A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

Out in the garden, Kate kicked Griffin’s feet to wake him. How could the man sleep through such a night?

  He grumbled as he sat up, then cursed to realize he had fallen asleep on watch.

  “Cursing does not undo it,” she said.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Did you find something?”

  “A body in the gardens. Near the riverbank. Hans.”

  “God have mercy. Murdered?”

  “Neck snapped. But he’d been beaten before that. He reeked of ale. A drunken man with a strange accent accosted by carousing soldiers? Would that you had gone after the men.” Kate turned away from him, finding his pathetic expression annoying. “I haven’t the heart to tell Dame Eleanor until after her morning prayers.”

  “Hans.” Griffin spoke the man’s name, then went quiet.

  Kate glanced back, saw him cross himself and whisper a prayer, then rake a hand through his bright hair and call a curse down on himself. Had he any training as a guard?

  “Why did I help Severen instead of chasing after the men? I might have saved him.”

  Despite the pain evident in Griffin’s voice, Kate could not be bothered masking her own regret in trusting him. Hans was a good man. He’d deserved better. “Why indeed?”

  “You’ve every right to take that tone with me. Did you see any trace of them?”

  “Lille and Ghent lost the scent at the river.”

  “The men swam away?”

  “Unless they had it planned and set a boat down there for their escape.”

  “I cannot—Why did I choose to help the watchman? But I did not recognize . . . I would not have left Hans lying there. I might have saved him. Dunderhead!” He kicked the tree.

  “Petulant and pointless,” Kate muttered. “It is possible Hans was already dead.”

  “He might not have been dealt the final blow, his neck not yet broken. I want to see him.”

  “Go. Matt should be there. And maybe Thomas Holme and one of the sheriffs’ sergeants. But what did Severen tell you?”

  He paced away from her, shaking his head, muttering to himself.

  “You can curse yourself later. Tell me what you learned.”

  Deep breath, one last muttered curse. Then he faced her. “You were right to suspect he was helping Nan move through the city at night when he had the watch. But he believed she was caring for her mother. He swears he knew nothing of a lover.”

  “Does he know what sort of man Robin is?”

  Griffin shook his head. “I didn’t ask. I thought we would ask Nan—”

  “Nan is gone.”

  “What? I failed with her as well? Bloody worthless—” He turned on his heels, storming into the kitchen, cursing at Severen.

  The injured watchman stumbled out holding his crotch, blinking at the soft dawn light.

  “Go piss over there.” Kate pointed to the midden as she handed him his lantern, then called to Lille and Ghent and went to lean against the hedgerow gate, struggling to set aside the emotions that clouded her thoughts.

  Breathing deep, she trained her gaze up into the arching branches of the plane tree, its broad trunk almost touching the wall of the kitchen. It provided refreshing, dappled shade on summer days. Kate imagined Agnes Dell standing in the garden, dreaming of raising a brood of children who would tumble about beneath the strong limbs of this great tree. She wondered whether Agnes had been happy with Leonard Dell, what had driven her to become John Paris’s mistress. Perhaps the lack of children, perhaps loneliness with Leonard so often away. On his death, had Agnes been disappointed to discover her husband’s secrets, as had Kate? She straightened as Griffin stepped out from the kitchen.

  Shoulders hunched, his face pale, the man looked beaten. “You must think me the greatest fool.”

  Perhaps not the greatest, she thought, but he’d certainly no mind for guard duty. What had Ulrich seen in him? “Your mistake was lying down and covering yourself. I doubt Nan will come to harm. It’s dawn, and she seems to know the watchmen. Go now, see the body. Severen can take himself home.”

  Once both men were gone, Kate returned to the kitchen, pouring water from a pitcher into a wide bowl, setting it on a bench for the hounds. She availed herself of a small bowl of ale from the jug in the cupboard, taking a seat on the bench Severen had vacated. She sat there a long while, going over all that had happened, searching for a pattern. Nan and Robin—who was he? Might the two be connected with Hans, and the unliveried soldiers encamped at Toft Green? She sat there long enough that she witnessed the three beguines depart for morning mass across Castlegate and Rose come out to the kitchen to fetch ale for her mistress.

  “Shall I fold up your blankets, Dame Katherine?”

  “Yes. If you would put them by the door, I will fetch them later.”

  Kate almost rose to follow her back to the main house. This might be the time to prepare her mother, tell her about Hans before the sheriffs’ sergeants came sniffing around. If they could be bothered. Too often they simply called for the coroner to record the death and let it be. A servant, with no family in York, who would care? But she did not go to her mother. Instead she sat a while longer, until she heard Berend moving about in the garden across the hedge. She was about to go break her fast with him when she noticed Lille and Ghent sitting up, ears pricked. Now she heard it—voices in the alleyway, men’s voices. Signaling the dogs to stay and be still, Kate moved back into the shadows where she might watch undetected, knife at the ready.

  Two Dominican friars stepped into the garden, one, slightly stooped, keeping a grip on the other’s forearm. As they moved closer, the white gowns beneath their black mantles caught the light, as did the milkiness of the stooped one’s eyes. Aged, dependent on the younger to guide his steps. Kate did not know them, but the younger knew which entrance to use, moving straight to the hall door. He rapped on it, waited, then rapped again. Rose greeted them respectfully, explaining that the sisters were at mass and her mistress was just dressing.

  “We come unannounced, I know,” said the elder friar, “but Dame Eleanor will wish to see us.”

  The maidservant bowed them in.

  Two friars, unannounced. Dominicans. Their friary stood beside Toft Green, near the crowded military encampment. They might know something of use. Kate was deciding whether to follow them into the hall and introduce herself when Sister Brigida came down the alleyway.

  “Benedicite,” she called out to someone invisible to Kate who must be standing at the hedgerow gate. “Clara and Dina stayed to talk with Magistra Matilda after morning mass, but I excused myself as soon as I might do so without offending the good woman. Are the girls ready for their lessons?”

  “They have just tumbled into the kitchen,” Jennet responded. “You need not have hurried.”

  Kate replenished the hounds’ empty water bowl and stepped out into the garden, joining the two at the gate.

  Jennet caught something in Kate’s expression with one glance, giving her a questioning look. Kate shook her head. Not now.

  Turning back to the beguine, Jennet asked her if she’d had a difficult night. Brigida looked far from rested.

  “You can see that?” A weary smile. “Sister Dina did not rest easy, so neither did we. Clara and I took turns getting some rest while the other was there to whisper soothing words when Dina wakened, frightened. She is plagued with remorse for injuring the intruder. She cannot accept that she had little choice.” A yawn. “We had managed to calm her when a brawl broke out on the street. I heard you out there, Dame Katherine. I pray no one was hurt.”

  “You are right about the brawl,” said Kate. “Are you certain you wish to tutor the girls today?”

  “Bless you, yes. Nothing I say or do serves to calm Sister Dina for long, and I grow impatient with myself. I wish to care for the ill, the poor, the troubled, yet I cannot even comfort my sister. So it is good to have a purpose outside the house today.”

  “You might want to wait until the others return, so that you might all meet the fria
rs who have called on Dame Eleanor.”

  Brigida tilted her head, looking puzzled. “Friars?”

  “A pair of Dominicans. They await my mother in the hall. Apparently they were not expected, but assured Rose they would be welcomed.”

  Brigida smiled. “I should think that is good news. In Strasbourg we were guided by members of the Dominican friary near our house. A friar might be a comfort to Dina.”

  “Have you learned any more from her about that night?” Kate asked.

  “No. Clara and I were so glad she wished to attend mass this morning we did not pry. We thought to let her speak about it in her own time.”

  “We might not have the leisure of such patience,” Kate said. “The brawl on the street did end in violence. And death.” She told them about finding Hans’s body, and what Severen had witnessed.

  “Hans, gentle Hans.” Brigida’s voice broke. “God have mercy.” She bowed her head in a silent prayer.

  “Matt is alone with the body?” Jennet asked.

  “Griffin is there. And soon the sheriff. Possibly Thomas Holme. And Werner. I thought he would wish to be there.”

  “Poor Werner,” said Brigida. “He misses Strasbourg. Hans was his last link to it. Werner seemed most at ease in his company. Does Dame Eleanor know?”

  “Not yet. I will tell her after the Dominicans depart,” said Kate. “I know I can trust you not to speak of this to anyone. Watch the girls closely today.” She told them about Nan waking, thinking Kate was her lover Robin sneaking in, how she had helped with Severen, then disappeared.

  “The nights caring for her ailing mother were a lovers’ tryst.” Jennet nodded. “That explains much. Was he at her mother’s house on the night of the intruder?”

  Brigida looked from one to the other as Kate shook her head. “Do you think it was him? That Dina surprised Nan’s lover coming into the kitchen?”

  “Nan said that it was the one night he had not appeared at her mother’s house,” said Kate. “But it is dangerous to judge when we know so little. I am hoping she fled to her house. I need to talk to Berend before the sheriffs’ man arrives, ask him to go see if Nan is there.”

  Kate paused a moment, observing the men arriving for work in the small warehouse that sat on the corner of Hertergate and Castlegate. The warehouse was managed by John Paris, the employer of Agnes’s late husband, Leonard. He lived across the alley from the Martha House, and, as Kate had learned yesterday, at one time entertained Agnes in the guesthouse. “But first, I’d like to know whether there is a night watchman in the warehouse.” She lifted a hand in greeting to one of the men and strolled over to the adjoining yard to talk to him.

  Eleanor stood on the landing, observing the unexpected visitors. The two black-mantled friars stood before the small altar that held a statue of the Blessed Mother, which she and the beguines had dressed in colorful silks, the table draped with an altar cloth embroidered with motifs from the life of the mother of Christ. Offerings from the sisters lay at the Virgin’s feet—delicate shells, stones, and other precious objects. Framed by the painted walls, the altar was the colorful center—indeed, the heart—of the hall. The friars’ dark mantles and white robes looked out of place before it.

  One of them was elderly, large but stooped, the other a stocky young man. The elder picked at the offerings on the altar with clawlike hands speckled with age spots, pursing his lips, drawing his wrinkles downward. Sour old man, Eleanor thought. Who was he to disapprove their sincere devotion? She cleared her throat and descended the steps.

  As the subject of her distaste turned toward her, she saw that his eyes were milky with age and wondered whether he could even see the items he’d handled. How had he known they were there? His companion? The other was young, barely past his novitiate, Eleanor guessed, with a cherubic face marred by a dark red birthmark that splashed his left cheek and forehead. He leaned close now to whisper something in his elder’s ear. Yes, that was his role, he was his master’s guide. And just as lacking in courtesy.

  The elder smiled on Eleanor, bowing and offering a blessing. “Benedicite, Mistress Smit.” One might almost doubt that he was blind, he aimed his sightless gaze so naturally. She guessed he had not always been blind.

  “Mistress Clifford. Smit is such an ugly name. But I prefer Dame Eleanor.”

  “My pardons, Dame Eleanor. I am Friar Adam, of the Dominican house of St. Mary Magdalene. I am answering your call for a cleric to guide your poor sisters.”

  She gave him a slight bow, though only his companion could see it. Answering her call, was he? She had made no public request. Not so hasty, you ill-tempered friar. She cleared her throat. “Beguines, not poor sisters. They go out into the world and earn their keep as well as caring for the people of the city. Welcome to my Martha House, Friar Adam, and . . . ?” She gazed pointedly at the younger man.

  “This is Friar Walter—my eyes, as it were,” said Adam.

  “And Friar Walter.” She nodded to the young man. “You are his eyes and he is your mouth?” She chuckled. “Be easy, I pray you. We all walk the path of love, as revealed by the teachings of Christ, our Savior. Love is a happy virtue.”

  “Beguines.” Friar Adam sniffed. “You would do well to remember His Holiness Pope Clement condemned them as heretics.”

  It was Eleanor’s turn to sniff. This sneering, sniveling toad of a friar would not do for her Martha House. But she must extend the sisters the courtesy of allowing them to meet him and come to their own decision. She was confident they would see his closed mind and follow her in deeming him unsuitable. “Sisters Clara, Brigida, and Dina do not presume to preach but confine themselves to good works. I should like them to meet you. Unfortunately you have arrived as they are attending mass at St. Mary’s. Might I offer you refreshments while you wait?” She signaled to Rose to fetch a tray.

  “You are most kind, Dame Eleanor.” No longer smiling, Friar Adam pressed a hand to his heart. “May God bring peace to this household.”

  “I have found immense peace in the company of the beguines. While we wait, I might ask your advice in bringing a new sister into the household.”

  “This would be Agnes Dell?”

  “You are quite knowledgeable about us, considering none of this information comes from me. I believe you owe me the courtesy of telling me how you came to know so much—that I sought a confessor for the house, and that Agnes Dell had asked to join the sisters.”

  “I have the honor of being Dame Isabella Frost’s confessor.”

  “Dame Isabella. Yes. I see.” Oh dear me, of course, how did I not guess? This officious creature would appeal to that tiresome woman. Eleanor folded her hands. “And Agnes Dell?”

  “This was her home, was it not?”

  “It was indeed, though how you would know that I cannot fathom. No matter. Now you are here, I will of course do you the courtesy of an interview. Let me see . . .”

  She studied the disagreeable pair. The old friar’s face had gone briefly crimson—the subtle insult of a test was not lost on him. But he quickly recovered, bowing to her.

  “How would you advise us to bring Agnes Dell into the fold?” she asked. The overbearing were so easy to bait.

  Adam produced a smile meant to be beneficent, but the milky eyes lacked expression and the man’s breath was sour. “First, you should have her speak with me, tell me why she chose to make such a change.”

  “And what would you seek in her answer? A spiritual yearning?”

  “It is for her to say. If her answer was satisfactory, I would instruct the sisters to ensure that one of them accompany Dame Agnes at all times for the next few months. After our weekly meetings they would tell me all that they observed as she goes about her day. In confidence, of course.”

  Of course. You would not want Agnes to know what the sisters said behind her back, you miserable . . . Eleanor breathed deeply. “Yes? Go on, I pray you.”

  “In such wise, we might arrive at the best advice for the woman going forwar
d.”

  The woman. Poor Agnes, to be the subject of such scrutiny. Under such treatment she would come to question her decision, regardless of whether or not her vocation was deemed sincere. Eleanor felt Walter watching her closely. She turned her gaze on the youth, staring him down until he averted his eyes, making a great study of his hands. Neither of the friars reflected the same warmth as the beguines. She wondered who had observed them, judged them fit for God’s work.

  Admittedly, she and the sisters all agreed that the life of a beguine might not be what Agnes had expected, and as for any potential sister, they had advised Agnes to look into her heart for the next few months and ask God’s guidance in her decision. It was also customary that sisters go forth in pairs. But to spy on the woman and tattle to their confessor, especially this cold creature who was overdue for his grave—Eleanor saw no love and compassion in such an instruction. Her smile to Friar Adam was more a baring of teeth.

  “Your daughter, Mistress Neville—” he began.

  “Clifford. But you may refer to her as Dame Katherine.”

  “Dame Katherine.” He bowed. “She is a singular woman. I have heard disturbing tales about her and the men in her household.”

  Eleanor bristled. Friar Adam was nothing more than a common gossip. “My daughter has taken in three orphans and given them a good, loving home. In such times as these, with soldiers setting up camp in Toft Green—so close to your abbey, Friar Adam, you must be aware of them—I count my daughter wise and responsible to have men in the household who can defend the children, as well as herself, a young widow. Do you take offense at such precaution?”

  Adam’s smile was stiff as Walter took the cup of wine Rose proffered his master and placed it in his hand. “My mistake, Dame Eleanor. The arrangement as you describe it is most admirable. Though, as she is a widow, a great temptation to the men in her household.”

  Ah, me, poor clerics, how they fear their bodies. Eleanor merely smiled, stubbornly saying nothing, though her mind conjured delicious retorts about where weak men go to hide. Walter leaned close to his master and whispered in his ear, no doubt describing her smile. Fit to burst, Eleanor was about to excuse herself and cross Castlegate to fetch the sisters when the beguines appeared at the garden door. God be thanked. Before the introductions could be made, Eleanor herded them back out to the garden with a vague excuse to the friars and assurances that they would not be long.