whom he was apprenticed as a stoneworker in the minster yard, but Kate had gently refused his offer to work on hers, for many reasons.
Phillip was intent on completing an entry in the ledger, but Clement glanced up and cleared his throat, nudging the lad.
Quietly, Kate asked, “Phillip, how long have you been assisting Clement?”
Only now did the boy pull his eyes away from the ledger and straighten, his eyes begging her for clemency. “A while. But Master Hugh is pleased with my work in the stoneyard.”
“Are you still keeping his accounts as well?”
Phillip nodded. “Just the daily tallies. I do them after Mistress Grantham serves dinner, before I return to the stoneyard to complete my assignments for the day. Please don’t be angry with Master Clement.”
“I am not your master, dear boy,” Clement said gruffly.
Poor Clement. His health continued its steady decline. The only color in the old man’s wrinkled face were unhealthy red spots on his cheeks, and the smells of sickness soured the room despite Griselde’s efforts to mask them with fragrant wood burning in the brazier and dried herbs hanging near the door and over the bed.
Kate bent to kiss Phillip on the forehead. “I am not angry, but worried. When do you rest? When do you sleep? And why are you not at work in the stoneyard this morning?” She did not need to ask why he had not told her. He knew full well she was already concerned that his accounting work for the master mason added too many hours to his day as an apprentice.
“I completed my morning’s work betimes. I am well, Dame Katherine. I am. And Clement needed me. It is not arduous, there are not nearly so many entries as with Master Grantham’s accounts.”
“The gue
sthouse and my businesses? I doubt that,” said Kate. Though Hugh Grantham was a merchant as well as a master mason, he limited his trading, of necessity.
Phillip bowed his head and gave a little shrug.
Clement patted the boy’s hand. “It is my doing, Mistress Clifford. I asked if he might help me. I could not think of anyone else I might trust.”
That was the other reason Kate had refused Phillip’s offer to keep her books. When she had learned the extent of her late husband’s debts, she had received promises from her fellow executors, Thomas Holme and Thomas Graa, that Simon’s secret was safe with them; particularly safe from the guild and her brother-in-law, Lionel. Clement had taken on the burden of secrecy as a penance for having kept Simon’s situation a secret from her. Such secrecy was a not something she wanted burdening her ward.
“I would have preferred that you consulted me, Clement.” She waved him quiet as he began to excuse himself. “The deed is done, but Phillip cannot continue here indefinitely. He has worked hard to become an apprentice at the minster. This is a great opportunity for him to realize his dream.”
“Dame Katherine,” Phillip pleaded with his eyes.
“It takes you away from the work you love.” Kate smoothed his hair.
A reluctant nod.
Behind Kate, Griselde moaned. “Mistress Clifford, I pray—”
“Do not fret, Griselde. Your role in this household is not in jeopardy. I value both of you, and I have long thought Clement needed an assistant. We must put our heads together and find one for him, eh?”
“And until you do?” Phillip asked.
“You may continue to assist until I do.” His smile and Clement’s tears were Kate’s reward. But at what cost to the boy?
She nodded to all of them and withdrew. Clearly it was up to her to find a replacement. Clement had been largely housebound for several years, so any clerks he might have known were either employed or gone. And he would have no idea of their allegiances. She must find someone who could be trusted to be discreet. A challenge.
She found the hall empty, the hounds gone. Out in the kitchen, Lille and Ghent were sharing a plate of cold meats—at this rate they would soon be too fat to run. She stepped over to where the young manservant Seth was demonstrating to Lady Margery how to cut up vegetables. In a plain gown, simple leather shoes, and hair hidden beneath a short veil secured at the nape of her neck while she worked, Margery, or “Mary,” looked small and insignificant.
Seth glanced up with a little frown. “I should have told you about Phillip.”
“But you did not want to be a tit-tattle,” said Kate.
He shrugged. “No excuse.”
“What’s done is done. Why does Clement have need of Phillip?”
“It is his memory, Mistress Clifford,” said Griselde from the doorway. “It slips and slides, upending his tallies, confusing him. And it’s not drink. He’s had little ale or wine. He wants his wits about him.”
Seeing the sagging shoulders and the pain in the housekeeper’s eyes, Kate took Griselde’s arm and led her to a bench, where she settled beside her.
“You must keep me informed, else how can I help? How often does Clement leave his bed?”
“Not often. His legs are so weak and twisted. I can see it’s painful for him to pull himself along on the crutches Seth made for him.”
“I’d hoped they’d help,” said Seth.
“They do. But he tires so easily.” There was a catch in Griselde’s voice.
“You did your best, Seth,” said Kate. She had a thought. “You are so handy with carpentry. I wonder whether you might be able to replicate Beatrice Paris’s chair.” She told them about the wheeled chair that had allowed her neighbor’s wife to move about the house.
Griselde’s face brightened. “A wheeled chair! I do believe he would perk up if he could move about more easily.”
“I could make one.” Seth loped over to the corner of the kitchen where he slept on a pallet. From a shelf he plucked a wax tablet and stylus, sat down on a bench and began to draw. “The wooden wheels on the old barrow in the garden shed might do. What sort of chair did they use?”
“It was cobbled together from parts of the cart, as I recall.”
“We can do better,” said Seth, glancing up at Griselde.
“You are thinking of the old chair in our bedchamber?” she nodded. “I used to set it out in the garden so he might have some fresh air. An ugly chair, but serviceable.”
“Just the thing,” said Seth.
“Is it just the accounting work that challenges Clement?”
Griselde shook her head. “He has been trying to recall something he once learned about Berend, something he has a feeling might suggest where he has gone. Master Simon was concerned that you had hired a criminal out of sympathy for his war wounds. He wanted to know more about Berend. Clement discovered something but failed to write it down, and now he cannot quite grasp it—it stays just out of reach. Something about a place. That he owned, mayhap? But not his parents’ tavern?” That was where Berend had learned to cook. “A small farm, he thought.”
Her late husband had learned of Berend’s gift of land from his former lord? The one she had just learned of? “Did he not share the information with you when he first heard of it?” Kate asked Griselde.
“No. He says he feared I would tell you Simon was interfering. He remembers that part.” Griselde sighed. “Maybe once he’s able to move about more in the wheeled chair the fog in his head will clear.”
“I pray it does,” said Kate. She wondered what else he knew about Berend.
“But you did not come for all this, I trow.”
Kate nodded toward Lady Margery. “Has Phillip met the new maidservant?”
“No. Mary has stayed out of sight,” said Griselde.
“I am becoming well acquainted with the storeroom,” Margery said, motioning with the cutting knife toward the curtained doorway to one side of the kitchen. “I have a mind to make up my bed in there tonight. But I am grateful.”
“No word of Carl?”
Both Margery and Griselde shook their heads.
“Jennet stopped by to ask whether he had arrived, and brought this gown for me.” Margery held up the skirts and bowed.
Kate had wondered where she had procured the gown of undyed wool. “I trust she included a linen underdress?” Or it would be scratchy to a woman accustomed to fine clothes.
“Bless her, she did,” said Margery.
Without the red hair and bright clothes, the noblewoman was quite transformed. Only those who knew her well might pause before her, wondering what had brought her to mind. Still, Elric knew her well enough. As did all three of her wards.
As Margery turned back to her work, Kate softly instructed Griselde to keep Mary hard at work. The more she inhabited the role of Mary the maidservant, the less likely she would be to move and behave as a noblewoman. And she must earn her keep, she told her quietly. They were risking everything for her.
“Her hands . . .”
“We want them rough,” said Kate.
“Of course.”
Seth glanced back at them. “You told me to remind you of two things you must tell Mistress Clifford.”
Griselde’s hands flew to her face and she muttered something about her failing memory. “Oh dear me, forgive me, Mistress Clifford. I meant to tell you something that slipped my mind last night. Come, have a seat. Seth, some ale, if you would.”
Kate was about to decline, but, seeing the worry etched in the lines on her housekeeper’s face she thought she might need it. “Tell me.”
“There is a spice seller with a stall next to Old Cob the eel man in the market. Merek, he is called. Yesterday, when I bought the eel for your celebration, this Merek wanted to know why he’s not seen Berend in the market of late.”
Kate did want that ale after all. “I’ve noticed him.” Just this morning, in fact. “A sly one, he seemed to me.”
“That would b
e him. Berend had warned me to have nothing to do with either the man or his goods.”
“Did he? Why?”
“Said he was the devil, out for souls, not money.”
“Berend said that?”
“He did, and with such a scowl that I’ve heeded his advice without question.”
“But yesterday Merek spoke to you?”
“He did. And as Old Cob wrapped the eels I’d purchased the dear man leaned close and said under his breath, ‘Begging your pardon, Goodwife Griselde, but most folk at the market have naught to do with yon merchant. Too many questions about our friends. He is cooking up a pot of poison, that one. Just a warning.’”
“So Old Cob knows his reputation.” Kate nodded. “Did you say anything to the spice seller, Griselde?”
“I said I could not see as it was his concern where you sent your cook and for how long.” Griselde gave an indignant sniff.
“Bless you. That was the best answer.”
The wrinkles rearranged themselves in a bright smile. “I hoped it was the right thing to say. Seth thought it was.” She nodded to him.
“Come, sit with us a moment,” Kate said to the young man, who was hovering over Margery’s hesitant gestures with the knife. Jennet was teaching Seth how to listen and watch, skills Kate valued in her servants, so she asked, “What did you notice about this Merek?”
Seth was quick to bring a stool to the table and sit down, leaning toward her, eager to add his observations. “He watched us all the while we were in the market. I noticed him when we arrived, trying to listen in to Goodwife Griselde’s chatter with Old Cob—not that there was anything to hear, except that the earl’s men would be dining with you at the guesthouse.”
Griselde frowned. “Perhaps I should not—”
“No.” Kate touched the woman’s folded hands. “I am glad he knows the stature of our dinner guests. He might be less likely to meddle.” She motioned to Seth to go on.
