Exile’s Bane

by Nicole Margot Spencer

  Mrs. Lowry, in a fluster, found me in the kitchen before I could speak with Mrs. Deane. It seemed half the bed linens were missing. We went to the laundress to check for them. In the open area outside the first floor, which was the laundry level of the kitchen tower, I found my maidservant, Rosemunde, plunging large items in and out of one of the big, steaming laundry tubs, her milk-white hands red and chafed. Since I had my own rooms back, I reassigned her there and to my person. She departed the laundry in thankful haste, but Mrs. Lowry’s linens were not there. We even incorporated the Simpson boys in our search, but in the end I sent Mrs. Lowry on to change the beds with what she had and assured her the missing linens would be found.

  I had a suspicion that fit with the apparent abandonment of the house guard and the food stocks, but I dared not voice it to anyone, even Mrs. Lowry, for fear it might be true. It was well after the mid-day meal before I got back to Mrs. Deane and coordinated her requirements with Captain Wallace. Mid-afternoon saw me bid farewell to Duncan and a severe Wallace when they rode out in the rising heat, their hand-picked men close around them.

  By nightfall I was exhausted. I ate a late supper in the gallery with the countess, who remained cold and distant. She fanned herself, ignoring me, and stared long moments out through the iron screens. My suspicions about the linens begged to be voiced, but I did not want to argue, not this night. Since she had nothing to say to me anyway, and Duncan was not back, I retired to my rooms, concerned that something must have befallen my cousin and friend.

  Rosemunde had my nightgown laid out for me, and I changed into it thankfully. Bone tired, I told her I would not need her again until morning, closed my bed drapes, and slid between the freshly changed bed sheets.

  Again, Peg came to mind. I sat up in the dark bed, but lay back in frustration. I could not mount a search for her alone or in the dark. After several unsuccessful attempts to figure out where she could have gone, I decided that if she was not home when I arose next day, I would organize a search party. Sunk deep in the dark security of my bed with the knowledge that I had done all I could at the moment, I dropped off to sleep, did not dream, and did not stir until the morning light peeked through an errant opening in my bed drapes.

  The next morning, I approached my armoire, which sat next to the entrance to Peg’s bedroom. Her door, open no more than an inch, caught my attention. I distinctly remembered leaving it wide open the evening before. As well, the pulled-to door was a code Peg and I had for privacy. I pushed the door open enough to see Peg sound asleep in her bed. Though I wanted to throttle her, I did not disturb her.

  The morning was again miserably moist and warm. Rosemunde helped me finish dressing and put up my hair. I touched up my face with rouge and lip balm that were too moist for proper application, actually spilling a small dot of rouge on my dressing table. The heavy air was hard to breathe. I wiped away the sheen of perspiration that had beaded up on my upper lip, went to the leaded windows beside my bed, and swung them out on their hinges, hoping for a breeze to cool the room. I left my quarters and strode the hallways, feeling more at home than I had in years, headed to the gallery’s small east entrance.

  From what he had told me, Duncan meant to arrive early today. Though his support was my strongest suit, the countess needed to be apprised of Cousin Annie. But I stepped into an empty gallery. The sideboard was spread for breakfast—milk, fresh-baked bread, sweet rolls, a selection of cold sliced ham and venison, a crock of butter and another of honey.

  I cut myself a slice of warm wheat bread and spread it with clover honey. The milk was cool, as it always was under Mrs. Deane’s direction. I poured myself a tumbler full, and was about to sit down at the table and mentally plan my argument, when boot steps and a lighter footfall came up the great stair beyond the screens in a rushed rat-ta-tat.

  The doors at the far end of the gallery blew open, and Duncan entered in a fast stride, his face colored with irritation.

  The second set of footsteps entered behind him. It was the countess in one of her huffy states, a snap to her step as she strode across the Turkish carpet. She rushed past Duncan down the length of the narrow room to confront me.

  Resigned, I turned back and put my bread and milk on the table.

  “You cannot avoid me, you clever little witch.” A small, chubby hand wrenched me around by the shoulder.

  “I have no reason to,” I said, though her choice of names stunned me. I pushed her hand away, and a spark connected between us in the charged atmosphere. “What is it, Duncan?”

  “She claims you knew you could not offer Annie a home,” he said bitterly. He came up to me in a slow stride. He pointed at the countess with a raised chin. “That your offer was an intentional ruse to put Annie at a disadvantage.”

  “You may not take it upon yourself to invite people to this house,” the countess yelled at me. “Why can you not leave things be?”

  “But, Aunt, with Gorgon gone, are matters not undone? And should I not be allowed the freedom of my own home, which surely includes the right to invite a guest into my quarters and under my direction?”

  “How do you know of Gorgon’s departure?” Indignation flared in her little eyes.

  “I was there.” I did not wish to engage in another of the countess’ shouting matches. The air, redolent with the mingled smells of hot bread, sweet rolls, and human warmth, led me to gesture toward the table full of food. “Please help yourself, Captain.”

  He ignored my offer, his wary gaze traveling from me back to the countess. He remained taut as a drawn bow, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

  “You have no rights here. How many times do I have to tell you this?” the countess spouted.

  “I was born here,” I shot back. The impression of physical assault from this woman’s words pushed me back a step. “I grew up in this house. I know every stone and corner. You cannot tell me I have no rights. I will invite whomever I choose.”

  “Annie has returned to Bolton,” Duncan growled.

  “Why did you not stop her?” I cried, settling my gaze back on him, irate as he was. “Surely you did not allow her to go alone, across this treacherous land.”

  “Of course not. One of my men rides with her. She would not wait for me to speak with you. The idea infuriated her and she rode off.” He approached me and dropped his gaze, suddenly hesitant.

  I backed up toward the screens, unsure of his intent.

  “You did not do this intentionally . . . to hurt Annie, did you?” His face relaxed, as though he had thought of something. The color in his face returned to its normal pale flush.

  “No. I did not realize I was still under arrest.” I put a hand on the screens for support. They were damp with moisture. I retrieved my hand, walked back around him, and wiped my fingers on one of the linen napkins neatly laid across the table end. At his questing expression, guilt and concern battled within me. “If I did not want Annie here, I would not have offered her a home,” I said solemnly.

  “Then I owe you a sincere apology for doubting you. I should have known better.” Stiff and formal, he bowed.

  “You owe me no apology,” I said.

  The countess’ smug enjoyment of our disagreement was obvious.

  “I suspect the countess has misled you.”

  “Me?” she gasped. She pressed down the stomacher of her dull gray gown and seated herself in one of the fireplace chairs. “I merely agreed with the child’s comment that Elena must have overstepped her bounds intentionally.” Her gaze shifted to me. “You knew full well she would be rejected. She said you would do this to get back at her and at the captain for supporting her in Bolton.” She looked up at me in defiance, eyebrows raised. “The very essence of her words.”

  “I will bring Annie back.” Duncan caught my arm and pulled me toward him. “The sooner I leave the better. But first we must settle matters here.”

  “My gracious, yes, you must,” the countess screeched, erect in her chair. “Make no mistake, young man, in my lo
rd’s absence, I am in control here, as I have been for many, many months. You are a mere tool left me by the prince. You might remember that.”

  “Countess Marie Louise,” he said with a rigid little bow in the countess’ direction. “Prince Rupert assigned me to act as his representative in this place, his chosen headquarters. Are you saying you tell the prince what to do?”

  “No,” the woman quickly countered. A brilliant flush advanced from her chest to her cheeks. “But I tell you what to do. I require your oversight to secure the house and that is the sum of it. This is my lord’s property and you have no right—”

  “But I do,” Duncan responded in a strong, chilling voice reminiscent of the prince. “I have given you every courtesy and consideration. Up to this moment, I have given you the full benefit of every doubt I have encountered in your actions here, as my prince required of me. That is finished. From now on I will follow the literal letter of my orders.”

  “What orders? You are here as protection, no more.”

  “That is not the case. Tor House is under my direct command in the prince’s stead. The earl passed his authority to the prince, and, in his absence, the prince to me. If you will remember, Countess, Lady Elena and Mistress Carey are under the particular protection of the prince, for which I shall be held accountable. In accordance with Prince Rupert’s agreement with your lord and husband, you have only the right of suggestion as to the security and upkeep of this house, bounds you have already exceeded. If you interfere again, I will be forced to confine you.” He pivoted and strode away.

  “What?” My aunt’s lower jaw dropped. She regained her feet, her voice and her intent before Duncan reached the open doors at the west end of the room. “You dare threaten me,” she screamed. “Your prince’s own beloved cousin. I shall report you to the prince for outright rebellion, Captain, if not treason.”

  He turned back to face her, his face and posture severe and unyielding. “You may do whatever you wish when the prince returns,” he said. A cast-iron smile rested uncomfortably on his face. “In the meantime, I will brook no interference in the running of this house. You will refrain from antagonizing Lady Elena, Mistress Carey, Annie, or any member of their staff.” His solemn gaze searched me out. “Elena, the matter of Annie will be under your control to do with as you please. I would like to see her join us at meals and, while I am here, to receive regular reports on her progress. As well, you may regain your discussions with Captain Wallace regarding the house guard and victualling the house.” His gaze snapped to the livid countess, who seemed to glare through him. “If you do not comply, Countess, I will confine you. Perhaps to that miserable tower where you recently imprisoned Lady Elena and Mistress Carey.”

  He left the room in a brisk, no-argument-brooked pace, took the stairs two at a time by the rumbling sound that came up through the screens. His footsteps clacked away over the slate floor of the great hall, diminished, and were gone.

  Marie Louise went to the screens and watched him go. She wrung her hands and turned back to me, her skirts whispering, her expression oddly melancholy.

  “I had no idea my lord and husband literally turned the house over to the prince, and thereby to this upstart young man.”

  “It is a time of war, Aunt. I doubt he had much choice. The prince can be very persuasive.”

  “But now what do I do?”

  “Why did you push Annie away?” I asked, still amazed at the needless problem a simple invitation had become. “She is but a mere girl, despite her appearance.”

  “I had nothing to do with her actions. I told her she could not stay. It was the girl’s own words that upset the captain. I merely supported her belief.”

  She watched me with a sly expression as I picked up my breakfast that languished on the edge of the table.

  “You must intervene with Captain Comrie, my dear. He seems to listen to you. Tell him I wasn’t aware that I had limits to my authority.” She put a dramatic hand to her brow. “I shall perish should he imprison me.”

  “Why did you not tell him this just now?” I turned toward her, my gaze locked on the humid shine of the black iron screens behind her. What had she seen . . . or heard?

  “If there is nothing else I have learned in my life,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “it is to never argue with an angry man. There are other ways to get one’s point across. Since the war began and we moved here, the earl has been constantly away, leaving me no choice but to oversee and run the place as best I knew how.”

  “I believe you had some help, Aunt,” I said, resentment boring into what patience I had left for this woman.

  “Why—” Her little eyes widened. “—yes, of course. But now, I cannot believe my cousin the prince meant to do this to me. I feel certain he will make amends.”

  “This is why you choose to accuse the captain?”

  “Of course. The prince rescued me once; he will do so again. But the earl is quite another matter and that I am most concerned about. When here, the earl is committed to this fortress, as though it were some precious thing. Tor House might as well be a mistress, one I cannot compete with.” She sniffed and took her seat again near the empty fireplace, her mouth drawn down into the folds of her face. “You see, I fear he may set me aside, especially should I fail to protect Tor House. I am lucky even now to have him in my bed on occasion.” Her pathetic gaze caught my eye. “Do you not see?” she whined. “What would become of me? I dare say he could desert me and leave me destitute in this war-torn land.”

  “And what would you have me do to change this?” I asked warily.

  “In some ways you are no better than my lord, with your devotion to this ancient pile of haunted rock.”

  “What do you mean?” I cried, offended at her unfair comparison, though a vague concern rose within me as to what experience she might have had of Amilie.

  “You fail to understand.” She waved me aside as though I were a pesky fly. “Before we came here, my lord loved me. But this place, this obsession with removing your claim has devoured him. He sees his manhood in the very stones of Tor House. In fact, that is undoubtedly the basis for what has happened to me this day. All for the house. I am expendable.” With calculating eyes, she looked at me straight on, her mouth prim and flat-lipped. “What you must do is to stop interfering in the business of this residence. Submit to your uncle’s wishes, marry Gorgon, and depart. For that accomplishment, my lord will love me.”

  An incident from last year came to mind. While my uncle was on the Isle of Man rounding up an army to defend the island against a possible invasion by the Scots, I had built up a garrison of three hundred men to defend Tor House and carefully topped off its supplies. I later learned that Marie Louise took credit for what I had done. This travesty had upset me, but at the time it had not seemed in my best interests to pursue the credit I deserved, so long as the house survived. Now, I understood why she would do such a thing.

  “You would win your husband’s affections at the expense of everyone and everything around you?” I finished my honey-hardened bread, took a last swallow of milk, and looked at her with pity. She had not made this situation, was instead an unwilling participant trying to regain her husband’s love. Yet she had shown me no mercy. I quietly put the tumbler on the table and turned back to her, latent anger simmering in my veins.

  She did not answer my question, but strutted off through the east door, probably to her rooms, to scream, to cry, whatever the woman did when she did not get her way.

  When I entered my miserably hot rooms, Peg sat perkily atop the padded seat before my dressing table. Her tortoise-shell brush slid through her shiny auburn hair again and again.

  “Where have you been the last two nights?” I asked, coming up beside her, hand on hip, demanding enough, but hardly overbearing.

  “Do not ye lambaste me,” she said. She rose quickly and walked away to the round table beside the door where she plopped into one of the gilt chairs.

  “Oh, that
was most graceful.”

  She glared at me, her flushed face an agony of apprehension.

  “You are not going to put me off by acting insulted.” Slowly, I walked over to the table, sat to her left, and studied her pink cheekbones. A limp breeze from the open windows cooled my moist face. “I am the one who should be offended. You have not slept in these rooms for two nights. How was I to know you had not been murdered in some dark corner of the house? By the way, we will have a guest in our rooms. Duncan’s cousin, Annie.”

  She shot me a startled look. “Where will she sleep?”

  “On the trundle bed. Rosemunde will have to sleep in the servants quarters.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed somewhat and studied me with interest. “This Annie is now thy friend?”

  “I was mistaken about her.”

  “And ye be wrong about me,” she announced, warring emotions rampant in her piercing gaze. “I have done nothing amiss.” Yet where she had been, at least the night before the prince departed, spoke like a litany in her beaming face.

  “I did not say you had. But spending the night in Prince Rupert’s room is hardly ladylike conduct.” I wiped my face on the hand towel left on the table for that purpose, the warmth in the room overbearing. “I find it hard to believe that you came out still a virgin.”

  “Ye will have to try harder, then, to believe,” she said, strikingly serious.

  “Peg, please,” I said. Her attitude alarmed me.

  “Please what, aye? The prince and I share the same desires for that between us. We would have sincerity. And besides, we get on famously. We spent the night in his rooms for privacy, yes, but I be still a virgin. Would ye like Mrs. Lowry to confirm this?”

  “No, no.” I had to smile, having had a need for that kind of privacy myself very recently. “That is not necessary.” I waved a hand, feeling like a soldier waving a flag of truce. “I believe you.”

  “Oh. Ye do? Well. Good.” She looked around and seemed to gather her bearings.

  “What did you think I would do? I do not wish to see you hurt. A bastard growing in your stomach would be a disaster you would never overcome.”