A Twisted Vengeance

Wise and strong. Kate smiled to herself as she blended into the crowd of folk moving toward Holy Trinity Church, the rain forcing them to move with heads down, watching for puddles. She kept one hand on the dagger hidden in her skirt, more aware than ever of the number of armed men on the streets. Without Lille and Ghent flanking her, Kate was jostled by passersby far more often than was comfortable. The crowd thinned as she passed round the church, crossing into Low Petergate. A passing group of vicars choral greeted her as they flowed toward the minster, merrily shaking the rain out of their hair into each others’ faces. She followed in their wake, smiling at their casual banter, an argument about the best ale in the city, a complaint about the peculiarities of a particular canon, the strange echo in one of the chantry chapels in the minster. She parted from them in the minster yard – all but one, who strode along with her to the deanery. She tried to recall his name.

“I was summoned to assist the redoubtable Dame Helen in packing,” he confided as Kate knocked on the door. “Can I satisfy her standards, I ask myself, or will she toss me out by my ear? But if there is any chance I might be rewarded with one of her custard tarts, or a meat pie, it is worth the risk.”

“Packing?” Only now did Kate notice the carts, two of them off to the side of the deanery, one already sprouting her uncle’s writing desk and several chests.

“Yes, they plan to leave two days hence.” He doffed his hat and bowed as Helen flung open the door.

“There you are, Arnold. Two hours late, I note. Were you so wearied bringing the chests and packs up from the undercroft yesterday that you could not stir until now? Pitiful for a healthy young man such as yourself. Clovis has already begun. Shame on you. Go on, then, up the steps, you will find him up there.”

“Sounds like no custards for my troubles,” he whispered to Kate as he trotted past Helen and disappeared into the hall.

The dean’s housekeeper shook her head as she turned to Kate. “Your uncle prefers these petted and pampered lads of the Church to ordinary hardworking servants. I will never understand how men’s minds work. They are quite a mystery to me. Now, my dear Dame Katherine, you are wet through.” Without bothering to ask permission she untied Kate’s light hood and held it away from her, tsking at the damp skirts and sleeves. “You might have done better with a cloak.”

“Too warm. And I like the dampness after all the heat.”

“Oh, to be sure, you flaunt your northern upbringing. Well, I expect you are here to say your farewells to the dean, and just in time.”

“No. I had no idea. I came to ask his advice about Prior Norbert. Where are you going?”

“The dean did not get word to you? He has been called back to Westminster. We leave Friday. Just two days hence. I do not know why we could not delay until Monday so we might have one more Sunday mass in the minster.”

“Is he summoned by King Richard? Has the king returned?”

“No, called by his conscience. The dean says he is needed there. The work of the government rolls on, and clear heads are essential.”

“But it is so sudden. What caused his abrupt attack of conscience?”

Helen shook her head. “Heaven knows.”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Kate felt tears starting.

“Oh, my dear, I will miss you, and all your household. I’ve grown so fond. Phillip was beside himself when I told him this morning.”

“I believe it, poor child.” Kate’s ward, Marie’s brother, was living with Hugh Grantham, a master mason overseeing the work on the east end of the minster. As an apprentice, Phillip worked in the minster yard just outside the deanery, where he had stayed during a difficult time the past winter. He found solace in Helen’s kitchen.

“I daresay you will now see far more of him,” Helen said. “He often tells me of the wonders of Berend’s kitchen. He’s another one I shall greatly miss, Berend, your rough giant. But I am keeping you from your mission. Your uncle is in his parlor.”

“His temper?”

“Reflective.”

“Is the archbishop still in the city?”

“He took leave of Dean Richard last evening. They shared a remarkable amount of brandywine. When His Grace departed, your uncle went to the minster and did not return until just before dawn, hollow-eyed and silent. Whatever His Grace shared with him, it was disturbing and secret. He has not said a word.” A sigh. “Go to him, my dear. I will dry your hood by the fire and bring something to warm you.”