A Murdered Peace
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: A Kate Clifford Mystery #3
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus Books
- ISBN: 9781681779270
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «A Murdered Peace». Краткое содержание книги:
England still in tumult at the start of the fifteenth century, as Kate Clifford finds herself working to prove the innocence of her longtime confidante.
It is deep winter in York, 1400, the ground frozen, the short days dimmed with the smoke from countless fires, the sun, when it shines, low in the sky. It is rumored that the Epiphany Uprising, meant to relieve the realm of the Henry the usurper and return King Richard to the throne has, instead, spelled his doom. As long as Richard lives, he is a threat to Henry. So, too, the nobles behind the plot. The ringleaders have been caught, some slaughtered as they fled west by folk loyal to Henry, and the king's men now search the towns for survivors.
A perilous time, made worse for Kate Clifford by the disappearance of Berend, her cook and confidante, shortly after Christmas. Her niece saw his departure in a dream – he said he was honor bound to leave. Honor bound – to a former lord? One of the nobles who led the uprising? Is he alive? She is hardly consoled when Berend reappears, wounded, secretive, denying any connection to the uprising, but refusing to explain himself. When he is accused of brutally murdering a spice seller in the city, Kate discovers a chest of jewels in his possession. Some of the jewels belong to her old friend Lady Margery, wanted by the king for her husband’s part in the uprising. For the sake of their long friendship, and the love she and her wards bear for him, Kate wants to believe his innocence. So, too, does Sir Elric. And he has the powerful backing of the Earl of Westmoreland. All she need do is confide in him. If only she trusted her heart.
“But the soldiers are long gone.”
“That might be more a curse than a blessing. Folk hear of the mobs taking down those who would bring back King Richard. The devil seeds lawlessness across the land. Here we’ve had the spice man’s murder two days after the man found in the ditch across the way, his throat slit … Folk are uneasy.”
“A man in a ditch with his throat slit?”
A nod. “The lad came across him a few nights ago.”
“I wonder – a friend’s manservant did not return from an errand outside this gate. Could you describe the man?”
His description fit Carl. “I took the body to Father Michael, in the small chapel just beyond.”
The priest warned her it was not a pretty sight. He was right. Coffey had mentioned only the slit throat, not the shattered hand, the bruised and battered face. Someone had tortured Carl before killing him. The faithful servant had died protecting his lady, Kate guessed. She said a prayer over him, then gave the priest a donation for a separate burial.
“Would that you could do that for all of them,” said the long-suffering priest. He asked no questions.
She was glad of that. She wearied of lying.
Halfway across the Ouse Bridge Kate became aware that Lille and Ghent had gone on alert, looking round, searching the shadows. How, in the press of bodies going about their late morning business they could sense that someone was too interested in her movements, she could not guess, but she was grateful. She had no intention of leading anyone to Horner’s house or Merek’s lodgings. Once over the bridge she turned down Coney Street, then into St. Helen’s Square. Time for a chat with Bess Merchet.
Bess’s grandson Colin greeted her warmly, particularly after she carefully secured the hounds’ leads just outside the door, but he shook his head at her request, inclining his head toward the kitchen, where a man could be heard declaring that he had never been so ill-used. “Another cook about to walk out, I fear, and we’ve dinner to serve. Mid afternoon will be much better. I will tell her to expect you.”
At loose ends, Kate stepped back out into the yard and found Kevin and Wulf standing by Lille and Ghent.
“How did they know you were being followed?” Wulf asked.
“So it was you following me? You saw them go on alert?”
“Yes and no,” said Kevin. “We were following the men following you. Parr and Sawyer. Well, we were unaware until we caught sight of you that you were their quarry. They hoped you would lead them to Berend, I’d wager.”
Not so clever as she had feared. “Have you found where they are lodging?”
“No,” said Kevin, “and that is telling, wouldn’t you say? King’s men would command lodgings at one of the religious houses or the home of the mayor, perhaps one of the aldermen – but we have checked all those.”
A busy morning. “So they would,” said Kate. “How did you rid yourselves of them?”
“We came up behind them arguing loudly about a man in Salisbury’s livery heading into Toft Green,” said Wulf with a self-satisfied grin. “They turned and headed back that way.”
She bowed to their clever ploy. “Do you have someone following them?”
“No. While we searched we put out the word we’re looking for them,” said Kevin. “Now we thought it best to see whether anyone comes to us. We thought we might be too obvious following them.”
Kate would have sent someone anyway. But Jennet’s eyes and ears would find them eventually. “Thank you for setting them astray,” she said. “Now I can continue on my errands.”
“We will accompany you. At a slight distance,” said Kevin. “Best to make certain they are nowhere around.”
She was about to argue, but decided against it. “Come on then. Jon Horner’s house is just around the corner.” If all went well there, they could move on to Merek’s lodgings, though the sheriffs’ constables might have already searched them.
8
A Victim, an Ally
“I will not have a mess in here,” Horner’s housekeeper warned, her beaky nose quivering as she focused her close-set eyes on Lille and Ghent. Goodwife Tibby was a small but solid woman with a fierce frown so habitual it seemed carved into her face. “And I’ve no time to prepare refreshments. I am just back from market.” Indeed, at her feet were two baskets filled with jugs and wrapped parcels.
“If you wish, we will speak with your master where we stand,” said Kate. “Let him know that we are here.”
“I don’t know …”
“We will stand here until we speak with him,” said Kate.
With a sniff, the woman lifted her baskets and nodded toward the far side of the hall. “He uses his parlor as his office. He has taken to sleeping there as well. The roof above the solar needs mending and he is too cheap–” she caught herself. “You’ve only to knock. If he’s in, he will see you, I’m sure. Always ready to take a client’s money, though where it goes …” Tibby shook her head as she bustled off to the kitchen.
Kate led with the hounds, Wulf and Kevin right behind her.
“Was a mistress of the house here once, you can see it,” said Wulf.
Large cupboards to either side held a few pewter tankards, some plates, and a skilled carving of a hawk on a pedestal. But all was powdered with a thick layer of dust. The housekeeper apparently did not see the cleaning of the cupboards, or, indeed, the hall, as her responsibility. And if Horner ate all his meals at the York Tavern, what precisely did Tibby do?
Kevin had gone over to the door the housekeeper had indicated and knocked. Clucking to Lille and Ghent to accompany her, Kate crossed the room as Kevin knocked again, then shook his head.
“Not here, I suppose,” he said. “Surely he would have heard our conversation with his harried housekeeper and come to see who we were. He cannot feel sanguine about her greeting his business associates.”
Considering what Jennet had found about his finances, Kate thought such visits might be a rarity. Although there might be more desperate fools who used him as a scribe than she would guess. “Try the latch,” she said.
Kevin merely touched the door and it swung open. Revealing chaos. The floor of the small room was littered with clothing, shoes, documents, bowls, feather pens – seemingly most of what had been on the cupboard shelves and the small desk near the one window. But that was not the worst of it.
Jon Horner lay on a small pallet tucked in a corner, his face and upper body caked in the contents of his stomach. The stench of vomit was strong in the enclosed space. Wulf groaned. Kevin crossed himself. Kate lifted a scented cloth to her nose and whispered reassurances to her hounds, though she was the one breathless with dismay.
Wulf reached the bed first, lifting one of Horner’s arms. “He’s not been dead long. There’s still warmth in the pit of his arm. But he’s not breathing.”
“Choked on his own vomit?” Kevin wondered. “Or poisoned?”
“Or both,” said Wulf, crossing himself.
“Stay,” Kate ordered Lille and Ghent at the door. “Watch.”
She entered the room slowly, shuffling through the debris, toeing things, wondering what someone had been searching for. A contract? The gold item Merek handed Horner at the market the previous day? Beneath a spare pair of boots she noticed something out of place – a woman’s glove. Picking it up, she fingered the buttery soft leather, pale, possibly lightened to show off the decorative stitching. An expensive glove, an unlikely item in the home of a man of Jon Horner’s means. She toed the debris around it, but did not find its mate. Seeing that Kevin and Wulf were distracted with cleaning the corpse on the bed, Kate tucked the glove into her scrip. Moving along, she looked at what was on the floor, what left on the shelves. Household items seemed untouched, for the most part. It was his business papers and writing utensils that littered the floor. She noticed a small pouch tucked behind a mortar and pestle on a shelf. Curious, she picked it up and opened it. Inside was an object that looked like a stone, hefty, yet the texture and faint herbal scent suggested a dried mass of plant material. She tucked it back in the bag and added it to her scrip.