A Twisted Vengeance

In the morning, Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet down an alley off Colliergate to a tall, skinny house surrounded by a dirt yard and a noxious midden. Two young girls straddled a long bench set out of the rain beneath the eaves of the house, a pile of clothing between them. Wielding scissors meant for much larger hands, the children were cutting buttons and decorations off the clothing, dropping the trimming in a basket on the ground and tossing the stripped clothing in a pile that would be sorted into salvage and rags. They were tidy children, their gowns clean though much mended.

“Piece work,” said Jocasta. “It brings in a little coin, along with what the two lads make sweeping out the shops on the Shambles.”

“How long has their mother been ill?” Kate asked.

“Since the birth of the youngest – little Ann.” Jocasta nodded to the smallest child. Kate guessed her age to be about five. “For a while Hawise’s sister helped out, assisting with baby Ann and teaching the children how to do the chores. She expected Nan to give her notice and return to take care of the family. When Nan refused, her aunt left. Families.” Dame Jocasta laughed as the two girls came rushing to her, asking if she had any sweets. “They live on the upper floor. Goodwife Ellen is there with Hawise now.”

As Kate climbed the steep outer steps with Jennet, she imagined the children climbing them with buckets of water, food, coal, or peat if they were so fortunate. Exhausting work for a strong adult – she could not imagine how the children managed. Stepping through the open door, she paused to adjust to the dim interior. The chamber was loud with a painful wheezing in rhythm with a woman’s chant, “Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe out, breathe out.” Hawise was a pale, skeletal woman who sat on a cot against the far wall, propped up on cushions. A large woman sat at the edge of the cot, nodding in encouragement as she chanted. One small window let in a bit of air, but not nearly enough to freshen it. Other than that the house was tidy, the bedclothes washed. Bless Dame Jocasta, this was her work, Kate was sure of it.

The wheezing suddenly broke cadence as Hawise stirred and pointed toward Kate.

Breaking off her chant, the large woman turned to her.

Kate introduced herself.

A nod. “Goodwife Hawise wishes to speak with you.”

Hawise’s wheezing was more of a pant now as she reached out a hand, grasping Kate’s.

“Bran. Nan’s cousin.”

“Yes, the one who came for her?”

Hawise shook her head. “No. It was not Bran who came. He must find her.”

Jennet stepped forward. “Forgive me, Goodwife, I misunderstood.”

“Who came for her?” Kate asked. “Did you know him?”

“No.” Hawise held up a hand as she took a few labored breaths. “I’d never seen him.”

“Forgive me for so many questions,” said Kate. “Can you describe him?”

“Wore a hat.” Her gesture described a hat pulled down to below the ears. “No beard.” A shrug. “A man.”

“Where might I find Bran?”

“Thursday Market. Or Ouse Bridge. Crowds.” Hawise bit her lip and wheezed a few times, her breath catching at the edge of the inhale, as if trying for more. Kate found herself trying to breathe for the woman. “A cutpurse.” Another few labored breaths. “Or with my boys. Sweeping out the butchers’ stalls. In the Shambles. Blue eyes. Too pretty for a man. His bane.” Still holding tight to Kate’s hand, she shook it. “Do not tell him I told you. About the thieving. He thinks I don’t know.”

“Your secret is safe with me. You trust him?”

Hawise nodded. “Simple. Foolish. But loyal.”

“I will look for him. We will do all we can to find Nan.”

“Robin turned her head. Silly sot she is.”

“If she has chosen to hide, where would she go?”

Hawise shook her head. “Holds her secrets close, Nan does.”

Goodwife Ellen walked Kate and Jennet to the door. “I would not count on Bran. He’s taken up with Robin and his lot, none of them meaning any good to anyone. Thieves for hire. Or worse. Bran is Hawise’s kin. She will not believe he’s gone over.” A nod. “Best to look for Nan yourself. She’ll be with a man, like as not.”

“But who?”

Ellen paused, thinking. “She’s friendly with the night watch. If any are unmarried, they might hide her.”

“A bawd house?”

“No, never. Nan’s determined to wed.”

So were all the poor women left to their own devices, at least at the beginning, Kate thought. She thanked Ellen and hurried down the steps, Jennet right behind her.

Joining Jocasta, who was praising the girls for their work, Kate asked the children whether they knew the man who had come for Nan.

Both girls shook their heads.

She asked a few more questions, but they were of little help. They’d seen enough to know he was no one they recognized, but there had been nothing that stood out about him.

Dame Jocasta led Kate and Jennet away. “Children have poor recall of things they do not wish to remember, such as the man who took their sister away.”

“Who will take care of them when Hawise dies?”

“Ellen and her husband, Jed, might, if the landlord will agree to their taking over the room. Or the children might go into service. It would not have been much different had their mother been healthy.”

As they walked toward Colliergate, hoods up, the rain coming down more steadily now, Kate told Dame Jocasta enough about Sister Dina that she would understand her fragility, her need for a kind, compassionate, gentle confessor. Jocasta meant to pay a visit to the beguines so that she might describe their needs to her confessor.

“I cannot think how Friar Adam gained Isabella Frost’s trust.” Jocasta gave a little shiver. “A man devoid of heart. The sisters are best rid of him. I will ensure that their confessor is his opposite, one who listens through his heart. But may I say, Sister Dina could not have a better model for healing than she does in you, Katherine, the strength with which you protect yourself and your family, the wisdom with which you’ve chosen your household. At so young an age, you are remarkable.”