A Murdered Peace

Back at her own home, Kate led Lille and Ghent round the back of the house to the kitchen, where she found Jennet standing over the fire, her freckled face flushed from the heat and the vigor with which she was stirring. “Marie will have my hide if she discovers I let her fine stew stick to the bottom of the pot.” With Berend gone, Marie and Jennet were sharing kitchen duties, Marie assembling something for Jennet to cook before leaving for her lessons. “I don’t know how Berend does three things at once. I cannot seem to watch the yard and keep dinner from burning.” With her forearm she blotted the sweat from her brow, taking a moment to look Kate up and down. “You might want to dry your skirts and boots before you go up to talk to him.”

“Him?”

“Berend.”

“He’s here?” Kate went back to the door, half-expecting to see the king’s men. But the yard was empty.

“Up in your chamber, I should think, not in the yard,” said Jennet. “He doesn’t think I saw him, but I told you making the gate at the bottom of the steps open with a creak would stand us in good stead. I caught a glimpse of him as he was climbing up.”

Pray God he meant to tell her who he’d been watching, and why he’d left without a word, how he was tied to the uprising.

Jennet tilted her head, studying Kate. “You are not half so surprised as I expected. You knew he was back?”

“I did not expect him to come to the house. But yes, I saw him earlier, near Ouse Bridge.” Kate told her of the encounter.

Jennet muttered a curse. “King’s men. I don’t like the sound of that. Nor his stealing up the steps without even peeking into the kitchen. But he’s up there waiting for you. I’ve had my ears pricked since then. He’s not come down.”

Kate went to the fire and shook out her skirts, stalling for time to resolve her roiling emotions – joy that he had come to her, fear for him, dread about what he would reveal.

“Well?” said Jennet. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“We need to listen for Berend,” said Kate, taking care to speak softly. “Or for whoever might follow him. Where’s Matt? Did you alert him?”

A nod. “He’s in the hall. When I went in to warn him we got to talking – well, whispering so Berend could not overhear us from above. That’s when this stuck to the bottom of the pot.” Jennet muttered a curse and resumed stirring. “I do not want to think what punishment awaits me. That child is cunning.” But she was smiling. Both girls loved Jennet and would do anything to be permitted to follow her on her perambulations around York and out the gates, checking in with her eyes and ears. No matter how difficult the lives Jennet described, the girls thought it all exciting. And, in truth, both had lived through difficult times before they had come into Kate’s household that hardened them in ways that broke her heart. But Jennet agreed with her that they must now be kept safe and away from danger.

“If a stranger comes asking questions, you know what to do,” said Kate. “And don’t let the hounds fool you into feeding them – they’ve just had a feast at the York Tavern, and more at the guesthouse.” She returned their leads to their hook by the door.

Jennet whistled. “The York? Old Bess permitted it?”

“I will tell you all about it. And I have a new task for you. Learn what business Cecily Wheeldon has with Jon Horner. Or, rather, what role he plays for her.” She met Jennet’s curious gaze. “No, not a prospective client. Thomas Holme’s nephew is interested in the widow.”

“Horner’s slippery as an eel. I look forward to it.”

Still Kate hesitated. “I don’t know what to expect of Berend. He seemed a stranger out on the street.”

“Not to the hounds.”

“No, not to them.” Kate looked over at Lille and Ghent, stretched out near the fire, calm, satisfied after their outing and unexpected treat. She had trained them well. They had seen Berend, known him, obeyed his signal, no hesitation.

“Go on, then,” Jennet said softly. “At least he’s alive, and moving about on his own two feet.”

She was right. Many a night Kate had stared at the ceiling worrying about Berend, what had become of him, fearing that she might never know. No matter what he told her, it was better than forever wondering. She went out into the yard, stepping back close to the wide trunk of the oak, seeing that no one was visible on the second story landing and the doors were shut. Hers was nearest the stairs, then the girls’ room, and a spare for Phillip or guests. Each had a small shuttered window looking out onto the landing, and hers had another on the street. None of the shutters were open. Even the snow on the railing was undisturbed. One would never know she had a visitor. Crossing back to the bottom of the steps, she noticed wet prints leading up, but none of them were complete prints, certainly not enough to tell anything about Berend’s condition, whether he was limping. She almost wished Matt were not so efficient about clearing the snow from the steps.

You are stalling, Geoff whispered in her mind.

She was. All she need do was go up, see him for herself.

In her old house, the steps up to the solar were inside the hall, an added security; here, the stairs to the second story chambers were outside the house. In warm weather they might keep the door near the foot of the steps open, so that anyone in the hall might see someone approaching, but in winter that was not feasible. So they’d installed a noisy gate at the bottom, not locked, but hung on its hinge so that it gave a loud, harsh squeak when swung open – unless one knew how to lift it and swing it out. Berend knew to do this, but Jennet said she’d heard the squeak; he’d intended to alert whoever was there of his presence. Heartened, she climbed, avoiding the two creaking risers rigged by Matt and Jennet in case an intruder managed to open the gate silently.

She paused on the landing before her own door, taking a deep breath, then drew her dagger from the hidden scabbard in her skirt and kicked the door wide. Just in case.

“It’s me. Berend.” The familiar voice came from the far corner.

Strange how even now the mere sound of his voice comforted Kate. But she reminded herself to stay alert. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that he had the street-side shutters slightly opened and stood where he could watch the busy intersection of Petergate and Stonegate. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.