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.
Berend tilted his head, considering. “A feud between your families?” A slow nod as he left the fire and checked the large bowl in which dough was rising. Standing there examining it, he seemed at peace, as ever he did when going about his tasks. He once called his work in her household his redemption. “But you know nothing of a feud.” As he glanced up at her, she saw the lines of care return. Would there ever come a time when there were no cares?
She shook her head. “My uncle never approved of his brother’s marriage, and Mother’s hasty remarriage further soured his feelings for her. But it is a passing discomfort, surely. I believe this has more to do with the beguines. Heretics, in his mind. Their house founded by a woman who carries the Clifford name.”
“And why the theft?” asked Jennet. “What might the Christ child and religious texts mean to the Clifford family? They belong to the beguines, not Dame Eleanor.”
“By association?” Kate rubbed her eyes. “I do not see the whys or the wherefores yet, but one thing has occurred to me. My uncle was cordial to Mother at first, almost welcoming, remember? Yet recently, I think quite recently, he must have learned something, received a warning – whatever it was, he resolved to keep his distance from her. And to warn me away.”
“He warns you but will not tell you the cause,” said Jennet. “He cannot think to win you over with no explanation. Surely if it were merely the beguines, he would say.”
“Nor does it explain his gift.” Kate told them about the house in Petergate.
“A generous gift,” said Berend, giving a little whistle. “It’s a fine house.”
Jennet softly cursed. “It smells of blood money. What has Dean Richard done?”
“Families do this all the time,” said Kate. “It keeps the property in the family.”
“Will you sign the deed?” Berend asked.
“It is a clear deed, no conditions. I think I would be a fool to let it slip through my hands. What do you say?”
Jennet shrugged.
“It would be a fine addition to your holdings,” said Berend.
“But as for living there …” Kate shrugged.
“If you live there, so shall we, eh, Berend?” said Jennet with a conciliatory grin. “But it is not empty.”
“Who lives there now?” asked Berend.
“Knights,” said Jennet. “Only not so well behaved as Sir Alan’s lot. They have spent a great deal at the bawd houses at the edge of the Bedern, paying more than the vicars choral can afford. Poor laddies, they have felt the pinch. They will be glad to see the back of the knights.” She rose, stretched her arms, rotated her freckled wrists. “With Matt in the kitchen next door I should be in the house with the girls and allow Brigida to go to her evening prayers. Should I be wary of Griffin? Or Werner?”
“For the nonce, I am wary of everyone but my own household,” said Kate.
“Then I shall be likewise.” Swinging wide the door, Jennet apologized as a gust of wind sent rain into the kitchen, showering Lille and Ghent before she’d closed the door behind her. The hounds stood to shake off the spray.
“The girls will not like being alone up in the solar,” said Kate. But instead of rising, she asked for more ale, then settled back to tell Berend about Geoff and her own conflicted feelings about her uncle.
Berend put a cloth over the dough and stretched out beside her, stroking Ghent’s head. “You’ve plenty cause to wonder at Richard Clifford’s behavior. And Dame Eleanor’s, Werner’s, Griffin’s. Even Hans, stealing away to the taverns – something changed him. I wonder whether Werner might explain that. Do you believe Dame Eleanor, that she did not send Griffin to your uncle?”
“I don’t know what to believe where Mother is concerned. And Griffin – I think you trust him more than I do.”
“I did, but he’s given me cause to question my judgment, wandering off as he did. If she did not send him to the dean, what is his game?” Berend sat up and plucked a leaf from her hair, tossed it into the fire. “We need to find him. And Werner.”
Kate stared into the flames a moment. “Agreed. Tomorrow morning, you, Jennet, and I will go out in search of them – Griffin might hide his hair with a hat, but he cannot hide his west country speech. Or his brows – bushy, copper-colored. Someone will have marked him. And Werner – his size, his speech.” Kate set aside her bowl as the wind rattled the shutters. “The girls will be wanting me.”
Berend held out his hand to help her up. His was warm, his grip strong.
“Bless you,” she whispered, and hurried out into the night.
14
The Storm
A thunderclap and a flash of lightning shook the house, waking Kate. A second flash revealed Petra lying on her back, her eyes wide open, her fingers bending one by one. Counting the distance.
“Close,” she whispered to Kate. Another clap. She counted slowly on her fingers. A flash. “Closer.”
Do you remember counting our heartbeats? Geoff asked.
He was still with her.
How could I forget? That summer the thunderstorms came rolling in day after day. The Trevors’ house burned down. Our great oak.
Marie mumbled something in her sleep, tucked up so tightly against Kate that she could feel the girl’s heartbeat.
A sound. Out in the storm. A man crying out?
I heard it, too, Geoff.
“The kelpies are riding the storm,” Petra whispered.
Kate kissed her on the forehead. “I will go down and ask Lille and Ghent whether we heard a kelpie or a drunk soldier.” Crawling out from beneath the covers, kissing Marie and assuring her that she would be back in a moment, Kate slipped on a pair of shoes, wrapped herself in a woolen mantle, and stole down the steps.
The soft glow from the hearth revealed Lille and Ghent standing by the garden door, their ears moving to catch sounds. Beside them, the loom cast a great shadow on the wall. A movement near the steps. Jennet was sitting up on her pallet, raking a hand through her hair.
“They woke a few moments ago, suddenly, as if they heard something,” she said. “How can they hear anything over the storm?”
“You were lying awake?” Kate asked.
“Thunder and lightning. I never liked it. My mates said it was simply God up above tapping flint. That was no comfort to me.”
“Petra is staring up at the roof listening for kelpies. None of us feel at ease in such a storm. I’ll put Lille and Ghent on their leads and go out, walk round the house.”
“I should go with you.”
“If you wish. Bring the lantern. All but one side shuttered.” She fetched her heavy cloak off the peg by the door and slipped into Geoff’s old boots. Only then did she remember her weapons, up in the solar. She was more disturbed by the storm – or the cry – than she’d realized. “I will depend on you,” she whispered to the hounds as she attached their leads.
Jennet shrugged into a jacket, tucked a dagger in her belt, picked up the lantern. Hand on the door latch she asked, “Ready?” At Kate’s nod Jennet pulled open the door and stood back to allow her out first, with the hounds.
Lille and Ghent trotted out into the garden, Kate following, pulling her cloak close as she bent into the driving rain, chill on her skin. Berend stood in the kitchen doorway, backlit by the hearth light. So he’d heard something as well. Jennet hurried forward to light her way. They proceeded once round the house, Kate’s boots squishing in the soaked grass, the dogs shaking off the rain, halting to listen, then trotting on. They crossed to the kitchen.