“But if she is Lord Beamish’s daughter and you are his servant, then you are the ones reported missing. Do you know where the others are?”
“No, I have not seen any of them since our last night at the inn.”
“Inn?”
“The Rose and Thistle Inn. Do you know it?”
“Yes. Like you, we were staying there.”
“We?”
Priscilla flinched. Forcing a strained smile, she said, “You know already. Mr. Williams was there, too.”
“Oh, I thought you might have been traveling with someone else. Someone who might be looking for you.” She sighed. “Were you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about Mr. Williams, but I was on my way to a new position. The lady who hired me must be thinking I changed my mind.”
“Would she send someone to be certain?”
“I doubt it.”
Roxanne sighed again. “Forgive me, Cordelia. I hope each time someone new comes . . .” She glanced around nervously. “I should not be speaking of this. I should be grateful I can continue to serve my miss, even here. Have you been given your assignment yet?”
“I am working in the laundry.”
“That is ridiculous!” Roxanne frowned. “You are a lady’s maid. You should not be consigned to cleaning soldiers’ sweaty clothing.”
“The magistra said there was nobody here other than herself who would know how to make use of a trained abigail.”
With a saucy grin, Roxanne said, “My miss sees the situation from a lady’s point of view. You and I know part of an abigail’s job is training her employer.”
“True.” Priscilla chuckled.
“There are several highly placed ladies in Novum Arce. I am sure one of them would be delighted to have an experienced lady’s maid.” A devilish smile banished the stress from her face. “In fact, they have been jealous of my miss for having me. I will make a few discreet inquiries, and you will be done with your job at the laundry in no time.”
“Thank you. But am I allowed to change assignments?”
“Maybe. Maybe not, but don’t worry. A pretty woman like you is certain to attract the eye of one of the commanders of the legion. That will free you from the laundry.” Roxanne’s face was taut. “I know how that sounds, Cordelia, but it is the way of life here. I count my blessings every night Miss Beamish—I mean, Magistra Bellona insisted I continue as her abigail.”
“But aren’t you worried about the others who traveled with you?” Priscilla hated pushing Roxanne toward what she knew was a tender subject. But she needed all possible information.
“Terribly.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “Especially my betrothed. His name is Asher. Asher Snow. He is a footman at Lord Beamish’s estate, and he came north with us.” The tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I don’t know if he is dead or alive.”
“Someone here must know.”
“I am sure someone does, but nobody will answer my questions. It is as if he and the others have vanished. At first, I thought my miss was dead, too, but then a week or more after I woke up here, I saw her, and I was relieved to discover she was alive. But I haven’t seen Asher or the others.”
“Have you asked Magistra Bellona if she could find out what happened to them?”
“Yes, but I hesitate to press because Miss Redding has been her companion since the magistra left the classroom. Before that, Miss Redding taught her deportment. My miss has to be heartsick with worry for Miss Redding. When we first saw each other here, she embraced me as if I were her sister, and I have served her for only a few years.”
“Has Magistra Bellona said anything about what she believes might have happened to the others?”
“She refuses to talk of them. I can understand, for it must be as painful for her as it is for me to think of them. Yet I cannot stop wondering where Asher is. I don’t know if I will ever see him again.” Her voice broke into sobs.
Priscilla put her arm around the abigail’s quaking shoulders. “Roxanne, don’t forget one fact. To anyone living beyond Novum Arce, it will seem as if we have disappeared without a trace, too. But we are alive.”
“True.” She dashed away her tears. “I wish I could be sure Asher is safe. The others, too.”
“I know.” She did not add that she suspected being within the walls of Novum Arce was no guarantee of safety.
Chapter Nine
A WEEK LATER, NO closer to solving the puzzle of where Bellona’s missing servants were, Priscilla was grateful to learn that Roxanne had arranged for her to work as a lady’s maid for the commandant’s wife. The woman, who called herself Domitilla in honor of a mother of two Roman emperors, wanted Priscilla to help her dress and do her hair in the morning and again in the evening before her husband came home. Otherwise, she preferred Priscilla make herself scarce because having to deal with an abigail was a constant reminder to her of how much Domitilla did not know about managing servants.
Domitilla was kind to her. Whenever Priscilla suggested new hair arrangements that suited the Roman style, Domitilla was thrilled. Not just because the styles suited her better than the mess she had made of her own hair, but because she could brag about how her abigail had designed it especially for her. She gave Priscilla a new gown and stola so Priscilla could get rid of the stained one she had worn at the laundry.
But Priscilla was never comfortable when Domitilla’s husband, who called himself Trajanus, was in the grand house which was only slightly smaller than the grand villa Sir Thomas had built for himself. He had been court-martialed from the king’s army for killing a man with his bare fists. The thought brought chills to Priscilla because she could not help thinking of Bellona’s warning about what had happened to the man who tried to flee from Novum Arce with stolen items. Had the commandant been the one to order his beating or had he done the deed himself?
Her hope that he might have meetings with his men at the house came to naught. She had no chance to eavesdrop on their plans. Her attempts to learn something from Domitilla were just as doomed to failure because the commandant’s wife had no interest in what the troops were doing.
Yet, not having to wait on Domitilla day and night gave Priscilla a chance to explore Novum Arce. She was impressed with the simple architecture that looked classical but had been designed for the cold and damp weather in Lakeland. She had no idea if the Romans had glass in their windows or enough fire pits to keep the buildings warm.
She began to understand why some of the nearby people had come to Novum Arce with their children, their sheep, and their skills. The living conditions were better behind the walls than in a small cottage on the fells. In exchange for comfortable surroundings and good meals, they were willing to accept Sir Thomas’s absurd dream of rebuilding Britannia.
But she had had no time with Neville. She had not spoken to him since she became Domitilla’s personal maid. She had no excuse to go to the fields being plowed and sown. Her hope that she could steal a moment with him at the evening meal had been dashed because the fieldworkers were fed before everyone else so they could go to sleep early and rise before dawn the next morning. Even in Sir Thomas’s utopia, a hierarchy was already settling into place.
She wanted to tell him what Roxanne had related about the missing servants. If they were alive, they must be imprisoned somewhere. Otherwise, they would have returned to Lord Beamish’s estate and let him know what had happened to them and to his daughter.
Where were they? Were they being held in Novum Arce or somewhere else? Had Sir Thomas built a prison to hold those who he did not want in his community? Why would Sir Thomas want to banish servants who could work hard within the walls? The male servants could have been added to the army which spent almost every waking hour of each day training.
She was missing something important. And she was missing Neville more. Talking ov
er information with him always helped her clarify her thoughts, but more than that, she ached to have his arms around her.
As she sat by the well in the courtyard in the commandant’s house, she ran the toe of her sandal along the intricate mosaics. They made a picture of a horse leaping over a shrub. She had no idea if the pattern was Roman or from Sir Thomas’s imagination.
She needed to take the facts she had and try to arrange them to see the full picture. The problem was she had too few facts. Maybe Neville had discovered something that, put together with what she had learned, would help them see the truth.
“Cordelia!” came her mistress’s voice. “I need my best comb. Do you know where it is?”
Pushing aside her thoughts, Priscilla went to do Domitilla’s bidding. Tonight the commandant’s wife was joining her husband at a gathering at Sir Thomas’s house. Priscilla intended to put the hours when they would be occupied to good use.
The answers were there. She simply needed to discover what they were.
“YOU LOOK QUITE pleased with yourself.”
Neville looked up to see Pris walking through the shadows. As he had hoped she would. He had been on his way from supper with his fellow fieldworkers when he saw the commandant and his wife leave their grand villa. Letting the other men go ahead of him, he had waited to see if Pris would slip out of the house. From afar, he had taken note of how she had been exploring the compound while he was stuck in the fields, clearing rocks and sowing the seeds he had been given.
He motioned for her to follow him past the principia. Taking her hand, he savored the warmth of her slender fingers curling around his. The ache of missing her that had plagued him, keeping him from sleeping when his body was desperate for rest, grew stronger. But he was aware of how many eyes could be on them. In Novum Arce, one was always watched, whether by guards or other residents. Sir Thomas’s utopia was built on distrust and the ambition to gain power within its walls.
Pris said nothing as he paused by a big building beyond the principia. Not a light shone through the narrow windows. He opened the door, drew her through, and shut it behind them. He considered dropping the bar into place, but that would be a sure sign someone was inside. Better to remain alert.
“This way,” he murmured, tugging her hand.
“Should we be in here?” Her voice was a balm for his soul, and he realized how much he had missed its sweet warmth.
“No one is using it.” He led her through an open courtyard and opened a door on the far corner. “It looks like St. John is hoping to lure another mungo here.”
“Mungo?”
He laughed. “I never am sure which parts of London street cant you know and which you don’t. A mungo is an important person.”
“But who is he asking here?”
“I have no idea if he has someone in mind or if it is a rumor.”
“Most likely a rumor. I cannot imagine Sir Thomas sharing the power he has given himself with anyone else. Or Bellona stepping aside as the highest ranked woman in Novum Arce.”
“If we were dealing with sane people . . .” He did not bother finishing.
She took his hand. “Come with me. I know a better place for us to talk.”
Neville hesitated, not wanting to waste a moment they could have together, then nodded. Some of the soldiers used empty house for trysts with women who hoped to enhance their status by marrying well. Though he doubted making a match with one of the incompetent soldiers would do anyone much good. He had watched the practices for the past week, and the only thing that had improved was their boasting and swaggering. Even so, while Pris was with him, he did not want to stumble over a soldier and his ladylove.
Maybe the threat to the Crown was only an illusion, like everything else about Novum Arce. What he had seen pointed to having nothing to worry about, yet his gut still warned that there was a threat here. All he needed to do was pinpoint it. Maybe Pris had seen something that would help.
On the other hand, he really did not want to talk about his mission while he was with her. He would prefer to bring her into his arms and delight in the feel of her lips against his.
“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”
The moon was rising over the fells when they emerged from the great house. He made sure the door was closed then took Pris’s hand again, wishing he would not have to let go of her once more. A motion high on the fells caught his eye, and he froze.
“What is it?” Pris asked.
“I saw someone. Up there.”
She peered through the dark, lit only by the moonlight. “I don’t see anyone.”
He looked again. “Nor do I. Now.”
“Sir Thomas has patrols along the fells. Maybe you saw one of them.”
“Impossible. The guards are up there only during daylight. Once it grows dark, they return to Novum Arce.”
“That makes no sense.”
“What here does? From what I have been told, one of the fools lost his way and fell, breaking a leg and an arm. Since then, the patrols go out only when the sun can light the way.” He squinted at where he had seen movement. “Maybe it was a trick of the light.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Her confidence in him urged him to draw her close and hold her while the rest of the world disappeared.
Disappeared.
Blast St. John and his inept army who could not even manage to patrol their own hills!
He quelled his vexation as Pris guided him around the back of the commandant’s house. She went, without slowing, to a small outbuilding and opened the door. Leaving his side only to collect a dark lantern from another building, she motioned for him to go inside.
He took the lantern from her, so he could see the interior. It might have been intended to be a stillroom, a wine cellar, or a private laundry, but it was empty save for a few puddles on in the stone floor close to the two windows.
Closing the door, Priscilla said, “You watch the window past my shoulder, and I will do the same with the one beyond you. That way, we can make sure nobody chances by.”
“An excellent idea.” He wished his mind could work as quickly as hers, but it was mired in exhaustion. “How are you being treated in the commandant’s house?”
“Quite well. Both of us,” she said, touching her stomach so he could not fail to understand she spoke of their child, “are happy with the circumstances, and Domitilla is so proud to have an abigail that she never chides me, even if I drop something.”
“And her husband?”
“I rarely see him. The few times I have, he acts as if I am not there.” She told him how disappointed she was that she hadn’t had the chance to listen to the soldiers making their plans.
“That would have been almost too easy.” He lowered her stola off her hair and ran his fingers through her soft tresses. “I am relieved your work is less strenuous than at the laundry.”
“As am I.” She took his hand and sandwiched it between hers. “How are you doing? The work you have been given is strenuous.”
“True, but the team I am on finished our section earlier than anyone else today. Our reward was a chance to visit the baths behind the temple.”
“That is why you don’t smell as pungent as other workers I have passed.”
He laughed. “I will take that as a compliment. While I was there this evening, I kept thinking what a good idea it would be to have a real Roman bath built at Tarn’s Edge.”
“Just one? For men? Do you intend to build another for the women?”
He waved a hand to dismiss her questions. “One would be sufficient. Just think. The two of us in a heated pool and . . .”
“Enough!” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Enough! It is bad enough that we have to sneak about to talk. I don’t want to think of how long it has been since
you last kissed me.”
“One week, two days, five hours, and two minutes.”
“Really?”
He chuckled. “Possibly. I don’t know it to the exact second. I know it feels like it has been an eternity.”
“You can be annoying when you are trying to be nice. Did you know that?”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”
With a laugh, she slapped his arm. He winced at the ache that coursed through him. Every muscle protested the backbreaking work he had been doing. An hour in the baths trying to loosen them had helped but not enough.
Tears filled Pris’s eyes as she said, “I am sorry.”
“No need for you to apologize, Cordel—by all that’s blue, I find it impossible to call you that.”
“Call me Kenton. An abigail is addressed by her last name, and it may be easier for you. I have been waiting to tell you what Bellona and Roxanne Parker told me.”
“Who is Roxanne Parker?”
“Bellona’s abigail.”
Ah, now that was interesting. He had not realized any of the servants from Beamish’s household had joined Miss Beamish at Novum Arce. He listened while Pris outlined what Beamish’s daughter had told her about how people arrived at the settlement. Not that he was surprised, for the explanation fit their experiences, but for Miss Beamish to speak of it so openly was unexpected. He stood straighter when he heard what the abigail had shared with Pris.
“It is, indeed, troubling to hear,” he said when she finished, “that Miss Parker has no idea of the fate of the other servants.”
“I suspect they are—or at least have been—here.”
“But nobody’s seen them.”
“Roxanne has not seen them. That does not mean they are not here. She did not see Bellona for a week after they arrived.”
“True.” He considered the import of her words. If the other servants were alive, they were being kept from returning to Beamish’s estate. Assuming they were still alive. Pris seemed certain, but she was not as familiar with the blackness of men’s hearts as he had become through hard lessons.
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