Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  “Or an invasion of Normandy, now I think of it,” Flamig continued. “If King Louis is as clever and devious as he is reputed to be, he’d assemble an army on these islands and another army on the mainland, and seize Normandy in a pincer movement.”

  “I can tell you’ve been paying attention.” Desmond’s wry smile lasted only until he looked again at the lord of Warden’s Manor. “Lord Bertrand has been otherwise occupied.”

  “Yes, occupied in seducing a girl who was placed in his care,” Flamig exclaimed. “Lord Bertrand, you make me ashamed that I ever respected and admired you. Now, I can only conclude that you have sorely neglected your duty. And so have I neglected mine, for I should have spoken up long before this. Perhaps, if I had spoken about what I guessed at, Lady Aglise would still be alive, and you would not be disgraced. You are disgraced, you know. I hope you do know it.”

  “Aye.” An expression of deep sadness overspread Lord Bertrand’s harsh features, softening them. He looked thoroughly defeated and at least ten years older than his true age. “I’ve spent months denying the truth instead of facing it. I’ll spurn the facts no longer. Perhaps, in the end, I can redeem a little of the honor I have violated. What do you want me to do, Sir Desmond?”

  “The ship Daisy will likely put into Gorey Harbor tomorrow or the next day, to take us to Caen,” Desmond said. “When we leave Jersey, you and Lady Benedicta will go with us, and when we reach Caen, you will explain yourself to Royce, if you can. He will investigate the charges I intend to level against your lady, of murdering Aglise and of suspicion of spying for the King of France. I also intend to charge you with seducing a noble virgin who was under your protection and with willfully ignoring your wife’s possibly traitorous activities. After that, I expect Royce will want you to confess to King Henry and hand Lady Benedicta over to royal justice.”

  “You know as well as I what her end will be,” Lord Bertrand said. “Henry will order her beheaded.”

  “Perhaps not.” Out of pity, Desmond was willing to offer a faint hope to a ruined man. “Henry is not a bloodthirsty king. Depending on the amount of damage Lady Benedicta has caused, he may decide to remand her to a strict convent for the rest of her life.”

  “You could promise King Henry that you’ll take the cross and go on crusade to absolve your sins, and your lady’s,” Flamig added. “It might help your cause.”

  “Ever the faithful man-at-arms,” Lord Bertrand murmured.

  “Flamig is obviously a man with a good grasp of your situation,” Cadwallon said. “Lord Bertrand, if you want this Island of Jersey kept safe from King Louis during your absence, I suggest you appoint Flamig as seneschal.”

  “Once I leave Jersey, I will never return,” Lord Bertrand responded with a sigh. “King Henry won’t trust me to guard this place. Flamig is right; my best recourse is to throw myself on Henry’s mercy and offer to take the cross.”

  Jean fell asleep on top of Elaine’s bed as soon as she finished applying the herbal ointment to his injuries. She could see him relaxing as she gently rubbed his back and shoulders. Once his eyes were closed she didn’t have the heart to wake him up and make him move. Instead, she covered him again with her warm shawl. Then she removed her shoes and climbed, still dressed, under the covers.

  She wakened with the first light of the new morning to find the boy curled up next to her. When she stirred, Jean bolted upright, then scrambled to his feet.

  “My lady, I am sorry,” he exclaimed. “I should not have presumed—”

  “Oh, do hush, please,” she interrupted, glad of a chance to smile. “No harm is done because you didn’t sleep on the floor. I do think you’d be wise to hurry to the kitchen, though. If the cook complains that you are late, tell her you were in attendance on me and that I’ll vouch for you.”

  “Yes, my lady. Thank you. My shoulders are quite healed now.”

  Her smile slowly fading, Elaine watched Jean’s departing back. His mention of the injuries inflicted by Lady Benedicta recalled the events of the previous evening.

  “Lady Benedicta,” Elaine said between set teeth, “you will be punished for what you’ve done.”

  “Were you speaking to me, my lady?” asked the maidservant who came through the bedchamber door Jean had left open. She carried a pitcher of warm water so Elaine could wash.

  “I was only wondering aloud where I might find Lady Benedicta this morning.”

  “She’s in the linen room, of course,” the maid said, rolling her eyes. “I expect she’s folding the sheets again. The laundresses sent up a large basket of clean linens late yesterday, though how they managed to dry them in all the heavy rain is a mystery to me. You know Lady Benedicta cannot abide untidy linens.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Elaine responded. “Lady Benedicta is very particular. It’s the mark of a good chatelaine.”

  “If you ask me, she’s a bit mad on the subject,” the maid said. “Who cares about the linens?”

  “Lady Benedicta cares, and so long as we are under her rule, we will do as she wishes,” Elaine said sharply. “Do not criticize your mistress.”

  If the truth be told, Elaine wanted to do far more than just criticize Lady Benedicta, but she wasn’t going to discuss her opinion with a servant whom she knew to be overly fond of gossip.

  “Yes, my lady,” said the maid. “I mean, no, my lady. Was that Jean I saw leaving just now?”

  “I set Jean a task, which he has just completed, and he did it very well, too,” Elaine said in a repressive tone. “You may tell the cook I said so.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The maid sounded properly admonished, though Elaine was sure she would begin to repeat their conversation the moment she arrived in the kitchen. Perhaps, Elaine’s praise of Jean would absolve the boy of any blame for his absence from early morning chores.

  “You may go now.” Her dismissal of the maid was deliberately cool.

  Left alone, Elaine quickly washed her face, combed and braided her hair. The dark grey gown she had worn since the previous morning was impossibly wrinkled, so she changed into an older dress of brown wool, suitable for travel.

  Then it was time to prepare for the journey to Caen, which Lord Bertrand had decreed must begin as soon as a ship left Gorey Harbor. Elaine needed only a few minutes to fold her dresses and her other, meager possessions into the wooden clothing chest that had come with her from Dereham. When she was finished, the little chest was barely half full.

  Aglise’s clothing chest was larger, and it was overflowing with the brightly colored gowns she had loved. Before setting out for Jersey, Aglise had cajoled their mother into providing two new dresses, a green silk and a blue woolen gown. Soon after Aglise’s disappearance Elaine had searched the chest, looking for a clue as to where she had gone. But she had found nothing and she had tried not to rearrange her sister’s possessions too obviously, in case Aglise returned and was annoyed with her for prying.

  With Aglise gone forever, the chest couldn’t stay at Warden’s Manor. The last thing Elaine wanted was to turn her sister’s belongings over to Lady Benedicta to paw through and dispose of as she pleased. She devoutly hoped Lady Benedicta would soon be brought to justice, but in the meantime, she remained the chatelaine of Warden’s Manor, in charge of all domestic matters. Elaine decided she’d take Aglise’s chest aboard ship with her own. When she reached Caen, she’d give it to Lady Irmina and let her decide what to do with its contents. As she tucked the shining folds of the green silk gown into the wooden chest, she discovered an unexpected thickness in the lining at the bottom of one sleeve. She hadn’t noticed it in her previous search, because the lining backed a wide band of embroidery at the hem of the sleeve, stiffening it. Aglise had loved the way those sleeves flared out, and had practiced using her arms to show off both the embroidery and her slender wrists.

  Now, trying to flatten the sleeves so the gown would fit more neatly into the chest, Elaine felt a foreign object under the hem. When she looked closely, she could see how the sti
tches securing the hem had been plucked out and then resewn rather clumsily. Sewn by Aglise’s own hand, Elaine was sure; her sister was no seamstress. But she had known how to hide something she didn’t want anyone to find.

  Elaine reopened her own clothing chest, located her embroidery scissors, and removed the questionable stitches. Between the lining and the embroidery lay a tiny piece of parchment, rolled into a tight tube and somewhat flattened to make it less noticeable. Elaine pulled it out and unrolled it. The parchment was covered with words and numbers, all written in a miniscule script.

  The object was decidedly odd; Aglise could barely read and she certainly wasn’t interested in writing anything. Wondering if Lord Bertrand had written a poem to her sister, though he didn’t seem the kind of man to do such a thing, Elaine examined the parchment more closely. She began to think it was a puzzle of some kind.

  Or a code.

  Her hands suddenly shaking, she carried the parchment to the window so she could see it better. It was so small, and the writing was barely decipherable. In one place the ink was smeared by what looked like a water spot, which made her attempt to read even more difficult. After careful scrutiny she was able to make out a word that was repeated several times. Henri. She could not have explained how she recognized the king’s name; the letters that appeared to form another word abruptly rearranged themselves in her mind to make sense to her. So did a date, written once. Le premier Mai. Less than a week away.

  She stared at the parchment, which curled back into a tight roll as soon as her fingers released one end of it. In her memory she heard Desmond speak of pigeons that carried messages. They had been sitting in the great hall and Desmond had asked her about Lady Benedicta’s dovecot.

  “This must be the secret Aglise was hiding,” she murmured. “It’s also the proof Desmond needs.”

  Working as quickly as she could, Elaine pulled everything out of Aglise’s clothing chest and unfolded each garment, searching hems, decorations, and linings carefully. She even looked inside her sister’s best shoes. No other parchment and no additional secrets lay hidden there. Nor did she find any memento of Aglise’s liaison with Lord Bertrand. She repacked the chest and locked it.

  She was left with the question of what to do with the parchment until she could meet Desmond in private and give it to him. She improvised, pushing the rerolled tube into a little purse she had kept since she was a child, because her father had given it to her. She pulled the purse strings tight and tied them around her waist under her gown. After she wrapped her belt at her waist, she was sure the bulge was invisible to anyone who didn’t know the purse was there.

  Then she hurried to the great hall in search of Desmond.

  Chapter 13

  Desmond wasn’t in the great hall, nor did Elaine see Cadwallon. She stopped a man-at-arms to ask if he knew where they were.

  “They’re both with Lord Bertrand,” said the man-at-arms. “So is Flamig. They’ve all been together in the lord’s chamber for hours.”

  “Thank you.” Elaine wasn’t going to interrupt any conference that included Lord Bertrand. She didn’t want to see him again.

  But she did want to see Lady Benedicta. Elaine had unfinished business with her foster mother and if she was going to learn as much as possible about Aglise’s death before leaving Jersey, she’d better talk to her at once. Then, when she reached Caen, she’d tell Royce all she knew on the subject.

  “If anyone comes looking for me,” she said to a passing maidservant, “I’ll be in the linen room. And if Sir Desmond sends his squire to collect my clothing chest, it’s packed and ready in my room. Lady Aglise’s chest is to go, too.”

  Lady Benedicta was standing by the linen room window, gazing out at the mist and rain. She had apparently finished folding and counting the fresh laundry, for the room was perfectly neat. When Elaine entered, she turned and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be gone by now.”

  “I’ve not heard when we are to leave,” Elaine said, “except that it will be today. Though, if the weather doesn’t clear, we may have to postpone our departure.”

  “I think not,” Lady Benedicta snapped. “One way or another, you will leave Jersey before this day is over.”

  “Before I go,” Elaine said, refusing to be intimidated by the cold, steady gaze of the older woman, “I want to know the truth.”

  “What truth would that be?”

  “You killed my sister.”

  “Did I?” Lady Benedicta’s upper lip curled slightly.

  “Don’t deny it. Who else had any reason to wish Aglise harm?”

  “Quite a few people, I should think. Former lovers, outraged wives, girls from whom she stole betrothed husbands.”

  “You’re lying!” Elaine took a purposeful step toward the woman she regarded as her implacable opponent. “The only lover Aglise ever had was Lord Bertrand, and he seduced her.”

  “Do you think so? I disagree. But, perhaps I knew your sister better than you did.”

  “I refuse to believe anything you say against Aglise.”

  “If you will not believe me, then why are you here asking questions?”

  “Because I want to know exactly how you killed her.”

  “What a gruesome request.”

  “You used herbs, didn’t you?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I know you did. I want to know which herbs.”

  “Why?” Lady Benedicta contrived to look startled. “Oh, Elaine, is there someone whom you want to kill?”

  “I want to know what you gave my sister, so I’ll know if she suffered.” Elaine was praying no suffering at all had been involved, though she feared that wasn’t the case. Whatever the truth was, she had to learn it.

  “Ah, I see.” Lady Benedicta smiled, the faint, cool curve of her mouth holding no humor or kindness. “You want me to say I dosed her with poppy syrup, so she fell asleep and died peacefully.”

  “I also want to know how you administered the fatal dose.”

  “I find your interest most unnatural.” Lady Benedicta shrugged. “Very well, then, I’ll tell you. I did use poppy syrup, and monkshood, and one or two other herbs I would prefer not to mention. I sweetened the potion with honey and dipped some little cakes into it. I poured the leftover potion into a small pitcher of wine. Then I left the plate of cakes and the wine in the solar for Aglise to find, at a time when I knew no one else would be there. I was certain she would devour all of the cakes and lick her fingers, too, and wash the cakes down with the wine. She always was much too fond of sweets and of honeyed wine.

  “You, on the other hand, do not care for sweet foods,” Lady Benedicta said, moving forward with a swift, gliding step. “I will have to find some other method to use on you. Unfortunately, it won’t be quite as pleasant as the mixture I gave to Aglise.”

  “You wouldn’t dare harm me,” Elaine told her. “Not now, when everyone knows you killed my sister.”

  “You don’t know me any better than you knew Aglise. There’s precious little I wouldn’t dare – and have dared. And will dare again.”

  Lady Benedicta reached toward Elaine to catch her arm. Elaine stepped aside, quickly moving to the open door. And there stood Desmond, fists on hips, watching the two women.

  “Elaine, you were unbelievably foolish to come here,” Desmond said.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Elaine contradicted. “She admits to killing Aglise. I can repeat to Royce and to King Henry every word she just said, and I will swear in court to her confession.”

  “I never confessed anything,” Lady Benedicta said. “Sir Desmond, this poor girl has taken leave of her wits from grief.”

  “She told me how she did it,” Elaine insisted. Desmond would believe her over Lady Benedicta. He must believe her.

  “The important thing, as Cadwallon and I have been explaining to Lord Bertrand,” Desmond said, “is not how she did it, but why she did it.”

/>   “So.” Lady Benedicta met Desmond’s challenging gaze without flinching, though she had gone a little pale. After a long moment she looked around the linen room, at the shelves of precisely arranged sheets and towels, and neatly folded quilts, and rolled bandages made from the remnants of sheets that had grown too decrepit to be used for beds any longer, but were still strong enough to be put to their final service of binding up the wounds made by accident or by the mishaps of weapons practice – or caused by enemy attack.

  “No one who comes after me will ever keep this room as clean and tidy as I have done,” Lady Benedicta said.

  With that, she brushed by Desmond and would have walked out of the room if he hadn’t stepped in front of her and blocked the doorway.

  “Where are you going?” Desmond asked in a terrible voice.

  “Not far, I assure you. Where can I go, Sir Desmond? On this small island, where could I possibly flee to escape the justice you are determined to bring down on me?”

  “All the same, I prefer you to remain within my sight.”

  “I have a desire to confess to Father Otwin and for that, you must allow me holy privacy. Seek me in the chapel in one hour. Grant me that long to repent of my sins.”

  “One hour. No more.” Desmond stepped aside.

  “You can’t let her go,” Elaine cried. “Who knows what she’ll do?”

  “She can’t do much,” Desmond said. “I have set a close watch on her. Cadwallon, Ewan, Flamig, even Jean; each of them will keep her in view, and she likely won’t guess she’s being followed and observed.”

  “I hope you’re right. She’s very clever.” Elaine launched into a recitation of everything Lady Benedicta had told her. “And there’s more,” she said, ready to reveal how she had found the parchment with its coded message.

  “Listen to me.” Desmond caught her by the shoulders, jerking her forward, the sudden movement effectively stopping her next words. “When I said you were foolish to come here I wasn’t teasing. Lady Benedicta is dangerous. A woman who is involved in treason won’t hesitate to commit murder to protect herself. She killed your sister and she’ll have no compunction about doing the same to you.”