“Are you one of her relatives?” Bellona’s nose wrinkled in distaste.
“No.”
“A friend?”
“No.” That much was the truth. Lady Whittingly had few friends because the bitter woman seldom spoke anything but insults.
“Then why would I see you at the lady’s house?”
“I was her lady’s maid.”
“Lady’s maid?” Bellona openly appraised Priscilla again then nodded. “That makes sense. You have an aura of gentility about you but obviously not the polish of the ton.”
“True,” she replied in the same respectful tone.
“Walk with me while we talk, Cordelia.”
It was not a request, and Priscilla put the wet garment back in the basket. She motioned to one of the other laundresses. The woman frowned, but that expression quickly changed into a smile when she saw who stood by Priscilla. With a nod, she called that she would be glad to finish hanging the items.
The woman was wasting her time trying to gain Bellona’s attention because the younger woman had already turned to walk away. Her assumption that her orders would be obeyed without question piqued Priscilla’s curiosity. She had seen the young woman cause a stir wherever she went in the compound but had no idea why. Had Sir Thomas taken her under his wing? She recalled how Lord Beamish had said he spoiled Miss Beamish as a child. Such protection in Novum Arce would demand outward respect. Or was it simply the Beamish arrogance?
More questions Priscilla needed to find answers to, but she was not going to squander a moment of her chance to speak to Bellona. Hurrying to catch up with the younger woman, she waited for Bellona to say why she had sought out “Cordelia.”
“How are you settling in?” Bellona asked.
“Quite well. Thank you.”
“Some people are more trouble—have more trouble than others.” She glanced at Priscilla, daring her to comment on a slip of the tongue.
Acting as if she had not heard, though it was important for Bellona to believe she was hanging on every word, she said, “What I have been doing here is not much different than what Lady Whittingly asked of me. And other people here have been kind to explain things I do not understand. Some houses I have been in were not as welcoming.”
“Some houses? How many have you served in, Kenton?”
“Only two, but I do not wish to speak badly of either.” She stared at the road, her eyes properly downcast. Most abigails spent their whole time in service at a single house. “And now here, of course.”
That seemed to satisfy Bellona who must have believed her tale of being a lady’s maid because she now addressed her as Kenton, as a lady spoke to an abigail.
“The fact you are fitting in here speaks well of your interest in Novum Arce.”
“I had no idea such a place existed.”
“Few do.” Bellona smiled, but her eyes remained cool and evaluating. “You should count yourself lucky, Kenton.”
“I do, magistra. I do.” As they passed the principia and turned down the main avenue toward the temple, Priscilla said, “If I may ask a question . . .”
“Of course,” she said as if granting a great kindness.
“Have you been here long? You seem at home in Novum Arce.”
Bellona wore a benevolent smile. “In some ways, it feels as if I have been here my whole life. In others, it is like I arrived a short time ago.” Her girlish giggle startled Priscilla, especially as it seemed sincere. “That sounds like a frivolous answer, but I am so happy here I have let the days slip by me uncounted.”
“Did you know of Novum Arce before you came here?” Priscilla held her breath, knowing she was overstepping her role by asking a second question.
“I had heard rumors, of course, but I had no idea which ones were true and which were lies created by jealous outsiders.”
“So you decided to come and see for yourself?”
“Not exactly.” She paused as a very tall man wearing the armor of a legionary stepped out of one of the identical buildings along the avenue.
He was unlike most of the legionaries Priscilla had seen, who clearly had been recruited from farms among the fells and were still struggling to keep up with the demands of their training. He displayed well-contoured muscles that strained against his armor. His face was as perfectly sculpted as a Roman statue, and his black hair curled on his forehead. He was a man who would make a woman look twice and let her eyes linger the second time.
He rushed forward to take Bellona’s proffered hand and press his lips to it. “Carissime,” he breathed. He raised his head and stared at her as if she were the source of the very air he breathed.
“Livius.” Her voice was low but sliced through the air like a riding crop. “I am speaking with Kenton.”
“Forgive me. Forgive me for intruding.” He dipped his head and took a step back.
Priscilla hid her astonishment. His accent sounded like Duncan’s. She had not guessed anyone in Novum Arce had come from north of the Scottish border. That could add another dimension to the potential danger of St. John raising an army at Novum Arce. There were those north of the border who would gladly see England defeated. Such information would be of great interest to Neville. She sighed silently. Watching these two young people in love—or at least, Livius was in love with Lord Beamish’s daughter—reminded her yet again how much she missed being with her husband.
“Of course, I forgive you, Livius.” Bellona’s voice drew Priscilla’s attention back to the drama playing out in front of her. “You and I will talk later?”
“Aye. I will be counting every moment. I am eager to share something with you. Until we are alone . . .” He reached out, grasped her fingers, and squeezed them before hurrying away.
Bellona’s smile was cool as she wiped her hand on her gown before looking at Priscilla. As if there had been no interruption, she said, “I traveled north to spend time with my late mother’s family and get to know them better.”
Priscilla recalled Lord Beamish saying his daughter had traveled from London to meet a suitor, so one of them had to be lying. She had no idea which. Or maybe she had not heard the real truth yet.
“Does your mother’s family live here?”
“In Novum Arce?” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice became a sibilant hiss. “Why would you assume that?”
“I mean no offense. I only wanted to ask, magistra, if your mother’s family lived in Lakeland.”
“No. They live farther north.” She looked in the direction Livius had walked. “North of the borders. Father was not happy with my plans.” Bellona’s mouth twisted. “He wants nothing to do with my mother’s family.”
Priscilla understood what Bellona was taking pains not to say. In the wake of the rebellion fomented by Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Pretender, almost seventy years before, few members of the ton would acknowledge having Scottish relatives in the Highlands. The battles culminating at Culloden had wreaked havoc on both England and Scotland, and the government’s retribution had been both swift and brutal.
“That must be hard for you,” Priscilla said when she realized she had to say something. “I am sorry.”
“Father does not wish to speak of my mother’s family.” Bellona began walking again. With a terse laugh, she said, “His not wanting to talk of them made me, as a child, more determined to know the truth about my late mother’s relatives.”
Priscilla laughed with more ease. “I understand. I was much the same, and my . . .” She faked a sneeze to cover her pause. “Excuse me. I was about to say, my sister’s children act like that as well.”
“Children are curious. It is part of their nature.”
She kept her shoulders from sagging with relief. A former lady’s maid would not have children because any servant achieving that elevated post was expected
to be at her mistress’s beck and call at any time of the day or night. Combining those duties with marriage and a family was impossible.
“How did you come to Novum Arce, magistra, if I may ask?”
“Of course, you may ask. I was about to tell you.” She gave Priscilla another gracious smile.
Priscilla was amazed at the volatile and rapid changes in the young woman’s moods. That is, if they were true changes and not simply a way to control those around her. Instantly she scolded herself. She must not judge the daughter by the father. And, though Neville had his doubts, Priscilla was certain Lord Beamish’s concern for his daughter was genuine.
As they strolled from sunlight to shadow beneath the recently planted trees lining the street, Bellona said, “There are two ways people come to Novum Arce. One is of their own volition. Most of those are local people who jumped at the chance for a new beginning.”
“A new world.”
“Exactly. The other way is by being chosen.”
“Chosen?”
Bellona nodded, her smile becoming superior as she looked down her slender nose at the people they passed. “We are the ones selected because of our age, our beauty, and our intelligence. As I was.” She laughed coolly. “And as you were, Kenton. You should feel honored.”
Honored was not exactly the word she would have selected, but she was grateful she and Neville had ended up in the same place. From within the walls, Neville should be able to obtain the information he needed far more quickly. As well, they had found Lord Beamish’s daughter. Reminding herself to play the part she had created, she asked, “I can see why you were chosen. But I am only a lady’s maid traveling to a new employer.”
“Being modest will get you nowhere in Novum Arce. You are not bad to look at for a woman of your age. How old are you? Thirty-two, thirty-three?”
Priscilla almost laughed. Bellona prided herself on her intelligence, but she had missed Priscilla’s true age by almost five years. “The latter.”
“So you are still fertile. That is a good reason to bring you here. It is ironic that the upper classes who can afford to raise children are less fecund than the lower ones.”
Almost choking at Bellona’s plainspoken discussion of something no lady should ever mention, Priscilla decided to move the conversation back to what she needed to know. “Who does the choosing?”
“There are agents who comb the countryside looking for possible candidates for our community. When they select a likely person, they make arrangements for that person to be brought here.”
“Whether they wish it or not?”
Bellona’s smile fled, but she quickly regained it. “Of course, if someone comes here and is unhappy, everyone makes sure they learn they can find their true joy here.”
Did Bellona truly believe that drivel? Priscilla wished she could be blunt, but had to guard every word she spoke.
“Did your traveling companions come here with you?” Priscilla asked.
“Why do you ask about such a thing?”
“I cannot imagine a lady of your stature would travel alone, and I was curious to know what happens to those who are not chosen.”
Bellona closed her eyes. “I don’t know. Such questions should be posed to our Imperator. He is the one who makes the ultimate decision of who is welcome and who is not.”
“Your family must be worried sick wondering where you are,” she said, trying to decide if the young woman was being honest.
“I have thought of that.” She stared past the wall to a freshet coursing down over the hillside in a slender waterfall. “Often.”
“But you have not made any attempt to leave. Surely you want to return to the life you had.”
“‘Life I had?’ I had no life, Kenton. My father refused to allow me to receive any callers until I met a man who cares enough about me to ignore my father’s stupid rules. Of course, my father then disparaged the man to me and everyone else.”
Priscilla wondered if she spoke of Clarence Sherman, the man whose very name was distasteful for Lord Beamish. Again, she chose her words carefully. “I am sorry to hear that. Yet there must be something that calls you home.”
“If I wished to leave, where would I go?” She stretched out her arms. “Look around. Do you see any living things other than sheep?”
“There are people in the valley below.”
“I am sure there are, but could I reach them before I was stopped? I saw one fool try to sneak away. He was trying to steal from the community.” Her mouth twisted. “Don’t ask me what happened to him. I don’t want to think of it.”
Priscilla bit her lip to keep from asking another question. Whoever had sent Neville here had been right to be worried. Despite its outwardly peaceful appearance and Sir Thomas’s declarations of Pax Romana, there was a very definite dark side to the community.
“Let’s talk about you.” Bellona paused and faced her. “Are you happy in the laundry?”
“It is honest work.”
“Bah, that is an answer you give to an employer. Surely you would prefer to work where you could use your skills.”
Hoping the comment was not a test, Priscilla replied, “One always wishes to do the work one has been trained for.”
“If you have served as a lady’s maid, I am not sure what work you are suited for here other than the laundry. It is a shame there are no ladies besides myself here. The other women would have no idea what to do with a lady’s maid.” She laughed gaily as if she had made a hilarious jest.
Priscilla hoped her own laugh did not sound as fake as it felt.
“Do you have any other skills, Cordelia?”
“I am good at keeping accounts and records.”
“Records? Why would you keep records for your lady’s estate? Didn’t she have an estate manager?”
Stupid! She could not forget Bellona was as familiar with the ways of the ton as she was.
Making sure her obsequious smile did not waver, she hurried to say, “Forgive me. I did not make myself clear. I handled the accounting of my lady’s personal funds along with assisting the vicar with his.” At least that was the truth. She had always overseen the household and the church accounts while married to Lazarus. “It pleased my lady that I was involved in helping with the parish.”
“Yes, doing your Christian duty would reflect well upon her.” She pursed her lips. “That is a side of Lady Whittingly I have not seen before.”
Priscilla remained silent. She needed to let Bellona make her own assumptions. Saying anything might lead to her lie unraveling completely.
The younger woman began walking, cutting across an area between the low buildings. Beneath their sandals, the grass was just beginning to grow. Priscilla was not sure where they were bound until she saw a tall, thin woman sitting on a stone bench. She was embroidering a piece of white cloth with an intricate design.
“Ah, Parker, I had hoped we would encounter you,” Bellona said as if the meeting were a chance one.
The brunette wore a gown and stola of lesser quality than Bellona’s. When she rose and dipped in a curtsy, her gaze slid toward Priscilla before her eyes focused on Bellona. That, as much as anything else, told Priscilla that the thin woman Bellona had called Parker was a servant.
“Do you need something, Magistra Bellona?” The young woman’s voice was a stark contrast to Bellona’s strident tones. It was lyrical and lilting like notes rising from a violin played by a master.
“I want you to meet Kenton. You have much in common. Kenton has experience as a lady’s maid. I will leave you to your conversation of matters that you are familiar with.” Her tone suggested anything of interest to two ladies’ maids was nothing she wanted to hear.
Parker curtsied again as Bellona walked away. Priscilla hurried to copy her, wishing she had picked a different
profession for Cordelia Kenton. How could she have guessed a real lady’s maid would be among the residents?
But at least one of Bellona’s servants was alive. Maybe she knew where the others were.
“My full name is Roxanne Parker,” the abigail said.
“I am Cordelia Kenton.” The lie tasted bitter on her lips, but she could not trust anyone in Novum Arce except Neville.
“You came here not too long ago with Mr. Williams, didn’t you?”
“So I have been told, though I must own, I have no memory of my arrival. I do recall seeing Mr. Williams at a wayside inn where I stayed before I came here.”
Roxanne smiled shyly. “Mr. Williams is a very handsome man. He could not take his eyes off you when he came into the principia.”
“He probably remembers me from our evening meal that night.”
“If you are interested in him, you should make that clear before some other woman turns her eyes on him.” She ran her fingers over the low nap on her stola. “The Imperator has urged us to find mates among the residents of Novum Arce. He prefers we are married and happy.”
Priscilla remembered Neville’s half-teasing words about Sir Thomas building a utopia and filling it with children. He had not been wrong.
“You came here with Magistra Bellona?” she asked, steering the conversation back to where she needed it to go.
“Yes.”
“Alone? The two of you traveled so far by yourselves?”
Roxanne shook her head, and bright tears filled her blue eyes. “Of course not. She is the daughter of a baron.”
Priscilla faked surprise. “A baron’s daughter? That explains her mien.”
“Yes, she is a polished lady. That is why she was accompanied by her companion, Miss Redding, as well as one of Lord Beamish’s footmen, a tiger, and the coachman.”
“Lord Beamish?”
Roxanne flushed. “Oh, I should not have said that.”
Fool's Paradise Page 9
