Out of the Dark

by JoAnn Smith Ainsworth

  “I’ll worry about whether I was fair to André later. Now, I have to see how many men were rounded up for search parties.”

  Lord Wilfgive suffered the loss of one child to sickness. Now, his remaining child might be lost to him. His shoulders slumped. He sank back into a chair in his Tower chamber. The first rays of dawn were struggling through the unshuttered window.

  “Tragedy forces one to differentiate between what is important and what is frivolous,” he said to his wife, his heart heavy.

  “Are you getting philosophical on me?”

  “I should have been more attentive to Lynnet’s needs. I should’ve given more credence to her experiences in the cellar.” A sadness for opportunities lost welled up, constricting his throat. “She’s been showing a preference for this Norman sheriff. I should’ve given her my blessing.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Lord Wilfgive leaned across the table and patted his wife’s hand.

  “We must think of Lynnet’s happiness. She deserves better when she’s returned to us.”

  “But he has no money.”

  “We do, my dear.”

  “But he’s Norman.”

  “So is the king. And Basil is the acknowledged son of the Earl of Chester. The earl will certainly give him an adequate living if he marries well.”

  His tone was deliberately conciliatory. Over the years, he’d learned this was the best way to handle his volatile wife.

  “I’ve come to believe our daughter really did overhear a conspiracy and that’s why she was kidnapped again.”

  His wife shrugged her shoulders. “I was sure she was having one of her hallucinations.”

  “A reasonable assumption.”

  “When upset, she’s prone to seeing things.”

  He smiled as memories of his mother came to mind.

  “Imagining her dear grandmother must bring her comfort.”

  “She probably chose your mother deliberately to irk me. The two of us never got along.”

  “I’m afraid our daughter is in terrible trouble.”

  Lady Durwyn sprang from her chair, knocking it backwards to crash on the floor.

  “You have to do something. She’s my only hope for grandchildren.”

  He rose and put his arms around his beloved wife, pressing her head against his shoulder.

  “There, there. It’ll all turn out right. I’ll see to it.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll go to the king. He’ll look for our daughter. He’ll rouse all of London if need be.”

  Basil nodded approval upon seeing the number of men milling about in the Great Hall. The din of raised voices reverberated off stone walls. Curious children were gathered up and ordered to play in a corner, out of the men’s way. Dogs ran underfoot. Soldiers shouted orders, directing men into groups. Basil hailed the Captain of the Guard and strode over to him.

  “How goes it?”

  “I’ve chosen three sergeants to lead the searches. All our hunt dogs have been rounded up.”

  Basil glanced towards the men shouting orders. They appeared to know their jobs.

  “So I see.”

  “One is in charge of the grounds, another the castle and the last will organize a search of the river banks.”

  Basil’s stomach lurched. There was always the chance Lynnet would never be found. And another that she would be found dead.

  He shook himself and focused on the search preparations.

  Such thoughts do me no good.

  Unconsciously, he checked that his short sword was in place at his side.

  “I can’t be everywhere. How will I get word when she’s found?”

  “I’m staying in the Hall,” the Captain said. “All news will be relayed to me. Let me know where you’ll be and I’ll get word to you.”

  Satisfied that the search preparations were in good hands, Basil left the Hall after telling the Captain that he could be found in the Treasury. Earlier, he’d sent a messenger to summon Nicolas to the Tower. Basil needed to find out what the spies had learned about his brother’s recent activity. He desperately wanted to learn the identity of the third man.

  “Sir André’s been thrown in jail,” Count Courbet’s man hissed at him as he opened his chamber door.

  “Get in here.”

  The count dragged the man roughly by the arm into the chamber and firmly shut the door. He spun him around to face him.

  “What’s this?”

  “Instead of killing his brother, Sir André is in a cell. The sheriff struck first.”

  Courbet’s chest constricted. He found it hard to breathe. His heartbeat rose alarmingly.

  “That bastard son of a whore. I never thought he’d have the guts to touch us.” He cursed. “André assured me he wouldn’t act against Norman lords, especially not against his father’s son.”

  “What will you do?”

  Courbet’s mind whirled with conflicting courses of action. He ran his fingers through his thick hair.

  “I’ll go to France.”

  “France?”

  His manservant’s face looked stricken, probably because he’d be leaving his family behind.

  “I can’t trust André to curb his tongue. When you order our horses saddled, say I’m visiting a relative for a few days. It’s important no one realizes we aren’t coming back.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Courbet rushed towards the door.

  “I need to get my valuables and papers from the Treasury.”

  “Shall I start packing?”

  He halted and glared at his servant.

  “No. No baggage. Only food and water and a change of clothes in the saddle bags. We can buy what we need before we get on a boat.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Meet me at the stables within the half hour.”

  Evelyn, Matilda and Isolda were at loose ends. Water and cider were heating, clean clothes and blankets at ready and slices of cheese with hunks of fresh bread were crowded onto a metal platter. The bathing tub was tucked in a corner behind an ornate screen. The several buckets of water in it were coming to room temperature as the women waited for news.

  Matilda and Evelyn sat on chairs at the table and Isolda on a wooden stool by the fireplace. Each had a steaming mug of ale.

  “I’ve been her teacher and companion since she was eight years old,” Evelyn said, trying to break the silence that descended once chores were done. “She’s very intelligent.”

  “A sensible head on her shoulders,” Isolda agreed.

  “But with a tendency to take too many chances,” Matilda added.

  The other women nodded their heads.

  Matilda reached for a piece of cheese. “I’ve known Lynnet only a couple of weeks. Does she panic in emergencies?”

  “Just the opposite,” Evelyn said, after swallowing a bite of bread. “Considering her lack of sight, she has a very cool head.”

  “I thought she was developing an affection for the sheriff,” Matilda said.

  “I wondered about that myself,” Evelyn said. “She was paying more attention to her clothes and jewelry.”

  “I wish she had warm clothes on now,” Isolda said.

  Evelyn caught her breath.

  “I can’t tell you how terrible I feel that my sleeping potion allowed her abduction to take place.”

  Tears welled up behind her eyes and threatened to spill out.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Matilda said. “They’d have found some way to get at her.”

  “If they took her out of the Tower,” Isolda said, “we may never find her.”

  The women were quiet for a long time after that. The only sounds were those of eating. Each had to find her own reason to try to find hope.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The strain of Lynnet’s disappearance was starting to tell. Basil wanted to be with the men looking for her, but duty lay with the king. Solving one problem might solve the other.

  Although the sun w
as barely risen, the informant was wide awake and already seated in the anteroom of the Treasury when Basil arrived. He closed the door to keep their conversation from the ears of the guards and dropped down onto a chair, weary.

  “What do you have for me, Nicolas?”

  “I saw the one I believe to be the third man, but he was in shadows when talking with your brother at midday meal yesterday. I couldn’t identify him.”

  Basil’s shoulders drooped from disappointment. He rubbed his forehead.

  “I was in the Great Hall then. I missed them.”

  Nicolas grunted. “I’m used to sneaking around. If they’d seen someone your size coming, they’d have split up before anything could be heard. Your kind is needed when the fighting begins.”

  The sheriff laughed in spite of himself.

  “It’s a good thing you’re in your job and I’m in mine.”

  “They seemed to be arguing. I was prevented from following the man because I was assigned to your half-brother.”

  “A description?”

  Nicolas scratched his head.

  “As tall as you, but not as broad. Definitely Norman and wearing jeweled rings. He carried himself well.”

  “That describes any number of the king’s guests.”

  Basil shifted his weight. He had hoped for something better. His disappointment weighed heavy on his heart.

  “It’s important to know who he is. Lady Lynnet’s been abducted. He may have arranged it.”

  The informant looked alarmed.

  “I have to believe she’s still alive,” Basil said. “It’s my fault. I was fighting with my brother when I should’ve been protecting her.”

  Nicolas grinned. “I hear he’s in a cell. I’m sorry to say this because he’s your family, but that’s where he belongs.”

  Basil smiled grimly.

  “I’ve thought that myself many times.”

  “I understand the chamberlain has been doing favors for him at great benefit to his pocketbook.”

  “I wonder if he’s the one who gave the key to the abductors? There was no forced entry.”

  “I can find out for you.”

  “Do that.”

  “If I see that third man again, I’ll know him by his manner. I’ll follow him for you.”

  “Fine. And send word to me right away. I’ll want to question him.”

  Basil rose to indicate the meeting was over. Since he was closest to the door, he reached out and opened it. Nicolas grabbed his arm, stopping him before it was fully open. The informant had a finger to his lips and motioned to re-shut the door.

  “That’s the man,” Nicolas whispered. “That’s the one who met with your brother.”

  Basil took a quick look before quietly closing the door.

  “Count Courbet de Shereborne.”

  “Should we confront him?”

  “He’s from a powerful family, but I don’t see where I have any choice.”

  Basil opened the door and discovered Courbet was gone. He went over to the guards.

  “What did the count want?”

  The guard saluted, then answered, “He had a box stored here. He’s visiting relatives for a couple of days and needed it with him.”

  “Like hell he’s visiting relatives. He’s about to flee.”

  Basil turned and sprinted to the corridor. He cleared the door and looked both ways. No one was in sight. Once again he was too slow.

  “Hell’s bells.”

  Nicolas turned to the guard. “Did he name his chamber when he left the box?”

  “He’s staying in the Laurel Room.”

  “Come on,” Basil yelled as he raced down the hallway.

  Lynnet was becoming sleepy as she was rocked up and down on the wooden beam. The cold numbed her whole body. Her breathing seemed to be slowing down. Afraid she might fall asleep and slip off, she hiked her nightgown up near her hips and knotted both ends underneath to tie herself to the beam.

  The skin on her head stretched tight as the goose egg caused from being knocked out pushed relentlessly against the hair, pounding and aching. She closed her eyelids to concentrate the pain away. With the dawn, boats of trade came onto the river.

  “Surely someone will find me then.”

  She wanted Basil’s arms to lift her from these waters before they became her tomb.

  “Foolish. How will he know where I am?”

  No one may even know she was missing. It seemed like hours since she awoke with the shock of cold water, but, probably, it was mere minutes. The sun was not fully risen.

  Taking a risk, she released one hand from the beam. She felt along the silver chain at her neckline to touch her crystal pendant.

  Lord Wilfgive’s mare galloped around a bend in the road. He was relieved when Westminster Palace came into sight. Long trips by horse were hard on him now he was older.

  He had to admit that the king’s new residence was magnificent bathed in the red tones of sunrise. His scholarly indulgences gave him an appreciative eye. Each time he saw it, he was overwhelmed by its architectural beauty.

  He slowed his horse. As it trotted towards the front entrance, he instructed the two guards riding with him to take their horses to the stables to feed, water and rub them down for the return journey.

  After the guards left, he rode the short distance to where a young lad, dressed in the king’s colors, stood. The stable boy assisted Lord Wilfgive to dismount, then walked the horse towards the stables.

  Thankful to be on solid ground, he strode on unsteady legs up the stairs to the entrance. He spoke to the guard on duty.

  “Lord Wilfgive of Osfrith requests an audience with the king.”

  The guard bowed, acknowledging the nobleman’s rank.

  “The king is breaking his fast. I’ll send a page to learn when he can see you.”

  “It is an urgent matter.”

  The guard summoned a page and instructed the youth to carry the message. He turned back to Lynnet’s father.

  “My lord, may I escort you to a chamber to await the king.”

  Lord Wilfgive tottered wearily after the guard who led the way to a chamber near the Great Hall.

  As he entered the small room, he nodded approval at a chair whose curved arms ended in cat paws. In his own home, he had furniture of this quality.

  Settling gratefully into a cushioned chair, he glanced out the arched windows at the November day. The recent snowy days aggravated his arthritis. He was grateful for the fire burning hotly in the fireplace.

  Only my dear wife could get me out on a day like this.

  Not having removed his outer garments, Lord Wilfgive became overheated. He was almost asleep, his head drooping towards his chest, by the time the king and his deputy arrived.

  “Greetings, Wilfgive,” King Henry said upon entering. “You remember my deputy, Baron Otheur?”

  “I do.”

  Her father rose to greet the king and his deputy.

  “Take your ease,” the king said, motioning him back into the chair.

  Wilfgive gratefully sank back down onto the cushioned seat.

  “What brings you to Westminster so unexpectedly?” the deputy asked in his direct manner.

  “My daughter is missing.”

  “Lynnet?” the king exclaimed as he took his seat behind the table. “When?”

  “Sometime last night. The maidservant discovered her missing when she came at dawn to stoke the fire.”

  The deputy turned to King Henry.

  “You warned Sheriff Basil something like this might happen.”

  The king pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead as if an ache were developing behind it.

  “Has the sheriff formed a search party?”

  Lynnet’s father nodded his head.

  “But Lady Durwyn doesn’t believe he has the resources to find her. She wants the army called out.”

  The expression first appearing on the king’s face was one of incredulousness. It was quickly replaced by a c
ontrolled, bland look. He turned to his deputy.

  “Ride to the Tower at once. Place the full power of my authority behind this search.”

  “Right away, Your Majesty.”

  The deputy bowed then left the chamber.

  Relief flooded through Lord Wilfgive. His wife would get what she wanted. All of London would be looking for their daughter.

  King Henry returned his attention to him.

  “What would you say to hot, mulled wine before your return journey?”

  Count Courbet rushed about his chamber grabbing small things he didn’t want to leave behind. The valuables and papers went into a soft, leather pouch to keep them from prying eyes.

  He glanced hurriedly around the room.

  “What a shame to leave my best clothes.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he forced himself to come to grips with an uncertain future.

  “It was the game we played. We lost.”

  He strode quickly across the chamber floor. As he flung open the heavy door, the blood in his veins chilled at hearing the sheriff’s voice.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Chapter Twenty

  When the door opened unexpectedly, Basil’s short sword was angled towards Count Courbet’s throat. The sheriff got out one challenge before the conspirator threw the leather pouch he was carrying at him and rammed his head into Basil’s chest. Only the sheriff’s bulk and a wide stance kept him from tumbling backwards. Even so, the short sword clattered to the floor.

  Courbet’s muscular arms grabbed him in a bear hug, thrusting him outward into the corridor. Pushed off balance, Basil took three steps backwards before wrapping his own brawny arms around Courbet, taking them both to the stone floor.

  Each man struggled for dominance. Muscle strained against muscle as they rolled back and forth. Legs lashing out, hands gripping tightly to Courbet’s tunic, Basil fought to restrain this man responsible for Lynnet’s disappearance. He could not let him get away again.

  The man’s hot, sour breath poured over him and as the conspirator pushed closer as if to bite off an ear, Basil twisted his head away.