Fool's Paradise: A Lady Priscilla Flanders Mystery

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  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.

  The only problem was that she had no chance to talk to Neville. She found excuses to walk in the direction of the field being seeded each day, but she had no chance other than to wave a greeting to him. Any conversation she tried to have with him was interrupted by other men or a request for her to return to her office to deal with some matter.

  She did not even dare to try to convey the message through some sort of code. Someone else might be able to figure out whatever simple cipher she devised, or it might be so complicated that even Neville could not read it. She stewed in her frustration as she waited for the chance to tell him what she had seen.

  Roxanne stopped by each day so they could go to the evening meal together. It was the safest way to avoid the amorous advances of the lonely soldiers who wanted to settle down with a wife and bring Novum Arce its next generation. Priscilla had received more marriage proposals than she could count. On more than one occasion, she politely told one man no, only to be asked by the man standing next to him.

  It was probably the most bizarre aspect of Novum Arce, but she endured the offers of marriage and helped Roxanne deflect the ones presented to her. For the abigail, it was more complicated because Bellona was insisting Roxanne marry right away as an example for the other unwed women, while Bellona herself showed no signs of selecting a husband. Each time Priscilla saw Bellona, she was with a different man. In London, she would have been called a coquette or worse, but Priscilla could not help wondering if the intoxicating freedom from Lord Beamish’s domineering ways was what led her astray. No one dared to speak poorly of her in Novum Arce for Sir Thomas had made her elevated position official by having her stand right next to him whenever he made a proclamation.

  Now that she had gotten the upper hand on Domitilla, Bellona acted as if Priscilla did not exist. Left to her own devices, Priscilla worked alone every day, copying information into the ledgers. That was why the sound of her office door opening and the heavy thump of a legionary’s sandals on the stone floor startled her. She did not look up as she continued adding the long columns of numbers. There were several more pages of reports to put into the ledger that day, and she had no time to try to persuade another man she did not want to marry him.

  “Ave, domina mea! Quid agis?”

  Her mind began to translate the greeting and the question of what she was doing, and then the voice penetrated her concentration. Her head jerked up to see Neville’s eyes twinkling at her.

  “Nev—!” She clamped her lips closed. Or she tried to, because her jaw had dropped the moment she realized his dark brown eyes were shadowed by the brim of the Roman legionary’s helmet. “If someone were to see you—”

  His laugh halted her. “Don’t you understand? These uniforms with their bright and shining armor are meant to be seen. Let the enemies of the empire quail at the very sight of Rome’s might.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant—”

  “Don’t worry. For some reason that escapes me, I have been promoted from field hand to the newest member of the Novum Arce century.” He grinned. “Even though we don’t have enough men to rightly be deemed a century, that is what our two officers call us.”

  Priscilla knew a century was a force of eighty Roman soldiers because she had argued about it with her governess while in the schoolroom. Her governess had insisted that a century should be one hundred men until Priscilla had shown her a diagram in a book. After that, her governess had declared that teaching a young woman history was a waste of time. Priscilla’s father, Lord Emberson, had listened then hired a male tutor to continue his daughter’s education. Aunt Cordelia had been appalled and let everyone in the family know it.

  Aunt Cordelia! If she discovered Priscilla and Neville were missing, she would be frightened. Had Duncan let her know, or was he making an attempt, as Neville believed, to find them before sharing the dreadful news with Aunt Cordelia and the children? Priscilla wanted to hurry to her children, drawing them into her arms and hugging them as she had when they were small.

  Standing from behind the table covered with books and papers, she smiled again when Neville turned around, giving her a view of every side of his uniform. As before, he wore a long tunic over leggings that ended at his knees. His sandals beneath were decorated with brass that caught the light coming through the windows.

  She had to admit that the uniform with its breastplate and bronze helmet fit him well. It emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the lean length of his body. But Neville as an infantry soldier! It was ludicrous because he was more suited to the task he had been given: to be a spy, skulking about and collecting information.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  “I have seen you wear sillier things.”

  He pressed his hand over his breastplate and struck a mournful pose. “To quote the great bard: ‘Now my charms are all o’erthr
own . . . ’” His brows lowered in a more genuine expression. “Odd, how many quotes from The Tempest are playing through my mind of late.”

  “That play was set in a fantasy world, and we are living in one. Isn’t it in The Tempest that someone says: ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on’?”

  “Prospero says that.” He grinned. “I am impressed with your knowledge of Shakespeare.”

  “A classical education comes in handy at times.” She closed the door. Glancing out both windows, she asked, “You have no idea why you were tapped to join the army?”

  “I have my suspicions.” He leaned back on the table, the bronze pieces on his uniform clattering against the wood.

  “Which are?”

  “I see Bellona’s fingers in this, just as in your promotion from the laundry to being a lady’s maid and now clerk. After she watched us working in the field yesterday, she went straight to the man overseeing us then stormed away wearing a very determined expression.”

  “You didn’t tell me she came to where you were working. Do you know why?”

  He touched her cheek with his fingertips, a motion so gentle and loving she longed to throw her arms around him and beg him to take her away from this insanity.

  “No. I was not sure if her appearance augured good things or bad,” he murmured, running a single finger lazily along her jaw and up behind her ear, leaving a path of heated tingles in its wake. “Worrying needlessly is not good for you now.”

  “I have told you that I am fine. We are fine, but we shall not be if I have to worry that you are being less than honest with me.”

  One side of his mouth tilted in a grin. “If you had guessed Bellona planned to worsen my lot, do you think you could have hidden your thoughts?”

  “Probably not.” She eyed him up and down again, enjoying the view. “So you are now a soldier. I never thought I would see the day.”

  “I look rather dashing, don’t I?” He struck another pose, this one with his helmet set in the crook of his arm.

  “You look like you will soon have pigeons on your head.” She smiled when he laughed, but she became serious again. “Have you been able to garner any hint of what the army is being trained to do?”

  “Not yet. I have been issued this uniform and armor by the quartermaster, but nothing else. I have no idea when I will receive weapons to train with.”

  She slanted closer to him and lowered her voice to a wisp of a whisper. “Did you see what was in the storeroom along with the clothing?”

  “The tools?”

  “No. Guns.”

  His face grew taut, and he shook his head. “I didn’t see any guns. Are you sure what was written on the crate was what was within it?”

  “I saw an open crate, and it was filled with guns. I saw them more than a week ago, and I have been trying to let you know.”

  “Talking to you alone has been a challenge.”

  “I know. I saw the one open crate and thirty more identical ones by the wall to the left of the door.”

  “That area was empty today.”

  She sank to sit at the table. “Someone must have moved them.”

  Squatting next to her, he took her hands. “And they could be anywhere within Novum Arce or beyond it.”

  “Why would anyone bring them here and then take them away again?”

  He stood. “Another mystery for us to solve. But it would seem that I was not sent here in error.”

  “I am hoping that if we can get one answer, the others will follow.”

  His broad hand cupped her face tenderly, then he lifted his helmet to set it on his head. “I hope your optimism turns out to be justified. Soon.”

  “Very soon,” she said to his back as he walked out of her office.

  Chapter Twelve

  IT TOOK LESS TIME than Priscilla had guessed to check the buildings in Novum Arce to discover if the guns were stashed within the walls. Returning to the storerooms on the pretense of needing ink, she saw Neville was correct. The crates were gone. A walk past the armory where the century’s practice weapons were stored revealed only those flimsy swords and spears. She found excuses in her post as the keeper of the account books to visit every other public building, but to no avail. Two public places she could not go—the legionaries’ barracks and the Temple of Mithras—Neville had already checked.

  She had no luck with the private homes of the married soldiers and laborers. Accepting an invitation from one of the women she had met at a gathering at the principia, she enjoyed the best cup of tea she had tasted since leaving Tarn’s Edge as well as a comfortable coze. But there were no signs of the weapons inside the small, three-roomed houses.

  That left one public place where she had not checked. The granary storage beyond the barracks. From what she had seen in the information she was compiling in the ledgers, only one was in use. The other two would be filled with the harvest. Until then, the buildings would be the perfect place to hide something. She should have considered that from the beginning.

  Going there by herself would be foolish when the soldiers were desperate to advance themselves by following Sir Thomas’s orders to marry. She had heard that whispers of proposals had become more forceful. She must not take any chances, so she waited until late afternoon when she saw the legionaries going toward the Mithraic temple for whatever service was being held

  When she was let into Bellona’s house by a servant, she asked to speak with Roxanne. She was told in a clipped voice to wait in the center courtyard and not to touch anything by the man who was as arrogant as Lord Beamish. He flexed his arm muscles as if in warning. She almost laughed in his face but restrained herself.

  Priscilla forgot about him as she entered the courtyard. It was grander and larger than the commandant’s and set in a quiet corner of the community. Beneath her sandals, the black floors were smooth. Were they marble?

  The mosaics around a fountain were fashioned into an exquisite design of mermaids. Each mermaid’s face was unique, and their tails glittered with metallic tiles. Looking into the fountain, Priscilla saw fish. Real ones and tile ones. All were bright colors of yellow, gold, and red. A single white fish scattered the others before it.

  She resisted the temptation to sit on the side of the fountain and dip her fingers in the water after the servant at the door had told her twice not to touch anything. Instead, she kept a cautious eye on the promenades around the courtyard. Encountering Bellona might be uncomfortable because despite the young woman’s obvious annoyance at her father for putting a limit on her callers, she might not appreciate her abigail receiving visitors in the late afternoon.

  When she saw Roxanne coming toward her, Priscilla waited until the slender brunette caught sight of her and rushed across the courtyard.

  “What are you doing here?” Roxanne asked.

  “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

  “Ask and I will be glad to help you if I can.”

  A man, not the one who had let her in, moved along the columned aisle to the right, glancing at them and then away as he increased his pace until he was lost to the shadows again. Priscilla had no idea Bellona had so many male servants. It should have been no surprise because she had surrounded herself with men in public.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Priscilla said, motioning with her head toward the door leading to the street.

  “All right.” Roxanne dimpled. “I need some fresh air anyhow.”

  Priscilla linked arms with the abigail who regarded her with astonishment at the motion until Priscilla whispered she did not want their words to be overheard.

  “And it would be a brave man to approach us both and propose marriage.”

  Roxanne’s laugh was such an unusual sound that it startled Priscilla. She wondered what the abigail had been like before being brought to Novum Arce. Liv
ing in the Beamish household could not have been easy, even though she had fallen in love and made plans for a future with Asher Snow.

  In the same low voice, Priscilla asked, “Will you come somewhere with me?”

  “I am already.”

  “Not here. Somewhere else?”

  “Where?”

  “I have been exploring Novum Arce, and there are some areas where it is unwise to go alone.”

  Roxanne halted and faced her. “What are you up to?”

  “Trying to escape boredom.” It was the first excuse she could devise that did not sound completely ridiculous. “I spend so much time inside with the accounts, and I have found that taking a different walk each day eases my ennui.”

  “I understand.” She looked back at Bellona’s house. “I know how it can be to spend too much time indoors.”

  “I thought you might, which is why I asked you to come with me.” She smiled, but every falsehood she told tasted more bitter on her lips. As much as she wanted to trust her friend, if Roxanne let a single word slip in Bellona’s hearing, the young woman could refuse to allow Priscilla to see Roxanne again.

  “I am glad. Where do you want to go?”

  “Out by the barracks.”

  Roxanne’s face lost all color. “That is no place for a woman by herself.”

  “That is why I came to ask you to go with me.”

  “Do you think two women will be safer than one? Maybe on the street like this, but strolling past the barracks is sure to be seen as proof we are looking for a man’s company.”

  Priscilla sighed deeply. “You are right. It is a foolish idea, but the only one I had.”

  Before she could add more, Roxanne’s name was shouted by a woman standing near Bellona’s house. The woman waved anxiously, making it clear that she wanted the abigail to return immediately.

  “I have to go.” Roxanne waved back to the woman who went into the house. To Priscilla, she added, “But before I go, promise me that you won’t go near the barracks alone.”