A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “She guards herself closely. How could you know? I noticed nothing out of the ordinary when she helped me in the kitchen, though now I look back and see that she has been too quiet, too courteous. I wonder whether the thieves moved when they did because Griffin was away, and they knew the house unguarded?”

  “That might have been any time,” said Kate. “Griffin had not planned to return to the Martha House. The sisters wanted no men on the property. But I see what you mean, Nan might have complained to Robin about not having a man around the house to see to the heavy chores. She inspired him to take the risk. Poor fool. I pray we find Nan attending Robin at the friary.”

  “I would not hold out hope. Would she not send word to her mother and the children if that were so?”

  “That worries me as well.” Kate reached down to stroke Ghent’s ears. “Werner and Griffin—Mother knows something about their disappearance, I am certain.”

  “They’ve been seen at Toft Green. Asking questions. They were not well received. A dangerous time to be asking questions of strangers, especially armed strangers.”

  Lille whimpered in her sleep, waking herself, shifting so that she was reclining with her front paws crossed, watching the doorway. Not yet on alert, but watchful. Perhaps she’d heard someone passing the kitchen on their way to the privy behind it.

  “What does Lionel have to do with any of this?” Kate wondered.

  “Perhaps nothing but that he seems to ally himself with the underbelly of York.” Berend wiped his brow, leaving a streak of flour. “Though no one seems to be behaving honorably at present. It was a bold move, for William Frost and the others to send money to Duke Henry. They are betting on Lancaster and want to be in his good graces.”

  “That is the prevailing wind. We never saw the number of soldiers we’d expected. And those who did answer the call are slipping away. It seems no one wishes to be remembered as having supported the king against Lancaster.” Kate rubbed her temples, her head aching with all the threads she was trying to follow. “Damn the royal cousins. Where do our troubles end and theirs begin?”

  Berend gave the dough a few more thumps, brushed off his hands, and covered the bowl with a cloth. He came round the table and drew her up onto her feet. “Time to rest. You will sleep better in your own bed tonight.”

  She touched Berend’s flour-streaked cheek. “You never fail me. I can say that of no one else, at any time in my life.”

  “My life is yours.”

  She was blessed with her loyal household. “Good night, my dear friend.” Calling softly to Lille and Ghent, she walked out into the night, heading to the main house, and sleep, if it would come.

  A soft rain had begun, the air sharp with the smell that presaged a storm. Kate stepped out from beneath the overhanging trees and lifted her face to receive the cool drops.

  He is the only one who has never failed you? You forget your twin.

  No, Geoff. You took a risk that led to almost certain death, and you lost. I lost. Having you in my mind is not the same as having you beside me, to fight beside me in the flesh.

  She felt the heat of her twin’s emotion. It was an old argument, never resolved because it was true. Lille made a soft sound and headed toward the hedgerow gate, Ghent following. Someone stood there, reaching out a hand, tentative, shy, letting the hounds sniff it.

  “Mother?” Kate stepped between the dogs. “Are you wakeful?”

  “I heard the rain. Smelled it. I love this moment, when the rain returns after the heat. Like a benediction, God’s grace lightly touching us.”

  A memory. Sensing her mother in the doorway of her tiny bedchamber. Eleanor had taken her hand and led her out into the fields. The trees rustling with the freshening breeze, the grasses swaying, clouds scudding across the night sky, making the stars wink out until the darkness was vast and terrifying. Too big! Kate had whispered. But her mother had laughed and told her that nothing had changed but the light, the sky was just as big in bright daylight as in a storm. But Kate could not stop shivering. Dance with me, Daughter, dance with me! Her mother had taken her hands and led them in a jig. Laughter rose up, and her fears were forgotten as Kate and her mother danced until they tumbled down in giggly exhaustion.

  “Do you remember the night we danced in the rain?” Kate asked.

  Eleanor reached out and touched Kate’s cheek. “I do. The memory is precious to me. For once you found courage in dancing in joy rather than in weapons and war dogs. You were mine that night. For one sweet moment before it all fell apart.”

  Kate took her mother’s hand and kissed it. “I am glad you are here.” She meant it.

  An intake of breath. Eleanor squeezed Kate’s hand. “Bless you for saying that. I wish—I should have told you at once. I set Griffin and Werner the task of finding Hans’s murderer. I believed they were better suited than you and your—household to do so. They know him far better.”

  At last, a slight opening. “Do you know where they are?” Kate asked, gently withdrawing her hand.

  “No. I told them to return when they had news.”

  A very slight opening. Kate could not think what to say that would not dislodge the wedge in the doorway.

  Eleanor leaned back as if to feel the rain on her face, a glimpse of the impetuous young woman her father once described as a forest sprite, never still, always flitting from place to place, never settling. Kate had laughed at the description, so opposite to her own experience with her mother, always sitting at her embroidery or the loom, urging her daughter to sit beside her and learn a woman’s ways. Finding fault with everything and everyone.

  “Sir Elric’s men are watching from across the way,” said Eleanor. “I invited them to come in out of the rain, but they said that was no way to stand watch. Shall I send Matt home? I see no need for him to stand watch in the kitchen tonight, with the men guarding on Hertergate.”

  For once Kate was glad that Sir Elric was still watchful. But it was not enough. “Their presence across the way merely shifts the trouble to the back gardens. Where Matt is.”

  Eleanor sighed. “As you wish.”

  “Sleep well, Mother.” Kate turned into the rain, which was coming down harder now, and ran across the garden, in turns buoyant with hope—perhaps she and her mother might heal the rift—and ready to scream with frustration.

  Up in the solar, as she stripped off her wet clothes, Kate questioned her purpose in searching for the reasons behind Robin’s trespass and Hans’s murder. If her mother preferred the help of Griffin and Werner, Kate was interfering.

  Except for Marie’s experience. And the men who had tried to take Lille and Ghent. But was the latter even connected to the incidents in her mother’s household? Doubts—could she afford this when lives might be at stake?

  Weary of heart, Kate worked her way into the crowded bed next to Petra, who was curled up against Jennet, who had an arm round Marie. Grateful for the warmth of her companions, she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

  Sometime in the night Kate woke with Petra’s head resting on her chest. Rain drummed overhead, wind rattled the shutters. She lay awake for a long while, imagining Berend lying near the kitchen fire, smelling of yeast and sweat and spices.

  In the morning, Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet down an alley off Colliergate to a tall, skinny house surrounded by a dirt yard and a noxious midden. Two young girls straddled a long bench set out of the rain beneath the eaves of the house, a pile of clothing between them. Wielding scissors meant for much larger hands, the children were cutting buttons and decorations off the clothing, dropping the trimming in a basket on the ground and tossing the stripped clothing in a pile that would be sorted into salvage and rags. They were tidy children, their gowns clean though much mended.

  “Piece work,” said Jocasta. “It brings in a little coin, along with what the two lads make sweeping out the shops on the Shambles.”

  “How long has their mother been ill?” Kate asked.

  “Since the birth of t
he youngest—little Ann.” Jocasta nodded to the smallest child. Kate guessed her age to be about five. “For a while Hawise’s sister helped out, assisting with baby Ann and teaching the children how to do the chores. She expected Nan to give her notice and return to take care of the family. When Nan refused, her aunt left. Families.” Dame Jocasta laughed as the two girls came rushing to her, asking if she had any sweets. “They live on the upper floor. Goodwife Ellen is there with Hawise now.”

  As Kate climbed the steep outer steps with Jennet, she imagined the children climbing them with buckets of water, food, coal, or peat if they were so fortunate. Exhausting work for a strong adult—she could not imagine how the children managed. Stepping through the open door, she paused to adjust to the dim interior. The chamber was loud with a painful wheezing in rhythm with a woman’s chant, “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out.” Hawise was a pale, skeletal woman who sat on a cot against the far wall, propped up on cushions. A large woman sat at the edge of the cot, nodding in encouragement as she chanted. One small window let in a bit of air, but not nearly enough to freshen it. Other than that the house was tidy, the bedclothes washed. Bless Dame Jocasta, this was her work, Kate was sure of it.

  The wheezing suddenly broke cadence as Hawise stirred and pointed toward Kate.

  Breaking off her chant, the large woman turned to her.

  Kate introduced herself.

  A nod. “Goodwife Hawise wishes to speak with you.”

  Hawise’s wheezing was more of a pant now as she reached out a hand, grasping Kate’s.

  “Bran. Nan’s cousin.”

  “Yes, the one who came for her?”

  Hawise shook her head. “No. It was not Bran who came. He must find her.”

  Jennet stepped forward. “Forgive me, Goodwife, I misunderstood.”

  “Who came for her?” Kate asked. “Did you know him?”

  “No.” Hawise held up a hand as she took a few labored breaths. “I’d never seen him.”

  “Forgive me for so many questions,” said Kate. “Can you describe him?”

  “Wore a hat.” Her gesture described a hat pulled down to below the ears. “No beard.” A shrug. “A man.”

  “Where might I find Bran?”

  “Thursday Market. Or Ouse Bridge. Crowds.” Hawise bit her lip and wheezed a few times, her breath catching at the edge of the inhale, as if trying for more. Kate found herself trying to breathe for the woman. “A cutpurse.” Another few labored breaths. “Or with my boys. Sweeping out the butchers’ stalls. In the Shambles. Blue eyes. Too pretty for a man. His bane.” Still holding tight to Kate’s hand, she shook it. “Do not tell him I told you. About the thieving. He thinks I don’t know.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. You trust him?”

  Hawise nodded. “Simple. Foolish. But loyal.”

  “I will look for him. We will do all we can to find Nan.”

  “Robin turned her head. Silly sot she is.”

  “If she has chosen to hide, where would she go?”

  Hawise shook her head. “Holds her secrets close, Nan does.”

  Goodwife Ellen walked Kate and Jennet to the door. “I would not count on Bran. He’s taken up with Robin and his lot, none of them meaning any good to anyone. Thieves for hire. Or worse. Bran is Hawise’s kin. She will not believe he’s gone over.” A nod. “Best to look for Nan yourself. She’ll be with a man, like as not.”

  “But who?”

  Ellen paused, thinking. “She’s friendly with the night watch. If any are unmarried, they might hide her.”

  “A bawd house?”

  “No, never. Nan’s determined to wed.”

  So were all the poor women left to their own devices, at least at the beginning, Kate thought. She thanked Ellen and hurried down the steps, Jennet right behind her.

  Joining Jocasta, who was praising the girls for their work, Kate asked the children whether they knew the man who had come for Nan.

  Both girls shook their heads.

  She asked a few more questions, but they were of little help. They’d seen enough to know he was no one they recognized, but there had been nothing that stood out about him.

  Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet away. “Children have poor recall of things they do not wish to remember, such as the man who took their sister away.”

  “Who will take care of them when Hawise dies?”

  “Ellen and her husband, Jed, might, if the landlord will agree to their taking over the room. Or the children might go into service. It would not have been much different had their mother been healthy.”

  As they walked toward Colliergate, hoods up, the rain coming down more steadily now, Kate told Dame Jocasta enough about Sister Dina that she would understand her fragility, her need for a kind, compassionate, gentle confessor. Jocasta meant to pay a visit to the beguines so that she might describe their needs to her confessor.

  “I cannot think how Friar Adam gained Isabella Frost’s trust.” Jocasta gave a little shiver. “A man devoid of heart. The sisters are best rid of him. I will ensure that their confessor is his opposite, one who listens through his heart. But may I say, Sister Dina could not have a better model for healing than she does in you, Katherine, the strength with which you protect yourself and your family, the wisdom with which you’ve chosen your household. At so young an age, you are remarkable.”

  Unaccustomed to such compliments, Kate could not at once think how to respond.

  “Forgive me for presuming,” said Jocasta, “but it is so.”

  “Your words are a gift. In truth, I do not think most see me so. I am all too often tormented by doubt. My mother disapproves. I fear the sisters do as well.”

  “Sister Dina would not have confided in you had she any doubt.” Jocasta kissed Kate’s cheek. “I am curious to meet Dame Eleanor.” With an enigmatic smile, Jocasta set off down Colliergate.

  “I am off to learn more of pretty Bran,” said Jennet, “and I’ll ask round the bawd houses. I will meet you at the deanery.”

  Wise and strong. Kate smiled to herself as she blended into the crowd of folk moving toward Holy Trinity Church, the rain forcing them to move with heads down, watching for puddles. She kept one hand on the dagger hidden in her skirt, more aware than ever of the number of armed men on the streets. Without Lille and Ghent flanking her, Kate was jostled by passersby far more often than was comfortable. The crowd thinned as she passed round the church, crossing into Low Petergate. A passing group of vicars choral greeted her as they flowed toward the minster, merrily shaking the rain out of their hair into each others’ faces. She followed in their wake, smiling at their casual banter, an argument about the best ale in the city, a complaint about the peculiarities of a particular canon, the strange echo in one of the chantry chapels in the minster. She parted from them in the minster yard—all but one, who strode along with her to the deanery. She tried to recall his name.

  “I was summoned to assist the redoubtable Dame Helen in packing,” he confided as Kate knocked on the door. “Can I satisfy her standards, I ask myself, or will she toss me out by my ear? But if there is any chance I might be rewarded with one of her custard tarts, or a meat pie, it is worth the risk.”

  “Packing?” Only now did Kate notice the carts, two of them off to the side of the deanery, one already sprouting her uncle’s writing desk and several chests.

  “Yes, they plan to leave two days hence.” He doffed his hat and bowed as Helen flung open the door.

  “There you are, Arnold. Two hours late, I note. Were you so wearied bringing the chests and packs up from the undercroft yesterday that you could not stir until now? Pitiful for a healthy young man such as yourself. Clovis has already begun. Shame on you. Go on, then, up the steps, you will find him up there.”

  “Sounds like no custards for my troubles,” he whispered to Kate as he trotted past Helen and disappeared into the hall.

  The dean’s housekeeper shook her head
as she turned to Kate. “Your uncle prefers these petted and pampered lads of the Church to ordinary hardworking servants. I will never understand how men’s minds work. They are quite a mystery to me. Now, my dear Dame Katherine, you are wet through.” Without bothering to ask permission she untied Kate’s light hood and held it away from her, tsking at the damp skirts and sleeves. “You might have done better with a cloak.”

  “Too warm. And I like the dampness after all the heat.”

  “Oh, to be sure, you flaunt your northern upbringing. Well, I expect you are here to say your farewells to the dean, and just in time.”

  “No. I had no idea. I came to ask his advice about Prior Norbert. Where are you going?”

  “The dean did not get word to you? He has been called back to Westminster. We leave Friday. Just two days hence. I do not know why we could not delay until Monday so we might have one more Sunday mass in the minster.”

  “Is he summoned by King Richard? Has the king returned?”

  “No, called by his conscience. The dean says he is needed there. The work of the government rolls on, and clear heads are essential.”

  “But it is so sudden. What caused his abrupt attack of conscience?”

  Helen shook her head. “Heaven knows.”

  “I don’t want you to leave!” Kate felt tears starting.

  “Oh, my dear, I will miss you, and all your household. I’ve grown so fond. Phillip was beside himself when I told him this morning.”

  “I believe it, poor child.” Kate’s ward, Marie’s brother, was living with Hugh Grantham, a master mason overseeing the work on the east end of the minster. As an apprentice, Phillip worked in the minster yard just outside the deanery, where he had stayed during a difficult time the past winter. He found solace in Helen’s kitchen.

  “I daresay you will now see far more of him,” Helen said. “He often tells me of the wonders of Berend’s kitchen. He’s another one I shall greatly miss, Berend, your rough giant. But I am keeping you from your mission. Your uncle is in his parlor.”