A Sense of Duty - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 4)

by Shea,Lisa

  The same would be true of her search. She and Vera had never been interrupted in their two days of investigating the other floors. However, they could not imagine spending five minutes in any room on this floor without a maid coming in to dust the furniture, a servant asking if they would like some wine, a steward lighting a fire or opening a window. The rooms were a bustle of activity.

  Constance could not really imagine Barnard secreting his purloined treasures in the main hall, in the pantry, or in any common place. She knew deep in her heart where she would most likely find the items. However, that room held the most danger, and if she was caught there she would be preventing from searching further. Therefore, she and Vera would eliminate all other possibilities first. Only then would she take that great a risk.

  They worked step by step. First they went in search of cutting tools to lay out the fabric. Using that as an excuse, they moved through the entire pantry. They were not able to do a thorough sounding of board and tile as they had in the unoccupied rooms, but even with people moving in and out they were able to look through each cupboard, each trunk, to satisfy themselves that the room held no secrets.

  Back in the sewing room, Constance worked on the dress while Vera searched the walls, ceiling, and floor. It was easy enough to turn from the task when a servant came in, and to return to the search when the room was quiet again. An hour passed, the dress was ready for sewing, and the room was declared clear.

  For the main sewing task, they took the fabric into the main hall, finding a sunny spot at one end of the room. Over time, they were ignored by the servants who came and went through the area. Constance focused on the sewing, and on distracting any maid who happened into the room. Vera, under the pretense of seeking out new thread, something to drink, or a snack, went from area to area in the room. It seemed highly unlikely that Barnard would use such a public room as a hiding place, but they went about their work nonetheless. Soon it was clear that there were no secrets hidden here either.

  The light began to fade, and the foot traffic in the room eased to nothing as the staff settled into a Sunday evening quiet. Constance gathered up a pair of lamps and set up a work area next to the door to Barnard’s private study. She had rarely been in there, and even now her heart hammered furiously as she prepared for her incursion.

  Vera took over the sewing for her, working on attaching the sleeves, on doing a first hem of the neck and bottom. She set up her station before the door. Constance took a long, careful look around the hall before pulling open the door to the study and slipping in quietly.

  * * *

  Constance stood in the semi-dark room for a few long minutes, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom, to work out the general layout of the furniture. There was a heavy desk and leather chair to one side, and a long couch positioned before the fireplace. Small side tables stood on either end. Over the fireplace hung a pair of portraits – Barnard’s mother and father. The father was thin and hunched, looking down with watery eyes. The mother … Constance had always thought she looked sad, and young – so young.

  There was a long set of shelves down the left wall, filled with parchments, scrolls, and other documents. The top of the shelf held a number of decanters of varying sizes along with glassware.

  All remaining wall space was filled with Barnard’s trophies. He had racks of antlers, a wolf’s skin from a trip to Germany, a stuffed badger, and a large trout. When Barnard had visitors he often took them on a tour of this room, explaining in detail how he had achieved each victory. His trophies were his life, and he spent many long hours in this room reliving his past accomplishments.

  Constance took a deep breath, then let it out again. She had felt all along that Barnard’s acquisitions from any bandit activities would be in here as well.

  She started, methodically, to the left of the door. Working slowly and carefully she moved along the shelves, lifting every memento, moving every codex. She checked the decanters, pulled at the shelves themselves. All was sturdily in place. It was tedious work, but she held the image of Gabriel sitting in the deep darkness of his cell as a beacon in her mind. Gabriel could do nothing but wait and pray. She would be his salvation.

  She moved along to the low bench beneath the windows. The moon was beginning to rise outside, and she paused for a moment to look out over the grounds. For six long years this had been her home. She had resigned herself to living here forever, coming to accept the harshness of her life as normal. Now that she was exploring the option of leaving, she realized just how much she did not fit in here. The grounds were dusty and bare, with little sign of life. The soldiers moved about with lackluster energy. The only spot of beauty was her gardens. She would miss them – but she was sure she could start anew in whatever corner of the world her new home happened to be.

  Shaking herself, Constance moved on to the desk. She put focused effort into every last area of the desk – every drawer, every leg, the wood beneath the desk, the walls behind it.

  In the back of the main drawer she came across a small oak box. She lifted it out, setting it on top of the desk. She opened the lid with curiosity.

  A velvet display held a dozen rings in it. She had seen these rings on Barnard’s fingers occasionally during their years together. They all had oval faces, each with a small gemstone embedded in its center. She picked one up at random, a ruby-adorned ring with a dull sheen. As she turned it in her hand, she noticed a small ledge running around the oval face. She pulled up at the ridge with her nail.

  The top of the ring hinged up, and she realized there was a small compartment within – and it held a curled lock of bright blonde hair. She stared at it for a long moment, awareness sinking in. Helga, the cook’s sweet, slim helper, had hair of just that color.

  Constance had known Barnard was routinely unfaithful, but for him to wear tokens of his dalliances, to keep them lined up in his trophy room …

  Constance replaced the ring and shut the box lid with a snap. She swallowed the bile which rose in her throat, taking in long, deep breaths. She was on a timetable, and it would do no good to get upset about things which she could not change. She had to move on.

  She pushed the box back into the drawer and pressed onward, her thoughts even more focused. She would find Barnard’s secret stash. She would free Gabriel and bring an end to this for once and for all.

  She made her way to the fireplace, to the sofa and tables which stood before it. The fireplace occupied the wall to the left of the door. She stared at the fireplace for a long while, pondering it.

  Constance had become intimately aware of the keep’s construction over the past few days – far more aware than she had been in the six years she had lived here. The keep had four chimneys, located in the center of each of the four sides of the building. The chimneys rose straight through the lower and upper floors, rising through the roof. Each floor had a pair of hearths per chimney. The hearths faced opposite each other, warming adjoining rooms. She knew this helped to maximize the heat that could be gained from each chimney.

  She looked again at the fireplace before her. Above her she knew this flue was shared by her room and Barnard’s. On this floor, though, there was no matching flue on the other side of this chimney. There was only the pantry – but that room had its own separate chimneys. Also, she would not have said that the pantry’s wall was adjacent to this one. What was behind here?

  She looked more closely at the chimney’s stones, at the mantle and the trinkets which adorned it. Then she looked up at the pair of portraits. She lifted the father’s portrait cautiously. A large, furry spider scurried out of the depths and into a far corner. She turned to look behind the mother’s portrait …

  There she found a lever, hidden behind the sad face of Barnard’s doomed mother. Constance hesitated for a moment, then she carefully pulled down on the lever.

  There was a soft click, and the wall panel to the left of the fireplace swung open a few feet. Constance’s heart began pounding in her c
hest. She replaced the portrait and approached the opening. Cautiously, she peered inside. The room was small – maybe six feet by four – and the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves. There were no windows, but a small candle with flint and tinder waited on a stand in the center of the room. Constance peered into the darkness, but without a window it simply was not possible to see. Finally, she gave in and lit the candle. She hoped that this evidence of her being there would not be noticed.

  The candle bloomed into light, and she looked around her, eyes growing wide as the room came into view. Barnard had indeed been amassing trophies. She had always thought of the bandits as scroungers, immediately selling whatever they found. Barnard apparently had different aims in mind. It would seem that every item taken over the past years must be accounted for on these shelves. There were golden hair ornaments, richly wrought silver bracelets, bags of loose coin, carved ebony boxes, and much, much more. Constance could just imagine Barnard standing in this room, basking in his power, remembering each victory as a separate triumph in his life.

  Her mind quickly rifled through her options. She had to bring proof to the ceremony – but she had to be discreet. Undoubtedly, Barnard knew his stash well and would notice if anything obvious was missing. On the other hand, if she just brought random coin as her proof, how would anybody know that this was really from the bandits’ plunder?

  She knelt down to view the lower shelves, where missing items would not be so obviously missed. She looked along the back of each shelf, seeking out items which were unique and memorable. A golden necklace with a lion’s head. A cane top of silver with a hawk’s talon. An ivory hair comb featuring a cascade of roses. Each was far enough back in the shadows that it should not be missed right away. She might have a chance of getting away with this.

  She tucked the items carefully into the bag at her belt, then stood, looking around to ensure she had not dislodged anything else. Satisfied, she snuffed out the candle with a quick movement. She blew at the wick, hoping the smoke would dissipate and quickly blend in with the fragrance of the room’s accumulated dust and ash. Then she left, pulling the panel closed behind her with a soft click.

  The study looked exactly as it had when she had entered it; she had been extremely careful to precisely replace each item she moved. Nodding in satisfaction, she slowly eased open the main door, peering out. To her relief, only Vera was in the room, sewing studiously by the lamp light.

  Vera exhaled in relief as her friend closed the study door behind her and joined her at the table.

  “So?” Vera asked softly, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “I think we should finish this task in my room, where we will not inconvenience others,” replied Constance with a grin.

  Vera’s face lit up with delight, and in moments the two had gathered up their supplies, relocating to the security behind the barred door in Constance’s bedroom.

  Constance pulled the stolen items from her bag, laying them out on the bed. Vera lifted each one, gazing at them in amazement. “So he saved these items for himself?” she asked with wonder. “Will he notice them missing before tomorrow evening?”

  Constance shook her head. “These were only a few of the many items Barnard has in his trophy closet,” she clarified to her friend. “These were minor items on lower shelves, blocked from sight by other jewels.”

  Vera looked up in shock. “Why would he just keep all of these things? What is he doing this for?”

  Constance shrugged. “I hear he did not eat the wolf meat from the skin he has in his study. With his lovers, he will take on a new conquest, then abandon her after a few months. It seems that it is the achieving he enjoys – the thrill of victory.”

  She sat looking at the items for a long while. “I imagine, too, it is hard to sell some of these stolen goods – they would be recognized as the bandit’s take. Perhaps he was waiting to find a seller who could purchase the lot, then take them far away for sale. It might not be worth it to do that in smaller increments.”

  Vera ran a finger along the delicate roses in the ivory comb. “So now what do we do?”

  Constance picked up the dress and began working on the hem. “The safest place to transport them is down in the lower hem of this dress” she decided. “The hem will never be touched by anyone, and certainly not inspected. That will enable me to bring them to the ceremony. Once there, I will simply rip the hem open to display them.”

  Vera nodded in agreement. For the next few hours the pair worked diligently to finish the dress construction, to tuck in every corner so that the outfit was as seamless as possible.

  Chapter 26

  Constance felt as if she had barely slept. Today was the day she would leave with Barnard for the nunnery. Tomorrow was … the ceremony. She still refused to think of it as an execution, even to herself. There would be no execution. She would publicly expose Barnard, and Gabriel would be saved. Ralph would be saved. Only one more day and it would all be over.

  Vera knocked at her door, and they gathered up the dress to bring downstairs with them. They set up an area to one side of the main hall, and Vera brought over a bowl of fresh fruit. She sat quietly by her friend as Constance began embroidering.

  Constance did not begin with a plan, but as she worked she found that she was tracing the curling, elegant designs of dragon smoke along the hems of the sleeve, the hems of the skirt, and along the waist and neckline. Gabriel had come to rescue her with that tracery on his helmet. She would stand before all in her dress of deep blue, embroidered with her own symbolism, his symbolism. The hours drifted by in the quiet meditation of sewing, and always before her she saw Gabriel’s deep blue eyes, his steady faith in her. She would see this through.

  She was just about finished when she heard footsteps. Barnard strode into the room, turning to smile as he saw the women quietly sewing in a corner. “So you are up and about!” he called out jovially. “That is wonderful. Are you feeling ready for our journey this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I am ready when you are,” agreed Constance quietly, taking in a deep breath.

  “Well then, it is a long trip! Let us get started,” encouraged Barnard with a smile. It seemed that only minutes passed as servants carried trunks to the coach and soon they were rolling through the main gates.

  Constance’s heart hammered a thousand beats a minute as the coach made its way steadily through the evening dusk. Barnard and his men rode escort outside; only Vera sat beside her in the enclosed interior, their fingers tightly entwined. The dress sat on her lap, safely folded.

  Constance resisted the urge to run her hands along the hidden treasures, to reassure herself they were there. Only one more day and everything would be revealed. She only had to hold onto her sanity for one more day. She could not raise any suspicions. She must be perfectly blameless, perfectly composed, a paragon of docility.

  Every halt of the vehicle, every comment from beyond the coach caused her heart to double in speed. She was exhausted by the time they reached the bridge, and when they pulled up in front of the inn she could barely make her way from the coach. Vera helped her inside, up the stairs to their room. Both climbed into the shared bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  ***

  The following morning, Constance rose to find herself shaking, and could not seem to stop. Vera called for a bath, and Constance spent a long hour soaking in the hot tub, washing herself thoroughly, thinking through every aspect of the coming day. So much rode on her ability to execute her plan, to explain herself clearly, to convince those present that Gabriel was innocent. So many lives depended on her.

  She finally stood and dried off, then unfolded the dress. She ran a hand tenderly over the swirling smoke embroidery, thinking of Gabriel being taken from his dark cell, then brought into the town square. He had come for her when she was imprisoned. He had set her free. She would do the same for him, whatever it took.

  She dressed carefully, then sat to allow Vera to brush her hair into long, tawny
waves. When she was done, Vera stood back for a moment, looking over Constance with satisfaction. “I know it is a serious day,” she commented quietly, “but you are positively glowing. I am sure that every eye will be on you once we arrive.”

  “I hope so,” responded Constance nervously. “I will only have one chance to convince them.”

  The two made their way down the stairs together, and all eyes turned as they reached the main hall. Barnard stood and arrived at their side in a single movement. “My darling, there you are! You are beautiful, as always! I will be quite proud to have you standing by my side as we kill the traitors. The world will see that my family remains untouched by this all.”

  “Yes, of course,” demurred Constance quietly.

  Frank came up beside her, his eyes raking in her beauty with greedy appreciation. “I cannot wait until this is over, until we are all back home again,” he offered throatily, taking her hand in his, bringing his lips down for a long kiss.

  Constance looked down, biting her lip, willing herself to remain still until he released her. She had to present steady calm and quiet until the ceremony. She could not give either man any reason to question her, to prevent her from having her chance to speak.

  She put her hand on Barnard’s arm, allowing him to escort her to a large table in the center of the room. She picked carefully at the apple wedges laid out before her, her stomach knotted and uneasy. She ate but a few bites before pushing away her portion.

  “Can we go over to the square now?” she asked Barnard quietly. “I would like to be there early, if at all possible.”

  Barnard beamed. “Yes, of course you would,” he agreed grandly. “You want to soak in every moment of pleasure, watching those vermin squirm. The sheriff has set up a covered platform for us to sit on with plush chairs. I insisted on that. I am sure we will be quite comfortable there.” He extended a hand to her. “Come now, my dear.”