The Service of the Dead
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: A Kate Clifford Mystery #1
- Год: 2016
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus Books
- ISBN: 978-1-68177-175-5
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «The Service of the Dead». Краткое содержание книги:
Expertly recreating the social and political upheavals of late medieval Europe and the increasing power of the wealthy merchant class, acclaimed author Candace Robb introduces a new series starring Kate Clifford, a woman forged on the warring northern marches of fourteenth century England.
Political unrest permeates York at the cusp of the fifteenth century, as warring factions take sides on who should be the rightful king – Richard II or his estranged, powerful cousin in exile, Henry Bolingbroke. Independent minded twenty-year-old Kate Clifford is struggling to dig out from beneath the debt left by her late husband. Determined to find a way to be secure in her own wealth and establish her independence in a male dominated society, Kate turns one of her properties near the minster into a guest house and sets up a business. In a dance of power, she also quietly rents the discreet bedchambers to the wealthy, powerful merchants of York for nights with their mistresses.
But the brutal murder of a mysterious guest and the disappearance of his companion for the evening threatens all that Kate has built. Before others in town hear word of a looming scandal, she must call upon all of her hard-won survival skills to save herself from ruin.
The house looked narrow from the street, but it was clearly a long structure set solidly on a stone undercroft for the storage of Edmund Sharp’s merchandise, wine and spices. The one window facing the street was glazed, subject to a costly tax. She urged the dogs through a wide archway into a cobbled courtyard and up to a hefty oaken door, polished to a soft sheen. It opened upon her knock, and a young male servant appeared, bowing and asking her business in a respectful manner. Well trained. When she explained her mission, he nodded.
“My mistress said you might come. She is away at the moment, but should be back shortly.” As he spoke, he was upstaged by a small terrier who rushed out between the young man’s legs and proceeded to sniff at Lille and Ghent. The two giants nudged her gently with their muzzles while wagging their tails.
“Ah. As Lady Gray seems quite happy to welcome your dogs, I am able to invite you within to wait for my mistress. When Dame Jocasta stepped out, she told me to take Lady Gray’s guidance as to whether your grand hounds might wait comfortably in the hall, or whether they would be more at ease in the kitchen. My mistress puts great store in Lady Gray’s discernment.”
Kate found the servant as intriguing as his mistress – his serious expression, his treatment of the dog, the exaggerated courtesy with which he invited her to sit and inquired as to whether she would prefer wine, brandywine, or ale. She requested brandywine.
“How long ago was your mistress called away?”
“Long enough that we expect her anytime now.” He bowed to her and slipped away to fetch her refreshment.
Her amusement regarding this odd welcome was a blessing, easing her sense of danger, allowing her to relax muscles already stiffened from the strain of worry as well as the cold. When the young manservant returned, Kate proffered him the clothes she had brought for the poor. He carried them with courteous ceremony to a large, leather-bound trunk near the service doorway, where he arranged the items with care. She guessed that this young man was a recipient of Jocasta’s charity, and thus carried out his duties with a grave sense of the wonder of life. As she sipped the brandywine in a delicate Italian glass goblet, Kate watched the petite Lady Gray shepherd Lille and Ghent to a long cushion near the fire, where they settled in a jumble of gray, white, and black. But once the dogs had settled, Kate’s thoughts returned to Alice’s grisly death.
I am sorry you were reminded of that awful discovery, Kate, Geoff whispered in her mind.
Peace, Geoff. This has nothing to do with you.
Kate drew out her ebony and ivory rosary beads and distracted herself with prayer until Jocasta should return. But the warmth of the fire, the ease of her dogs, and the strength of the brandywine lulled her into a doze. She was awakened by a soft touch on her forearm and the young servant’s announcement that he heard his mistress’s cart in the courtyard.
Kate followed him, standing to one side as he opened the door. Winter dusk had settled, the courtyard lit by several hanging lanterns. A procession of women, some of them carrying lanterns, escorted Jocasta and her cart. Lying atop the covering was a woman’s body. Alice Hatten. Kate crossed herself.
As Jocasta guided the cart into the courtyard, her companions fanned out, then flowed through the archway. Jocasta stepped away from the cart, and, turning to the women, lifted her arms and her voice in a hymn of evening and departures. The women joined in, singing as they lifted Alice Hatten’s body and carried her past Kate and the servant into the hall and through to the buttery, where they lay her on a stone table. Jocasta nodded to Kate as she followed. A few quiet orders and two serving maids hurried off. Still singing, Jocasta lit candles round the room. When the servants returned with herbs, oils, a sewing basket, a comb, and clean linens, Jocasta plucked a pair of scissors from the basket and began to cut at the hem of Alice’s sodden, bloodstained gown.
Kate stepped closer, watching as one of the other women took a comb and began to work on the tangles and debris in Alice’s pale hair. The dead woman’s face was badly bruised and her jaw hung open to reveal the horrible emptiness within.
A memory. Kate hiding in one of the stable stalls, listening to her brothers speaking in hushed voices about the mutilation of her friend Maud.
“Can you imagine the pain of someone forcing open your mouth until your jaw breaks?” Roland’s voice broke.
“Why’d they do that?” Geoff. It was Geoff asking, the little brother, his voice shaky.
“So they could use the scissors or the sharp knife to cut out her tongue. How do you think they managed that otherwise?” said Walter. Kate guessed that Geoff must be getting sick imagining it. “They had to pull her tongue out as far as possible, you see.” Walter, trying to sound like a wise eldest brother.
“How she must have suffered,” Roland sobbed. “Damn the Cavertons. Damn them all to hell.”
Solemnly the brothers swore to avenge Maud’s rape, torture, and murder.
“They must be shown they cannot commit such acts and live,” said Walter.
I did not get sick.
No, you did not, Geoff. But Walter need not have spoken so.
It was to stir us to action.
Kate could still feel her fear, how her heart had raced. She had feared she might be next.
She shook off the memory, forcing her attention back to her concern for Phillip. Where was he? Was he in danger?
“Dame Katherine, come, sit by the fire.” Jocasta took Kate’s arm and escorted her back to the cushioned chair near the fire. The young servant appeared at his mistress’s elbow to pour brandywine. “Take a sip of your wine, my dear. You are white as the snow.”
Kate realized she still held her prayer beads. “May God receive her into his loving embrace.” She crossed herself and slipped the beads into her scrip so she might drink.
“It was difficult for you to watch?” Jocasta asked. “Forgive me, I had not thought how it might affect you.”
“No, it is not that. I have seen mutilated bodies before. It is my ward. He is out on the streets, somewhere. I fear for him.”
“My dear. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
The concern in the woman’s expression eased Kate’s sense of guilt for interrupting her preparations for Alice’s burial. She told Jocasta about Phillip’s disappearances, and Lionel’s report. “And now, seeing that poor woman, knowing he is out on the streets somewhere…”
“I will have my friends watch out for him and keep him from harm, Katherine. You have my word. You say this stonemason’s name is Connor?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
Jocasta looked into the fire. “A slip of memory. Gone now. Perhaps as we talk it will return.”
“How did you learn of Alice’s death?”
“From one of the men to whom I have given aid. Well, he is still begging, and sometimes tries to poach from the King’s Fishpond. As he was doing when he noticed Alice in the reeds, raised the hue and cry, and then came to me. Word spread. By the time the sheriffs’ men had arrived to pull Alice’s body from the water several women from Joan del Bek’s were there, offering to prepare her body for burial and keep the vigil.”
“How did the beggar know to come to you?”
“I take care of the women no one claims. See that they are prayed over, watched over. So naturally he brought her here, though he did not know what she meant to me.” Jocasta closed her eyes.
“You knew Alice Hatten well?”
“She was like a daughter to me. But I did not know she was here in the city. What drew her from Beverley with the roads so treacherous I have no idea. Was she here to seek my help, but never made it so far?” Jocasta’s proud face twisted in grief. She bowed her head and was quiet a long while, until Lady Gray scrambled up onto her lap, nudging her chin. “Dear one,” Jocasta whispered, stroking the terrier’s back until she settled.