by Shea,Lisa
Jessame ran toward the window, but Berenger was there before her, pulling the shutter closed, holding her back with one arm. She nodded, and then carefully peered out through the slit to see what was going on.
It was Baldric, the young fisherman who had been dared by his friends to visit her the night of Berenger’s homecoming party. The lad’s face burned crimson with anger, and his fists were balled tightly. He stared up at Roger in disbelief.
“Besame was brutally slaughtered only a few days ago!” he shouted. “You were her friend! And I hear you are out here doing home repairs? Why are you not out hunting down her killer and bringing him to justice?” His eyes were wide with disbelief. “The sheriff seems to be pleased by her death. Nobody seems to care enough to do anything!” His voice rose to a screech. “Why are you not tracking down the wolf’s head?”
Roger glanced toward the house in concern, his lips pressed tightly together. Jessame’s heart ached for the situation he was in. The man should be showered with praise, not scolded for something that was far from the truth. She turned on her heel and headed for the door.
Berenger gently took hold of her good arm, drawing her back. “Baldric could be involved somehow,” he cautioned her, his gaze wary.
Jessame snorted. “That young lad? He is as sweet as they come. He deserves to know the truth; there is enough torment in the world.” She tugged her arm free of his grasp, then continued down the hallway, pushing open the main doorway.
Baldric turned as she approached, taking in her carefully braided hair and green dress in one swoop, his mouth turning down in a sneer. “Is this the Lady? The high-and-mighty woman you have been drawn into decorating projects for? And somehow that frippery takes precedence over tracking down and destroying the man who murdered a true woman of character?”
Jessame drew to a stop before him, smiling gently at the lad who seemed quite ready to take on all comers on her behalf. “My dear Baldwin, would you rather we sat by the fish pond, digging up pink worms to feed to our trout?”
Baldric stopped, his mouth hanging open, his eyes carefully going over her features. Then, with a cry of delight, he ran forward, drawing her into a relieved hug.
There were several long minutes before he sighed and stepped back. “I thought you were dead!” he exclaimed, looking her over again. “They said the murderer had killed you!”
Berenger came up alongside her. “The miscreant very nearly did,” he offered somberly. “She was fortunate to escape with only a dislocated shoulder. It is still healing.”
Baldric’s look turned serious again. “We have to get the wolf’s head and make sure he can never harm another woman,” he insisted. “First Sabina, then Besame. Who knows who would be next?”
Jessame smiled. “You can call me Jessame now, Baldric.” Her mouth tweaked up into a grin. “Unless you want me to start calling you Baldwin.”
His mouth eased into a smile. “Baldric would be fine,” he agreed. “So I assume we are letting you fully recover before we plan our next move?”
Berenger’s eyebrow quirked up. “We?”
Baldric’s shoulders tensed. “You would not keep me out of this, would you?”
Jessame shook her head. “Not when you are so energetic about participating,” she agreed.
Baldric climbed into the wagon, gathering up the pieces for the remaining chair. “Well then, let us get to work!” he cried, and was off to the house in a trot.
Mary hooked her arm into Jessame’s. “And you and I have some more smelling to do,” she pointed out warmly.
Jessame’s eyes lit up with interest. “Oh? What this time?”
Mary guided her over to a blanket on the lawn, then settled down beside her with a large leather bag. “We will try wools and furs,” she suggested. “Maybe it was something about the clothes the person wore which caught your mind.”
She brought out soft wool first, the gentle texture bringing a smile to Jessame’s face. Jessame nestled her nose into it, but while the smell brought up many delightful memories, none related to the attack in her rose garden.
“Maybe leather?” asked Mary, handing that over. Jessame ran her hands over the sturdy surface, sighing. “This reminds me of Misty’s saddle, and how much I loved to ride him,” she admitted. Her mouth tweaked up. “It also calls to mind Berenger, and the protective tunic he wears.”
“Not leather,” agreed Mary. “Perhaps ermine?”
The strip of fur was indeed luxurious, and the rich color drew Jessame’s eye, but still it did not create visions of the one situation she wanted to solve. Neither did the calf skin, nor the thicker, woven cloak wool with oil rubbed in. Mary tried item after item, but none triggered the memory Jessame sought.
At last the bag was empty, and Mary gave a gentle smile. “We are making progress,” she pointed out. “Eventually we will hit upon it, if we just keep trying everything.”
“I certainly hope so,” mused Jessame, her eyes drifting to the small grave on the hill.
*
By dinnertime a dark blue tablecloth had been spread, a pottery vase of fragrant flowers stood at the table’s center, and lavender curtains shaded the window. A pungent fish stew, the perch caught by Berenger only an hour earlier, sat steaming in a large pot. Berenger carefully tucked his arms around Jessame’s father, carrying the frail man into the dining room. The elderly man beamed in pride as he took his place at the head of the table. The others settled down the length, Jessame and Berenger sitting side by side.
Jessame’s father looked at each person in turn, his eyes shining in appreciation. “Thank you for bringing joy into our household and love into my daughter’s heart. I cannot thank each of you enough for the role you have played.”
The group joined hands, and they bowed their heads. Her father’s voice sounded stronger than it had in years. “Heavenly Father, bless this meal you have brought to us, and bless the friends who share our table. Thank you for protecting Berenger from harm during the ten long years he served in the Crusades. Thank you also for watching over Jessame while she waited in grief and sorrow for his return. We are grateful that we can all be here together, whole, healthy, to share in this meal. We are appreciative of your bounty. Amen”
The amens echoed around the room, and then mead was being poured, bread was being passed. Jessame gazed at Berenger, and for a moment the world stopped.
Her home was whole.
Chapter 18
Jessame sat cross-legged on the sun-streaked pantry floor, surrounded by an assortment of wood blocks. They came in a variety of shapes, sizes, colors, and grains. She carefully lifted each one in turn to her nose, inhaling deeply. None of the aromas triggered any memories of the fateful afternoon. Roger had brought a sampling of every type he owned, even the rarest varieties, but despite her most careful attention none were what she sought.
After a long while she knew she had done her best. She looked up at Millie, shaking her head. Together they gathered up the wooden blocks and placed them back into the large wicker basket.
Next, Millie took down the row of jams and jellies Mary had brought. One by one they moved their way down the jars, examining each one. There were strawberry, blackberry, quince, raspberries, red currants, apples, and more. Jessame explored each aroma with careful attention. She kept in mind that the aroma might be sweeter, or perhaps feature a different aspect. It did not matter. Nothing brought even the remotest hint of a connection with that moment in her rose garden.
There was a cheerful knocking on the front door, and Jessame sprang to her feet. Berenger and Roger were upstairs working on the master bedroom for her father, and Mary was off at the Cavendish estate working on some dresses for the two women. This must be Baldric, back to help again. The lad did have a good heart.
Millie waved her back. “Just in case, miss, let me get the door,” she advised. And then she was in motion, moving into the front hall. There was a creak as the door pulled.
“Ah, Baldric,” she greeted. “It is nice to see you again
. And who is this?”
“This is Denise, my beloved,” he stated proudly. “She has come to help as well.”
Jessame shook her head in amusement. Soon half the village would be here, lending assistance with her home’s restoration! She moved forward to greet the young woman.
Denise stepped forward immediately to give Jessame a warm hug, her red curls gleaming in the sunlight. “I am so glad you are all right,” she stated by way of greeting. “When Baldric told me you had been slain, I was inconsolable. I sobbed the full night away. It seemed immensely unfair that such a gentle person could be hurt, and that none would lift a finger to take action against it.”
Baldric nodded in pride. “The moment I told her you were safe, she insisted that she wanted to come and help.”
Jessame glanced over toward the study. “And she does not mind …”
Denise shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. “My mother is a healer, and I deal with more kinds of sickness than you can imagine. This is just one more way in which our bodies can be afflicted. I imagine you are using mercury?”
“Yes, we are,” agreed Jessame, still fairly surprised that her friends were taking the illness so calmly. “And we change the bandages regularly.”
“Are you using turmeric?” the young girl continued.
Jessame shook her head. “I thought that was a cooking spice of some sort?”
“It is, but it also helps in cases like this,” explained Denise. “With your permission?”
Jessame swept her hand. “By all means, I would love any ideas,” she agreed with a smile.
Together they walked around toward the open door of the study. The shutters were wide open, and sunlight streamed through the room. It had been cleaned and dusted, and for the first time in years, it smelled of flowers and freshness.
“Father, dear, I have brought a new visitor for you,” called out Jessame.
He seemed to be drawing strength with each new day, and his face was all smiles. “And a lovely one at that!” he cried out. “Suum cuique pulchrum est!”
Berenger’s voice sang out from the floor above. “To each his own is beautiful!”
Jessame’s father’s eyes twinkled in delight, and he waved the women to sit with him.
Denise leant forward, taking a small jar from a leather pouch at her side. “I have a new spice I would like you to try,” she offered. “We can mix it into your gruel each morning, and add some to your bandages. It should help some with your swelling.”
“If you are my nurse, then I will follow every instruction,” he agreed with a contented nod. “One never knows what could work.”
Denise gave him a pat on his mittened hand, then stood and drew Jessame out onto the front lawn. “And now I have a task for you,” she offered, sitting down on the fragrant grass.
“Oh?” asked Jessame with curiosity, plunking down at her side.
Denise drew a large leather bag from where it was tied at her hip and placed it before her. Undoing the cinch at its mouth, she began pulling out a number of smaller pouches, laying them out one by one before her.
“These are all the herbs and spices that we use in our healing practice,” she explained. “Maybe one of these is the aroma you seek.”
Jessame shook her head in wonder. By the time they finished, she was sure they would have experimented with every scent she had ever smelled, and many more besides.
Denise opened the first pouch, and the aroma was rich and warm. “Rosemary!” called out Jessame, breathing deeply.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Denise. “A good treatment for gout.”
Jessame laughed merrily. “I just like how it tastes on chicken,” she admitted.
Another bag was opened. This one was less familiar to her, although she enjoyed its pungent smell.
“Cinnamon,” explained Denise. “The bark of a tree from far away.”
Jessame shook her head. “That was not it,” she stated with certainty.
The day drifted by in fragrances and spices, in hammerings and poundings, in sweeping of floors and hanging of fresh curtains. Mary was just arriving as they set out the bread, fresh fruits, and quince pie for dinner. Newly cut roses blossomed from the vase, and Berenger settled Terric into his seat at the head of the table. Grace was said, and the food passed up and down the table.
A thorough peace surrounded Jessame as she looked down the table at the dear friends who had made this possible. She twined her fingers into Berenger’s, looking up at him with contentment.
A lazy bumblebee drifted in through the open window, and Mary rose from Berenger’s other side. “I will shoo him out,” she offered with a smile. “There are far more flowers for him to enjoy just around the corner.” She stood and moved along behind Jessame, leaning over to wave a hand at the striped ball of fluff.
An aroma surrounded Jessame, and suddenly her world ground to a halt. It was as if she were instantly transported to the soft dirt of her rose garden, the scent of it pressed into her nose. There was the rich fragrance of roses all around her - and something else. Something strong … pungent …
Jessame spun on the bench, staring up at Mary in shock. It could not be Mary, not the sweet woman who had clothed her, who had looked after her, who had cared for her so tenderly all these weeks.
The room froze as they took in Jessame’s stance and stare. Mary’s voice was raspy when she spoke. “What is it? What have I done?”
Jessame strove to keep her tone even. “What is that scent you wear?”
Roger’s eyes widened and he moved to stand. Berenger put out a hand, gently but firmly holding him in place, his eyes never leaving Mary’s. Berenger’s voice was low. “Yes, tell us about your scent, Mary,” he prodded.
Mary shook her head in confusion. “But I do not wear any perfume,” she countered in bafflement. “Beyond, I suppose, the lavender in my soap, but I have always used that. You would have smelled that on me every day.”
Jessame glanced at Berenger, and he leant forward, drawing in air next to Mary. “That is not lavender on your clothes,” he commented in a low voice. “It is something different.”
Mary glanced down in confusion, then pressed her nose into her sleeve, drawing in a long breath. Her eyes lit up in understanding.
“Oh! That is peony! The two Cavendish women adore this scent. I was doing fittings with them all day, and often I am pressed up against them as I pin and tuck the fabric.” Her face eased. “It must have rubbed off on me during the course of the day.”
Jessame’s father continued to work away at his meal, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Peony is a lovely scent,” he agreed, taking another bite of his quince pie. “My mother used to enjoy peony.”
Jessame sat back in her chair, ideas spinning in her head. “Both Lady Cavendish and Cassandra wear the scent?”
“Yes,” agreed Mary, moving back to take her seat. “They make it from the many bushes that line their gardens. They have quite an ample supply.”
Berenger glanced over at Jessame’s father, then held Jessame’s eyes. “Either woman would seem to have a proper mindset for what we suspect,” he murmured.
She nodded in agreement. “I could certainly see either of them doing it. But which one?”
His eyes moved again to her father, and she nodded. The meal passed in silence, and soon Berenger was carrying her father up to his renewed room, settling him into his bed. In a short while the group had relocated into the study. They passed around mugs of mead and lit candles against the growing dusk.
Roger shook his head. “If only the assailant had stolen something from the house,” he muttered. “We could simply go and find it. But you say nothing was missing?”
Jessame shook her head. “There was scant enough there to take,” she pointed out. “Just the few items on my mantle, and my tablet and stylus. I led a fairly Spartan life. There was not even a cross.”
Roger’s eyes lit up. “That reminds me,” he stated. “I finished your cross; the
one Berenger ordered for you.” He reached into the pouch at his side and drew out a lovely work in elm and rosewood. “I hope you like it.”
Jessame took it into her hands, turning it over in awe. “Oh, Roger, it is gorgeous,” she gasped. The graining and polish were just perfect. She drew the leather loop over her head, settling it down over her chest. She turned to Berenger. “And you can give me my love token back, now that I am safely home again,” she added.
His eyes creased in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Her hand automatically went to her chest, to where it had hung. “My token. The bent coin. Surely you put it aside for safekeeping while I was injured,” she prodded.
He shook his head, frowning. “I did not take anything off of you,” he countered. “When I found you in front of your cottage, I put you on the wagon and took you right to my home. I set your shoulder, then lay you in bed fully clothed, I did not want to risk further injury.”
Jessame looked to Roger. “Maybe it fell out in the wagon?”
He shook his head. “I have not seen any jewelry items in the wagon, and we have been using it a great deal these past few days. I would think I would have spotted it while searching for nails or other items.”
Mary spoke up. “It was not by the rose bushes. I dug those up for you, and we have them waiting by the steps to be replanted. I did not see any jewelry while packing them up.”
Jessame thought back to the assault. The attacker had leant over to check her breath, to ensure she had done her job thoroughly. And then …
Her eyes flew up to meet Berenger’s. “She took my necklace,” she stated in certainty, her hand moving to the sensitive area of her neck. “She ripped it off of me, after checking to ensure I was no longer breathing. She took it as a trophy.”
Berenger swiveled his head to stare at Roger. “Roger’s box!” he cried out.
“What?” asked Roger in confusion.
Berenger turned to face Jessame again. “Remember when you first told me there was a necklace in his box? That it was Sabina’s necklace? I thought you meant the ebony cross she always wore. There was not a day that she failed to have her cross on her chest.”