A Murdered Peace

Statues of angels, Kate thought as she stepped into the hall of the Martha House and beheld Marie and Petra in their white gowns, their hair loose about their shoulders, their hands folded before them. And just beneath the neckline on their gowns, each wore the gold and jet brooches Lady Margery had given them. When she touched Marie’s, tears started in the girl’s eyes. Petra bit her bottom lip. Kate whispered her assurances that all would be well for their friend as she hugged them. How rigidly the girls stood. “You are making the day special for the sisters, do you see how they smile on you?”

For they did. All four sisters stood behind the girls, their faces alight with the sweetness of the vision.

“Poor Sister Brigida combed and combed Petra’s hair, trying to untangle it,” Marie whispered.

Kate touched her niece’s hair, so like hers. “How lovely. Are you pleased, Petra?”

A little smile. “Sister Brigida did not complain.”

“Of course not. And, when I speak with her, will she say that Marie sweetly combed her own hair and made no demands?”

Petra giggled, Marie turned away, but not before Kate caught the beginning of a grin.

As Kate rose, she found Brigida, Clara, Dina, and Agnes all laughing.

“Marie is a handful,” said Sister Agnes. “But we all enjoy fussing over both of them.”

Kate had wondered whether they, too, would wear white on this day, putting aside their simple gray gowns. But they had compromised with white capes over their usual attire. All held candles, ready to be lit as they entered the church.

It was strange for Kate to be in this house that was once her home, a place that held so many memories. The sisters and her wards stood before the Lady altar that had taken the place of Kate’s loom, where she had turned silken threads into colorful patterns that would remind her of the beauty of the north country of her childhood. Now that loom stood in her house on Low Petergate, the tapestry almost complete. She stood near the spot that had held the blankets on which Lille and Ghent slept. And just to one side was the spot where she had kept Geoff’s boots.

I remember, he whispered. For a time I could reach you only when you wore my boots or the other bits of my clothing you squirreled away.

What changed?

I don’t know. But it was lonely then. It isn’t now.

It isn’t fair to you. You should rest in peace.

I will when you are here with me.

She shivered at that, and forced her attention to the present, glad to see that Petra and Marie were now whispering and giggling, no longer intimidated by their part in the morning’s ceremony.

It was a warm, inviting scene. The candles on the altar were lit, and the scents of incense and beeswax filled the hall, following their early morning prayers and readings. So the sisters began each day, even on such a morning when they would attend a long mass. But there would be little work today, unless Sister Clara was called out to a birthing.

Kate shivered again as the hall door opened and closed.

“Such a snowstorm,” Dame Eleanor murmured at Kate’s back. “The girls were disappointed to see it.”

Kate had wondered where her mother was. “A white world for Candlemas. It seems appropriate,” she said. “How is Rose?”

Eleanor’s face sagged with weariness. Her veil and the shoulders of her gown were damp with melting snow. “Her fever broke in the night. She is resting now. Bella is with her.”

Matt’s cousin, a midwife and healer. The fact that Eleanor sent for her … “She was that ill?”

“I had not realized, not until after you left yesterday. When I went to sit with her, she was burning up and speaking gibberish.”

“You have her in the bedchamber off the kitchen?”

“Yes. Sister Clara thought it was best, we can keep it quite warm there, and it is quiet.”

They both turned as the hall door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a flurry of snowflakes.

“Forgive me, I pray I am not too late!” Philippa Atterby said in a breathless voice as she hurried into the hall, the servant Nan closing the door behind her.

“Here is just the person you wish to see,” Eleanor whispered to Kate. “I had time in the night to think how to broach the topic after mass.” She nodded to Kate, then opened her arms to the newcomer. “Not late at all, my dear Philippa. The church bells have not yet tolled. You have met my daughter, Dame Katherine?”

Kate offered to help her shake the snow from her cloak. Best to befriend her before mentioning Jon Horner. Pray God her mother’s plan was discreet. But just as she began, the church bell tolled. A ripple of movement as the sisters waved Eleanor, Philippa, and Kate to their places behind them, and Nan gave them each a candle, then went to open the street-side door. Slowly, in twos, the women processed out into the snow.

At the church they were ushered in by Magistra Matilda, whose sisters had begun to sing the hymn Nunc Dimittis. Eleanor’s sisters joined their voices as they walked up the nave, Sister Brigida’s clear soprano ringing out.

Kate caught her breath as the song transported her to her first Candlemas in York, entering the minster on Simon’s arm. The candlelight, the scent of beeswax, the voices of the vicars choral. Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Simon had whispered, pressing her arm. More beautiful than the windswept hills of the north country? More beautiful than watching the wolfhounds lope across a meadow? More beautiful than her twin’s face? No, she had thought, the statues are all staring down on me, judging me. It is just stone upon stone upon stone, a burial chamber of terrifying proportions. But she had forced herself to smile up at Simon, and he had looked satisfied. Her betrothed. In time she had grown fond of him, and looked forward to motherhood. She had prayed for a boy to call Geoffrey. As she grew large with child she envisioned the day when she would enter St. Mary’s for her churching. But that day never came, and now she knew that while she lay on the floor weeping for her lost child, Simon had lain in Calais with his whore.

“My dear?” Dame Eleanor whispered, putting an arm round her.

Startled, she glanced round, seeing the concern on the sisters’ faces. And on Kevin’s. He stood to one side, next to Elric, who stared ahead, stone-faced. Elric. He was nothing like Simon. Quite a superior cut of man. In body and soul. How she wished she might spend just one night in his naked embrace. She caught herself. The Candlemas service was not the time to fantasize about a lover who might have been.