A Twisted Vengeance
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: A Kate Clifford Mystery #2
- Год: 2017
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus Books
- ISBN: 9781681774756
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «A Twisted Vengeance». Краткое содержание книги:
As the fourteenth century comes to a close, York seethes on the brink of civil war – and young widow Kate Clifford, struggling to keep her businesses afloat, realizes that her mother is harboring a dangerous secret…
1399. York is preparing for civil war, teeming with knights and their armed retainers summoned for the city’s defense. Henry of Lancaster is rumored to have landed on the northeast coast of England, not so far from York, intent on reclaiming his inheritance – an inheritance which his cousin, King Richard, has declared forfeit.
With the city unsettled and rife with rumors, Eleanor Clifford’s abrupt return to York upon the mysterious death of her husband in Strasbourg is met with suspicion in the city. Her daughter Kate is determined to keep her distance, but it will not be easy – Eleanor has settled next door with the intention of establishing a house of beguines, or poor sisters. When one of the beguines is set upon in the night by an intruder, Kate knows that for the sake of her own reputation and the safety of her young wards she must investigate.
From the first, Eleanor is clearly frightened yet maintains a stubborn silence. The brutal murder of one of Eleanor’s servants leads Kate to suspect that her mother’s troubles have followed her from Strasbourg. Is she secretly involved in the political upheaval? When one of her wards is frightened by a too-curious stranger, Kate is desperate to draw her mother out of her silence before tragedy strikes her own household.
“Jewels take little room,” Jennet noted.
So do documents, Kate thought.
“I was told to protect the women, not the trunks. And I’ve not seen Dame Eleanor wear anything of significant value – nothing I would think Nan would boast about to Robin.” Griffin finished off his bowl, set it aside. “Though Werner did make a point of staying with the baggage at all times.”
“Perhaps one of us needs to talk to Werner,” said Berend. “And Nan. Who has her trust?”
“Agnes Dell,” said Griffin. “But do we trust her?”
“Nan has sought me out now and then,” said Jennet. “I might talk with her.” She glanced at Kate, who nodded.
Griffin offered to talk to Werner.
“Let us give Werner the day to grieve,” Kate said softly. “Then we can choose who should talk to him. We have already learned much.”
It was true. Berend had spoken to Werner earlier. Apparently Thomas Holme had discovered Hans was good with numbers – he had worked in Ulrich’s office as well as serving in the household – and had set him the task of helping with the household accounts. Considering what Kate had learned about the money Thomas and his coterie, including her cousin, had sent to Duke Henry, she and Berend wondered whether Hans could have been approached by spies for the king.
“I will be glad to talk to him if that suits you,” said Griffin. “I am more at ease with Werner than I was with Hans – my soldierly ways disturbed him.” When Berend raised a brow, Griffin added, “Women in the taverns.” A shrug. “None of the servants had taken vows, but Hans seemed to feel we were on a sacred mission and should behave as befit clerics.”
Jennet gave a little snort. “Like the vicars choral at the bawdy houses round the Bedern?”
“And yet Hans had recently turned to drinking,” Kate noted. “Something had changed him.”
“I cannot reconcile that with the man I knew. I thought his lack of curiosity kept him innocent,” said Griffin. “Poor man, to die unshriven.” He crossed himself.
“From what you say, he had no sins to confess,” Berend said softly. He had often told Kate that God accounted for those who died sudden, violent deaths – he was sure of it, else he could not have borne his days soldiering. So many rotted on the battlefields awaiting a priest’s blessing. Surely God did not condemn all those souls.
“Had someone rescued him, we might have found out why he had turned to drink,” Jennet muttered, glaring at Griffin.
But the man seemed oblivious to her anger, reaching over to pet Lille and Ghent, then stretching farther to grasp the jug.
Sister Dina took the cup of brandywine with trembling hands. “May the Mother show me the way, guide me in my speech,” she whispered, sipping the wine as if it were the communion offering.
Kate and Dina sat near the window of her mother’s bedchamber. They had been offered the choice seats, two high-backed, cushioned chairs facing each other, so that they might look out on the view of York Castle, the Franciscan friary, the river, the sweet summer afternoon. And it afforded them a slight breeze as the solar warmed beneath the sun-hammered roof. Kate had suggested they gather in the garden, where they might sit in the breezy shade of the great plane tree. Lille and Ghent could alert them to anyone approaching. But Dina had chosen this enclosed space, and so the five women had climbed the steps to the solar in communal silence. Brigida and Clara sat with Eleanor on her bed. All, including Kate, no doubt, gave face to their dread, Dina looking as if she wished it were over. For this would be no happy telling.
Still, Kate was grateful to be included, and that the sisters had been encouraged by Dina’s growing strength and restored spirit to coax her out of her silence. Sister Brigida had come to Kate in the garden bearing the news that the reading during the midday meal, wisely chosen and read by Sister Clara, paired with the terrible news of Hans’s murder, had convinced Sister Dina that those present deserved to hear all she remembered, and had inspired her to trust that they would receive her tale with compassion, not judgment.
“May something I remember help find the man who took Hans from us,” Dina said, “and help me begin to make amends for my own part in the tragedy.” She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross.
“You are innocent,” Eleanor whispered.
Dina lifted her head, shook it once. “I have caused great harm.” She shivered, despite the warmth of the day.
“The brandywine will soothe you,” Kate said.
Dina took a sip, coughed, took another, sat back with a little sigh. “You are kind, Dame Katherine. I fear – He is dead?” She added something in German to Sister Brigida, who explained to Kate, “The one whom she stabbed in the gut.”
“We have not found him,” said Kate. “But Berend spoke to the one who helped you. Kevin.”
She understood that without need for Brigida, and asked, “How is Kevin?”
“Wounded. He is being cared for by the infirmarian at St. Mary’s Abbey.” Kate paused as Brigida explained. “He asked after you. He’s asked his comrades to protect you and all the ‘good sisters.’”
“God bless him.”
“I pray you, tell me what you remember,” said Kate. “Just speak in your own tongue. Sister Brigida will tell me what you are saying.”
Another shiver ran through the woman. She set aside the brandywine and turned her gaze to the window as she began to speak, and Brigida to translate.
“I was suddenly awake, aware that someone was in the kitchen. It was still too dark for it to be Nan. But I’m not certain that I thought so clearly at that moment. I feared it was happening again. That he’d come back.” Brigida shook her head at Kate’s frown. She did not know of whom Dina spoke. “I reached for the dagger beneath my pillow. Listened. Prayed that he would not be aware of me in the room. I heard noises. Perhaps someone searching through the pots and the bins. And then he was at my door, pressing the latch, slowly opening the door.” Dina’s hands traced the motion. “So frightened.” Her eyes were huge in her face. “He was in the room. He was in the room.” Shaking her head. “I threw myself at him. We toppled, slid through the doorway into the kitchen. And I was stabbing him, stabbing him.” She jabbed the air, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “In my fear–” She shook her head. “I thought he was my father returned. He said he would. He swore he would. And I remembered what I had to do. Never speak, never make a noise, he would kill me if I woke the others.” Her gaze was unfocused, frightened, her voice but a whisper. “But I did not need to say a word. My dagger said it all. You will not hurt me again. You will not!” She sobbed, her hand in the air, clutching the imaginary dagger. “He lay there, clutching the dagger’s haft. He groaned. He said something. I don’t know. I don’t know. God forgive me. This was not my father. It was not his voice. Soft. So soft, this voice. Fear. Pain.” She covered her face with her hands, breathing shallowly.
Kate touched her hand, offered her the cup of brandywine. After a few moments, Dina took it, sipped while gazing out the window, and her breathing steadied. Kate sensed the three on the bed holding their breaths. No one stirred. Dina took another sip, then set the cup aside, her hand trembling.
“I went back into my room and dressed. I would go to your house for help.” She looked Kate in the eyes, nodding. “I would seek out Berend, who sleeps in your kitchen. He would make it right. But the man – how he had the strength – he caught me as I stepped out of my room. Covered my mouth. Carried me out into the garden, round to the alley. He stumbled once, twice, but held me ever tighter – so tight I could not breathe – and kept going. How did he have the strength?” She searched Kate’s face as if thinking to find an answer writ on it.