A Murdered Peace

The long shelf on which the chandler displayed his goods always caught Kate’s attention as she passed into the marketplace, the scent of the more expensive beeswax candles reminding her of the chapel of her youth, the various lengths and shapes, the candles marked for the hours, they spoke to her of evenings in her mother’s bedchamber listening to stories, playing with the kittens her mother favored over the hounds. She liked this reminder of the happy moments in her childhood. But this morning she was after items the chandler did not have on display.

“Wax writing tablets?” the shop clerk smiled at Lille and Ghent as he repeated Kate’s request. “Oh, yes, the master has a wide selection, and they are easily joined into sets if you wish.” The young man whipped out a stack of three connected with leather thongs to open like a book.

“Single tablets will do for my girls,” she said. “Do you have any with a nice wood frame?”

A twinkle in the young man’s eyes. “I do, mistress.” He handled the book-like set with care as he returned it to the shelves behind him, and after a bit of rummaging presented two good-sized waxed tablets framed in a wood with a beautiful grain. “They were prepared for the mayor-elect’s daughter, but her mother refused them. Too heavy for her frail daughter.”

Poor Hazel. Kate’s girls had studied with her cousin’s daughter for a time, but of late Hazel had been too weak. Taking one of the tablets in hand, she knew Isabella Frost had been right in rejecting it for her daughter.

“My master might have pointed out that Mistress Frost had never specified the weight, as he would do with any other customer,” the clerk continued. “But one does not cross the wife of the mayor-elect. Especially one chosen by royal decree.”

“I do not think the king decreed William Frost’s election,” Kate suggested softly. The young man amused her, but her cousin would bristle at the suggestion that he had not been elected based on his own merits. “Marie and Petra will love these.”

He proposed a price higher than she intended to pay. She counter proposed. He argued, then named a sum slightly higher than her counter, and she agreed.

“Could I ask you to deliver them to the little schoolroom on Castlegate, the one run by the beguines?”

“We are happy to deliver, Mistress Clifford. To your niece and the bonny French girl?”

Kate smiled. “Yes, to them.” She glanced up for a moment and noticed Jon Horner hurrying into the market square, heading straight toward the booth of a spice seller new in the city. Horner, a scrivener, seemed a bit of a lackwit, with a soft, mincing way about him and a comic delight in bright colors and dramatically draped velvet hats. But those clothes cost more than a scrivener might honestly earn, and it was whispered in the guild that his appearance was a clever façade masking a cunning gamester who preyed on trusting folk who employed him to copy out wills and contracts.

Merek the spice seller was another unsavory character. Together they made a curious pair, their heads bent close now, Merek handing something to Horner, something the peacock began to examine, but the spice seller motioned to him to hide. The peacock seemed uncertain, but Merek waved him on, as if he considered the business concluded. Curious.

Kate had noticed Merek before Christmas, slouching down Petergate as if hoping to avoid notice. Folk said he claimed to sell varieties of pepper never encountered in the city. The guilds were aware of him. He was permitted only to sell in the market one day a week.

The chandler’s clerk interrupted her observation with a question about the delivery, and she was just tidying up details when a commotion distracted them.

The spice seller and the peacock had apparently finished their business. Horner stuffed something in the scrip at his waist as he glanced anxiously about, then scurried back in Kate’s direction, and Merek was already trotting off at a good clip as a customer shouted at him, “Come back here. I came out of my way–” He cursed as the spice seller disappeared amidst the stalls.

“Passionate about peppers,” the clerk quipped.

“One never knows another’s heart,” Kate said with an exaggerated sigh.

The two of them laughed as they completed their transaction.

Thomas Holme wagged his bushy white brows and congratulated Kate with all the heartiness she might have wished for. He proposed a toast to her success. But by the time he handed her the goblet of wine he was frowning and shaking his head.

“I need to review my accounts. As you should yours,” he said. “You know Lionel, he will demand to see them, ensure there are no outstanding payments or debts.”

“Clement has already reviewed mine,” she assured him.

“Ah. Clement is a good man. Still fit for the work, is he?”

“His body fails him, but his mind is as sharp as ever.”

Clement had been her late husband’s business factor, the one who had fixed Simon’s books so that his debts were invisible to his partners and the guild. And Kate. He had been well paid for the deception. But his conscience prevailed, albeit belatedly. An old man, bedridden for the most part, fearing eternal damnation should he not repent and make amends upon Simon’s death, he had given Kate money toward her late husband’s debts. A penance. In turn, Kate had installed Griselde and Clement in her guesthouse. It benefited Kate, as had the money, and she had entrusted Clement with her accounts, satisfied that he had learned his lesson.

“It is good you are wary of Lionel,” Thomas said. “A spice seller has been asking rather impertinent questions about him, his properties, and his connection to the powerful Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmoreland. Nor am I the only merchant he’s approached with such curiosity about your brother-in-law. Tongues are wagging in the guild.”

“I had not heard.” That did not bode well for Lionel’s future business. “This spice seller. Does he go by the name Merek?” Kate asked.

“The very man.” Thomas nodded. “So he has approached you as well?”

“No. I just saw him with Jon Horner–”

“A pair of weasels.” Thomas sniffed. “In any case, once my contract with what is now Lionel’s business expires I mean to investigate his relationship with Merek before I agree to work with him again.”

“You have a reasonable concern,” Kate said.

“As for you and I, our ship is expected soon,” said Holme, smiling. “As soon as all the fuss of the mayor’s feast is past, we will be busy. You will examine the shipment with me?”

“Of course.” She took pride in her eye for quality. Her partners appreciated it.

“I do have a proposal.” He cleared his throat. “My nephew Leif is a personable young man, has managed my warehouses, and my late brother’s, for almost a decade. Honest, hardworking. I believe we would be all the better for employing him as our clerk for sales.”

“You no longer need him as a manager?”

“He would continue in that capacity as well. The truth of it is, Leif has a mind to marry.”