A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “Kneeling with him?”

  Phillip shook his head. “No, standing, though Dean Richard was still kneeling. The dean bowed his head and crossed himself while Griffin was talking.”

  “Could you hear what they said?” Kate asked.

  Phillip looked askance. “That would be spying.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Did either of them look angry?”

  “Both of them. Though I would say the dean was also sad. Bothered. Something like that.”

  “You’ve seen Griffin often? Near the deanery?”

  A shrug. “Now and then.”

  “And always alone except for last night?” Jennet asked again.

  A nod. “Is he trouble?”

  Kate looked at Jennet, who grinned at Phillip. “Not if he’s an honest man, eh? Come to dinner tomorrow. Dame Katherine has invited Helen and the dean. Berend will make something special.”

  “And then you’ll tell me what is wrong?”

  “By then I pray it will all be right,” said Kate.

  “So does King Richard, I’d wager,” Phillip said with a shrug, then took Kate’s hand and kissed it. “I will pray that you move the household to High Petergate.” With an impish smile he kissed Jennet on the cheek and shuffled back to take up his work at the grinding wheel. Several times he glanced back over his shoulder, lifting his hand in answer to Kate’s wave.

  “Wrong direction,” said Jennet as Kate turned back toward the deanery.

  “I need to know what business Uncle has with Griffin.”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Dean Richard was pacing the length of the hall when Kate opened the door, not bothering to knock.

  “We need to talk, Uncle.”

  He paused. “You have made your decision?”

  She waved that away. “I understand you and Mother’s Welsh retainer have had several meetings. One last night in the minster. Late last night. What is your business with him?”

  He brushed dust off the sleeve of his dark robe. “Ah. Griffin. Yes.” Head down, he took a few more steps, nodding to himself.

  Fashioning a good lie?

  “He seems determined to extract from me a promise to protect Dame Eleanor. I have explained that I have no armed retainers to offer her, and I leave the city in a few days, but still he persists.”

  “She is your brother’s widow.”

  “More recently Ulrich Smit’s widow.”

  “Is that it? Is the enmity between you and Mother about her remarrying before my father was cold in his grave?”

  A hesitation, his eyes sad, and then he gave a little shrug. “Perhaps a little. I do not think David was much mourned by Eleanor.”

  Kate would be a hypocrite to defend her mother when she, too, resented her hasty marriage. She returned to the matter at hand. “Does Griffin always come alone? Werner is never with him?”

  “Who is Werner?” The dean’s voice caught slightly. Lying? Worried?

  “One of Ulrich’s servants. She chose two menservants and Griffin to escort her here with the sisters.”

  “Werner and Hans.” The dean nodded. “I see.”

  Kate watched how her uncle avoided her eyes. “What do you know?”

  “What could I possibly know? Katherine, look to the children and depend on the strong alliances you’ve made in the city. Move to the house I’ve deeded you. A large house, large enough for your household . . .”

  “And far from Dame Eleanor.”

  “And near Phillip. He misses you. Perhaps I speak out of my own guilt in abandoning the lad. He has found comfort in Helen’s kitchen, and I’ve enjoyed evenings with him over a chessboard. He has a subtle mind and a quick wit. If he ever wearies of working with stone, I would not hesitate to sponsor him for the Church.”

  She could not imagine Phillip setting aside his hammer and chisels for the Church. “Tell me about your meeting with Griffin in the minster last night. You argued.”

  She smiled at his confusion, the high, noble brow furrowing. “We were observed?”

  “You were. It seemed an argument, Griffin standing over you as you knelt. What did he want?”

  “His message does not vary.”

  “So he came to you late at night, seeking you out in the minster—how did he know you would be there?”

  “I wondered that as well.” A flicker of something, so quick that Kate had only a vague impression. “Perhaps he is not what he seems? But his message is always about Dame Eleanor.” There was a hesitance in his answer, as if he warred with himself.

  “Come dine with us tomorrow, Uncle. Berend would enjoy the challenge of impressing Helen.”

  The dean bowed his head. “If all is ready for the journey, I would enjoy that. We can discuss my offer in more depth. I will send word to you in the morning, in good time.”

  They embraced, kissed each other’s cheeks, and parted.

  “So?” Jennet asked as they turned up High Petergate.

  “His story is that Griffin wants his word that he will protect Mother. He will not accept a no, no matter how many times my uncle says it.”

  “Dame Eleanor has set him to that? That might be what has so irritated the dean.”

  “That is just the thing. I do not believe she sent Griffin. Nor did Uncle suggest that.”

  “Would Griffin take it upon himself?”

  “God help us. Instead of answers we find more to question.” Kate did not choose to tell Jennet about the deed tucked in the slit in the lining of her sleeveless overdress.

  The prior’s apartments were more simply furnished than Abbot Thomas’s, yet the prior himself commanded respect with his aquiline nose, arched brows, and low, resonant voice. His smile was welcoming as he invited Kate to sit. Jennet had chosen to stay out in the yard, listening, watching.

  “I am grieved to tell you that the man you seek was injured beyond our ability to save him. He had been stabbed many times and badly beaten,” said Prior Norbert. “He died last night, with his friends round his bed.”

  “His friends?”

  “Bran and Carter, two ne’er-do-wells, I must say, yet they were loyal to the end,” said the prior. “Robin asked for a woman. Ann? But his friends said she had disappeared. He also asked for his brother Fitch but was told the man had been forbidden to come. By his master.”

  “Fitch? Lionel Neville’s manservant?” Kate wondered aloud.

  “Oh?” the prior brightened. “Is Neville Fitch’s master? I did not know.”

  Kate had had no idea that Lionel’s manservant was Robin’s brother. “Had he any other visitors? Anyone else asking after him? A woman, perhaps?”

  “No, no woman, and no one else that I know of, though his friends were keen to discover who brought him to us.” At Kate’s questioning look, he shook his head. “By the time someone answered the bell, there was only poor Robin. Shall I send for Friar William, the infirmarian? He might tell you more.”

  Kate declined the offer. Lionel Neville’s manservant Fitch was Robin’s brother. That was an unpleasant twist. Before she departed she mentioned Friar Adam’s visit to her mother’s Martha House and asked Prior Norbert to inform Adam that Dame Eleanor had made other arrangements for a confessor. She would not require his services.

  A pained smile. “His companion Friar Walter knows better than to encourage such visits. Rest easy, Dame Katherine. You need not fear his return. Adam does not have permission to offer such services. He is old, infirm, and, God forgive me, but he is much confused of late, believing that he has been given a mandate to purge the world of all sin.”

  “But I understood that he is confessor to Isabella Frost.”

  “Ah. She visits him often, it is true, but I had not known that he fashioned himself her confessor. I will speak with him, and with Dame Isabella.” He bowed to Kate, thanking her for the warning.

  “About Friar Adam’s confusion. Would he go so far as to tell Robin and his friends to steal something from the beguines Dame E
leanor brought to York in order to hold it up as a pagan idol—to defame them?”

  Norbert muttered something under his breath as he glanced away. “He did know something of the three rascals. We employed Carter for a short time.”

  Another connection. “You did? Is he here?” she asked, her voice crackling with excitement.

  “No, alas, he did not work out. Some items went missing.” A shrug. “I thank you for reminding me of my duty concerning Friar Adam. And I shall send word to Lionel Neville, requesting his advice on the burial of his servant’s brother.”

  Kate bit back a smile, imagining Lionel’s response.

  A sudden squall forced Kate to wait in the prior’s doorway, watching black-robed friars bustle past with their hoods up, hands tucked up their sleeves, feet squishing in their waterlogged sandals. As soon as the rain ceased, the sun burst out of the clouds and she needed to shield her eyes against the blinding glare on the puddles and the rain-heavy shrubs lining the walkway as she hurried toward the church, hoping Jennet had taken refuge within. She found her just stepping out from the church porch.

  “So. Did you speak to Robin?”

  “He died last night.”

  Jennet crossed herself.

  “Bran and Carter were by his side, but not Nan. I don’t understand—she loves Robin so. She would have been at his bedside if she could.”

  “I have not given up the search,” said Jennet.

  “Perhaps she does not wish to be found?”

  A shrug. “Even so.”

  “Nor was Robin’s brother, Fitch, at his deathbed.”

  “Lionel’s Fitch?” Jennet shook her head. “That’s a nasty bit of news. Along with Robin’s death and the dean’s odd behavior, a difficult morning for you.”

  “Yes, I believe he meant Lionel’s manservant. The prior hopes so. He now expects Lionel will take responsibility for the burial.”

  Jennet snorted. “He might as well ask the Devil for alms.”

  Kate agreed. “I think it’s time I paid a call on my brother-in-law.”

  They headed out onto Micklegate, passing William Frost’s grand house.

  “Your cousin will be happy to see the last of the campfires doused,” said Jennet.

  “It is a wonder that Isabella has not found a way to evict them,” Kate chuckled, but her spark of amusement flickered and went out. “I wish I could keep the news of Robin’s death a secret. Sister Dina—”

  Jennet pressed her heart, shook her head.

  They walked through an eerie, rainbow-sprinkled mist as the hot sun sucked the moisture from the street and the houses round them. The Ouse Bridge, with its buildings climbing up to the crest, shimmered in the weird fog, rooftops sparkling. The sun also teased out the stench of the fish sellers’ carts, by midday always ripe, but even worse now.

  “It’s a wonder we can stomach to eat fish,” Jennet muttered.

  “It’s Berend’s skill that makes it palatable.”

  As they passed the council chambers on the bridge, Kate called out greetings to acquaintances but kept most of her attention on the crowd milling round her. And then she caught a flash of movement, a disturbance in the crowd as someone pushed through. “Jennet, look. Over there.” Jennet looked where Kate pointed. “Bran?”

  He turned for a moment, and when Jennet saw his pretty face, she nodded. “That’s him.”

  Kate followed Jennet as best she could, but Jennet blended skillfully into the crowd, weaving among the folk who were strolling, talking to shopkeepers, greeting neighbors, trying to push their way through, hurrying to make their next appointment, or home. Kate stepped on feet as often as hers were stepped on, trying to stay in Jennet’s wake. The odor of bodies first soaked then heated almost gagged her so soon after the spoiling fish, and she stumbled, but Jennet plunged on. Ah-hah! Bran was forced to pause as he cut a strap. Long enough for Jennet to step behind him and lock him in a deadly embrace, pressing a knife against his throat, while with her other hand she twisted the wrist of his beweaponed hand until the knife dropped with a clatter, along with the cut purse. Bran was so poorly trained that he hardly struggled. Jennet easily yanked his right hand behind his back. She whispered something in his ear. He groaned, but moved with her as she inched them off the bridge and down beneath the pilings on the bank. Muddy, but quiet.

  As Kate joined them, Bran tried to kick out at her. She kneed him in the groin. He doubled over, Jennet not quick enough moving her knife from his throat. Kate saw the blood on her hand and hoped it was not a deep cut, else he’d be of no use to them.

  “I’m bleeding! You’ve killed me,” he gasped.

  “Clearly not.” Kate pulled him up by his hair, looked at the wound. “It is nothing. Tell me, Bran, why did your friend Robin risk his life to rob Dame Eleanor and her sisters?”

  He coughed, spit to one side, cleared his throat.

  Jennet grinned at Kate over the thief’s shoulder.

  “So, Bran?” Kate demanded.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Never mind. Who hired you and what were you after?”

  “You’re Mistress Clifford.” He strained to see behind her, into the shadows.

  “Ah, you fear the hounds,” Jennet said, controlling him with the arm she held behind his back. One strong jerk and he would collapse with the pain of his shoulder popping out of its socket.

  Kate took firm hold of his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze, preventing him from looking round to see what was near. “So you fear my hounds? My great war dogs?”

  “It was not me who robbed you, mistress. It was Robin, as you said, may he rest in peace.” He crossed himself with his left hand.

  Bad luck, that.

  “Yes, poor Robin. Now, if you tell me what I want to know, I will not set the hounds on you.”

  “But I—”

  “A generous offer,” Jennet said in his ear, startling him. “I advise you to take it.”

  He began to squirm.

  “Is there someone you fear more than you fear Lille and Ghent?” Kate gestured as if the dogs were right behind her and she was holding them back.

  Bran suddenly eased his squirming. Thinking he might be going limp to slip down, Kate reached out. Noticing, Jennet squeezed him tighter. Kate smelled piss. The fool had wet himself.

  “Just tell my mistress what she needs to know and I’ll release you,” said Jennet.

  “Our mate Thatcher offered us the job.”

  “The one-legged cook,” said Jennet.

  “That’s him. He said we was to be richly rewarded for the books—holy books—and a golden Christ child, from the chests up in the solar. Agnes Dell’s solar. We would receive more than we ever made at the staithes or the warehouses.”

  “He cooked for her,” Jennet said.

  “She turned him out without warning. And him a cripple.”

  “Who has done quite well for himself,” said Kate. “How did he hear about the items in the chest?”

  “That was Robin bragging of his Nan to the soldiers, hoping to join them. The soldiers Thatcher was cooking for.”

  “So why was Robin sneaking into the kitchen?” asked Kate.

  “For the key to the house. Nan had said—Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. And then, once he had the key?”

  “All he wanted that night was the key. In the morning, when the household went to mass, we would slip in, take the books and the golden doll, and slip away, tossing the key in the grass. Nothing simpler, said Thatcher.”

  “What happened when you did not succeed?” Kate asked.

  “Thatcher warned us to stay away. There were far worse things about to happen there. ‘You don’t want to be caught,’ he said. So we stayed away. Nan is not with you?”

  “No,” said Kate. “We are worried about her. You do not know where she is?”

  “No. God help her.”

  “What did they mean, ‘far worse things’?”

  “I don’t know. I swear!”
>
  “Who was Thatcher working for?”

  Bran shook his head. “He wouldn’t say.”

  “The soldiers he cooks for, they wear no livery. Whose men are they?”

  “Don’t know. Thatcher never said.”

  “Was he thieving for a friar named Adam?” Kate asked.

  “Where would a friar get such coin to pay us?”

  “How did you know you’d be thieving for someone with the money to pay?” Jennet asked.

  “He’s done well by Thatcher. Fitted him up with a better peg leg.” A shrug.

  “Not too sure about that, are you, Bran?” Jennet taunted.

  “One more thing.” Kate stepped closer. “Do not tell Thatcher that we talked. I will know if you do. I’ve a man in the camps.”

  “Could not tell him if I wanted to.” A shiver went through Bran. “I went to see him just now, to ask about Nan. But he wasn’t there. And the soldiers, they pretended they never saw a one-legged cook. Laughed at me. Bastards.”

  He kicked out instinctively, but Kate caught his leg and knocked him off his feet.

  Jennet grinned as she pulled him back up, supporting him until he found his footing. “Wouldn’t want the hounds thinking you were dinner, eh?”

  “I’ve told you all I know!” Bran whined.

  “Where’s Carter?” Kate asked.

  “Waiting for me on the other side of the bridge, behind the fishmongers.”

  Where no one cared to linger. Good choice. Jennet nodded at Kate’s look, let him go so suddenly that he collapsed in the mud. She kicked him. “Tell your mates to stay away,” Jennet warned. “The hounds will attack anyone who threatens the sisters. They feed them bits from the table. They are their favorite people.” She did not look at Kate as she lied.

  Bran rose from the mud, fists clenched. “I won’t be thrown in the muck by a wee lass like you.” The punch never came. He was on the ground with Kate’s boot on his chest, Jennet’s on a thigh. “I swear, I swear we’ll stay away.”

  “A pity you pulled Nan into your trouble,” said Kate. “How did you persuade her to help you?”