A Twisted Vengeance

by Candace Robb

  “What is this?” Dina gasped. “How did we not see?”

  “We see what we expect to see.”

  “For this Griffin killed Hans and Werner?”

  “It is why he let them live as long as he did, hoping they would lead him to it.”

  “For this, Robin died.”

  “Your part in his death was accidental.” Kate slipped the pieces of gold back in the pouch. “Forgive me for intruding. I will take this and leave you to your prayers.”

  Dina touched her face. “You are in pain as well. When you are ready, come. We will talk. Pray together.”

  “Do you have some brandywine up here?” Kate asked her mother. They were closed in her bedchamber.

  Eleanor waved toward a shelf near the window. Kate sniffed the contents of the elegant Italian glass bottle. Costly and strong. She poured only a little in the matching glass cup. Bringing a chair to face her mother’s, Kate sat down and handed Eleanor the cup. She was glad she had poured but a little, for her mother downed it in one gulp.

  “Now tell me all of it, and do not think to deceive me, for I learned much from Sir Alan and Dean Richard.”

  “All of it, you say.” Eleanor turned her gaze to the window. The skin sagged beneath her clear green eyes, remnants of her grief. Kate steeled her heart to it. “Where does it begin?” Eleanor whispered. “I wish I knew where to begin. Where it all began, when. Your birth? With David’s fury when I presented him with twins?”

  “I asked about Ulrich, and you want to talk about my birth?” But down she went, caught in her mother’s web. “What are you saying? Father was angry about my birth? And Geoff’s?”

  “That is when David pushed me away. ‘Twins,’ he roared. ‘I am cuckolded. You have shamed me.’ How could he, a Clifford, be so ignorant? Twins have nothing to do with how many men a woman has slept with. You were so clearly both our children—by his first birthday Geoff had my green eyes, you had your father’s nose and his wild hair.”

  Kate played along; she could not help herself. She had heard this about twins. Many folk believed it. But her father? He had never said anything like that, not in her presence. “He loved us.”

  “Oh, that he did. He loved you and you him. Never me. I was cast aside. You and Geoffrey adored him, and, seeing how he shunned me, you learned to please him by disobeying me. You wished nothing to do with me.”

  “Not true, Mother.” But was it? “Our hours at the loom—”

  “Yes. We had that.” Eleanor patted Kate’s hand, her eyes glistening with tears. “But you and Geoffrey were so different from your brothers Walter and Roland, so as one that I began to fear it did mean something. You knew each other’s minds, as if you shared a soul. A manservant called the two of you abominations. I sent him packing. And then, years later, the hounds. The four of you bonded so tightly. The master of hounds said he had never seen the like, how the two of you took to training them.”

  Kate had taken such pride in the master’s admiration.

  Eleanor held out the cup. Kate poured a little more. Her mother drank it down, her cheeks on fire. “Ghent paced and paced the morning Geoffrey went missing, and then he set up a howling. Long before Geoffrey’s body was borne home, Ghent howled. Lille joined in.”

  “I remember,” Kate whispered. As her mother spoke, Kate poured herself some brandywine. Drank it down. Such heartbreaking howls. She had known . . .

  “And the pain of your births—the suffering. I would bear no more bairns for David—though that was as nothing to him, he never again came to my bed. Perhaps you were a test. And I failed. But he loved you. He shunned me, but loved you so.”

  What had she ever known of her parents? Steady. That was a conversation for another time. “Ulrich, Mother. Was he murdered in the same way as Werner, his throat slit?”

  Eleanor turned her gaze to the window, looking out. “Yes. He looked just like Werner when they fished his body out of the river. That horrible wound in his neck.” A hand to her mouth. “The worst of it—I received a letter, unsigned, a fortnight before Ulrich went missing, telling me that he had betrayed David—that all the while Ulrich enjoyed our hospitality he was sending messages to the Scots, everything he learned from David—foolish, trusting David. I went through Ulrich’s things, found nothing. I confronted him. At first he denied it. Said the letter must be from someone who resented his happiness. Sweet words, sweet promises. But I refused to believe him. Memories were speaking to me. All the strangeness since we crossed the channel—the need for secrecy in Calais, the French escort to Strasbourg, how welcomed we were in the finest homes on our journey. French homes—they are the Scots’ allies, why had I not questioned him then? He finally admitted his betrayal, but he swore that his love for me was real, unplanned. It had tormented him. Oh, Katherine, I’ve been such a fool.”

  Kate fought the urge for another gulp of strong drink. Geoff was growling in her head as he had done since learning of the betrayal from her uncle. Silence, Geoff, I beg you.

  The quiet was so sudden she shivered.

  “Katherine? What is it? Someone walked on your grave?”

  Still no sound from Geoff, no sense of his presence. “The brandywine is strong,” said Kate as she fought to compose herself. “Tell me. You saw Ulrich’s body?”

  “I was meant to. I am sure of it. Some of Ulrich’s men found him. They had been searching for days. I quietly buried him with the assistance of a priest who had befriended me when I went to him for help after learning how Ulrich had betrayed me, how I had betrayed David, taking his enemy for my lover. I did not know how I might ever forgive myself . . . The priest was kind, arranging everything.”

  “You believe Ulrich was executed by someone who knew of his betrayal, who had written to you?”

  “Of course. They followed me, murdering his servants, discrediting me with rumors about golden idols and heretical writings. They mean for me to suffer all this and survive to remember. Monsters. Cowards.”

  “Ulrich’s murderer was hired by young Baron Clifford’s guardian, William Roos.”

  “Roos?” A gasp, and then a long silence as Eleanor took it in, her eyes moving back and forth as she made connections. “Oh, yes, I can see Elizabeth Roos behind all this, proud, overweening woman. A curse on her and all her family!”

  “When did Griffin enter Ulrich’s service?” Kate asked, drawing her mother back to the point.

  “What?” Eleanor blinked at Kate, as if she’d forgotten her presence. “Oh, yes, I’d . . .” A sigh. “In Strasbourg. We had lost a man on our journey. Oh, dear heaven, Griffin showed up as if summoned. Ulrich asked round about him. He seemed satisfied by what he heard. Griffin.” Eleanor crossed herself. “God forgive me, I sent Werner to his death. I sent him with Griffin in search of Hans’s murderer. I told them to disappear, then watch. I sent him to his death. But I never dreamed . . . He seemed so kind.”

  Kate’s uncle’s meetings with Griffin, always without Werner. She did not know if she would ever forgive him. “Why did they not just take Ulrich’s life, his wealth, and let you be?”

  Eleanor shifted uneasily, avoiding Kate’s eyes. “They could not find his gold. I am certain they questioned Hans, then Werner, before killing them. But neither of them knew anything about it.”

  Kate forced herself to sound surprised in asking, “His gold?”

  “The French paid him well for spying. Griffin did not find it. Not even the guardians of the gold know where it is.”

  Enough of this. Kate could not keep up the pretense. “By guardians you mean the beguines?” She drew the pouch from her skirt, took her mother’s hand, crossed her palm with gold.

  Eleanor stared down at it. “You toyed with me. How did you know?”

  Kate told her Richard Clifford’s version of the story. And Sir Alan’s.

  “Baron Roos and his sister Elizabeth.” Eleanor spat the words, though her mouth trembled and her eyes mirrored Kate’s own pain. “I am not at all surprised that they were behind this. Black
hearts, the pair of them, I have always said so. But why ask me, when you knew all this?”

  “I am angry. Angry that you did not tell me what had happened when you arrived. We might have prevented much of this had we worked together. You endangered all of us with your silence.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor looked down at her hands. “I—I was so ashamed,” she whispered, then closed her eyes, going silent.

  Kate helped herself to a gulp of brandywine and waited. The skin of her mother’s face sagged, her hands were spotted with age, the joints of her forefinger and thumb swollen. Kate fought the urge to apologize for her harsh words.

  Eleanor reached up to fuss with her veil, as if aware of Kate’s close study. “How did you guess where the gold was?”

  “When I heard of it, I remembered the man who approached Marie. And you did little to quiet the fuss about a golden idol. You go on about everything—but not that. You are clever, Mother. The sisters saw only the gold thread and so dismissed it.”

  An enigmatic smile. “There is even more gold. Much more. Before he was murdered, Ulrich sent it on to my elderly uncle in Hull. A peace offering to me. He told me to hasten home if anything should happen to him. Apparently while busy eliminating his fellow retainers in Strasbourg, Griffin missed Ulrich’s final sleight of hand. I’ve recently had word through your cousin William that his great-uncle awaits my visit.”

  “Were all Ulrich’s retainers murdered in Strasbourg?”

  Eleanor crossed herself. “All who had accompanied him to England. Some died before Ulrich. Why do you think Hans and Werner agreed to escort me? They had been in the party. They were frightened for their lives. Griffin suggested to them that they would be safe with me.”

  “And you agreed, knowing the part they played in Ulrich’s betrayal?”

  “They were servants, Katherine, not spies. Good men.” Eleanor’s breath caught. Softly, she said, “Perhaps Ulrich as well. His first wife was French, as was his mother. He and his wife fostered two Scots boys orphaned in an English raid.”

  “You knew all this?”

  “Only later, when he confessed. He said that by the time he grew to care for David, me, all our family, he could not—He had gone too far.” A sob. Eleanor fumbled for the glass. “I loved them both—David, Ulrich. I loved them both.”

  Kate took the glass from her mother and poured her a generous amount, which Eleanor dispatched with alarming speed.

  Kate’s own heart ached with doubt. How could anyone judge who was at fault, who was in the right? There were no winners in a feud. How could there be?

  “What will become of me?” Eleanor moaned. “When people hear . . . And what of the Cliffords? Surely the archbishop will demand justice?”

  Kate was relieved by the practical questions, ones she could answer. “His Grace is a reasonable man. He convinced me that it is in my best interest, and yours, that we allow the healing to begin. We have revised the story to make Griffin a solitary predator. Sir Elric and Dean Richard have agreed to it. Griffin preyed on you, a wealthy widow, doing his best to damage your reputation so that you would be dependent on him, and then he would slowly relieve you of your wealth. Your faithful servants saw through his scheme and fought to defend you, but Griffin was more than a match for them. The dean and the archbishop have seen to his punishment.”

  Her mother’s eyes shone with tears. “I—Bless you. Bless you all. But how will people hear of this?”

  “I will see to that.” Eleanor winced as if Kate had slapped her. Her tone had been sharper than she had intended. “I speak of healing, but there is still the gold. If you are determined to keep it—”

  “Not for selfish ends. I want to use the blood money to help others.”

  “The Martha House.”

  Eleanor nodded. “If any Clifford—or Roos—believes they deserve that money, that it should feed their greed, I will fight them.”

  “We will outwit them.”

  “We? You and I, Daughter?” Eleanor looked wary. “How?”

  Kate did not feel inclined to tell her mother of her deal with Elric. “We will speak another time. Do nothing until we speak, eh? Will you promise me that?” Kate held her mother’s gaze.

  “I do.” A slight flicker, there and gone again.

  Kate placed the pouch of gold in her mother’s hands. “Hide this well.” Rising, she thanked Eleanor for finally telling her all she wished to know.

  As Kate was closing the door, her mother whispered, “‘The fall is so deep, she is so rightly fallen, that the soul cannot fill herself from such an abyss.’” Kate must have made a sound. Eleanor looked up at her. “Marguerite Porete. She knew the pain of losing one’s way.”

  Kate shook her head. “Fallen? No. You tripped, Mother, and already you are back on your feet.”

  18

  PEACE?

  Throughout the following week, Kate called on the clients of her guesthouse. Those who had appointments that week saw her there, others received invitations to dine, after which a stroll in Thomas Holme’s gardens provided the necessary privacy for a confidential discussion. Each was told the sad tale of her mother’s betrayal by her late husband’s trusted retainer. When they balked, as some astute observers did, Kate reminded them of the delicacy of their business relationship. All went away agreeing to spread the tale. Indeed, by week’s end, Jennet reported hearing it throughout the city.

  Kate’s cousin William Frost was by far the most difficult one to convince. “Isabella will never believe it.”

  “Why? Because the tales she has concocted are so much more satisfying to her and her fellow gossips?”

  “Katherine!”

  But he agreed in the end, for he owed her a great debt. In winter, his lapse in judgment had threatened a scandal that would have ruined her, sneaking a man into her guesthouse, where he was murdered. The very man who’d carried the letters the Earl of Westmoreland was desperate to recover.

  “This will go some way to redeeming your debt,” Kate assured him.

  “I should think we are even now.”

  “No, I do not consider us even.”

  Though she wondered. There was talk he had already received assurances of being called to Duke Henry’s first Parliament. Perhaps she would be wise to make peace with him.

  At least she could hold out an olive branch. His daughter, his only child, was most precious to him. “If you wish, Sister Brigida can bring Marie and Petra to your home tomorrow, resuming lessons with Hazel.”

  A small smile. “Bless you. Hazel has missed the lessons.”

  “And see to it that Severen is removed from the night watch.”

  “Severen?”

  “See to it.”

  On a gray, airless morning a fortnight after her return from Bishopthorpe, Kate walked with Lille and Ghent in the river gardens, considering a request from a potential new guesthouse client. A widow who wished to entertain a distant relative who regularly traveled to York for guild meetings. Kate had set Jennet to finding out more about this relative, his contacts, his kinship ties, his marital situation. So far he seemed unlikely to cause trouble, but she wanted more information.

  Uneven footsteps on the path above her warned her of company a heartbeat before Lille turned her head and gave a little bark, a greeting. Ghent wagged his tail.

  “So this is where you come to hide from me,” said Eleanor, slightly out of breath. To Kate’s knowledge, this was her mother’s first venture down through the gardens to the river.

  “I have been next door all along, Mother. Hardly hiding.”

  “You said we would talk.”

  “I wanted to be sure of some things before we spoke again.”

  “I am your mother, Katherine, not a business acquaintance with whom you set appointments.”

  “Ah. But it is a business proposition I wish to discuss.”

  “Oh?” Eleanor fanned herself with a scented cloth, her face flushed.

  “Come, let us sit over here and talk.” Kate led her mo
ther to a bench between two apple trees.

  Before Eleanor sat down, she wiped the wooden seat with her cloth.

  “Thomas Holme’s gardeners clean the seats each morning, Mother.”

  “Never trust a man to clean anything with care.”

  Kate settled on one end of the bench, Lille and Ghent coming over to sniff her hands, then loping off to gambol near the riverbank.

  After one final wipe, Eleanor perched beside her. “So? What is your proposal?”

  “Instead of the house on Hertergate, lease mine for your Martha House.”

  “The one in which you are living?”

  “Not for long. The sisters might use the small house that fronts it on Castlegate as workrooms, perhaps even a small school. And you would not be tarnishing your wealth by giving it to Lionel Neville.”

  A long silence. “It is a generous offer, Katherine. But what of you?”

  “I have a house on Petergate.”

  “Is there sufficient room for your household?”

  Kate did not explain that she did not speak of the one beside the guesthouse. She had not yet told her mother of the dean’s gift. “That was what I was making sure of. We will be quite comfortable.”

  “And far from me.”

  Kate gave a little laugh. “I confess there is a certain appeal to that. But I will also be closer to Phillip and the guesthouse, and the Castlegate house will afford me additional income.”

  “You will charge me good money for the lease, no doubt.”

  “Of course I will. But you will have the satisfaction of helping ensure good futures for your granddaughter and Marie and Phillip.”

  A chuckle. “You are clever.”

  “So are you, Mother. So. What say you?”

  Eleanor reached for Kate’s hand. “How could I refuse? Thank you.”

  “I know I am not who you hoped I’d be, Mother. I never will be. Could not be. But I am satisfied with the life I have carved out here.”

  “We are perhaps both of us better off at the moment not complicating our lives with husbands. Though Sir Elric has behaved most honorably.”