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.
“Heavenly hosts,” whispered Matt.
Jennet usually laughed at his saintly exclamations, but not this time. Her eyes were busy taking it all in. “What is Berend doing with all this?”
“That is what Elric has gone to ask him,” said Kate. She showed them the two rings, explained the possible significance.
“The Earl of Salisbury. The traitor.” Matt looked so unhappy. “Why would Berend support him?”
“And there is this.” Kate lifted out the sack of Lady Margery’s jewels, opening it.
Jennet glanced up. “So now Sir Elric knows that she is in the city?”
“If you are asking whether I have told him, no,” said Kate.
“With Carl’s death, now this, might it not be time?” Jennet lifted the posey ring, turning it this way and that, clearly admiring how the ruby caught the light. Was a time when she would have run with it. A remarkable day’s catch. Now she treated it as information. “If Lord Kirkby was part of the uprising …” She was shaking her head. “The risk … Let Lady Margery explain herself to Sir Elric.”
“I am of a mind to tell him tonight,” Kate admitted. “I believe I can trust him.”
“Good. That is good.”
Matt tapped the table. “How is this connected to Merek’s and Horner’s deaths?”
Kate reminded them of the exchange at the market, something small, gold. From this hoard? “Merek was on a mission for Salisbury. It is possible that this casket was entrusted to him, and he betrayed the earl’s trust.”
“And then it came to Berend,” said Matt. “How?”
“Pray Berend enlightens Sir Elric,” said Kate. She did not want to think how Berend might have wrested it from Merek.
“Did Kevin find anything in the documents strewn about his office?” asked Jennet.
“If he did, he did not say,” said Kate. “We were busy with other things.”
Jennet sat back with a sigh. “What a day. And Dame Bess befriending Lille and Ghent.” She shook her head.
“Am I right to trust her?” Kate asked. “What do your eyes and ears on the streets think of her?”
“They admire her. She’s a cautious woman, it takes much to gain her trust. And somehow you have managed that in one visit.”
“I confess I did not expect to like her so well,” said Kate. “She has been of help.”
“Good,” said Jennet. “She is a worthwhile ally in this part of the city.”
“Ay, she is that,” said Matt. “As is her friend Gwenllian Ferriby, or so says Bella.” His cousin the healer. “If Horner was poisoned, she might recall who had the means. Though she’s not the only source of such a draught. Interesting that Merek was not a simple spice seller, but dabbling in potions. And an envoy for the earl of Salisbury. Maybe selling stolen jewelry as well?”
“A possibility,” said Kate.
“About Merek being an envoy for Salisbury,” said Jennet, “it might have helped to know that sooner.”
Jennet’s expression chastened Kate. She should have told her what Berend had said.
“I am sorry.”
A shrug. “I know now.”
“You have more information for your eyes and ears.”
Jennet nodded. “I will go deliver new instructions to my eyes and ears after supper.”
“You are wasted in the kitchen,” said Kate. “You both deserve help. Now, let’s get this casket safely out of sight. I need to find a place to hide it.”
“We all know who proved to be remarkably clever about hiding treasures,” said Jennet.
Kate laughed. “I had the same thought about my mother. But for tonight …”
“The hearth in the hall has a loose stone,” said Matt. “Someone used it for this very purpose. The casket will fit.”
Jennet touched Kate’s arm, said nothing until she knew she had her attention. “You will confide in him tonight? We can use the additional protection with such a treasure in the house.”
“I know. I will, though I dread it.”
“You care for him.”
“Once he knows, that will not matter.”
“If a comrade in arms came to him in such need, do you believe he would turn him away?”
“He will understand my helping her. What he will not forgive is my deceiving him.”
Jennet could not deny that.
The colors of the silks soothed Kate – deep blue, vibrant green, bright yellow, warm brown. They were a pleasure to work. It had not been merely a ruse to send the girls away while she conferred with Jennet and Matt, Kate had sought solace at the loom, needing to calm her mind in order to see the way forward. And she was grateful – Petra and Marie had created order and even improved on how the colors were arranged. Buoyed by her praise, they had gone back to the kitchen arm in arm, leaving her with the hounds and Matt, who was repairing a shutter.
Weaving forced Kate to draw in her thoughts as she began, remembering where she had left off, what threads to work in next. Then, as she settled into the pattern, she was able to let her mind play over the events of the past few days, exploring possible connections. She was just beginning to relax when someone knocked on the door.
Silently cursing, she called out to Matt to see who it was.
Another knock. She glanced round and saw that the shutter was repaired. She was alone with the hounds, who sat up, ears pricked, awaiting her instructions.
“Stay,” she commanded them as she rose, hoping that it was Sir Elric and Berend who interrupted her solitude. “Patience, I pray you!” she called out as the knocking became more insistent. Opening the door, she raised her eyebrows. Her cousin, William Frost, soon to be mayor of York and one of the last people she wished to see at present. But to deny him was to call attention to herself.
“God be with you, cousin,” he raised his brows. “Might I come in?”
“Of course.” She stepped aside.
“I am relieved to find you at home.” Though William’s brow was furrowed in a deep frown his voice was soft, affectionate, and he gave her forearm a little squeeze as he passed her.
She did not like that unaccustomed gesture of affection. It meant trouble for her.
As he peeled off his gloves, he said, “I was on my way to the guesthouse when I heard about Berend’s trouble. We must talk.”
“And leave Drusilla waiting?” He had long been a client with his mistress, the widow Seaton, Kate’s good friend and business partner. “She is not a patient woman.”
“This is important, Katherine.”
Of course he would be one of the first to hear, for soon such events would be his headache as mayor. She motioned him to a chair by the hearth fire and went to the cupboard on the wall beside it where she kept a jug of ale and a flagon of wine.
“A cup of wine?” Kate asked.
Fussing with his rabbit-lined cloak, shaking it out, hanging it with care over two hooks beside the hearth, William rubbed his hands and said, “I would prefer ale if you have it.”
“A reformed regimen as you don your mayoral robes?” He had always preferred wine, no matter the time of day. “What next? Are you here to tell me that you will no longer be a patron of my guesthouse?”
“No, nothing like that. My physician believes ale is better than claret for my stiff joints.” A shrug.