The Final Toll

by Denise Domning

  "However, in honor of the little lady's special day, she was allowed her very own dish this time. Because the birds were hers alone, I also erred on the side of sweetness for her sauce."

  Here, Milla allowed the corners of her mouth to rise into a narrow smile. "I vow, it was a waste of honey. We could have piled ashes on that platter and our little lady would have eaten them with relish, so overjoyed was she at having a dish she did not need to share with anyone, especially her sister."

  That teased a laugh from Faucon. The rules of courtesy required the gently-born to eat in pairs, at least at the day's main meal and certainly on more formal occasions. Each couple shared one trencher and one cup between them, and served each other, bite by bite, sip by sip. There had been more than a few times in his youth when he'd begrudged Will every morsel of a dish he wanted all to himself.

  Still smiling, Faucon asked, "What say you? Lady Bagot insists that her father but answered our Lord's call last night. Not so Sir Adam. He believes someone helped Sir Robert into heaven."

  Every bit of emotion left Milla's handsome face. "I would know nothing of that," she offered swiftly. She crossed her arms before her. It was a drawbridge lifting to ward off besiegers.

  Her reaction battered at Faucon's thus-far lackadaisical hunt. Yet, no matter how he turned those pieces of his, he could find no trail to follow. Every sign he saw said there was nothing to find in regard to Sir Robert's passing.

  At last, all he could think to say was, "Lady Bagot says Sir Robert's final ailment was brought on by overeating and last night wasn't the first time he ailed after giving way to gluttony."

  "What would I know of those spells of his? I'm no healer," Milla replied, with a dismissive lift of her brows.

  In frustration Faucon shifted to follow the tracks Sir Adam had so diligently created for him. "Did you know Lady Offord was using the dairy as her hidey-hole?"

  "I did," the cook replied. As she spoke both her expression and her arms relaxed although her tone remained flat. "All of us who serve at Offord know where the lady, if you can call her that, hides."

  The corner of her mouth lifted into a sneer. "What use is it wedding a common man's daughter to a knight if she isn't willing to take on the duties that belong to her new position? Lady Offord's lack of liver shames those of us who are her peers."

  "Some among Offord's servantry seem to support her," Faucon prodded. "This afternoon, your bailiff barred the hall door against Lady Bagot, holding it at Lady Offord's command."

  Angry color washed over Milla's face. Her jaw tightened. "Regardless of how it may appear, you can be certain that our bailiff held that door for his own profit and no other reason."

  "He has wronged you," Faucon said, leaping to exploit the first hint of weakness she'd revealed.

  She considered him for a long moment then heat came to flickering life in her gaze. "You tell me, sir. A beloved brother sends his sister, a widow, whose husband squandered both her dowry and dower, and her dying babe to nurse a Bagot heir. She begs her brother's advice on how to safeguard the coins they pay her, only to later discover those coins are gone, spent without her knowledge. With no profit to show after years of work, she begs her brother to help her make right where wrong was done. Instead, he offers an even deeper injury."

  She paused to draw a fiery breath. The twist of her lips was filled with wicked amusement. "Ah, but here I am, in the right place to watch as my brother finds himself made as poor as me. Now that Sir Robert is gone there's no one left to coddle that cowardly son of a worm, no one to excuse his errors and misjudgments."

  Faucon frowned. "Why would Sir Robert protect his bailiff if the man is incompetent or worse?"

  "For love's sake," Milla spat out. "Just as I nursed my poor dying Etta alongside Sir Luc, my brother sucked one of my mother's teats while Sir Robert had his mouth upon the other. Closer than blood they were and Sir Robert forgave my brother everything. That is, until this past summer. First, disease took almost all of our newly-castrated wethers. The next month the wool merchant's buyer came for our spring fleeces. But when he inspected them, he complained they had too many locks and only offered a tenth of what they should have been worth."

  Again, she showed him that hard smile. "Pity poor foolish Sir Adam, who has so longed to own Offord that he forgets all caution. Now, Sir Robert departs this earthly vale at the very moment that there's not one coin in Offord's purse and Sir Adam's coveted second property may very well drag down his first.

  "Having heard that, sir, do you think Offord's new master will keep the old master's bailiff?" She lifted her brows. There was vindictive pleasure in her gaze. "You cannot know how much I'll enjoy watching my brother lose all he holds dear, just as I did."

  Her words hit Faucon like a blow. Hadn't he all too often heard that same hateful tone in Will's voice? Hadn't he seen that same nasty bend of lip on his brother's mouth? The destruction Milla wished upon her sibling was no different than the fate Will wished for his younger brother.

  Unable to bear the woman's presence for another moment, Faucon set his cup on the seat of the stool and left the kitchen.

  Head down, lost in dark thoughts, he crossed the yard and jogged up the porch steps. As he shoved open the hall door, he collided with Lady Helena. Sir Adam's elder daughter gave a quiet cry and stumbled back against the wooden screen. Her heel caught in the hem of her cloak and she began to fall.

  Faucon grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. At his touch, Helena's freckled face took fire. Beneath the faint red arch of her brows, her blue eyes widened in something that wasn't quite fear. He instantly released her. Yet pressed against the wooden panel behind her, she eased to the side, just out of arm's reach, her hands clasped as if in prayer. There she stood, staring up at him, the gusting wind toying with the tendrils of golden-red hair that had escaped her plaits.

  "My pardon," Faucon said with a reassuring smile. "I wasn't paying heed as I walked."

  "The fault is mine, sir," the child-woman replied, her voice strained and tight.

  Sudden moisture filled her eyes as the color on her cheeks flared even brighter. Everything about her, from her stance to her clutched hands, suggested she would very much like to curl in a ball to hide. Instead, she held her ground, her gaze yet meeting his. "I was on my way to the kitchen to fetch the posset," she told him at a whisper.

  Fetch the posset? If the pot was too heavy for that lad, it was certainly too heavy for Sir Adam's daughter. But Nobby had been commanded to speak to a maid. How had Lady Joia even known to send her child instead?

  Tears trembled on the girl's eyelashes but did not fall. Her mouth opened. Words tumbled from her lips so quickly that they almost collided with one another. "Your clerk tells us that only knights with an income of twenty pounds a year can serve as Coronarius."

  Faucon's surprise tumbled into understanding. Lady Bagot had asked Edmund about him. Edmund, who saw every question as a simple quest for information, had no doubt answered truthfully, most likely including every detail he'd collected about his employer's family, marital status, and the particulars of Faucon's financial arrangements with his benefactors.

  Satisfied by what she heard, Lady Bagot had used the posset as a pretense so her almost-eligible daughter might intercept a potential husband. From the look on Helena's face Faucon suspected she'd been most sternly commanded to engage her Crowner in conversation of some kind. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for him, Helena was neither old enough nor sly enough to understand the subtlety required by her mother's command.

  A tear started down the girl's cheek. Only then did Faucon realize he was glowering at her. That was worse than unfair. If there was blame to be had regarding this awkward moment, it belonged to him for not warning Edmund to guard his tongue. But as a second son with little inheritance, Faucon had never once expected a gentlewoman might scheme to present her daughter to him.

  He arranged his mouth into a smile. "Brother Edmund speaks true," he told her. "Those knights
who wish to hold this position must have such an income. As for the posset, I know it's ready, but I also know the pot will be too heavy for you. Race back into the hall and tell your lady mother to send a maidservant to fetch it. Best you insist that your servant makes all haste. I've already tasted the brew. It would be a terrible sin, were it to grow cold before you had your portion."

  Looking like someone who had just been snatched back from a hell mouth, Helena gave a quick bend of her knees. "Thank you sir. I'll not tarry," she assured him, already racing back into the hall.

  Faucon retreated to stand on the edge of the porch. Could this day get any worse? God forbid Will might learn what had just happened. His brother would only hate him all the more if their great-uncle's favor made it possible for Faucon to marry first. Because of Will's odd and unpredictable behavior since his injury, their father had had little luck finding a bride for his eldest son, despite Will's inheritance.

  A lone man was making his way across the bailey, coming from the back pasture toward the gate. Head bowed, the man had his cloak hood pulled low over his brow. He held his outer garment closed with one hand as if shielding whatever he carried in his other arm. It was a moment before Faucon recognized the orange chausses and the fleece cross-gartered to his calves.

  "Bailiff?" he called out.

  Milla's despised brother raised his head. There was no doubting that Milla and Eustace were kin. They shared the same fair hair, long face, and fine features.

  As Eustace recognized his new Crowner, he gave a lift of his chin. "Sir?" he called back.

  Faucon jogged down the steps to meet Sir Robert's milk-brother. "I think I owe you thanks for seeing to my horse," he offered by way of greeting.

  Eustace shook his head. "You owe me nothing. Offord has always been careful of its guests, and Sir Robert, a gracious host. I intend to maintain that tradition for as long as I can," his voice broke. Releasing his cloak, Eustace covered his face with his hand.

  "My condolences," Faucon offered. "I think I regret never having met Sir Robert. From all I've heard thus far, he seems to have been a good man, beloved by both his servants and family."

  Eustace lowered his hand. Tears glistened in his eyes. "He was, indeed," agreed the servant who had covertly defied his dear master last night by offering Sir Luc shelter.

  "Speak with me," Faucon said. "I'd like to hear from you the tale of what happened last night. More to the point, I'm hoping you can tell me why Sir Adam believes Sir Robert's death was anything but natural."

  Eustace blinked. All emotion drained from his expression, then his mouth tightened in refusal. This covert resistance was another trait he had in common with his sister. He again pulled his cloak around him, holding it shut with his hand.

  "My pardon, sir, but I cannot tarry to speak at the moment. I'm for our far sheepfold and must reach it before darkness falls."

  Faucon almost grinned. Anything that kept him out of Offord's hall and away from its womenfolk for a time was a boon. "Well and good! I'll walk with you and you can answer my questions as we go," he said.

  Pivoting, he started toward Offord's unguarded gateway. He frowned as he once again eyed the unmanned opening. What was the point of a fine defensive wall if no one watched to see who came and went through its gateway? He had almost reached it before he realized Eustace hadn't joined him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The bailiff stood where he had been, staring after his better. Although his brow was creased and his eyes again red-rimmed, every line of the man's body suggested the last thing he wished to do was speak with his shire's new Keeper of the Pleas.

  "Come, then. I thought you had a need for haste," Faucon prodded.

  Once again, resistance flashed across Eustace's face. When it disappeared, all that was left was that blank expression every servant aimed at his better. Lifting his heels, the bailiff joined his Crowner.

  Faucon held his peace as they started down the slope and into Offord Village. Whitewashed cottages capped in gentle brown thatch lined the track. Dogs barked, a pig squealed, and from a nearby cottage a girl with a reedy voice was singing a lullaby. Watching the smoke rising from each home bend sharply to the east, Faucon looked to the west. The thick layer of clouds gathered there said there'd be rain upon the morrow.

  Boyish laughter heralded the pair of lads who burst through a gate in one of the toft fences. Dressed in green tunics with blankets for cloaks, their faces identical, they sprinted onto this track, punching and grabbing at each other as they ran. They pushed past him, then caromed into Eustace, who walked a little ahead. The bailiff snatched at them and missed.

  "Pardon, Eustace!" the twins shouted in unison as they raced on without stopping.

  "Slow down, you two, else I'll complain to your father," Eustace commanded in his native tongue. There was no bite to his threat.

  "Aye, Eustace," one lad cried and slowed. His twin only laughed and raced on. "Come back here!" the first shouted then looked behind him at his bailiff. His face was alive with his longing to catch his brother.

  "Take him if you can, Ned. Or are you Ed?" Eustace called with a laugh and the boy sprinted after his brother.

  It was the sweetest moment Faucon had enjoyed this day. Grinning still, he looked at Offord's bailiff. "I'm told that you and Sir Robert are milk-brothers, and that neither of you hail from Offord."

  Eustace shot him a startled glance then fixed his gaze ahead of them. "True enough. Our birthplace was a manor some miles north of here, but yet within the bounds of the Forest of Arden. Sir Robert's sire fostered him with Lord Robert of Stafford. When Sir Umfrey, Lady Bagot's grandsire, chose to join our old king's Irish invasion, he petitioned Lord Stafford to lend him a squire for the adventure, as he had no fosterling of his own. Stafford gave him Sir Robert, then the eldest of his squires. Lord Robert's only condition was that Sir Umfrey should knight his squire before they returned to these shores, if Robert proved worthy."

  That caught Faucon's attention. Sir Adam had said his father-by-marriage had taken treasure enough in Ireland to win him Offord. But as a squire, any plunder Robert might have collected would have belonged to Sir Umfrey, his to disperse among his retainers as he saw fit. "Then Sir Umfrey must have found Sir Robert worthy right quickly," he said.

  Eustace nodded. "So Sir Robert always says— said. His tale was that Sir Umfrey knighted him shortly after they reached those barbarous shores. Later in their adventure, they came upon a wondrous rich treasure trove in some ancient cave.

  "Even Robert's half of that cache would have been enough to win him the hand of Offord's heiress. But as it happened, just before they were to return home, Sir Umfrey fell ill. The knight knew immediately this would be his final illness. Upon his deathbed Sir Umfrey not only gave his portion of the treasure to his erstwhile squire, he commanded Sir Robert to wed his daughter. Indeed, the man was so set on the union that he even put his signet to parchment, so all would know this was his last wish."

  Eustace shot him a sidelong glance as he continued. "This he did because Sir Adam and his sire had designs on the heiress of Offord, having pressed Sir Umfrey to promise her to Sir Adam before the knight left for Ireland. Once Sir Robert was married, he called me to Offord to serve him. I came, leaving home and family to honor the love he and I share."

  Faucon's brows rose as those pieces of his shifted anew, although there was yet no pattern to be seen. Sir Adam had been wrong to claim Sir Robert cursed. It seemed the man had been uncannily fortunate, especially for an extra son. Well, except in his inability to produce a male heir and losing the last piece of his Irish treasure to theft.

  "Did you know that Sir Robert's bell was stolen last night?" he asked the bailiff.

  Eustace stopped abruptly, his eyes wide. "Last night?! But that's not possible!"

  "It must have been possible. The bell is gone," Faucon replied.

  The bailiff freed a ragged breath, shaking his head like a man stunned. "My pardon, sir, but it simply isn't possible. After I help
ed Sir Adam take Sir Robert to his bed, I stayed in the hall until Robert was no more, then joined the others in his chamber, praying for his soul until dawn. Nothing untoward happened over those hours."

  "So you may say, but the bell is still gone," Faucon insisted. "Lady Offord and I discovered it missing from its box when I went to Sir Robert's chamber to view his body. I brought the empty coffer to Sir Adam and he rode off for Wootton Wawen to confront the prior."

  "What?!" The bailiff gaped. "He accuses Prior Thierry? This is stranger still. While it's true that the prior was alone with Sir Robert for a time last night, the Churchman couldn't have taken the bell, nor would he have taken it without its coffer. First and most importantly, Sir Robert would never have given him the key."

  "I'm told that by the time the prior arrived, Sir Robert couldn't move or even speak. Lady Offord showed me where the key ring was kept on Sir Robert's bed post. Surely, the prior could have found those keys and opened the coffer while he was alone in Sir Robert's bedchamber," Faucon said.

  "But why take the bell without the box?" Eustace insisted.

  "Because he could not hide the box on his person?" Faucon suggested.

  "Nor could he have hidden that bell under his clothing," Eustace retorted. "That piece is no small thing, being almost as long as my forearm," he said. "As I said, I came into Robert's chamber after he was gone to pray for my master's soul. It was Father Prior who led us, during which time he folded and unfolded his hands, knelt then rose, then knelt again. When the prayers were finished, he walked with the rest of us down the stairs. I saw no bulge beneath his garments. At no time did I hear so much as a 'tink' with all his shifting and moving. Nor did anyone else, for had they heard something, they would have commented on it, especially Lady Joia."

  Eustace gave a firm shake of his head. "Arrogant and full of pride that Churchman is, but I cannot credit him with thievery."

  "Lady Bagot suggests Prior Thierry was trying to force Sir Robert to make a gift of the bell to the priory," Faucon said. "Would Sir Robert have given the bell to the prior last night?"