The Service of the Dead

Stepping out onto the street in the last light of the afternoon, Kate paused, sensing a change in the weather – more than the hint of weak winter sun that had graced her time at the butts, and a hint of green in the scent of the air. The snow oozed underfoot, already melting. God be thanked. It had been a long winter in the confines of a city, where the freeze and thaw on cobbles required one to keep eyes to the ground. She readjusted the clothes draped over her arm so that she might more comfortably hold the dogs’ leashes as she struck out for the Sharp house. As she turned onto Coppergate she collided with a lad.

“Steady now, young man. Oh. Jennet.” She whispered the last word, catching her maidservant as she stumbled. Kate guided her off to the side, beneath the eaves of the corner house. Lille and Ghent sniffed Jennet with great interest to see where she had been.

Red-faced and short of breath, still dressed as a lad, Jennet bent forward, hands to thighs, catching her breath. When at last she straightened, her expression prepared Kate for bad news.

“What we have most feared has come to pass, Dame Katherine. Alice Hatten was found floating in the reeds at the edge of the King’s Fishpond.”

“Drowned? Merciful Mother.”

Jennet was shaking her head. “She did not drown. Her tongue was cut out, then she was beaten and discarded in the water.”

Kate crossed herself against evil. “What devil moves among us? Her tongue was cut out? Are you certain? It was not the fish?”

“Her jaw was broken, hanging open, so the men who pulled her out could see clearly that the cut was too straight for fish to have nibbled it.” Jennet closed her eyes. “I pushed through the crowd and saw it myself.” She pressed her hands to her face and bowed her head, an unusual gesture for Jennet.

Kate sagged against the building, searching for what she might have done differently, how she might have prevented this. But it was William’s doing, hidden from Kate until disaster struck. “God grant her peace,” she whispered.

“Amen.” Jennet fingered the clothes on Kate’s arm. “Where are you going with these?”

“To Jocasta Sharp.”

“Shall I come?”

“No. Tell Berend about Alice, if you will.”

Jennet nodded.

“You saw her, then?”

“I did. I am sorry I did.”

“You know where I hide the brandywine.”

A little smile. “Thank you.”

Ghent growled as Jennet headed on down Castlegate. Kate gave his leash a little tug to reprimand him for wanting to follow Jennet home, but then noticed he was looking at the dark space between two houses. Lille joined him. Holding tight to their leashes, Kate commanded them to continue on down Coppergate. Just past All Saints Church the dogs calmed, though they kept glancing round as if expecting to find danger following.

So like that day, many years before. Still being trained to track, Lille and Ghent had led Kate and Geoff to the fresh corpse of Maud, their neighbor’s daughter and Kate’s best friend, in a field. The pups went mad with the smell of blood. It soaked Maud’s gown, her hair, the ground beneath her. It was only later, as the women cleaned the young woman’s body, that they discovered the source of the copious bleeding: Her tongue had been cut out. All knew why. Maud had told her father that she had been raped by the Caverton brothers, and they had warned her she would die if she told.

Her mother had brought Kate south to York, for her safety. Useless effort.

She was so afraid for Phillip. Damn William. Damn him for bringing this terror on her household. And for putting Alice in such danger. Had he not done enough, abandoning her when Isabella had learned of his lust for her?

Holy Mary, Mother of God, gather Alice in your loving arms and hold her close, Kate prayed.

Ghent suddenly shied away from an alley. His ears back, he let out a low growl. Kate crouched down to the dogs. Lille was sniffing the air, her upper lip curled back. Ghent shook his head and went quiet at Kate’s touch. She peered into the darkness, saw nothing. An acquaintance stopped to ask her whether she needed help.

Brushing the snow from her cloak and stomping it from her boots, Kate assured him that all was well – though of course it was anything but. Someone shadowed her. But the merchant, born and raised in the city, was hardly the person to help her. He would suggest she report her concern to one of the sheriffs, who would doubtless pat her hand and suggest her hounds had been spooked by a cunning cat. It was up to Kate to make the sheriffs sit up and take notice of the violence done Alice Hatten. She urged Lille and Ghent forward, arriving at Jocasta’s doorstep with a chill at her back that had nothing to do with the melting snow. She paused and took note of her surroundings to steady herself.