by Candace Robb
They were a quiet gathering round the table, Marie making no note of Matt’s presence or his injuries, clearly worried into silence by her brother’s disappearance on the same day that a woman’s mutilated body had been found in the King’s Fishpond. When she noticed Marie fighting sleep, Kate suggested she share her bed that night.
“Jennet is going out after the meal to listen for news of Phillip. You will want to be in the room when she returns, eh?”
Marie whispered a merci and gave Kate a peck on the cheek. It was her first kiss from either of her wards. She averted her eyes to hide her sudden tears. A first step.
As Kate coached Matt in cohabiting with Lille and Ghent for the night, Jennet helped Marie settle up in the solar, then left with her pack of boy’s clothes.
While Kate lay awake worrying, Marie tossed and turned, fell heavily asleep for a while, then tossed and turned some more. The girl’s unsettled humors produced so much heat, Kate turned down some of her blankets, much as she had as a child when her cat slept with her. Mite would tumble and romp beneath the covers, then curl up atop Kate and warm her so effectively that her nurse found her with her feet hanging out of the covers in the morning. Kate smiled to herself, remembering Mite. She had been the terror of the household, lording it over all the other cats, as well as the hunting hounds. Kate’s mother would tsk and moan when the gray cat streaked across the parlor and dove into sewing baskets, tangling herself in silk thread, batting at the threads dangling from the women’s embroidery. Lille and Ghent would have disapproved. But they never had the chance. Mite had died a warrior’s death long before they were whelped. Tears wet Kate’s temples as she stared at the ceiling. Try as she might to stay with happy memories of Mite, and of Lille and Ghent as puppies, her thoughts perversely returned to Alice Hatten’s mutilated body, and the memories of the summer of Maud’s rape and murder—her brother Roland’s terrible grief and her own conflicting emotions, mourning Maud’s loss and fearing she would suffer the same violent death.
At last she heard Jennet let herself in down below, Matt’s startled challenge, Lille and Ghent’s joyous greetings. The voices hummed for a little while, long enough that Kate grew impatient and considered extricating herself from beneath Marie’s slender limbs, remarkably heavy in sleep, so she might join them. But now she heard Jennet on the steps, and Marie sat up. As soon as Jennet stepped through the door, Marie anxiously asked if there was news of her brother. Kate relaxed to see Jennet’s smile in the light of the oil lamp.
“Phillip was seen in a tavern in early evening with the stonemason, Connor, and some of his fellows. When the news came about Alice Hatten, Connor, well, he was deep in his cups and went quite mad. Broke a bench and some pottery before several of his fellows escorted him out. They took him home and Phillip stayed with him.”
“Alice?”
Jennet nodded. “Apparently they had once meant to marry. Before her troubles.”
That was why Jocasta recognized the name. Kate was relieved to have news of her ward that suggested he himself was unharmed, but she was troubled, very troubled by Connor’s connection to Alice.
“Is it true?” Marie asked. “Is he there?”
“I went to Connor’s lodging and listened at the door. I could hear Phillip softly singing to Connor in a steady voice. I thought to leave them in peace until morning.”
“God be thanked,” Kate said, but she would not have left him there, not after hearing the connection. For once, she feared Jennet had used poor judgment. Kate would go to him first thing in the morning.
“I was so afraid for him,” Marie sobbed, throwing her arms round Kate and burying her head in her shoulder.
A miracle. Kate rocked the girl as she wept. For her part, she was more afraid for Phillip than ever.
9
ABOVE THE CHAPTER HOUSE
Despite her worry, Kate must have slipped into a deep slumber. When a loud knocking on her chamber door wakened her, she was confused for a moment by the tangle of arms, legs, and hair trapping her in the soft feather bed. Ah. Marie.
Matt called through the door that she was summoned by her uncle, Dean Richard. Gently disentangling herself from Marie, Kate slipped out of bed, shivering as her sweaty flesh met the predawn chill of the bedchamber. She wrapped herself in a blanket that had slipped to the floor and opened the door to Matt, who stood on the landing with an oil lamp in hand, leaning heavily on his crutch.
“My uncle the dean summoned me? But it is not yet dawn, is it?”
“No, not yet, but Dean Richard’s secretary waits at the threshold. Lille and Ghent will not let him cross it. I did not know the command for them to stand down. He says you must come as soon as you can. To the minster yard. It is your ward, Phillip. He found the stonemason hanging from the rafters of the chapter house.”
Marie wailed from the bed. “Phillip? My brother is dead?”
“No, Marie. Phillip found—someone in trouble.” Kate nodded to Matt. “I will dress quickly. Do you need help going down?”
“I need the practice.”
“Come, Matt.” Already dressed, Jennet slipped out in front of Kate. “I will go first, and if you need to, use my back to steady yourself.” Over her shoulder she told Kate that she would wake Berend and tell him where they would be.
Pulling on her clothes from the previous day, still heavy with weaponry, Kate was out the door before Marie crawled out of bed. When she reached the hall she found the dogs calmly standing to either side of Matt, keeping a close watch on her uncle’s secretary, Alf, who bent toward the fire, warming his hands.
“Connor? Was the stonemason’s name Connor?” she asked.
Alf straightened and gave Kate a little bow. He was an earnest man, his brows always knit together over his pug nose as if to ensure all that he was reliable. “Yes, that was the name, Mistress Clifford. Can you come?”
“At once. Matt, when Marie comes downstairs, she will be in a fury that we left without her. Do not let her out of your sight. Take her to the kitchen. Berend is good with her. Tell him there will be no school for her today because I cannot trust her not to run off in search of her brother.” She felt for Matt, seeing the anxiety in his dark eyes. “I am sorry to burden you with her, but it cannot be helped.”
“I am here to serve, Dame Katherine. Perhaps I can charm her with my smile.”
He did have a winning smile. One of the reasons Kate had stationed him at the guesthouse rather than her own home was that smile, and the rest of his quite pleasing person. As a young widow, she had quickly registered the danger and kept him across the city. Seeing his smile at this early hour cheered her, but her worry quickly reinstated itself.
“You may find Marie far less susceptible to your winning ways than most females, Matt. I pray you, do not despair. Berend will busy her with something in the kitchen.” Kate called the dogs to her, slipped their leashes through their collars, and nodded to Alf. “Lead the way.” They collected Jennet in the yard.
“What about dressing Marie?”
“She is perfectly capable of dressing herself, Jennet. At least for a morning in the kitchen.”
The snow glistened with a crust of ice that had formed in the night. Kate appreciated the substantial lantern Alf carried. Even so, she stepped with care. They saw few citizens other than a watchman on his rounds, who hailed them to ask if they needed assistance. Kate thanked him and sent him on his way, though she noticed him following them at a distance. A watchman rarely paid for his ale, trading the stories gathered on his watch for drink. Kate did not begrudge him, though she hoped he gave a true account of whatever he witnessed.
Torches and lanterns made pools of light in the snowy yard, casting shadows against the dark mass of the minster and upon the small building that sheltered the stonemasons’ workshop from the weather. As they entered the yard, Kate asked Alf to stop a moment. She needed to compose herself. The minster filled her with unease. Stone should not soar into the heavens; it should be stacked solidly on the earth. She disliked
the lifelike statues painted bright colors and adorned in silver gilt, ever watching with their shifty eyes. She hated the feeling of being watched, judged. It was worse at night. She hurried past trying not to look toward it.
Her uncle was pacing at the door of the unfinished east end, casting an eerie shadow on the decorated stone as he moved in and out of the lantern light. Kate focused her eyes on him as she approached. It helped that her uncle caught sight of her and hurried forward to embrace her, kissing her forehead, filling her vision.
“Katherine, God be thanked.”
“Where is Phillip?”
“He is still inside with the body, in the roof of the chapter house. Even after I gave Connor the last rites your ward refused to leave his side. Lady Margery is with him.”
“Lady Margery? Why?”
“Her men alerted her.”
That was no answer, but Kate did not pursue it, concerned about her ward. “Is Phillip hurt?”
“Only his heart. Perhaps his pride.”
“What happened?”
“All I know is that he tried to cut the man down, but could not reach the rope.”
“Of course he could not, he is but a child.” But she knew the frustration he must feel, how he would blame himself. “How did you find out?”
“A scrubwoman came for me, saying Dame Jocasta Sharp had put out the word to watch for Phillip Neville. When she heard a commotion at the stonemason’s shelter, she overheard Phillip’s name. I hurried here fearing the lad was the one hanging.” He wiped his brow. “I thanked God when I saw Phillip. But Connor—from all accounts he was a gifted stonecutter. Clearly he had won your ward’s allegiance.”
“I can stay with the dogs while you go in, Dame Katherine,” Jennet offered.
“No. I would prefer you beside me, noting things.” And keeping her safe. Jennet would strike out at anything that leapt out in the yawning cavern of the minster. “Alf, would you wait with Lille and Ghent, perhaps walk them back and forth? Can you do that? They know you now.”
He nodded. “I am happy to walk them if they will permit me.”
She knelt to tell Lille and Ghent they must wait for her with their new friend. Alf crouched beside her, gently patting their backs.
“I had a dog at home.”
“What was his name?”
“Nosewise.”
“Was he—”
“Oh, yes. Quite a tracker.”
“Lille and Ghent are named for Flemish cities my parents’ friend spoke of as places of wonder.” She rose once she sensed the three were at ease.
Dean Richard picked up a lantern and led the way into the incomplete east end of the minster.
Kate shivered as the door closed behind her. Such immense darkness, only slightly illuminated by her uncle’s lantern. Their footsteps whispered on the stone and tile floors, and faraway voices echoed eerily beneath the massive stone vaulting. She tried to focus on the patterned tiles beneath her feet as her uncle led them past the choir, his light picking out the silver gilt on statues, the shadows seeming alive. It shamed and troubled her to be overwhelmed by fear of marble, stone, and painted plaster—something that no one else counted a threat. Some night she should come sit in the dark and make her peace with it. That is how her father had broken her fear of the cave to which they retreated when the Scots came en masse, burning their barns and stealing their livestock.
She was relieved when they came to the far transept, to the warren of booths in which lawyers would be conducting church business later that day. The crowded area felt more like a human habitat. Richard Clifford paused before a small door that stood ajar. “Have a care, the steps are shallow, uneven, and narrow. I will lead.”
“How did Phillip know of these?” Kate wondered aloud as she climbed. The steps were carved into the thickness of the stone walls, the stairway like a catacomb.
“The masons use these daily. They have workrooms up above the chapter house.”
So it was no mystery how Phillip knew of these steps. “But he could not have simply happened on Connor. He must have been following on the man’s heels. Did he witness what happened?”
“I have not been able to make much sense of his story.”
Quiet voices echoed along the steps, and soon Kate emerged into a space dominated by huge wooden beams angling up into the darkness.
“These immense rafters support the chapter house without a central pillar,” Richard said in a hushed, reverent tone. Lanterns hung in regular intervals from the thick beams.
“How could anyone climb up to hang themselves so high?” she asked.
“Over there.” He led her about ten steps farther, to a board balanced on trestles, a stool providing a step up. “The men say it’s always placed over here and moved about as they hang the lanterns, but someone had taken the board and hidden it in one of the rooms. This is where Connor was, and this the noose.” He lifted the thick rope, nodded to where several men stood with heads bowed by something on the floor. “The broken nose, split lip, and the fresh wound on the back of Connor’s head were noted before they cut him down. None of it the result of their rough handling. They swear to it. He was one of their own.”
Kate crossed herself and nodded.
Near the men sat Lady Margery, her legs curled up beneath her. She was offering a wineskin to Phillip, who sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth and wringing his long-fingered hands as he gazed at the body, ignoring her. Someone had kindly covered the dead man’s head with a jacket.
As Kate crouched down in front of Phillip, Lady Margery touched her arm. “Dear Katherine, I am so glad you are here.”
“And I you. Thank you for staying with him.” The boy’s fine eyes were swollen, his nose red. “Phillip?” Kate cupped his ice-cold hands in hers, stilling them. Someone had brought him a fur-lined mantle, but he had let it drop behind him. He wore his favorite jacket, not nearly warm enough for the weather. She draped the mantle across his slender shoulders.
“I could not save him,” he whispered. “Not tall enough, not strong enough, too late.” Phillip did not look at her, but down and to one side, numbly staring at the draped body.
Kate took the wineskin from Lady Margery and tried to put it in the boy’s hands, but he would not grasp it. “Drink some of the wine, Phillip. Drink.”
He shook his head. “They would not listen to me.”
She smoothed the hair from his face, kissed his forehead. “Who? What did you want them to hear, Phillip?”
“Too late, now.”
“Drink some wine. When you are calm, you can tell me everything. I will listen. I promise you we will do what needs to be done.”
At last he took the wineskin, lifted it to his mouth.
While he drank, Kate asked Lady Kirkby how she came to be there.
“My men alerted me to all the lights and the shouting in the minster yard. After that, I could not go back to sleep. I found Richard here, with this poor boy—your ward, he said. Such a sad meeting. I saw my own sons in him. If I can help in any way, I pray you, come to me.” Margery rose. “Here, this is your place.” She went over to stand by Dean Richard and Jennet, who were talking to the workers.
“Do you mind if I look at Connor?” Kate asked Phillip.
He shook his head.
She lifted the jacket covering Connor’s head, steeling herself for a face like the one she had encountered in the guesthouse bedchamber days before. But Connor had not been dead so long, nor had the noose remained round his neck. His features were not so distorted as the stranger’s. She bent closer—a split lip, dried blood from that and his nose, which looked broken. Curious, she lifted his head, felt behind, and came away with blood. A fresh wound, as the dean had said. A badly injured man climbed onto a platform on trestles and managed to hang himself from those high beams? Of course not. With such wounds, was this a third murder? Stranger, Alice, Connor. Victim, witness, and the witness’s confidant? Kate closed her eyes, fighting down fresh rage. Pointless at the moment
, when William was not here to receive it. When she had composed herself, Kate covered Connor’s head once more and returned to Phillip. Was he now on the murderer’s list, another witness?
“What did you see, Phillip? Did he struggle with his attacker before the hanging?”
Phillip looked her in the eye as he wiped his mouth. “You see it? That he did not kill himself?” His expression broke her heart, the grief, the hope, the gratitude.
“Yes. What did you witness, Phillip?”
“By the time I found him, he was hanging. Will they believe me?”
“My uncle is a reasonable man. I will ask him to examine Connor’s wounds. I believe he will agree to bury Connor in sacred ground.”
Phillip handed her the wineskin.
A sip emptied it. Good. She hoped it had numbed his grief. She held out her hand. “Lille and Ghent are down below, in the yard. Shall we go down to them? Perhaps we could walk them to the deanery where we might all warm ourselves and break our fasts. What do you think? Jennet can go home to fetch a change of clothes for you and let Marie and Berend know you are safe. They have been praying for you.”
Phillip wiped his nose on his sleeve. “No one prayed for Connor.”
“You did,” Kate reminded him. “And you stayed with him in his grief. You did all that you could, Phillip. You eased his pain, I am certain. It is no small thing to have a friend such as you near.”
Phillip bowed his head and said nothing.
“Should we send for Marie?” Kate asked him.
“No. Keep her from all this.”
Dean Richard grunted as he crouched down to speak to Phillip. “Connor’s body will be cleaned and prepared for burial by my own trusted servants. You can rest at the deanery and I will bring you to him later, when you are ready to sit the vigil.”
Phillip nodded. “Thank you, Dean Richard.”
For a second time in as many days Kate’s heart warmed to her uncle’s regard for the strong bond of family.
Though it was a short walk across the yard and beyond the stonemasons’ hut, by the time they reached the deanery Phillip’s knees were buckling beneath him. Alf called for a serving man to set up a cot in the warm kitchen, screened off so that Phillip might rest undisturbed. The boy fell asleep before Kate tucked a second blanket round him. She kissed his forehead and left him in peace.
