The Service of the Dead

The sun had been low in the sky as the mourners departed the minster, but now, as Kate stepped from the deanery, it warmed her uplifted face and brightened her heart. She was grateful to have been called out so early, for the breeze carried a chill and the scent of rain; she might easily have missed this glorious moment. Breathing in, she filled her lungs with the freshness of the morning, and, for a little while, let her mind go blank, forgetting her cares.

Cares. Such an innocent word, suggesting domestic trifles or misunderstandings among friends. Not three unsolved murders, a missing servant, and a killer so confident as to stay in the city and taunt her by trying to burn down one of her properties. Lady Margery might see it as her battle to fight, but Kate was not so certain as to risk the safety of her wards.

Which is why she had turned a deaf eye and ear to Marie when she appeared in the hall of the deanery with her pack, demanding to return to the house on Castlegate. Kate had relieved Marie of her burden, taken her firmly by the hand, and led her back to the kitchen, placing her in Helen’s competent care.

“I will watch her like a hawk, Dame Katherine,” the cook promised.

Kate had slipped away before Phillip could take up Marie’s cause. No doubt he would feel the wrath of his sister – she would blame him for inviting her there in the first place. And, knowing Marie, she would extend that to his affection for Connor. Had he not befriended the dead man, they would both be back on Castlegate. Not that the girl seemed happy there. It was a matter of control. Kate understood, but she would not bend to the child’s latest whim.

A scent of roses announced Lady Margery just before she slipped her arm through Kate’s. “I thought my daughters had vile tempers at certain ages, but your ward Marie – there is a special place in heaven for you, taking in that child and giving her such good care. At least you cannot blame your blood. She is all Neville. Her poor mother. No wonder she died young. Now, where are you headed?”

“To see whether the workmen have arrived to repair the once-lovely residence I own next to the guesthouse.”

“Then let us be off.” Margery signaled to her servants to follow.

Jennet broke away from her examination of the deanery yard, quietly reporting to Kate that she had found no broken locks or loosened shutters that might invite a trespasser. Berend had gone on ahead to organize the workmen and see whether Clement felt capable of some work in the undercroft.

“Forgive me for bringing up my trivial concerns when you have so much on your shoulders.” Lady Margery pressed Kate’s arm. “But far from being frightened away by recent events, I would like to extend my stay for a few days beyond the fortnight we had arranged. Once your cousin William recommends me to his colleagues I hope to have quite a few visitors. I will pay, of course.”

But not long-term, as did Kate’s regular clients. In faith, if the troubles were aimed at frightening Lady Margery away, Kate looked forward to her departure. “Invite a half-dozen couples to each gathering,” Kate said. “Better to entertain the merchants in the company of their peers – it will shame the reluctant into committing some funds for your husband’s mission. The guesthouse hall is quite large, and you can borrow additional seating and tables from the deanery.”

“Then your answer is no?” A pretty pout. “You have clients waiting?”

“Are you not expected elsewhere?”

Margery shrugged. “Lincoln is next. But the wealth is here, in York.” No pout this time, instead a winsome sigh. “Ah me. Perhaps your dear uncle would accommodate me at the deanery… ”

Better him than me, Kate thought. “The guesthouse is not an extension of my home, but a trade concern, Lady Margery. Had I the room in my home to welcome your entourage, I would.” Not quite true, but courteous, and apparently well received.

Smiling, Margery assured Kate that she understood, and, arm in arm, they turned onto High Petergate, greeting passersby as they progressed toward the guesthouse. One or two paused to ask them about the shouts and smoke the previous evening. Lady Margery was at her best, telling a tale of elderly, befuddled Odo and an attempt to light a lamp in the undercroft. No one questioned his being down there. All clearly found Lady Margery charming.

A neighbor glanced up as young Seth and Odo approached. “Poor old man. He is so fortunate to have such care in the two of you gentlewomen.”

In fact, Odo looked scrubbed, tidy, and alert, doffing his hat to them before Kate had spoken a word.

“We are out for a brief walk to escape from the hammering,” Seth explained. “The workmen arrived eager to begin, and Berend has them repairing the shutters and doors first.”

“I would like a word with both of you,” said Kate. “Come to the guesthouse when you have had your walk. Goodwife Griselde will not begrudge us her kitchen for a little while.”

Odo began to turn to follow the women, but young Seth stopped him. “The walk will do you good. Once down to the crossing and we will return,” he said, encouraging Odo forward.

“You have remarkable servants,” said Margery. “No doubt because they are yours to choose, unlike your late husband’s.” She gave a little laugh.

“Simon’s servants? Oh, you mean Sam? He seemed better than the others at the time.” Or perhaps she had simply worried that he was too old to find different employment.

“Was he Simon’s man? That explains much. But I meant…” Margery sighed.

“His bastards? True. But there are times I am glad to have them with me.”

“The boy, yes, he is a dear. But Marie?”

As they turned into the alleyway they found Berend stepping out from the undercroft, shaking his head at Clement, who breathed hard as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance.