A Murdered Peace
- Автор: Робб Кэндис
- Серия: A Kate Clifford Mystery #3
- Год: 2018
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus Books
- ISBN: 9781681779270
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «A Murdered Peace». Краткое содержание книги:
England still in tumult at the start of the fifteenth century, as Kate Clifford finds herself working to prove the innocence of her longtime confidante.
It is deep winter in York, 1400, the ground frozen, the short days dimmed with the smoke from countless fires, the sun, when it shines, low in the sky. It is rumored that the Epiphany Uprising, meant to relieve the realm of the Henry the usurper and return King Richard to the throne has, instead, spelled his doom. As long as Richard lives, he is a threat to Henry. So, too, the nobles behind the plot. The ringleaders have been caught, some slaughtered as they fled west by folk loyal to Henry, and the king's men now search the towns for survivors.
A perilous time, made worse for Kate Clifford by the disappearance of Berend, her cook and confidante, shortly after Christmas. Her niece saw his departure in a dream – he said he was honor bound to leave. Honor bound – to a former lord? One of the nobles who led the uprising? Is he alive? She is hardly consoled when Berend reappears, wounded, secretive, denying any connection to the uprising, but refusing to explain himself. When he is accused of brutally murdering a spice seller in the city, Kate discovers a chest of jewels in his possession. Some of the jewels belong to her old friend Lady Margery, wanted by the king for her husband’s part in the uprising. For the sake of their long friendship, and the love she and her wards bear for him, Kate wants to believe his innocence. So, too, does Sir Elric. And he has the powerful backing of the Earl of Westmoreland. All she need do is confide in him. If only she trusted her heart.
He grasped the side of his worktable and eased himself up. “I suppose, as he’s passed on … It is for Ross’s tomb, but he is the one approached me in the autumn. Said he wanted it rightly done, for his wife would not be so keen. He paid me up front, a goodly sum.”
Kate was disappointed. All the fuss was about an elderly man’s mistrust of his wife’s willingness to honor his memory. She saw enough of that. “Has his widow consulted you?”
“She has. A fine woman, the widow Wheeldon. A fine woman.”
“Your work is so skilled, she must be pleased.”
The smith scratched his cheek and seemed about to shake his head, then shrugged. “She did worry it was too grand, might offend those with more call to be so remembered in the church. But I told her that I contracted with her late husband, and I would break such an agreement at the peril of my own soul.”
So Cecily hoped to recover some of the money Ross had invested in his memorial. “You are a man of conscience,” said Kate. “I should think she found that reassuring. A man who honors his contracts is a man who can be trusted.”
Coffey was shaking his head as he fiddled with a tool on his workbench. “You are kind to say that, Mistress Clifford. But I do not believe the widow would agree. She accused me of taking advantage of a dying man’s vanity.”
“No!”
He shrugged. “As far as that, I never guessed he would die so soon. He rode with me to the church on several occasions and met with me weekly as I began the work.”
“Rode through the Forest of Galtres to Easingwold with you?”
“He did. Our last journey was in early December – Feast of St. Nicholas, it was. Cold, a sharp rain, but he would not turn back. And we sat in the tavern just outside the gates there having several tankards afterward. I saw him once more after that. I felt the news of his death like a blow, I did. I had become that fond.”
“He was fortunate to make such a steadfast friend,” said Kate. She let Ghent comfort the man, butting his head against his hands, begging to have his ears rubbed. When the strain of Coffey’s emotions softened in response to the dog’s sweetness, she felt she might ask her last question. “Did Jon Horner prepare the contract for the tomb?”
“Ah, no, that would–” Coffey shook his head with vigor. “Master Ross would have nothing to do with that man.” The look on the smith’s face suggested he had more to say about that.
“I thought he saw to his accounts.”
“That knave Merek thought that as well.”
“Merek?”
“He came sniffing round here about the work I was doing for Master Ross as well. Fool I was, giving him my good coin for nothing.”
“Merek knew about the memorial?”
“Claimed Horner told him about it.”
“When was this?”
“After Master Ross was dead, to be sure. So I thought, well, the widow must be using Horner to sort through her late husband’s papers. But I did not like Merek coming round asking about that. What business was it of his?”
What indeed? Kate thanked him, her initial sense of defeat quite turned around. Here was evidence of Ross Wheeldon’s good health. No wonder his death had caused gossip.
A dark mood closed in around Kate as she passed the Frost residence on her way from the smithy to Thomas’s warehouse. In the yard, Sir Peter paced in front of Elric, who stood between two men wearing the king’s livery. Would Elric have gone to Berend’s aid if not for her? Would he have Lady Margery safely lodged at Sheriff Hutton awaiting the earl’s pleasure? Would the earl have believed Lady Margery’s innocence?
How would she bear it if Elric lost his standing, perhaps even his land, and then they found Berend and Margery had been part of the Epiphany plot? God help her, what was her responsibility to Elric? What had she done?
Everything you have done, you have done with the best intentions, Geoff assured her.
Small comfort if I have ruined a man for nothing. I’ve lost his love, his respect, and ruined him?
Busy rebuking herself, she was halfway down Micklegate before she realized she had not seen Captain Crawford in her cousin’s yard. She must pay more attention to the crowds, especially as she crossed Ouse Bridge. To her surprise, folk were talking about Berend’s escape – so it was common knowledge now. Many waved to her and expressing their delight. Some were more cautious, no doubt fearful of king’s spies. She pushed herself along, keeping the hounds on a short leash.
Once across the bridge, Lille gave a soft bark as the warehouse came into view. Jennet stood across the way, in the company of a woman in a thin cloak over a simple, oft-mended gown. One of Jennet’s eyes and ears, perhaps? As Kate drew closer, Jennet came forward to greet her and the hounds, who were ready for some affection, made skittish by their mistress’s agitation.
“Leif arrived a little while ago. Dressed as if attending the more private feast at Master William’s home today.” The second day was for the aldermen and other powerful men of the city.
Kate was relieved. “And the woman with you?”
“My new friend Henna, currently the widow Wheeldon’s cook, but eager to work for you – until Berend returns.”
“You are a wonder, Jennet.” Kate glanced at Henna, wondering at the old clothes – she hardly looked the part of a cook in the household of a prosperous York merchant. “How did you meet her?”
“Asking round the market, I learned that she has been keen to leave since the master died.”
“Loyal to Ross Wheeldon, not his widow?”
“Much to say about that, I think.”
“She will help us tonight?”
“If you agree to test her skill on her day off tomorrow. Will you speak with her?”
“I will. But briefly. I must not miss Leif.”
Jennet motioned to Henna to join them. As the woman approached she held her skirts close and leaned away from Lille and Ghent.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Kate said, “they are well trained.”
“Do they– Would they be in the kitchen?” Her face was chubby, but pinched, as if wary of the world, expecting the worst of it.
“They would be, yes. Are you willing to try to trust them?”
An honest hesitation, then Henna nodded. “Yours must be a grand kitchen to have room for them.”
She might be disappointed in that. It was large, but not at all grand. Kate considered her. Good teeth, apparently robust health, that spoke well of her own cooking. Time would tell. “Come tomorrow, mid morning. Jennet will tell you what you will need, how many dine most days, the girls’ preferences.” She excused herself, whispered some instructions to Jennet, and crossed over to the warehouse.
Her breath smoked in the cold, damp building. It was the first staging area for their goods before being moved to various storerooms around the city, drier, warmer, better for spices and the rolls of cloth being counted by an elderly clerk who stood near the entrance. Seeing Kate and the hounds, he made a face.
“Velvets, Mistress Clifford. Their fur. If they shed on–”
“My merchandise. You would be wise to remember that.” As the man hurried to apologize she waved him silent. “I am meeting Leif Holme. Fetch him for me.” She was sorry to snap at old Arn, about whom her late husband had once joked that he had been born in the warehouse. But the clerks had been slow to accept her as their superior, and she would not tolerate chiding from the man.
My oh my, she thought, her mood brightening as Leif approached. A dark blue padded jacket in the latest style over deep red leggings and knee-high leather boots with pointed toes, a dark red hat with a hawk’s tail feather swooping from it and down along his cheek. He had not been so impressive at yesterday’s feast. He would do as a factor based on his looks alone, that was certain. Pity that so few were women, but she knew several cloth and spice merchants who might find him appealing. And the wives would think of him when they were entertaining. He would have access to the best houses.