Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  Not that a search of every cave on the beaches along the northern shore would have made any difference to the dead girl. The fact that she was wrapped in a makeshift shroud proved she was dead when she was placed in the cave. Whether she was murdered on the beach or elsewhere, Desmond seriously doubted either Lord Bertrand or Elaine could have done anything to save her.

  With Lord Bertrand watching in silence and Elaine standing a short but significant distance from him, the other men lifted Aglise and laid her in the cart. Then they mounted and rode back to Warden’s Manor, with Flamig still driving the cart. They made a sad, solemn and, for Elaine, an angry funeral cortege.

  “Just as you predicted,” Desmond muttered to Cadwallon as they rode side by side through the gatehouse archway, “the word has spread. It looks as if every last inhabitant of the manor is lined up to watch us bring the poor girl into the courtyard What in the name of heaven do they expect to see?”

  “They are going to be looking at Elaine and at Lord Bertrand,” Cadwallon replied. “They want to observe how Aglise’s closest kin are taking her death. And we, my friend, ought to be observing the crowd in return, in case there’s a guilty face among them.”

  If there was a guilty face, Desmond couldn’t find it. Lord Bertrand’s men-at-arms, squires, and servants all stood in respectful silence while the cart bearing Aglise’s body moved slowly under the heavy arch at the entrance to the courtyard. Flamig halted the cart at the foot of the steps leading to the manor house. Immediately, two men-at-arms came down the steps with a litter.

  “Ah,” Cadwallon said quietly to Desmond, “there is Lady Benedicta, waiting at the top of the stairs, exactly where she ought to be. She looks properly distressed, too.”

  Desmond had time to cast only a hasty glance at Lady Benedicta before his gaze was caught by the youthful face peering around the doorframe just behind her. He recognized Jean, the kitchen boy, whose cheeks were wet with streaming tears. Desmond recalled Elaine saying how Jean adored Aglise, who had been kind to him. All the same, he wondered at the lad daring to creep so close to Lady Benedicta when his rightful place was far in the background. But then, love and grief brought with them their own high rank.

  While the riders dismounted and handed their horses over to the waiting squires, several men-at-arms moved Aglise’s body to the litter and carried her up the steps. Lady Benedicta stepped back, her head bowed, hands clasped at her bosom in a sorrowful attitude while they passed before her.

  “Father Otwin is waiting in the chapel. I have told the men to take Aglise there,” Lady Benedicta said to Elaine as soon as she reached the entry. She bent a disapproving look upon her foster daughter. “You are wet. Go and change your gown. I will see to Aglise.”

  “No!” Elaine stopped short. “I will prepare Aglise for burial. I, alone, will do what must be done for her. If I need help, I will call upon Father Otwin.”

  Lady Benedicta met the younger woman’s hard gaze for a long, measuring moment, before she lowered her head in an acquiescence similar to Lord Bertrand’s earlier acceptance of Elaine’s demands on behalf of her sister.

  “Whatever you wish, Elaine. I know you are deeply hurt by this tragedy.”

  “You have no inkling of what I feel,” Elaine snapped. “No one has. Except, perhaps, Jean.” She held out her arms to the weeping boy, who rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Jean,” Elaine said, smoothing his hair and placing a kiss on his forehead, “will you help Aglise one last time?”

  “Oh, yes, I will,” Jean said, his voice muffled against her side.

  “Please go to the kitchen and ask the cook to send two buckets of very warm water, a large basin, and several clean cloths to the chapel. Aglise is sandy. I want to wash her.”

  Jean nodded, sniffling.

  “And, Jean,” Elaine said with one eye on Desmond, “you need not explain to anyone what you are doing. Merely say that I have given you an order. You are under no obligation to answer questions.”

  “Yes, my lady. I understand.” After a quick hug from Elaine, Jean headed for the kitchen.

  Elaine followed the men-at-arms carrying Aglise to the chapel, which was located at the far side of the entry hall. There, at the chapel door, a man in a priestly cassock awaited them.

  “We’ve done all we can for the moment,” Cadwallon said, looking after Elaine. He glanced around, seeking his squire. “Ewan, Sir Desmond and I will want hot water and soap, and dry clothes. And so will you, I think.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Ewan shivered in his damp tunic and hose. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Speaking for myself,” Cadwallon said to Desmond, “I’ve a mind for a long, friendly conversation with Flamig this evening, with a large pitcher of ale between us.”

  “There’s a good idea,” Desmond agreed. “I’m sure the man knows more than he’s telling. I’d like to know the real reason why he left the manor today to ride along the cliffs.”

  “So would I.” Cadwallon started for the staircase that led to the upper levels of the keep. “Are you coming?”

  “Go ahead,” Desmond told him. “I want to speak with Jean.”

  “Yes, another person who knows more than he tells,” said Cadwallon. “Did you notice how subtly Elaine warned him not to answer any questions?”

  “That,” said Desmond with a grim smile, “is why I plan to question him.”

  He found Jean in the kitchen, being soundly scolded by a large, red-faced woman in a voluminous apron, whom Desmond assumed was the manor house cook.

  “What’s wrong here?” Desmond asked her.

  The woman gave him a look that should have felled him. Desmond knew perfectly well that knights almost never ventured into the kitchen, which was not a man’s provenance. Aware of intruding where he didn’t belong, he decided to rely on charm.

  “I do apologize for interrupting your work,” he said, smiling at the cook. “I only wanted to be certain you received the message that Lady Elaine has ordered hot water and cloths sent to the chapel.”

  “Aye.” She frowned at him, though she didn’t look quite so angry now. “I’ve seen to it. The water’s heating.”

  “I was certain we could depend on you,” Desmond said, still smiling. “May we also borrow Jean’s services for a short time? Lady Elaine especially asked for him.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what use this ignorant lout is to her,” the cook said. To emphasize her point, she boxed Jean’s ears so hard that Desmond flinched to see her hand connect with the lad’s head. “All he does is daydream and try to avoid work. But Lady Elaine is a kind soul, always polite to the servants, which is more than I can say for some. If she needs Jean’s services, she’s welcome to him for as long as she likes.”

  “Thank you.” Desmond took a deep, appreciative breath and broadened his smile. “Whatever you are preparing, it smells wonderful. You are obviously skilled with herbs.”

  “I’m fortunate that Lady Benedicta keeps an extensive herb garden. It’s a hot vegetable stew,” the cook explained. “I thought Lady Elaine, and you and your friend, too, would all be chilled after spending time on the beach.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you. I’m sure Lady Elaine will be grateful for your efforts. I know I will.”

  “Take this dim-witted boy,” the cook said, pushing Jean toward him, “and let me get back to work.”

  “I apologize again for disturbing you,” Desmond said.

  “You can tell Lady Elaine the water will be along in a trice,” the cook said.

  Desmond put a hand on Jean’s skinny shoulder to propel him through the narrow screens passage and back to the great hall. There he paused to look around. Lord Bertrand and Lady Benedicta were nowhere to be seen. Only a few men-at-arms sprawled on benches in one corner, talking together. Desmond judged the hall was about as private a place as he was likely to find within the manor.

  “Jean,” he said, bending close to the boy’s ear so he could speak softly, “I
know you are saddened by Lady Aglise’s death.”

  “She was good to me,” Jean said. “She never hit me like the others do. She and Lady Elaine tried to protect me. Now, Lady Aglise is dead and Lady Elaine will go away, and I’ll be all alone.” He looked as if he was going to begin crying again.

  “I shouldn’t think it’s likely that Lady Elaine will go away,” Desmond remarked, trying to sound both friendly and casual, though he wasn’t used to talking to young boys. “She’s still Lord Bertrand’s foster daughter, so she will probably stay here until her mother sends for her.”

  “Lady Benedicta will send her away,” Jean said with a sob. “She doesn’t like Lady Elaine, because Lady Elaine talks back to her.”

  “I see.” Desmond wasn’t sure he did see, but at the moment he had more important issues to pursue than the question of whether or not Lady Benedicta liked Elaine. “Jean, I need your help. I haven’t been here very long, so I’m not familiar with the manor. I think you do know where everything is.”

  “Are you afraid you’ll get lost?” Jean asked.

  “Yes, I am, because this place is much larger than most manors.” Desmond sat down on a bench, so his face was level with Jean’s. The boy was scrawny, as if he didn’t get enough to eat. He looked to be about ten or eleven, though he was probably small for his age. Desmond spoke slowly and carefully, so Jean would have no difficulty understanding him. “I admit, I’m also curious. I keep wondering how Lady Aglise could have left the manor.”

  “How?” Jean stared at him with a blank expression that gave credence to the claim of the other servants that he was dull-witted. “What d’you mean, Sir Desmond?”

  “Well, I’ve been wondering if there is a secret way out of the manor, a way Lady Aglise could have taken without anyone seeing her go. Because no one remembers her leaving through the main gate and not returning.” Desmond and Cadwallon had ascertained as much during their questioning of the men-at-arms, and Ewan’s conversations with the squires and servants had confirmed it. “Every time Lady Aglise left the manor, she used the main gate and she was with Lady Elaine, or with a servant, and each time she returned, she came in by the main gate. Then, suddenly, she just wasn’t here any longer. So, the last time she left, she must have gone out by a different way. Warden’s Manor is built on a rather high hill. It would make good sense for the builder to have included one or two lesser gates.” He waited patiently while Jean considered his remarks.

  “There are three ways out, besides the main gate,” Jean said, and counted on his fingers. “The postern gate first. Lord Bertrand and Lady Benedicta hold the only keys, so no one can leave there without borrowing one of those keys. Lady Aglise couldn’t have gone out by that gate without them knowing it, and then she wouldn’t have been missing, would she?”

  “True,” Desmond said. Judging he had Jean’s complete interest, he ventured a more probing question. “Warden’s Manor is built on a rather high hill. What about the other ways out? Could Aglise have used one of them?”

  “There’s a gate at a lower level that we sometimes use to bring large loads of supplies into the storerooms directly from the harbor,” Jean said. “Barrels of salted fish, tuns of wine, things like that. Cook holds the key to that gate, and Lady Benedicta has one, too, because she’s the chatelaine here.”

  “I suppose the cook wouldn’t give her key to Aglise,” Desmond remarked.

  “She might. But if she did, she’d have told Lady Benedicta about it right away after Lady Aglise was found to be missing. Cook likes Lady Aglise. She’s been dreadfully worried about her.”

  “I’m sure you are right. You mentioned three exits.” He almost held his breath in suspense, but Jean was speaking openly, man to man, apparently pleased to be holding a conversation with a grownup knight.

  “The last one is a secret way,” the boy confided. “I only know about it ‘cause I saw Lord Bertrand use it once, when he didn’t know I was near. The door is just outside the solar, under the stairs there. It’s set into the stone so neatly you can’t see it unless you know where it is.”

  “The builder must have been very clever. Do you know where the outer end of that exit is?” Desmond asked. He was certain Jean did know. When he was Jean’s age, he’d have made it his business to find out all he could about any secret passageway.

  “It’s at the very bottom of the manor house,” Jean said. “Right near the cliffs, on the side of the manor that faces away from Gorey village.”

  “You mean the north side of the manor. Do you suppose Lady Aglise knew about that exit?” Desmond asked.

  “Yes, she did,” Jean replied. “When I told her about it, she said she already knew, because Lord Bertrand had showed it to her.”

  “He did?” Desmond kept his voice low and his expression pleasant, hoping if he didn’t reveal his own excitement at this information, Jean would continue his astonishing revelations. He was beginning to think the boy, though uninterested in working in the kitchen and therefore probably inattentive to orders, was actually no more dim-witted than Cadwallon. Desmond wished he’d had the good sense to question Jean days ago. “Why would Lord Bertrand show Aglise a secret passage into and out of the castle?”

  “Well,” said Jean, “I suppose it was so she could go outside and meet him there and no one would know.”

  Chapter 7

  Desmond opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but his interrogation ended abruptly when two maidservants appeared, coming from the kitchen. Each maid was carrying a large bucket of steaming water. One of the women was struggling to hold a pottery basin under one arm, while the other tried to balance both her bucket and a pile of folded linen cloths.

  “Sir Desmond,” Jean said, looking at the maids, “you told the cook that Lady Elaine wanted me. Shall I help to carry these supplies to her?”

  “I told the cook what I did in hope of preventing her from hitting you again,” Desmond responded. “However, it does seem to me as if these women could use your assistance. Then, if the cook asks what you’ve been doing, you won’t have to lie.”

  The grin Jean flashed in his direction told Desmond all he needed to know about the boy’s intelligence. He was not the lackwitted child everyone thought he was. Perhaps Jean saw some advantage to himself in appearing to be simple, or possibly, the problem was that he was different from the other servants. The cook had complained about his daydreaming.

  Whatever the truth about Jean, he had just provided a pretext for speaking with Lady Benedicta.

  Desmond waited until Jean had taken the basin and the cloths from the servants and the three of them were out of the hall and presumably in the chapel. He’d like to follow them, though he realized he didn’t belong in a place where a young woman he had never met was being prepared for burial. He would pay his respects to Aglise – and speak to Father Otwin – later.

  Meanwhile, it was time to make himself presentable for an interview with the lady of the manor.

  While Desmond washed and changed his damp clothing for dry hose and a clean tunic, he reported the substance of his conversation with Jean to Cadwallon and Ewan.

  “Now that we know about the secret passageway out of here,” Desmond said to them, “you may be able to shape your inquiries so you’ll learn more. Lord Bertrand cannot be the only person besides Jean and Aglise with knowledge about that door.”

  “Do you think Aglise really was meeting secretly with Lord Bertrand somewhere outside the castle?” Cadwallon asked.

  “I cannot imagine any reason Jean would have to lie about it,” Desmond answered. “He certainly wasn’t trying to fix blame on Aglise. She was kind to him, and he loved her for it.”

  “You do realize, of course, that this information suggests a highly irregular passion. Desmond, we must learn the truth about this accusation. We need confirmation, one way or the other. Speaking for myself, I hope Jean is mistaken. If he is right, then all the reasons we discussed earlier for a man to want his mistress dead apply to Lord Bertran
d even more than they would to a man-at-arms.” Cadwallon looked thoroughly disgusted by the possibility. “If Bertrand is guilty of seducing his foster daughter, then he may have killed her, and if he learns that Jean told you about Aglise using a supposedly secret passageway to meet him, then the boy’s life will be in danger.”

  “I know.” Desmond finished buckling on his sword belt. “It’s why I intend to speak with Lady Benedicta about Jean right now, before I see Father Otwin. We must do all we can to keep Jean safe.”

  “Never think Lady Benedicta will agree to protect a mere kitchen boy!” Ewan exclaimed. “Not that high-nosed lady.”

  “I deliberately cajoled Jean into telling me what he knows,” Desmond said. “Therefore, I am responsible for whatever happens to him as a result of his admissions. I do not want the blood of a child on my conscience.”

  “What do you propose to do?” Cadwallon asked.

  “My brother and sister-in-law, who live in Kent, could use a page,” Desmond said.

  “You are planning to ask a noble lady to turn a loutish kitchen boy into a page?” Ewan scoffed.

  “This particular lady has a fondness for dim-witted children,” Desmond replied. “After all, she married my brother.”

  Cadwallon laughed. “As it happens, I know your brother. Magnus is one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met.”

  “Which is why he will see the sound reasoning in my request that he take Jean into his home and protect him. All I have to do is convince Lady Benedicta to hand Jean over to me.”

  “Will he want to leave Warden’s Manor so long as Elaine remains here?” Ewan asked.

  “If Lady Benedicta bids him go, Jean won’t have a choice,” Cadwallon said.

  “My lady, I have come to offer my condolences,” Desmond said.