Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  “Certainly, we will,” said Lady Benedicta, though her mouth was hard and the glance she bestowed on Cadwallon was cool.

  “We do appreciate your generous hospitality,” Cadwallon said, continuing his pretense of bland cheerfulness. “We’ll not intrude upon it longer than we must. My lord, if you will grant us two more days in which to complete the thorough search Royce commanded us to make, then we will depart and you’ll not see us again, unless we have the pleasure of meeting you and your lady at court, at some future time.”

  “Two days, then,” Lord Bertrand agreed. “I’ll not countermand my old friend, Royce’s, orders. But, what of the ship that brought you here? Isn’t it supposed to reach Gorey Harbor on a particular day?”

  “I believe the Daisy is presently berthed in Normandy, at Lessay,” Desmond spoke up, unwilling to leave all the arrangements to Cadwallon, though the two of them had agreed in advance on how they would handle Lord Bertrand. Desmond was beginning to see how useful Cadwallon could be when he employed his lazy, cheerful manner. No one would suspect such a slow-witted fellow of devious motives, not even when he invoked the powerful name of Lord Royce. Still, in spite of his comrade’s deceptive cleverness, Desmond was in charge of the mission and he didn’t want Cadwallon to forget it. “We can send a message to Captain Piers by way of one of the fishing boats, asking him to sail here and lay just off Gorey Harbor until we signal our readiness to leave.”

  “Yes, that makes sense.” Lord Bertrand nodded. “You shall have your two days, though what you will do with them, I cannot imagine.”

  “My lord,” Ewan said to Cadwallon as soon as the men and their squires were back in their guest chamber, “I believe I’ve learned something important this evening.”

  “You mean, you deliberately overheard it,” Richard accused. “You were listening outside the armory door. I saw you.”

  “We are supposed to listen to anything that might provide helpful information,” Ewan defended himself with some heat.

  “What did you hear?” Desmond asked. He held up one hand to silence what would certainly be further criticism from Richard.

  “There’s a tale being whispered around the castle that Lady Aglise was deeply involved with a man,” Ewan revealed. “Very deeply involved, if you understand me, my lord. I’d rather not repeat the scandalous remarks the men-at-arms made about her.”

  “Aha!” Cadwallon exclaimed. “So, Lady Benedicta’s conjectures have some base in fact.”

  “Ewan said it was a whispered tale, which means it is merely a rumor,” Richard objected. “Rumors can’t always be trusted. Men-at-arms are worse gossips than washerwomen.”

  “Who is the man?” Desmond asked of Ewan. “Do you know?”

  “I didn’t hear a name,” the squire answered. “I couldn’t stay outside the armory door long enough to learn anything more, for fear I’d be seen and questioned. This is not a particularly friendly manor; I’d rather the other squires didn’t take me in dislike for snooping where I shouldn’t be. Not to mention, I didn’t want to offend the men-at-arms I was listening to, or Lord Bertrand, either.”

  “You were wise to leave before you were caught,” Cadwallon said. “What is it, Desmond? You don’t look happy about this news.”

  “I find it perplexing.” Desmond spoke slowly, reasoning out loud in the certain conviction that Cadwallon or the others would correct him if they thought he was in error. Being challenged to explain his conclusions and how he had reached them almost always resulted in clearer thought. “From what I’ve heard of Lady Aglise’s character, and judging by what I know of her mother’s character, I believe Lady Irmina may have imparted her desire for high position to her daughter, and may have taught Aglise to use her beauty to attain her ambitions. Therefore, I doubt if Aglise was a lady to be satisfied with a mere squire or a man-at-arms – unless the son of a great noble is fostering under Lord Bertrand’s tutelage?” He looked from Richard to Ewan.

  “Not here,” Richard said. “Warden’s Manor is strategically important, but it’s not the kind of place to which great nobles send their sons. It’s too rough and ready, too much a military stronghold. Lady Benedicta has no interest in teaching obstreperous boys courtly manners or how to treat ladies with gallantry. Oh, possibly a highborn lad who’s in disgrace might be sent here for the sake of the strict training and the discipline Lord Bertrand can provide, but I don’t know of such a squire. Ewan, do you?”

  “No,” Ewan admitted with a sigh. Then, brightening, “What about Lord Bertrand’s sons as candidates for Lady Aglise’s romantic interest? He has two, I believe.”

  “So he has,” Desmond agreed. “Both are being fostered in Normandy.”

  “Are they near to Aglise in age?” Cadwallon asked. “For all his austere way of life, Lord Bertrand is no minor noble, and he does have good family connections. Then, there is his long friendship with Royce, which gives him ready access to King Henry. Perhaps we are wrong and Aglise isn’t dead. If she is aiming at marriage with one of Bertrand’s sons, she may have run off to be with him.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Desmond said, frowning because he couldn’t accept what Cadwallon was suggesting. First, he firmly believed Aglise was dead. Second, he didn’t see how she could have found the opportunity, either in Normandy or Jersey, to bedazzle Lord Bertrand’s sons.

  The third, and strongest, reason for his doubt was the rigid propriety displayed by Lady Benedicta. Desmond was sure she was a strict chaperone, who would not allow a beautiful, flirtatious girl like Aglise the chance to become involved with her sons, or with any visiting noble. Lady Benedicta might disregard a quiet girl like Elaine, who was quick-witted and surprisingly lovely in her own discreet way, but she’d be sure to maintain a careful watch over someone like Aglise.

  What in the name of heaven was he thinking? Desmond sternly reminded himself to keep his thoughts away from the subject of Elaine, and on the question of what had happened to Aglise.

  “If I ride with them today,” Elaine said to Lady Benedicta, “I can answer their questions and lay their curiosity to rest. Then, perhaps, they will leave Jersey even sooner than they promised.”

  It was early morning and the two women were in the solar, breaking their fast with bread, cheese and ale. Long rays of sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, turning the forbidding grey stone walls to gold.

  “I have been told that Sir Desmond sent his squire to Normandy at dawn, aboard a fishing vessel. Richard carries a message summoning the captain of the ship, Daisy,” Elaine said, not mentioning that the person who had told her so was Ewan. “If we can satisfy both Lord Cadwallon and Sir Desmond that Aglise has indeed gone elsewhere, they may choose to depart as soon as the Daisy reaches Gorey Harbor.”

  “What change is this? Only yesterday, you were insisting your foolish sister is hiding somewhere on Jersey,” Lady Benedicta said.

  Her probing gaze on Elaine’s face hinted at a serious inquisition to come, but Elaine was used to the lady’s methods. She assumed a blank expression, trying her best to look innocent, without a trace of worry on her face or in her eyes. Elaine was glad Lady Benedicta was not standing close enough to hear the rapid beating of her heart, which was the result of telling lies. She tried to keep her voice low and calm.

  “It’s true that after Lord Bertrand’s men-at-arms searched the island, I could not believe they had found no trace of Aglise,” Elaine said. “I thought they might have missed some little detail that would indicate where Aglise is. But Royce’s agents, who are surely better skilled in tracking missing people than Lord Bertand’s men, have searched for two entire days, and neither did they uncover any sign of her. I think I must finally accept the explanation you have offered these two months and more. Aglise has left Jersey, and if she is to be found, we need to extend the search for her to Normandy or even to England. So, I think the sooner Desmond and Cadwallon leave here and begin to look elsewhere, the sooner they will locate her – and the sooner my worry will cea
se. I know you won’t approve of what I am about to say, my lady, but I will be relieved and happy if Aglise is found hiding in a castle or a manor house with a man whom she loves, who loves her in return.”

  “I never thought to hear you sound as foolish as your sister,” Lady Benedicta said. “Yet, I do understand that where she is concerned, your feelings are more tender and less sensible than they ought to be. I, too, hope Aglise will be found safe and well, though I will never speak to her again, and I will never forgive her for the damage she has caused to my lord Bertrand’s good name – and to mine.”

  “Then, may I accompany Desmond and Cadwallon?” Elaine tried to sound calm and unperturbed, though she was raging with eagerness to be on horseback and away from the manor. Out in the open, away from listeners, she could speak honestly to Desmond.

  “They have most likely left already,” Lady Benedicta said with a glance out the nearest window. “I fear you are too late.”

  “I can catch up to them,” Elaine said. “Please, my lady, have I your permission?”

  The challenging look Lady Benedicta bestowed upon her told Elaine that she had allowed her eagerness to creep into her voice, and for a moment she feared her plea would be denied.

  “Very well,” Lady Benedicta said grudgingly. “But this is the last time I will agree to such a request. I do not approve of you riding with two men and no chaperone.”

  “There isn’t a woman in the castle who could keep up with us,” Elaine said.

  “Really?” Lady Benedicta’s frown should have frozen Elaine in her place. “Your remark suggests you are riding for sport and not for any serious purpose. If I did not know you so well, I’d suspect you of entertaining some reason other than the desire to find Aglise.”

  “Certainly not, my lady. Aglise is all I think of. May I go now?” Elaine made a hasty curtsey and escaped from the solar before Lady Benedicta could call her back.

  She didn’t think she had given anything away, and she couldn’t imagine how Lady Benedicta could have guessed her true purpose.

  After pausing in her own room just long enough to snatch up her cloak, Elaine hurried down the steps to the hall and out the main entrance to the courtyard. Ewan was waiting for her in the stable, with her horse and his saddled and ready.

  “Lord Cadwallon and Sir Desmond left about half an hour ago,” Ewan informed her. He helped her to mount and then they rode through the gate and up to the ridge just beyond the fork in the road. From there Elaine saw the two men in the distance riding slowly along the track that edged the cliffs.

  Taking a deep breath to steady her fluttering stomach, knowing she had little time left in which to do what must be done, she kicked her horse’s sides and made for the cliff path.

  Chapter 5

  “Let us assume the gossip Ewan repeated to us about Aglise is true,” Cadwallon said as he and Desmond rode along. They went slowly, both of them regarding with sharpened gazes the stony path and the land just beyond it that led to the edge of the cliff.

  “Go on,” Desmond said. He pulled his horse to a stop and sat frowning at the sparkling blue-green sea and the clear sky. To his own surprise he found himself longing for real English weather. A day of fog and gentle drizzle would be a pleasant change from the constant sunshine of an island that almost certainly harbored at least one murderous secret beneath its beauty.

  “Suppose,” Cadwallon continued, unaware of his companion’s dark thoughts, “that Elaine is also correct when she insists Aglise hasn’t left Jersey.”

  “I thought we had already agreed, Aglise must be dead,” Desmond said with a touch of impatience. “As for the tale Ewan repeated, we’ve no reason to doubt it. Men-at-arms and servants almost always know what is really going on in a large manor. So, before Aglise disappeared, she took a lover. I can think of many reasons why a man would want his mistress dead, and I’m sure you can, too.”

  “Aye.” Cadwallon nodded sagely, as if he dealt with such unsavory problems every day of the week. “First among those reasons being a man’s desire to prevent a lady who has been indiscreet with him from talking too much in the wrong places. Some of Lord Bertrand’s men-at-arms are married, and many wives do not take kindly to a husband who strays beyond the marriage bed. I know I’d never dare. Not that I’d ever want to, but if I did, Janet would cut off my – well, you know what I mean.

  “Now, imagine a man-at-arms who doesn’t want his wife to know what he’s been up to, and a young and foolish mistress who has Lord Bertrand’s ear, because she is his foster daughter. Whether Aglise was forced, or went to the man’s bed willingly, she could have threatened afterward to tell Lord Bertrand her story.”

  “The confession would ruin her,” Desmond noted. He wished he had met Aglise face to face. If he had, he’d be better able to judge what she might have done. Instead, he was left with conjectures about how Lady Irmina would have acted in the same situation. And with the realization that Elaine, whether she had gone to any man’s bed or not, would never have been so secretive about it that other people were forced to guess about her actions. Elaine would be open and honest in her dealings with a lover. Nor would she ever lie down with a married man.

  He was grateful for Cadwallon’s next remark, because it put an end to his brief, imaginary picture of Elaine flushed and rosy from lovemaking. Reminding himself yet again that Elaine was not for him, nor did he want a woman who would interfere with the secret work he loved more than any female, he gave his complete attention to his fellow agent.

  “Revelation of the affair would ruin Aglise’s lover, too,” Cadwallon said. “Lord Bertrand stands in the position of father to Aglise and Elaine. He’d not hesitate to exact severe punishment from one of his own men for misusing either girl. It would be a matter of honor to Bertrand. Which is all the more reason why a guilty man might decide he’d best silence Aglise before she had a chance to speak the words that could well mean his own death.”

  “There is another possibility,” Desmond objected, unwilling to agree completely with Cadwallon’s version of events. “It’s a possibility I think more likely, judging by what we know of Aglise. Suppose she chose not a simple man-at-arms, but a visiting nobleman, and lay with him in hope of convincing him to marry her. Then, when she raised the subject of marriage, suppose he refused, having got what he wanted of her. If she threatened to tell what they had done, she could have been killed deliberately, to keep her quiet. Or, her death could have been an accident. Perhaps the man struck her, hoping thus to convince her to keep silent. She could have fallen, hit her head, and died that way.”

  “And just where would this nasty scene have occurred?” Cadwallon demanded. “If it happened inside the manor house, the killer would be faced with the problem of removing Aglise’s body. Though, I suppose she could have been taken out with the baggage, stuffed into a large hamper, perhaps, and later tossed overboard far out at sea.”

  “To do that, a man would require help,” Desmond said, readily accepting the difficulties inherent in his own theory. Cadwallon was proving to be surprisingly intelligent and Desmond was beginning to respect him. “Let us consider the logistical problems. You know as well as I that men who are involved in such an exploit can be depended upon to talk about it later. If the killer’s own people didn’t speak, surely at least some of the sailors on the ship would notice a body, or even what appears to be just a hamper, being dumped into the sea, and they’d raise questions about it. Therefore, we must discard the notion of a group effort.

  “Whether Aglise’s death was accidental or deliberate, we may assume it was the act of one person,” Desmond continued. “Only after the girl was dead did the killer enlist someone else to help dispose of the body – one very loyal accomplice who could be relied upon never to tell what he knew.”

  “You make sense,” Cadwallon said after pondering Desmond’s reasoning for a moment. “In any crime, the fewer people who know what has happened, the less chance of the truth coming out. Well, since Aglise is surel
y dead, and considering the difficulty of removing her body from the island without being caught, it follows that she must be buried somewhere here on Jersey. Which means all we have to do to find her is dig up every inch of this lovely island.”

  “I think not.” Desmond looked at Cadwallon and smiled, feeling remarkably charitable toward the comrade whom Royce had foisted upon him against his firm declaration that he preferred to work alone. “Once again, you have surprised me by helping me to see what should have been immediately obvious to me.”

  “Have I? I’m so glad.” Cadwallon’s brown eyes danced and his false-foolish grin hovered on his lips for just a moment before he sobered and asked, “What should have been obvious?”

  “If you were going to hide a body on Jersey, where would you put it?” Desmond responded. He told himself he shouldn’t care what Aglise’s death would mean to Elaine. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He made himself watch as Cadwallon surveyed the landscape, expecting the big man to comprehend the problem quickly. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Yes,” Cadwallon said, “I see your point. This is a rocky island, except in its middle section, where the land has been cleared and plowed for farming. Because of the original deep ploughing, the soil in the fields can easily be dug, but I’d not bury a body where a plough could turn it up. A murderer who buries his victim’s body wants it to stay hidden, which eliminates the farmland. Now, as for the forests -” he paused, shaking his head. “The forest land is unsuitable, too.”