Who would do such a thing?
33
De Rohan Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
“And nobody remembers giving a message to Beatrice?”
Heads shook once again as Marcus repeated the question. None of the gathered staff were admitting to passing on the message, and apparently, with the exception of the chambermaid, Beatrice, all were present.
He sighed. “Does anyone remember seeing Beatrice, at least?”
The stable boy, Albert, raised his hand.
Then finally another. “I saw her go into the master’s study, sir, just after I delivered his breakfast.”
Charles pursed his lips, nodding. “Yes, I found the message under the tray when I pushed it aside. I think she meant to delay me finding out about the accusations.” Drawing in a deep breath that swelled his chest, he raised his voice. “Accusations, I might add, which have been proven false, no matter what you have heard.”
The same woman bowed her head. “We never doubted it, M’Lord. The mistress loves you very much.”
Charles bowed slightly. “And I her, but that is none of your concern.” He smiled. “Though your acknowledgment is appreciated.”
She blushed and curtsied.
“If anyone remembers anything, please come see me immediately. We must find out who delivered this note.” He waved a hand. “Dismissed.”
The staff quickly broke, returning to their duties as Marcus, Simon, and Charles conferred.
“I don’t understand,” said Charles. “Someone must have given her the note.”
Marcus agreed. “Either one of your staff is lying, or someone came onto the property and gave it to the chambermaid, then left.”
Charles nodded. “That is definitely possible. Tradesmen pass through and deliveries are made constantly. During the day, the gate is merely for show. We have no enemies here, and the guards merely ask what business someone has, and they let them through if the answer is reasonable.” He sighed. “I think we’ll have to tighten up security around here when this is done.”
Marcus shook his head. “I would do so immediately. Something is going on, and I fear for your safety.”
Charles frowned. “You might be right. I’ll take care of it at once.”
The man left, heading for the gate, and Marcus stared at the sun, low on the horizon. “We should make our way to Lord Victor’s now. This business took longer than I expected, and we’re late.”
“Perhaps we’ll be in time for dinner?”
Marcus chuckled as they headed for the stables. “Something tells me we wouldn’t be welcome at the table of a Lord.”
“I bathed just yesterday. And I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Marcus eyed his sergeant. “Have you ever noticed how when you’re hungry, everyone sits at least an arm’s length away from you when you’re eating. You’re like a beast!”
Simon grinned. “I do love my food!”
“I think we’ll have to wait until we return to Master Thomas’.”
“Are we spending the night?”
“I think we should. I don’t trust Mrs. Thibault enough to leave them all alone with her.”
34
De Courtenay Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Gerard watched, shocked, as this time the entire household gathered, the courtyard full as word of Lord Victor’s murder spread. The runner had returned only minutes ago, crying out the news as he raced up to the grounds and through the gates. The mistress had heard from inside, and rushed onto the steps, collapsing at the news.
It was horrifying, and his jaw hadn’t closed since he had first comprehended the news.
Wails filled the air, renewed as a cart arrived minutes later carrying the body of the master. The mistress, recovered only moments before, collapsed again on her husband’s body, sobbing in agony, brushing off the staff who tried to pull her away.
Gerard wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, and was doubly troubled when two Templars rode through the gates, one a knight in his bright white surcoat with red cross, the other a sergeant, his surcoat black.
“What has happened here?” demanded the knight as he dismounted. He approached the cart with the master’s body. “Is that Lord Victor?”
“Yes it is,” replied someone in the throng. “He’s been murdered!”
“By whom?”
The runner sent to find the master earlier, stepped forward. “They don’t know.”
The mistress rose, wiping the tears from her face and fixing herself before turning to address the new arrivals. “What business do you have here?”
“M’Lady, I am Sir Marcus de Rancourt. We were to meet with your husband about a matter tonight.”
“I sense from your tone that you aren’t surprised at this turn of events.”
The knight bowed slightly. “Frankly, M’Lady, it is what I feared might happen.”
“Then this matter was dangerous?”
“Yes. Your husband approached us earlier today to warn of the danger, and offered his assistance in obtaining some information that may prove critical in a matter we are looking into.”
“What was he supposed to have obtained for you?”
“A list of names.”
Gerard’s eyes widened.
A list!
He thought back to the papers he had found stuck behind the master’s saddle. Though he couldn’t read the words, he at least recognized that it was a list of something, as opposed to some letter. He rushed into the stables, looking about for the pages he had discarded, and found them amid a pile of hay. He grabbed them, searching through the pile to make certain he had them all, then rushed outside as the Templars appeared to be leaving.
Gerard waved the pages over his head. “M’Lady, could this be what they were looking for?” He held out the pages as he approached, hunched over, trying unsuccessfully to mix bowing with running.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, ma’am, but I found the pages stuffed under the saddle on the master’s horse.”
She glared at him. “Why didn’t you bring this to me?”
He cowered. “I-I didn’t realize it was important.”
She swatted him with the pages, then stepped toward the Templars. “This would appear to be a list of names. Could this be what he was getting for you?”
The knight took the pages, nodding as a smile slowly spread before it was checked on the solemnness of the occasion. “It is indeed. Your husband has done us a great service, and I regret he died because of it. Whoever is behind it, however, has made an enemy today, and I intend to bring them to justice, as they are obviously involved in the same travesty I am already investigating. You will hear from me soon, M’Lady.”
“I wish you God’s speed, Sir Marcus.”
The Templars left and the gates closed. Gerard turned toward his mistress, a smile on his face as he realized he had done a good deed.
She smacked him across the cheek. “The next time you find papers, you bring them to me!”
His cheeks burned and his eyes teared. “I-I’m sorry, M’Lady!”
She collapsed again, two of the staff catching her, and he realized she wasn’t truly angry with him, she was simply overwhelmed with everything that had happened. He wiped his eyes dry on the back of his hands, then turned away to give her some privacy, instead staring at the body of his master, and wondered what would now become of them all with no male heir in the household.
35
En route to Durant Residence
Paris, Kingdom of France
Marcus felt uneasy as they rode for Thomas Durant’s home. The list was stuffed under his chainmail, and he’d die before he let anyone get their hands on it, for it was obviously important. Clearly, someone had seen Lord Victor speaking with them, but he couldn’t believe that alone would be enough for anyone to want to kill him.
They were merely words.
But the list was evidence
, and until the moment he had learned of Victor’s death, he hadn’t been sure the names on the pages would be of any importance.
Yet clearly they were to someone, and if he gambled, he’d put money on whoever that was, being included in the names.
And he’d also bet that when they didn’t discover the list on Victor’s person after killing him, they would realize it must have been on his horse, the brave soul obviously having hidden it there before he was attacked.
And if he were the murderer, he would have had someone watching Victor’s estate to see who showed up to collect the list.
Then pursue them.
So far, he hadn’t been able to spot anyone following them as they rushed through the streets of Paris as quickly and safely as they could, though with the number of people and horses about, it was difficult to say for certain. And as the darkness grew, it only made things more difficult.
As they left the regal estates of the members of the Court and foreign ambassadors, and entered the less desirable area of the grand city where Thomas Durant lived, the numbers on horseback dwindled, most in these parts unable to afford the luxury. And the fact they weren’t the only riders, had him slightly uncomfortable.
“There it is,” said Simon.
“Keep riding. If we’re being followed, I don’t want them to know where we’re going.”
They continued past the dilapidated building, fire and candlelight blaring through the cracks in the boards indicating someone was inside, their numbers concealed. He peered into the darkness ahead. “That alley to the right. Let’s head down there.”
Simon grunted, leading the way as they turned sharply down the laneway. They galloped toward the end, and Marcus glanced over his shoulder to see two riders follow them.
He suppressed a curse.
Simon didn’t.
“Challenge or evade?” asked his sergeant.
“I’m tempted to challenge. Split up at the end of the alley and dismount. We’ll surprise them as they come through.”
“Good. I’m tired of running.”
Simon broke left and Marcus right. He pulled up on his reins and hopped off his horse, drawing his sword and positioning himself at the corner, readying his weapon, Simon doing the same across from him. The sound of the two horses pounding toward them filled his ears, and Marcus steadied his breathing, readying himself for what was to come, for the initial blow would be critical.
The nose of the horse came into sight, the beast’s head turning toward him. He smiled as he thrust upward, catching its rider unawares, his arm raised high, sword in hand. Marcus plunged the blade deep, and the rider cried out in agony, the horse rearing on its hind legs in panic. He stepped forward, shoving hard with both hands, lifting the rider from his saddle and into the air before his heart was pierced, and blood flowed freely down the blade and onto Marcus’ hands. He stepped back, withdrawing the blade as he checked on his sergeant, his foe leaning far back in his saddle, his head nearly cleaved clean off.
Marcus smiled. “I think our work here is done. Search them. See if you can find anything that might identify who they are, or who they’re working for.” He pulled his man off his horse, and first searched the saddle for anything, finding nothing but provisions. He then checked the body, finding only a small purse. He took it with the thought of giving it to young Thomas to help him get back on his feet.
He glanced over at Simon. “Anything?” Simon tossed him another purse. “Just this. No papers or accouterments.”
“Okay, let’s get out of here before we draw too much attention. And remove your surcoat.” Marcus removed his own, rolling it up and shoving it in the saddlebag of his horse, Simon doing the same. They both mounted their steeds, heading quickly down the back alley that Marcus assumed would lead toward Thomas’ home.
It took only a few minutes to find their destination. They tied up the horses and entered through the back, finding everyone in the front of the building that had once been Thomas’ late father’s workshop. A feast was underway, and Marcus’ stomach growled at the sights and smells.
“Sir!” Jeremy leaped to his feet, David following a moment later. “Thank God you are well. Your horses?”
Marcus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the back. Any problems?”
“Nothing.”
“Very well. Tend to them, but first get this off me.” He held out his arms, as did Simon, his squires quickly freeing them of their armor. It was a glorious feeling that always made him feel light on his feet, as if he could fly, though the sensation only lasted for a few moments before he felt vulnerable.
“I’ll tend to the horses,” said Jeremy, disappearing in the back. Marcus sat on a blanket, one of several laid out before the roaring fire, the warmth attacking the chill as he surveyed the semi-circle of those now under his protection. It was an odd collection. A criminal pretending to be high-society, an actual noblewoman, the son of a forger, and several Templars.
“We are quite the sight, aren’t we!” said Thibault, laughter filling the room with her comment.
Marcus smiled, the wine apparently flowing along with the food laid out in front of everyone. He frowned at the offerings. “I thought I said to keep a low profile.”
“We did!” replied Thibault. “Thomas and the squires made several trips and came in through the back. Nobody suspects anything, I assure you.”
“Uh huh.” He grabbed a leg off a bird roasted to perfection, tearing it away from the carcass, and took a bite as David poured him and Simon wine.
Lady Joanne leaned forward. “What have you found out?”
Marcus swallowed. “M’Lady, a great deal has happened today, as well as another tragedy. Do you know Lord Victor de Courtenay?”
She nodded. “I do, from the Court. Not well, mind you, though I have exchanged pleasantries. I rarely go, and haven’t been in such a long time. I simply can’t bear the gossip.” She frowned. “I was a great admirer of his wife, Lady—.” Her jaw dropped. “Wait. Why? Oh no, please not him!”
“I’m afraid so, M’Lady. After I addressed the Court on your behalf, he followed us into the palace courtyard and provided us his theory of what may be going on. He promised a list of names at my request, and when we went to his residence to collect, we found that he had been murdered. We feared all was lost, but the good man fulfilled his promise.” Marcus retrieved the pages, holding them up in triumph. “He managed to somehow trick his accosters, hiding the pages beneath the saddle of his horse, which in its master’s absence, returned home on its own.”
Thibault leaned closer, eyeing the pages. “Whose names are they?”
“I have a theory, furthered when I noticed Lord Victor made use of a cane. He explained that several months earlier, the royal stage at the Louis IX celebrations collapsed, and many were injured.”
Joanne’s eyes widened. “Yes! This is true. Even my husband hurt his knee quite badly. It took weeks to heal, and it still bothers him to this day.”
Marcus exchanged a glance with Simon, then scanned the list carefully for the first time, spotting Lord Charles’ name on the second page. “Indeed, he is listed.”
“Yes. Many were injured, especially those in the back rows, higher from the ground.”
Marcus handed Joanne the list. “Do any names stand out to you?”
She quickly read through them, nodding slowly. “I’m afraid, no. I recognize almost all the names, therefore none really seem unusual.”
“Any enemies of your husband?”
“I can’t think why he would have any.”
“Your husband is a supporter of the truce with Flanders?”
Her eyes widened. “Why, I’m not sure. I think so. Isn’t everyone?”
Marcus shook his head. “Apparently not.”
She sighed. “Politics were never my concern—I left that to my husband, which is why I avoided the Court.”
Simon grunted. “That might be why Sir Denys didn’t realize the woman he was with wasn’t you.”
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br /> Her eyes widened slightly. “This is true. I’ve never met the man, and he’s rather young, isn’t he? He’s likely new to the Court.” She waved a hand. “I really don’t know about these things. My husband and his friends would debate long into the night, and sometimes I would awake to find them still at it in the morning, especially surrounding the war with Flanders and their ally, England. I should think it would have been a great relief to everyone that a truce was signed and so many lives saved.”
Marcus agreed. “One would think, however apparently not everyone agreed with the truce.”
“Really?”
“Yes. According to Lord Victor, all of those whose wives were accused of adultery today, including your husband, were supporters of the treaty. It was his belief that they were being embarrassed, so that they would lose support in the Court, and traction might be gained to rescind the truce.”
Joanne’s jaw dropped. “But that would mean war!”
“Exactly.”
“But who would profit from that?” asked David. “Surely if the King wanted war, he would simply declare it.”
Joanne nodded. “Yes, and the Court couldn’t stop him. And even if he wanted their support, he’d simply have to indicate his desire, and the Court would fall in line, demanding war.”
Marcus agreed. “Which is what makes this so puzzling. If the King isn’t behind this, then who is, and why?”
“Flanders?” suggested Simon.
Thibault shook her head. “I doubt it. We trounced them quite handily.” She shrugged. “Or so I heard.”
Joanne looked at her. “I didn’t know you followed politics.”
“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t meet me until today. If one wants to profit from the misery of others, one needs to know everything that is going on that could cause misery. Nothing more than war causes misery, and a good denier is to be had for those who pay attention to affairs such as this.”
Marcus’ eyebrows rose. “Speaking of, I almost forgot.” He removed the two purses taken from their pursuers. “We took these off the two who followed us here.”
The Templar Detective and the Parisian Adulteress Page 11