A thick mist enveloped Kate and her companions as they stepped out onto Castlegate before dawn. Her pattens clicked on the wet cobbles, and she held her skirts away from the piles of slushy snow that had been pushed about by passing carts. It was a mild morning, such a contrast to a few days earlier when she had hurried beside her uncle’s secretary. The cobbles had been icy and treacherous then, and the cold had numbed her face. Now it was the stench that assailed her, weeks of dung, piss, and refuse uncovered by the thaw. Jennet and Berend carried lanterns, but their lights did little to distinguish between puddles and rain-slicked cobbles.
As they passed a garden she heard an owl cry, then the shriek of a small animal. Past Ousegate, two cats bolted across their path. Jennet crossed herself. Berend teased her. A drunk argued with a watchman in St. Helen’s Square, two apprentices knocked on a goldsmith’s shop, the opening door throwing light and warmth out onto Stonegate for a moment.
The dean’s cook and housekeeper welcomed them at the deanery door with small bowls of ale, inviting them to get warm by the roaring fire in the hearth. A servant would come to escort them across to the minster when the dean and his servers were ready for them.
Slowly they were joined by Connor’s fellows from the stoneyard. They wore their work clothes, for it was the start of their week, but all had made an effort to brush the stone dust from their clothes and drag wet combs through their hair for the solemn occasion. One young man carried sprigs of holly heavy with bright red berries.
He shrugged shyly as Helen admired them. “No flowers yet, so I thought these might brighten the chapel.”
“You are a dear.” Helen patted his cheek. “Oh, there are the young ones.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Kate. “They have fallen out with each other and are quite snappish this morning. Just a warning.”
Kate’s wards stood in the passage that led from the kitchen, searching the crowd with their eyes. Marie was the first to see Kate, hurrying over without a word to her brother.
“I do not want to stay here,” she announced. Chin high, she glared at Phillip as he joined them.
Phillip gave Kate a little bow and interrupted her response to Marie to thank her for rising so early.
Kate nodded to him and was telling Marie they would discuss her wishes later when a small company burst into the hall—Lady Margery and Dame Jocasta, with several servants following. The stonemasons parted to allow the women passage.
“Our parties converged in the yard,” Lady Margery exclaimed. She wore a deep red cloak lined in pale fur. “I sent word to Dame Jocasta last night that this morning’s mass is for both Alice and Connor.”
“I am moved by Dean Richard’s gesture,” said Dame Jocasta. “It felt right to attend this mass before taking Alice on her final journey. You must pardon my traveling robes. My serving men have taken Alice’s coffin to the friary. We will leave for her sister’s house as soon as the service is over.”
Kate said a silent prayer of thanks for the diversion. She needed Marie safely tucked away here in the deanery, out of trouble. “You are making the journey with the coffin?”
“I cannot do otherwise,” said Jocasta. “My heart needs to see my dear Alice well buried. I hoped to bury her here in York, but her sister chose otherwise.” A little shrug. “It is her right. I do not know how long I will be away. But if I hear anything of help regarding your missing servant, I will try to send word to you.”
Sam. God help her, Kate had forgotten all about him. She thanked Jocasta for thinking of him.
Lady Margery asked Phillip and Marie if they were enjoying the deanery. “Such a warm, inviting house, I suppose I do not need to ask. Of course you are.”
Marie shrugged.
Phillip excused himself to go greet the Granthams. “They paid for a fine coffin for Connor. And the candles,” he said. As Phillip passed a small group of stonecutters, Kate heard him ask one of them, “Were you in the stoneyard early this morning?” The man shook his head and asked why. “I thought I saw you. No matter.” He nodded and moved on.
Kate glanced down at Marie, who was frowning in her brother’s direction. “He saw someone in the stoneyard earlier?”
“He tells me nothing.” She kept her eyes on her brother who was now smiling at the Granthams. “There was a time he did. But no more. I hate him.”
“I hated it when my brothers kept secrets from me.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“I had three.”
“Where are they?”
Kate was saved from answering by Lady Margery, who asked if they might talk, then smiled down at Marie. “Might I borrow Dame Katherine for a moment?”
The girl ignored her. “Is the mass in the chapel of St. Mary Magdalene because Connor’s precious love was a whore like my mother?” she demanded of Kate.
Saturday’s sweetness had quickly gone sour. “No. We wanted to keep it quiet. Private. So we chose a chapel in the crypt,” Kate told her.
Lady Margery crouched down to Marie. “The Magdalene’s story is one of forgiveness and redemption, child. Connor would be honored that he and Alice are sharing a service in a chapel dedicated to her.”
The child cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think the dead care about such things?”
“Go to your brother,” said Kate. “I will come join you when it is time.”
The girl sighed and turned away. Lady Margery led Kate into the corner by the armoires, where Berend and Jennet awaited them.
“Is she always so perverse?” Lady Margery asked.
“When she is disappointed, yes,” said Kate. “What is it? Has something happened?”
“Yes. And I thought you should all hear this,” Margery began. “It happened last night. Your man Seth, who is caring for your elderly tenant across the alleyway, heard someone at the rear door of the hall. We were already uneasy—Troilus and Criseyde had been running in circles by the door, barking. So when Seth came for one of my guards, we were awake and ready to assist. Together they went out to search the gardens. The door to one of the sheds in the guesthouse garden was open, and blocking the doorway was a wheelbarrow with a pile of rags crusty with dried blood. A great deal of blood.”
Kate crossed herself. “Alice’s blood?”
“I wondered the same. And according to Odo, while Seth was out in the garden, the intruder who hums out of tune was down in the undercroft, setting a fire.”
“God help us. Did you catch him? Was there damage?” Kate asked.
“No and very little. Fortunately we had aired the hall so well in the afternoon that they smelled the smoke at once. Someone had lit the pallet. They were able to drag it out and beat out the few spots that had caught.”
“A gesture not intended to actually burn down the house,” Berend suggested.
“What can this person want?” asked Margery.
“He is showing us how easily he moves among us. Like we did as children,” said Kate.
“Perhaps you did,” said Lady Margery. “We were never so clever.”
“No further disturbance?” Kate asked.
“No, God be thanked. It was quite enough for one evening. I woke at every creak of the house throughout the night. Such a pity. I had felt good after my conversation with William Frost. He promised to speak up in my favor to his colleagues.”
“I suppose he sees it as an attempt at atonement,” said Kate. It would have been far better had he helped Alice. She asked Margery whether she was still comfortable in the guesthouse. “I would not blame you for seeking other lodgings.”
“My mission is far too important to us all to waver in the face of such cowardly attempts to frighten me off.”
In truth, it felt to Kate as if she were the object of attack, not Margery. But that was an argument for another time. “I meant no insult. You are my guest, and I feel responsible for your welfare.”
Margery pressed Kate’s hand. “Bless you.”
One of the dean’s clerks rang a bell for attention, announcing that he would now lead the procession to the chapel, begging them to proceed in an orderly fashion.
Kate excused herself and slipped through the gathered mourners to join Phillip and Marie, and together they walked out into the minster yard behind the Granthams as the first hints of dawn silvered the sky. At the southeast door, Dean Richard’s secretary waited with a tray of tapers, handing one to each mourner. Each taper was then lit by a servant standing beside him.
“I do not like this place,” Marie muttered as they moved forward into the aisle. “There are too many shadows.”
Usually Kate would agree, but this morning she caught her breath at the beauty of the line of light moving through the darkness as the mourners’ footsteps echoed in the soaring space. At the door to the crypt, a clerk advised them to move down the steps one at a time. “With care,” he whispered. “They are narrow and uneven.”
The stairwell had been brightened with white paint and crossed with red lines to give the look of ashlar, but no natural light illuminated the descent, and the stones seemed alive as the candles flickered in a strong draft. The line of mourners moved down, down, until they bent beneath a stone lintel and entered the chapel of St. Mary Magdalene. The low-roofed space, far more welcoming than that above, was fragrant with the warm scent of beeswax. A clerk showed them where to place their tapers, so that the chapel became a constellation of light.
Hugh and Martha Grantham, Phillip, Marie, Kate, and Dame Jocasta were directed to stand behind Connor’s coffin before the altar. The Granthams were subdued, showing signs of sleeplessness and tears. The masons gathered behind them, standing with heads bowed, their rough hands pressed together in prayer.
A murmur went through the crowd, and all turned their heads to observe Archbishop Scrope step into the chapel. Dressed in modest clerical robes, he bowed toward the altar, then took a place at the back beside Margery Kirkby. She smiled, pressing His Grace’s forearm in greeting, right hand to her heart.
So they were friends. That surprised Kate, considering Scrope’s mentor, Thomas Arundel, and his rumored alliance with Duke Henry on the continent. Would Scrope support King Richard if he reconciled with Duke Henry?
Kate was pondering that when Phillip tapped her arm, asking her quietly if that was truly the archbishop come to pray for Connor’s soul. Her nod lit the boy’s face. “Such prayers will surely speed Connor’s welcome in heaven,” he said.
She was struck by her ward’s earnest devotion, and wondered whether what irked Marie was a touch of jealousy—if she saw Connor as a rival, even in death. Kate must think how to convince the child to stay at the deanery.
As her uncle began the mass, Kate bowed her head and prayed that God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the saints and angels welcomed Alice and Connor. I pray you, gather them to your hearts and hold them close, comforting them. And gently, gently ease the heart of my ward, Phillip. Help him to forget the horror of what he saw.
And help me understand young Marie so that I might protect her.
As an afterthought she added, Help me see my way to loving both my wards as they deserve.
Toward the end of the requiem the sounds of the Lady Mass being sung in the choir drifted down to them, and as she turned to leave Kate noticed smiles on many of the tearstained faces. She glanced back to see whether she could observe her uncle’s reaction. He looked pleased. Yes, he had planned this uplifting final movement. Bless him.
At the deanery after the service, Kate introduced Phillip to the archbishop as Connor’s apprentice. The boy beamed as Richard Scrope described how he had happened on Connor in the masons’ lodge.
He had watched Connor forming the curl of a leaf. “Bent over his work, unaware of his audience, he hummed a little under his breath. I admired his focused attention and the easy joy with which he worked such magic in stone.”
The archbishop shifted his gaze to Kate as he assured Phillip that Connor’s murderer would be found. He would pay for his terrible crime, and for desecrating the cathedral with bloodshed. In that steady gaze, Kate read a challenge, not a reassurance. Her uncle had sensed that Scrope knew of Kate’s secret enterprise. Did he judge her? Unfortunately, he slipped away before she had a chance to speak with him further, to explore whether she had simply imagined the message.