by Speer, Flora
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Desmond asked.
“Of course, I’m sure! Why else did you allow me to stay, if not to recognize her, to put a name to what we’ve found?”
“Very well, then.” Desmond caught the edge of the linen and slowly drew it back.
Elaine had thought she was prepared, but she discovered she was not. Both hands at her mouth smothered her cry of horror. She wanted to close her eyes against the awful sight; instead, she continued to stare.
Two months of dampness, of salty water and sand had done their work. No sign of Aglise’s beauty remained, save for her golden hair, which lay moist and matted against her skull.
“Elaine?” Cadwallon touched her arm. “You must tell us if you recognize her.”
Elaine saw Desmond on the other side of the grave, and Flamig and Ewan closer to her, all looking at her with undisguised pity. Cadwallon held her elbow in a grip that suggested he feared she would faint. She pulled her arm away and stood very straight.
“Yes.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “That is my sister. Cover her face, Desmond, and leave it covered until we lay her in the manor house chapel. Don’t let anyone else see her like this. Only Father Otwin and I should see her in such condition.”
“Elaine, it’s time for you to leave,” Desmond said. “I’ve kept my word that you might remain until we found Aglise. Now, let us finish the work we have to do here.”
“No.” She spoke with all the forcefulness she could summon. “You promised I could remain for as long as I wish. I will stay by my sister’s side until she returns to warden’s Manor.”
Now it was Desmond who stared, though not at the body in the sand. His gaze was fixed upon Elaine’s face with such intensity that she wondered briefly if he suspected her of some nefarious purpose.
Perhaps he realized that she hadn’t told him everything she knew about Aglise. She had ridden after him with every intention of confessing all of it, but now she couldn’t speak a word of what she had meant to say. Not, at least, until she had lost every hope of an alternate explanation for the horror that lay before her.
Elaine, having lived on hope for more than two months, and having just seen all her hopes of finding Aglise alive utterly ruined, still believed it was possible that she wouldn’t have to destroy her beloved sister’s reputation in order to learn who had killed her. To preserve Aglise’s good name, she resolved to keep silent for a little while longer.
Chapter 6
Cadwallon used his shovel carefully, digging around the still shape in the sand without disturbing it, until the four men were able to reach into the hole, slide their hands beneath the linen, and gently, reverently, lift Aglise out of her shallow grave.
“She’s so light,” Ewan said.
“She was not very large,” Flamig remarked.
“We’ll need something more substantial than the linen to wrap her in while we carry her back to the manor,” Desmond said.
“I have a blanket rolled up behind my saddle,” Flamig said. “We can use that. And, if I may suggest, my lords, we cannot carry this poor lady home slung over one of our saddle bows as if she were a casualty of war. We are going to need a cart.”
“Yes, Flamig, that’s a good idea,” Elaine said when she thought Desmond was going to object to the man-at-arms making any arrangements. “Please ride to Warden’s Manor at once and procure a cart. Ewan, will you climb the path with Flamig and bring back his blanket? It will save time. While Flamig is seeing to the cart, we can wrap Aglise and get her out of this cave and up to the top of the cliff before the tide is full. I don’t want the cold sea to touch my sister – not ever again. The second time she is buried it will be in a solid wooden coffin, in consecrated ground, and with Father Otwin to see that all is done properly.
“Then,” Elaine went on, facing Desmond, daring him to contravene any of her orders, “after Aglise is laid to rest, we will discover who has done this to her.”
“Aye, my lady,” said Cadwallon when Desmond did not speak. “We will have justice for your sister.”
“Do you have any idea who killed her?” Flamig asked.
“We will learn soon enough,” Desmond told him. “The blanket, if you please, Flamig. Ewan, make haste to bring it back here. We do need to be out of this cave before the sea reaches it.”
When Ewan and Flamig were gone, Elaine went to her knees beside Aglise, to bow her head and offer a long, silent prayer for the repose of her sister’s troubled soul.
“Desmond, this changes things.” Cadwallon was standing behind Elaine and he spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb her.
“Indeed,” Desmond murmured, his attention on Elaine’s bent head and her single braid of thick, brown hair. He told himself the odd, twisting sensation in the vicinity of his heart was pity and nothing more.
“Now,” Cadwallon whispered, “we have a good excuse to stay on Jersey for a few days beyond what Lord Bertrand has granted us. And more time on Jersey means we’ll have a better chance of finding the killer.”
Startled, Desmond turned his gaze to the big man who stood close beside him. How, he wondered, had he ever imagined Cadwallon was slow-witted? Then he cursed himself for his own muddled wits, for he realized that if the grieving sister were anyone except Elaine, he’d be thinking the same thing as Cadwallon. The finding of Aglise’s body provided the best possible reason for them to remain on Jersey, at least until after she was buried.
“If the guilty man is at the funeral,” Cadwallon continued, “he may give himself away by a word or a gesture. You and I, and Ewan, will need to be wide awake and paying attention.”
“Never fear, I will be awake,” Desmond said, responding to the criticism Cadwallon had tactfully left unspoken. He couldn’t allow sympathy for Elaine to cloud his judgment. He turned a little toward Cadwallon and added in a half whisper so Elaine couldn’t hear him, “Why do you assume the killer is a man? Jealous wives have been known to kill. You and I have already discussed that possibility.”
“Aye.” Cadwallon nodded. “But then, after the deed was done, there was the problem of carrying the body down a steep path and burying it in here. Doing all of that required a man’s strength.”
“Unless Aglise was killed right here, on the beach.” Desmond could see on Cadwallon’s face just how little he thought of the notion of a would-be female murderer carrying a linen shroud while she lured her prospective victim to a cold and dangerous beach and then, once the deed was done, dragged the body through the narrow cave opening.
“I suppose it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem very likely, does it?” Desmond admitted. “Cadwallon, I’ve just thought of something.”
He was interrupted by Ewan, who crawled back through the entrance pushing a tightly rolled blanket ahead of him.
“Flamig is on his way to the manor,” Ewan reported. “He promised to bring a cart as soon as possible. I told him I thought we ought to keep this discovery quiet, but he said questions are sure to be raised about his need for a cart. So, he’s going to report directly to Lord Bertrand and let him see to the arrangements. I suppose that will delay his return a bit.”
“If I know anything about such circumstances,” said Cadwallon, “everyone at Warden’s Manor, and in Gorey village, too, will know within an hour of Flamig’s arrival just what has happened. Which means we’ve no chance of catching any guilty person by surprise.”
“Damnation!” Desmond muttered, annoyed with himself for worrying about Elaine when he should have been paying attention to the crime and thinking of ways to solve it. “I wish I’d had sense enough to order Flamig not to reveal how we found Aglise buried in this cave. It would be preferable to let people assume she was drowned and washed up on the shore.”
“What difference would that make?” Elaine asked. She stood, quickly moving out of reach of Desmond’s offered supporting hand. “The killer knows how Aglise died and what he did with her.”
“I meant, I should have thought of
confusing the issue, in hope of learning more,” Desmond explained. “Accomplices sometimes speak out of turn, correcting apparent mistakes with information they are not supposed to possess. Or, they simply admit what actually happened without thinking beforehand about what they are saying.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Cadwallon said. “The killer will very soon know Aglise has been found.”
“And that knowledge will put all of us in danger,” Desmond added, “including you, Elaine. Whoever killed Aglise will want to protect himself by stopping us before we can learn who he is.”
“Yes,” Elaine agreed almost absently, her gaze fixed upon the wrapped shape lying at her feet.
“What was it you wanted to say to me?” Desmond asked.
“What?” She stared at him blankly, as if she hadn’t heard him clearly and was having trouble seeing him.
“I’m talking about the reason why you rode after Cadwallon and me today,” Desmond prodded. “You said you wanted to speak to us in a place well away from any eavesdroppers.”
“Oh.” Elaine sighed, the sound making Desmond’s heart ache to hear it. “Never mind. Since Aglise is dead, it doesn’t matter.”
“Perhaps it does matter. If you know anything that will help our investigation, you must tell us,” Desmond urged.
“What I know,” she responded, “is that we need to move Aglise now. Soon the water will enter the cave and we will all be trapped here.”
“She’s right,” Ewan declared. “We spent a lot of time exploring the other caves before we chanced upon this one, and while we weren’t paying attention to the sea, the tide has turned. When I was on the beach just now I could see how the waves are moving closer to the cliff with each surge.”
“Then, let’s do what we have to do,” Cadwallon said. “We can talk more after we are safely up the cliff path.”
He and Ewan spread out Flamig’s blanket on the cave floor and Desmond helped them to lift Aglise’s body onto it. Once the heavy woolen folds were wrapped securely around the pathetically small shape, Ewan began to crawl backward through the cave entrance, dragging one end of the blanket with him, while Desmond and Cadwallon guided his burden from inside the cave, taking care that it didn’t snag on the rock.
Meanwhile, Elaine searched the cave in the light of the guttering candles, seeking any tool or any piece of Aglise’s belongings that might provide a hint as to exactly how she had been killed, or who had done it.
She heard Cadwallon shouting from outside the cave, but she wasn’t paying attention to what he said, until Desmond caught her hand to pull her to the entrance.
“Didn’t you hear?” Desmond asked. “Cadwallon says the last wave entered the outer part of the cave opening. If you don’t want a mouthful of salt water on your way out, we have to leave right now.”
“I didn’t see Aglise’s necklace,” Elaine said, still looking backward.
“She wore none.” Desmond spoke impatiently, out of his eagerness to be gone.
“Yes, she did.” Blindly, thoughtlessly, Elaine tugged on his hand, trying to get away from him so she could continue her search. “She always wore it. Father gave it to her. Fine gold links with a tiny gold cross. It belonged to his mother. I have Grandmother’s bracelet and a ring, and Father gave her necklace to Aglise.”
“I saw nothing like that on her body, nor while we were digging,” Desmond said. “Elaine, we have no more time.”
He caught her shoulders, pushed her down to the sand, and thrust her into the tunnel-like cave entrance. A surge of icy water hit her square in the face, shocking her out of her numb and bewildered state.
It wasn’t a very long tunnel, only two or three feet, but to Elaine it felt as if she crawled for miles. Salt water repeatedly slapped her in the face. By the time Cadwallon grabbed her wrists and pulled her out onto the beach she was drenched and gasping for air, but though grief remained, her mind was clear at last.
Once she was free of the rock, Cadwallon released her and turned to tug Desmond from the cave entrance.
With Ewan’s help Elaine staggered to her feet. When she looked around she saw how narrowly they had escaped the cave. The incoming waves were already crashing against the base of the cliffs and as they withdrew they left damp sand in their wake. The blanket covering Aglise was wet.
“Oh, no.” Elaine bent to touch the sodden wool. “Oh, my dear, I wanted to keep you warm and dry.”
“Ewan and I will carry her,” Cadwallon said. At his nod, they caught the ends of the blanket, lifting Aglise as if in a sling.
“You two go up first,” Desmond ordered. He grabbed his sword just before the water reached it and buckled the weapon at his waist. Then he slung his damp saddlebag over his shoulder. “I’ll see that Elaine gets up safely.”
By the time they reached the top of the cliff they were all shivering, for in spite of the bright sunshine the wind was brisk and every member of their group was at least partially wet.
Cadwallon and Ewan carried Aglise’s body well away from the cliff edge, setting it down on a grassy patch not far from where they had tethered their horses. Desmond led Elaine toward the others.
“Lady Benedicta will be most upset with us,” Elaine said, looking at her companions. “Each of us will surely catch a chill. She will have to dose us with her vile herbal nostrums.”
“You are remarkably calm,” Desmond noted.
“Am I?” She ventured a pale smile. “Perhaps it’s because I am not greatly surprised by what we found down there. But it is a great sorrow to me. I loved Aglise so dearly, even after—”
She stopped, swallowed hard, and lifted her chin in a gesture of courage that Desmond found so touching he could not bring himself to ask the question raised by her last words.
“Over the past few months, since Aglise disappeared,” Elaine continued, “I slowly began to realize that if she was still on Jersey as I felt certain she was, then she must be dead. I didn’t want to believe it. I fought so hard against belief and I refused to say the words, she’s dead, aloud. But all the time, deep in my heart, I understood it was probably so, and was more likely with each day that passed without word from her. It’s almost a relief to be certain.
“Gentlemen,” she said, looking from Desmond to Cadwallon, to Ewan, “I am deeply grateful for what you’ve done for my poor sister, for the respectful way you have treated her remains, and for your kindness to me this afternoon.”
“We will find whoever killed her,” Desmond promised.
“I know you will.” She met his gaze squarely, with no sign of tears or deceit. “And when you do, I will have even more reason for gratitude.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t find her alive.” Desmond laid one hand on her shoulder.
Suddenly, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Every hope, however faint, that she had held for Aglise’s safe return, every futile prayer she had whispered over the long, worrisome weeks, every promise she had made to heaven to be more patient with Aglise, if only she were alive and involved in something merely foolish and exasperating, instead of frightening and dangerous – all of it had been for naught.
Elaine stood on the wind-whipped cliff, fighting for her composure and losing the battle. Desmond put his arms around her, enfolding her slowly, as if he was fighting his own battle against any suggestion of intimacy with her. Gradually he drew her close, and Elaine laid her head on his shoulder and wept like a lost child. She was only dimly aware of his lips on her forehead, or of his cheek pressed against hers. Yet in his embrace she found a measure of comfort.
The cart from Warden’s Manor arrived almost an hour later, with Flamig driving it and a grim-faced Lord Bertrand riding beside it.
Elaine met her foster father calmly. She had finished her weeping and the wind had dried her face, so she was prepared to deal with Lord Bertrand’s questions, and with the arrangements for Aglise’s funeral. Mercifully, Desmond had not pressed her further to reveal what she knew about her sister.
; “Elaine,” said Lord Bertrand as soon as he had dismounted, “Flamig tells me you were with these men when they found Aglise. I am so sorry you had to see her thus. I wish you had stayed at the castle. Lady Benedicta is greatly annoyed with you for insisting upon riding after our guests.”
“At the moment, I am not concerned with Lady Benedicta’s feelings,” Elaine snapped at him. “My sister is dead, sir, and your wife’s irritation means little to me in the face of so great a loss.”
“Oh, Elaine, I assure you, I do grieve over Aglise.”
“Of course you do.” Elaine dismissed Lord Bertrand’s sympathy, though she saw in his dark eyes that he was honestly saddened by Aglise’s death. And well he ought to be sad. But she had no time for anyone else’s grief. If her own sorrow was not to overcome and immobilize her, she was going to have to stay busy.
“I want Aglise buried in the village cemetery,” she said.
“You don’t want her taken to Normandy, so your mother can be present at the funeral?” Lord Bertrand asked, looking surprised by her demand. “Nor to the family plot at Dereham?”
“My father’s cousin holds Dereham now,” Elaine said, “as you well know, my lord. Dereham hasn’t been our home for several years. As far as our mother is concerned, I’m sure she would prefer that I see to the arrangements so she won’t have to think about Aglise’s death. Aglise loved this island, loved the sunshine and the flowers and the warmth. I want her to lie here, where the villagers will remember her with affection.”
“We will all remember her with affection,” Lord Bertrand said. “Very well, then. I’ll speak to Father Otwin.”
“I will speak to Father Otwin,” Elaine corrected him. “I am Aglise’s closest blood kin. I will make the arrangements.”
“As you wish.” Looking old and weary, Lord Bertrand bowed his head.
Desmond was surprised by how cold Elaine was toward him. Though Lord Bertrand did not impress him as a particularly warmhearted person, he did seem genuinely moved by Aglise’s death. And, in a way, he was responsible for her loss, since he had assumed the position of parent to the girl. Possibly, Elaine blamed him for not searching more diligently for Aglise when she was first reported missing.