The Service of the Dead

After dinner, when Jennet had gone up to tidy the chamber and get some sleep, and Matt took Lille and Ghent to the hall to settle for the night, Kate sat with Berend in front of the kitchen fire, reviewing the interview with William and what she had learned from her uncle. She stared into the flames, frustrated, unable to see the way forward.

“The more we learn, the less we know,” she said.

“Do you trust that he will come tomorrow?” Berend asked.

“If he does not, we collect him.”

Berend grunted.

Kate sat up and turned to study her companion’s scarred face. He did not flinch, nor did he smile.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I felt a ghost in the hall when you described the suffering of that poor woman. You have seen this before. It awakened old anger, old fear.”

“And if it did?”

He shrugged. “I am your servant.”

“Forget for now that you are my servant, Berend. You are my comrade in arms. What do you need to say?”

“A warrior needs a clear head. Perhaps if you told me about this ghost, what her death meant to you, it might exorcise her, and help prevent–”

“The slap?”

“And the unnecessarily vivid description of how it might have been carried out.”

“You think I should have taken a gentler approach with William.” She waited, hearing in Berend’s silence his earlier question. “And if he does not come to the guesthouse tomorrow, I am to blame.”

“No. Not entirely. He is hoping that somehow this storm will rush past, that perhaps the king is too busy to notice his man has not returned. He might hope he can wait it out, that something will happen that negates the need to disinter a man he buried in haste, in fear.”

Kate held out a cup for more ale. Berend poured.

Are you going to tell him the story?

I will tell him about Maud. Perhaps he does sense her here.

But not the rest?

No. I need his trust.

Faintly, Kate heard barking. A moment later Matt burst through the door. “Lille and Ghent have caught the scent of someone in the alleyway. It was all I could do to squeeze through the door without letting them out.”

“I will give you some training in handling them later,” Kate said as she clamped on her pattens. She was out the door just behind Berend, who carried a lantern. She had not reckoned on the chill of the evening glazing the puddles and stumbled against Berend.

Steadying her, he suggested she wait by the kitchen door while he checked the garden and the alleyway, watching for movement. She itched to cross the garden and let loose the hounds, but it was more important to be Berend’s extra set of eyes.

In the end, he found nothing, and when she brought Lille and Ghent out on leashes they lost the scent in St. Mary’s churchyard across the road. She led them back to the hall and gave Matt a quick lesson in signals for stay and lie down, for which he thanked her.

Berend had watched the exchange, and quietly suggested she go up to bed. Their conversation could wait.

Kate did not argue. It seemed days ago that her uncle’s servant had come for her. She left the pattens by the door and made her way up to the solar, sensing the absence of her wards, their often troubling but no less dear presences. Jennet snored in the great bed, an arm and a leg dangling out. Kate climbed in beside her and lay on her back, gazing up at the canopy, praying that Phillip and Marie were securely tucked in at the deanery, and would remain safe.