The Service of the Dead

As the bells rang for vespers, Lionel Neville knocked on the hall door. Promptness was his one virtue, though the man’s vile temper if kept waiting for the space of but a breath transformed it into an act of aggression. Kate let him enjoy a few moments out in the falling snow before opening the door to his curses.

Smiling, she welcomed him in. He swept past her without missing a beat in his complaint about the never-ending winter and lazy servants, pausing only to hand her his wet cloak. She indicated a hook by the door.

“You might offer me the courtesy of drying it by the fire.”

“Of course. You are welcome to drape it on the back of your chair. I’ve set the table by the fire so we might be comfortable, and I’ve set the children and my servants to other tasks so we would not be disturbed.”

Lionel grunted, but he crossed the room and did as she suggested, making a show of shaking out his wet cloak before draping it on the chair. “I heard about your manservant’s accident,” he said as he took his seat, then glanced round the hall. “I half-expected to find you attending him here.”

It did not surprise Kate that in her brother-in-law’s opinion no self-respecting mistress of a household would care for an injured servant. Her late husband often entertained her with a litany of his brother’s prejudices. “How good of you to express concern about Matt’s injuries. He is in capable hands, I assure you.”

“I am much relieved,” Lionel sneered. “I pray you, come to the point of this summons, Katherine.”

What a relief it would be to shut the door behind him. Taking her seat beside Lionel, Kate opened the ledger that Griselde’s husband Clement kept for her. “I found a discrepancy in the records of our recent shipment.” A small but valuable box of cinnamon had gone missing on their ship that had just returned from Calais. Lionel had been in charge, serving as factor. She’d long suspected him of pinching a little here, a little there, just enough to pad his purse and add to her debt.

Lionel snorted. “Thieving curs. I knew they’d removed something.”

“Who?”

“The king’s men. They boarded and searched the ship in Hull.” Always had an answer, this one. “You can be certain they are using the king’s order to their advantage, stealing whatever they can get away with, small things we won’t detect beneath their cloaks. The spice was the perfect spoil.”

It was, she agreed. “But it was your responsibility. You or someone you trust should have accompanied the king’s men round the ship.”

“They told us not to follow.”

“On your ship you insist. Are they searching all vessels, or just ours?”

“Most of the ships coming from Calais, Ghent, Antwerp. Wherever there have been rumors of the exiled Duke of Lancaster. These are treacherous times, Katherine. You have heard that the king means to split up the Lancastrian lands, deprive Duke Henry of his inheritance.”

“Yes, I have heard the rumor.” And she accepted Lionel’s excuse, but warned him again that it was his responsibility to escort the searchers and keep them honest.

“What you ask is dangerous.”

Oh yes, it was. And with any luck… Best not follow that thought.

The people depended on the king for the health of the realm. But, much to their misfortune, King Richard believed he did not need his nobles, that he was an island unto himself. He did not understand that his strength was in appreciating and making use of the talents of his nobles and other powerful men who would in turn use them for the good of all his subjects. A dozen years ago they rose up – a warning. His cousin Henry Bolingbroke, son of the Duke of Lancaster, had joined the rebellion, but then returned to Richard’s side for the sake of the realm, hoping to reason with him, cousin to cousin.

The nobles remembered Henry’s doings, and wondered at Richard’s subsequent treatment of his cousin. Henry had come to the king with proof that Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, was speaking treason. Richard agreed to let Henry challenge Thomas before the court of chivalry. But at the last minute he changed his mind and exiled both of them. Where was the justice in that? And then to suggest on the death of Henry’s father, the king’s loyal uncle Lancaster, that Henry had forfeited his inheritance? How so? The nobles saw King Richard’s recent acts as proof that no one was safe from his arbitrary punishments. Who could trust such a king? They would all suffer from his blindness.

The truth was, if the king decided the Nevilles were a threat to his reign, Kate might be ruined with them. Though she had never taken the name, she had married a Neville, and one branch of that family, led by Sir Ralph Neville, now Earl of Westmoreland, had risen quickly by dancing attendance on both King Richard and his uncle Lancaster. Not that the Clifford name was any safer. Her own uncle, Richard Clifford, had coerced her into hosting Lady Margery Kirkby, the wife of a man who had withdrawn from the public eye shortly after Duke Henry’s exile. But her uncle was the dean and chapter of York Minster, and Lady Kirkby’s fortnight’s visit with a full entourage would bring in much-needed cash to High Petergate. Life was complicated.

Which was why she still wondered about Matt’s “accident.”

“Is your man Sam about?” Lionel asked as he rose.

“Not at the moment. I sent him to the Fletchers to see about young Seth taking Matt’s duties for a while. Why do you ask?” Her brother-in-law’s long face was in shadow, but she realized that he’d been gazing around ever since he arrived, as if expecting something – what? who? – to suddenly appear. “Have you business with Sam?”