The Service of the Dead

William Frost’s mistress Drusilla Seaton lived with her son and his family on Stonegate, inhabiting a suite of rooms with its own entryway, in the part of the house that extended into the garden. Welcomed warmly, Kate settled beside the fire to warm herself, Lille and Ghent beside her, while her hostess fussed with the maidservant over the wine she was mulling.

“Just back from market with new spices. I believe they’re from your warehouse, Kate. I have a new recipe you must taste!”

“It is a day for hot spiced wine,” Kate said, pretending interest. Lille and Ghent made noises about a dog outside the window, scratching in the frozen turf. So cold. Had Phillip dressed warmly? She fretted that she wasted time here. She should be out searching for her ward.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Drusilla inquired, leaning forward and resting a lavender-scented hand on Kate’s shoulder.

“The usual worries about Phillip and Marie, whether I am doing what is best for them. William does not approve of Phillip’s work for Hugh Grantham.”

Drusilla Seaton wrinkled her nose. “Your cousin is too influenced by his wife’s prejudices. The woman sees everyone as a threat to her own interests, just as her father did before her. You are a capable young woman. Do not doubt yourself. You are giving Phillip a profoundly generous and wise gift in allowing him to find out for himself what will give him the most satisfaction.” The widow sipped her wine, her clear blue eyes watchful over the edge of the cup. “Margery Kirkby is fortunate to be hosted by you and the incomparable Goodwife Griselde, my dear Kate, her every comfort seen to so seamlessly. I do pray she is not tempted by your welcome to extend her stay. For all his faults, three weeks without William seems an eternity.”

“A fortnight, not three weeks, Drusilla.”

“Three weeks for me. I did question the wisdom of your giving up revenue for a week prior to her stay so that you might prepare. She is not so fine as all that. But I suspect it was Goodwife Griselde who persuaded you. Clement’s illness…”

Kate had stopped listening. So William had never intended to stay that night with Drusilla. The stranger’s evening there had been planned in advance, and William had waited until Griselde had little time to warn her. Why did this make her heart race when she’d already guessed he dissembled with her?

Realizing that her hostess awaited a response, Kate said, “I am quite fond of Margery. But it was my uncle Clifford who insisted I treat her as an honored guest.” She could see by the widow’s expression that she had not guessed correctly what the unheard question had been, but she could hardly ask Drusilla what she had missed. Something about Griselde and Clement. “As for Griselde, I’ve hired young Seth Fletcher to help her,” said Kate. “Some brawn about the house.”

Drusilla chuckled. “Well, the lad’s better than nothing, I suppose. But what of Matt? Oh – I’d forgotten. The runaway wagon. Will he walk again, do you think?”

Kate did not answer, thinking about what Matt had told Berend, a vague memory of a man behind the wagon. Perhaps the murderer – or William? – had disabled Matt so that he might not interfere that night at the guesthouse. It seemed far too much of a coincidence.

“My, you are preoccupied this morning, Katherine.”

“Forgive me. Poor Matt. I should pay him a visit and see how he fares.” No need to let people know how quickly Matt was recovering.

“Such a tragedy for him. And for you at such a time.” Drusilla shook her head. “A man of Richard Clifford’s stature – well, he might be your uncle, but you could not have denied him this. He will not be dean of York Minster for long, I hear. A bishop’s miter is in his future. Though with King Richard planning an expedition to Ireland there may be more of a delay than your uncle might like.”

Kate felt a twinge of regret. She enjoyed her uncle’s company, and the added security of his presence in the city. But she was not surprised he would soon be promoted. “Yes, that branch of my family is well-placed at court, and particularly my uncle – privy seal, wardrobe. They are also well liked by the Lancastrians, if it should come to that. As for my mother’s kin – the Frosts are ever the opportunists, like the Nevilles. William has not spoken of the king of late. Is he still in his favor?”

“Is that what this visit is about? You want to know whether William sympathizes with King Richard or the Duke of Hereford?”

Of course Kate’s purpose was to learn what was more likely, that William’s secret guest was King Richard’s man or an envoy from the Lancastrians. An unknown, or Hubert Bale. She had no idea how far she might trust Drusilla. “I cannot deny that I wonder where he stands, but no more so than I do about anyone of stature in York. King Richard gave us our charter as a self-governing city, and William was very much a part of that. But to exile the Duke of Lancaster’s heir–”

“And that he might confiscate his property. I know.”

They both shook their heads.

“William has been quiet about the affair,” said Drusilla. “Perhaps he and Isabella disagree about which side to support, if it comes to that. And considering the power and wealth of the Lancastrian affinity, I expect Duke Henry might well return with an army.”

Yet another who saw it as the most likely result.

Drusilla glanced out the window. “Oh, my dear, you cannot see the garden for the falling snow. Will this winter never end? You must stay to dine with me.”

Cursed weather. “I should see to my wards.”

“I pray you, wait here until the storm passes, Katherine. Stay and break bread with me. See? My maidservant is already bringing the food. And I have a fine wine.”

Perhaps over a meal and some wine Drusilla might forget herself and confide something useful. Kate agreed it was best to wait out the worst of the storm, so she took Lille and Ghent out into the wintry garden while Drusilla’s servant set the table for the meal. Wrapping her fur-lined cloak tightly round her, Kate stood beneath the eaves while the wolfhounds hesitantly explored the sheltered space, Ghent snuffling out in the wind, Lille pressing into the corners. Despite the sheltering overhang, she was buffeted by the gusts that caught her skirts. The blowing snow stung her face. Where was Phillip?

She forced her thoughts to the task at hand. Drusilla was being as cagey as William. Kate did not believe that her cousin had not discussed the tension between the king and the duke with Drusilla; he valued his mistress’s insight into the state of the realm and civic issues, seeking her counsel in such matters.