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.
“What is amiss, Thomas? Mother?”
“She is a snake in the garden, your mother. She’s brought these troubles down on us.”
Not entirely, thought Kate. There was the matter of Thomas and his friends supporting Duke Henry against their sovereign king. But she calmly said that she and her household were doing all they could to find out why Hans was murdered, and whether his death had any connection to the intruder.
“Of course it does,” Thomas fairly shouted.
Kate quietly asked what the connection might be.
“Her!” The hand he thrust out, finger pointing toward Eleanor, shook with emotion.
“Might I be of assistance?” Berend came through the gate flanked by Lille and Ghent, who trotted over to Kate, sniffing her hands, then turning their gazes on Thomas.
“Find Werner,” said Thomas, quieter now, though still angry. “And, for all our sakes, find out who murdered Hans before anyone else has their neck snapped.” He bowed to Kate, to Berend, and, after a moment’s hesitation, to Eleanor, and strode off through the gate in the hedge.
Lille and Ghent sat down at Kate’s feet and peered up at her through their bushy brows.
“Forgive me for interrupting, but I heard shouting,” said Berend.
“Oh, bless you, Berend, I am most grateful,” said Eleanor, waving her hand as if to cool herself.
“Thomas is concerned Werner has disappeared. He has not returned since walking off with Griffin this afternoon,” Kate explained to Berend.
“Mere hours,” said Eleanor.
“After last night, I understand his concern,” said Berend.
“You, too? I’d thought you were made of stouter stuff.” Eleanor sniffed.
Kate gestured toward a bench at the edge of the garden. “Shall we sit, Mother? I would talk with you.” She nodded to Berend. “Wait for me in the kitchen. I will not be long.” She motioned to Lille and Ghent to follow Berend. Lille rose with a sigh, gazing back at Kate every few steps. Her concern warned Kate that her agitation was palpable.
“So, Mother, you have that look in your eyes. Where are Griffin and Werner? Did you send them on a mission?”
Eleanor would not meet her eyes but played with her sleeve and began to address the matter of Hans’s burial.
“Do not play the feeble-minded popinjay with me right now, Mother, or I swear I will pluck your tail feathers. Where are they? Where are Griffin and Werner?”
Tears in her eyes, Eleanor shook her head. “How you speak to me–”
“People are dying, Mother. Do you understand? Look what Sister Dina has suffered. How much more will she suffer if she hears that Robin is dead?”
That caught her attention. “Is he?”
“Perhaps. And her rescuer is seriously, perhaps mortally, wounded. And Hans dead. How much more do you need before you take responsibility and tell me what is happening here?”
“You blame me? Oh, of course you do. It is ever your way.” Eleanor’s tone was whining, but her mouth trembled and the tears flowed.
Judging it time to change tactics, Kate took hold of her mother’s hands, startled by how cold they felt on such a warm afternoon. “Mother, what is happening here? Help me protect you.”
“Protect?” Eleanor withdrew her hands and clasped them in her lap. “Protect me? Why should I require protection? I am in no danger.”
If Kate were not at once angry and frightened for her mother, she might have laughed. The tremor in Eleanor’s voice, the fear in her wide green eyes, the way she clutched her hands on her lap as if forcing them to be still all betrayed her.
“I don’t believe you,” said Kate. “If you would begin at the beginning, tell me everything, you might provide some insight, some key that would lead us to the source of all that has happened. Tell me why you are here. How did Ulrich die? You returned so soon after his death–”
Lurching to her feet, Eleanor snapped, “Unnatural daughter!”
“Are Werner and Griffin in danger?” Kate asked.
“Do not pretend that you care,” said Eleanor, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind her.
Kate sat on the bench for a while, waiting for her heart to quiet, her thoughts to settle. Not even a gesture of concern and affection had moved her mother to speak. What did she so fear she might reveal?
There was an incongruous spring in Matt’s steps as he and Berend headed over Ouse Bridge. Thinking it best to calm him before they reached the camp on Toft Green – such exuberance about going out into the city to investigate might be mistaken for a young man’s aching for a fight – Berend asked him about the daggers that were his weapons, whether he had ever used them to defend himself or another, why he chose the two different blades. He kept asking questions until Matt was no longer grinning at everyone who passed.
To be sure, Matt’s answers were reassuring. Though he’d never struck a mortal blow, he’d been in a fair number of fights and come away intact.
“Dame Katherine would not have hired me for the guesthouse watch otherwise,” said Matt. “Although she did replace me with young Seth.”
“You know he’s a Fletcher – by name and training. Fletchers test their own arrows. Seth may not look strong, but he’s an excellent bowman.” Berend grinned and slapped the young man on the back. “A pleasure to meet you, Matt the Warrior.”
A surprised snort. “I’m no warrior. Just a man who can hold my own in a fight.”
“Plenty of men who consider themselves skilled in weaponry find themselves on the battlefield unprepared and unable to defend themselves, much less take the offensive. A quick way to lose the loyalty of your comrades. You’re likely to get them killed along with you.”
“Do you miss it? The fighting?”
“If you mean would I choose to return to that life – no. I’ve done with that. But the blood lust never fully leaves a man who fought as long as I did. Now and then–” Berend shook his head. “This is no time for such talk. Keep your ears pricked for trouble.”
They heard the camp before they saw it, intermittent shouts punctuating the low rumble of men’s voices, the scratch of blades being sharpened, the rattle of chain mail being tumbled.
As Toft Green came into sight, Matt whistled. “I would never recognize it if the friary weren’t right there. It’s all wrong.” Men, tents, cook fires, stretching across the green and butting up against the friary walls. “And so crowded,” he added.
“Not as crowded as when I last saw it,” said Berend. He noticed signs of trouble here and there – fistfights; men guarding the perimeters of their campsites with knives drawn; men flashing daggers as they danced round each other, drawing blood when they struck. “And far less friendly.” Most appeared to be preparing to move on – sharpening weapons, repairing harnesses, polishing pieces of armor, stuffing clothes into packs. “Looks as if the rumor has spread that Duke Henry’s moved beyond York.”
“Good news for us,” said Matt.
“I would prefer to catch the murderer,” said Berend. “And with everyone restive, we’re likely to be attacked simply for being unfamiliar. Stay alert.”
That sobered Matt. Berend grunted and led the way toward the target campsite up against the friary wall, skirting round the trouble, managing to avoid it.
The one-legged cook sat on a barrel picking through a pot of stew, a pile of used bowls at his feet. He watched their feet as they approached, shifting so that he could easily draw the dagger hanging on his left hip. When they stopped, he let his eyes travel up to their faces.
“I know you,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “The spicy recipe for pottage.” The man was not smiling, but at least he had acknowledged they’d met.