The Service of the Dead

by Candace Robb

  “He is not an old man.” Richard Clifford put his gloved hands on Kate’s shoulders and gave her a long look. “You carry such a weight, Katherine. I pray you, let me help. Tell me what I can do.”

  She nodded, knowing she could trust him. Perhaps in telling him all that was on her mind, she would see the way forward. “Come. Let us take shelter for a moment in St. Michael’s.” Once settled on a bench set beneath a window in the corner of the nave, she recounted the incident with Sam.

  “Who do you think followed him?” the dean asked.

  “Whoever murdered William’s guest? Or perhaps it was merely someone who hoped to follow him into the house and steal the pewter plates. The cloak was old, the wool threadbare in places, much of the fur matted. It had been fine at one time. A servant wearing his master’s old clothes? A thief, as Jocasta Sharp assumed? Someone disguised as lesser than he is?”

  “You know more about the murder than you told me, don’t you?”

  She told him about the pack, the letter, and Berend’s description of Hubert Bale.

  “That is a worry. How might I help? Should I send my groom after your servant? He loves nothing better than an excuse to ride out. He might at least find Sam if he’s been waylaid, help him home.”

  “No, uncle, I will not have two frozen corpses on my conscience.” She squeezed his hand. “But thank you.”

  “There is more?”

  “Phillip is truant from school today. Yesterday as well. Did you see a messenger from Hugh Grantham while at the guesthouse?”

  “Is the lad daft? Does he not understand the danger?”

  “Neither he nor his sister know of the murder.”

  A frown. “Is that wise? Perhaps if they knew . . .” Richard shook his head. “Forgive me. I am not a parent. I trust you have good reason to keep it from them.”

  “Nor am I their mother. We exist in an uneasy truce.”

  “The Nevilles should have claimed them. You might petition the earl—”

  “Too late, uncle. To my surprise I have grown fond of them.”

  A grunt. “Again, forgive my blundering advice. Do you have any idea why he’s truant?”

  “I wish I knew. He seems to care overmuch for the stoneworker who was guiding him, who now rarely shows up to work. It seems Connor is a drinker. I pray Phillip is not in a tavern with him.”

  “Surely most innkeepers in the city know better than to serve your young ward. You mentioned Jocasta Sharp. I suggest that you talk to her about Phillip’s wanderings when you next see her. She will have her people watch out for him.”

  “Her people?”

  “The poor. She is a patron saint to them. They will do anything for her. Under her guidance the poor of York are learning to support one another, and to be guardians to others in the city. Many have found work in service through their good deeds—returning a lost scrip, rescuing stray animals.” He patted her hand. “I believe I see the hand of the Divine in your encounter with Jocasta this morning.”

  Her uncle rarely invoked the divine. Indeed, it was easy to forget he was a priest, so seldom did he reference his calling. “I will ask her. And thank you, uncle. I feel better to have shared my burden.” She kissed his cheek. “So. I was surprised to see you away from Lady Kirkby’s dinner table so early in the afternoon. Did the mayor attend?”

  “He did, as did several other aldermen and their wives. But your cousin William Frost declined the invitation, and they all took that as a sign not to support her.”

  “And said so?”

  He bowed his head. “They did. Leaving no one in the mood to linger. Lady Margery went up to bed with a pounding head.”

  Her cousin had much to answer for of late. “I was not aware she had invited William. Had I known that was her intent I would have dissuaded her. I cannot imagine his feeling easy in that house just now. But of course his fellows would not know why.”

  “Perhaps we should have told her all that happened?”

  “Not yet, uncle. Right now I need to talk to Griselde and Clement, then stop at the school to make sure Jennet fetched Marie. And consult with Jocasta Sharp.”

  “If I hear anything of your ward I will send you word at once.”

  He drew her up and kissed her on each cheek. “May God watch over you and your household, Katherine.” As Lille and Ghent rose, Richard Clifford bent to pet them. “And you, my regal friends, I entrust my niece to your protection in these troubling times.”

  For once it was Kate urging Lille and Ghent to hurry along the snowy streets. As she negotiated the drifts and frozen ruts she whispered a prayer that she would find Phillip safe at home. Her relief that Jennet had collected Marie at the school had been dampened by the schoolmaster’s shake of the head—no, Phillip had never shown up.

  But she found only Berend and Marie in the kitchen. Jennet had gone back out.

  Marie glanced up from her stirring to inform Kate that she must have a word with her maidservant when she returned. “When she arrived at the school she had dressed with such haste she had missed a button and her gown was askew. Her slovenly appearance embarrassed me.”

  “You are one to throw stones. You did not give me the note your schoolmaster entrusted to you. That is far worse than a missed button.” Kate held out her hand. “I would see it now.”

  A shrug. “I lost it.” Marie returned to her stirring.

  Kate grabbed the spoon from the girl’s hand and pushed the bowl aside. “Find it. Now.”

  With a sniff, the girl tossed aside her apron and pulled off the cloths protecting her long sleeves, narrowly missing the bowl as she tossed them onto the table. As she flounced out the door, Lionel Neville entered.

  From bad to worse. “Dear Lionel. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I would have a word.”

  Kate had passed through the hall on her return to collect her bow and a quiver of arrows for some time at the butt. Scooping them up she stepped across the threshold, glancing back to invite him to follow. “We will talk out in the fresh air.”

  His look was pained. That pleased her. And it interested her that Lille and Ghent fell to sniffing intently at him as he stepped into the yard.

  “Would you at least do me the courtesy of keeping them away from me?”

  Agreeing that it was enough to make the man stand out in the cold with her, she shooed the dogs into the hall where they could happily nap by the fire, and alert her to any unexpected activity. That settled, she knocked the snow and ice off the straw-stuffed butt and turned it so that the wan winter sunlight was behind her. Then she notched an arrow, aimed. A superstitious thought arose as she let it fly—If it lands in the center, Phillip will come home safe and sound. It landed ever so slightly off center. She silently cursed herself.

  “So? Speak, Lionel.” She reached for a second arrow.

  “I ask you to introduce me to Lady Kirkby.”

  She laughed. “If she wishes to confer with a Neville, it would not be you she would call on.”

  Most people would have rosy cheeks out in the snow, but his narrow face was pinched and pale though there was some spark in his eyes. “It was my cousin the earl who suggested it.”

  “If he writes a letter, I promise to deliver it.” She aimed. Dead center. “He doubts Lady Kirkby’s professed mission?”

  “King Richard did not send Lord Kirkby to the continent to make peace with his cousin Bolingbroke. In whose name, then, might he sue for peace? Why would Bolingbroke trust Kirkby with his fate?” Lionel stomped and blew on his gloved hands. “Are you impervious to cold?” He tucked his hands inside his cloak.

  “I find it refreshing. As to your questions, I of course cannot answer for Lady Kirkby. All I can say is that if she wishes to invite a member of the Neville family to dine with her, she would confer with your powerful cousin the Earl of Westmoreland as to whom he would care to have represent him. And as the earl does not reside in York, I doubt she has him on her list for this visit.” Kate turned back to
the butt and notched another arrow.

  A brief silence ensued. She shot several arrows before he spoke again, startling her.

  “I understand you are concerned about Phillip, that he has been absent from school for two days and you have no idea where he goes instead.”

  She lowered the bow and turned to him, the arrow still notched. “Have you information?”

  “In fact, I do. He’s been seen at the bawdy houses round the Bedern, and in a tavern with a drunk stonecutter. My nephew. A Neville. Disgraceful!”

  She took a step toward him. “Where? Take me there.”

  “Gone now. I will bring him to you next time I catch him—in exchange for a meeting with Lady Kirkby.”

  Hah! She could not imagine him dragging Phillip away from Connor. She watched Lionel for a moment, how his face tensed and relaxed as he studied something off in the distance. He was scheming, as usual. What she could not make out was whether it was as he said, that he wanted to trade information for an introduction, or whether there was more. His nervous eye movements would suggest more.

  “I will consider your proposed trade and let you know what I decide.” She turned back to the butt, raised the arrow, and hit dead center. First she would talk to Phillip. She hoped.

  Lionel cleared his throat.

  “Still here, are you?” She glanced at him.

  He grimaced, apparently an attempt at a smile. “I wondered where I might find your man Sam. I have something of Simon’s I meant to give him. I think he would appreciate it.”

  God only knew where Sam was. Frozen in a snowdrift on the road to Beverley? Lying wounded on the ice in a ditch beside the road? “He is on an errand for me. You can leave the item here. I will see that he knows it is your gift to him.”

  “I would prefer to present it to him myself. When will he return?”

  She pulled another arrow from her quiver, notched, aimed. A little off to the right.

  Why does he bother you so? Geoff wondered.

  It’s Sam’s journey to Beverley that troubles me.

  “Katherine?”

  “I gave him leave to attend to some personal business as well, Lionel. He might not return tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  The worry in that one syllable caught Kate’s attention, but when she turned to see Lionel’s expression, he was gone. It left her wondering what he meant to give Sam. She looked down at the bow in her hands. The practice had not relaxed her. She had wasted it, using it to irritate Lionel. Gathering the arrows from the butt, she tucked them in the quiver and withdrew to the hall, where she found Marie sitting by the fire, combing Lille.

  “Have you met Connor, the stonemason your brother admires?”

  A pouty shrug, then a vigorous shake of the head that set her dark curls dancing. “Phillip said I would only insult him, so he would not introduce me. I have seen him, though, drunkenly tottering down Low Petergate, his torn and tattered clothes filthy with stone dust and who knows what else.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Has Phillip been with Connor the past few days?”

  “He will not say. Even after I hid the schoolmaster’s letter to you he would not say.” Marie reached down, picked up a soggy piece of parchment and offered it to Kate. “So here. Here is the letter. Phillip does not deserve my loyalty.”

  “Thank you for combing Lille.”

  “I’m not a bad person, Dame Katherine.”

  Kate bit back a smile. “No. No, you are not, Marie.” She wished she knew how to cheer the girl.

  And why Phillip was following Connor about to bawdy houses and taverns.

  8

  IN THE REEDS

  Stepping out onto the street in the last light of the afternoon, Kate paused, sensing a change in the weather—more than the hint of weak winter sun that had graced her time at the butts, and a hint of green in the scent of the air. The snow oozed underfoot, already melting. God be thanked. It had been a long winter in the confines of a city, where the freeze and thaw on cobbles required one to keep eyes to the ground. She readjusted the clothes draped over her arm so that she might more comfortably hold the dogs’ leashes as she struck out for the Sharp house. As she turned onto Coppergate she collided with a lad.

  “Steady now, young man. Oh. Jennet.” She whispered the last word, catching her maidservant as she stumbled. Kate guided her off to the side, beneath the eaves of the corner house. Lille and Ghent sniffed Jennet with great interest to see where she had been.

  Red-faced and short of breath, still dressed as a lad, Jennet bent forward, hands to thighs, catching her breath. When at last she straightened, her expression prepared Kate for bad news.

  “What we have most feared has come to pass, Dame Katherine. Alice Hatten was found floating in the reeds at the edge of the King’s Fishpond.”

  “Drowned? Merciful Mother.”

  Jennet was shaking her head. “She did not drown. Her tongue was cut out, then she was beaten and discarded in the water.”

  Kate crossed herself against evil. “What devil moves among us? Her tongue was cut out? Are you certain? It was not the fish?”

  “Her jaw was broken, hanging open, so the men who pulled her out could see clearly that the cut was too straight for fish to have nibbled it.” Jennet closed her eyes. “I pushed through the crowd and saw it myself.” She pressed her hands to her face and bowed her head, an unusual gesture for Jennet.

  Kate sagged against the building, searching for what she might have done differently, how she might have prevented this. But it was William’s doing, hidden from Kate until disaster struck. “God grant her peace,” she whispered.

  “Amen.” Jennet fingered the clothes on Kate’s arm. “Where are you going with these?”

  “To Jocasta Sharp.”

  “Shall I come?”

  “No. Tell Berend about Alice, if you will.”

  Jennet nodded.

  “You saw her, then?”

  “I did. I am sorry I did.”

  “You know where I hide the brandywine.”

  A little smile. “Thank you.”

  Ghent growled as Jennet headed on down Castlegate. Kate gave his leash a little tug to reprimand him for wanting to follow Jennet home, but then noticed he was looking at the dark space between two houses. Lille joined him. Holding tight to their leashes, Kate commanded them to continue on down Coppergate. Just past All Saints Church the dogs calmed, though they kept glancing round as if expecting to find danger following.

  So like that day, many years before. Still being trained to track, Lille and Ghent had led Kate and Geoff to the fresh corpse of Maud, their neighbor’s daughter and Kate’s best friend, in a field. The pups went mad with the smell of blood. It soaked Maud’s gown, her hair, the ground beneath her. It was only later, as the women cleaned the young woman’s body, that they discovered the source of the copious bleeding: Her tongue had been cut out. All knew why. Maud had told her father that she had been raped by the Caverton brothers, and they had warned her she would die if she told.

  Her mother had brought Kate south to York, for her safety. Useless effort.

  She was so afraid for Phillip. Damn William. Damn him for bringing this terror on her household. And for putting Alice in such danger. Had he not done enough, abandoning her when Isabella had learned of his lust for her?

  Holy Mary, Mother of God, gather Alice in your loving arms and hold her close, Kate prayed.

  Ghent suddenly shied away from an alley. His ears back, he let out a low growl. Kate crouched down to the dogs. Lille was sniffing the air, her upper lip curled back. Ghent shook his head and went quiet at Kate’s touch. She peered into the darkness, saw nothing. An acquaintance stopped to ask her whether she needed help.

  Brushing the snow from her cloak and stomping it from her boots, Kate assured him that all was well—though of course it was anything but. Someone shadowed her. But the merchant, born and raised in the city, was hardly the person to help her. He would suggest she report her concern to one of the sheri
ffs, who would doubtless pat her hand and suggest her hounds had been spooked by a cunning cat. It was up to Kate to make the sheriffs sit up and take notice of the violence done Alice Hatten. She urged Lille and Ghent forward, arriving at Jocasta’s doorstep with a chill at her back that had nothing to do with the melting snow. She paused and took note of her surroundings to steady herself.

  The house looked narrow from the street, but it was clearly a long structure set solidly on a stone undercroft for the storage of Edmund Sharp’s merchandise, wine and spices. The one window facing the street was glazed, subject to a costly tax. She urged the dogs through a wide archway into a cobbled courtyard and up to a hefty oaken door, polished to a soft sheen. It opened upon her knock, and a young male servant appeared, bowing and asking her business in a respectful manner. Well trained. When she explained her mission, he nodded.

  “My mistress said you might come. She is away at the moment, but should be back shortly.” As he spoke, he was upstaged by a small terrier who rushed out between the young man’s legs and proceeded to sniff at Lille and Ghent. The two giants nudged her gently with their muzzles while wagging their tails.

  “Ah. As Lady Gray seems quite happy to welcome your dogs, I am able to invite you within to wait for my mistress. When Dame Jocasta stepped out, she told me to take Lady Gray’s guidance as to whether your grand hounds might wait comfortably in the hall, or whether they would be more at ease in the kitchen. My mistress puts great store in Lady Gray’s discernment.”

  Kate found the servant as intriguing as his mistress—his serious expression, his treatment of the dog, the exaggerated courtesy with which he invited her to sit and inquired as to whether she would prefer wine, brandywine, or ale. She requested brandywine.

  “How long ago was your mistress called away?”

  “Long enough that we expect her anytime now.” He bowed to her and slipped away to fetch her refreshment.

  Her amusement regarding this odd welcome was a blessing, easing her sense of danger, allowing her to relax muscles already stiffened from the strain of worry as well as the cold. When the young manservant returned, Kate proffered him the clothes she had brought for the poor. He carried them with courteous ceremony to a large, leather-bound trunk near the service doorway, where he arranged the items with care. She guessed that this young man was a recipient of Jocasta’s charity, and thus carried out his duties with a grave sense of the wonder of life. As she sipped the brandywine in a delicate Italian glass goblet, Kate watched the petite Lady Gray shepherd Lille and Ghent to a long cushion near the fire, where they settled in a jumble of gray, white, and black. But once the dogs had settled, Kate’s thoughts returned to Alice’s grisly death.