A Murdered Peace

Kate jumped to her feet. “Those are warnings.”

“I have been selfish,” said Bess. “I would not have your hounds come to harm. Sir Elric tells me they sit quietly at your feet, awaiting your command. If that is so, bring them in I pray you.”

Kate gave her a cursory bow and hurried out, too anxious to see what was wrong to note Bess’s change of heart.

Colin stood at the door watching Lille and Ghent stride back and forth between the door and toward the street to the extent their leads permitted, sniffing the air and growling.

“I don’t know what they sense, Mistress Clifford. I’ve seen nothing awry.”

“They often smell or hear what we cannot.” Kate bent to untie the hounds’ leads, whispering for them to show her. Sniffing the ground beneath the eaves just outside the door, they led her along the tavern building toward the square. The ground close to the house was bare of snow except for quickly melting clumps outlining two pairs of footprints. Parr and Sawyer? Seeing her dogs outside the tavern, had they paused here, hoping to overhear something? And then Lille and Ghent had raised the hue and cry.

“Track,” she ordered.

The hounds turned right in the square, leading her past the apothecary and the large Ferriby home, then round the corner onto Davygate. There they were, Parr and Sawyer, trying to push past a cart piled high with barrels. Good. The barking had frightened them off. Keeping hold of the hounds’ leads – they were ready to chase the men down – Kate was about to turn back when she noticed a boy calling to the pair. Skulker, a ne’er-do-well who hung around the warehouses near the staithes, working as an errand boy. Once, when Kate had noticed him at Paris’s warehouse next door to her former home, she had thought to use him, but Jennet had warned her to avoid him unless she wanted the wrong folk to know her business.

Had the two men hired Skulker? If so, she wanted to see where he was taking them. Down Davygate they hurried, Kate maintaining just enough distance that she did not raise alarms – the hounds did attract attention. For once Kate was grateful for the crowded streets, especially the noisy street barkers calling out their wares, covering the greetings called out to her as she passed. Skulker’s path led down alleyways and round the market, gathering speed as he crossed into Castlegate.

Kate felt a sudden twinge of foreboding. Castlegate was home to her mother and her beguines as well as to Thomas Holme, and it led not just to the staithes but also the warehouse John Paris managed, Skulker’s favorite haunts. She urged Lille and Ghent to a trot.

John Paris stood on the street in front of the warehouse, shaking his head dejectedly as he caught sight of Skulker and the two men. Parr and Sawyer broke out into a run, shouting something at Paris, who shrugged and gestured toward York Castle.

Hoping one of the beguines might know what had happened at the warehouse to draw Parr and Sawyer, Kate slipped into the little school Sister Brigida had fixed up in the small building that fronted her mother’s Martha House. She touched Lille and Ghent to let them know to be quiet and stay at her side. Brigida glanced up from her observation of two girls who were biting their tongues as they struggled to master styluses and wax tablets. As soon as the girls caught sight of Lille and Ghent they jumped up.

“Can we ride them?” a tow-headed girl cried.

“Can we?” echoed her freckled companion.

Lille and Ghent each took a step backward, their ears registering their alarm.

“They are hounds, not ponies,” Sister Brigida told the girls. Tall, long-limbed, Brigida was well able to reach out and grasp the girls by their shoulders and draw them back to their bench while quietly but firmly enjoining them to sit down and behave. “This is part of your education, learning not to startle any of God’s creatures.”

The freckled imp was having none of that, and whispered to Lille, “Come, pup.”

Brigida squeezed her shoulders. “Be still and silent, or you will pay with additional copying,” she warned.

Kate was glad her girls were at home. They would have posed a larger problem, insisting on following her.

Once the girls settled, Brigida apologized to Kate and asked what she might do for her.

“You have heard no shouting at the warehouse next door?”

The tow-head glanced up. “We did! And we saw the sheriffs’ constables rush in.”

“And then I ordered them to sit down,” said Brigida. “Do you know what’s amiss?”

“No. Did you see anyone come out with them?” Kate asked.

“No. I am sorry. But you might ask Sister Dina. She is up above, trying to complete her work on a gown that was promised by this evening.”

Ordering Lille and Ghent to sit by the door, Kate lifted her skirts and climbed up the steep ladder-like steps to the small solar above. Sister Dina, her round, sweet face furrowed in frowns as she bent to her needlework, did not even look up. Kate cleared her throat, then walked over to her. One hand came up, signaling that she would greet Kate in a moment. A few more stitches, a satisfied nod, and Dina tucked the needle in the fabric and pushed the work aside.

“Dame Katherine. Welcome.”