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.
Berend nodded. “Have you tried it?”
“I have indeed, and my comrades declared it the best they’d ever tasted. Any more secrets to share?”
“Plenty. For trade. I want to talk to your comrades.”
A shake of the head. “Not here. Gone drinking. Don’t expect them back till sunrise.” He nodded toward two men wrestling nearby. “Camp’s not the place to be tonight. Rumor is the soldiers’ve sat in this stink hole for naught. The king’s men say someone in the camp sent word to the duke that York was so well defended he’d best move. And so he has, to Knaresborough. ‘But we’re all king’s men,’ they say, ‘else why would we be here?’” A shrug. “Takes little to draw blood when you’ve been sitting in a hellhole with moldy rations and a city full of merchants refusing to sell them food. You cannot blame the anger when they’re here to protect the greedy bastards. And all the while their captains live in comfort, drinking and carousing.” He hawked and spat.
“Drinking.” Berend nodded. Hearing the man talk – more than he’d said when they’d met at the market – he realized he was from the shire and spoke as if he did not consider himself one of the soldiers. It might mean nothing; the captain called up the men he could rally quickly. But that, paired with no livery … “Who’s your captain?”
The man squinted. “Who are you? Who set you on us?”
Berend held up his hands. “I just want to talk to your comrades. Can you tell me where they’d be drinking?”
Another hawk and a spit, a drawn dagger.
“Steady now, we mean you no harm.”
The cook began to toss the dagger from hand to hand, his eyes narrowing. Berend could crush him with a blow, but that would not further his purpose. He motioned to Matt to back away, then turned on his heels and strolled away. He reckoned that a one-legged man was not likely to pursue them in retreat – though he kept his ears pricked just in case. If he had not, he might not have heard the soft, low whistle as they passed a tent. He paused, crouching down as if fixing his shoe.
“You’ll be wanting to ask about an injured man his lot left at the friary gate yesterday morning,” said a voice from the tent. “Men were covered in blood, arguing about laying hold of him and letting the ‘good Samaritan’ get away.”
That fit. “Bless you for this. Have you seen a Welshman with hair like copper wire and a stout, fair-haired companion?”
“They’ve been round the camp asking questions.”
“Today?”
“They fled a while ago. Before the wind changed. Men did not like their questions.”
“You did not happen to hear what they were asking.”
“No.”
“May God watch over you,” said Berend.
“May he watch over us all.”
Berend rose with effort, wincing at the ache in his knees. Too many years on horseback, too many injuries. He envied Matt the almost complete recovery from his leg injury earlier in the year.
“Who was that?” Matt whispered as they moved on out of the camp.
Berend shook his head.
“How do we know whether to believe him?”
“Feel it in my gut.” Berend grinned at Matt’s bewilderment. “Our bodies know. Thinking too hard can deafen us to that knowing.”
Matt shook his head. “Still …”
“So what would you have us do?”
“Check the friary.”
Berend nodded.
Kate, Jennet, Petra, and Marie sat in the garden eating pottage and bread, a warm meal, soothing. They had assembled themselves on a blanket near the hedgerow gate, keeping watch on the Martha House until Griffin returned.
Kate lifted her face to the sweet breeze. Evening had brought with it a light wind and feathery clouds.
“We’ll have rain tomorrow,” said Petra. “Maybe as soon as tonight. Can you smell it?”
Kate nodded. The child was almost always right in her weather predictions, a gift she’d learned from Old Mapes, the woman who had raised her.
“I welcome a relief from this unrelenting sun,” said Jennet. She shifted closer to Kate, whispered, “Marie is too quiet. She’s been like that all day.”
Indeed, the girl sat apart from them at the edge of the blanket, leaning back against Ghent’s powerful body, her gaze fixed on the Martha House.
Putting aside her half-eaten pottage, Kate shook out her skirts and moved over to Marie, settling down beside her.
The girl glanced at her, then went back to staring at the hedge.
“Are you conjuring your true love?” Kate asked.
“My what?”
“When we were little, Geoff and I believed that if we stared at something long and hard enough with an image in our minds of what we most wished for, it would appear.”
“Did it work?”
“Only once. But that was enough to make believers of us.”
“What did you conjure?”
“Lille and Ghent’s eldest brother, Macbeth.”
“Macbeth?” Marie sat up, staring at Kate. “You named your noble hound for a Scots king? I thought you hated the Scots.”
“A Scot who killed Scots,” Kate noted.
“Did you conjure him from the dead?”
“No. He and Melisende had been chasing down a deer and disappeared into a wood where we dare not go. Melisende returned, but not Macbeth. Father could not call for him – if our enemies knew Macbeth was in their wood, they would hunt him down. So Geoff and I, we did what we could.”
“And he came.”
“Wolfhounds are smart. Maybe it helped that Melisende was sitting with us.” Kate drew Marie close and kissed the top of her head. “So what shall we conjure?”
“Nan,” Marie whispered.
Not what Kate had expected. “Why Nan?”
“They took her because of the golden baby Jesus. They want to know where it is.”
Kate lifted Marie’s chin. Her heart broke to read the fear in the child’s eyes, see the quiver of her lips. She pulled her onto her lap. “What golden baby Jesus, my love?”
“That man told me I could have any ribbons I wanted if I told him where they kept it.”
“What man? Tell me, Marie.”
“In Hazel Frost’s yard. I was waiting for Petra and Sister Brigida. I thought he was one of Master Frost’s friends. He walked right through the street gate and knelt down to greet me most courteously.” A little sob. “If I had told him, none of this might have happened. But I didn’t know. I’ve never seen a golden baby Jesus.”
The hackles on Kate’s neck rose. “Where did he think you had seen it?”
“In the Martha House. He said the beguines had brought golden idols from Strasbourg.”
“I have seen no golden idols, have you?”
Marie shook her head.
Is that what Robin sought? Fool’s treasure? Geoff whispered in Kate’s head.
“Did you tell Sister Brigida?”
Marie shook her head again, then buried her face in Kate’s shoulder and sobbed.
God in heaven, all this because of a rumor? Was it possible? “There, there, my love, you are safe. I will not let anyone harm you.” Meeting Jennet’s eyes, Kate gestured for her to come take care of Marie.
“Thank you for telling me, Marie.” Kate kissed her head, then lifted her chin, dabbing at her eyes. “When did this happen?”
Marie screwed up her face. “Petra had a tummy ache on Saturday, so we did not go to Hazel’s, and we never go on the Lord’s Day. Friday, it was.”
Two days before the intruder. Kate nodded to Jennet as she approached. “My brave Marie. You have been most helpful.” She kissed her forehead. “We will talk again, eh? For now, would you help Jennet take the bowls into the kitchen?”