The Service of the Dead

On Lady Kirkby’s last day in York, Dean Richard hosted a small, select dinner in her honor, attended by Archbishop Richard Scrope, Sir Elric, William Frost, and Kate. The conversation slid time and again to King Richard’s expedition to Ireland and the growing unease of the barons. Kate watched the archbishop and Sir Elric, trying to gauge whether they were friend or foe. Elric knew all her secrets, except for the letters, and she believed her uncle was correct in guessing that the archbishop knew far more than she found comfortable. How would they use her? But the dinner was a triumph for Lady Margery, who received the archbishop’s thanks for working for peace. He proved a complex man.

“Alas, we never had the opportunity to read Geoffrey Chaucer’s wonderful love poem,” Margery sighed as she and Kate parted at High Petergate.

“I look forward to doing so on your next visit,” said Kate. She meant it. Though eager to have the guesthouse available to her regular clients once more, and still of the opinion that the quest for peace was naïve and destined to fail, Kate was fonder of Margery than ever, particularly since that awful day when Phillip went missing. Margery had offered help in a hundred different ways, exhibiting a particular skill in guiding Marie and Petra to communicate beyond insults. She had even found suitable clothing for Petra to wear. Recalling that Drusilla Seaton had a granddaughter slightly older than Petra, she had paid the widow a visit and returned with a wardrobe. “May God watch over you and your husband on your noble mission,” Kate said.

Margery kissed Kate’s cheek and whispered, “Have a care, my friend. Danger surrounds us.”

Sir Elric bowed to Lady Margery and wished her a safe journey.

“I will miss little Petra most of all. She is so like my youngest when he was her age.” Margery pressed something into Kate’s hand. “One for each of them, so they do not fuss.” Kissing Kate’s cheek again, Margery hurried off.

Gold filigree pins shaped as nests, with tiny jet beads tucked within. Kate placed them in her scrip.

“She is a generous woman,” Sir Elric noted as they continued down Stonegate. He had insisted on escorting Kate home, despite Jennet’s presence. Jennet now walked behind them with the squire Harry, a youth with a honking laugh. “Forgive my curiosity, Dame Katherine, but I wondered what you decided about your wayward servant, Sam?”

“My uncle the dean has offered him a penance of hard work, menial labor befitting a man of his years, in the kennels on an estate. He is good with dogs.” She enjoyed the surprise on the knight’s chiseled face. “Cliffords prefer to use problems, not destroy them.”

“I see.”

And Sam’s gratitude would silence him about the letters. Or so she prayed. “And you, Sir Elric, what will be the fate of your wayward henchman?”

“Alas, the wound in his groin festered, and with little will to live knowing he would be a cripple, he went to sleep and never woke.” A shrug.

Kate felt a chill down her spine. She must remember to warn her uncle never to reveal the whereabouts of Sam to this man.

“What do you think of Lady Kirkby’s mission now that you have dined with her? And witnessed the archbishop’s response?” she asked as they crossed into Davygate.

“I believe Lord Kirkby sincere in suing for peace, but he will fail. He understands neither Duke Henry nor the Lancastrians. The duke is a man besotted with his own image as first knight, a man who needs to be the hero of every tourney in which he participates. It is this that makes him dangerous. He dislikes that his cousin the king does not appreciate his military prowess. The king publicly embarrasses him by pointing out that a tourney is to the battlefield what a puppet show is to life, and that he has had little to no experience in actual battle. The duke has no wish to make peace with his royal cousin. The barons encourage the duke in his resentment, especially the Lancastrians. They see no benefit to peace.”

It seemed Kate and Elric were of one mind in this.

For a while they relaxed into casual comments on the state of the streets, the weather, the folk who greeted her, so many with questions in their expressions – she certainly had been a source of much excitement of late. It worried her. And now to be seen on the arm of a handsome knight… She shrugged to herself. Perhaps Sir Elric’s interest might be to her advantage, serving to ward off would-be suitors.

“Have you considered my proposal?” he asked as they crossed into Nessgate, almost home. “My silence and protection for your information?”

“And if I refuse?”

A small smile. “You are a formidable warrior, Dame Katherine. I prefer to be your ally, not your foe.”

“Then perhaps we understand each other.” She thanked him for the escort and excused herself for not inviting him in. “Petra is with her tutor today in the hall. I prefer that we not disturb them.”

“Ah. How is she fitting in your household?”

Kate shook her head. “Phillip has chosen to stay with the Granthams for a while, until Marie becomes accustomed to Petra’s presence.” She smiled. “It is an uneasy peace. Like ours.”

She nodded to him, signaled to Jennet, and was turning down the alley when Elric barred her way.

“One more thing, Dame Katherine.” Curious how chilly blue eyes could be. “Your cousin William mentioned that Jon Underhill had shown him a letter carrying King Richard’s seal. We found no such letter on the corpse.”

“So you have exhumed him? To give him a proper burial, I hope?”

An ambiguous shrug. “Frost said Underhill had a pack with him when he was escorted to your guesthouse that fateful night. Is that in your possession?”

“You know that it is, Sir Elric. You searched for it yourself up in my bedchamber.”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his boots for a moment. So he had a conscience. “Forgive me, Dame Katherine, but I had orders. And for all that I found no letter.”

“Of course not.”

“But you know of the letters.”

“I know of the one William glimpsed. Was there another?”

A slight twitch beneath his left eye. “You miss nothing, do you?”

Kate merely arched a brow. “It grows cold out here.”

“Of course. Forgive me for keeping you, Dame Katherine. I pray I have not jeopardized our partnership with my trespass.”

“And I pray it is not repeated.” She wished him a safe journey back to Sheriff Hutton Castle, then strode on down the alley, her heart pounding. She must find a safer place for the letters than the floor of her solar, somewhere they would be secure even should someone set fire to her home.