The Service of the Dead

by Candace Robb

  “Once inside the minster I heard raised voices. A long way in, and up above me. I started running. The voices got louder and louder, and then stopped. The silence frightened me and I stumbled and fell. I lost time.”

  Kate moved beside Phillip, put her arm round him. He did not push her away.

  “Just before the lawyer’s stalls I heard someone running at me, then saw the lantern light, swinging wildly. It confused me. He rushed right into me. I think he meant to. I fell backward, and he ran on. I scrambled for my lantern and started to chase after him. I was angry. Then I remembered Connor. More time lost.” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I prayed Connor was just hurt. Or spent from a fight. But I kept thinking of Alice Hatten, what they said happened to her. The door to the steps leading up above the chapter house was open. I climbed up, calling Connor’s name. Up the steps and—he was hanging there, the rope creaking. God help me. The board to stand on had been cast aside. I struggled to get it back onto both trestles. And I still could not reach him. I could not save him.”

  “It is far more difficult to cut a man down than it is to hang him,” the dean whispered. “I could not manage it by myself.”

  Phillip shrugged out of Kate’s embrace, wiping his eyes. “I want to go to Connor now, Dean Richard.”

  “Of course. I will take you to him.” As her uncle rose, he asked Kate to stay. They should talk.

  “I will just see whether Helen minds Lille and Ghent being underfoot in her kitchen awhile longer,” said Kate.

  It felt good to escape the parlor for a while, to stretch her legs. In the kitchen, the dogs drowsed by the fire, despite the proximity of Richard’s cat, Claws, who napped with one eye open on a stool just above Lille and Ghent.

  Helen, Richard’s longtime cook, bustled over to give her a welcoming hug. “Bless you for bringing Lille and Ghent with you. When they are here, Claws stays put, and I have some peace. Most days she’s in everything, and I live in fear the dean’s guests will find her fur in their stew.”

  “Perhaps it is time you brought a dog into your household.”

  Helen wrinkled her nose. “Your uncle would have the dog in his bedchamber, tracking mud and heaven knows what else onto those beautiful skins on which he likes to walk barefoot.”

  And Helen as well, Kate guessed. She had long suspected Helen and Richard were far more to each other than master and cook. She thanked Helen for taking such good care of her hounds and her ward.

  “He is a sweet lad, Phillip. Let him bide here awhile and I’ll do my best to fatten him. Perhaps your Berend’s cooking is not to his taste. Some men cook too fancy, eh?”

  The suggestion gave Kate pause. Phillip might be safer here than in her home. The deanery was a hive of activity from early morning until late evening. Someone would always be there to watch him. For now, Phillip would be close to Connor, and, after the burial, close to Grantham’s house if he felt ready to return to work. “What a kind suggestion, Helen. I will consult my uncle about the possibility.” Not that Kate believed for a moment that Phillip would prefer Helen’s food over Berend’s. He was simply a light eater. But it would free Kate, Jennet, and Berend to investigate. Only Marie posed a problem, being far more inquisitive than her brother. Might she stay as well?

  When Kate returned to her uncle’s parlor she found him pacing the length of the small chamber, from the shuttered window to the prie-dieu that served as a small altar, his expression one of grave concern. She settled in a high-backed chair near the brazier, leaning back to gaze at the dark oak beam above.

  “Much to ponder in Phillip’s tale,” said Richard as he handed her a cup. “My best brandywine. A bit of comfort after our harrowing morning.” He sighed as he eased himself down across from her. He was a handsome man, dark hair and brows, light eyes, more gray than blue, with a strong jaw and an air of command. She still wondered about his not naming a proxy to handle his duties at the minster but rather taking up residence for a few months now, going so far as to bring along Helen. As King Richard’s Lord Privy Seal he might be summoned by the king at any moment. Perhaps she should not burden him with her wards.

  He leaned forward, interrupting her reverie. “Alice Hatten expected Connor to join her at the guesthouse that night. Did I hear that right?”

  “That was my impression, that Connor had stopped at the tavern and arrived late.” Kate paused, wondering whether to continue. Had King Richard sent her uncle to spy on Lady Kirkby? Or to help her? Either way, could she trust him? Nonsense. He had gone out of his way to be kind to Phillip, and to her. She must trust someone. “Arrived to what, I wonder? Was Connor the other man Griselde heard? Did he and Alice witness a murder? Is that why they are both dead? Or do we have it all wrong?” She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe Connor was a murderer. But what do we truly know?”

  The dean shook his head. “If I believed the man to be a murderer I would not give him a Christian burial, eh? But after Connor’s burial we might ask Phillip whether the stonecutter confided any more to him.”

  “After he has satisfied what he sees as his duty to his friend.”

  “He is an admirable lad.”

  “I confess I had not guessed him to be so steadfast in his loyalties.”

  “He had not yet been tested. What do you think of the brandywine?”

  Kate tasted it. Smooth, warm, soothing. “Quite a luxury. You are well compensated for your duties at court and in the church.”

  “I should be. My life is not my own.”

  No. It was not. He served two lords, God and King Richard. She wished she knew which held precedence.

  “It is curious that Connor was expected at the guesthouse,” her uncle was saying. “And the following morning, Alice saying her son’s father would fix it. I did not know she had a child.”

  Kate had not had the opportunity to tell him what she had learned from Jocasta the previous afternoon. Now, questioning why he was lingering in York, she wondered whether she should.

  When she did not answer, the dean added, “And Connor blamed him for the trouble. William Frost? They were lovers. That is why she lost her position in his household, is that not true?”

  Pointless to dissemble when he already guessed the truth. She told him what Jocasta had done for Alice.

  “Ah. I told you God had put her in your path for a reason.” A satisfied grin. “Your cousin has much to answer for.”

  “He does.” She was angry with herself for wasting her time with Drusilla Seaton the previous day. She should have seen William. Had she known of the connection between Connor and Alice . . . But had William known? “I wonder whether Alice went to William that morning. And why. I need to talk to him.”

  “Hm.” Her uncle nodded as he began to settle back, then suddenly shifted forward again. “If the coroner should come to you with a complaint about not sending for him, direct him to me, Katherine. Or if he should demand the fine from you as Phillip’s guardian, responsible for keeping him here as a witness. Any matters regarding the incident, I claim responsibility. Send them to me. The minster is my domain.”

  “The archbishop might disagree.”

  “If he cared. Richard Scrope has expressed no interest in interfering in minster business.”

  “And if he does, you will put his nose out of joint?” she teased.

  A chuckle. “We are Cliffords. We know our worth.” He sighed and shook his head. “You have much to do, Katherine. I wondered—might it not be best if Phillip bides here until we have apprehended those responsible for this nightmare? I do not question your ability to keep him safe, but if you must take action, will he not be in the way?”

  So much for doubting her uncle’s loyalty. Family came first, even her late husband’s bastards. “I was about to ask if he might stay. And his sister Marie? She will hate being away from her brother so long.”

  The dean grunted. “She is a prickly child.”

  “I do not deny it. But she finds solace in the kitchen. Helen might be just the perso
n to reach her.”

  “Helen is a wonder.” He poured himself more brandywine, settled back to consider the proposal. Kate waited, silently praying his generosity might extend to the girl. “I certainly have the room. The servants might prepare two guest chambers as easily as one.” He shook his head. “Why am I hesitating? Of course. As long as Phillip agrees.”

  Perfect. She would have freedom of movement for a little while, at least until Lady Kirkby departed. Surely her uncle would remain in York through Margery’s visit. “You are a blessing, uncle.” Kate was already in motion, eager to consult her ward. “I will tell Phillip what we propose, ask whether he is willing.”

  “You will be careful, Katherine? You will not do anything rash?”

  “With Phillip?”

  “You know what I mean. We are not on the borders.”

  “Berend and Jennet will see to it that I do nothing rash, uncle.”

  He did not look reassured. “That question you asked Phillip. About whether Connor was following the man, or accompanying him. What was the significance?”

  “A man bent on taking his life does not bring along a companion.”

  “You were thinking of your twin Geoffrey?”

  “My mother shared that with you?”

  “Actually, your father.”

  She was surprised. Her father had said little after Geoff’s death. “Yes, Geoff.”

  “And you?”

  She shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I have responsibilities now.”

  “And here I was worried about all you carry on your shoulders.”

  “Bless you, uncle.”

  But it was he who blessed her as she took her leave.

  Father talked to him about me?

  I know. I find it strange as well. Perhaps we were wrong about Father.

  No. I will never believe that.

  Quiet now, Geoff. I need to think through my conversation with William.

  11

  WHO CAN BE TRUSTED?

  Above, the rooftops glistened and steamed, below, puddles in the narrow streets shimmered darkly. Kate kept her gaze low, ensuring that Lille and Ghent did not lead her through the deepest streams flowing between the cobbles. There were fewer puddles in the center of the street, but she stayed well to the side, beneath the eaves, where it was quieter and away from the rooftop runoff. Darker, but drier overhead and better for thinking.

  Sifting through all the revelations of the day, Kate felt as if the earth were shifting and reforming beneath her feet. Suddenly her usual worries seemed such simple issues, minor problems that threatened neither life nor limb. She would give anything to have her greatest worries be how to accommodate as many important couples as possible, how to tuck away a goodly amount of money while remaining choosy enough for her customers to feel special, or how to keep the business a secret from the rest of the city and her wards. She was dizzy juggling all she had learned and what she suspected while staying alert to her surroundings, straining for subtle changes in the street sounds. Time and again she turned, certain someone was following close behind. She started at the gentlest greeting, eyeing everyone with suspicion. Lille and Ghent began to pick up her mood and shy at sudden movements.

  Despite her efforts to focus on her own thoughts, snippets of the conversations swirling round her began to coalesce and form a story. People believed that Connor had murdered his mistress, Alice Hatten, then taken his own life. She halted in midstride, to the great confusion of Lille and Ghent, who barked in unison then came close to sniff her hands.

  “Dame Katherine?”

  She shook her head at the neighbor eyeing her with concern. “Lost in my thoughts, Peter. How are Ann and the baby?” His wife had delivered two days earlier, their first child, long-prayed-for. Peter’s blue eyes twinkled. “Ann is happier than I have ever seen her, and our son is thriving. I swear he’s done a week’s worth of growing in two days.”

  They laughed, nodded, blessed each other’s households, parted.

  Matilda Baker slipped into step beside Kate, asking after Phillip, poor lad, finding the stonecutter who had hanged himself. Kate forced herself not to correct the woman. The rumor might be all for the best, as her uncle had suggested. She assured the woman that Phillip was in good hands, thanked her, wished her a good day. God be thanked, the woman nodded and moved on before Kate lost control and chided her for heedlessly believing rumors.

  The early start to the day and all the emotion began to take its toll. Noticing she was rushing, Kate slowed down. She dreaded the prospect of another trip to the deanery and back home again before sunset. If only the long-term tenant in the house next to the guesthouse would move on—or die, she thought, then quickly crossed herself—but if Odo Marsden would agree to move she might bide closer to the heart of the city. Twice she had asked him to consider one of her other properties, and once she had simply offered money; but he would not budge. He was an elderly man, set in his ways, but his family was—unfortunately for her—long-lived. Once he was gone she might sell or lease the Castlegate house, bringing in welcome income to tuck away for the future. High Petergate felt closer to the heart of York. She might be far more comfortable there, close to the guesthouse.

  Or perhaps it was better to keep her distance. She let it be. For now the house on Castlegate was home, and she pushed on, fighting the sense of urgency that might cause her to slip in a puddle and make matters worse.

  Phillip had said he would like Marie’s company at the deanery. So as soon as Kate arranged a meeting with William, she would return to the deanery with Marie, taking along sufficient clothing for both wards for a week. She hoped they need bide there no longer than that. Surely with the help of Berend and Jennet she could catch a murderer in a week.

  As she and the dogs made their way round a peddler’s cart in St. Helen’s Square, she noticed both dogs glancing back behind her, their ears signaling alert. Looking round, she saw her cousin’s man Roger hurrying toward her.

  He bowed curtly. “Master Frost wishes to talk to you, Mistress Clifford. When shall I tell him you will call?”

  There was something about his raspy voice that set her teeth on edge. “Tell him that I can receive him at my house within the hour.”

  The man continued to pace her, self-important cur.

  She refused to be bullied by him. “You have your answer,” she said. “Deliver it.”

  “Mistress—”

  She shook her head and moved on through the square and up Coney Street, her mind already turned to wondering about the archbishop’s purpose in welcoming Lady Kirkby to York. He was not the king’s man. Did King Richard welcome Thomas Kirkby’s peace efforts? Or did he want her uncle to observe and report back? Or was her uncle in York out of disaffection with the crown? Her uncle’s ambivalence toward Archbishop Richard Scrope interested her. He said the archbishop was too devoted to his predecessor as Archbishop of York, Thomas Arundel, who was also his mentor. Not one of King Richard’s favorites by any means, for the king had executed his brother Richard, Earl of Arundel. Who might be interested in peace? The king or the duke? And to whom was her uncle most loyal? Could she trust him not to have had some hand in her troubles? She shoved that thought aside. Again. For good.

  As she crossed Ousegate she prepared herself for Marie’s onslaught—she would want a full report of the day’s activities. Kate smiled in anticipation of Marie’s delight when she told her of the proposed stay at the deanery. She would save it for the end.

  The bells of St. Mary’s Church were ringing nones by the time Kate unbuckled Lille’s and Ghent’s leads, and she let them rush down the alleyway to the kitchen. By the time she caught up with them, Berend stood in the open doorway laughing at their hopeful barks.

  “Do not be fooled. They spent the morning in Helen’s kitchen. No one walks out of that kitchen hungry.” She patted his forearm as she stepped past him into the warm kitchen. “Phillip is unharmed. Sad and weary, but with a few days of rest he should be home.”
/>   “God be thanked,” Berend murmured.

  Her back to Kate, Marie mumbled a greeting without a pause from her work, kneading dough.

  “My boots are soaked through,” Kate moaned as she settled on a bench by the fire to wrestle them off. “Did you hear, Marie? Your brother is uninjured.”

  “I know. Jennet told me.” The girl pretended disinterest.

  So that is how it would be. Where was Jennet? No matter. First things first. “Then you know that Connor is dead.”

  A sniff and a nod. Kate waited. At last Marie turned from her work, wiping her floury hands on a rag. Her eyes were red and swollen, her voice shaky. “I will help you with your boots.” She dropped to her knees and began to tug. “You should have worn pattens.”

  “I was not thinking of myself when I dressed this morning,” Kate muttered.

  “No,” the girl whispered.

  Kate leaned back, surrendering to the child’s struggle to separate the soaked leather boots from the swollen feet, her expression one of fierce determination.

  “Your brother is eager to tell you all that happened, so that you understand,” said Kate.

  Marie fell backward with the right boot in hand. “Your feet stink.”

  “How kind of you to tell me.” The child made it difficult to love her.

  Marie sat on the floor considering Kate, the damp, muddy boot forgotten and soiling her apron. “You said a few days of rest. Here? Or at the deanery?” she finally asked.

  “At the deanery is best.”

  Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivered.

  Kate could not bring herself to torment the child. “That is why he asked that you stay there as well. If you care to do so. Dean Richard is happy to have you both there.”

  “Phillip asked?” Her eyes widened, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Yes. He misses you. Will you go to him? I can take you there before sunset.” Or she could if William showed up soon. Perhaps she might send Marie with Jennet. Ah, excellent thought. Except if she learned something from William . . .