by Candace Robb
Kate expressed confusion at John Paris’s failure to call the sheriffs, who would have their sergeants take the men away and hold them for the next court session.
He gazed at the floor while he explained, “The quarter sessions were months away, their crime not so grave as to condemn them to the castle dungeon for so long. And hanging—for that would be their fate. I could not do that, even to them.”
“Did you ask who had hired them?”
“Hired them? I don’t understand. They are thieves.”
No merchant would find that a puzzling question. “A man who has reasonable work is not likely to decide to risk more than the very occasional pilfering of small items. What you describe is far too bold for a man working alone. Robin must have known he would eventually be caught.”
He shrugged. “I know nothing of how they work.”
Incurious employer. Unless Paris himself had hired Robin to siphon goods from the merchants who leased space in his warehouses.
“I have not convinced you,” said John. “Am I still welcome at your guesthouse?”
Interesting that should be his concern, considering he had no mistress at the moment. “Not with Agnes Dell. She has chosen to live as a beguine. Celibate, chaste. I advise you to disregard any rumors to the contrary. Have you a new mistress?”
“No. But—you saw Beatrice, how frail she is. A man has his needs.”
Kate had often regretted including him on her list of clients, but she had considered him useful at the time. She had thought she might lease some space in his warehouse on the corner. And she thought it wise to befriend her neighbors. At the time she had been indifferent to Agnes Dell. “You will remain on my list as long as I do not discover you’ve lied to me.”
John Paris shifted, uncomfortable in his chair. “I have not lied to you,” he said. “You don’t think I am somehow involved?”
She did. But she chose not to say so. Glancing down at his desk, she noticed that he was copying accounts from notes to a ledger much like some of Simon’s, those recording his business partnerships with Thomas Graa. And the powerful, wealthy Graa had a particular interest in warehouses. “I believe you once told me you were factor to one of the aldermen.” She lied. He had never admitted he was not his own man. “Was it Thomas Graa?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He might have some insight into Robin and his fellows.”
“If you should ask him—”
“Graa?”
A nod. “He will—” A great sigh. “He does not know about Robin, Carter, and Bran. I made up the difference in money to hide my mistake. If he were to lose confidence in me, there are many who would gladly take over the managing of his warehouse.”
Kate almost pitied him, but she sensed he still held something back. At least she had the names of the three men Paris had caught.
“What can you tell me of Bran and Carter?”
“Only that they were willing to do the work.”
“Carter—was he a carter? That’s surely not his Christian name?”
A shrug. “He went by Carter.”
She let him stew in silence for a few moments, then said, “Might I ask, how did you come to own this property?”
“Own this property? Oh, no, no, I pay your brother-in-law Lionel Neville a sizable rent.”
God help her. Of course he did. “And the warehouse belongs to Thomas Graa?”
A nod. “He sold the property with the two houses to Lionel when he and your late husband thought to live near each other. But then they had a falling out and Lionel leased the property to Leonard Dell and me.”
“Do you also work for Lionel?”
A sharp shake of the head.
“If I find that you have lied to me . . .”
A cough. “I put aside fine items I know he would like.”
“And price them low?”
A shrug. “A man does what he must to keep his landlord happy.”
“What else?”
“An errand now and then.”
“What sort of errand?”
“Delivering letters, for the most part. He does not like to travel through the Forest of Galtres, fears encountering robbers, so he sends me to his cousin’s men at Sheriff Hutton.”
More and more interesting. “In the past few weeks? Since the duke’s landing?”
John started to rise, but when Lille sat up he thought better of it. “Not of late.”
“Yes or no, John. I am not desperate for your patronage.”
“Yes. One letter. A week ago. I do not read them, I swear. I cannot tell you what—”
“Lionel sent you out there within the week? And you handed the letter to whom?”
“Sir Elric.”
“Did he seem eager for it?”
“I interrupted his dinner. He took it from my hands and waved me off to the kitchen for refreshment before my return.”
“Did you deliver an answer?”
John shook his head. “Dame Katherine, I am trusted by this man.”
“And so you shall remain. But the next time you have a letter, I want to know.”
“I cannot.”
Kate rose. “Have you any charges outstanding at my guesthouse? If so, make certain you have the money to hand. I will expect it within two days. Or I shall speak with Thomas Graa.”
“Why do you want to know about the letters?”
He was angry now, feeling used.
Kate shrugged. “I am a Neville, and Nevilles spy on each other.” She smiled. “Nothing dangerous. It is a game with us.”
He was sweating now. But he nodded. “I will tell you when I’ve one to deliver. But you will not touch it.”
“You are an honorable man, John Paris.”
He bowed, oblivious to the insult.
She thanked him and took her leave. Robin, Carter, and Bran. Bran. The name Nan’s mother had whispered to Jennet. It was he who had come for Nan. She shook her head as Alonso glanced up from where he was helping Beatrice eat. Kate called out a farewell and herded Lille and Ghent out the door. As she stepped out into the darkening evening she took a deep breath, relieved to depart that dreary house.
11
POISONOUS ROOTS AND PENANCES
Evening was settling in. Though the gathering clouds were still lit by the setting sun, down on the ground there was little light. Lille and Ghent flanked Kate as she moved down the alleyway between her mother’s house and John Paris’s. Though disturbing, the visit had been well worth it for many reasons—she had names for Robin’s cohorts, and a connection between Lionel and Sir Elric through Paris. Much to consider, including warning the beguines about the rumors being spread about them. So much turmoil. It was as if the contest between the royal cousins had poisoned the land. Unholy alliances running underground like the roots of invasive weeds were sending up shoots everywhere. Lionel, Elric, Griffin, Werner, John Paris, Nan and her lover, Beatrice Paris—Isabella Gisburne Frost? Her uncle, the dean? Her mother? Could she trust any of them? When even the anointed king might be toppled by men’s ambitions, where was the healthy heartwood?
“Who goes there?” a man’s voice demanded.
For a second Kate’s heart jumped, until she recognized Matt’s voice. He must be watching the Martha House. “It’s Dame Katherine.” She reached the edge of the house and stepped into the light from his lantern.
“God go with you, Dame Katherine.”
“By your presence I assume Griffin has not returned?”
“No. Jennet told us you were paying John Paris a visit. Was he of any help?”
“I have the names of two of Robin’s cohorts—Bran and Carter. Do either of those names suggest anyone to you?”
Matt seemed about to speak, but hesitated. Then, “I wonder. Could Bran be Brandon, the lout Seth’s father hired last Michaelmas? Was about to send him packing when he disappeared. With a few of Seth’s father’s best fletching tools.”
“I hope so. And I hope Seth would be able to recognize him.�
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“Oh, I expect so.”
“Any news of Nan?”
“No. Nothing.” As Kate continued on into the garden, Matt added, “Sister Agnes wishes to speak with you.”
Complain, more like. “Tell her to come to my house. I’ve been gone too long.”
She pushed open the gate, allowing Lille and Ghent to precede her into her own garden and through the open door of the well-lit kitchen. For a moment she simply stood in the doorway, drinking in the looks of joy mixed with concern on the faces of her loved ones. Marie scrambled to her feet and poured Kate a bowl of ale. Petra shifted to the floor, offering Kate her seat. Berend sat back, his muscular arms folded over his chest, shaking his head; he’d been worried. Jennet poured a bowl of water for the hounds.
“Bless this house,” Kate said as she settled and took a sip of ale. “Come, sit with me,” she said to Marie, who hovered, asking if she wanted anything else. “This is all I need for now. Would it trouble you if I told the others what you told me?”
“Not if it might help us find Nan.” Marie settled beside Kate and leaned against her with a sigh.
Kate kissed her forehead. “Bless you.” By the time Kate was recounting her own conversation with Brigida and Agnes, the child was asleep, her head heavy in Kate’s lap. She stroked the girl’s soft curls, remembering her own relief when a worry had been handed on to her parents.
Berend was nodding. “Friar Adam might be a key to the puzzle.” Kate listened with interest as Berend shared what he’d heard at the camp about the injured man left at the friary and the disagreement among the men who had taken him there. “What did John Paris have to say for himself?”
Kate started with Beatrice Paris and the impression Magistra Matilda had given her that beguines were to be shunned. While describing the unpleasant exchange, Kate noticed Agnes Dell peering in the doorway.
“Is there room for one more?” she asked.
“Come in, Agnes, do. No need to stand out in that chilly breeze,” said Kate.
Jennet was quick to offer her chair, hoisting herself up on a corner of the table near the fire. Lille and Ghent lay on their sides in the doorway. Lifting her skirts, her expression one of mild fear, Agnes picked her way between them. The chair received her bulk with a creak. She blew up on the strands of hair escaping her cap and fanned herself. The woman certainly burned hot. Berend offered a bowl of ale, but she declined.
“I cannot stay long. I intend to keep vigil with Sister Dina tonight.”
“Keep vigil?” Kate assured her that Matt was keeping the watch.
“Not that sort of vigil. Sister Dina is doing penance for all the troubles in our households and more. She intends to spend the night lying prostrate before the altar in prayer.”
“But she did nothing,” Petra protested.
Agnes agreed. “But she sees it otherwise. I’m here to offer my help in finding those responsible.”
Kate thought she understood Dina’s sense of guilt. “We see what she did as a courageous act, but she sees it as a breach of her dedication to God.” She wondered how best she might test Agnes’s sincerity. “Have you an idea where Nan might be? A friend who might give shelter to her and Robin?”
“I fear I have paid little attention to Nan’s prattle. I know nothing about her friends or kin. I regret that.”
She seemed sincere enough. “John Paris gave me the names of the two men he caught helping Robin steal from the warehouse,” said Kate. “Bran and Carter.”
“Bran. The name Goodwife Hawise whispered,” said Jennet.
Noticing Agnes nodding her head, Kate asked if she knew Carter—she’d already denied knowing anyone named Bran.
“I do know a Carter,” said Agnes, “and that he was part of it does not surprise me. Always complaining his work was not appreciated. And he had a temper. He once threatened my husband with a knife when Leonard caught him slacking on the job and reeking of ale. He was supposed to be loading a vessel down on the staithe. I heard about it for days. Leonard would not have him near the house after that, told John Paris he was not to load his shipments either.”
“Did he have any trouble with him after that?”
Agnes shook her head. “Do you remember Leonard? How strong he was? Berend reminds me of him.” Her eyes lingered on Berend’s bare forearms.
Kate remembered Leonard Dell as a man with a temper, loud, red-faced when in his cups, which seemed to be whenever he was home. But in form, perhaps, a little like Berend, without the scars, with more hair. No, it was impossible to compare the two. She simply nodded. “What of Bran? Still no memory?”
Frowning, biting her bottom lip, Agnes shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Were there any other troublemakers working for your husband or John Paris?”
“I knew only the ones who came for the midday meal. A dozen or more, and John Paris never shared enough of the expense. When I was told Leonard had been lost at sea, I put an end to feeding all those men, told John it was not seemly for a widow to have so many men in the house. I sent off the cook—he was none too pleased with being shown the door, but, truth be told, I was not easy having that one-legged letch sleeping in my kitchen.”
“One-legged cook? Did you hear that?” Jennet asked Berend.
Kate looked from them to Agnes, who was shaking her head. “Is he here? In York?”
“Fair-haired, pale eyes?” Berend asked.
“That is him. He calls himself Thatcher. Would never give me a Christian name. Slippery, like Carter.” Agnes looked round. “But what does he have to do with Robin’s trespass? Or Hans? He surely could not be Hans’s murderer. With one leg he’s not likely to have gone down the gardens at night. And Nan surely knows not to trust him.”
“What of the boarders?” Kate asked. “Who sent them to you?”
“John Paris arranged for the boarders, all respectable men, though not wealthy enough to rent a set of rooms in the city. I had no trouble with them. Nor did Nan. They watched her, but I made certain they understood I would have no such trouble in my house.”
Jennet stretched. “Much to sleep on. Looks like I should tuck in the children.”
Agnes rose. “And I must return to Sister Dina.”
As Jennet made to follow her out, Kate caught her arm. “A moment.”
Jennet settled back on the chair.
“We have a name, Thatcher, connected to the soldiers who plucked Robin away from Kevin,” Kate noted.
Jennet nodded. “Perhaps Friar Adam hired a thief he knew to be familiar with Agnes’s house, for the purpose of stealing the Christ child, but it all went wrong, so Robin’s mates then went after Hans, to force him to help steal it?” She frowned at the silence that met her scenario. “I know, but it fits together.” A shrug.
“Why did Friar Adam want the Christ child?” asked Berend. “If he wishes to spread rumors about the sisters, he need only join Magistra Matilda’s effort.” He shook his head. “Or was it Robin’s rescuers, the soldiers who took him to the friary, who then went after Hans?”
“But why?” asked Petra, rubbing her eyes.
“And how would they know Hans had worked for Dame Eleanor?” Kate wondered.
“He talked in his cups?” Jennet suggested.
Seeing Petra’s exhaustion, Kate thought better of more discussion. “It grows late. I think we will all be the better for some sleep.”
Within moments Jennet had Marie and Petra in hand and led them out the door.
When Kate and Berend were alone, she slipped off her shoes and settled on the high-backed chair Jennet had abandoned, closing her eyes. The packed earth floor was cool on her feet, the sounds of Berend gathering ingredients to make bread dough for the morrow comforting.
Her thoughts drifted to Agnes Dell, how humbly she had offered her help. No imperious posturing, her voice soft, her tone beseeching. This night she had truly become Sister Agnes, inspired by Sister Dina’s remorse.
Amends—her mother’s homecoming with the be
guines certainly seemed an act of penance. For what? She responded to any mention of Ulrich Smit by slamming the door on his memory—because she was wracked with guilt? She had embraced a work of penance—the beguines, perhaps coming home to be with Kate as well. Perhaps even her fatal interference in her son Walter’s life had been meant as amends. What had she done? And how might Kate discover it without pushing her away?
“What happened between Mother and Ulrich?” She spoke into the silence that had stretched out too long. “And why is my uncle so keen to remind me that Mother is a Frost, but I am a Clifford? He is warning me about something, and I believe it has to do with Mother’s silence on the subject of Ulrich Smit. How can I win her trust?”
“God knows you’ve tried. Stubborn woman,” Berend muttered, but he did not look up, the table creaking as he kneaded the dough.
Was he angry with her for the risk she’d taken with John Paris? As her brothers would have been? “I am home, safe, unscathed,” she said softly.
“God be thanked.” Now he looked up, his scarred face dark with imagined grief. “I would kill anyone who harmed you.”
“I can defend myself. I took Lille and Ghent, and was armed with a dagger and my axe.”
A long silence. She could hear Berend breathing, a rhythm that matched her own heartbeat. Lille turned over with a shuddering sigh, causing Ghent to shift and thump his tail. It broke the tension. Berend returned to kneading the dough, Kate poured herself more ale.
“It is strange that Dean Richard considers Dame Eleanor a Frost,” said Berend. “His brother’s wife. And she took your father’s name, she’s kept it. It is as if he needs to remove all connection with her.”
“I have never known my uncle to behave so. Could it just be the connection to the beguines? Has he heard about some incident in Strasbourg? Or is this not about Mother but about her nephew William Frost?” Kate drank down the rest of the ale, hoping it would stop her mind from spinning with questions. “If only Marie had come to me when the man asked about the Christ child. It was two days before Robin frightened Sister Dina. We would have been prepared, one of us watching the Martha House. I should have seen that Marie was troubled.”
