Above, the rooftops glistened and steamed, below, puddles in the narrow streets shimmered darkly. Kate kept her gaze low, ensuring that Lille and Ghent did not lead her through the deepest streams flowing between the cobbles. There were fewer puddles in the center of the street, but she stayed well to the side, beneath the eaves, where it was quieter and away from the rooftop runoff. Darker, but drier overhead and better for thinking.
Sifting through all the revelations of the day, Kate felt as if the earth were shifting and reforming beneath her feet. Suddenly her usual worries seemed such simple issues, minor problems that threatened neither life nor limb. She would give anything to have her greatest worries be how to accommodate as many important couples as possible, how to tuck away a goodly amount of money while remaining choosy enough for her customers to feel special, or how to keep the business a secret from the rest of the city and her wards. She was dizzy juggling all she had learned and what she suspected while staying alert to her surroundings, straining for subtle changes in the street sounds. Time and again she turned, certain someone was following close behind. She started at the gentlest greeting, eyeing everyone with suspicion. Lille and Ghent began to pick up her mood and shy at sudden movements.
Despite her efforts to focus on her own thoughts, snippets of the conversations swirling round her began to coalesce and form a story. People believed that Connor had murdered his mistress, Alice Hatten, then taken his own life. She halted in midstride, to the great confusion of Lille and Ghent, who barked in unison then came close to sniff her hands.
“Dame Katherine?”
She shook her head at the neighbor eyeing her with concern. “Lost in my thoughts, Peter. How are Ann and the baby?” His wife had delivered two days earlier, their first child, long-prayed-for. Peter’s blue eyes twinkled. “Ann is happier than I have ever seen her, and our son is thriving. I swear he’s done a week’s worth of growing in two days.”
They laughed, nodded, blessed each other’s households, parted.
Matilda Baker slipped into step beside Kate, asking after Phillip, poor lad, finding the stonecutter who had hanged himself. Kate forced herself not to correct the woman. The rumor might be all for the best, as her uncle had suggested. She assured the woman that Phillip was in good hands, thanked her, wished her a good day. God be thanked, the woman nodded and moved on before Kate lost control and chided her for heedlessly believing rumors.
The early start to the day and all the emotion began to take its toll. Noticing she was rushing, Kate slowed down. She dreaded the prospect of another trip to the deanery and back home again before sunset. If only the long-term tenant in the house next to the guesthouse would move on—or die, she thought, then quickly crossed herself—but if Odo Marsden would agree to move she might bide closer to the heart of the city. Twice she had asked him to consider one of her other properties, and once she had simply offered money; but he would not budge. He was an elderly man, set in his ways, but his family was—unfortunately for her—long-lived. Once he was gone she might sell or lease the Castlegate house, bringing in welcome income to tuck away for the future. High Petergate felt closer to the heart of York. She might be far more comfortable there, close to the guesthouse.
Or perhaps it was better to keep her distance. She let it be. For now the house on Castlegate was home, and she pushed on, fighting the sense of urgency that might cause her to slip in a puddle and make matters worse.
Phillip had said he would like Marie’s company at the deanery. So as soon as Kate arranged a meeting with William, she would return to the deanery with Marie, taking along sufficient clothing for both wards for a week. She hoped they need bide there no longer than that. Surely with the help of Berend and Jennet she could catch a murderer in a week.
As she and the dogs made their way round a peddler’s cart in St. Helen’s Square, she noticed both dogs glancing back behind her, their ears signaling alert. Looking round, she saw her cousin’s man Roger hurrying toward her.
He bowed curtly. “Master Frost wishes to talk to you, Mistress Clifford. When shall I tell him you will call?”
There was something about his raspy voice that set her teeth on edge. “Tell him that I can receive him at my house within the hour.”
The man continued to pace her, self-important cur.
She refused to be bullied by him. “You have your answer,” she said. “Deliver it.”
“Mistress—”
She shook her head and moved on through the square and up Coney Street, her mind already turned to wondering about the archbishop’s purpose in welcoming Lady Kirkby to York. He was not the king’s man. Did King Richard welcome Thomas Kirkby’s peace efforts? Or did he want her uncle to observe and report back? Or was her uncle in York out of disaffection with the crown? Her uncle’s ambivalence toward Archbishop Richard Scrope interested her. He said the archbishop was too devoted to his predecessor as Archbishop of York, Thomas Arundel, who was also his mentor. Not one of King Richard’s favorites by any means, for the king had executed his brother Richard, Earl of Arundel. Who might be interested in peace? The king or the duke? And to whom was her uncle most loyal? Could she trust him not to have had some hand in her troubles? She shoved that thought aside. Again. For good.
As she crossed Ousegate she prepared herself for Marie’s onslaught—she would want a full report of the day’s activities. Kate smiled in anticipation of Marie’s delight when she told her of the proposed stay at the deanery. She would save it for the end.
The bells of St. Mary’s Church were ringing nones by the time Kate unbuckled Lille’s and Ghent’s leads, and she let them rush down the alleyway to the kitchen. By the time she caught up with them, Berend stood in the open doorway laughing at their hopeful barks.
“Do not be fooled. They spent the morning in Helen’s kitchen. No one walks out of that kitchen hungry.” She patted his forearm as she stepped past him into the warm kitchen. “Phillip is unharmed. Sad and weary, but with a few days of rest he should be home.”
“God be thanked,” Berend murmured.
Her back to Kate, Marie mumbled a greeting without a pause from her work, kneading dough.
“My boots are soaked through,” Kate moaned as she settled on a bench by the fire to wrestle them off. “Did you hear, Marie? Your brother is uninjured.”
“I know. Jennet told me.” The girl pretended disinterest.
So that is how it would be. Where was Jennet? No matter. First things first. “Then you know that Connor is dead.”
A sniff and a nod. Kate waited. At last Marie turned from her work, wiping her floury hands on a rag. Her eyes were red and swollen, her voice shaky. “I will help you with your boots.” She dropped to her knees and began to tug. “You should have worn pattens.”
“I was not thinking of myself when I dressed this morning,” Kate muttered.
“No,” the girl whispered.
Kate leaned back, surrendering to the child’s struggle to separate the soaked leather boots from the swollen feet, her expression one of fierce determination.
“Your brother is eager to tell you all that happened, so that you understand,” said Kate.
Marie fell backward with the right boot in hand. “Your feet stink.”
“How kind of you to tell me.” The child made it difficult to love her.
Marie sat on the floor considering Kate, the damp, muddy boot forgotten and soiling her apron. “You said a few days of rest. Here? Or at the deanery?” she finally asked.
“At the deanery is best.”
Tears welled in the girl’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivered.
Kate could not bring herself to torment the child. “That is why he asked that you stay there as well. If you care to do so. Dean Richard is happy to have you both there.”
“Phillip asked?” Her eyes widened, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes. He misses you. Will you go to him? I can take you there before sunset.” Or she could if William showed up soon. Perhaps she might send Marie with Jennet. Ah, excellent thought. Except if she learned something from William . . .
A knock, then Matt hobbled in.
“No need to knock, Matt, you are a member of the household,” said Kate.
Berend quickly fetched him a chair, but Matt shook his head. “I cannot stay. There is a guest in the hall, Dame Katherine. Master Frost?”
Good. He had come. Kate pressed her hands to her eyes, took a deep breath, then remembered her barely thawed feet, the soggy hose.
Marie jumped up. “I will fetch shoes and pattens for you, Dame Katherine.”
The girl was right about pattens. They made far more sense than her riding boots when navigating the waterways of the street. “On your way, tell my cousin I will be with him as soon as I have dry shoes.”
Marie nodded and was out the door before Kate could thank her.
“What happened to sweeten her mood?” Berend wondered aloud.
Kate told him about the invitation to bide with her brother at the deanery.
“Ah.” He smiled. “Good lad.”
“Where is Jennet?”
“She is out listening to the gossip about the deaths,” said Matt.
“Well done. We might learn something to our advantage.” She noticed how Matt leaned on his cane. “I would like you to stay here with Marie, keep her company and ensure that she does not wander off. Berend will bring wine and stay to witness my discussion with Master Frost.”
She saw that Berend understood. Make William uneasy. He rummaged in a corner and produced the cloak. Kate draped it over her arm.
Matt hobbled over to the fire, taking the seat Kate had vacated.
Berend poured him an ale and told him to ask Marie for some food. “Keep her busy.”
With a laugh, Matt said, “I am quite able to do that. She reminds me of my youngest brother, deep down a wounded sparrow.”
Kate liked Matt more and more.
As soon as Marie returned with dry shoes and pattens, and, bless the girl, dry hose, Kate had her hold up the cloak to screen her from view while she changed her hose. “Would you do me yet another favor? Will you keep Matt company here in the kitchen while Berend and I are talking to my cousin in the hall?” Marie quickly nodded, earnest in obedience so that her invitation to stay with her brother at the deanery was not rescinded. Kate felt a pang of sympathy for the child. “I will miss you while you are there,” she whispered.
Marie responded with a quick hug.
Kate was smiling as she called to Lille and Ghent, who were reluctant to give up their warm spaces by the fire.
William wore a fine squirrel-lined cloak and a matching fur hat. The hand that touched Kate’s face as he kissed her cheek in greeting was gloved in softest leather. “May God watch over all our loved ones,” he said. “I do not have much time, Katherine. I have an engagement in an hour.” He nodded toward the cloak draped across her arm. “You as well?”
“You have one foot out the door before we even begin, yet it was you who wished to speak to me.”
“I did wish to talk. At my home.”
She stifled a retort. “Come, have a seat by the fire. Berend has brought us brandywine.” She gestured to a high-backed chair. “I pray you, sit, cousin.”
Apparently mollified by her courtesy, the foolish man, William smiled as he removed his cloak and draped it across the back of the chair. Beneath he wore velvet and silk. “And you, Katherine?” He reached for the other high-backed chair.
She pulled up a backless stool. “I prefer this.” For freedom of movement—she imagined lunging for him of a sudden and strangling him. But of course she would not do that. At least she did not intend to do so. She draped the intruder’s cloak on a bench within easy reach, then signaled Lille and Ghent to either side of her cousin. It was an arrangement her father had taught her, a dog sitting so close on either side that the person found it difficult to move. And the dogs would shift to restrict his movement if he tried to rise. She found it satisfying to make use of their affection for him.
Berend set a small table at Kate’s side, poured the brandywine, handed a goblet to William, one to Kate, and then moved to stand behind their guest. Now her cousin was surrounded.
“I presume you want to hear what I learned about Alice Hatten, how her body was found floating in the King’s Fishpond, how she was murdered?” said Kate.
William’s smile dimmed. “How quickly you come to the point.”
“Is that not what you wished?”
Her cousin glanced back at Berend with a little frown. He had never trusted her cook. “Roger told me you were at the Sharp house last night, where Alice was taken.”
“Yes. I happened to have business with Jocasta, but when I arrived I learned of her sad mission.”
As on the morning in the guesthouse, William could not focus on any one thing but kept looking this way and that, restive, fearful, clearly uneasy. “I do not know what happened, Katherine. I never would have asked Alice—”
She waved him silent. “I do not care to hear your excuses, cousin. I want facts.”
“I thought you—you want facts from me? How would I know? Do you think I killed her, Katherine? Do you accuse me of drowning Alice? I loved her.”
“Did you?” She shrugged. “Then it was a timorous love. You could not bring yourself to defend her against your wife’s angry dismissal.”
“I grant you that. But I could never take Alice’s life.”
“I know that, William. I am not accusing you. But you are responsible for putting Alice in danger.”
“I had no way of knowing she would be in danger.” He gave her a look that suggested he had put the tragedy behind him, and so should she.
His smugness put her on the offensive. She wanted to shake him, wake him to the suffering he had caused. She took a deep breath, and then, in a quiet voice, described Alice’s mutilation, her broken jaw, her bruised face. “Can you imagine the pain of having your jaw broken as someone forces open your mouth, William?” He squirmed. Good. “You see, her assailant needed to do that in order to use the scissors or the sharp knife to cut out her tongue.” She paused to let that image sink in. “How do you think he managed that? Did he pull on her tongue to draw it out as far as possible—she would gag I should think, and then—one cut? Or several? Do you think she heard her torturer cursing with the effort? Or had she already, mercifully, fainted with the pain and the fear?”
“There is a darkness to you sometimes, cousin. . . .” William growled and tried to rise as an answering low rumble came from the dogs’ throats. They leaned in, and Berend put a hand on William’s shoulder to stay him.
Seeing the agony in her cousin’s eyes, Kate relented. “I pray you, sit. I have had a long, trying day, wakened early by Dean Richard’s servant.”
William shrugged Berend off and resettled. Lille and Ghent relaxed. “I had heard that young Phillip found the stonemason in the minster,” he said. “How is the lad?”
“Heartbroken. And weighed down by guilt that he could not cut him down in time. He admired Connor.”
“I am sorry for the lad. He has suffered so much loss. On the street they are saying the stonemason murdered Alice, then took his own life. Might it be true?”
“Knowing what you know, how can you ask that, William?”
“Passion can twist into hate.” He shrugged, but he looked embarrassed, averting his eyes while he took a long drink. He clutched the goblet with both hands as if he feared his hands would tremble.
“Three deaths, William. I need your help to catch the murderer. You can start by telling me who the dead man was, why he was there, and what Alice and Connor had to do with him.”
“Connor?”
“Do not try my patience, cousin. The stonemason murdered this morning. He was expected to join Alice at the guesthouse that night.”
“Murdered? I did not realize he had been murdered.”
“My uncle the dean rightly advised we keep that quiet so we might catch the murderer.”
“Hence the rumor. But of course she would have . . .” William ran a gloved hand down his face. “I gave her no time to let him know,” he whispered, as if to himself.
“Go on.”
“Perhaps it is still best I tell you as little as possible—”
“No, William. I need to know all that you know, or guess, if you want to help catch Alice’s murderer.” She waited to see whether she needed to remind him that he actually had no choice, that she could ruin him with one visit to Isabella. It need not even be a visit. She could greet her at market and whisper the name Drusilla Seaton. She had no doubt Isabella would jump to the correct conclusion. She found it difficult to trust. She had brought so much to the marriage. Her father’s elegant house, his money, his influence. Even his enemies? That was a possibility Kate had not considered. “Have John Gisburne’s enemies become your enemies, William?”
“It is a long story, Katherine.”
“Then it is best to begin.”
“Perhaps tomorrow. My engagement—”
“Alice bled to death, William. In agony from her jaw, then the cutting of the tongue, she bled to death in the presence of her executioner. Or alone. Perhaps he tossed her on the floor, or the ground, and left her to die. In the dark, alone, unshriven. Then he returned to bundle her up and carry her to the pond, tossing her in like a butchered animal. Imagine that, William. I want you to appreciate how her life ended.”
The bastards threatened to do that to you, Geoff said in her head. That was why—
Not now, she warned him.
“I did not mean for this to happen.” William’s voice broke.
“You put it in motion, as you did Alice’s earlier humiliation. For her sake I will not make it easy for you to forget that.”
“Why do you care so?”
Maud. It is Maud you are avenging, Geoff guessed.
“I cannot believe you need to ask. Is she any less precious in the eyes of God because she is not wealthy?”
William winced. “When did he—they—whoever did this—when did they take her?” he asked.
“Phillip saw her with Connor the morning after the murder in the guesthouse. And then it seems he was searching for her until he heard that she had been found.”
“How frightened she must have been.”
“Yes. A cruel death. And for what, William? What did she die for?”
William’s shoulders drooped in resignation. “Might I at least send my servant—” The young man who had accompanied William had been sent out to the kitchen.
“I will tell him to go on ahead,” Jennet said from the doorway.
Kate had felt the draft as the door opened and guessed, from Berend’s and the dogs’ lack of reaction, who it was. “Thank you, Jennet. Tell him to say a family matter delays his master.”
“Katherine, I pray you,” said William.
Kate nodded for Jennet to go on. Turning back to William, she asked how he had arranged to lure Alice to her death.
“I did nothing of the sort. I had no idea. He was just to—” He sucked in his breath, looked down as if thinking how to take back the words.
“This ‘he,’ what was his name?”
“Underhill. Jon Underhill.”
“He was just to do what?”
“It is a long story, Katherine.”
“As you said. But whoever is expecting you undoubtedly knows that your cousin’s ward found Connor in the chapter house this morning. By now all the city knows. He or she will understand and approve of your kindness to me. Now. From the beginning.” She smiled sweetly. “More brandywine?”
He sighed and held up his goblet. “Whose cloak is that, if I might inquire?”
“We will come to that.” She poured wine for both of them.
He took a sip. “I never imagined she would be in danger, Katherine, you must believe me. Underhill was just to set up Griselde and Clement as his spies for the king. They would inform him about Lady Kirkby’s guests, to whom she spoke, what she said, what they agreed. That was all.”
“That was all. You were setting up my servants as spies? In my guesthouse? Spying on my guest? That was all? William!” As Kate’s voice rose, Lille barked, Ghent growled.
“Mistress . . .” Berend whispered.
She took a deep breath, calmed the dogs. “No more outbursts. Go on, William. Tell me all of it. Why did you need Alice?”
His hands shook as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “She was there to make it look as if I were offering Underhill some entertainment.” William had the decency to wince at the detail. “He did not share with me how he hoped to accomplish his plan, how he would coerce Griselde and Clement. God help me.” He began to rise, felt Berend’s hand on his shoulder, and cursed as he settled back down on his seat. He drained his goblet. “Something went wrong that night, very wrong. The man is dead, and now Alice. And Connor?”
The dogs suddenly sat up, ears pricked, their attention on the street side of the hall. Within a moment, Jennet came bursting in from the garden, William’s servant following.
“I pray you forgive the interruption, mistress, Master Frost,” Jennet bobbed her head. “But you will want to know. I thought it wise to follow young Jenkins as he departed. He was just stepping out onto Castlegate when a man slipped up behind him—I had no time to notice whence he had come. When he reached out to take Jenkins’s arm, the young man cried out. I came forward as they were struggling. Then the attacker shouted and ran off, dodging carts and folk walking. I lost him. I thought you would want to know.”
Kate noticed the servant holding something behind his back. “Are you hurt, Jenkins?”
“No. I wounded him.” He brought his hand out to show the bloody knife.
Kate commended him. “Where should we look for the wound if we encounter him again?”
The young man looked to his master, back to Kate. “I believe it was his hand, perhaps his forearm. As he reached out for me. I should not have lashed out before I knew his intention. But he startled me. And with all the deaths . . .”
Kate crossed the hall to him, took his empty hand, looked him in the eyes. “You did well. Did you recognize the man?”
He shook his head. “He wore a hood.”
“All I could tell was that he was of middling height and very fleet of foot,” said Jennet.
“I think it best you wait for your master in the kitchen, eh?” said Kate. “Go now. A nip of brandywine might calm both of you.”
Kate turned to William as Jennet nodded and shepherded the lad out the door. “Clearly he should not rush off to make your apologies after such an experience.”
A tight shake of his head. “Of course not. Though I would ask you to leave it to me to order my servants about, Katherine. You do overstep.” He waited. She did not see the need to respond. Finally he said, “Jenkins and I will continue to Thomas Graa’s together, when I am finished here.”
Ah. The merchant Graa had once been Simon’s partner, almost as wealthy as Thomas Holme, and definitely a prominent citizen. “Good. Let us begin at the beginning.”
William groaned.
“The man you set up in my guesthouse, was he the king’s man?”
“Yes. Or so he said.”
“And his name was Jon Underhill?”
A nod. “He carried a letter with the king’s seal.”
“Did you examine the seal closely?” she asked.
“The seal? I have a vague recollection. The white hart perhaps? I cannot recall details.” He stared down into the goblet in his hands as if wishing he might see the letter once more. “I should have used more caution. He was secretive. Not what I had expected. Always before King Richard has sent men of a certain discretion and status. A merchant, a landowner.” He looked up, pleading. “I fear for my family, Katherine. Faith, it was fear for my family that brought this trouble. I meant you no harm. I swear.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No. Quite the contrary. He offered his services to keep my family safe.”
“From what?”
“For weeks I sensed I was being followed. Roger felt it, too. But whoever he was, he was adept at staying hidden.”
“Why would someone be following you?”
“At first I thought, perhaps, Duke Henry. My wife—you know that her father and the duke’s father were enemies. My wife had tried to remedy that with Duke Henry. I feared he had sent someone to follow me, see to whom I spoke. But to what end? I deal with merchants and landowners of all opinions. We are seeing to our lives, going about our business. We all wish we might forget the king’s feud. But we all know the danger of that.”
“Has a business transaction gone sour?”
“No. Nothing like that. Everything has been quiet.”
“No king’s men searching your ships?”
He shook his head. “I am known to be loyal.”
“But your wife is not. Curious that the king accepts your household’s divided loyalties.”
“Perhaps the king has set someone on me. But then why Underhill? God’s blood, I cannot see clearly.” William pressed a hand to his face.
Kate waited for him to calm. In a few moments he dropped his hand, stared at it for a moment, then turned it a little as if examining his signet ring.
“I heard about your ship being searched,” he said. “And that the king’s men stole some spice?”
“Lionel told you?”
A nod.
“Is the man reaching out for Jenkins the first time he has done more than shadow your household?” she asked. “If it is the same man.”
“No, not the first time. He frightened my wife and daughter.”
Kate did not try to hide her eagerness as she leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“Isabella and Hazel were shopping on Stonegate. A busy time of day. My daughter felt hands round her neck. She thought it her mother, but then noticed her several steps away. A man whispered, ‘A little twist and your neck snaps. Tell your father he is watched.’ She screamed. A man near her described someone in dark clothes, nothing distinguishable.”
“So bold,” Berend muttered. Both Kate and William glanced at him. “I am sorry for your daughter, Master Frost. That must have been terrifying for her.”
William nodded, tears in his eyes that he tried to hide by leaning down to stroke the dogs’ backs. Hazel was Isabella and William’s only child, a delicate girl, unable to eat anything but the most plainly cooked meats and gruels. William adored her. Kate waited until he had composed himself. He sat up, tugging on his jacket. Back in control.
“A day later Underhill appeared,” William continued, “carrying a letter of introduction from the king. Or what I took to be such. He wanted access to Lady Kirby. I told him I might not be the best person. Someone was following me. He offered his protection if I did all he said.”
And Bale’s letter carried Duke Henry’s seal.
“Did he find the shadow?”
“No. But he had little time before Lady Kirkby arrived. And then—I have wondered whether he was strangled by the one who has been shadowing me. To prevent his interfering.”
“So the dead man is Underhill?” Kate asked.
William bowed his head. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Have you ever heard the name Hubert Bale?” Berend asked.
“No,” William muttered, sounding miserable.
“What about Alice and Connor? How did they happen to be in the guesthouse that night?” Kate asked.
William rubbed his face, sat back, blinking. Kate could not remember when she had last seen him so disheveled. A long while ago, for certain. Isabella would hiss at his appearance when he joined her at the Graa residence. “Before this trouble began, Alice came to me requesting that I use my family’s influence in Beverley to find Connor work there. At the minster, preferably. I agreed to try if she would allow me to visit our son Tom, to let him know that I was someone to whom he might turn if ever he needed help. I did not ask her to identify me as his father. She meant to wed Connor, so that should have been his role. The boy would call me ‘uncle.’ It would be something. And I promised to help with his education. That night we were to meet at the guesthouse so that I could advise Connor about how to comport himself with the dean and chapter of Beverley. But Underhill came to me that day with the plan.”
“Was it he who arranged Matt’s accident?” Kate asked.
“He mentioned that he would ensure that Matt was elsewhere that night. I never imagined he would injure him.”
“And you did not think to insist that no one be harmed?”
“I trusted him. The king’s man.” William threw up his hands. Lille opened an eye, and Ghent raised his head. “I am glad to see Matt has recovered.”
“Perhaps you did not notice his limp? That he must walk with a crutch?”
Kate let him stew in that for a moment. In the silence she heard the thaw continuing up above, ice sliding down the roof. The ice jam was breached. The sound of dripping water surrounded her. For the next few days she would feel as if she were moving underwater. “When did you tell Alice of the change of plan?”
“Roger told her when he escorted her to the guesthouse.”
“William! You did not ask her? You simply sent her there?”
He glanced away.
“Of course you did not ask her. You knew she would refuse, and for good cause. Once again you cast her in the role of whore. How could you?”
“I know. I see now how—it all went so wrong. So wrong.”
Kate slapped him before she was even aware she had put thought into action. It was Geoff’s voice in her head—Steady, Kate—and Berend’s hand on hers that brought her back.
William’s eyes were as round as a child’s when waking from a nightmare.
“You treated her like a piece of property, William. Like a slave. Alice. The mother of your son. How could you do such a thing?”
He felt round for blood on his face. There was none, of course. She had not hit him that hard, or with the hand on which she wore a ring.
“How could you?” she whispered.
“I was frightened for my family.”
“She is the mother of your only son. Is he not at least family?”
“I will pay for her burial,” William said softly, “and masses for her soul.”
“And your son? I know that you cannot have custody of him, but will you support him?”
“In any way her sister Tessa will permit.”
“What of Isabella? Can you hide such expenses from her?”
He colored, cleared his throat.
“Ah, I see. You already hide much.”
“For Hazel’s sake. To keep peace in the household.”
Of course. Just for that. Not to make life easier for him. “Have you learned anything of what happened at my guesthouse that night?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Did you see Alice afterward?” He bowed his head. “William, did you see her after the murder in the guesthouse? Was that a nod?”
He straightened up with such effort it was as if he were pushing against a weight, his face drawn, his eyes red. He admitted that he had seen Alice. She had been lurking in an alley just down Stonegate from where he had parted from Kate outside the goldsmith’s shop. “Alice accosted me, hissing that I had ruined her again. I—I pushed her back into the alleyway and warned her that she would go to the stocks, that I would name her as a scold if she tried to contact me again.”
“William! How can you accuse her of defaming you? You were the one to cause injury, not Alice.”
“I am ashamed to admit it. But I have told you.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said something about being followed. She was disheveled. I asked where she had slept. That is when she threw up her hands and walked back into the dark alley.”
In the silence, Kate could hear his jagged breathing, as if he were crying within. Enough. She had bullied him enough to force him to recall what she guessed he had tried to forget.
“What of your shadow?” she asked softly. “Is he gone?”
A shrug. “I have sensed eyes on me, but I might be conjuring them out of my own fear. Roger believes the danger is past.”
“You doubt him.”
William raked a hand through his hair, knocking off his hat. “I know not what to believe at present.”
Berend silently retrieved the hat and put it on William’s lap.
“What do you know of Roger’s loyalties?” Kate asked. “Does he serve only you?”
She watched as he realized what she was asking.
“He has served me faithfully.”
And so William never questioned his loyalty. He gave Roger a comfortable life; what more could he want? Like Alice, Roger was property.
William shook his head, trying to clear it, his eyes moving as if he were weighing the evidence.
Are you toying with him? You do not believe Roger is part of this, do you?
Are you suddenly William’s advocate, Geoff?
You know better. I never cared for the man. But he is in pain.
She reconsidered. “Roger might believe the danger past. Or wish to calm you. Is it not his duty to guard your family, keep the three of you safe? This might embarrass him.”
“I think it might.” William held up his goblet. “A little more?”
His hand shook as he lifted the cup after she poured. He no longer tried to mask it. Giving him a moment to collect himself, she flipped over a corner of the cloak Sam’s shadow had been wearing, looked at the matted fur lining. Well made, but old, worn.
“That is an old piece,” said William. “Are you giving that to Dame Jocasta?”
“I bought it from her.”
He let out a sharp laugh. “Why?”
She told him about the man who had followed Sam.
That sobered him. “Your servants are followed as well? What is happening, Katherine? Who can we trust? It certainly was not Roger. Sam would have recognized him.”
“I did not mean to accuse Roger.”
William seemed beyond any consolation. “Call Sam in here, would you? I would like to ask him myself.”
“He left for Beverley after the incident, to see whether Alice Hatten had simply gone home. He has not returned.”
“He traveled that road in the snow?”
“I know. Even after I had told him to delay it. I am worried, of course. The snow, the deaths.” Or he might have made his escape, she thought. Could she trust Sam?
“What are we to do, Katherine?”
“Did you bury Underhill, or did you weigh him down in the river?”
“Buried. With prayers. And any time now the king will send someone to find out what happened to him. But I did it for you. You wanted him out of the guesthouse.”
“His presence would have been difficult to explain to Lady Kirkby.”
William shrugged. “I am just reminding you why I was in such haste. I had no time to think of a way to have him discovered along the road. I have thought about that over and again. How I might have simply left him with some other cord round his neck. Or nothing. Let the sheriff try to guess what had been used to strangle him.” He paused. “Why do you now want to know what I did with his corpse?”
“We have no time to lose,” she said. “It is too late now, but tomorrow you will take me to the grave. Berend will help you dig it up.”
“Dig him up? Why?”
“To see whether we recognize Underhill.”
“How would you?” He noticed her looking at Berend and turned to regard him. “Do you think you know him?”
“I heard rumors that someone I once knew had been seen in York.” Berend bowed to William.
William looked to Kate, back to Berend. “You know more than you are telling me.”
“We know nothing,” said Kate. Though they suspected much. “Immediately after the morning service, come to the guesthouse. We will leave from there.”
“On the Sabbath?”
“Would you prefer to miss the requiem masses on Monday?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow. I will be there. Now might I continue on to Thomas Graa’s?”
“Of course. I will see you in the morning.”
After dinner, when Jennet had gone up to tidy the chamber and get some sleep, and Matt took Lille and Ghent to the hall to settle for the night, Kate sat with Berend in front of the kitchen fire, reviewing the interview with William and what she had learned from her uncle. She stared into the flames, frustrated, unable to see the way forward.
“The more we learn, the less we know,” she said.
“Do you trust that he will come tomorrow?” Berend asked.
“If he does not, we collect him.”
Berend grunted.
Kate sat up and turned to study her companion’s scarred face. He did not flinch, nor did he smile.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I felt a ghost in the hall when you described the suffering of that poor woman. You have seen this before. It awakened old anger, old fear.”
“And if it did?”
He shrugged. “I am your servant.”
“Forget for now that you are my servant, Berend. You are my comrade in arms. What do you need to say?”
“A warrior needs a clear head. Perhaps if you told me about this ghost, what her death meant to you, it might exorcise her, and help prevent—”
“The slap?”
“And the unnecessarily vivid description of how it might have been carried out.”
“You think I should have taken a gentler approach with William.” She waited, hearing in Berend’s silence his earlier question. “And if he does not come to the guesthouse tomorrow, I am to blame.”
“No. Not entirely. He is hoping that somehow this storm will rush past, that perhaps the king is too busy to notice his man has not returned. He might hope he can wait it out, that something will happen that negates the need to disinter a man he buried in haste, in fear.”
Kate held out a cup for more ale. Berend poured.
Are you going to tell him the story?
I will tell him about Maud. Perhaps he does sense her here.
But not the rest?
No. I need his trust.
Faintly, Kate heard barking. A moment later Matt burst through the door. “Lille and Ghent have caught the scent of someone in the alleyway. It was all I could do to squeeze through the door without letting them out.”
“I will give you some training in handling them later,” Kate said as she clamped on her pattens. She was out the door just behind Berend, who carried a lantern. She had not reckoned on the chill of the evening glazing the puddles and stumbled against Berend.
Steadying her, he suggested she wait by the kitchen door while he checked the garden and the alleyway, watching for movement. She itched to cross the garden and let loose the hounds, but it was more important to be Berend’s extra set of eyes.
In the end, he found nothing, and when she brought Lille and Ghent out on leashes they lost the scent in St. Mary’s churchyard across the road. She led them back to the hall and gave Matt a quick lesson in signals for stay and lie down, for which he thanked her.
Berend had watched the exchange, and quietly suggested she go up to bed. Their conversation could wait.
Kate did not argue. It seemed days ago that her uncle’s servant had come for her. She left the pattens by the door and made her way up to the solar, sensing the absence of her wards, their often troubling but no less dear presences. Jennet snored in the great bed, an arm and a leg dangling out. Kate climbed in beside her and lay on her back, gazing up at the canopy, praying that Phillip and Marie were securely tucked in at the deanery, and would remain safe.