Fool's Paradise

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Roxanne put a hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “I should not speak of this, but I want to warn you before you are hurt.”

  “In what way?”

  “If you are following the magistra to make sure she is not meeting Mr. Williams, you should know she has probably forgotten him by now. There are others willing to do what she wants in exchange for what she offers. She learned her skills well before our arrival at Novum Arce.”

  Priscilla did not try to hide her shock. “She was with as many . . . ?” Choosing other words because even if Lord Beamish’s daughter’s reputation was sullied, speaking of it bluntly was abhorrent, she said, “She was as inconstant in her affections before she came to Novum Arce?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought she was to be married to Mr. Sherman. That is what my former lady mentioned,” she added hastily, again uncomfortable she could not be completely honest with the abigail who was risking so much to help her.

  “I learned the truth one day when Mr. Sherman called. I should not have been listening to their conversation; yet when she sent Miss Redding away, I wanted to make sure she had a proper chaperone. What I heard shocked me. She struck a bargain that allowed her to use him as an excuse to see other callers when her father was busy elsewhere.” She shuddered. “He did not mind sharing her with others, and it allowed him his own pursuits as well. If we had not been brought here, I suspect they would have married and kept the same arrangement.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be. When Asher asked me to marry him, I was able to say yes without a pinch of guilt. We intended, after escorting her to visit her family, to take our leave of that horrible household and make a life for ourselves elsewhere.” Her eyes widened so much Priscilla could see them in the faint light. “Oh, my! She has gone past the guards.”

  Knowing there was no time to waste, Priscilla said, “I must see where she goes. I need you to distract the guards so I can sneak past them.”

  “I will.” She threw the stola over her head and shoulders, then kissed Priscilla’s cheek. “Good luck, my friend.”

  “Good luck to both of us.”

  Roxanne nodded and walked as boldly as Bellona had toward the gate. Priscilla followed more clandestinely by hurrying to a section of the wall about ten yards from the guards and letting the shadows cover her once more. She held her breath as Roxanne paused by the guards.

  “Good evening,” the abigail said, putting her hand on her hip in a motion she copied from Bellona.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded the taller of the two men who was silhouetted by the lanterns set by the gate.

  “I could not sleep, so I decided to take a walk.”

  “Walk somewhere else.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” the other man said. “Don’t you recognize her? That is the magistra’s maid. You don’t want the magistra angry with us, do you? We will be back on the training field with those incompetents in no time.”

  Roxanne leaned toward them, but kept her voice loud enough to reach Priscilla. “You, sir, are a very smart man.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “My lady likes smart men.”

  “Does she now?” The man preened like a rooster in a yard of hens.

  The tall man pushed forward. “You can tell your lady that I am smart, too.”

  “I will have to remember to mention that to her.”

  “Are you chasing after a cat, too?” the taller man asked.

  “A cat?” Roxanne’s voice faltered for a moment, then she laughed. “Why don’t we leave that to the magistra?” She crooked a finger at the men. “Unless you want me to say, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’”

  “You were not supposed to speak of that,” the shorter man said, punching the other man in the upper arm.

  “To anyone who doesn’t know. This is the magistra’s maid. She knows what her lady is doing.” He glanced toward Roxanne. “You do, don’t you?”

  “What kind of abigail would I be if I didn’t?” Her voice was so convincing Priscilla almost believed her. The young woman could have a career on the stage. The two men continued to argue with each other and flirt with Roxanne. Priscilla edged along the wall. When Roxanne put an arm around the shoulders of both guards and turned them away from where Priscilla lurked, she rushed through the gate. She crouched close to the ground, letting the shadows beyond the lanterns conceal her. She held her breath, waiting for shouts or a spear being driven into her back, but the conversation by the wall continued uninterrupted with Roxanne telling the men it would take her no more than a half hour to return with enough wine for them to enjoy the night together.

  Half an hour. That was all the time Priscilla had to chase after Bellona, discover why she had left the compound, and return. She hoped it would be enough. But it would have to be. Because there was no way she was leaving her friend to the lascivious guards.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT HAD TO BE Bellona. No one else would be abroad on the hill when the narrow curve of the crescent moon offered little light. Priscilla had lost sight of her several minutes ago. Aware of every second ticking away, she knew she had only about twelve minutes before she had to be back inside Novum Arce.

  Hoping she was right and what she thought was Bellona was not a sheep, Priscilla followed the moving form up the steep fell. She placed her feet with care, not wanting to disturb the loose stones strewn across the hillside. Ahead of her, Bellona was not being cautious, and pebbles tumbled down the hill to pelt Priscilla.

  One hit her hard on the bridge of her nose. She blinked back tears as she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She flattened herself against the ground when Bellona looked behind her before continuing the climb.

  Priscilla inched close enough so she could hear Bellona’s straining breaths. A rest would be good, but that would eat away precious seconds.

  The new grass bursting from the tangle of last year’s mat threatened to trip her on every step. Each time Bellona halted, Priscilla froze close to the ground or behind a boulder. The few trees on the hillside were too scattered to shield her.

  But Bellona did not seem worried about being followed. Why should she? The guards at the gate served her well by keeping anyone from giving chase.

  Staying low and keeping her stola tight over her shoulders, Priscilla used every trick Neville had taught her about trailing someone. She moved when Bellona did and stayed still whenever the young woman slowed or stopped, so no errant sound or movement could betray her.

  Then Bellona disappeared again, her silhouette no longer visible against the clouds rolling down toward the fells. Priscilla pushed forward, hoping Bellona would think any rustles in the grass came from the sheep grazing on the hillside.

  The crown of the hill was flat, which was why Bellona had seemed to vanish. In its center was a stone circle. Almost a dozen stones stood upright with several more lying on their sides, poking up through the grass. The area was preternaturally flat, and Priscilla guessed ancient Britons had prepared the space before dragging the stones up the steep fell. To them, it had been a sacred place, a place to come and celebrate their gods, but, for Priscilla, the great stones provided a place to hide.

  She squatted, clinging to the shadows before she scanned the hillside. Letting someone else sneak up on her would be foolish. She wished for eyes in the back of her head or Isaac’s excitable pup Beowulf who would bark if anyone approached.

  Satisfied nobody else was climbing behind her, she peered around the rock. Bellona stood in the middle of the circle, by a stone that was smaller than the others. It only reached as high as her waist. The young woman flicked her fingers, and water spewed from the top. She bent and opened a dark lantern enough to illuminate the grass around her feet.

  And then she waited.

  Priscilla fought her frustration as time slid past. Bellona had not come up here simply to
be alone, so she must be meeting someone.

  As she counted down the time before she had to leave, a man stepped out of the shadows. Priscilla had to force her gasp down her throat. She had not sensed he was waiting beyond the light of Bellona’s lantern. He walked confidently toward Bellona who waited as if she were a queen and he, the least of her subjects.

  The man bowed his head. “Gracious lady, we are well met on this night.”

  Priscilla pressed her hand over her mouth before another gasp could escape. The man’s accent was French. Why was a Frenchman sneaking around the countryside? England was at war with Napoleon’s French Empire. He must be a spy, but why was he meeting Bellona on the fell?

  “Do you have news for me, M. LeChat?” Bellona asked.

  M. LeChat? Was that a real name? Chat was French for cat. The guards at the gate had asked Roxanne about a cat. Was this why?

  “Nothing yet, gracious lady.”

  “My allies grow impatient,” she replied in the petulant voice she used whenever she did not get her way immediately.

  “It cannot be helped, gracious lady. To move too soon would be a mistake. Everything must be in place if we are to succeed. Other attempts have failed because people did not wait until the conditions were right.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and tapped her toe against the ground. “M. LeChat, you might believe you have nine lives to wait on what is to come, but the rest of us don’t.”

  “Ah, gracious lady, why is a young and beautiful woman like yourself listening to the counsel of those who wish only to win glory for themselves? They don’t know, as we do, that battle should only be engaged when the odds are in our favor. The time is coming, gracious lady, when England will accept her rightful ruler.”

  “Soon?” Her voice became silky and seductive.

  “Very soon. Now have we not talked about that long enough?”

  Priscilla ducked behind the stone as the man pulled Bellona to him, kissing her hard. Hoping they were too focused on each other to notice anything else, she slipped away.

  All the way down the fell toward Novum Arce, she replayed their words in her mind. First, she had to get Roxanne away from the guards; then she had to talk to Neville. More was going on in Novum Arce than either of them could have guessed.

  TAKING A DEEP breath and continuing to walk through the thick grass, Priscilla chided herself. She should have insisted Livius, the legionary with the Scottish accent, come with her to the dairy instead of leaving her at the crossroads by the principia. His directions were convoluted and had taken her on a roundabout route. And she had not yet found the dairy.

  What had he said? You will find it just the other side of the storerooms. It has red brick walls. You cannot miss it.

  But she had. Somehow she must have walked right past it. She went to where the stream exited under the wall and began to follow the bank upstream toward the Temple of Mithras and the baths beyond it.

  Why had Neville sent Livius with a message to meet him at the dairy? She had asked Neville, in the short note she had sent the first thing this morning, to come to her office. They could talk there without being overheard. Nobody else must learn what she had seen and heard last night. Had she failed to stress the importance of coming as soon as possible? No, she had written she needed to see him right away. He must think the dairy was a more secure place to talk without the jeopardy of being overheard, but he could have come to her office and told her himself instead of sending that leering legionary.

  She smiled when she saw a wooden door built into a short red brick tunnel beneath the bank. At last!

  Unsure if the door was secured, she put her hand on the latch. It lifted easily. She opened the door, startled by the sudden rush of cold. Stepping inside on black and white tiles, she saw an inner door. She could hear rapidly running water beyond it.

  That made sense. Some of the water rushing down from the fells had been diverted beneath the hill. Fresh milk could be placed in containers and set in the icy water to keep it from spoiling. She wondered why this building had not appeared on any of the ledger entries she had made. Maybe it was because the community had no cows. There was not enough grazing for them on the barren fells. Erecting a dairy was another of Sir Thomas’s addled ideas.

  Priscilla pulled her stola closer. She shivered. She wished Neville would arrive to explain why he had asked to meet her in such a chilly place.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she concentrated on not shivering with the cold. The big quivers stopped, but not a faint one beneath her heart. She gasped and put her hand over her abdomen. Had it been . . . ? She held her breath, willing the small flutter to come again.

  There!

  A tiny motion like an awakening butterfly deep within her.

  The baby!

  It had grown large enough so she could feel it move. She wanted to sing with joy and gratitude at the miracle that was as precious now as it was the first time she had felt Daphne quicken within her.

  Where was Neville? Now she had wondrous tidings to share along with the disturbing events she had witnessed last night.

  Priscilla heard a soft sound past the inner door. Had he been waiting inside all along? What a laugh they were going to have once their teeth stopped chattering!

  “Mr. Williams?” she called as she rushed into the other room, unable to bear waiting a moment longer to tell him about their baby’s movement.

  Hands grabbed her and flung her away from the door. With a scream, she teetered on the edge of a great well that went deep into the earth. She leaned away, praying those hands would not push her again, this time into the chasm.

  Somehow, she threw herself back and landed on her bottom in a cold puddle. The concussion of hitting the stone floor raced up her spine, and she cried out in pain. She dug her fingers into the cracks between the stones, determined not to rock forward into the pit.

  Once she was secure on the floor, she looked around and saw no one. Whoever had seized her had fled before determining if she lived or had fallen to her death. Using her feet to push herself back, she counted herself lucky. If the person had stayed, he might have finished what he began.

  She pressed her spine against the wall and forced herself to her feet. She did not move for several minutes, fearful she would miscalculate and tumble into the great well. Taking deep breaths, she waited, watching her breath form clouds in front of her face until her heartbeat began to slow and her knees were steady.

  It took almost more courage than she possessed to inch to the edge. In the light of a lantern set on the floor across the opening, she could see stairs winding down. A faint glimmer at the bottom was not a stream as she had expected, but blocks of ice covered with straw.

  This was not a dairy. It was an icehouse.

  She had made a terrible mistake. Neville was probably waiting for her at the dairy now.

  Turning, she reached to push the door open. It had slammed shut, catching one corner of her stola. She had to get out of the cold before the shivers shook her bones apart. The latch lifted, but the door refused to open. She pushed with her shoulder. The door would not budge. Raising her fist, she banged on it and shouted for help.

  She got no answer, though she screamed until her voice was gone. Her wet clothes clung to her, dank and stiffening while they froze to her. She leaned against the door because she did not dare to take her stola off and leave her arms bare.

  The lantern sputtered and went out.

  She was afraid to move in any direction, lost in the stygian darkness and unsure where the pit was. She did not know when she slid to her knees and then to the floor. By then, every breath was a separate torture as the frosty air urged her to close her eyes and stop fighting its promise of warmth if she would surrender to it. She placed her hands over the spot where her baby now was still.

  “Forg
ive me,” she whispered in the moments before the cold wrapped her completely in its unforgiving embrace.

  NEVILLE CHECKED over his shoulder, but nobody was paying attention to him or the basket he carried. He guessed it was because Roxanne Parker walked by his side, her fingers lightly trembling on his arm. Anyone looking in their direction would believe they were courting.

  The abigail had not said a word since he met her not far from the barracks. Her face was rigid. Telling her to relax would be useless when she was eager to see her betrothed.

  He took a roundabout route before they slipped between the outer granaries from the rear, so the buildings blocked them from view.

  “Say nothing,” he whispered, though she had been silent, “until we are in the granary and have closed the door behind us. We cannot afford to alert a chance passerby there is another building in the middle of the others. Someone might be curious what is in it.”

  “I know.”

  He gave her a bolstering smile. “I know you do, but I always feel better saying that aloud.”

  Miss Parker’s lips quivered when she tried to smile back. Her tension stiffened every step. He understood too well. When he awoke in Novum Arce, he had been frantic with worry for Pris. He did not want to imagine how the abigail had felt, day after day, week after week, month after month when she had no idea if her betrothed was alive or not.

  He heard her draw a quick breath when they reached the center building. Handing her the basket, he unlocked the door. If she was shocked at how he used his dagger instead of a key, she wisely said nothing.

  “Miss Parker, after you, if you please . . .” He bowed and motioned toward the door.

  With a half-sob, she gave him back the basket and rushed past him. “Asher!” she sobbed as she threw herself into the footman’s arms.

  The footman looked over her head with a steely glare. “I thought I told you not to bring her here,” he growled as soon as Neville had shut the door. “You have put her in danger.”