Daughter of Mystery

by Jones, Heather Rose

  Barbara had raised an eyebrow at that. “Are you asking me to come armed? I had license to bear a sword in the baron’s name. Legally, I suppose I’m still in his service, but—”

  LeFevre had assured her that he would stand surety for her. “But in any case, it shouldn’t cause comment. And I hope I’m being over-cautious. He’s unlikely to make serious trouble at such a solemn event and with the magistrate in attendance.”

  Barbara was less sure on that last point. And here it felt odd to stand ready, her senses keyed to action, without that axis around which her duty had always revolved. A step behind her made her turn sharply.

  Margerit flinched back, saying, “I’m sorry I startled you.”

  Barbara bowed silently in apology.

  “I’ve been looking for you, to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

  Barbara felt awkward in answering. “There was no need, Maisetra. My loss is no greater than yours.” She retreated into a verse from Tanfrit. “All come at last to serve and solve the final mystery.”

  “But surely you—” Margerit hesitated, as if uncertain of her ground.

  Barbara didn’t offer any guidance. There was genuine sorrow in the girl’s brown eyes, but her own wound was too raw and too deep and she had no intention of displaying it to the crowd of strangers here.

  “What will you do now?”

  The question was so sincerely concerned that she bent a little. “Whatever I choose, now that I’ll be free to do so. I’ll have some time to decide. I have reason to believe that the baron will have remembered me sufficiently to give me some choices. He always said he meant to do that.”

  “I’m glad for you. What a thing it must be to see all manner of roads stretching before you and only need to choose!” Her voice turned from wistful to tired. “I’m not even sure why I’m here. Uncle Fulpi would have taken care of all the details, but Maistir LeFevre insisted that I come.”

  “I believe,” Barbara said carefully, “that the baron meant to leave you a sum to increase your dowry. I wasn’t in his confidence, of course, but—” She looked past Margerit and stiffened. While she had been turned away from the window to speak to the girl she’d missed Estefen’s arrival. Now here he was, striding into the room as if he were the awaited guest of honor. He took a seat directly facing LeFevre’s desk.

  “What is it?” Margerit whispered.

  “I think things will be starting soon,” Barbara said. “You should find your seat.” She moved away to position herself in a place where she could watch carefully…and move if necessary. Estefen threw her one sharp glance and then studiously ignored her.

  LeFevre, sensing his audience’s mood, moved to take his place behind the desk and unlocked a document case with a small brass key. The rest took that cue to finish their conversations and find places: chairs for the greater, a place to stand around the back of the room for the lesser. He spread the sheaf of papers before him and cleared his throat. Someone unacquainted with his mannerisms might have thought him nervous. “Please understand that this will is in Baron Saveze’s own voice and words. And as you know, he was a man of firm opinions.”

  “Get to it, man,” Estefen interrupted impatiently.

  LeFevre shrugged and bent his head to the papers. “I, Marziel Lumbeirt, Baron Saveze,” the legal formulas that LeFevre himself must have insisted on rolled on for several lines. “Being of sound mind and having consulted deeply on the law—” An odd phrase, Barbara thought, but she had only once before heard the reading of a will. “—set forth my will concerning the disposition of my worldly wealth.” LeFevre’s voice took on some of the cadence and tone of his late employer. “As my nephew Estefen Chazillen is doubtless anxious to come into his inheritance, I shall break with custom and begin by easing his mind.”

  Estefen snorted at that but stirred in his chair uneasily. Normally the will would begin with the litany of small bequests and token gifts and work slowly toward the more substantial transactions.

  “From my family, I inherited the estate of Saveze and with it the title of Baron. Thanks to the profligacy of my forebears, in particular my brother Mihail, the estate was greatly encumbered.”

  LeFevre cleared his throat again and his voice dropped back to its normal tone. “Pray have patience. I told him there was no need to include ancient history in the will, but he insisted.”

  He rustled the papers and took on the baron’s tone again. “Through my own efforts, I not only lifted the debts on my ancestral lands but amassed a considerable fortune and added several other properties to my holdings. And though my relations have been disdainful of the industry that made this possible, they have lived in the expectation of benefiting from the profits. My nephew Estefen—the heir-default to the title and estate of Saveze—has in particular been living for years on the expectations of his inheritance. It is now time for him to reap his just reward.”

  Estefen frowned at the word “just.”

  “Estefen Chazillen, the eldest son of my sister Iosifin, will receive—with the grace and permission of Prince Aukust, should he choose to grant it—the ancestral lands of Saveze, with all their rents, revenues, incomes and debts, and I wish him the joy of the title of baron.”

  It would be startling indeed, Barbara thought, should the title not be confirmed, but the common formula bowed to the prince’s right.

  “He will find,” LeFevre continued, “when he reviews the accounts of his property, that every penny he has begged, wheedled and extorted from me over the years has derived from the revenues of that property that is now his. If he had lived a careful and frugal life, he would now be a wealthy man. However as his financial demands have frequently exceeded the income of the estate, he will find that it once again bears mortgages, though not nearly as heavy as when I first received it. May he enjoy the fruits of his labors both past and present.”

  Barbara saw LeFevre raise his eyes to meet Estefen’s, not in challenge but with confidence. “The baron consulted the best doctors of law concerning inheritance of titular land. The legacy is sound. If you contest it, you will spend your own substance to no return.”

  Estefen pushed up from his chair. “I have friends higher than your doctors of law. I will have what is due me. And you—”

  When Estefen stepped toward LeFevre, Barbara shifted her stance. There was no motion toward her sword, just enough movement to catch his eye and remind him of her presence. His mouth curled in a snarl. “You will be sorry you stood by him in this charade!”

  He strode from the room, pushing through the people standing closest to the door. Barbara didn’t relax until she heard him shouting distantly for his horse to be fetched.

  LeFevre accepted a glass of wine from one of the waiting attendants and once again cleared his throat. “Please forgive the interruption. I fear the young man has suffered a disappointment.” With a repetition becoming ritual, he once again shuffled the papers before him and continued reading.

  Now the document fell into the usual pattern. The servants were remembered. Distant relations and absent friends received gifts or keepsakes. The local notables were granted their tokens. A sum to the cathedral in Rotenek and another to the village church at Saveze for Masses to be said. It continued for several pages, as the baron’s circles had been extensive and eclectic and reflected long years of tightly woven webs of relationships. LeFevre sipped at the wine again and began a new section.

  “To my goddaughter, Margerit Sovitre, in token of the love I bear for her, I leave the remainder of my properties, holdings, goods and monies, as will be detailed in the attached inventories, with the sole exception of the manor of Firumai and the sum of ten thousand crowns, which I commend to Prince Aukust in true loyalty and in the certainty of his justice.”

  There was an uncomprehending silence for a moment then a gasp ran through the room as people contemplated the baron’s rumored wealth and calculated what that “remainder” might entail. Barbara allowed herself the hint of a smile. She knew he had int
ended to thwart Estefen’s smug expectations but thought the church would figure more prominently in the strategy. This—this was a slap in the face above and beyond a social death knell. Estefen’s debts were crippling, though small enough compared to his former expectations. The baronial estate, encumbered as it was, would provide little but the requirement of upholding his new station. He couldn’t even sell it, as it was bound to the title. She spared some pity for Margerit’s situation: she had inherited a fortune and along with it the deep enmity of a man with powerful friends.

  Margerit herself looked confused. Her uncle looked stunned, with a rapidly growing awareness lighting him from within. It was only when Barbara turned back to LeFevre and saw him gazing at her with a worried look that it occurred to her what she had not yet heard in the will.

  LeFevre raised his hand for silence and continued, “—with one stipulation that will be detailed below. Regarding the woman known as Barbara who has served me well and faithfully as my duelist. It had always been my intent to see her established in her chosen course of life and it is to my sorrow that I could not live long enough to accomplish that goal. I would not see her cast out alone and friendless into the world, without protection or support. Therefore the woman Barbara is to be included in that portion of my possessions that I leave to my goddaughter Margerit and—”

  Barbara thought at first that she hadn’t heard correctly—and no wonder, given the roaring in her ears that drowned out the burst of startled exclamations among the crowd. They meant nothing. The world had narrowed to her and LeFevre and the treacherous papers in his hands. She approached the desk slowly, her voice husky with disbelief. “He promised I would be free! You were there—you heard him!”

  LeFevre glanced up at her briefly then looked back at the papers as if unwilling to meet her gaze and said, “If the will were silent on this matter, then a verbal statement might be taken into consideration. But the document is very clear.” And low, so only they two could hear, “Barbara, my hands are tied.”

  She slammed a palm against the desk. The baron had been many things, but he had always been a man of his word. “He promised!” The swift descent from dark amusement to despair had left her light-headed. Someone—she didn’t know who—laid a hand roughly on her arm and she instinctively spun away, breaking the hold and falling into a crouch with her back to the windows and her blade drawn. A woman screamed. Around the room chairs scraped the floor as people came to their feet.

  Barbara’s anger was washed away by a flood of panic at what she’d done. There was no law that would back her. No excuse that would stand. She saw the shocked look on LeFevre’s face. It had never occurred to him not to trust her and she’d failed that trust. Even as she edged backward to keep everyone in sight, she wondered if flight were possible. In an eyeblink her imagination took her out the window, had her stealing a horse, fleeing into the mountains, then…what? In two more minutes someone would have run to fetch help and there would be more weapons in the room and she would need to kill a man…or be killed…or both.

  Chapter Nine

  Margerit

  The remainder of my properties. There had been no time to think seriously on what that meant in the chaos that followed. And then Barbara was backing slowly toward the edge of the room with her sword out and her eyes darting wildly. Margerit knew how it must look but she’d seen Barbara’s face when she spun around. In that brief instant there had been no anger, no murderous intent, no emotion at all. Only afterward had she realized what she’d done. And now the room felt like the moment between the lightning flash and the crack of the thunder.

  Without any thought or plan Margerit rose and walked slowly toward her, stretching her hand out in entreaty. Her heart was pounding. When she came within inches of the blade’s point she hesitated. Barbara backed up another step and then the tip of her sword wavered and dipped toward the floor. She seemed paralyzed. Margerit closed the distance in two short steps and reached out to touch her lightly on the wrist. She closed her other hand around the base of the blade. Quietly, so that only the two of them could hear, she said, “Barbara, you’re frightening them—I’m afraid someone will do you an injury.”

  “Don’t…please,” Barbara pleaded. “It’s sharp.”

  “I know,” Margerit answered. She could feel the edge against her palm but she held firm. “Give me the sword. Let go. Please!”

  So gently that the steel moved not a hairsbreadth, Barbara released her grip. Margerit took the hilt in her other hand and held the weapon lightly, tucked into the folds of her skirts. Her palm stung and she clenched it into a hidden fist.

  The moment she stepped back, there was a rush of some of the bolder men. Margerit tried to protest as they seized Barbara by the arms and forced her to her knees but no one paid her any mind in their haste to make up for their former timidity. She raised her voice, hating how it quavered. “Maistir LeFevre, I think we can solve this problem simply enough. If Barbara has been given to me, then I will free her.”

  LeFevre held up his hand to stop her. “I think it would be best if I finished reading this clause.” He wiped his balding forehead with a kerchief and took up the papers again. “‘And to ensure that my wishes in this matter are carried out, it is stipulated that Margerit is to take and maintain the woman Barbara in her own household and Barbara is to serve her as armin until such time as both of them shall have attained their majority. And if these conditions are not met, then my legacy to both Margerit and the crown is forfeit, save that each will be given five thousand crowns, and the residue of my estate will be given instead to the Convent of Saint Orisul, for the benefit of my soul.’”

  The gathered crowd again erupted in noisy comment and speculation. Margerit heard her uncle begin to speak and raised her voice over them all. It was her one chance to see it through before she lost courage entirely. “Please, Uncle, let me speak.” From the look he returned her she knew there would be a price to pay later. Her voice was shaking even more now but she continued. “When I came here today, I had no expectation of being remembered with anything more than a token. Instead, I’ve been left a fortune beyond what I can imagine. Five thousand crowns is still far more generous than anything I had a reason to expect. What is the harm to me if I forfeit an inheritance that I’ve never touched in order to see justice done? Give Barbara her freedom and let the convent have its fortune. I will be content.” In the back of her mind, a voice whispered, Is this worth the price? And the answer, Let her be what I can’t: free.

  LeFevre was watching her with a startled and bemused expression but just as he might have spoken, Uncle Fulpi’s voice cut through the room. He had pushed his way to her side and looked as if he wanted to shake her. “You will do no such thing! You may be too foolish to see what you’re throwing away, but that’s why you have guardians. You have no power to alienate any part of your inheritance if I forbid it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s true, Maisetra Sovitre,” LeFevre confirmed.

  For the first time the magistrate spoke up, adding, “I believe that Prince Aukust will also have some opinion on any action that would greatly reduce his gift.”

  Her uncle’s voice turned harder. “You needn’t concern yourself with this matter further, Margerit. I have no intention of allowing this,” he glanced at Barbara with an expression of distaste, “this unwomanly freak into my house. There are only two years until the conditions of the will are fulfilled. Something will be arranged.”

  The moment was slipping away. If she couldn’t give Barbara her freedom, she could at least try to keep her safely close by. Her uncle’s looming presence was daunting but an unfamiliar strength flowed into her from her clenched fists—one on the hilt of the sword still half-hidden in her skirts and the other in a white-knuckled ball. She looked over at LeFevre and asked, “Could you read that last part again? I’m not certain I understood it perfectly.”

  A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he bent over the sheaf of papers with a faint cough.
“And to ensure that my wishes in this matter are carried out, it is stipulated that Margerit is to take and maintain the woman Barbara in her own household and—”

  “Uncle,” Margerit interrupted. “I’m afraid the will is clear. If I’m not to forfeit, then nothing different can be arranged.” Before he could respond, she turned and took two quick steps over to where Barbara still knelt. In a quiet but firm voice she asked, “Barbara, do you promise to serve me as well and faithfully as you served my godfather?”

  Barbara hesitated and Margerit thought she could see the reflection of all those other roads that had briefly stretched before her. “I promise,” she said.

  In the impulse of the moment, Margerit stretched out her hand to her—still clenched tightly—and glared at the men holding Barbara with what she hoped was a commanding gaze. They loosed their grip and Barbara reached out to take the hand and press it to her lips. Margerit winced slightly as her fingers relaxed and saw the faint smear of red left on Barbara’s fingertips. Barbara had seen it too and jerked her gaze up in concern. Margerit locked eyes with her and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Barbara nodded just as faintly then rose to her feet as Margerit handed back her sword and she returned it home. As Margerit turned back to LeFevre’s desk, she saw Barbara step into the same post she had always taken with the baron: one step behind and to the right. She glanced back briefly. Barbara’s expression was relaxed now—as if the world had returned to spinning on its true axis. The rest of the room was staring and whispering but she paid them no mind.

  LeFevre once more shuffled his sheaf of papers, bringing all eyes back to him. “That’s all there is of note. There are the inventories and lists but they needn’t be included in the public reading. Maistir Fulpi, perhaps Maisetra Sovitre’s guardians could meet with me in the next day or two to begin on the details.”