The Service of the Dead

by Candace Robb

  “It happened so quickly he remembers only turning to leap out of the way and falling beneath the oncoming wagon. Sometimes just as he’s falling asleep he glimpses a man behind the wagon. He cannot describe him.”

  “Do you think it was Bale?”

  “I am merely reporting what he said, not what I think.”

  “Has Matt received any unexpected visitors?”

  “No, but he’s armed at all times. The memory troubles him.”

  “It should.”

  Berend tucked the letter in his shirt. “I will hide this well. So Sam will not be going to Beverley. Perhaps I could slip away.”

  “I need you here, discovering who William buried, and where.”

  “I will think about what we might do.”

  Kate turned as a draft hit her. Marie was now alone at the table. “Where is Phillip?”

  “He said he had an errand on his way to school.” Marie wrinkled her nose at the roll she had just bitten into. “Soft cheese? Merde.” She tossed it aside, considered her sticky hands, and bent toward Ghent.

  Kate rushed forward, grabbing the girl’s wrists. “What did I say I would do the next time I found food in their fur?”

  A sulky lower lip. “Pour the chamber pots over my head.”

  “I do not make idle threats, Marie. I will do it.”

  Squirming. A whispered, “Sorry.”

  Church bells. “Time for school. Fetch your boots. I will help you with them.”

  Berend winked at the girl as she flounced past him. He was rewarded with a trembling smile. Kate thought to scold him, but to what end? The girl would be angry until it suited her to notice she had landed in a safe, secure, welcoming home. Until then, Kate must be patient. But she would not allow the girl to abuse any member of the household. There were limits.

  As they walked, they leaned into the wind, scarves pulled up over their mouths and noses so they might breathe without swallowing blowing snow. Kate kept an eye on Marie, who had insisted on holding the dogs’ leads. How cold it was out on the streets. Where could Alice Hatten have gone? Jennet and Sam both confirmed that the woman had moved away from York several years ago. No one seemed to know where she now lived, though they knew it could not be far, for she had come to York once to see old friends, looking well, even prosperous. That had been over a year ago. People repeated rumors of a rich lover or a business in a nearby town, but they were only ideas without firm details to support them. So Alice’s home in Beverley was a secret. William’s secret? He certainly had known Alice’s whereabouts and was able to communicate with her. What hold did he have over her? She had been a young and innocent maidservant in his house, and he had seduced her. When his wife Isabella noticed that Alice was with child, William had meekly bowed his head and done nothing to protect her. Turned out on the street, she had been taken in by the bawd Joan del Bek. Of course. Pretty and fresh, Alice would bring in business. And now William had put her in the path of danger. Kate stopped in her tracks. What had become of the child? He or she was not in William’s household.

  “Dame Katherine?” It was Marie and Phillip’s schoolmaster. She had not even noticed they had arrived at the school in the yard of St. Michael le Belfry on High Petergate. “Is Phillip not with you?” he asked.

  “Phillip is not here? He left before us.”

  “No, nor was he here yesterday. I sent Marie home with a note. She did not deliver it?”

  Marie was already in her place, whispering to two other girls.

  “No, she did not.” The little vixen. “Has he had trouble here?”

  “Nothing I’m aware of, Dame Katherine. He’s a good student when he cares to be. As is Marie.”

  “I will find him and talk to him. As he’s not here, would you make certain Marie does not leave until my maidservant Jennet arrives for her?”

  “Of course, Dame Katherine.”

  Before turning toward the widow Seaton’s house, Kate went to the minster stoneyard to ask whether anyone had seen Phillip. Not this morning, but one of them had noticed him yesterday. With Connor. For a while.

  “Then the bloody man stomped off in one of his moods, and the lad went after him. Then he returned to try to finish the work.” The mason showed her what Phillip had done. “He has skill,” the man noted.

  No doubt about it, Phillip showed promise. But where was he?

  Hugh Grantham appeared as she was leaving the yard.

  “I’ve wondered about the boy. He’s not come to me for instruction—still shadowing Connor.”

  “Clearly he needs to give him up. If you see Phillip or hear anything, would you leave word at the guesthouse?”

  He promised to do that, reassuring her that Phillip was a clever lad, resourceful. “Wherever he is, I trust he is safe.”

  Kate knew better than to be so sure.

  7

  SLY SYMPATHIES

  William Frost’s mistress Drusilla Seaton lived with her son and his family on Stonegate, inhabiting a suite of rooms with its own entryway, in the part of the house that extended into the garden. Welcomed warmly, Kate settled beside the fire to warm herself, Lille and Ghent beside her, while her hostess fussed with the maidservant over the wine she was mulling.

  “Just back from market with new spices. I believe they’re from your warehouse, Kate. I have a new recipe you must taste!”

  “It is a day for hot spiced wine,” Kate said, pretending interest. Lille and Ghent made noises about a dog outside the window, scratching in the frozen turf. So cold. Had Phillip dressed warmly? She fretted that she wasted time here. She should be out searching for her ward.

  “Is something wrong, my dear?” Drusilla inquired, leaning forward and resting a lavender-scented hand on Kate’s shoulder.

  “The usual worries about Phillip and Marie, whether I am doing what is best for them. William does not approve of Phillip’s work for Hugh Grantham.”

  Drusilla Seaton wrinkled her nose. “Your cousin is too influenced by his wife’s prejudices. The woman sees everyone as a threat to her own interests, just as her father did before her. You are a capable young woman. Do not doubt yourself. You are giving Phillip a profoundly generous and wise gift in allowing him to find out for himself what will give him the most satisfaction.” The widow sipped her wine, her clear blue eyes watchful over the edge of the cup. “Margery Kirkby is fortunate to be hosted by you and the incomparable Goodwife Griselde, my dear Kate, her every comfort seen to so seamlessly. I do pray she is not tempted by your welcome to extend her stay. For all his faults, three weeks without William seems an eternity.”

  “A fortnight, not three weeks, Drusilla.”

  “Three weeks for me. I did question the wisdom of your giving up revenue for a week prior to her stay so that you might prepare. She is not so fine as all that. But I suspect it was Goodwife Griselde who persuaded you. Clement’s illness . . .”

  Kate had stopped listening. So William had never intended to stay that night with Drusilla. The stranger’s evening there had been planned in advance, and William had waited until Griselde had little time to warn her. Why did this make her heart race when she’d already guessed he dissembled with her?

  Realizing that her hostess awaited a response, Kate said, “I am quite fond of Margery. But it was my uncle Clifford who insisted I treat her as an honored guest.” She could see by the widow’s expression that she had not guessed correctly what the unheard question had been, but she could hardly ask Drusilla what she had missed. Something about Griselde and Clement. “As for Griselde, I’ve hired young Seth Fletcher to help her,” said Kate. “Some brawn about the house.”

  Drusilla chuckled. “Well, the lad’s better than nothing, I suppose. But what of Matt? Oh—I’d forgotten. The runaway wagon. Will he walk again, do you think?”

  Kate did not answer, thinking about what Matt had told Berend, a vague memory of a man behind the wagon. Perhaps the murderer—or William?—had disabled Matt so that he might not interfere that night at the guesthouse. It see
med far too much of a coincidence.

  “My, you are preoccupied this morning, Katherine.”

  “Forgive me. Poor Matt. I should pay him a visit and see how he fares.” No need to let people know how quickly Matt was recovering.

  “Such a tragedy for him. And for you at such a time.” Drusilla shook her head. “A man of Richard Clifford’s stature—well, he might be your uncle, but you could not have denied him this. He will not be dean of York Minster for long, I hear. A bishop’s miter is in his future. Though with King Richard planning an expedition to Ireland there may be more of a delay than your uncle might like.”

  Kate felt a twinge of regret. She enjoyed her uncle’s company, and the added security of his presence in the city. But she was not surprised he would soon be promoted. “Yes, that branch of my family is well-placed at court, and particularly my uncle—privy seal, wardrobe. They are also well liked by the Lancastrians, if it should come to that. As for my mother’s kin—the Frosts are ever the opportunists, like the Nevilles. William has not spoken of the king of late. Is he still in his favor?”

  “Is that what this visit is about? You want to know whether William sympathizes with King Richard or the Duke of Hereford?”

  Of course Kate’s purpose was to learn what was more likely, that William’s secret guest was King Richard’s man or an envoy from the Lancastrians. An unknown, or Hubert Bale. She had no idea how far she might trust Drusilla. “I cannot deny that I wonder where he stands, but no more so than I do about anyone of stature in York. King Richard gave us our charter as a self-governing city, and William was very much a part of that. But to exile the Duke of Lancaster’s heir—”

  “And that he might confiscate his property. I know.”

  They both shook their heads.

  “William has been quiet about the affair,” said Drusilla. “Perhaps he and Isabella disagree about which side to support, if it comes to that. And considering the power and wealth of the Lancastrian affinity, I expect Duke Henry might well return with an army.”

  Yet another who saw it as the most likely result.

  Drusilla glanced out the window. “Oh, my dear, you cannot see the garden for the falling snow. Will this winter never end? You must stay to dine with me.”

  Cursed weather. “I should see to my wards.”

  “I pray you, wait here until the storm passes, Katherine. Stay and break bread with me. See? My maidservant is already bringing the food. And I have a fine wine.”

  Perhaps over a meal and some wine Drusilla might forget herself and confide something useful. Kate agreed it was best to wait out the worst of the storm, so she took Lille and Ghent out into the wintry garden while Drusilla’s servant set the table for the meal. Wrapping her fur-lined cloak tightly round her, Kate stood beneath the eaves while the wolfhounds hesitantly explored the sheltered space, Ghent snuffling out in the wind, Lille pressing into the corners. Despite the sheltering overhang, she was buffeted by the gusts that caught her skirts. The blowing snow stung her face. Where was Phillip?

  She forced her thoughts to the task at hand. Drusilla was being as cagey as William. Kate did not believe that her cousin had not discussed the tension between the king and the duke with Drusilla; he valued his mistress’s insight into the state of the realm and civic issues, seeking her counsel in such matters.

  She felt more and more certain that the meeting in the bedchamber had not been an accidental encounter. As for Matt’s injuries and Griselde’s “few cups of wine” that made her sleep so soundly through what must have been a noisy brawl—they fit with a planned ambush. Even Clement, who often lay awake through the night, had slept through the event. It was all too tidy.

  If this was William’s doing, Drusilla was likely involved. Or had it gone wrong because William had not taken her counsel?

  Had it gone wrong? William seemed frightened. But so might he be after executing a daring plan, for he was not by habit a man of action, prizing comfort over courage.

  She must have a care in talking to Drusilla. She valued the woman’s friendship, appreciating her clear-eyed outlook, her curiosity, and her sense of humor. But Drusilla loved William, risking her reputation to be with him.

  No one could be trusted.

  When the serving woman stepped out to say the meal was ready, she held out a thick cloth to dry the dogs. “I dare not try to wipe them myself, mistress.”

  Kate laughed. No, they would not tolerate such handling by a stranger. Calling Lille and Ghent to her side, Kate dried them off as best she could before they reentered the parlor. Drusilla fussed over Kate, offering her a pair of soft leather slippers to warm her feet while her boots dried.

  “I should have forbidden you to stay out so long, my dear. You had only just recovered from your journey here—though I suspect you had not come directly from home—you and your hounds were so wet and cold when you arrived. What drew you out early on such a morning? I did not see you at the market.” Drusilla’s blue gaze expressed both concern and affection, her hand warm on Kate’s.

  “My household is busy with so many biding at the guesthouse and young Seth being so new. I took the dogs for their run in the gardens across Castlegate and then walked Marie to school. This snow is nothing to me, growing up on the northern border.”

  A nod and a pat on the hand, and Drusilla launched into questions about Margery Kirkby. “Tell me all about her wardrobe. How many chests? Still the bright henna in her hair?”

  Kate went on at length about all she had observed of Margery’s gowns, boots, slippers, and jewelry, hoping to exhaust her hostess so that she might forget herself and voice some opinion regarding Margery’s mission. But by the time Kate grew hoarse and the stew tepid, Drusilla had not yet uttered a wayward word. No wonder William trusted her.

  “I pray Lady Kirkby is able to convince those with influence of her husband’s sincere wish for peace,” said Drusilla.

  Ah. Now? “What of William? Should I suggest that she invite him to dine with her?”

  A chuckle. “As I said, William looks to his wife, the imperious Isabella, in such matters. I have little insight into the woman married to the man I love. Faith, I try not to think of her. After all, I intrude on her marriage.”

  Defeated, Kate complimented Drusilla on the delicate spicing of the stew and the remarkable wine she was serving.

  “The wine—yes, it is exceptional, is it not? A gift from William. I should have thought he would share some with you. His factor made a clever deal with a vintner who found himself short on funds in Calais. Which reminds me, how are you faring with Lionel as your factor?”

  Kate groaned.

  Drusilla laughed and took Kate’s hand. “Something clearly troubles you, Kate. I believe your trade is doing well, both the guesthouse and your shipping, yes? So it is Lionel Neville who troubles you?”

  “Not just Lionel.” She told her about the king’s men searching the ship.

  “Oh, my dear, that is troubling. Perhaps it is time you remarried. The Nevilles are clearly not protecting you sufficiently.”

  “I am better off on my own. You know the terms of Simon’s will.” Kate fought to keep her tone light, teasing.

  “From what I’ve heard, not one of those who have approached William for his consent is worth less than Simon.”

  It would not take much to be worth more than Simon. But it infuriated Kate that William took it upon himself to advise her to remarry. “My cousin should not jeopardize friendships with offers he’s no right to make.”

  “Katherine, your mother, my dear friend, asked William to watch over you. Any one of the men he’s chosen for you would make you a good husband. And save you from the clutches of the Nevilles.”

  “I will decide whether or not to wed again. And, if I do, I will make my own choice. William should see to his own. What has he done for Alice Hatten? Did he help her make a new beginning?”

  Drusilla flushed. “Alice Hatten. Another woman I choose not to think about. You might have simply told
me to mind my own business. You did not need to bring her up. But as you did, I know nothing of her fate. He never speaks of Alice.”

  That had been clumsy. “Forgive me, Drusilla. Clearly the wine has gone to my head, and it is time I left.” Kate rose. Was this the same wine that William had sent to the guesthouse? It was strong. But not so unusual, not enough to topple the sturdy Griselde with two cups.

  Drusilla hurried round the table to embrace Kate and apologize for bringing up the subject of marriage.

  Kate forced a laugh. “I trust you to advise William to inform potential suitors that he has no say in my affairs.” She glanced out the glazed window. The snow had stopped, though the wind was still blowing the already fallen snow into drifts. Kate thanked Drusilla for the meal and the companionship before stepping out once more into the blustery weather.

  Lille and Ghent set their muzzles to the wind and pranced up Stonegate and across High Petergate, clearly glad to be out and about. Kate was headed to the deanery to tell her uncle that she had changed her mind about Sam going to Beverley, so she would not need the letter of introduction from him. But her uncle was not at home. His secretary, Alf, informed her that Dean Richard was dining at the guesthouse with Lady Margery. He did not expect him back until evening.

  As she headed back toward Stonegate, trying to decide how she might best use what was left of the afternoon, she was surprised to find the dean striding toward her. That was not a good sign; Lady Margery’s dinners usually lasted through the afternoon. Kate hailed him. “I came to tell you I’ve changed my mind about sending Sam to Beverley.”

  “Too late, Katherine. Your servant came for the letter of introduction this morning. He hoped to be on the road before the storm.”

  “But I had told him—” Kate closed her eyes against the self-blame. How could she know Sam would suddenly decide to go against her wishes? But it was disturbing news. “How did he seem to you? Anxious?”

  “I do not know him well enough to say. Do you not trust him?”

  “I told him to wait until the snow passed. He’s not a young man.”