A Murdered Peace

Back at the Martha House, Nan welcomed them with hot spiced wine and a roaring fire in the hearth.

Eleanor drew Kate over to the widow Atterby. “Philippa thought to join our household,” she said to Kate, “but we knew she was meant to spread her light out in the world, grace one of the prominent families with her calming, inspiring presence.”

“Oh, Dame Eleanor, you flatter me,” Philippa sighed. Her speech truly was much like sighing, she spoke so softly, with little inflection. “The Graa family honors me.”

“You are betrothed to one of Thomas Graa’s nephews?” Kate asked, thinking his sons all too old for this child.

“His grandson Gregory.” Philippa blushed prettily.

Ah, well, no wonder there were roses in her cheeks and stars in her eyes. Gregory Graa was a handsome young man, well-spoken, and would one day inherit a substantial fortune. One day. Interesting that the family would permit him to wed so young. Perhaps grandfather Thomas was unwell.

“So much more appropriate than the man her parents first put forward, or the one who dared put himself forward,” said Eleanor, reaching over to pat Philippa’s hand. “You will be the most handsome couple in the city.”

“Someone dare put himself forward?” said Kate, picking up her mother’s prompt.

Philippa set aside her cup of spiced wine in order to make the sign of the cross. “May God grant him rest. Poor Jon.”

“Not Jon Horner?” Kate pretended shock.

“Indeed it was. Oh, he was kind to me, but he was such an odd man, and Father said that his business was, well–” She looked away as if embarrassed by what she had almost said. “He was unsuitable.”

“And, perhaps I am mistaken, but expected to make an alliance with another,” said Kate. “Cecily Wheeldon.”

“Oh, no.” Philippa shook her head, her pearl and silver crispinette catching the firelight. “The widow Wheeldon was his employer. I cannot think she ever meant to marry him. Indeed, I did at first accuse Gregory of having his eye on her. But he swears there has never been anyone for him but me.”

The young woman’s breathy speech had begun to irritate Kate. Why would she not speak out? But she focused on the information. “She employed him? I had no idea.”

“Oh yes, Jon kept her accounts as she took over more and more of her husband’s business. He was so frail at the end.”

Was he? Ross Wheeldon had walked with a cane and there were days when he conducted his business from his bed, but he had remained quite able to drive a hard bargain. Kate knew. She and Thomas Holme had negotiated a share in a shipment just a month before Ross’s death.

“Jon Horner told you this?”

“No, Dame Cecily, when she called on me to encourage me to fight for him.” A little frown. “She spoke as if she were giving me permission to wed him. Faith, she seemed offended when I explained that the interest was solely on his side, I had no intention of marrying him.”

Kate met her mother’s eyes, gave a little shrug. “And all this while Gregory Graa was pining for you.”

Another pretty blush. Poor Gregory.

“Aunt Katherine, come, look at the embroidery Sister Dina and Sister Agnes are working on,” Petra called from across the room.

Kate rose, congratulating Philippa on her betrothal. It was time to give the girls her attention, letting them extol the wonders of the beguines until she must bundle them off home. For they would have a long day tomorrow at her cousin William’s house. The first of the two days of celebration was for the entire city, and began with entertainment for the children.

And Kate had much to do to prepare for all that must happen while the city was so conveniently distracted. She must arrange her part today, for tomorrow she would have a care not to be seen anywhere near either the castle or the Sharp residence. One crucial item sat on the floor beside the sisters’ pattens and boots. She slipped over to where Sister Clara was watching her two companions work at their embroidery and quietly explained that it was Berend’s traveling pack. She must find a way to leave it with him when she took his meal to him.

Sister Clara looked at her with interest. “It shall be done.”

“Did he eat the treats I brought him?”

“He did. But not the meal I took him. I pray that he has done so by now. He will need his strength, I think?”

“He will.” Kate thanked Clara for taking such good care of Berend, and received a blessing in return.

“What do you think of the pattern?” Petra asked, having waited patiently for Kate’s attention.

Now Kate noticed that the altar cloth was bordered with thistles and gillyflowers, Petra’s favorites. “Did you design them?”

A proud nod. “I embroidered the first two.” She pointed to a corner in which the needlework was ever so slightly less exact than the rest of the border. But for a child who had sworn she was all thumbs with decorative needlework, it was a revelation.

“They are beautiful. Can you do other flowers?”

“Old Mapes always left the flowers for me to finish. I can do most that she knew.”

And as an herbalist Mapes would know quite a few. “We should have some of your work in our house, don’t you think?”

“Marie is good with trees and grass. We could do a forest meadow.”

Kate hugged her niece.

“You have done well with her,” Eleanor said. She stood close to Kate, smiling down on the altar cloth. “It is a joy to watch my granddaughter blossom. You were–” She caught herself and said, “I had my doubts about your capability as a mother, but you have proved me wrong.”

Kate knew what she’d been about to say, or at least she guessed. Her needlework had been no better then than it was now. Weaving, now that had always appealed, requiring movement. She glanced back at her niece, so like her, and pictured a boy standing next to her, all elbows and knees, nudging her, whispering that they were missing the snowfall.

Taking Eleanor’s arm, she drew her away from the clustered women. “What do you remember of the day they brought Geoff’s body home? What did I do?”

“What has that boy told you?”

She had created her own trap, opening a conversation about whether or not Geoff was still with her. Eleanor had dragged her down to York to shake him out of her.

“It is not Geoff. I sat with a friend who has had a loss. She was so unable to let herself mourn for the anger in her heart, she must needs first make things right. She is not the woman I knew. Did I change, after Geoff’s death?”

Eleanor looked away, fussing with some imagined imperfection in the drape of her skirt. “You pushed us all away. Only the hounds were permitted to comfort you.”

“I remember throwing myself on his body and screaming.”

“You lay atop him, but you said nothing. You voiced nothing for weeks. You insisted on wearing his clothes and walking. Walking for hours with the hounds. Of course your father followed you. He was so afraid for you, that you would go after the Cavertons, intent on vengeance. But he said you just walked. When the hounds were tired you would sit and stare.”

I remember that. The walks. And the silence.

Kate did not remember the silence. “When did I finally speak? When you brought me to York?”

“Long before that. You sat down to dinner and said, ‘Geoff has told me that I must reclaim my voice. Our voice.’ I knew at that moment I must forbid you to wear his clothes. And I began to plan our escape.”

I don’t remember that.

It happened, Kate.

Eleanor touched Kate’s cheek. “I cannot begin to understand how hard it was for you. Geoffrey was such a part of you. But I feared I was losing you as well. Now that you have the children, perhaps you see why I removed his things from your bedchamber and took you away from the places that could not but remind you of him?”