A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “Dame Eleanor, I do not wish to be discourteous, but the good friars, we wish to meet them,” said Sister Clara, her round, usually placid face reddened with the perceived slight to the holy men.

  “Good friars they are not, which you will discern once you speak with them,” said Eleanor. She gave them a brief account of Adam’s sour and judgmental opinions.

  “Mon Dieu,” murmured Brigida.

  “How unfortunate,” said Clara.

  Sister Dina, her face flushed with health once more, gave Eleanor a hug. “Bless you for warning us. I had thought to confess to him.”

  How Eleanor would love to overhear such a confession. What did Dina remember of her ordeal? But the Dominicans must hear nothing of that night. “I feared as much. Say nothing. Tell them nothing. They believe they already know all, so they will hardly notice.” Eleanor kissed Dina’s cheek, nodded to Clara and Brigida. “We can and will do much better. Now go, send them off with all courtesy.”

  Before turning toward the door, Brigida touched Eleanor’s arm. “Dame Katherine has something to tell you.” The three swept into the hall, shutting the door behind them.

  Eleanor smiled to herself as she imagined Friar Adam’s surprise when he was shown the door.

  Gazing out at the garden, she discovered an interesting tableau—Katherine and Griffin with their heads together, talking earnestly, the great wolfhounds lounging in the kitchen doorway. She approached them.

  Kate had watched with interest as her mother swept the sisters back out into the garden with that scheming look of hers. But Griffin had interrupted her attempt to listen in. Irked, she was glad to see her mother approaching.

  “Such a tiring pair,” Eleanor said as she reached Kate and Griffin. “Dominicans. Always preaching.”

  “But you have asked them to guide your Martha House?” Kate asked, confused.

  “Oh, no, they seem to have chosen me. Or, rather, Isabella Frost prompted Friar Adam to do so.”

  Kate felt her jaw tightening. What was Isabella’s interest in this?

  “I have warned the sisters,” Eleanor went on. “They know to send them off with all courtesy. York is full of holy men eager to guide impressionable young women. We will find someone suitable anon.” The excitement in her mother’s voice belied her weary sigh. “You are York’s Mary Magdalene to him, by the way, Katherine. I defended you sharply. But now I wonder—as she is the saint to whom their friary is dedicated, perhaps I misunderstood.”

  Ignoring her mother’s attempts at humor—Kate was in no mood—she brought it back to the point that troubled her. “Isabella Frost,” she said. A meddler and a gossip, her cousin’s wife had bowed to her husband’s insistence that they host Eleanor and her beguines when they first arrived in York, but she had made no secret of her distrust and disapproval. The intolerable situation had inspired Eleanor’s hasty acceptance of Agnes Dell’s offer. “It bodes ill that she should take such an interest.”

  “I did wonder.” Only now did Eleanor look closely at Kate and her companion. “Brigida said you wished to speak with me. What is it? What has happened? Is it Nan?”

  Kate touched her mother’s arm.

  Eleanor winced. “Nothing good follows such a gesture. Tell me, Daughter.”

  “Nan is gone,” said Kate. “I trust she has simply joined Dame Agnes at her mother’s house. But there is harder news. Hans is dead. Murdered.”

  Eleanor gasped, shaking her head and looking to Griffin, but he was moving off toward the kitchen, his back to her.

  They knew something, Kate realized. She took her mother’s arm and escorted her after Griffin.

  “For once could you not have tamed your unruly hair before you stepped out?” Eleanor blurted.

  “My hair is the least of our concerns,” Kate said, hating herself for reaching up to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.

  Eleanor sank down on the bench to which Kate had led her, leaning her head against the cool wall in the kitchen. “No, no, that is not what I had intended to say. Forgive me,” she whispered.

  In times of stress she was a cornered cat, hissing and slashing. Accustomed to the behavior, Kate waited quietly as her mother composed herself. As a child, Kate had taken the criticisms to heart, despite her father’s reassurances that her mother did not mean what she said when she lashed out. He tried to teach her that patient silence afforded the best outcome. Her brothers all learned it. But not Kate; she’d winced at each insult. Still did.

  “Hans. Dear Hans,” Eleanor’s voice broke. She bowed her head.

  Sitting beside her, Kate took her mother’s hand. “I am sorry to deliver such sad news.”

  He had been Eleanor’s favorite of Ulrich’s household staff. She had assured Thomas Holme that he would not be sorry for employing Hans, that he was efficient, cheerful, energetic, quick, and always willing to assist others to ensure that all was as it should be. Eleanor had known him for years—indeed, Hans claimed he remembered Kate from when she and Geoffrey were first learning to walk, when he and Werner accompanied Ulrich Smit on the journeys that brought him through Northumberland. For her part, Kate only vaguely remembered a group of men accompanying Ulrich. Her grief rose from a more recent affection for the man.

  Eleanor raised her head, dabbing her eyes with a cloth she slipped from inside her sleeve. “How did he die? Where?” She listened quietly to Kate’s description of Hans’s injuries, where he had been found. “Heaven help us,” she whispered, nodding to Griffin as he handed her a cup of water.

  “Boiled, Dame Eleanor, as you like it,” he said.

  Kate wondered what had led to her mother’s new whim. Suddenly she could not abide the taste of water unless it was boiled, strained, then stored in a cool place with a cloth over the top. Or was Kate too quick to deem it a whim—might her mother fear someone might poison her?

  Eleanor drank. Breathed. “Werner. Does he know?”

  “He is with Hans,” said Kate.

  “Yes. Of course he should be. I do not know Werner as well as I did Hans. He is so quiet. I agreed to his offer to accompany us because of his strength. When he traveled with Ulrich he served as a retainer, but at home in Strasbourg he served as a gardener and groom. Not as clever or personable as Hans. Dear Hans. To die so horribly, so far from home.” She glanced up. “Forgive me for going on like this. I cannot imagine—you have described his wounds, but how? Where was he when attacked?”

  When Griffin described the brawl on the street, Eleanor frowned in disbelief. “Hans reeked of ale? I never knew him to take a drop.”

  “According to Werner, Hans has of late been sneaking out after all are abed,” said Griffin, “spending his nights in the taverns. His work has suffered. Thomas Holme meant to speak with you about him.”

  “Merciful Mother. Why did Holme wait so long? And you, Griffin, why did you not tell me?”

  “I heard of it only this morning. All I knew of Hans and Werner is that they were both tolerable traveling companions, neither drank too much in my company, both kept themselves tidy, caused no trouble. In Strasbourg I had little need to befriend the household servants.”

  “God help me, I meant to do good bringing them here, accepting Agnes’s offer. Ashes. Ashes.” Eleanor had gone quite pale, and she seemed more frightened than grieving. She kept trying to catch Griffin’s eye, but he kept his gaze averted.

  Kate thought it might be best to separate them, try to speak with them individually.

  “Do you need food, Mother? Or to lie down? There is a bed a few steps away.”

  Eleanor waved her on. “I am stronger than you give me credit for. Send Werner to me. I wish to speak with him.” She took a deep breath. “There is much to do. I am responsible for a household. Should I tell the sisters?”

  Kate told her that Brigida already knew.

  “No. It is my place. You should have left it to me.”

  “The sheriff or his sergeant will be here soon, and all the city will know,” said Kate.

  “Ah. Of co
urse. I shall tell the others when the friars depart. What a cursed morning. We must consider what the news of Hans’s murder will do to Dina, already so burdened. I cannot guess. Perhaps I should wait to tell Dina and Clara.”

  “The sheriff might send someone to question all of you, Mother. It is best that Dina and Clara hear it from you first. Tell them, then go about your day. Griffin will be here to protect you. And Berend is close.” Kate saw her mother’s wounded expression at her impatient tone.

  “I will tell them.” Eleanor rose and walked out into the garden.

  Kate followed. “Mother—”

  “We will pray for you. Go. Find the answer to this nightmare before we suffer more loss.”

  As Kate opened the hedgerow gate, she overheard her mother telling Griffin to talk to Werner, find out whether Hans might have said anything in his cups. Damn her. Did she think this was a game? Kate turned round and retraced her steps.

  “Is there something that I should know?”

  Eleanor looked at Kate, aghast. “That was not meant for your ears. I raised you to keep your own counsel and let others keep theirs.”

  Fighting to hold her temper in check, Kate took her mother’s hands, looking into the eyes that would not settle on hers. “What do you fear Hans might have divulged?”

  An impatient sigh. “I should think it obvious. Household servants know all sorts of intimate details.”

  Her mother’s hands were cold, but her face was flushed and damp. She was frightened. Very frightened. Kate fought the urge to berate her mother—What are you thinking? Do you realize the danger? “Of course.” Kissing her mother’s cheek, Kate took her leave.

  8

  SHERIFFS AND ARCHBISHOPS

  “Maddening woman! How can I help her if she will not confide in me?”

  “I am glad that the children are in the main house doing their lessons with Sister Brigida,” Berend said, calmly closing the kitchen door behind Kate. He leaned against it, arms folded. “Jennet told me of Hans’s death and Nan’s disappearance. Would I be correct in guessing that Dame Eleanor is the maddening woman, and that she still will not confide in you?”

  “How could you know?” Kate could not help but smile at his teasing eyes.

  Sitting down near the window, she welcomed Lille and Ghent to settle at her feet. “Bless you,” she whispered, rubbing their ears. She saw that Berend had been chopping meat and vegetables for a stew. Wonderfully ordinary work.

  He handed her a bowl of ale. “What of the friars?”

  She had forgotten them. “They have been sent away. Unsuitable. But I cannot help but wonder about their appearance. They say Isabella Frost suggested they come. But is it possible they came here, today, because of Griffin’s presence on Toft Green last night? Or for the same reason that Elric’s men went there, something related to the intruder in the Martha House?”

  Berend frowned, considering. “Their abbey does overlook the green. And if they are ministering to the soldiers, they might hear much. So what are you thinking?”

  “I wish I knew. It’s all a jumble.” She smiled as Ghent responded to her tone by resting his great, grizzly head on her lap, gazing up with soulful eyes. “Griffin puzzles me. I begin to trust him, then he fails to follow the men out on the street and loses Nan. As Ulrich’s retainer, surely he was trained to consider priorities. Which makes me wonder whether his are the same as ours. And Mother seemed distracted, as if the news of Hans’s death—” Kate shook her head.

  “You wonder whether Dame Eleanor and Griffin have a secret purpose here?”

  “Yes.” She told him what she had just overheard. “She has been secretive about so many things. How did Ulrich die? Why did she leave Strasbourg? Do we know all the reasons why Griffin is in her company? Answers would help me set aside my suspicions.”

  “Or prove you are wise in not trusting either Dame Eleanor or Griffin.”

  Distrust her mother. Put so bluntly, it unsettled Kate, not because it was unimaginable but because she could not imagine the reverse. “Precisely. And if Hans was part of whatever they might be hiding, might Werner be as well?”

  “All questions we must answer, eh?” Berend shook his head as Kate bent to remove her shoes. “You have no time for that. Your uncle’s secretary, Alf, was here. You are summoned to the deanery. His Grace the archbishop has just arrived in York. He is with your uncle and wants to talk to you.”

  “The archbishop? Why?” Kate knew him only slightly—a few dinners, brief conversations.

  “Alf did not say.”

  If he would not say, he had not been told. “Am I cursed?” For a moment, Kate forgot to breathe.

  Berend touched her shoulder. “Shall I go to Nan’s mother’s house? Ease our minds that she is there, and safe?”

  “I would be grateful. Meet me at the deanery when you are finished. If I’ve already been dismissed, Helen will know where I’ve gone.” Her uncle’s housekeeper, Helen, was a strong ally. As was her uncle, usually. And Alf.

  Lille rose to look out the doorway. Ghent followed.

  “One of the sheriffs’ sergeants approaches,” said Berend. “It’s Selby. Good. He is happiest when reassured that all is taken care of, eh?”

  A small gift in the midst of trouble. The sergeant was accompanied by Thomas Holme, Matt, and Werner.

  “Would you like me to talk to them?” Berend asked.

  “A generous offer, but no, I must see this through.” Kate was about to step out the doorway when she remembered one more thing Berend should know. “I spoke with the man who sleeps in John Paris’s warehouse on the corner. He heard and saw nothing the past two nights. But it’s no wonder—he is very deaf. I had to shout to make myself understood.”

  Berend nodded. “John Paris cares only that there is a body by the door. Will you mention the intruder in the Martha House to Selby?”

  Kate reminded him that Magistra Matilda had already told the sheriffs of it when complaining about Elric’s men. “I will let Selby mention it, and then deal with him.”

  “He has a fear of dogs, as I recall.” Berend grinned.

  “So he does!”

  Kate signaled Lille and Ghent to accompany her as she stepped out into the yard. “Master Selby, Thomas, I trust you are here about Hans.”

  Selby took a few steps backward, tucking his hands behind him. “As you are the finder, we require your silver to ensure that you will stay in the city while we have need of your witness, Mistress Clifford.” It was the law, the money to be held by the coroner.

  “Ah. I will fetch it. If you give me a moment . . .” She made as if to hand the leads to Selby, who blanched.

  “No,” said Thomas Holme, stepping between them. “I will see to the fee. He was my servant.”

  Selby shook his head. “My good man, the finder pays the fee.”

  “And I said I would see to it,” said Thomas.

  Kate touched her partner’s arm, thanking him. And she thanked Selby for seeing to this himself rather than sending one of his constables.

  Selby shifted feet, no doubt questioning the wisdom of his choice. “As this is the second incident in as many days . . .” His attention was on Lille, who sniffed the air in his direction. “I understand that the Earl of Westmoreland’s men were set to guard Magistra Matilda’s maison dieu while a Sister Dina, from Dame Eleanor’s house, was being cared for. After an intruder—”

  “A drunk, yes. He stumbled into Dame Eleanor’s kitchen, frightening Sister Dina.” Kate kept her voice level, no excitement. “I cannot guess what he thought to gain—the sisters have few possessions. Perhaps the statue of the Blessed Virgin?” She shook her head. “I suspect he sought a warm, dry place to sleep off the ale. I am more concerned about Hans’s murder and the watchman’s injury. You have talked to Severen? It is he who tussled with the men. Indeed, his description of Hans, lying lifeless on the street, would suggest he was the one from whom you should collect the silver. It was Severen who was the finder.” Smiling, she touched Lille�
��s head, signaling her to be still. “And now, if you will pardon me, I have been summoned to the minster by His Grace the archbishop.”

  “Archbishop Scrope? Of course, of course. One does not keep His Grace waiting,” said Selby, bowing to her and shuffling off down toward Castlegate. Without the fee.

  Kate drew Thomas aside to ask whether he had learned anything of interest from Magistra Matilda.

  “Nothing you had not already heard. I do begin to wonder whether she is right to distrust Dame Eleanor’s beguines.”

  “You blame the victims? And who is to blame for the murder of your servant?”

  “I wish I had never hired Hans and Werner, truth be told. Though they both work hard, my wife could not abide being near Hans after one of his nights out drinking. She said she could smell the ale from across the hall.”

  “And Werner?”

  “He is a cipher to me, though a hard worker, I admit.”

  Kate did not pursue the argument. She knew Thomas had a good heart. He would think better of all this in a few days. She excused herself and hurried to the hall to tidy her hair and shake out her gown.

  Kate fought to regain some sense of peace as she let Lille and Ghent lead the way from the more open spaces on Castlegate, where the birdsong and the sounds of the river soothed the mind, into the crowded streets of the city center. But the city was a hellhole in summer, hardly a place that might lift her spirits. The heat and the river damp coaxed out all the noxious odors of the trades and the crush of people and animals. She lifted her skirts and wished she had remembered a cloth soaked in lavender to hold up to her nose. But it rarely worked to have Lille’s and Ghent’s leads in one hand, and today she was grateful for their presence to either side, steering the flow of people well away from her.