The Service of the Dead by Candace Robb

Author:Candace Robb
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pegasus
Published: 2016-05-08T04:30:00+00:00

William wore a fine squirrel-lined cloak and a matching fur hat. The hand that touched Kate’s face as he kissed her cheek in greeting was gloved in softest leather. “May God watch over all our loved ones,” he said. “I do not have much time, Katherine. I have an engagement in an hour.” He nodded toward the cloak draped across her arm. “You as well?”

“You have one foot out the door before we even begin, yet it was you who wished to speak to me.”

“I did wish to talk. At my home.”

She stifled a retort. “Come, have a seat by the fire. Berend has brought us brandywine.” She gestured to a high-backed chair. “I pray you, sit, cousin.”

Apparently mollified by her courtesy, the foolish man, William smiled as he removed his cloak and draped it across the back of the chair. Beneath he wore velvet and silk. “And you, Katherine?” He reached for the other high-backed chair.

She pulled up a backless stool. “I prefer this.” For freedom of movement—she imagined lunging for him of a sudden and strangling him. But of course she would not do that. At least she did not intend to do so. She draped the intruder’s cloak on a bench within easy reach, then signaled Lille and Ghent to either side of her cousin. It was an arrangement her father had taught her, a dog sitting so close on either side that the person found it difficult to move. And the dogs would shift to restrict his movement if he tried to rise. She found it satisfying to make use of their affection for him.

Berend set a small table at Kate’s side, poured the brandywine, handed a goblet to William, one to Kate, and then moved to stand behind their guest. Now her cousin was surrounded.

“I presume you want to hear what I learned about Alice Hatten, how her body was found floating in the King’s Fishpond, how she was murdered?” said Kate.

William’s smile dimmed. “How quickly you come to the point.”

“Is that not what you wished?”

Her cousin glanced back at Berend with a little frown. He had never trusted her cook. “Roger told me you were at the Sharp house last night, where Alice was taken.”

“Yes. I happened to have business with Jocasta, but when I arrived I learned of her sad mission.”

As on the morning in the guesthouse, William could not focus on any one thing but kept looking this way and that, restive, fearful, clearly uneasy. “I do not know what happened, Katherine. I never would have asked Alice—”

She waved him silent. “I do not care to hear your excuses, cousin. I want facts.”

“I thought you—you want facts from me? How would I know? Do you think I killed her, Katherine? Do you accuse me of drowning Alice? I loved her.”

“Did you?” She shrugged. “Then it was a timorous love. You could not bring yourself to defend her against your wife’s angry dismissal.”

“I grant you that. But I could never take Alice’s life.”

“I know that, William.

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