Lady in Red - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 8)

by Shea,Lisa

  Lady Cavendish spoke up first. “My dear Jessame, I am so delighted that Berenger was able to lure you out to visit with us!” she gushed. “I have been looking forward to meeting you from the first days of my marriage, from the first moments I stepped into my new home. It has been far too long! The waiting has been almost interminable.”

  Jessame took in a deep breath. She pitched her voice to be slow, calm, measured – everything Besame had not been.

  “My dear Lady Cavendish,” she responded. “It is so kind of you to share your home.”

  The woman’s eyes ran down her outfit, nodding in approval at the level of detail in the embroidery along the neckline. “I see that Mary has been holding back on me,” she murmured in appreciation. “I shall have to see if she can create something along these lines for me next week.”

  Cassandra stepped forward to offer an elegant, formal embrace. Jessame inhaled the wave of peony perfume and for a moment the edges of her world crumbled. She remembered the blow to her shoulder, the press of the mud against her face. She closed her eyes for a long minute, willing herself to breathe. She could do this. Everything hinged on her making it smoothly through the evening.

  After a pause Cassandra stepped back, examining her with open interest. Her eyes were bright with delight. “Well, you certainly look nothing like that harlot relative of yours,” she praised. “I would be proud to go walking with you any day, should you find the time.”

  Jessame stiffened, and she forced herself to relax. It was just for one night. She only had to get through the next few hours, to find the proof to bring whichever woman was guilty to justice.

  Lady Cavendish saw the motion and shot a warning glance at her younger sister. “Now, Cass, while we do not approve of her cousin’s actions, the poor girl was in fact slain. It is not couth to speak ill of the dead.”

  Cassandra flushed slightly, then turned to her brother-in-law. “Shall we have some drinks?”

  Lord Cavendish beamed, drawing his eyes from their long approval of Jessame’s form. “Of course,” he agreed, turning to the side table and pouring out golden mead into elegant pewter goblets. He brought one over to each person, lingering with Jessame’s, making sure his fingers brushed hers as he passed her the cup. She held the smile on her face, nodding her thanks.

  He raised his goblet high. “A toast, to new friendships,” he proposed. The cups clinked around, and Jessame drew in the warm liquid. It was exquisite, and she had to force herself to stop after a sip. She needed a clear head for what was to come.

  She turned to Lady Cavendish. “I am so looking forward to seeing your home,” she intoned quietly. “I am sure your exceptional taste in home décor will inspire me immensely.”

  The blonde beamed with pleasure. “Then we shall get right to it!” she insisted, placing her cup on the side table and taking Jessame by the arm. The strong fragrance of peonies swept over Jessame again, and for a moment she was sprawled in the shadows of her cottage, her shoulder screaming in torment, the velvety roses and fear and panic mingling in a whirling mist. She drew in a deep breath, and the vision passed. Her feet moved alongside Lady Cavendish’s as they walked through the elegant home.

  The Cavendishes were nothing if not exorbitantly wealthy. Each room they entered, from the study to the dining room, from the pantry to the sewing corner, was perfectly outfitted in delicate tapestries, hand-painted vases, shimmering candles, and polished wood. Jessame gave the proper responses to each new display, but her mind was looking ahead, waiting for their ascent up the stairs. She had no doubt that they would keep the stolen treasures somewhere close to their other jewelry and finery.

  Lady Cavendish drew them around into the entry hall again. “Now, for the second floor,” she offered with a smile. “Our visitors do not usually see these rooms, but for you, of course, we make an exception.”

  “I appreciate your gracious offer,” murmured Jessame, her eyes lighting up with honest interest.

  Lady Cavendish led the way, and Jessame used her right arm to hold her skirts out of the way as they climbed the steps, sliding her left along the smoothly polished banister. As they reached the top, she turned back and saw that Cassandra had chosen to hold onto Berenger’s arm as she ascended, leaning against him.

  A hot surge of jealousy nearly overcame Jessame’s resolve, and she pushed it down with deliberation. He was doing his job; distracting them, reassuring them that Jessame was barely a thought in his mind. She pressed her lips together, turning to focus on the hall ahead.

  One more night.

  Lady Cavendish began with the guest rooms. The apartments were larger and more well-appointed than any room Jessame had seen in her life. The beds were canopied with the finest of silk, and the tapestries on the walls were elegant depictions of floral gardens. Each room had a polished oak dresser with a full mirror to one side. Each window boasted large panes of leaded glass.

  Then, finally, Jessame’s every instinct came on high alert. Lady Cavendish was pausing before a door, her smile wide. “And here, at last, we have the master suite,” she announced with pride. “Our room adjoins a second bedroom, and they share a dressing area.” Her eyes moved fondly to her younger sister. “For now my dear sister uses that second room, but at some point it will serve as a nursery for my children.”

  She swept the door wide, and Jessame stepped in, her mouth open. It seemed that every surface had been gilded, painted, or engraved. The canopies around the large bed had intricate golden stars painted on them. The bed’s covering shimmered with metallic threads in the light of at least thirty candles. Tapestries on the walls showcased roses the color of the sun’s glow, and mirrors on each wall made the room seem even more enormous than it was. Jessame turned around, drinking it all in. This was the room of a goddess.

  Cassandra was stepping forward with a smile. “My room is almost as fine,” she boasted, reaching out a hand to Berenger, drawing him along with her. Jessame was close on their heels, holding in the flame of jealousy with effort, as they strode through the small connecting area.

  Cassandra had spoken the truth. The decorations in here were more delicate, the flowers on the tapestries were emerging buds instead of full blossoms, but the detail and high quality were the same. Cassandra stepped forward to run a hand over the bed’s cover with a smile. “Feel that texture,” she urged Berenger. “One could lay there for days and be absolutely content.”

  “I am sure,” murmured Berenger, studiously avoiding Jessame’s gaze.

  Jessame pulled herself back to the task at hand. She looked around the room, at the finely carved oak dresser, at the tall wardrobe which stood to one side. A table held an engraved silver mirror and a finely wrought brush, but there was no jewelry in evidence. Where did they keep it?

  There was a silvery tinkling sound from below them, and Lady Cavendish smiled. “Ah, perfect timing, as always,” she murmured. “Dinner is served. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”

  Jessame made a show of admiring the beautiful stained glass rosebud which adorned the center of one of the windows. She would be damned if she would leave Cassandra’s golden bedroom before she safely saw Berenger out of it. Cassandra seemed to have ideas of her own of lingering, but after a moment, realizing that Jessame was not likely to go first, she gave a petulant sigh and moved from the room, joining with her sister.

  Berenger came up alongside Jessame, raising an eyebrow at her. She shook her head. She had thought, somehow, that it would be so easy. She had imagined a jewelry case, undoubtedly finely carved, sitting right in the open. Frustrated, she moved with him through the dressing room to head back into the main bedroom.

  She stopped suddenly, looking to the left. The dressing area held a long table with a mirror above it, and two stools before it. A number of pottery jars, brushes, and other items were scattered along the table’s length. And there, at its very center, stood a box perhaps two feet long by one foot deep. It had several small drawers and was crafted from a beautiful combinatio
n of ebony and oak.

  “This way,” called Lady Cavendish in a warm voice, and Jessame realized she didn’t have time to examine the box thoroughly. Quickly, she pulled the hand-painted shawl from her shoulders and dropped it to one side. Berenger nodded in understanding, and then together they moved from the room, following their hosts through the master bedroom and down the long stairs.

  Jessame ran a hand along the dining room table’s surface as she took her seat. “Roger has truly outdone himself,” she murmured as she took in the gorgeous figuring of the elm along the darker oak.

  Lord Cavendish beamed with pride. “Yes, I knew if I just found his price that he would get the job done,” he agreed. “This elm was my favorite, and now it is immortalized forever. Generations of Cavendishes will benefit from its strength.”

  In a moment servants were bustling around them, bringing in the first course of turtle soup. Cassandra lent forward across the table toward them. “This is made with saffron,” she informed them with a haughty grin. “Only the finest foods are served in this household.”

  Jessame felt a motion at her right hand, and Berenger’s finger was tracing on her sensitive palm, spelling out a question.

  When will you go?

  His hand moved to lay palm-up against her leg, and she carefully wrote the reply, sipping her wine with her left hand.

  Before dessert.

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and then they were sipping their soup, offering praise on its rich flavors.

  Cassandra lent forward again, her eyes bright. “Now that you are home, Berenger, you shall have to entertain us! There must be balls and dances. I could help you plan them, if you wish. We shall have so much fun!”

  Berenger took a sip of wine. “If you would like to hear about entertaining events, you should ask Lord Cavendish how he once took on two swordsmen simultaneously at his tournament. I think that was perhaps fifteen years ago?” He turned to the older man.

  Lord Cavendish’s eyes sharpened with delight. “That was sixteen years past, and it was a glorious match indeed,” he responded, warming to the topic. “I remember as if it was yesterday. I had just gotten that new sword of mine, with the dark brown hilt, and I was trying out a new type of oil. As I recall …”

  Jessame sighed in relief as Berenger carefully guided the conversation throughout the courses, past the grilled pheasant and roasted turnips. Any time the women sought to pry into the reason for Jessame’s seclusion or to hint at a visit, Berenger skillfully redirected the conversation to praise of Lord Cavendish’s fighting skills or ask questions about the extensive gardens around the home. The wine flowed freely, and by the time the main meal was complete the group had settled into a contented relaxation.

  “I hope you left room for dessert,” teased Lady Cavendish, looking over the table. “Our cook makes the most delicious raspberry pie you have ever tasted. If this does not bring goose-bumps to your skin, I am not sure what will.”

  Berenger’s mouth quirked into a smile, and Jessame’s hand went automatically to her neck, grinning in return.

  The scarf.

  Reality settled back in. It was time for her to begin her search. She cleared her throat gently, then gave herself a gentle hug. “The night is growing chill, and I seem to have forgotten my scarf upstairs,” she informed the group with a regretful sigh. “I shall be right back.”

  Lady Cavendish half rose. “I would be quite happy to get that for you,” she offered.

  Cassandra pounced on her hand, pulling her back down. “I am sure Jessame knows best where she left her scarf,” she insisted, her eyes drawing to rest warmly on Berenger’s. “She can take her time, enjoying the beauty of your décor at her leisure.” Her smile widened. “I am sure we can keep Berenger occupied in the meantime.”

  A tense line pulled through Jessame’s shoulders, and then Berenger’s hand was on her own beneath the table, giving her a gentle squeeze. She held her eyes steady, resisting the lure to look up into his gaze. Just a few more hours, and this would all be over with.

  “Yes, I shall be just a few minutes,” she agreed, rising from the table. The two men rose with her.

  Cassandra’s voice was sweet honey. “Take your time,” she urged. “Be sure to get a good look at the stained glass; it is quite exceptional.”

  Jessame nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and then turned, making her way across the hall and up the polished stairs. The murmur of laughter followed her from the dining room, and the clink of glasses as more wine was poured. She steadfastly worked her way across the second floor. Berenger was performing his task, keeping them occupied while she searched. It was time to bring justice to the murdered women.

  She pressed open the bedroom door, barely seeing the golden stars and elegant curtains as she moved into the connecting dressing room. Her green shawl was there in the corner where she had left it, and she swept it up, drawing it across her shoulders. Then her attention turned to the beautifully crafted jewelry box.

  There were three drawers, and she began with the top one. It held a collection of rings in silver and gold, some with engraved symbols, others with jewels held in elegant settings. One was a bronze intaglio ring – the reversed symbol of a lion in its face able to be used to seal a document. She carefully looked through the jewelry items, but there was no sign of either her coin token or the small wooden cross that Sabina had worn.

  The next drawer held an assortment of bracelets. There were bangles featuring onyx beads and amethyst nuggets. Lying beneath them was a trio of engraved golden hoops. The collection was certainly beautiful, but again nothing matched what she sought.

  She paused for a moment, then pulled open the bottom drawer. Her heart pounded in her chest. This held the necklaces. A cross glistened with rubies and diamonds. Another necklace boasted a shimmering sun engraved on a golden circle. A spherical ball of blue was suspended in a silver frame.

  She looked at each item, a sense of disbelief slowly settling over her shoulders with every passing minute. It was not here. She had been so sure, so utterly convinced, and yet nowhere amongst the emerald petals and sapphire birds were the items she sought. She glanced back toward the door, then dug even more thoroughly through the items in each drawer.

  It was clear. The necklaces were not there.

  She slid the drawer closed, despair infusing her. She had been completely certain of her success. The peony scent was right. The hostile motives were right. She just had to find the proof, and she could bring peace to the souls of the four women. How could she have been so wrong?

  She stared at the jewelry box, and suddenly it occurred to her that the base of the box was extremely tall. There was a full drawer’s height of wood between the box bottom and where the lowest drawer began. She leant forward, staring at the area, curious. Yes, there was the finest of a seam along the edges of the front face. There was no drawer pull, or indentation, but maybe …

  She gave a gentle press to the area, and to her surprise it depressed slightly, then eased out toward her. Her heart nearly hammered out of her chest as she drew the secret drawer out and looked within.

  Her fingers went to the bent coin, to the engraved fish which shone out to her like a beacon of hope and joy. She drew it up in her fingers, pressing it to her chest, relief flooding through her. Her eyes moved back down to the drawer. There was Sabina’s wooden cross, so familiar to her. Alongside it lay a pair of simple copper earrings in the shape of teardrops. There was a steel ring with a flower stamped on it, and a bracelet made up of woven silk.

  She touched each one in turn, offering her promise to each girl to see this through. She knew she should return the coin to its place beside the rest, but she could not bring herself to do it. With shaking hands she drew it to her neck, latching it there, tucking the coin beneath her chemise. The necklace was fully hidden by both her white chemise and the green dress. Satisfied, she drew the green shawl around for yet a third layer. Then, giving one last look at the drawer of tokens, she pre
ssed it closed. With a soft click it sealed in place, once again becoming invisible.

  She turned, almost beaming, moving through the bedroom and down the stairs. Even the sound of Cassandra’s flirtatious laugh could not shake her mood as she came into the glistening candlelight of the dining room, taking her seat before a fragrant serving of raspberry pie.

  Cassandra leant back from her conversation with Berenger as she sat. “I see you found your shawl,” she teased. “Are you sure you haven’t lost anything else up there that you should go fetch?”

  Berenger turned to her, his eyebrow raised, the polite smile on his lips offset by the serious question in his eyes.

  She nodded, her smile filling her being. “I believe I have found everything I sought,” she reassured him with warmth.

  She could see the tension ease from his shoulders, and his hand found hers beneath the table.

  We will leave as soon as we can.

  Lady Cavendish gave a wave toward Jessame’s dessert. “My dear, you must try some of your tart. The raspberries are absolutely perfect.”

  Berenger’s eyes sparkled, and she gave his hand a squeeze before bringing her hands up to move some of the treat to her lips. If it took an entire coating of hives to bring justice, she would gladly undergo that pain. She took a bite, and sighed in delight. Lady Cavendish was right. The dish was absolutely heavenly. She took a second bite, and a third. The hives could come, but she would enjoy this dish to its fullest.

  Seconds were brought, wine was poured, and then Berenger was slowly getting to his feet, putting an arm out to Jessame. “I am afraid I must escort our friend back home; it is getting quite late,” he apologized to the group. “It has been a delightful evening.”

  Cassandra pouted. “Surely she could get home on her own, and you could stay a while longer?” she prodded.

  Lady Cavendish laughed in merriment. “That would hardly be chivalrous of him,” she pointed out, “and we do value his courtly nature, do we not?”