Fool's Paradise

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Your audience approves,” she whispered as he drew her closer.

  “Not mine, yours. They recognize a rare presence upon the stage before you utter your first line.”

  She laughed with him, happy they could tease each other again. Walking away from the commandant’s house, she was surprised when he led her past the barracks. She steeled herself, waiting for the rude calls that were shouted whenever a woman walked past. There was only silence, and she realized the legionaries were gathered on the training field for yet another seemingly pointless session of practice. They never improved, which made no sense. Even clumsy oafs should get better after all those hours of training.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they climbed toward the uppermost wall. “Not up on the fells, I assume.”

  He lifted a single brow. “It would be lovely to have you there alone, but as we would never be allowed through the gate, I thought we might dine close to the stream where it first enters the wall.”

  “To check the upper watergate?”

  “Perhaps you did not notice, but that spot presents an excellent view of the gate and its guards.”

  Priscilla smiled. “The very thing I wanted to see while I was enjoying whatever you have in your basket. It smells luscious.”

  “A few sandwiches, a bit of meat pie, and a dried fruit tart.” His grin would have better suited her son on his naughtiest day as he added, “And a slab of our great leader’s finest cheese.”

  “How . . . ?” She shook her head. “No, don’t tell me. That way I can plead innocence of the crime.”

  It did not take long to walk to the spot Neville had chosen. A newly planted tree offered sparse shade on the soft, new grass as they spread out the cape he had brought.

  While they sat together, enjoying the food and the cold water from the stream, Priscilla could pretend they were out of Novum Arce. She had to tell him what she had learned from Roxanne, but that could wait a little longer. She was content to be with him, his arm brushing her back as he leaned his hand on the ground behind her. They did not have to talk. Being together was enough.

  Neville reached into the nearly empty basket and offered her another sandwich.

  She shook her head. “I am stuffed.”

  “Maybe you are, but what about . . . ?” He glanced at her abdomen.

  “Right now, I am the only one who gets a vote on how much to eat.” She laughed. “For now. In a few months, if this is like before, I shall be eating everything in sight. So you should eat now because you may not get much later.”

  He took a big bite of the sandwich. After chewing and swallowing, he grinned. “Thanks for the warning.” He shaded his eyes as he watched the activity at the gate. “They have two men posted at all times, but they seem more interested in their conversations than guard duty.”

  “Why not? Nobody is trying to batter down the walls. Those within the walls are unlikely to try to slip out if the risk of leaving is great. They are there more for show than protection.”

  “After the shabby skills I have seen them use in training that probably is for the best. They are as likely to stab each other as an intruder.” He chuckled.

  “What do you have planned?”

  “Nothing specific.” He plucked a piece of grass and stared at it. “But I have been wondering what Duncan is up to.”

  “He surely has begun to search for us once we did not return as planned.”

  “As long as he does not trigger the same trap we did.”

  “Don’t tell him I said this, but Bellona mentioned that Sir Thomas’s agents look for young, handsome, and intelligent people. He is only two out of the three.”

  Neville sat forward and spun the piece of grass. “He considers himself a youthful, dashing blade still.”

  “That is neither here nor there. We need to figure out a way to contact Duncan. With his help, we may still be able to succeed in escaping so you can make your report.”

  He tossed the piece of grass aside and wiped his hands. “Contacting him is not necessary.”

  “What did the two of you concoct before we left Tarn’s Edge?” She asked herself why she had not considered before that Neville and Duncan would have some scheme.

  “He said if we were not back in a fortnight, he would call out the militia. By my count, he should be gathering his troops about now.”

  “Troops? What troops?”

  “Duncan knows many of the same people I do.”

  “People who will do anything if you cross their palms with a few coins?”

  “Such folks are good to know when one is in a jumble.”

  “Which we are.”

  He smiled. “In fact, I first met Duncan when he was in a pickle of his own with the sort of person you would never receive. There was the issue of several hundred pounds unaccounted for, and the gamester thought he could get it from Duncan.”

  “Did Duncan owe the debt?”

  Neville shook his head. “No, though he was well-known at the time as a man who often punished his pockets with losses. That fact did not deter the cheat who wanted Duncan’s deep pockets to cover his losses.”

  “And how were you involved?”

  “Let’s just say I convinced the swindler to look elsewhere for money. That gained me Duncan’s eternal gratitude and, more important, his friendship. During the ensuing years, before you came back into my life—”

  “As I recall, you came back into mine. Disguised as a masked swordsman and frightening my household half to death.”

  He tapped her nose. “But I did not fool you for a second, did I?”

  “Not that I will admit to.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the two men at the gate as he did.

  “As I was saying, Duncan often helped me when unpleasant matters had to be handled with finesse.” He suddenly scowled.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I need to speak with Prinny again about what he promised he would offer Duncan in thanks for getting him out of the mess that earned me my title. I will do so once we leave here with the information I need. Beamish can come and get his daughter.”

  “But what about her servants?”

  “We cannot be certain they are even here.”

  “They are. Or at least they were.” Priscilla’s contentment vanished like a soap bubble popping. She faced Neville as she told him what Roxanne had said during the wine festival. He listened without any questions, but a storm erupted in his eyes.

  “They could not let the servants leave, though they did not plan to bring them to Novum Arce,” he said, his gaze turned inward as his fingers closed into a fist. “That suggests a more evil side to this settlement than I had guessed. There are many things that we are not seeing, things that they are concealing.”

  “The very things that created the request for you to come here.”

  He nodded. “I agree, but where to look?”

  “Wherever it is, we must be more careful than ever. I wonder what they will do to prevent outsiders from learning the truth about this place.”

  “Sir Thomas speaks of peace, but the ones who do his dirty work may not agree. Up until now, I had assumed the servants were hiding somewhere, unwilling to return to Beamish without his daughter. Now I am not sure they are alive.”

  She put her hand over the fist on his lap. “We have to believe they are.”

  Neville did not answer, and she realized he was staring at the training field.

  “What is it?” she asked as she had before.

  “Don’t they look more skilled than usual today?”

  She watched the men swing their small swords and block their opponent’s blows with shields. “It would seem they are improving.”

  “So quickly? Yesterday, they were stumbling over their own feet, m
ore of a threat to their allies than any enemy. Look how fluid their motions are today.”

  Priscilla appraised the men, and she saw what Neville had noticed. When the men lined up to practice throwing their spears, most hit the targets instead of landing short. The ones practicing with the swords were not wielding them wildly, but with purpose. A third group was doing laps around the field faster than usual. At the most distant side of the field, two more groups of men, obviously the less proficient ones, were struggling through the exercises the others did with ease.

  Five groups? She had never counted that many on the training field at the same time.

  “Aren’t there too many legionaries on the field?” she asked.

  He counted then nodded. “I would say a good score extra.”

  “It would seem that Sir Thomas has conscripted some worthy soldiers we may not have seen before.”

  “Apparently we need to look more deeply into Novum Arce.” He bit off a curse.

  “What is it?”

  “More soldiers mean more stomachs to fill, and that requires more food.” He put his hand to his back and groaned. “And that means more fields to plow and sow.”

  “Maybe some of the least skilled legionaries could be put to work in the fields.”

  “If all the incompetent ones were reassigned, the rest of us could sit back and watch them work.” He stood and held his hand out to her. “On that note, I need to return to work. The other men have been covering for me.”

  She came to her feet. Gripping his arm, she said, “You are not going to get into trouble, are you? I loved spending this time with you, but it is not worth it if you are punished.”

  “If I slacked off for any other reason, I would be chastised in ways I will not repeat for your tender ears. But with our great leader’s decree that there needs to be more marriages and more babies by this time next year, the field boss is willing to allow one or two of us a short absence to court a potential wife.”

  “I am glad you think of me as a potential wife.”

  He laughed and pulled her to him. “I am more than willing to court you from the beginning again.” He caressed her lips with his own before releasing her and picking up the empty basket. “Whenever I can, I will be calling, Mrs. Kenton.”

  “I look forward to it, Mr. Williams.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead.

  He caught her by the wrist before pressing his mouth to her palm, setting her skin ablaze. His gaze was as heated as he looked up at her, holding her with his eyes. Her knees weakened like softened butter, and her breath grew uneven.

  She had no idea how they were going to get the answers Neville needed. She was unsure if they would ever be able to persuade Bellona to leave. She could not guess if they would even find the missing servants. But she knew one thing for sure: She could not wait until she and Neville escaped Novum Arce, and she could be his wife in truth once more.

  Chapter Eleven

  DOMITILLA WANTED some fabric for a gown, so she sent Priscilla to the storerooms on the lower side of the settlement near where the stream exited from Novum Arce. It was the excuse Priscilla needed to see if she could discern any sign of the missing servants.

  Her hopes of looking around were dashed when the quartermaster, who was in charge of supplies for both the military and civilians, kept his hawklike eyes on her the whole time she walked from his office to the storeroom where the fabric was kept. He did not follow her, but stood in front of his office, his arms folded over his full belly, so he could make sure she went to the proper building.

  When Priscilla entered it, she gasped. The storeroom was about the size of the commandant’s house, and every inch of it was packed with crates. Had Sir Thomas spent his whole fortune on cloth and thread and buttons and broaches and sandals and the other items stacked in neat rows? Then she saw the guns lying in open boxes along the left hand wall. She started counting the boxes and gave up when she reached thirty.

  Here was the proof Neville had sought. The thought sent a shudder deep into her soul. Only now did she realize how much she had hoped that the person who had sent him north had been misled by rumors. These weapons were as real as the new soldiers who were so highly skilled.

  There were four other storage buildings. How many weapons were cached in them? Were they planning for a siege or an attack?

  She gathered up the fabric Domitilla wanted and hurried out. She needed to talk to Neville as soon as possible.

  Thanking the quartermaster who grunted an answer, Priscilla hurried up the hill toward the commandant’s house. She grew calmer as she realized what was in the buildings could not be a secret from everyone in Novum Arce. Otherwise, the quartermaster would not have allowed her to go inside. Her heart thudded harder again when she thought about how it did not matter what anyone within the walls knew. Nobody could escape to reveal the truth to the rest of the world. She had to talk to Neville.

  Which field was he working in today? She would scour each one until she found him. He had to know what she had seen.

  Priscilla reached the commandant’s house just as someone stepped out of the main door, the one only highly ranked guests were allowed to use. She stopped, surprised.

  Bellona!

  Since their one conversation, Bellona had cut Priscilla direct on the few occasions their paths crossed. What would Bellona do when they stood face-to-face? Priscilla held her breath, anticipating a tempest.

  Instead, Bellona gave her a wide smile that suggested they were bosom-bows. “Ah, Kenton! Exactly the person I had hoped to speak with.”

  “I am honored, domina mea.” She had heard others address Bellona so. If she remembered her Latin correctly, it meant my lady. “What may I do for you?”

  “Do for me? Aren’t you the most generous soul?” She laughed but it sounded feigned. “I must admit to being intrigued. I never have met a lady’s maid who also handled ledgers. An odd combination of skills, I must say.”

  “It was my lady’s wish I learn both.”

  “And a good abigail always complies. Right?”

  Priscilla did not lower her eyes, because that might suggest she had been lying. “Most certainly, domina mea. It was my pleasure to allow her the opportunity to avoid the task she found bothersome.”

  “You are an excellent abigail, Kenton. Domitilla has been singing your praises, and she does not give praise lightly. She says she has no idea how she would get along without you. I thought you should know that.”

  “Thank you, domina mea.”

  Bellona leaned her cheek against one finger and regarded Priscilla as if she were an unsolved puzzle. “As I said, I am intrigued that you have experience in handling ledgers.”

  “I am no expert as an estate manager or a solicitor must be.”

  Bellona frowned, and Priscilla realized she was not expected to speak unless asked a direct question. Their first friendly conversation had been, Priscilla suspected, simply for Bellona to learn more about the newcomer and ascertain if Priscilla was a threat to her vaulted place in the settlement’s hierarchy.

  “We need an actuarius,” Bellona said, her smile returning. “A clerk to handle the accounts of Novum Arce. It seems to me that you are better suited for the task than anyone else here.”

  What did it matter how Priscilla replied? Surely she and Neville would be planning their escape from Novum Arce as soon as she showed him the cases of weapons. Bellona would become suspicious if she turned down the offer. She forced a smile and dipped in a curtsy. “It would be an honor to serve.”

  “Of course it is, so see you do not bungle the duties of the position. Neither Sir Thomas nor I would be pleased.” Bellona walked away.

  Staring after her, Priscilla swallowed her gasp of shock. Bellona spoke of herself and Sir Thomas as equals. She was unsure what the change might portend for Novum Arce, but for
the first time, she was glad she had seen those guns. She was ready to leave the community.

  Now.

  PRISCILLA HAD expected she would oversee the ledgers in addition to serving as Domitilla’s lady’s maid, but the day after Bellona tapped her for the position of actuarius, Roxanne and another young woman came to the commandant’s house and removed Priscilla and her few possessions. Only then did Priscilla understand the true reason behind Bellona’s generous offer. By giving Priscilla another job, Bellona was denying Domitilla the chance to have an abigail. Now the commandant’s wife could not challenge Bellona’s status as Novum Arce’s premier lady. Domitilla could rage at the unfairness—and she did by throwing things across the bedroom and yelling at the servants who could not hide from her fury—but Priscilla left the commandant’s house as ordered.

  She was delighted to discover she had a tiny room of her own at the back of the small building where she would work. There was enough space for her cot, a chest for her extra clothing, and a washstand. The chamber had been freshly whitewashed, and best of all she did not have to share with other servants. She began to imagine ways for Neville to sneak in at night and out in the morning, so they could be together. It would be a challenge because the building was set at the crossroads of two of the busiest streets in the compound.

  After two days, Priscilla discovered her work was difficult, but not onerous. No one had kept records since the settlement was first established over two years ago. She was tempted to remind Sir Thomas that the Romans were renowned for their record keeping, but she had no idea how he would react if someone openly challenged the illusion he had built.

  She liked her office. It had large windows on either side so the softening spring breezes could slip through on sunny afternoons. On stormy days, she closed the window shutters and left the door ajar. A small porch kept the rain outside, and she could enjoy fresh air.

  By the time she had worked there for almost a week, only clerks bringing her stacks of papers and receipts to sort out and put in the ledgers interrupted her. The rest of the day she was on her own. It was the perfect arrangement because when she could no longer fight the smothering fatigue that came over her without warning, she could slip into her room for a quick nap. By leaving the door to her private quarters half-open, she was able to be at the table by the time the heavy-footed clerks came inside. It helped that the clerk who came most often always whistled while he walked.