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.
“Sugared almonds, my dears. Would you care for some?”
Marie and Petra rushed to claim their share, inviting Eleanor to join them on the grass. To Kate’s surprise, her mother accepted, settling beside them.
“Are you comfortable there?” Kate asked.
“I am quite content,” said Eleanor, patting the girls’ hands.
But Kate was not. Her calm was already fraying at the edges with her mother’s presence. Eleanor had been furious when Kate’s father gave her a bow, a quiver of arrows, and lessons at the butt for her tenth birthday, and she had never changed her attitude. Kate felt her mother’s eyes on her now, but there was no courteous way to coax her away, and it was possible that her mother meant this as a gesture of peace. So she proceeded to notch the arrow, draw back the string, aim.
This one is for all the pain between us. She let fly the arrow. Centered. Perfect.
She reached for another, notched it, drew back the string, aimed. For Hans’s murderer. It landed just to the left of the first.
Your best form despite Mother’s presence, Geoff whispered in her head.
Kate ignored him, always worried her mother would sense him. She notched another arrow, aimed. For whoever put Robin and his fellows up to the theft. She let fly the arrow, knocking the other two out as it hit the center.
Another arrow notched. Her mother’s arrival in York had unsettled Kate’s life and that of those she most loved, even her uncle. But Kate loved her. She was her mother, all she had left of her family. Perhaps it was her own reaction to Eleanor that had kept her in the dark about what drove her here. Whom could her mother trust? Had she been betrayed like Kate, who had believed all Simon’s words of love, only to hear his cruel will and discover that he had a family in Calais? Had Eleanor discovered that Ulrich was not the man she had thought? Had his death dealt a blow to her love?
She drew the string, aimed. The arrow hit wide of center.
Dame Eleanor rose, brushing off her skirts. “A sugared almond?” She held the bowl out to Kate.
Setting the bow atop the butt, Kate accepted one of the treats as she searched for something to say, something that might bridge the divide, begin to build trust. Eleanor, too, seemed to be searching for words.
Petra and Marie chose that moment to hop up and retrieve the arrows for Kate.
“Tell us more stories about your brothers,” said Marie.
“Would you teach me to shoot?” asked Petra.
“Us, teach us,” said Marie.
“You are so young and slight,” Eleanor said to her.
“My da taught Aunt Katherine when she was just a mite,” said Petra. “Tell me more stories about my da. I want to know him.”
“Walter,” Eleanor whispered, her expression pained. “I– I have work to do,” she said, shoving the bowl into Kate’s hands and retreating to the gate.
It clattered loudly as it shut behind her.
Kate closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths. The girls were not at fault, and she did not want to snap at them.
“Should I not have mentioned my da to her?” asked Petra. “Is she angry with him?”
“No, not at all. She is grieving her son. Her eldest. You must never doubt our love for him. And you.”
“How did he teach you?” Petra asked.
“Please, Dame Katherine?” said Marie, taking her hand. “Show us!”
Such a gesture from Marie was a rare event, not to be wasted. “It takes strength,” Kate said, forcing a smile. “You must practice every day to build your strength. Are you ready for that?”
Marie nodded. “I want to be strong like you. Then nothing will frighten me.”
“Old Mapes said only a fool fears nothing,” said Petra.
Marie rolled her eyes and danced away toward where Lille and Ghent lounged beneath the kitchen eaves. The hounds glanced up at her approach. “With a bow and a quiver of arrows and two war dogs I will fear nothing!”
“You never want to excite them, Marie.” Kate grasped the opportunity to give both girls a lesson in the sort of discipline required to train as an archer. Working with the girls usually lifted her spirits, but not at the moment. Her mother’s pain and her own part in it weighed heavily.
The houses along Micklegate cast long shadows as Berend and Matt approached Toft Green, the elder instructing the younger in demeanor – walk with purpose, not too curious, skirt the clusters of tents, avoid any visible reaction to things overheard.
“Well, what have we here?” Berend said as they passed the first cluster of tents. He nudged Matt, nodding toward the priory wall, the camp circle that was their destination. “Sir Alan Bennet – the knight leasing Dame Katherine’s tenement beside the guesthouse.”
The knight was kicking a pile of blankets with his foot, then toeing the cold coals of an extinguished fire.
“At the camp where Thatcher was cooking? The men who came for Robin?” Matt gave a low whistle.
“Aye. The soldiers appear to have broken camp. Now what did Sir Alan want with them?”
“Wondering where they’ve gone? Shall we rush him?”
“And reveal our interest?” Berend shook his head.
He asked a few men about the one-legged cook as they picked their way through what was left of the campsites. Only four clusters of tents left. No one had seen the cook for at least a day, maybe longer. The stragglers were friendly enough until he pointed to Sir Alan.
“The king’s man? Who’s asking, eh?”
“Who’re you spying for?”
Berend asked no more.
“Sir Alan’s gone,” Matt muttered as they moved away from the last campsite.
“We know where to find him. Nothing to see here.” Though Berend did search the abandoned campsite, dreading to find Thatcher’s peg leg, evidence that the petty thief had been used by them and then cast aside. Or worse. But there was no sign of any of the men, nary a sharpening stone, a pot, or a jar of spices. As if they had never been there.
They caught sight of Sir Alan on Micklegate and followed him as he walked with seeming purpose, pausing only once, to talk to Severen.
“Now that’s an interesting acquaintance,” Berend said. “Nan’s night-watch friend, the one injured by Hans’s assailants.” He motioned to Matt to slip closer, see whether he might overhear. He was smaller than Berend, less noticeable. He’d almost reached the two, standing just beyond the fishmongers, when Severen bobbed his head and continued on in Berend’s direction. He had just enough time to slip into a crowd clustered round a street musician playing a hurdy-gurdy while his monkey hopped from shoulder to shoulder. As soon as Severen passed, Berend whispered to the woman beside him that the monkey had stolen her earring, then strode on to join Matt, grinning as the hurdy-gurdy stopped amid angry shouts. Bloody fool of a thief to weigh himself down with a costly instrument. Made him hesitate just long enough upon discovery to get jumped on by his victims.
“Could you hear anything?” he asked Matt.
“Too little. Something about all being quiet and departing soon. Nothing telling.”
“But that they know each other.”
They hurried after Sir Alan as he headed over Ouse Bridge. He turned into the alleyway on Petergate that led to the door to his lodgings. Berend heard him greet Griselde, who was sweeping the entrance to the guesthouse. When the knight had firmly shut the door behind him, Berend and Matt strolled up to the housekeeper.
“Bonny afternoon after all that rain,” she said, setting aside her broom. “And far fewer armed strangers on the streets. Once that lot goes,” she nodded toward the door through which Sir Alan had gone, “I’ll breathe easy. Some are already doing so. Master Frost and the widow Seaton will be our guests tonight. Dame Katherine will be pleased.”