The Service of the Dead

As they neared the house Kate returned to praying that Phillip had dressed warmly, that he had kept his wits about him, that he was among people who would look out for him. His truancy made her question her decision to encourage his interest in stonemasonry. She resolved to insist that he work only under Hugh Grantham’s guidance from now on. Please, God, let there be a from now on.

In the hall, she halted in confusion as Matt rose from a seat by the fire to come take her cloak and offer her something warm to drink. He looked well, though he steadied himself with a crutch tucked beneath one arm.

“Forgive me, mistress,” Berend hastened to explain. “I brought Matt here to sleep in the hall, for protection. We do not know when Sam will return.”

“Good. I am glad you thought of it, Berend.” Kate greeted Matt warmly as she handed Berend her cloak. “Are you in any pain?” She boldly lifted the hair that fell over his forehead, exclaiming at the dark bruise.

“It looks far worse than it feels,” Matt assured her. “Same for the other cuts and scrapes. I am ready to work. I thought I might go mad sitting about.”

She relieved him of the cup of mulled wine he had been holding in his free hand, though she set it aside after one sip to pull off her boots and stand near the hearth to warm her toes and dry the hem of her skirt. Sam. She had forgotten about him, going off to Beverley after she had told him to wait.

“I will find someone to send a message to Jocasta in the morning, asking the friar who is taking word to Alice’s sister to watch out for Sam on the road.” She saw the doubt in Berend’s expression. “I know how unlikely it is that he will happen upon Sam, but what if he does?” She told the two of them she would like them all to eat in the hall. She would welcome the company.

They were a quiet gathering round the table, Marie making no note of Matt’s presence or his injuries, clearly worried into silence by her brother’s disappearance on the same day that a woman’s mutilated body had been found in the King’s Fishpond. When she noticed Marie fighting sleep, Kate suggested she share her bed that night.

“Jennet is going out after the meal to listen for news of Phillip. You will want to be in the room when she returns, eh?”

Marie whispered a merci and gave Kate a peck on the cheek. It was her first kiss from either of her wards. She averted her eyes to hide her sudden tears. A first step.

As Kate coached Matt in cohabiting with Lille and Ghent for the night, Jennet helped Marie settle up in the solar, then left with her pack of boy’s clothes.

While Kate lay awake worrying, Marie tossed and turned, fell heavily asleep for a while, then tossed and turned some more. The girl’s unsettled humors produced so much heat, Kate turned down some of her blankets, much as she had as a child when her cat slept with her. Mite would tumble and romp beneath the covers, then curl up atop Kate and warm her so effectively that her nurse found her with her feet hanging out of the covers in the morning. Kate smiled to herself, remembering Mite. She had been the terror of the household, lording it over all the other cats, as well as the hunting hounds. Kate’s mother would tsk and moan when the gray cat streaked across the parlor and dove into sewing baskets, tangling herself in silk thread, batting at the threads dangling from the women’s embroidery. Lille and Ghent would have disapproved. But they never had the chance. Mite had died a warrior’s death long before they were whelped. Tears wet Kate’s temples as she stared at the ceiling. Try as she might to stay with happy memories of Mite, and of Lille and Ghent as puppies, her thoughts perversely returned to Alice Hatten’s mutilated body, and the memories of the summer of Maud’s rape and murder – her brother Roland’s terrible grief and her own conflicting emotions, mourning Maud’s loss and fearing she would suffer the same violent death.

At last she heard Jennet let herself in down below, Matt’s startled challenge, Lille and Ghent’s joyous greetings. The voices hummed for a little while, long enough that Kate grew impatient and considered extricating herself from beneath Marie’s slender limbs, remarkably heavy in sleep, so she might join them. But now she heard Jennet on the steps, and Marie sat up. As soon as Jennet stepped through the door, Marie anxiously asked if there was news of her brother. Kate relaxed to see Jennet’s smile in the light of the oil lamp.

“Phillip was seen in a tavern in early evening with the stonemason, Connor, and some of his fellows. When the news came about Alice Hatten, Connor, well, he was deep in his cups and went quite mad. Broke a bench and some pottery before several of his fellows escorted him out. They took him home and Phillip stayed with him.”

“Alice?”

Jennet nodded. “Apparently they had once meant to marry. Before her troubles.”

That was why Jocasta recognized the name. Kate was relieved to have news of her ward that suggested he himself was unharmed, but she was troubled, very troubled by Connor’s connection to Alice.