A Murdered Peace

Before opening the kitchen door, Kate decided on the simplest explanation for both the pack and the pouch, “Berend’s belongings,” and then whispered several Hail Marys as she composed herself. Pushing open the door, she found Petra and Marie standing side by side, slicing turnips with an air of gloom. Holy Mother, how she loved them.

“Such sad faces,” she said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. “You will curdle the cream.”

“There is no cream in this dish,” Marie snapped, eyeing Jennet with disgust. “Almond milk. Pah. Watery peasant food.” She gave a shiver of disgust.

“Peasants cannot afford the almonds for milk. They rely on their goats and cows,” said Petra, eliciting a snarl from her companion.

“I don’t suppose you thought to ask Bess Merchet whether she knows of someone who might help in the kitchen?” asked Jennet, her voice weary as she stood over the fire, sleeves rolled back, face damp with the heat, stirring the pottage.

“I had much else on my mind,” said Kate.

Marie continued to mutter her dissatisfaction.

Petra elbowed her. “You want Berend back, don’t you?” she hissed, her eyes brimming with tears.

“You will salt the pottage with your tears,” Marie said, sticking her tongue out at Petra. “You think I do not know that he is in danger?”

Time to distract them. “I have a mind to work on the loom for a while before we sup. Do you mind waiting a while?”

“No one is hungry,” said Jennet.

Kate understood. “But Mouser spilled my silk threads and they are all atangle.” She leveled her gaze at Petra, who had found the cat and insisted on adopting her, and Marie, who had promised they would keep her from underfoot. To their credit, the girls had tried to shut the cat from the hall, but Mouser was a cunning adversary. “So the two of you will take Lille and Ghent to the hall and work on that while I talk to Jennet and Matt.” The hounds’ presence would ensure Mouser’s absence. Though they found her but a nit, not worth fussing over, she clearly feared them.

“But I want to hear,” Marie whined, winning herself another jab of Petra’s sharp elbows. “Merde.”

“That is Berend’s pack,” said Petra, pointing.

“You are quite right,” said Kate.

“What have you in the bag?” Marie demanded.

“More of his belongings. I brought them here for safekeeping.” Kate bent to Lille and Ghent, apologizing to them for the assignment. She looked up. “Well? They are waiting. Tell Matt we are waiting.”

Wiping their hands on their aprons, the girls went over to the bench by the door and stepped into their wooden pattens, lifted their cloaks from the hooks above, and, ready for the slushy yard, held out their hands for the hounds’ leads. Kate drew them both into her arms and held them a moment, whispering assurances that she was doing all that she could to bring Berend safely home. “Now,” she released them and handed them the leads. “See to the silks. Sir Elric is on his way to the castle now. I will tell you what he learns as soon as I know.”

When the girls had tramped out, Kate left the door ajar, so they might hear the hounds bark, and settled at the table with Jennet, talking idly about the girls while they waited for Matt. As soon as he joined them she recounted the events and discoveries of the day. As she came to the revelations at the warehouse, she opened Berend’s pack, showed them the contents, and then heaved up the leather pouch, drawing out the casket. They listened closely, asking few questions until Kate opened the casket.