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 mother 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.”
“Yes, he has.”
“Nan tells me that his men called on you. Did he send a message?”
“They came to tell me of Kevin. He will likely remain in the abbey infirmary for a while yet. He is healing slowly.” They had also come for the letters. She had put them off for a few days—she was having them, including their seals, copied at the Franciscan friary, in case she should ever need to protect herself against the Earl of Westmoreland. Her mother’s confessor was proving useful, and resourceful.
“We will pray for Kevin.”
“Berend will tell him—he visits him quite often.”
“Berend has been so quiet . . .” Eleanor glanced at Kate.
“Yes, he has.” He had not sought out her company since Bishopthorpe. Always busy, or too exhausted to stay up and talk. Kate missed him.
“Berend—you care deeply for him . . .” Eleanor said, then shook her head. “Forgive me. It is not my place.”
“No, it is not, Mother.”
A moment of silence. “I am sorry Simon Neville turned out to be a fraud. I did not know.”
“Simon. He could not be farther from my mind at this moment. I am not sorry I married him. He loved me, in his way. Set me up in business, in a fashion. And he gave me Marie and Phillip.”
“But they are not yours.”
“No matter. I love them fiercely. As I do Petra. And you.” Kate patted her mother’s hand.
Eleanor shook her head. “You are such a mystery to me.”
They sat quietly for a while, until Lille and Ghent came trotting up the path and settled at Kate’s feet.
“Did Sir Elric’s men say whether Westmoreland has remained at Raby?” asked Eleanor.
“He has not. He is with Duke Henry.”
“Ah. There are rumors King Richard has returned from Ireland. That he is somewhere in Wales?”
“I have heard them as well. And that his uncle the Duke of York is unable to be of much use—unable or unwilling, depending on the rumor.” Most of his army had fled to the duke’s side.
“By Christmas we may know more than rumors,” Eleanor said.
Kate thought it might be much sooner.
A rustle of silk as Eleanor turned to Kate. “Will I ever see you once you are established in Petergate?”
“I will be your landlord. And Lille and Ghent love this garden.”
“Good,” Eleanor said softly. “When will we shift houses?”
“The week before Michaelmas? Would that suit? Your lease with Lionel would need to be renewed then, am I right?”
“You have seen a copy of the deed?”
“I have.”
“Cunning. You are cunning.” Eleanor rose, smoothing her silk skirt, her silk veil. “That will suit me very well.” She bent forward to pet Lille and Ghent, her movement stiff.
Her age—Kate so easily forgot how much life her mother had seen. How much she might learn from her.
Straightening, Eleanor touched Kate’s cheek. “I am moved by your faith in the good my sisters and I will do in York. Bless you, Daughter.”
Faith had no part in her offer. Kate simply hoped the sisters continued to be a calming influence on her mother, and that the Martha House kept her too busy to seek out more troublesome schemes.
“Time to head for home.” Kate rose and proffered her mother her arm. “It is quite a climb back up to Castlegate.”
Eleanor gazed up, up. “Mother in heaven, so it is.”