Fool's Paradise

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “No,” said Miss Parker. “Mr. Williams did not put me in danger. We have been in danger from the moment we agreed to come north with the magistra—I mean, Miss Beamish.”

  “I know what she calls herself here.” The footman’s voice was still taut.

  The abigail smiled as the coachee and young Davis stepped forward to greet her. “Thank heavens you are alive.”

  Neville handed the full basket to Davis who unpacked the food onto an extra blanket. The tiger picked up some strips of bacon and offered them to the other men before taking a bite out of the one he held. He grinned at the salty, greasy flavor Neville had enjoyed a few hours ago.

  “We are alive,” Harrison said, “because of Mr. Williams and Mrs. Kenton.” The coachman raised the rasher of bacon in a salute to Neville. “I don’t know how much longer we could have gone before we starved to death.”

  Miss Parker’s eyes widened as she looked from her betrothed and his comrades to Neville. “How can that be?”

  “They had become a liability,” Neville said quietly.

  “How?”

  “Do you remember telling Cordelia,” asked Neville, taking care not to trip over the name, “that when you and Bellona were taken from The Rose and Thistle Inn, one of your kidnappers mistakenly mentioned where you were being taken?”

  “Yes.”

  Neville smiled coldly as Snow put his arm around Miss Parker’s shoulders. “Because of that slip of the tongue, the men who had been sent to get you and Miss Beamish had no choice but to bring everyone else, too. However, that did not mean your kidnappers were going to give your companions carte blanche to wander freely in Novum Arce.” He locked eyes with Snow. “You might be able to identify them to the constable or justice of the peace, though they wore kerchiefs over their faces.”

  “But I was not imprisoned.” Roxanne blinked back tears.

  “If I were a wagering man, which I am, I would put a small fortune on the fact that was because Miss Beamish wanted you to continue as her abigail.”

  “But that would mean . . .” Miss Parker’s face became as gray as a misty morn.

  “Miss Beamish was privy to what happened before it did,” Snow finished. “It would explain why she was willing to spend the night at a simple inn when she insisted on the best every other night of our journey.”

  Everyone began speaking at once, louder and louder.

  Neville silenced them with a sharp whistle. As the four servants turned to him, he said, “Nothing has been proved one way or the other about her complicity. To own the truth, what Miss Beamish did before you came here no longer matters. We have to flee and make sure we find the person at The Rose and Thistle Inn who betrayed us, so nobody else is brought here against his will.”

  The male servants shared a glance before the coachman asked, “Don’t you know who their agent is at the inn?”

  “It is not Mrs. White, the landlady. That much I know.” Otherwise, he added-to himself, they would know Pris and I are man and wife.

  Snow grimaced. “’Tis no one inside the inn. ’Tis the one who can best keep a close eye on who stays there and alerts his despicable allies.”

  “The stableboy,” Neville said, barely able to believe the words as he spoke them.

  “Aye,” said Davis, his face twisting in a scowl. “If I had any suspicions that little weasel was involved, I would have anointed him with both fists in his lying mouth.”

  Neville sighed. “I would not have given him even a farthing for his time.”

  His tone was so droll the four servants burst into laughter.

  “Williams, before you leave . . .” Snow held out his hand. “The key.”

  “We don’t have one.” He drew his dagger. “Other than this.”

  “You have been picking the lock each time you come here?” The footman stared at him in astonishment.

  “Our only choice. We have no idea where the key is.”

  “I may,” Roxanne said slowly. “The magistra has a box where she keeps her best jewelry. I saw several keys in there when I went to get a necklace for her a few nights ago.” A cool smile eased across her lips. “I can borrow them one at a time to discover which one works on the lock here.”

  “Then you could bring us food,” Davis piped up, the young man’s voice cracking on the few words.

  In quick order, Neville arranged with Roxanne for her to let him know when she had one of the keys. If they found the key for the lock, they would have it at ready for when they all could escape Novum Arce.

  “But we will need to know when it is you unlocking the door instead of our jailers,” Snow said. “Some sort of signal before you open the door, so we know we don’t have to pretend to be debilitated as we were before you began bringing us food.”

  It made good sense, but something about the idea made Neville uneasy. He reminded himself nothing would change. Only he, Pris, and Miss Parker would have the signal. Still, he hesitated.

  “If we have no choice but to flee,” Harrison said, “we can be prepared to do that, too. We don’t know what plans they have for us.”

  Neville nodded. He could not argue with that logic, especially when he would have asked for the same if their situations had been reversed. “The signal will be two quick knocks, a pause, two more quick knocks, a pause, and then a single knock. Simple, but unique enough so you will know it is one of us.”

  The servants repeated back the code. He could not miss the expectancy in their eyes, something he had not seen before. They would need every ounce of that hope when the time came to attempt an escape. Their greatest trial might yet still be in front of them.

  “THANK YOU, Mr. Williams,” Miss Parker said once he had locked the door behind them. “I don’t think I truly believed they were alive until I could see and touch Asher. If I can get one of the keys out of the magistra’s jewelry box, may I return with you again tomorrow?”

  “I cannot promise.” Neville took her arm to steer her through the narrow opening between the other buildings. “We must take care that nobody sees a pattern in when we come here, or they may try to investigate what we are doing.”

  As they stepped away from the granaries, Miss Parker chuckled. “No wonder you and Cordelia get along well. You both are willing to risk everything for what you believe in. She must be the bravest person I know to do what she did last night.”

  “And what was that?” he asked, though his stomach knotted.

  The abigail stopped and faced him. “Didn’t she tell you?”

  “I have not seen her today. What did she do?”

  It took every bit of Neville’s self-control to keep his frustration contained as Miss Parker gave him a quick account of what she and Pris had been up to while he slept, oblivious, in the barracks. She finished with, “I am sure Cordelia told me that she planned to send you a note this morning to come to her office as soon as you could.”

  He frowned. “I never received any note.”

  “Well, no matter. Now you know she wants to talk to you.”

  Shoving the basket into her hands, he said, “And I want to talk to her. Good day, Miss Parker.”

  Neville crossed the compound in angry strides. What had Pris been thinking to go after Miss Beamish? Even if she was willing to chance her own life, what about their unborn child’s? If she had been seen, it could have been tragic.

  Then he reminded himself that Pris was not interested in being a hero. She would have weighed the risks last night as she had each time she made such a hazardous decision. But the idea of losing her and their child was a piercing pain so strong he almost looked down to see if someone had driven a knife into his chest.

  Greetings were called as he passed other residents. He ignored them, not caring if they considered him rude. Stepping into Pris’s office, he saw no one.

  Wh
ere was she?

  He heard sounds coming from the back room where she slept. He tore open the door.

  Miss Redding sat propped against pillows on the bed, holding a cup of what smelled like freshly brewed tea.

  “Where is she?” he asked without preamble. He did not care if the elderly woman thought him as insane as St. John.

  “If you speak of Cordelia, she left a few minutes ago. A legionary brought her a message, and she told me that she would be back as soon as possible. It seemed she had a very important matter to deal with Do sit and have a cup of tea, Mr. Williams.” Miss Redding gestured to another chair as if they had gathered in a grand drawing room.

  “Did she say where she was going?” he asked the elderly woman.

  “I think she said she was going to the dairy.” She frowned. “But that is impossible.”

  “Why?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Tell me. Did she say where the dairy is?”

  “No. But you should ask Miss Beamish. She is sure to know. She is such an intelligent young woman.”

  He did not voice the groan that started deep within his clenched gut. For a moment, he considered waiting until Pris returned rather than face Miss Beamish. But only for a moment. Every instinct warned him something was not right. There were other people who could help him. Until he discovered what Pris had witnessed when chasing the young woman, he should stay far away from Beamish’s daughter.

  “If Cordelia returns,” he said, “tell her to wait here until I get back.”

  “I will,” she hesitated, then said, “This is an odd place. Be careful, Mr. Williams.”

  “I shall.” As he turned to leave, he knew it was a lie. He would hazard anything to protect his beloved wife and their child.

  Anything.

  Chapter Seventeen

  NEVILLE HAD NEVER imagined a mere twenty minutes could seem like forever. The servant who had let him into Miss Beamish’s house had told him the magistra was occupied, but she would be with him in about twenty minutes. As he paced the open courtyard, his only thoughts were of where Pris might be. He had asked so many people about where the dairy was located. But no one knew, and a couple had said that he had been sent on a wild-goose chase because the dairy had not been built yet. If that was so, why had Pris been told to go there? Realizing he had no other choice, he had come to the grand house where Miss Beamish lived.

  Each time he heard someone approach, he paused and waited. Each time the person kept on going as if he were invisible.

  Then one stopped. He whirled as he heard, “What are you doing here?”

  Miss Parker walked toward him. She lowered the stola off her dark hair and scanned the courtyard and the open hallways surrounding it. “Have you lost your mind? You could endanger everyone by coming here so soon after . . .” She swallowed hard, but continued in little more than a whisper, “She is asking questions about where I have been going, and I will not let you be the cause of Ash—of his death.”

  “Calm down,” Neville said as softly. “I am here because I need the magistra’s help.”

  She put her hands on his arms and gave him a gentle shove toward the street door. “Go! Nothing is worth what she will ask in return for any assistance she gives you.”

  “Cordelia is.”

  “Cordelia?” She pressed her hands to her abruptly colorless cheeks. “What has happened to her?”

  “Nothing, I hope, but she has disappeared.”

  “How? When?”

  He told her what he had learned and what he had not. “Nobody seems to know where the dairy is.”

  “Because as far as I know, it does not exist.”

  “That is what several people told me, but why would Cordelia be given a message to meet me there?”

  Miss Parker moaned and grasped his arm as she swayed. He caught her before she could collapse to the mosaics. “She would not be the first to vanish from Novum Arce.”

  “Who else?”

  “There are only rumors, but I believe at least some of them are true. I know of a woman who was going to become the Imperator’s wife, but then one day she was gone. No one saw her leave, and the Imperator was almost inconsolable until . . .”

  “Until what?”

  “The magistra offered him comfort.”

  His mouth twisted. Was there any man in Novum Arce Miss Beamish had not taken as a lover? He was not going to be distracted by tales of Miss Beamish’s conquests. Not when he needed to find Pris.

  “Is there another building someone might mistake for a dairy?”

  She started to shrug then paused. “If someone wanted to keep milk cold now, the only place would be the icehouse.”

  “Where is that?”

  She began to give him directions, then grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the courtyard and into a nearby room. When he asked her what was wrong, she put her fingers to her lips and shook her head. She closed the door most of the way before pressing against the wall. She motioned for him to do the same, but he stood where he could see out the narrow slit between the door and the wall.

  A shadow crossed the courtyard. Livius followed it into the open area. then stopped. Minutes passed. Neville motioned to Miss Parker to remain where she was. They could not leave the room without the legionary seeing them.

  Then Miss Beamish appeared. She walked to the soldier and asked, “Is it done?”

  A satisfied smile curved his lips. “All done.”

  “Perfect timing, I must say.”

  “That is what I aimed for, domina mea.”

  Curiosity tempted Neville to follow them as they left the courtyard, but he drew Miss Parker forward to ask where the two were going. The abigail put her eye to the narrow opening. He heard another door close as Miss Parker stepped back.

  “To the magistra’s private chambers.”

  “Good.” He opened the door wider. “I will let you know when I am sure that Cordelia is safe.”

  “Thank you.” She grasped his arm again. “Be careful, Mr. Williams. You don’t know who arranged for her to go there, but they may have known that you would follow. It could be a trap.”

  “I know.” He added nothing more as he stepped out of the room and left the house.

  Neville followed Miss Parker’s directions, though he doubted Pris was still waiting there. He hoped she had left when she realized he was not there.

  The icehouse was not hard to find. He yanked the door open and winced at the chill and dampness that clung to the interior brick walls. Walking in, he looked around the small space. Pris must have left already. He hoped the whole day would not be spent with him trailing behind her as she went from place to place.

  As he turned to leave, something on the floor caught his eye. He went over and saw a strip of fabric sticking out of the door. He tugged on it, but it held fast. Why was soft wool caught in the icehouse door?

  He started to lift the latch then halted when he saw a bar had been set into place. He understood the caution because some icehouses had deep wells within them. Shouldering the thick bar out of the way, he yanked the door open. The fabric fell to the ground, drawing his gaze with it to a crumpled form.

  Pris!

  She did not move. When he dropped to his knees and touched her icy cheek, he bent his ear toward her lips. He held his breath as he listened for hers. For too long, he heard nothing, and then a faint warmth brushed his cheek.

  She was still alive!

  But barely.

  He pulled off his cloak and spread it on the floor, taking care not to step into the inner room. He would not give the beast who had shut her in there the opportunity to do the same to both of them. Wrapping her in the cloak, he lifted her into his arms. She was stiff and cold against his chest, her hair frozen into rigid lines that crackled with ice as he drew the cloak up over her head.


  Someone had tried to kill his wife and their child. And he had to get her warmed up before that person succeeded.

  PAIN GNAWED ON Priscilla’s limbs. Bizarre sounds came from the darkness surrounding her. Moans. Her moans.

  “Neville, where are you? Help me!” she tried to whisper but his name became another moan as agony shot up her right leg. “No,” she tried to cry, but no sound emerged.

  Broad fingers settled on her cheek. Warm fingers. Only when they touched her did she realize how terribly cold she was. Had someone left a window open? Didn’t they know it was as cold as a January morn?

  But it was spring.

  Wasn’t it?

  She was unsure of anything except how much she hurt.

  Everywhere.

  “Wake up, Cordelia.” Why was Neville talking to her aunt? “Show us you are alive, sweetheart.” No, he would never address Aunt Cordelia as sweetheart.

  Of course, I’m alive!

  Neville repeated, “Wake up, Cordelia.” His voice became more urgent.

  Why had he not heard her answer? She had shouted it, hadn’t she? Or had the words only sounded in her frozen brain? Why did he keep saying the same things over and over to her aunt? She needed his help.

  Too many questions. No answers.

  Just cold.

  She craved heat. She was cold. Desperately cold. Then she found a bit of warmth. It was her vexation with Neville. Let it warm her up. She needed to be warm.

  “Go ahead,” came another voice. A man’s voice. Though familiar, she could not put a face with the name.

  “I cannot,” Neville replied. “I have never struck a woman in my life. To hurt her more now is—”

  “This is no time to act like a gentlemen! Bah!”

  Fire burst across her cheek as someone slapped it. Hard.

  Stop! she tried to cry out. All she heard was a dull croak.

  She was hit again. She recoiled, turning her face away.

  “Enough!” Neville snarled. “Do not strike her again!”