Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  “I agree. Why isn’t she in chains?” Elaine asked. “In my opinon she should have been consigned to the dungeon days ago – no, weeks ago.”

  “I understand your feelings. Cadwallon and I have been making arrangements with Lord Bertrand for his lady’s immediate future.”

  “He’s as guilty as she is! He seduced Aglise.”

  “Hush, my dear girl. Will you be quiet for a moment?”

  Desmond took the most obvious way to silence her. He set his mouth over hers and kissed her with a searing heat that drove all thoughts of treason and hidden parchments out of her mind. Elaine couldn’t fight him. She had been so glad to see him at the linen room doorway just when she needed reinforcements against Lady Benedicta that she felt a little weak from relief even before he embraced her. By the time he let her go she wasn’t sure she could stand without his aid. To her amazement and confusion, Desmond broke the sweet contact between them and returned to the issue at hand.

  “Lord Bertrand has given his word that he will travel to Caen with us. He will order Lady Benedicta to accompany him,” Desmond said.

  “You cannot trust him, and Lady Benedicta obeys no one.”

  “She has no choice. We know for certain that she has been carrying on a secret correspondence, using those pigeons of hers.”

  “Desmond, that reminds me. I found – who in the world is shouting?” Elaine exclaimed.

  “It sounds as though it’s coming from the solar. Stay here.” Desmond rushed out the door.

  Elaine followed him.

  “I said, stay in the linen room,” he called back to her.

  “You have no right to command me,” she told him.

  “Have I not?” He halted so suddenly that she bumped into him.

  “The noise we heard is most likely something to do with Lady Benedicta,” she said. “Will you stand here arguing with me, or shall we go and see what has happened?”

  “Did your father ever beat you for disobedience?”

  “Never.” She couldn’t help smiling. “I was a very good daughter.”

  The look he gave her was an argument in itself, but he did not try to keep her from the solar.

  They found Ewan holding a fuming Lady Benedicta with one arm twisted behind her back. Lord Bertrand was swearing profusely, though whether at his wife or at Ewan, Elaine could not immediately tell. Cadwallon looked upon the scene in calm silence.

  “I gave the lady permission to visit the chapel,” Desmond said.

  “She chose to visit the dovecot instead,” Cadwallon informed him. “She didn’t have time to send a message. I’m guessing her aim was to release all of her messenger pigeons, in hope that when her correspondent found the entire flock arriving home at once, he – or she – would know Lady Benedicta has been found out.”

  “I’m sure you are right.” Desmond sent an approving glance in Cadwallon’s direction. Then he moved to face Lady Benedicta. “You broke your word to me.”

  “I never gave you my word.” Lady Benedicta’s chin rose. “Tell your squire to unhand me at once.”

  “Since you insist on precise wording, my lady, I must inform you that Ewan is not my squire. He belongs to Lord Cadwallon. Therefore, precisely speaking, I cannot command him.”

  “Considering what you just tried to do,” Cadwallon told her in his cool and lazy drawl, “I don’t think we’d be wise to set you free. Hold on to her, Ewan.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The squire responded with a grimace that told Elaine he didn’t like restraining a noblewoman by brute strength, but he’d do it anyway.

  Lord Bertrand stopped his muttered swearing and looked around the solar, his gaze pausing at the stairs that led directly to the great hall.

  “Can’t we find a more private place?” he asked Desmond. “Haven’t I been humiliated enough? Must you continue these embarrassing disruptions where any man-at-arms or servant can see and hear us?”

  “Disruptions?” Elaine cried. “Is that all your wife’s crimes are to you? Wretched man, at least you are alive. Unlike my sister.”

  “Lord Bertrand does have a point,” Cadwallon said to Desmond. “Flamig will have more than enough gossip and speculation to contend with after we are gone. Why don’t we adjourn to Lady Benedicta’s room?”

  “I will not admit you ruffians to my private chamber!” the lady cried.

  “Why not?” asked Ewan. “Are you hiding something in there? Or someone?” He pulled her arm a little tighter, as if to impress her present, uncertain situation on her.

  “She’s much too clever to be careless,” Desmond said. “She’d never leave evidence lying where it might be found. The harnesses she uses on her birds weren’t hidden in her room, but in the dovecot, where one loyal servant cleans under her direct supervision. All of the important information is kept in her mind. Isn’t that so, my lady?”

  Not all of her information, Elaine wanted to say, thinking of the parchment fastened at her waist. But this did not seem like a good time to tell Desmond about her discovery. She didn’t think he’d want Lady Benedicta to know she had found the parchment. Again she postponed what she was sure would prove to be serious evidence against the woman.

  With Ewan still holding Lady Benedicta’s arm in a most uncomfortable position behind her back, they entered the bedchamber she had appropriated in preference to her rightful position in her husband’s bed.

  It was as neat and clean as the linen room. Not a wrinkle marred the surface of the plain grey quilt that covered the bed. No garments lay strewn about. Only a pair of shoes sat side by side next to the clothing chest.

  “You can let her go now, Ewan,” Cadwallon said as soon as he stood with his wide back solidly planted against the closed door. “She can’t get away again.”

  Elaine took up a position a little to one side of the men who were all facing Lady Benedicta. Knowing she had every right to be present while her sister’s murderer was being interrogated, she was willing to let the others do the questioning. Doubtless, they had methods unfamiliar to her. She shivered a little, hoping they wouldn’t have to resort to force to make Lady Benedicta talk. The way Ewan had twisted her arm had been unpleasant enough for Elaine. But before either Desmond or Cadwallon could ask a single question, Lord Bertrand confronted his wife.

  “Why did you do this?” he cried. “In God’s name, Benedicta, what reason could you possibly have to betray King Henry?”

  “Is that what these men say I have done?” she responded.

  “Are you claiming the accusations they’ve made against you are untrue? If there’s some other explanation, I’d like to hear it. You cannot deny murdering Aglise, and that’s wickedness enough for one lifetime. You must and will be punished for it. But, treason? Spying? I don’t understand.”

  “You have forgotten. I’m not surprised,” Lady Benedicta said. “It meant so little to you. I meant so little to you. Yet, it meant so much to me.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Lord Bertrand cried.

  “Let her speak without interruption,” Desmond said. He laid a hand on Lord Bertrand’s shoulder and pushed him aside, not roughly but firmly, until he stood in Lord Bertrand’s place, looking at Lady Benedicta with an expression of kindly interest.

  At first, Elaine was annoyed by Desmond’s expression. Then she saw Cadwallon smile and nod, and she understood. Gentle, apparently understanding questioning was one of Desmond’s methods for obtaining the information he must have if he was to learn the ultimate purpose behind Lady Benedicta’s spying.

  “Go on, my lady,” Desmond said. “Tell us your story in your own way. We want to understand what led you to treachery against King Henry.”

  “Shortly after King Henry ascended to the throne of England, my father died,” Lady Benedicta said, her gaze on Desmond’s face. “At once, Henry seized the lands in Normandy that our family had held for more than a hundred years.”

  “Your father produced no male heirs,” Lord Bertrand interrupted rudely. “Of course, his lands escheated
to the crown. That’s the law the Conqueror made and every Norman understands it.”

  “Oh, yes,” Lady Benedicta exclaimed bitterly, “William, the great conqueror! A bastard! The law you speak of, husband, was made in England, for those who hold lands in England to observe. But in Normandy, your precious King Henry is only a duke, and the laws there have always been different. I married you as my father wanted, I was an obedient wife to you, and I bore two sons. My father’s properties should have passed to one of my sons, or been divided between them. That is what he expected would happen when he arranged my marriage to you. His wishes are clearly expressed in our marriage contract. But King Henry overrode the provisions of the contract.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Lord Bertrand said.

  “Be quiet, my lord,” Desmond ordered. “Go on, my lady.”

  “While my sons were still young, I spoke to King Henry about the matter,” Lady Benedicta said to Desmond. “He promised he would consider my plea. But after years of delay and of false hopes on my part, he granted my father’s lands – my family’s lands! – to one of his own supporters, I suppose in an effort to keep the man’s loyalty.

  “When I begged Lord Bertrand to complain about the injustice done to our sons, he refused because he wanted to stay in Henry’s favor. Much good that piece of cowardice did for us. We were sent here, to this isolated island, to rot.”

  “I like Jersey,” Lord Bertrand told her. “My position here is a sign of King Henry’s trust in me. Benedicta, have you blamed him, and me, all these years? And never said a word of your feelings?”

  “What good would speaking of it do? You men make your decisions, and a mere woman is powerless to change your minds.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Desmond said. “King Henry likes women and he does listen to them, especially to his wife. He is an unusual king in that way.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lady Benedicta laughed. “He likes women. It’s why he’s reputed to have a hundred illegitimate children. Now, there’s a fine tribute to the wife he likes so much!”

  “When did you begin spying?” Desmond asked in the same quiet voice he had been using with her from the beginning of his questioning.

  “I can’t recall exactly. A very interesting French nobleman visited Warden’s Manor some years ago. We spoke of inconsequential subjects, as guest and hostess often do, and he dropped a few hints that I might prove useful to his liege lord. I found the prospect frightening, yet strangely alluring. Can you understand that, Sir Desmond?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I do understand. The danger and the excitement of spying can be oddly seductive. What happened next?”

  “My sons had left home by then to serve elsewhere as squires, and with a husband who was indifferent to me, I found little to keep myself occupied. When next we went to court, I chanced to meet the same nobleman again, and again he approached me about helping his lord. By then, I knew well enough who he meant – Louis VI of France, Louis the Fat to those who dislike him.

  “I don’t know the French king and have no wish to meet him. But I despise King Henry for robbing my sons of their rightful heritage, and I was stifling with boredom here on Jersey. I agreed to provide information about the number of men stationed on Jersey and on the other islands, about any new fortifications being planned, and about any scheme against France that King Henry was considering. The pigeons were my own idea,” she added with a touch of pride.

  “A clever idea,” Desmond said.

  “I thought so. It’s only fair to tell you that Lord Bertrand never noticed what I was doing. He didn’t know about my spying. He is innocent of that much, at least.” She stared hard at her husband for a long, measuring moment, while he gazed back, shamefaced.

  “Then, you really didn’t kill Aglise out of jealousy,” Elaine said.

  “Of course not. I never cared which household slut he took to his bed. Even if I had cared, I knew Aglise meant nothing to him.”

  Lady Benedicta’s twisted smile made Elaine yearn to slap her. She controlled herself with difficulty.

  “But, my sister represented a serious threat,” Elaine said.

  “I have nothing more to say to any of you,” Lady Benedicta stated with cold arrogance. “You have my permission to leave me.”

  “Not until you tell us who has been receiving your messages,” Desmond said, his voice taking on a hard edge, all kindness and gentleness gone from his manner. “I want a name, Lady Benedicta, and I want it now.”

  “I will not speak.” She bestowed a bleak little smile on him.

  “In that case, perhaps you will decide to talk to Lord Royce,” Desmond told her, “or to King Henry’s questioners.”

  The smile faded and the blood drained from her cheeks at the threat, but she did not back down. Desmond tried to smother the faint stirring of sympathy that beset him. He wasn’t surprised by his lack of success in obtaining the name of Lady Benedicta’s associate. He could tell she intended to play the game to its end, the game of stubborn refusal in the face of physical peril. It was a game he had played himself, to his great cost.

  Lady Benedicta’s crimes deserved no sympathy, yet Desmond experienced a strange sense of kinship with her, for in her he recognized his female counterpart, a soul eagerly craving the thrill that only lethal danger can provide. Her resentments against King Henry and her husband were so great, and her daily life was so dull, that she had embraced spying as other women took lovers, seeking therein an antidote to boredom.

  The need for such excitement was not an admirable quality, but it was one Desmond could understand only too well since he, too, suffered from the affliction.

  “You will remain in this room, under guard, until the ship Daisy reaches Gorey Harbor,” he told her. At his imperious gesture the others filed out and Desmond shut the door on his hazardous prisoner.

  “Ewan,” Cadwallon instructed, “do not leave this door for any reason and allow no one to enter or speak with Lady Benedicta. Desmond and I will alternate watches with you. We dare not allow so formidable a lady the opportunity to escape the king’s justice.”

  “You may depend on me, my lord,” Ewan promised.

  “Desmond, I must speak with you and Cadwallon in private,” Elaine said.

  “In a moment.” Desmond held up a warning hand to silence her. “Lord Bertrand, I am certain you have arrangements to make with Flamig. We will trust you to see to the welfare of the folk of Jersey until you hold your conference with King Henry.”

  “Yes.” Lord Bertrand sighed and his shoulders drooped. “I have neglected my responsibilities. I’ll be with Flamig if you need me.” He headed down the steps to the great hall.

  “Flamig?” Elaine asked, looking at Desmond.

  “He will serve as seneschal until King Henry appoints a man to replace Lord Bertrand,” Desmond explained. “Did you know Flamig has been acting as your guardian ever since Aglise disappeared?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said in surprise. “So, that’s why he was always hanging about.”

  “Lord Bertrand assigned him to protect you,” Cadwallon said.

  “He’d have done better to lock up his wife,” she snapped.

  “True.” Cadwallon grinned at her. “The man’s a weakling, and he is only concerned with false notions of honor.”

  “Now we are alone, what did you want to say to us?” Desmond asked.

  “I found a parchment hidden among Aglise’s clothes. It’s small enough to fit on a bird’s leg, and the message written on it seems to be in code.”

  “Where is it?” Desmond asked. “I hope you put it in a safe place.”

  “Yes, but I must ask you to turn your backs while I retrieve it.” The perplexed look on Desmond’s face made her laugh and did much to banish the tensions of the last hour. “I hid it in a purse that’s tied underneath my skirt.”

  “Good thinking.” Cadwallon winked at her before moving to face the stairs. “Turn around now, Desmond, and let Elaine do what she must.”

&n
bsp; Elaine turned her own back before she lifted her skirt and unfastened the knot at her waist.

  “Here.” She held out the parchment. “I’ll keep the purse, if you don’t mind. My father gave it to me long ago.”

  She didn’t think Desmond was paying attention to what she said. He was already unrolling the parchment and frowning at the words and numbers on it.

  “I think I deciphered part of it,” Elaine said helpfully.

  “You did?” He didn’t remove his gaze from the message. “Are you sure?”

  “Here.” She pointed to the word that recurred several times. “I translate this as Henri. It must mean King Henry, don’t you think? And, this seems to be a date. Le premier Mai.” She tapped the parchment at the spot where the arrangement of numbers appeared.

  “The first of May,” Cadwallon said. “Eight days from now? I’ve lost track of time since we’ve been here. When I’m at home, I always know the date.”

  “I think the message means something will happen on the first day of May, which is seven days from today. King Henry is involved,” Elaine said. “Desmond, can you decode it?”

  “I will, given enough time,” he answered.

  “We may have ample time,” Cadwallon said, glancing out the solar window. “If this weather doesn’t improve, the Daisy will be delayed.”

  “Hmm.” Desmond was reading the parchment, counting to himself in a low voice, and frowning more deeply than ever. “Elaine, can you obtain a sheet of parchment, a quill and some ink? It doesn’t have to be fresh parchment. Just an old sliver that I can scribble on will do. Or, if you can’t find parchment, a wax tablet.”

  “Father Otwin will have writing supplies.” Elaine started for the stairs, then paused. “You may want to investigate the stillroom. Lady Benedicta was writing something in there last night.”

  “She sent that message off at dawn,” Desmond said. “It was her last communication with her fellow spy. Cadwallon, check the stillroom. Collect anything that looks the least bit interesting – or damning. I’ll be in our chamber, with the door bolted while I work on this.”