The Service of the Dead

by Candace Robb

  “I swear.” He drew out a purse. “This is the purse he took. The money is gone, but the letter is here. When I finally looked at the letter I thought I had best tell you. The letter is signed by King Richard himself. It says that Jon Underhill is his man. But you said it was someone else’s pack.”

  “Jon Underhill is the name he used with my cousin William. But Berend knew him as Hubert Bale. The man who was strangled. There was another letter in the pack with that name on it.”

  “So that is why Alice and Connor had to die? Because of those men?”

  “I cannot think of another reason. My cousin has explained why Hubert Bale was there, and perhaps why Alice was in such a state. But who the attacker was, and what he wants, that we still do not know. Did Connor describe him?”

  Phillip shook his head.

  “Think. Perhaps he said something.”

  “Just that they were both big men, that they looked too strong for him to take down without a weapon.” A sigh. “I hope something in the pack will help you find the murderer. He must pay for what he’s done.” Phillip turned round to push open the shutter, his breath coming in little gasps, as if he were fighting tears. The window looked out onto the stoneyard. “I would give anything to bring Connor back.”

  A visceral memory, kneeling on a bench to look out the high window in her bedchamber, seeing herself running out the gate hand in hand with Geoff, asking God to bring him back, bargaining—Anything, Lord, I will do anything to bring him back. She felt Geoff’s warmth in her mind.

  Perhaps that is why I am here.

  I meant as you had been.

  God has his own ways.

  “Or at least clear Connor’s name,” Phillip said. “It is not fair that he is blamed for Alice’s death.” His arm still outstretched, the boy ducked his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

  “No, Phillip, it is not fair.”

  She dropped her head, her heart full.

  Berend softly thanked her for recounting the conversation. “He is a good lad. His heart is broken.”

  As is mine. Kate forced herself to keep her attention with Berend. “If only Connor had described the man. Still so many questions, so few answers.”

  Berend rose with a grunt, raised his arms to the ceiling beam, stretching. “But we know more than we did. We know how Alice escaped.”

  Yes, that mystery was solved. “The greater mystery is how William could be so cold, abandoning Alice, the mother of his son, to her fate.”

  “Fear for his daughter, Hazel?”

  “And his honor. His precious honor.”

  Kate started to rise just as Berend settled back down with more ale, reminding her that she had promised to tell him “about the one who died like Alice,” the memory, or rather the ghost who led to her ill-timed attack on William.

  “That is the last thing I wish to dredge up before sleep.”

  “I confided in you.”

  Seeing the challenge in Berend’s eyes, Kate relented. If she meant him to be her comrade in arms, they must know each other so well they could predict the other’s reaction. She fetched more ale, settled back beside him, forced herself to speak of what she had hidden for so long.

  “Maud Allen. She was my good friend, and my brother Roland’s true love. Her family’s land bordered on ours, and we were together in the fields and the woods when the weather was fair and our fathers considered it safe. Raids happened mostly at night, but sometimes . . .” She shook her head. Stay with the story.

  “Our particular enemies were the family of Andrew Caverton just across the border. Our families had been feuding for generations. They poached our cattle, our sheep, put fire to our barns when we had them filled with hay. And we did likewise. It took but an instant to light a fuse that would burn for months. That spring, when the roads were muddy, a cart had upended on the way to market and the goods toppled out onto what they said was their property. It was the road, how it went along the border there, that was often the excuse for the troubles. Roland and the eldest Caverton brother, who was called young Andrew, came to blows. Roland sliced open Andrew’s face from his right temple to the right side of his mouth and cut off his ear. From that moment, young Andrew wanted revenge. He was vain, always strutting in front of the women. After Roland disfigured his face, he burned with a hate so fierce.”

  “That is a lot for a young man to suffer.”

  Tell him about Walter’s hand.

  “I do not claim we were better than the Cavertons. But my eldest brother had lost a hand to the brutes a year earlier.”

  “I did not mean to judge. Forgive me for interrupting. Maud Allen?”

  “Maud was a beauty, a year older than me, and the previous winter she had flowered. That spring she was clearly a woman. Roland and she—both families guessed they had better not delay their marriage. The wedding was planned for after the harvest. The countryside was abuzz with it, so the Caverton boys knew that she was the pearl of great price, the theft that would tear out my brother’s heart.

  “They raped her and threatened her with a bloody death if she told, knowing she would. Knowing Roland would see her black eyes and swollen lips, her torn nails, and keep at her until he knew. Or guessed. She told me, she whispered it between sobs. One held her down while the other . . . They took turns, three brothers. And they had friends come watch. And jeer. And . . .” Kate shook her head to scuttle the memories.

  How sick you were, Geoff whispered. I held you as you heaved in the barn. Then you cried and cried, beating the wall of the stall until your hands were bloodied.

  Berend crossed himself. “I am sorry it pains you so to speak of it. But I need to hear it all.”

  Will it help to speak of it? To admit my guilt aloud?

  It was not your fault, Geoff whispered. Maud told Roland as well.

  But not in such detail, Geoff.

  “Your twin is here,” Berend said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I sense it. I feel you as two, not one. I do not mean to be cruel.”

  “You are never cruel to me, Berend. It is hard to speak of it. I was a child, and so frightened. I feared that the same would happen to me. My brothers feared it as well.” Kate reminded herself that these were memories, in the past. “Maud did not realize that Geoff would learn all of it from me. There was no hiding anything from him. I doubt she would have shared so much detail with me had she known.”

  “But you were her friend. Perhaps the only one to whom she could talk so freely.”

  “I know my own part in it, Berend.”

  He apologized for interrupting.

  “My brothers went mad with grief for Maud, and their hatred of the Cavertons deepened. They planned a raid. They would go as soon as Father returned. He had been called away on some business with the warden of the march.

  “One afternoon Geoff and I were out with Lille and Ghent. They were just puppies. We were walking our land with them, familiarizing them with it. As we climbed down a rocky hillside the pups became agitated, hanging back and whining. Fearful. They picked up the scent of blood. Geoff told me to stay there with the pups while he climbed down. He . . . I could tell when he heard the flies, and smelled blood himself. Just the way he straightened, like a rod had been shoved down his back. Fighting stance. I knew. I just knew it was Maud. I called out to him to come back, we should go for her father. But he moved on.

  “I could not stay behind. He needed me there with him. They were all a little in love with Maud. She was gentle, so kind to everyone. There was space in her heart for all.” Kate closed her eyes. Took a few deep, deep breaths. The scene was there, spread out before her. The warmth of the sun, the breeze coming down off the high hills chilling her legs as she gathered up her skirts and scrambled down the rocks, the tug of the puppies on their leashes. They were so reluctant, hanging back, whimpering. But how could she know they would be safe up above? The bloody Cavertons might be anywhere. They were known for their stealth—one moment you were alone, the ne
xt you were surrounded.

  “Dame Katherine?”

  The hillside dissolved, the kitchen returned.

  “The blood had soaked through Maud’s clothing and into the ground. She was already cold. But maybe that was the loss of so much blood. Her jaw was wide open, the blood . . .” She needed to pause a moment, breathe. “But it was her eyes that frightened me most, the terror in them. They followed me everywhere for days and days.”

  “Roland and your twin died avenging her murder?”

  Not Geoff, but that was not for tonight. “Her honor, her beauty, her innocence. The brutality. They feared for me.”

  “That is why your mother brought you to York?”

  “So she said.”

  “What of the Cavertons?”

  “Two of the brothers are dead, Bryce and James, and their father, Andrew. But young Andrew—I always thought him the worst of the lot, the eldest brother, the heir to his father’s evil—one-eared, scarred Andrew disappeared.”

  “Your brothers killed the others?”

  She ignored the question. “The Cliffords, the Allens, and many neighbors spent weeks searching for him. But they just drove him farther north, too far across the border for a quick retreat.”

  “How has your oldest brother survived up there?”

  “Survived? Walter is a walking corpse, Berend. A man possessed. All fear him. He leaves a deathly chill in his wake as he moves across the land. That is what a friend told me a few years ago. His tenants fear him, but stay on in memory of Father, Roland, Geoffrey.” Kate bent to Lille and Ghent, rubbing their ears for comfort. “Alice’s suffering must have been terrible. And her fear that last day. But Maud’s suffering—she lived with the horror for a week before she spoke to me, and then, every snap of a twig, every creak in the house must have terrified her. And to carry her to our property . . . I had never seen her in that place. She was no climber. So she knew she was being taken to her death.” Kate bowed her head.

  Yes, that is enough, Geoff assured her.

  Berend quietly thanked her.

  “I know that I said far more than I needed to William. But now you see why.”

  “I do.” Berend rose, offered his hand to help her up. “It grows late. We have a mass to attend in the morning. And then you dine with Master Lionel.”

  Lionel had left a message with Matt inviting Kate to dine with him at an inn on Micklegate the following day. He’d told Matt nothing of his purpose.

  “No doubt Fitch’s misadventure inspired it,” said Kate. “I shall enjoy watching Lionel make his excuses.”

  Berend snorted. “I should like to hear it. I do not suppose I might serve the two of you?”

  “I need you at the house on Petergate, the house Odo has neglected. I have neglected. You must arrange for the workmen, show them what to do.” She shook out her skirts. “And you and Clement need to do an inventory of the stores in the undercroft. Find out how long it has been since Lionel was there.” She thought of the filth in which the tenant had been living. “Poor Odo.”

  “He was not your responsibility, Dame Katherine. He was a tenant, nothing more.”

  “Then I should have paid more attention to the state of my property.”

  Berend did not disagree.

  Wrapping her cloak round her, Kate called the dogs to her and wished Berend a good night. Out in the quiet garden, she paused to gaze up at the stars. Maud, Roland, her father, Geoff—

  No. I am right here.

  “Yes, you are,” she said aloud. “Though I know not how. But so many are not. And now Hubert Bale, Alice, Connor have joined them.” She crossed herself and continued on to the hall door, where Lille and Ghent waited.

  Matt snored by the hearth fire, but reared up as she entered. He clutched a knife. “Who goes there?”

  “It is Dame Katherine and the dogs, Matt. Be at ease.” She waved him quiet as he began to apologize. “I am glad to see you so ready to defend the household.”

  The dogs settled down near Matt. Kate lit an oil lamp and wished them all a good night, then climbed up to the solar, Matt’s snores fading, Jennet’s growing louder. She prayed they might all make it safely through the night.

  14

  A REQUIEM

  A thick mist enveloped Kate and her companions as they stepped out onto Castlegate before dawn. Her pattens clicked on the wet cobbles, and she held her skirts away from the piles of slushy snow that had been pushed about by passing carts. It was a mild morning, such a contrast to a few days earlier when she had hurried beside her uncle’s secretary. The cobbles had been icy and treacherous then, and the cold had numbed her face. Now it was the stench that assailed her, weeks of dung, piss, and refuse uncovered by the thaw. Jennet and Berend carried lanterns, but their lights did little to distinguish between puddles and rain-slicked cobbles.

  As they passed a garden she heard an owl cry, then the shriek of a small animal. Past Ousegate, two cats bolted across their path. Jennet crossed herself. Berend teased her. A drunk argued with a watchman in St. Helen’s Square, two apprentices knocked on a goldsmith’s shop, the opening door throwing light and warmth out onto Stonegate for a moment.

  The dean’s cook and housekeeper welcomed them at the deanery door with small bowls of ale, inviting them to get warm by the roaring fire in the hearth. A servant would come to escort them across to the minster when the dean and his servers were ready for them.

  Slowly they were joined by Connor’s fellows from the stoneyard. They wore their work clothes, for it was the start of their week, but all had made an effort to brush the stone dust from their clothes and drag wet combs through their hair for the solemn occasion. One young man carried sprigs of holly heavy with bright red berries.

  He shrugged shyly as Helen admired them. “No flowers yet, so I thought these might brighten the chapel.”

  “You are a dear.” Helen patted his cheek. “Oh, there are the young ones.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Kate. “They have fallen out with each other and are quite snappish this morning. Just a warning.”

  Kate’s wards stood in the passage that led from the kitchen, searching the crowd with their eyes. Marie was the first to see Kate, hurrying over without a word to her brother.

  “I do not want to stay here,” she announced. Chin high, she glared at Phillip as he joined them.

  Phillip gave Kate a little bow and interrupted her response to Marie to thank her for rising so early.

  Kate nodded to him and was telling Marie they would discuss her wishes later when a small company burst into the hall—Lady Margery and Dame Jocasta, with several servants following. The stonemasons parted to allow the women passage.

  “Our parties converged in the yard,” Lady Margery exclaimed. She wore a deep red cloak lined in pale fur. “I sent word to Dame Jocasta last night that this morning’s mass is for both Alice and Connor.”

  “I am moved by Dean Richard’s gesture,” said Dame Jocasta. “It felt right to attend this mass before taking Alice on her final journey. You must pardon my traveling robes. My serving men have taken Alice’s coffin to the friary. We will leave for her sister’s house as soon as the service is over.”

  Kate said a silent prayer of thanks for the diversion. She needed Marie safely tucked away here in the deanery, out of trouble. “You are making the journey with the coffin?”

  “I cannot do otherwise,” said Jocasta. “My heart needs to see my dear Alice well buried. I hoped to bury her here in York, but her sister chose otherwise.” A little shrug. “It is her right. I do not know how long I will be away. But if I hear anything of help regarding your missing servant, I will try to send word to you.”

  Sam. God help her, Kate had forgotten all about him. She thanked Jocasta for thinking of him.

  Lady Margery asked Phillip and Marie if they were enjoying the deanery. “Such a warm, inviting house, I suppose I do not need to ask. Of course you are.”

  Marie shrugged.

  Phillip excused himself to go greet the
Granthams. “They paid for a fine coffin for Connor. And the candles,” he said. As Phillip passed a small group of stonecutters, Kate heard him ask one of them, “Were you in the stoneyard early this morning?” The man shook his head and asked why. “I thought I saw you. No matter.” He nodded and moved on.

  Kate glanced down at Marie, who was frowning in her brother’s direction. “He saw someone in the stoneyard earlier?”

  “He tells me nothing.” She kept her eyes on her brother who was now smiling at the Granthams. “There was a time he did. But no more. I hate him.”

  “I hated it when my brothers kept secrets from me.”

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  “I had three.”

  “Where are they?”

  Kate was saved from answering by Lady Margery, who asked if they might talk, then smiled down at Marie. “Might I borrow Dame Katherine for a moment?”

  The girl ignored her. “Is the mass in the chapel of St. Mary Magdalene because Connor’s precious love was a whore like my mother?” she demanded of Kate.

  Saturday’s sweetness had quickly gone sour. “No. We wanted to keep it quiet. Private. So we chose a chapel in the crypt,” Kate told her.

  Lady Margery crouched down to Marie. “The Magdalene’s story is one of forgiveness and redemption, child. Connor would be honored that he and Alice are sharing a service in a chapel dedicated to her.”

  The child cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think the dead care about such things?”

  “Go to your brother,” said Kate. “I will come join you when it is time.”

  The girl sighed and turned away. Lady Margery led Kate into the corner by the armoires, where Berend and Jennet awaited them.

  “Is she always so perverse?” Lady Margery asked.

  “When she is disappointed, yes,” said Kate. “What is it? Has something happened?”

  “Yes. And I thought you should all hear this,” Margery began. “It happened last night. Your man Seth, who is caring for your elderly tenant across the alleyway, heard someone at the rear door of the hall. We were already uneasy—Troilus and Criseyde had been running in circles by the door, barking. So when Seth came for one of my guards, we were awake and ready to assist. Together they went out to search the gardens. The door to one of the sheds in the guesthouse garden was open, and blocking the doorway was a wheelbarrow with a pile of rags crusty with dried blood. A great deal of blood.”