Fool's Paradise

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  She put her hand on Neville’s arm and gently squeezed. When he glanced at her, she shook her head. Reluctance tightened his face, but then he nodded. It would do no good to upset them further. Now was not the time for recriminations or demanding retribution. It was the time for devising a way to keep these four people alive long enough to get them away from Novum Arce.

  “You two should have something to eat as well,” she urged.

  “Davis was correct. There is enough for all of you.” Neville motioned to the lad who came over and held out the pouch to the footman and coachee.

  The two men gratefully pulled bread out of the pouch and sat to eat it.

  Priscilla leaned toward Neville. “Why did you have that food in your pouch?” she asked.

  “When I saw the banquet the magistra had waiting, I thought some of my fellow legionaries might be willing to gamble for it.” He grinned. “I could use a better pair of sandals.”

  “I might be able to arrange that. I know someone who keeps track of the inventory of such things.” She stroked his arm.

  “Good! But I have to say I am glad I helped myself while she poured the wine.”

  “Wine with the magistra?” she asked arching her brows as he did often. Like him, she did not speak Bellona’s name.

  “Is that jealousy I hear?”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He slipped his arm around her waist. “Though you have no reason to worry, it pleases me that you might be a bit jealous.”

  She would have loved to remain listening to his silly banter, but she could not forget the four people watching them closely. She saw distrust on their faces. They had been treated appallingly by their captors.

  As if she had spoken aloud, the footman stood. “How does Roxanne fare?”

  Priscilla was glad to be able to speak the truth for once. “As well as can be expected. She is still serving as Miss Beamish’s abigail, so she is exempt from the manual labor others are required to do. She is, however, very anxious to know that you are unharmed.”

  A storm of emotions crossed the footman’s face. “My poor Roxanne. She does not know if we are dead or alive.”

  “She told us what happened at the inn when one of your captors mentioned the name of this place and the others seemed to panic,” Neville said.

  “I know she will want to come—” Priscilla began to say.

  “No!” Asher lowered his voice as his fellow prisoners’ heads swiveled toward him. “Don’t bring her here. She cannot conceal her feelings, and Miss Beamish would learn quickly she had found us.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “I should not have suggested Miss Beamish would not help us.”

  “Your assumption may be quite accurate, Snow,” Neville said as quietly.

  Asher’s head popped up. Sparks of frustrated anger burned in his eyes. “She knows we are here and being barely fed?”

  “We cannot be certain,” Priscilla said. “She seems to be in a position of some authority, but there may be secrets the Imperator is keeping from her.”

  “Who is this Imperator?”

  “Have you heard of Sir Thomas Hodge St. John?”

  His mouth grew round. “Not only heard of him, but I have encountered the man on multiple occasions.”

  “At Beamish’s house?”

  “Yes. Up until about a year and a half ago, he was a frequent visitor there. I was often stationed at the door when he arrived to spend a fortnight or two with Lord Beamish.”

  “Now that is very interesting. I had thought they had a falling out years ago.” Neville tapped his chin. “And Miss Beamish was there during the baronet’s calls?”

  “Miss Beamish has acted as her father’s hostess for several years now.”

  Priscilla could almost hear Neville’s thoughts because they must be the same as her own. If Bellona was well-acquainted with Sir Thomas, not only as a child but as an adult, convincing him to let her work with him on his dream would not be difficult. Once he had welcomed her assistance, she could use the connection to start amassing authority within the compound.

  “We should leave before we are missed.” Neville held out the dark lantern to Asher, but the footman shook his head.

  “If it is seen here,” Asher said, “there will be questions as to how it got here. We have become accustomed to the darkness.”

  From the corner, Miss Redding said with a bit more vigor in her voice, “You have been kind to us.”

  Neville nodded. “We will do what we can to bring you food and other supplies you can keep hidden. For now, we need to go.” He reached for the door.

  Priscilla put her hand on Asher’s arm. “Roxanne has never lost faith that the two of you will be reunited. I will let her know that you are alive, but warn her to take care not to reveal anything.”

  “Thank you,” the footman said.

  She turned to the other three servants. “Be patient. We will get you out of here.”

  “When?” asked Davis.

  “As soon as we can,” Neville said, “without endangering your lives or anyone else’s. I promise.” He glanced at Priscilla with an expression that told her they could not linger any longer.

  As he closed the dark lantern and opened the door so she could step out of the granary, she heard Miss Redding cough and one of the men trying to soothe her. They did not have much time to fulfill that promise.

  NEVILLE MADE sure his cloak concealed Pris’s white gown before they emerged from between the two granaries. He kept his steps short so she could match them. No one must guess that two of them were within his cape.

  “Promise me that you will not go back there by yourself,” he said quietly when they had passed the barracks where the games of chance continued.

  “I must bring them food and supplies.”

  He stopped and tilted her chin with his thumb. “Pris, it is too risky for you.”

  “Is it any less risky for you?”

  “I don’t know, but it will be easy for me to slip food out of the soldiers’ mess. I see plenty others doing that. Whether they are stealing it for themselves or to trade with others, nobody would notice me doing the same.”

  “Good and I will get some blankets for them, so they don’t have to sleep on hard hessian jute.” Priscilla smiled. “It feels good to be able to do something to help.”

  “I know, but let me bring the supplies along with the food.” He gave her a quick smile. “And, unless you have developed an ability to pick locks, you will not be able to get in on your own.”

  “You could teach me.”

  “Not quickly enough.” He became grave again. “Let me handle this by myself.”

  “If you need my help . . .”

  “I will.” He looked at the community that was slumbering in the night. “Keeping them fed is the least of our worries. We need to find a way to help them escape. Getting the three men away would be tricky, but could be done if the conditions were right. Lazy guards on duty on a moonless night would be best.”

  “You might as well wish for a giant eagle to fly in and carry them off.”

  “A good idea, Pris, but do you have any idea where we can get our hands on a giant eagle?”

  She chuckled. “I will keep my eyes open in case someone has one they want to get rid of. But you said the three men. What about Miss Redding?”

  Neville began walking again. “She is frail. I doubt she could step out of the granary on her own at this point. She would not survive traveling through the fells on foot.”

  “She should not be in the cold, damp granary. It will make her cough worse.”

  “It should not be too hard to slip her out of the granary if there was a place where we could hide her.”

  “My room behind my office.”

  “That is too
dangerous.”

  She shook her head. “I usually keep the door to my room closed, so nobody would notice anything different. She can use my bed, and I—”

  “I can probably borrow a cot from the barracks. There are plenty of empty ones.”

  “Good. If you cannot, I will simply take more blankets from the storerooms. The quartermaster does not keep track of those. I know, because he could not give me an accurate accounting when I asked him for one. When can you bring her?”

  “I will try tomorrow at the same time I take them more food.”

  He could tell she was smiling even though he was unable to see her face. “Good. One step forward. Now the next . . .”

  “Which is?”

  “Telling Roxanne what we found.”

  He said, only half-joking, “If you are talking about us going to Miss Beamish’s house tonight, I am not as brave a man as you think I am. She is waiting for her dear Leonard to return. I know you are not a jealous woman, but don’t consign your husband to that viper’s den.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. As far as Bellona knows, I am a former lady’s maid, and I am unworthy of her notice should I come to her house on an errand. However, if you want to flee, I will enter the den alone.”

  “No, I will gird my loins and go with you.”

  “Your loins, eh? You might want to consider other ways to protect them than girding.” She chuckled again.

  Neville squeezed her closer. How did she know his every mood before he did? She had seen through his jests to know he was concerned about the choices he would have to make to protect Pris and the others. That she trusted him to make the right decision was a gift he had despaired of ever receiving until she offered him her heart.

  When Pris led him around to the back of Miss Beamish’s large house, she opened a door to a storage room. It was filled with crates that must hold enough food for the century for weeks. He was curious why it was stored there, but Pris motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen.

  A banked fire on the hearth gave off enough light for him to see the large wooden table in the middle of the stone floor and a stack of pots next to the fireplace.

  “Wait here,” Pris whispered, pointing to the shadows in the corner. “I will bring her here.”

  When she left the kitchen, he edged into the shadows. And it was just in time because a man strode into the kitchen as if the house were his. The arrogant set of his shoulders identified him as one of the skilled warriors who trained separately from the rest of the century. Neville thought his name was Livius.

  The man walked out the door Pris had used, not looking once in Neville’s direction. Knowing he should stay where he was, Neville tiptoed after him. The warrior seemed to know his way through the warren of rooms that opened onto the central courtyard. Neville hung back as the man entered it. He watched, not surprised, when Miss Beamish met Livius near the fountain. She gave him a fierce kiss.

  Neville stifled a laugh. Apparently, Leonard Williams had missed his opportunity with her.

  Livius drew back. “We must talk, Bellona,” he growled, his Scottish burr strong with his intensity. “The men grow restless.”

  “The time is soon. It is your duty to remind them.” She was annoyed he had interrupted their kiss with talking. “For now . . .” She reached for him again.

  “They want to practice with the other weapons.”

  She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “It takes time to arrange that. Swords and spears don’t make any noise that will call attention to you. The other weapons do.”

  “They want to know if the old man—”

  “Tell them not to worry. He will heed me, but others may not.”

  He laughed. “Those fools who call themselves legionaries are no threat.”

  “I am not speaking of them.” She seized his arm. “I don’t wish to talk of these things where we can be overheard.”

  “Don’t you control your own servants?”

  “Most of them, and the others will learn the cost of disloyalty,” she said before tugging Livius across the courtyard.

  Neville pushed away from the wall and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Noisy weapons? Bellona and her lover had been talking about guns. The same ones Pris had seen? If so, he wondered how much time he had to get that news to London. He could slip away tonight, but he could not leave the others here. He knew without even asking that Pris would not abandon Beamish’s servants to their fate in Novum Arce. His plan for escape must include all of them.

  He reached the kitchen a few seconds before Pris arrived with Roxanne. When Pris started to speak, he motioned her to silence.

  “Outside,” he whispered.

  Pris frowned at him. “Why—?”

  “Outside.” He put his finger to his lips. “Not another word.”

  She did not argue as they slipped out of the kitchen with Roxanne between them. When he led the way to where a bench was set beneath some saplings, both women followed. Roxanne sat and rubbed sleep from her eyes as she looked at both of them.

  “Cordelia,” she asked, “why are we out here at this hour?”

  Pris sat beside her. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, “We found them.”

  “Them?” She paused. “Oh, my! You found them! How—I mean . . .?”

  “They are alive.”

  “Alive? Thank God. How is—?”

  “No names,” Neville said sharply but quietly. He could not be sure that there was not someone listening. The night could have dozens of ears trained on their conversation. “But he is fine.”

  Roxanne pressed her hands to her face and began to weep.

  Putting her arm around the abigail, Pris murmured to her. Neville could not pick out a single word, and he doubted Roxanne could. It did not matter because there were no words that could convey both the woman’s relief and joy.

  Roxanne raised her head. “When can I see him?”

  “We cannot say yet,” Neville replied.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, turning to him. “If you know where he is, why can’t I see him?”

  “Because we must continue to act as if we have no idea where they are. Until we have a way to get them out of Novum Arce, all we can do is make sure they have food and whatever else they need.”

  “I want to help—”

  Pris smiled. “I know you do, but the best thing you can do right now is pretend nothing has changed. Mr. Williams will take them food.”

  Roxanne nodded. “All right, but isn’t there something I can do?”

  “Nothing but be patient.” Priscilla gave her a sad smile and put a comforting hand on her arm. “I know that is the hardest task.”

  Neville wondered how many times he had witnessed her offering someone solace. He had lost count, but every single person had been comforted by her genuine kindness.

  “She might be able to help you with the oldest one,” he said, taking care to follow his own advice and not mention any of the servants by name.

  “Oldest? Woman or man?” the abigail asked as she looked from him to Pris.

  “Woman,” Pris answered. “She is sick, and we are bringing her to my room to recover. I will need help making sure nobody discovers she is there.” She looked at the house. “Nobody.”

  “I will find time to sit with her.” Roxanne held out her hands and took one of Pris’s and one of his. “Thank you so much. I barely dared to believe they were alive after all this time.”

  “Don’t thank us yet,” he said drearily. “Until we can make a plan to get them out of Novum Arce, they are prisoners.” He cursed under his breath before adding, “Just like the rest of us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  SHORTLY AFTER breakfast two days later, Jack stamped into the barracks and threw his equipment on the bed. Swe
aring, he turned to ram his fist into the stone wall.

  Neville grabbed his arm. “Whoa there, mate! You will break your knuckles, and how will that help you win your lady’s heart?”

  “It is not about her!” Jack jerked his arm, and Neville released it. “We will never be anything but a joke.”

  “We?”

  “The soldiers in this end of the barracks.” His fingers curled into fists again, but he opened them when Neville frowned at him.

  “What has gotten you at daggers drawn?”

  He hooked a thumb toward the side of the building where the skilled soldiers slept. “Them. They have been whispering about a meeting at the baths for those who have been welcomed to the Temple of Mithras, a group to which every soldier should belong. It is a good time because the baths are seldom used in the morning. But when I asked them about it, they told me only real warriors were invited. They laughed in my face and told me to keep my mouth shut and go back to trying not to kill myself with my own weapon.”

  “They were trying to rile you.”

  “They succeeded.” He sat heavily on his cot and shoved his armor onto the floor. “Because they are right. Some of the men here can barely control their swords or spears. Our so-called officers are worthless, more concerned about the amount of wine in their goblets than helping us learn to defend Novum Arce.”

  “Let me see what I can find out,” Neville said. He stuck his dagger in his belt and reached for his helmet.

  Jack snorted. “Good luck with your doomed quest.”

  “Thanks.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Wait here, and don’t try to ram your hand through the wall . . . at least until I get back.”

  He gave him a reluctant smile. “I can promise that much.”

  Neville hurried out of the barracks and toward the center of the compound as he considered ideas and tossed them aside. He had to have what would appear to be a legitimate excuse to enter the baths when the elite soldiers were holding a meeting. If he did not, they would guess Jack had told him, and then they might punish Jack for talking about what they wanted to keep a secret.