Master Erneis had lists for the kitchen and stable, but only by the week. Worse, there was no listing of items, only notations of sums paid out each week. He recorded the villagers’ payment of supplies, but he showed only paltry amounts. No sales of surplus were recorded. But Leonie had seen grain and sheep and oxen and cattle delivered, then transported to Axeford Town for sale. Why was this never recorded?
That was bad enough. Worse were the totals for each week’s expenditures, ridiculous sums, thrice what she would spend in a month. These totals did not include supplies for Rolfe’s army, of that she was certain. Sir Evarard had told her that Rolfe was paying to have the army supplied directly from the towns nearest each keep.
Leonie had inspected the stores. She knew that while they were not abundant, much would be replenished when the harvesting began in a few weeks, and they were not depleted enough to explain the expenditures claimed.
Master Erneis was not doing his duty. That was plain.
Anger carried her back downstairs to look for the culprit. She enlisted two of the garrison soldiers to stay with her in case they were needed, but didn’t tell them why. She tracked the steward to the kitchens. Before she went in, she told the guards to stay outside.
Master Erneis looked surprised as Leonie entered the long narrow shed, the parchments in hand. “You return the accounts to me so soon, my lady?” He reached for them, but she held them away from him.
“Master Erneis,” she asked levelly, “where in these accounts are listed the horses you have purchased?”
“Horses?” The man frowned. “What horses?”
“The horses.” Her voice rose. “Surely you have bought dozens of horses.”
“I have ordered the purchase of not even one horse, my lady. What made you think—”
“No horses? I am mistaken, then. Did you purchase baubles for my lord to give the lady Amelia?”
“My lady, please.” Erneis drew himself up indignantly. “I have never bought trinkets for ladies, nor has Sir Rolfe ever bid me do so. What has he said about these accounts to make you question—”
“What might he say?” she interrupted.
“My lady?”
“Where are the monies kept that you use for the household, Master Erneis?”
He frowned. “There is a locked chest in one of the storerooms.”
“And my husband replenishes the store of coins when needed?”
“That has not been necessary thus far. He left ample—”
“How much?”
“My lady?”
“How much money did he give you to run this household?” she asked sharply.
“Several…hundred marks,” he replied uneasily.
“How many hundred?” she asked softly.
“I do not—”
“How many?”
He fidgeted, casting glances over his shoulder at the cook and his helpers, who were looking on curiously. The questioning was sounding more and more like an interrogation.
“Eleven or twelve hundred,” Erneis said evasively. “I do not recall exactly. But, my lady, I do not see why this concerns you—unless you wish to buy something. If that is the case, I would be more than happy—”
“I am sure you would,” she said curtly. “So I may assume that what you have not spent from the funds my husband gave you is still within the locked chest?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“And the rest accounted for in these?” She raised the papers slowly and held them in front of his face.
“Indeed, yes.”
“Then you will not object to having your quarters searched before you are turned out of Crewel, will you?”
Erneis blanched. “My lady? You—ah—I misunderstand your meaning, I think.”
“I think not,” she replied tightly. “You have been able to lie to my husband about the accounts because he is a man of war and not used to running an estate, so he cannot be expected to know the expenditures involved. But you were a fool to think you could hoodwink me. I am not an idle woman. I have been my own steward for several years. I know exactly what it costs to run a household this size, down to the last coin.” His eyes widened, and she smiled. “I see the light is dawning for you, Master Erneis.”
His lips tightened. “You have no proof, my lady, that I did anything wrong. Crewel is not Pershwick. There was chaos when Sir Rolfe came here. Supplies were low and costs high.”
“Were my husband not injured I would let him deal with this, for you try my patience,” Leonie said angrily. “You say I have no proof?” She turned to the cook and demanded, “It is stated in these accounts, Master John, that last week you needed supplies costing thirty-five marks. Is that right?”
“My lady, no!” The man gasped. “Not even ten marks were spent.”
Leonie’s eyes flew back to the steward, whose pale face was now mottled with anger. “Well, Master Erneis?”
“You have no right to question me concerning the accounts, Lady d’Ambert. I will speak with your husband—”
“No, you will not!” she snapped, stepping back toward the entrance and signaling to the guards, who had been listening, amazed. “Take Master Erneis to his quarters and search his belongings. If the money he has stolen can be found, he may leave Crewel with the clothes on his back—no more. If the money is not found”—she looked at the little steward once more—“you will get your wish to speak to my husband. And I doubt he will be lenient.”
Leonie returned to the hall to wait, stewing with anger, wondering if perhaps she should not have handled the matter herself. Should she have told Sir Evarard, or Thorpe de la Mare, and let them take care of the steward?
It was a very short time before she learned that the episode was, for good or ill, finished. The guards approached her sheepishly to say that the steward had flown while they were searching his belongings. Only fifty marks had been found. Out of hundreds, only fifty? How was she going to tell Rolfe?
Chapter 27
ROLFE groaned as he bent over to open the large chest. He knew he should not be out of bed at all, as Thorpe had warned him repeatedly. He was weak and his wound had been stitched together only the day before.
But Rolfe was impatient. Ever since he had learned that Leonie had helped him instead of causing his wound, he had wanted to make amends for his boorish behavior. What must she think of his distrust, especially after she had only just helped him to win Wroth?
He had spent most of the day wondering what he could give Leonie by way of a special gift. He didn’t want her to think he was buying her forgiveness, but he wanted to give her something lovely, something she would treasure. He realized that he did not know her likes and dislikes, and that he had no inkling of what she already possessed. A visit to her chests in the anteroom was called for, and he waited eagerly for Thorpe to leave the room so that he could rise from the bed.
The first two chests contained only clothes. The third, smaller chest held Leonie’s treasures. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw how little was there. There was an ivory chess set, and a small wooden box lined with velvet that contained twelve silver spoons. There were pouches holding imported spices. On the bottom of the chest wrapped in soft wool was a jeweled leather girdle, and another of gold cord. In a small box he found three gold brooches. One was set with garnets, another was enameled. Besides these there were two silver hairpins, a gold buckle, and one fine piece, a gold necklace with six large garnets spaced between the links of the chain, a gold cross dangling from the center.
So few fancy jewels for one so beautiful. But Rolfe knew that Leonie had been put aside by her father as a child. Who had there been to gift her with pretty trinkets, to watch her eyes glow with surprise and delight? A flash of hatred washed over Rolfe for the man who had hurt Leonie so badly.
The door opened softly and there she stood. And there Rolfe stood—her chest open to him, and blood soaking through the sheet he had wrapped around himself. Caught red-handed, with no excuse.
She
simply stared, her expression unreadable, saying not a word. Rolfe flushed and turned away, making his way slowly back to the bed.
Leonie followed him into the inner chamber. Silence hung in the air until, at last, she spoke.
“If you were looking for my medicines, my lord, de la Mare should have told you my basket is there by the hearth.”
Rolfe sighed. “So he should have.”
“But I must warn you against trying to treat yourself. You could do more harm than good if you are not familiar with the remedies. I am willing to help you.”
“Are you?”
Leonie turned away, unnerved by the suddenly soft tone. “You should have waited until I came.”
“But I was not sure you would come.”
She met his eyes. It was apparent that he hadn’t yet heard about the steward. But something was troubling him.
“Why would I not come, my lord?” she asked pointedly. “You have made it clear that you must always be obeyed.”
“But you do as you please anyway.”
They were suddenly speaking of what was wrong between them, and neither had intended that to happen. “I do not allow anyone, my lord, to command my thoughts and feelings. Otherwise, as your wife, I am yours to command.”
Rolfe nearly laughed. Of course she was right, he could not control her thoughts or feelings and it was unreasonable for him to have tried. What he needed to do was work on changing her feelings, some of them.
“If you would rather not tend me, Leonie, I will understand.”
She found the humility in his voice less than convincing. “The gift I received from my mother to heal and comfort is mine to share. If I cannot use it, it becomes worthless. Now will you let me stop your bleeding?”
He nodded, and she pulled the sheet to the side to remove the stained bandage. As she worked, she glowed with pleasure, proud and glad to be using her skills.
“You find pleasure in helping others?” Rolfe asked suddenly.
“Yes.”
He sighed. He had been wrong. As Thorpe said, it was simply her way to help people. He was nothing special to her.
“Something is wrong, my lord?”
“No,” he lied glibly. “It has just occurred to me that I may have hurt you by calling for the leech instead of you.”
“I was not hurt,” she assured him quickly. “I was angry at the foolishness of it, because I knew Odo was incompetent. But your order to keep me from you was understandable. You were weak and in pain. You were not thinking clearly.”
“Why do you make excuses for me?”
She shook her head. “If you had been yourself, my lord, I am sure you would have had me put in irons instead of simply barring me from here.”
“Put in irons!” He frowned. “I would never…You are my wife.”
“That is not the issue,” she said angrily. “Someone tried to kill you. That person must be found and punished—no matter who it was. I would expect no less if I had tried to kill you.”
Rolfe laughed ruefully. “I admit I thought of you first when the arrow struck and I saw the villain moving off toward Pershwick. I did not want to believe you capable of arranging my death, but the thought was there, and not unreasonable, given your past…I am truly sorry for doubting you this time, Leonie.”
Why wouldn’t she look at him? She had finished changing his bandage, and was rummaging in her basket. She held up a small blue bottle. “Will you let me give you this for the pain, my lord?”
Rolfe frowned at the evasion. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and she seemed most uncomfortable suddenly.
“No!” he snarled, regretting it immediately.
“So you still doubt me?” she asked softly.
“I did not say so.”
“Yet you refuse my tonic, and I know you are in pain. You fear I mean to poison you, is that it?”
“Damn! Give me that!” He grabbed the bottle from her and took a swallow. “There! Now tell me why you cannot forgive me.”
“But I do,” she said softly, her gaze steady. “I can only hope that you will be forgiving when I tell you—”
“Do not tell me.” He cut her off abruptly. “I want to hear no confessions from you.”
“But I want to tell you about—”
“No!”
She stood up and glared at him, all meekness gone. “You would make me wait and dread your anger until someone else tells you? Well, I will not do that. My lord, I dismissed your steward and I am not sorry for it.”
She waited for the explosion, but Rolfe simply stared at her in amazement.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied stonily.
“What—what did you expect me to do, Leonie?”
“You have every right to be angry, and it won’t hurt your wound if you feel like shouting at me.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, trying not to grin, “if you told me why you dismissed him?”
“I discovered Master Erneis was stealing from you, and not just a little. Hundreds of marks.”
“How do you know he was stealing?” he asked sharply.
She quickly explained. “I am only sorry that I handled it badly, for he is gone now and so is your money.”
“You still have not said why you are sure he was stealing.”
“My lord, I wouldn’t know how much you gave the steward to begin with, but he said you gave him eleven or twelve hundred marks. You have been here seven months, and in that time he recorded spending nine hundred marks. That is far, far too much.”
“Leonie, how do you know that?” Rolfe asked in exasperation.
She flushed and bowed her head. “I—I was my own steward, which I did not tell you. I know that an estate this size should be self-sufficient unless there are frequent guests staying here, and I know what it costs to maintain a household of this size.”
Rolfe shook his head. Her own steward, yet she refused to take the reins at Crewel.
“It must be obvious to you that the management of property is not my strength. So I will have to take your word for it that I was cheated by my steward.”
“I swear I read his accounts correctly and—”
“I was not doubting you. But this leaves me without a steward. Evarard cannot take over, for he would know even less than I do.”
“Indeed.”
“So what do you suggest? You dismissed the man. Have you anyone in mind to replace him?”
“I can think of no one.”
“Well, I can. You will have to fill the position yourself.”
“Me?”
“Is that not just? You are responsible, you realize.”
“Yes, of course.” Leonie turned away, carrying her basket to the hearth so that he would not see how delighted she was. He thought he was punishing her, when in fact he was ordering her to do what she thrived on. She would have made the suggestion herself, but had feared he would refuse. After all, he had denied her any responsibilities at Crewel—until that moment.
She managed a controlled expression, then turned back to face him. “If there is nothing else you wish to discuss, my lord, I will have your dinner sent to you.”
“You will join me?” he asked sleepily. The morphine he had drunk from the blue bottle was affecting him.
“If you wish.”
“Good. And, Leonie, where have you been sleeping?”
“I—I moved a few of my things to a room across from the servants’ quarters.”
“Bring them back.” Sleepy though he was, his manner brooked no refusal. “You will sleep here from now on.”
“As you will, my lord,” she murmured, blushing.
She left the room then, happy and apprehensive all at once.
Chapter 28
A FIRE crackled in the great hearth as servants moved through the hall, setting the tables for dinner under Wilda’s careful eye. Amelia worked her stitchery by the fire, deliberately ignoring what was going on around her. Sitting beside her, Sir Evarard was enjoyi
ng a mug of ale, his duties finished for the day.
When Leonie came downstairs from the lord’s chamber, Amelia’s eyes fastened on her. She watched intently as Leonie said a few words to her maid, then left the hall.
Amelia sat back with a smug smile. She had waited for the day when Rolfe would confront his wife with her crimes. Evarard had told her what Rolfe suspected, and whether or not it was true, he would surely send Leonie back to Pershwick now.
Amelia had kept out of the way when Rolfe was wounded, for if he had died and no one could prove that his wife was to blame, Amelia would have been sent packing. She could not have afforded to be enemies with Leonie.
But Rolfe was recovered now, and believed his wife had wanted him dead.
“Do you think he has told her to begin packing?” Amelia asked Evarard, who had also watched Leonie crossing the hall to the servants’ stairs.
“Packing? Why?”
“To go back to Pershwick, of course.”
“Why would he send her there?”
Amelia stared at her lover angrily. She was always having to explain every little thing to him because their minds did not run the same course. She could never confide everything to Sir Evarard, for he was a man plagued with honor.
“Did you not tell me that he believes her responsible for the fire at the mill and the attack against him?” she whispered, exasperated.
“That was a mistake,” Evarard said casually.
“A mistake? Whose mistake?”
Evarard shrugged. “Sir Rolfe knows now that he was wrong.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you so himself?”
“Sir Thorpe said so before he left. He has gone to begin the siege of Warling.”
“But he was tending Rolfe.”
“The lady Leonie will see to him now, so there is no reason for Sir Thorpe to remain here.”
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