The Service of the Dead

Kate was sitting in the kitchen with Marie and Berend when Jennet returned awhile later, accompanied by a scowling Phillip.

Kate had expected him to be gone until late afternoon. “You did not go on to the stoneyard to observe Connor?”

“Connor did not show up for work. So when I finished the accounts, Master Hugh sent me home. I don’t think he’s serious about making me an apprentice, pairing me with that lazy journeyman.”

“You called Connor gifted.”

Phillip gave a reluctant nod. “He is. When he handles the stone, I swear it breathes. But he’s hardly ever there of late.”

“I must see Hugh Grantham about some business this afternoon. I’ll ask him about Connor.” Phillip looked uneasy. “I promise I will neither embarrass you nor irritate your employer,” Kate assured him.

Berend set out bowls of stew for the latecomers, then stood back, rubbing the scar where an ear used to be with his three-fingered hand. He was a former soldier, missing fingers, a few toes, an ear, but a remarkable cook. With his strength and formidable appearance he was a reassuring and helpful presence in the household. And fiercely loyal to Kate. Which was why she felt she could do without William’s retainers. At the moment Berend was worried about her safety. She sensed it in how he hovered.

“Why is Jennet wearing your old gown?” Marie demanded of Kate. “You were cutting that down for me.”

“And so I was, but you declared it hideous. Have you decided otherwise now that you see it on Jennet?”

Marie made a face and returned to her stew, asking Berend questions about the spices and the vegetables. At a very young age she had been trained to cook for the household in Calais, alongside a mute serving man who did the kneading, stirring, reaching, and lifting that she was too young to handle. Kate had noted Marie’s interest when she arrived and had quietly asked Berend to befriend the girl. Marie now often assisted him in the kitchen, quite ably according to Berend. At least she showed an interest in something.

Kate motioned to Jennet to step outside with her.

Out in the cold, Kate smiled at how lovely her maidservant looked. Jennet might attract a suitor wearing that gown to church on a Sunday. But she was so proud, she was not likely to accept it as a gift. “What did you discover?”

“Alice was not at the bawdy house. And I heard nothing on the streets, no gossip. About her. But I did hear a woman on High Petergate commenting to her companion as they passed your house that all the bustle must be readying for Lady Kirkby’s visit.”

“All the bustle, you said. So you saw someone removing the – item – from the solar?”

“That had already been moved, and one of Master Frost’s men was carrying a bucket down the steps for Goodwife Griselde. She told me the item had been loaded into a cart that headed off toward Bootham Bar.”

So William had the body. Kate had wondered how he would dispose of it without sparking his wife’s disapproving curiosity. A cart toward Bootham Bar. Would he take it into the Forest of Galtres, burying the body somewhere deep in the woods? Or might he weight it with stones and send it to the depths of the River Ouse? She wondered what it was like, knowingly depriving an acquaintance of the last rites, a burial in consecrated ground. Would William sleep tonight? Would she?

“Mistress Clifford?” Jennet touched Kate’s hand.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. “I did not realize that Lady Kirkby’s visit was common knowledge.” Perhaps the archbishop had mentioned it to someone? Kate sensed that her uncle, the dean of York Minster, was not a close confidant of the Archbishop of York, Richard Scrope. He might not have felt comfortable telling him of Kate’s request for discretion. If Scrope had spoken of it, might the murder have anything to do with it? Kate could not know that yet, so she pushed the thought aside. What mattered was that there was much work to do to prepare. Margery Kirkby was expected midmorning on the morrow, and would bide for a fortnight in the large chamber on High Petergate, her retinue in the hall below. And the smaller chamber needed freshening for tonight’s guests, in fact, so the larger chamber could be aired after cleaning. Those were her priorities at present.

“I should see that the laundress has collected the bedclothes, mistress, and help Goodwife Griselde,” said Jennet.

“When you’ve eaten. I will join you at the guesthouse after I see Hugh Grantham.”

In the kitchen, Kate had a word with Berend about protecting her wards. Fingering a meat cleaver, he assured her she had nothing to fear. “We will work on a meat pie. That will keep them in the kitchen until your return.”

Simon had laughed at her choice of cook, predicting that Berend would desert their kitchen as soon as someone noticed him at market and offered him a job as a retainer. But she had stood her ground, and Berend had rewarded her confidence with five years of loyalty, and a willingness to step outside the kitchen when she needed his strength or comfort or advice when she fought inner demons. She had grown to think of him as her guardian. Marie and Phillip would be safe with him.

To compensate them for having their morning routine disrupted, Kate took Lille and Ghent across Castlegate and let them off leash so they might run through Thomas Holme’s extensive gardens to the river. A generous swathe of his property across Castlegate was given over to a park, a number of small gardens, and a wild band of underbrush and trees that Lille and Ghent loved to explore. Their enjoyment of the area was part of Thomas’s payment for his use of the guesthouse with his mistress. Kate’s kitchen also enjoyed the bounty of the herb and vegetable gardens, but that was an arrangement she had made with her cousin and Thomas’s second wife, Catherine Frost – a young woman with her own secrets to keep.

Midday the grounds were a quiet refuge within the city, the calls of songbirds and waterfowl, wind in the trees, the rushing river all masking the usual street sounds. No matter the weather, Kate often used the peace of the place to restore her sense of balance before heading back out into the fray.

By the time she, Jennet, and the dogs set out for their afternoon appointments, the morning’s snow flurries were replaced by an icy sleet. But Kate’s squirrel-lined cloak and hood were warm, her rabbit-lined boots kept out the damp, and she counted her blessings.

In Stonegate, Jennet went on to the guesthouse while Kate stopped at a goldsmith’s shop to see whether a brooch she had brought for repair was ready. As she left the shop, tucking the small pouch in the purse she wore at her waist, she heard her cousin William greeting someone. His expression was so uncommonly grim that the mercer who had called out to him hurried away as if grateful to have escaped his bad humor. Kate hooked her arm in William’s and drew him into the shadow beneath an overhanging story. The dogs stood sentinel to either side of her.

“Have you disposed of it?”

“Can’t you smell it on me?”

“No.” She pressed his arm. “Are we safe? You know I have an important guest arriving for a fortnight.”

“God help me, Katherine, is that all you can think of? Your trade?”