7

A VIOLENT END

An angry challenge, a man’s frightened cry. Kate sat up in the dark, confused for a moment, the hall so dark, the bed so hard. Had it been a dream? Someone softly snored up above. Her mother. She had forgotten her mother’s snore.

“Halt!” a man shouted out on the street.

This was no dream. She thought she heard the pounding rhythm of people running. Not so near as Hertergate. Castlegate, more likely. Was it the night watch? Or Griffin?

Rising and slipping on her shoes, Kate felt her way across the hall to the garden door. Opening it, she paused a moment, listening. Men’s voices, quieter now. She stepped out into the garden. The blankets near the kitchen door had been tossed aside, as if Griffin had risen in a hurry. She went round the side of the house, moving with caution down the alleyway as she drew her knife from her skirt. Out on Hertergate she spied Griffin coming toward her, assisting someone who limped badly, a lantern dangling from his hand. In the distance, muffled voices again, then silence. The injured one tried to pull away at the sound of the voices, his lantern swinging wildly, lighting up shrubbery, the warehouse on the corner, himself. It was Severen, one of the night watchmen. Griffin said something to him and shook his head. They continued on toward her.

“Bloody-minded bas—” Severen cut off his curse as he noticed Kate standing in front of the Martha House. “Beg pardon for waking you, Mistress Clifford.”

She shielded her eyes from the light now aimed at her, inspiring Severen to mutter another apology as she relieved him of the lantern and turned to guide the two men back down the alleyway to the kitchen. Once inside, Griffin settled the injured man in a chair.

Nan stumbled out of her chamber, wrapped in a blanket, rubbing her eyes. “What is it? What has happened?”

“Severen was wounded in a scuffle with a group of drunk soldiers,” said Griffin.

“Soldiers, pah,” growled the watchman. “Cutthroat villains, more like. No livery that I could see. Here to cause trouble, they are. I say if they have no captain here to watch over them, let them camp outside the gates. They want access to the city for drinking and whoring and thieving, naught more.”

While Severen talked, Nan gently removed his hat and brushed the hair from his high forehead, revealing a long gash that bled profusely. She fetched water and a cloth and began to clean it as Griffin asked about the men.

“One of them was far drunker than the rest. They dragged him along.” Severen winced and waved Nan away. But she stood her ground, giving him the eye. He surrendered, sitting back and closing his eyes. “When I called out, they dropped him,” he said. “He lay there as they came at me. Three men, reeking of ale, such cursing as to please the devil himself. Before I had a chance to draw my dagger I was slashed, punched in the belly and kicked in the—” He winced again, this time from the memory, Kate guessed. But he smiled wanly and patted Nan’s hand as she wrapped a cloth round his head. Not so badly injured. “I finally dropped my lantern to draw my dagger, but they were gone on down Castlegate. Disappeared down the gardens, I think, going down along the bank of the Foss, trying to stay clear of the other watchmen, I’d wager.”

“Did they gather up the one lying on the ground?” Kate asked.

“Not right away,” said Griffin. “He’s right about the gardens. While I was helping Severen I saw several men dragging something off the road and down into Holme’s property.”

“I saw none of that. My head was splitting by then.” Severen followed Nan with his eyes as she took away the bowl of bloody water, pouring it out in the garden.

“I should have gone after them,” Griffin whispered, as if to himself.

Kate did not disagree, but she was chasing another thought. She drew him to one side. “Did you notice how Nan took over the care of Severen, and his ease with her touch, how he patted her hand? Yes, he winced at the pain, but he understood that look she gave him and gave way to her.”

Griffin watched Nan return, check her work on Severen’s head, and bend close to whisper something in his ear.

“Lovers?” he said.

“Perhaps not now, but they’ve been intimate,” said Kate. “I’ve wondered about her courage in walking to her mother’s house and back in the dark. And she’s apparently been unchallenged by the night watch. Could Severen be her escort?”

“Ah. Because Robin would have been challenged. If you are right, I wonder what he might know about this Robin?”

Kate nodded. “See what you can learn. I’m taking Lille and Ghent down through Thomas Holme’s gardens for a look round.”

“Just you and the hounds?”

“Matt will wake when I fetch them. I’ll take him along.”

“I have not yet earned your trust?”

“I’ve trained Matt to handle Lille and Ghent should I need him. You are still needed to guard here, remember? Now you’ve Severen and Nan.”

“Of course.” He caught her hand as she turned to leave. “Take Severen’s lantern. He will not be going out again tonight.”

He was right. Slumped in the chair, the watchman already slept. Kate took the lantern and stepped out into the mild summer night. Crossing through the hedgerow, she paused, listening. Was that a splash she heard? No, she was too far from the river. Her mind played tricks on her, the shadows secretive, mysterious. Shadows. The sky was lightening. She shuttered the lantern and could see the outline of the house before her. Whatever she found, there would be no more sleep tonight.

Lille and Ghent were at the door, ready for her, Matt standing behind them, rubbing his eyes.

“Has the intruder returned?” he asked.

“No. Trouble out on the street. They injured Severen the watchman, then headed down the gardens to the Foss. One of the men was either very drunk or injured. I want to see if they left him behind. I just need one item.” She slipped out of her shoes and padded up to the solar.

Jennet stood at the top of the landing, holding out the leather-sheathed axe. “The girls are tucked up in your bed. I heard you down below and retrieved this as quietly as I might, thinking you might need more than a dagger.”

Kate thanked her. “Keep them safe. I’m taking Matt and the dogs to the gardens.”

The four slipped from the house, down the alleyway, and crossed Castlegate. Kate opened the lantern shutter as they moved down into the gardens, Lille and Ghent leading. In the silence before the dawn their descent sounded loud in her ears and she glanced around, realizing how vulnerable they were with the light, the noise. But the hounds showed no sign of alarm, focused on moving down the hill. Matt limped more than usual as he kept up with them, though it had been months since an accident that had hobbled him for a while. The dogs led them to a tree with broken branches dangling, the ground churned up beneath.

“It looks as if something was dragged across that flower bed and over the rosebush,” said Matt. Easing himself down by the bush he teased a piece of cloth from the thorns, holding it up to Kate.

“Not something, but someone,” she said softly.

Now they dropped farther down toward the water, the hounds watchful, pausing now and then to sniff the air before returning their noses to the ground. Kate brushed against flowers and shrubs, releasing their scents. Thorns caught at her skirts. A root almost brought Matt down, but she reached out in time to steady him. Down, down they wound, the smells less sweet as they neared the water. In the quiet before the city awoke she could hear subtle interruptions in the Foss’s current, flotsam and jetsam thumping against the bank, eddies gurgling. Suddenly the dogs halted, standing alert, on guard.

She touched Lille’s head, Ghent’s, and they moved aside to flank her for protection. She handed Matt the lantern. He crouched down, shining it on a body. The man lay on his stomach, his arms outstretched, not crumpled beneath him—he’d not had time to break his fall. Drunk? Or already dead? Kate smelled nothing until she crouched beside Matt, then she caught the scents of urine, shit, ale—and blood, but faintly.

“God help us,” said Matt. “The intruder?”

“Let us roll him over and see.”

“I can manage.” Matt set the lantern aside, crab-walked uphill from the body, grabbed hold of the shoulder and hip closest to him, and began to roll the man, but stopped with a gasp as the head moved unnaturally. He looked to Kate, visibly sickened. “Neck’s broken.”

“I can help,” she said. “Go gently.” She held the head so that it moved with the body as Matt eased the man down on his back.

“Sorry. I’m not hardened to this yet.”

“Pray you never are.”

He sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead, then turned and emptied his stomach.

Kate shone the lantern on the dead man’s battered face. “Hans,” she whispered. One of the menservants her mother brought from Strasbourg. As the beguines were accustomed to having no men on the premises, the two menservants had gone to work for Thomas Holme for most of the spring and summer. She crossed herself, saying a silent prayer for his soul.

She had seen bodies more badly beaten, but, as with Matt, she hoped she never found it easy to witness such suffering. Hans’s nose had been broken, the blood crusting his face, and beneath that, bruises discolored the flesh. She lifted his hands, examining his fingers. A few split knuckles. He’d fought back. Whoever had done this might wear the scars. Another broken nose? A blackened eye?

“A brawl,” Kate whispered to herself, thinking of what Griffin had seen at the camp on Toft Green, and later what Severen had described. But Hans had impressed her as a gentle man.

“To the death,” Matt said. His breathing was easier.

“So many soldiers in the city,” said Kate. “Any one of them might have the strength. They are all hungering for blood.” Thinking of Griffin’s description of the men dragging the body off Castlegate and into the gardens, she added, “I pray Severen can provide some description.” But why here? In the garden? Mere chance that he fell on the street above it?

Matt lifted the man’s tunic and shirt. “I see no sign of a wound that would have bloodied Sister Dina,” he said. “Shall I check his arms and legs?”

“That can wait until later, when he is stripped and washed, prepared for burial.”

Kate gave Lille and Ghent the order to track. They led her down to the water, sniffed along the bank, then sat, looking out over the water. She remembered the splash she thought she’d heard.

Matt was close behind, clearly preferring not to be left alone with the corpse. She understood. “Thomas Holme should know at once. Go to him. Ask him to send a servant to the sheriff. He may want to return with you to watch the body. If not, ask if Hans’s friend Werner is there, and bring him back to wait with you.”

Matt nodded and headed up the hill.

Leading the dogs back to Griffin and Severen, she found Griffin curled up beneath his blankets, seemingly asleep. Severen still snored on the bench in the kitchen. And Nan? The door to her bedchamber swung wide. No Nan. Kate slipped back into the hall to check whether the maidservant was there. There was enough light coming through the chinks in the shutters to see her mother kneeling on a prie-dieu before the lady altar.

She glanced up. “Katherine?”

“Have you seen Nan?”

“Was she not sleeping out in the kitchen?”

“She was, but not now.”

Nan had slipped through their fingers. Griffin’s fingers. And Severen’s. The two of them were worthless. Cursing under her breath, Kate started for the door.

“What is it?” her mother asked. “What is wrong?”

“Finish your morning prayers, Mother.” There would be time enough to tell her of Hans’s death.

Out in the garden, Kate kicked Griffin’s feet to wake him. How could the man sleep through such a night?

He grumbled as he sat up, then cursed to realize he had fallen asleep on watch.

“Cursing does not undo it,” she said.

He scrambled to his feet. “Did you find something?”

“A body in the gardens. Near the riverbank. Hans.”

“God have mercy. Murdered?”

“Neck snapped. But he’d been beaten before that. He reeked of ale. A drunken man with a strange accent accosted by carousing soldiers? Would that you had gone after the men.” Kate turned away from him, finding his pathetic expression annoying. “I haven’t the heart to tell Dame Eleanor until after her morning prayers.”

“Hans.” Griffin spoke the man’s name, then went quiet.

Kate glanced back, saw him cross himself and whisper a prayer, then rake a hand through his bright hair and call a curse down on himself. Had he any training as a guard?

“Why did I help Severen instead of chasing after the men? I might have saved him.”

Despite the pain evident in Griffin’s voice, Kate could not be bothered masking her own regret in trusting him. Hans was a good man. He’d deserved better. “Why indeed?”

“You’ve every right to take that tone with me. Did you see any trace of them?”

“Lille and Ghent lost the scent at the river.”

“The men swam away?”

“Unless they had it planned and set a boat down there for their escape.”

“I cannot—Why did I choose to help the watchman? But I did not recognize . . . I would not have left Hans lying there. I might have saved him. Dunderhead!” He kicked the tree.

“Petulant and pointless,” Kate muttered. “It is possible Hans was already dead.”

“He might not have been dealt the final blow, his neck not yet broken. I want to see him.”

“Go. Matt should be there. And maybe Thomas Holme and one of the sheriffs’ sergeants. But what did Severen tell you?”

He paced away from her, shaking his head, muttering to himself.

“You can curse yourself later. Tell me what you learned.”

Deep breath, one last muttered curse. Then he faced her. “You were right to suspect he was helping Nan move through the city at night when he had the watch. But he believed she was caring for her mother. He swears he knew nothing of a lover.”

“Does he know what sort of man Robin is?”

Griffin shook his head. “I didn’t ask. I thought we would ask Nan—”

“Nan is gone.”

“What? I failed with her as well? Bloody worthless—” He turned on his heels, storming into the kitchen, cursing at Severen.

The injured watchman stumbled out holding his crotch, blinking at the soft dawn light.

“Go piss over there.” Kate pointed to the midden as she handed him his lantern, then called to Lille and Ghent and went to lean against the hedgerow gate, struggling to set aside the emotions that clouded her thoughts.

Breathing deep, she trained her gaze up into the arching branches of the plane tree, its broad trunk almost touching the wall of the kitchen. It provided refreshing, dappled shade on summer days. Kate imagined Agnes Dell standing in the garden, dreaming of raising a brood of children who would tumble about beneath the strong limbs of this great tree. She wondered whether Agnes had been happy with Leonard Dell, what had driven her to become John Paris’s mistress. Perhaps the lack of children, perhaps loneliness with Leonard so often away. On his death, had Agnes been disappointed to discover her husband’s secrets, as had Kate? She straightened as Griffin stepped out from the kitchen.

Shoulders hunched, his face pale, the man looked beaten. “You must think me the greatest fool.”

Perhaps not the greatest, she thought, but he’d certainly no mind for guard duty. What had Ulrich seen in him? “Your mistake was lying down and covering yourself. I doubt Nan will come to harm. It’s dawn, and she seems to know the watchmen. Go now, see the body. Severen can take himself home.”

Once both men were gone, Kate returned to the kitchen, pouring water from a pitcher into a wide bowl, setting it on a bench for the hounds. She availed herself of a small bowl of ale from the jug in the cupboard, taking a seat on the bench Severen had vacated. She sat there a long while, going over all that had happened, searching for a pattern. Nan and Robin—who was he? Might the two be connected with Hans, and the unliveried soldiers encamped at Toft Green? She sat there long enough that she witnessed the three beguines depart for morning mass across Castlegate and Rose come out to the kitchen to fetch ale for her mistress.

“Shall I fold up your blankets, Dame Katherine?”

“Yes. If you would put them by the door, I will fetch them later.”

Kate almost rose to follow her back to the main house. This might be the time to prepare her mother, tell her about Hans before the sheriffs’ sergeants came sniffing around. If they could be bothered. Too often they simply called for the coroner to record the death and let it be. A servant, with no family in York, who would care? But she did not go to her mother. Instead she sat a while longer, until she heard Berend moving about in the garden across the hedge. She was about to go break her fast with him when she noticed Lille and Ghent sitting up, ears pricked. Now she heard it—voices in the alleyway, men’s voices. Signaling the dogs to stay and be still, Kate moved back into the shadows where she might watch undetected, knife at the ready.

Two Dominican friars stepped into the garden, one, slightly stooped, keeping a grip on the other’s forearm. As they moved closer, the white gowns beneath their black mantles caught the light, as did the milkiness of the stooped one’s eyes. Aged, dependent on the younger to guide his steps. Kate did not know them, but the younger knew which entrance to use, moving straight to the hall door. He rapped on it, waited, then rapped again. Rose greeted them respectfully, explaining that the sisters were at mass and her mistress was just dressing.

“We come unannounced, I know,” said the elder friar, “but Dame Eleanor will wish to see us.”

The maidservant bowed them in.

Two friars, unannounced. Dominicans. Their friary stood beside Toft Green, near the crowded military encampment. They might know something of use. Kate was deciding whether to follow them into the hall and introduce herself when Sister Brigida came down the alleyway.

“Benedicite,” she called out to someone invisible to Kate who must be standing at the hedgerow gate. “Clara and Dina stayed to talk with Magistra Matilda after morning mass, but I excused myself as soon as I might do so without offending the good woman. Are the girls ready for their lessons?”

“They have just tumbled into the kitchen,” Jennet responded. “You need not have hurried.”

Kate replenished the hounds’ empty water bowl and stepped out into the garden, joining the two at the gate.

Jennet caught something in Kate’s expression with one glance, giving her a questioning look. Kate shook her head. Not now.

Turning back to the beguine, Jennet asked her if she’d had a difficult night. Brigida looked far from rested.

“You can see that?” A weary smile. “Sister Dina did not rest easy, so neither did we. Clara and I took turns getting some rest while the other was there to whisper soothing words when Dina wakened, frightened. She is plagued with remorse for injuring the intruder. She cannot accept that she had little choice.” A yawn. “We had managed to calm her when a brawl broke out on the street. I heard you out there, Dame Katherine. I pray no one was hurt.”

“You are right about the brawl,” said Kate. “Are you certain you wish to tutor the girls today?”

“Bless you, yes. Nothing I say or do serves to calm Sister Dina for long, and I grow impatient with myself. I wish to care for the ill, the poor, the troubled, yet I cannot even comfort my sister. So it is good to have a purpose outside the house today.”

“You might want to wait until the others return, so that you might all meet the friars who have called on Dame Eleanor.”

Brigida tilted her head, looking puzzled. “Friars?”

“A pair of Dominicans. They await my mother in the hall. Apparently they were not expected, but assured Rose they would be welcomed.”

Brigida smiled. “I should think that is good news. In Strasbourg we were guided by members of the Dominican friary near our house. A friar might be a comfort to Dina.”

“Have you learned any more from her about that night?” Kate asked.

“No. Clara and I were so glad she wished to attend mass this morning we did not pry. We thought to let her speak about it in her own time.”

“We might not have the leisure of such patience,” Kate said. “The brawl on the street did end in violence. And death.” She told them about finding Hans’s body, and what Severen had witnessed.

“Hans, gentle Hans.” Brigida’s voice broke. “God have mercy.” She bowed her head in a silent prayer.

“Matt is alone with the body?” Jennet asked.

“Griffin is there. And soon the sheriff. Possibly Thomas Holme. And Werner. I thought he would wish to be there.”

“Poor Werner,” said Brigida. “He misses Strasbourg. Hans was his last link to it. Werner seemed most at ease in his company. Does Dame Eleanor know?”

“Not yet. I will tell her after the Dominicans depart,” said Kate. “I know I can trust you not to speak of this to anyone. Watch the girls closely today.” She told them about Nan waking, thinking Kate was her lover Robin sneaking in, how she had helped with Severen, then disappeared.

“The nights caring for her ailing mother were a lovers’ tryst.” Jennet nodded. “That explains much. Was he at her mother’s house on the night of the intruder?”

Brigida looked from one to the other as Kate shook her head. “Do you think it was him? That Dina surprised Nan’s lover coming into the kitchen?”

“Nan said that it was the one night he had not appeared at her mother’s house,” said Kate. “But it is dangerous to judge when we know so little. I am hoping she fled to her house. I need to talk to Berend before the sheriffs’ man arrives, ask him to go see if Nan is there.”

Kate paused a moment, observing the men arriving for work in the small warehouse that sat on the corner of Hertergate and Castlegate. The warehouse was managed by John Paris, the employer of Agnes’s late husband, Leonard. He lived across the alley from the Martha House, and, as Kate had learned yesterday, at one time entertained Agnes in the guesthouse. “But first, I’d like to know whether there is a night watchman in the warehouse.” She lifted a hand in greeting to one of the men and strolled over to the adjoining yard to talk to him.

Eleanor stood on the landing, observing the unexpected visitors. The two black-mantled friars stood before the small altar that held a statue of the Blessed Mother, which she and the beguines had dressed in colorful silks, the table draped with an altar cloth embroidered with motifs from the life of the mother of Christ. Offerings from the sisters lay at the Virgin’s feet—delicate shells, stones, and other precious objects. Framed by the painted walls, the altar was the colorful center—indeed, the heart—of the hall. The friars’ dark mantles and white robes looked out of place before it.

One of them was elderly, large but stooped, the other a stocky young man. The elder picked at the offerings on the altar with clawlike hands speckled with age spots, pursing his lips, drawing his wrinkles downward. Sour old man, Eleanor thought. Who was he to disapprove their sincere devotion? She cleared her throat and descended the steps.

As the subject of her distaste turned toward her, she saw that his eyes were milky with age and wondered whether he could even see the items he’d handled. How had he known they were there? His companion? The other was young, barely past his novitiate, Eleanor guessed, with a cherubic face marred by a dark red birthmark that splashed his left cheek and forehead. He leaned close now to whisper something in his elder’s ear. Yes, that was his role, he was his master’s guide. And just as lacking in courtesy.

The elder smiled on Eleanor, bowing and offering a blessing. “Benedicite, Mistress Smit.” One might almost doubt that he was blind, he aimed his sightless gaze so naturally. She guessed he had not always been blind.

“Mistress Clifford. Smit is such an ugly name. But I prefer Dame Eleanor.”

“My pardons, Dame Eleanor. I am Friar Adam, of the Dominican house of St. Mary Magdalene. I am answering your call for a cleric to guide your poor sisters.”

She gave him a slight bow, though only his companion could see it. Answering her call, was he? She had made no public request. Not so hasty, you ill-tempered friar. She cleared her throat. “Beguines, not poor sisters. They go out into the world and earn their keep as well as caring for the people of the city. Welcome to my Martha House, Friar Adam, and . . . ?” She gazed pointedly at the younger man.

“This is Friar Walter—my eyes, as it were,” said Adam.

“And Friar Walter.” She nodded to the young man. “You are his eyes and he is your mouth?” She chuckled. “Be easy, I pray you. We all walk the path of love, as revealed by the teachings of Christ, our Savior. Love is a happy virtue.”

“Beguines.” Friar Adam sniffed. “You would do well to remember His Holiness Pope Clement condemned them as heretics.”

It was Eleanor’s turn to sniff. This sneering, sniveling toad of a friar would not do for her Martha House. But she must extend the sisters the courtesy of allowing them to meet him and come to their own decision. She was confident they would see his closed mind and follow her in deeming him unsuitable. “Sisters Clara, Brigida, and Dina do not presume to preach but confine themselves to good works. I should like them to meet you. Unfortunately you have arrived as they are attending mass at St. Mary’s. Might I offer you refreshments while you wait?” She signaled to Rose to fetch a tray.

“You are most kind, Dame Eleanor.” No longer smiling, Friar Adam pressed a hand to his heart. “May God bring peace to this household.”

“I have found immense peace in the company of the beguines. While we wait, I might ask your advice in bringing a new sister into the household.”

“This would be Agnes Dell?”

“You are quite knowledgeable about us, considering none of this information comes from me. I believe you owe me the courtesy of telling me how you came to know so much—that I sought a confessor for the house, and that Agnes Dell had asked to join the sisters.”

“I have the honor of being Dame Isabella Frost’s confessor.”

“Dame Isabella. Yes. I see.” Oh dear me, of course, how did I not guess? This officious creature would appeal to that tiresome woman. Eleanor folded her hands. “And Agnes Dell?”

“This was her home, was it not?”

“It was indeed, though how you would know that I cannot fathom. No matter. Now you are here, I will of course do you the courtesy of an interview. Let me see . . .”

She studied the disagreeable pair. The old friar’s face had gone briefly crimson—the subtle insult of a test was not lost on him. But he quickly recovered, bowing to her.

“How would you advise us to bring Agnes Dell into the fold?” she asked. The overbearing were so easy to bait.

Adam produced a smile meant to be beneficent, but the milky eyes lacked expression and the man’s breath was sour. “First, you should have her speak with me, tell me why she chose to make such a change.”

“And what would you seek in her answer? A spiritual yearning?”

“It is for her to say. If her answer was satisfactory, I would instruct the sisters to ensure that one of them accompany Dame Agnes at all times for the next few months. After our weekly meetings they would tell me all that they observed as she goes about her day. In confidence, of course.”

Of course. You would not want Agnes to know what the sisters said behind her back, you miserable . . . Eleanor breathed deeply. “Yes? Go on, I pray you.”

“In such wise, we might arrive at the best advice for the woman going forward.”

The woman. Poor Agnes, to be the subject of such scrutiny. Under such treatment she would come to question her decision, regardless of whether or not her vocation was deemed sincere. Eleanor felt Walter watching her closely. She turned her gaze on the youth, staring him down until he averted his eyes, making a great study of his hands. Neither of the friars reflected the same warmth as the beguines. She wondered who had observed them, judged them fit for God’s work.

Admittedly, she and the sisters all agreed that the life of a beguine might not be what Agnes had expected, and as for any potential sister, they had advised Agnes to look into her heart for the next few months and ask God’s guidance in her decision. It was also customary that sisters go forth in pairs. But to spy on the woman and tattle to their confessor, especially this cold creature who was overdue for his grave—Eleanor saw no love and compassion in such an instruction. Her smile to Friar Adam was more a baring of teeth.

“Your daughter, Mistress Neville—” he began.

“Clifford. But you may refer to her as Dame Katherine.”

“Dame Katherine.” He bowed. “She is a singular woman. I have heard disturbing tales about her and the men in her household.”

Eleanor bristled. Friar Adam was nothing more than a common gossip. “My daughter has taken in three orphans and given them a good, loving home. In such times as these, with soldiers setting up camp in Toft Green—so close to your abbey, Friar Adam, you must be aware of them—I count my daughter wise and responsible to have men in the household who can defend the children, as well as herself, a young widow. Do you take offense at such precaution?”

Adam’s smile was stiff as Walter took the cup of wine Rose proffered his master and placed it in his hand. “My mistake, Dame Eleanor. The arrangement as you describe it is most admirable. Though, as she is a widow, a great temptation to the men in her household.”

Ah, me, poor clerics, how they fear their bodies. Eleanor merely smiled, stubbornly saying nothing, though her mind conjured delicious retorts about where weak men go to hide. Walter leaned close to his master and whispered in his ear, no doubt describing her smile. Fit to burst, Eleanor was about to excuse herself and cross Castlegate to fetch the sisters when the beguines appeared at the garden door. God be thanked. Before the introductions could be made, Eleanor herded them back out to the garden with a vague excuse to the friars and assurances that they would not be long.

“Dame Eleanor, I do not wish to be discourteous, but the good friars, we wish to meet them,” said Sister Clara, her round, usually placid face reddened with the perceived slight to the holy men.

“Good friars they are not, which you will discern once you speak with them,” said Eleanor. She gave them a brief account of Adam’s sour and judgmental opinions.

“Mon Dieu,” murmured Brigida.

“How unfortunate,” said Clara.

Sister Dina, her face flushed with health once more, gave Eleanor a hug. “Bless you for warning us. I had thought to confess to him.”

How Eleanor would love to overhear such a confession. What did Dina remember of her ordeal? But the Dominicans must hear nothing of that night. “I feared as much. Say nothing. Tell them nothing. They believe they already know all, so they will hardly notice.” Eleanor kissed Dina’s cheek, nodded to Clara and Brigida. “We can and will do much better. Now go, send them off with all courtesy.”

Before turning toward the door, Brigida touched Eleanor’s arm. “Dame Katherine has something to tell you.” The three swept into the hall, shutting the door behind them.

Eleanor smiled to herself as she imagined Friar Adam’s surprise when he was shown the door.

Gazing out at the garden, she discovered an interesting tableau—Katherine and Griffin with their heads together, talking earnestly, the great wolfhounds lounging in the kitchen doorway. She approached them.

Kate had watched with interest as her mother swept the sisters back out into the garden with that scheming look of hers. But Griffin had interrupted her attempt to listen in. Irked, she was glad to see her mother approaching.

“Such a tiring pair,” Eleanor said as she reached Kate and Griffin. “Dominicans. Always preaching.”

“But you have asked them to guide your Martha House?” Kate asked, confused.

“Oh, no, they seem to have chosen me. Or, rather, Isabella Frost prompted Friar Adam to do so.”

Kate felt her jaw tightening. What was Isabella’s interest in this?

“I have warned the sisters,” Eleanor went on. “They know to send them off with all courtesy. York is full of holy men eager to guide impressionable young women. We will find someone suitable anon.” The excitement in her mother’s voice belied her weary sigh. “You are York’s Mary Magdalene to him, by the way, Katherine. I defended you sharply. But now I wonder—as she is the saint to whom their friary is dedicated, perhaps I misunderstood.”

Ignoring her mother’s attempts at humor—Kate was in no mood—she brought it back to the point that troubled her. “Isabella Frost,” she said. A meddler and a gossip, her cousin’s wife had bowed to her husband’s insistence that they host Eleanor and her beguines when they first arrived in York, but she had made no secret of her distrust and disapproval. The intolerable situation had inspired Eleanor’s hasty acceptance of Agnes Dell’s offer. “It bodes ill that she should take such an interest.”

“I did wonder.” Only now did Eleanor look closely at Kate and her companion. “Brigida said you wished to speak with me. What is it? What has happened? Is it Nan?”

Kate touched her mother’s arm.

Eleanor winced. “Nothing good follows such a gesture. Tell me, Daughter.”

“Nan is gone,” said Kate. “I trust she has simply joined Dame Agnes at her mother’s house. But there is harder news. Hans is dead. Murdered.”

Eleanor gasped, shaking her head and looking to Griffin, but he was moving off toward the kitchen, his back to her.

They knew something, Kate realized. She took her mother’s arm and escorted her after Griffin.

“For once could you not have tamed your unruly hair before you stepped out?” Eleanor blurted.

“My hair is the least of our concerns,” Kate said, hating herself for reaching up to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.

Eleanor sank down on the bench to which Kate had led her, leaning her head against the cool wall in the kitchen. “No, no, that is not what I had intended to say. Forgive me,” she whispered.

In times of stress she was a cornered cat, hissing and slashing. Accustomed to the behavior, Kate waited quietly as her mother composed herself. As a child, Kate had taken the criticisms to heart, despite her father’s reassurances that her mother did not mean what she said when she lashed out. He tried to teach her that patient silence afforded the best outcome. Her brothers all learned it. But not Kate; she’d winced at each insult. Still did.

“Hans. Dear Hans,” Eleanor’s voice broke. She bowed her head.

Sitting beside her, Kate took her mother’s hand. “I am sorry to deliver such sad news.”

He had been Eleanor’s favorite of Ulrich’s household staff. She had assured Thomas Holme that he would not be sorry for employing Hans, that he was efficient, cheerful, energetic, quick, and always willing to assist others to ensure that all was as it should be. Eleanor had known him for years—indeed, Hans claimed he remembered Kate from when she and Geoffrey were first learning to walk, when he and Werner accompanied Ulrich Smit on the journeys that brought him through Northumberland. For her part, Kate only vaguely remembered a group of men accompanying Ulrich. Her grief rose from a more recent affection for the man.

Eleanor raised her head, dabbing her eyes with a cloth she slipped from inside her sleeve. “How did he die? Where?” She listened quietly to Kate’s description of Hans’s injuries, where he had been found. “Heaven help us,” she whispered, nodding to Griffin as he handed her a cup of water.

“Boiled, Dame Eleanor, as you like it,” he said.

Kate wondered what had led to her mother’s new whim. Suddenly she could not abide the taste of water unless it was boiled, strained, then stored in a cool place with a cloth over the top. Or was Kate too quick to deem it a whim—might her mother fear someone might poison her?

Eleanor drank. Breathed. “Werner. Does he know?”

“He is with Hans,” said Kate.

“Yes. Of course he should be. I do not know Werner as well as I did Hans. He is so quiet. I agreed to his offer to accompany us because of his strength. When he traveled with Ulrich he served as a retainer, but at home in Strasbourg he served as a gardener and groom. Not as clever or personable as Hans. Dear Hans. To die so horribly, so far from home.” She glanced up. “Forgive me for going on like this. I cannot imagine—you have described his wounds, but how? Where was he when attacked?”

When Griffin described the brawl on the street, Eleanor frowned in disbelief. “Hans reeked of ale? I never knew him to take a drop.”

“According to Werner, Hans has of late been sneaking out after all are abed,” said Griffin, “spending his nights in the taverns. His work has suffered. Thomas Holme meant to speak with you about him.”

“Merciful Mother. Why did Holme wait so long? And you, Griffin, why did you not tell me?”

“I heard of it only this morning. All I knew of Hans and Werner is that they were both tolerable traveling companions, neither drank too much in my company, both kept themselves tidy, caused no trouble. In Strasbourg I had little need to befriend the household servants.”

“God help me, I meant to do good bringing them here, accepting Agnes’s offer. Ashes. Ashes.” Eleanor had gone quite pale, and she seemed more frightened than grieving. She kept trying to catch Griffin’s eye, but he kept his gaze averted.

Kate thought it might be best to separate them, try to speak with them individually.

“Do you need food, Mother? Or to lie down? There is a bed a few steps away.”

Eleanor waved her on. “I am stronger than you give me credit for. Send Werner to me. I wish to speak with him.” She took a deep breath. “There is much to do. I am responsible for a household. Should I tell the sisters?”

Kate told her that Brigida already knew.

“No. It is my place. You should have left it to me.”

“The sheriff or his sergeant will be here soon, and all the city will know,” said Kate.

“Ah. Of course. I shall tell the others when the friars depart. What a cursed morning. We must consider what the news of Hans’s murder will do to Dina, already so burdened. I cannot guess. Perhaps I should wait to tell Dina and Clara.”

“The sheriff might send someone to question all of you, Mother. It is best that Dina and Clara hear it from you first. Tell them, then go about your day. Griffin will be here to protect you. And Berend is close.” Kate saw her mother’s wounded expression at her impatient tone.

“I will tell them.” Eleanor rose and walked out into the garden.

Kate followed. “Mother—”

“We will pray for you. Go. Find the answer to this nightmare before we suffer more loss.”

As Kate opened the hedgerow gate, she overheard her mother telling Griffin to talk to Werner, find out whether Hans might have said anything in his cups. Damn her. Did she think this was a game? Kate turned round and retraced her steps.

“Is there something that I should know?”

Eleanor looked at Kate, aghast. “That was not meant for your ears. I raised you to keep your own counsel and let others keep theirs.”

Fighting to hold her temper in check, Kate took her mother’s hands, looking into the eyes that would not settle on hers. “What do you fear Hans might have divulged?”

An impatient sigh. “I should think it obvious. Household servants know all sorts of intimate details.”

Her mother’s hands were cold, but her face was flushed and damp. She was frightened. Very frightened. Kate fought the urge to berate her mother—What are you thinking? Do you realize the danger? “Of course.” Kissing her mother’s cheek, Kate took her leave.