Discreet Gentleman Book One: A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery

by Tualla, Kris

  Also noted are the good works which you accomplished while you abided with us. I am afraid that your good deeds -- deeds which you expected would remain anonymous -- have been discovered. Once you left Christiania, no man took up your cause, so it was simple to discern who was responsible.

  It is my prayer that this does not dissuade you from continuing your good works. As monks, it is our responsibility to lead the way for the common man toward a more holy existence. And to do so with whatever actions that leading may require.

  My prayers are with you both,

  Prior Daniel

  Saint Hallvard Cathedral Priory

  Father Stefan's eyes lifted from the letter to Brander. "What works were these?"

  These brothers have the ability to show the folly of debauchery in ways both the nobility and the common men understood.

  "Hm." He stared at the black words for so long, Brander wondered if he had revealed too much. He and Niels argued over the last sentence but Brander insisted it be included.

  "Brother Mikkel left us a week ago, but Brother Tomas remains." Father Stefan stood and crossed to the door. He spoke to someone, and then turned to Brander. "Come. Brother Rolf will take you to Tomas."

  *****

  Regin rolled over, looked at the dark window, and pulled the thick feather-filled comforter under her chin. If someone had died in this room she was certainly reaping the benefits. Never had she enjoyed such a sweet-smelling mattress or such crisp linens outside of her own home. The floor was spotless and filled the apartment with the softly sweet scent of beeswax.

  They had been traveling seven days as of today. And they had a hundred miles yet to go. But they were stopping here in Tønsberg for at least three days, Niels said. Something about the murders in Christiania, though Regin found that to be unlikely.

  Once they resumed travel, their journey would require five more days at the very least, assuming good weather every single day.

  "That isn't about to happen this time of year," she mumbled. At the least another week, then. Maybe more. Plus the three days of waiting for Lord Olsen to do whatever it was he was doing. In any case, she finally had access to her trunk and her things. Perhaps today she would shop for a book to read, or order a bath. Or both. If she was stuck here, she might as well make the best of her situation.

  With a groan, she climbed out from under the warm coverlet and stumbled across the chilly room to the chamber pot. When she finished she pulled back the drapes and tried to see what sort of weather was imminent.

  Below her window, yellow light flowed over the cobblestone street, marred by a black shadow. Regin squinted and stared. A Franciscan monk passed through the light then disappeared.

  A monk was staying at the inn? That was odd.

  "And none of my concern," she whispered. She tiptoed back to the bed and burrowed under the blankets to find the warm spot that awaited her return.

  *****

  Brander handed a note to Brother Tomas: I have taken a vow of silence.

  The man nodded his acknowledgment.

  Then Brander handed him the letter that he and Niels composed. He watched Brother Tomas read the words, alert for any sign of alarm. Any indication of fear. Or of guilt.

  Instead, Brother Tomas seemed perplexed. He looked from the letter, to Brander, and back to the letter. He shook his head a little.

  Brander wrote: Is there a problem?

  "Are you certain this was meant for me?"

  Brander pointed at the paper. It is addressed to you, is it not?

  "Yes, but..." Brother Tomas rubbed his palms over cleanly shaved cheeks.

  And you traveled here with Brother Mikkel?

  "I did, but..."

  It seems that you are the one to have taken the vow of silence.

  Brother Tomas smiled a little at that. "I met Brother Mikkel at the docks in Christiania after I sailed from Denmark. We walked to Saint Hallvard's Priory together."

  When?

  "In early May."

  Did you have a special assignment that you worked on together?

  "No."

  Brander sculpted his features into confusion, though Tomas' words certainly narrowed the men under suspicion from two to one.

  Why did you follow him here?

  "I didn't! I was sent to Saint Olav's by Prior Daniel. Brother Mikkel asked to accompany me on the journey."

  And then?

  "He served here for a few months. But he and Brother Arn left for Stavanger. I believe that was ten days ago, now." Brother Tomas handed the letter back to Brander. "It's possible that Prior Daniel is confused. Brother Mikkel spent a lot of time alone, and he often left the monastery. Sometimes I went to search him out before Prior Daniel noticed. Perhaps that led him to believe we were working together."

  Brander stood as if to go, then turned back. He bent over the table and wrote: Do you know what he was doing outside the walls?

  Brother Tomas looked uncomfortable. "I believe he was preaching to the whores."

  Why do you think that?

  Brother Tomas glanced around as if he feared someone might overhear. He leaned forward. "I always found him on the less 'fortunate' streets, you see."

  Brander gave a sage nod. He wrote: It appears that I am going to Stavanger, then.

  "Look for the whores," Brother Tomas advised. "He preached to them here as well, I'm afraid."

  Brander flashed a rueful grin. Everyone needs a calling, do they not? Thank you. And may God's blessings be on you.

  Brother Tomas moved his fingers in the sign of the cross. "And on you, Brother."

  *****

  Regin lifted a thick book from a shelf in the bookseller's shop. The new leather binding and horse-hoof glue gave off a unique and soothing scent. She opened the cover and ran her fingertips over the smooth paper inside. After sorting through Swedish books on war, Latin tomes on religious practices and obscure Danish literature, she had found this volume titled, "Book of a Hundred Ballads" by Anders Sørensen Vedel, and she wanted to enjoy the discovery.

  She opened the cover and turned to the first ballad. It read like a poem and spoke of new love. Regin smiled at the flowery language and romantically optimistic viewpoint, but was thoroughly entertained nonetheless. She paid for that book, plus a thin Danish novel, and began her meandering path back toward the inn.

  The sky was a chilly pale blue set with a hazy white sun, but there was no wind today. Even so, the relentlessly damp autumn air worked its way under her cloak, up her thighs and settled in her lower back. She wondered if she could spend the rest of the day reading by the fire in the common room with a steaming mug of spiced wine. And maybe a warm fruit tart. Or two.

  Regin had just topped the stairs when the door to her room popped open. Marthe looked into the hallway, then motioned her inside their apartment.

  "What's wrong?" Regin asked.

  Marthe pushed the door closed and held one finger to her lips. Regin rolled her eyes, strode across the room and set her books on the small desk under the window. She flung off her cloak and hung it by the hearth. Then she faced her maid, fists jammed on her hips.

  "What is it?" she huffed.

  Marthe tugged her sleeve, her eyes glittering with excitement. "Niels asked me to help with the investigation!" she whispered.

  Regin batted away a completely inappropriate sense of isolation. "How?"

  "I was sent to ask the chamber maids about the men that died. What the room looked like, you know? What sort of a mess they had to clean up." Marthe vibrated with the thrill. Her cheeks flushed and she looked as pretty as the young girl she once was.

  "And did you?" Regin forced herself to attend the answer but couldn't help wondering if there was something she might do to help as well. That must be more interesting than spending another day wandering without purpose through a town she would never see again.

  "I did. And when I told Niels what they said, he told me that was exactly what he and Lord Olsen expected!" Marthe patted her palms togeth
er in a quiet clap.

  "Congratulations," Regin muttered. "Perhaps your discovery will hasten our departure."

  "Do you want to know?"

  "Know what?"

  Marthe's eyes were round as the moon. "What it was like. The murders, I mean."

  Regin glanced at her books. The truth might be at least as compelling as her novel. "Tell me," she succumbed.

  "There were two men, one older than Lord Olsen and one young, maybe about twenty. Both the men died--" Marthe stepped closer and lowered her voice "--naked and in the same bed."

  "Oh good Lord!" Regin blurted, horrified. She glanced at the fragrant mattress, the crisp linens and fluffy feather comforter.

  "Don't worry, Lady. They burned the mattress and all the linens," Marthe assured. "And they scrubbed the floor and gave it a vigorous waxing."

  "That's reassuring..." Regin shuddered. "And it was poison?"

  "Yes. Niels says it was mixed with opium."

  The unanticipated reminder of her husband's behavior punched Regin in the chest. Her knees melted and she dropped onto the chair. "Like Thorlak..." she squeaked.

  Marthe looked stricken. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Lady. I'm afraid I've been quite insensitive..."

  Regin shook her head. "I am traveling toward a new husband and the savior of Kildahlshus. I must look forward, not back."

  Marthe knelt in front of her, her kind expression hopeful. "Niels believes they will find his murderer and the man will be justly dealt with," she offered.

  "And the debts are no longer growing, but will all be paid. And I will retain my home and my children will inherit." Regin ran her hand in benediction over her maid's hair. "My circumstances are improving, are they not?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lord Olsen and Niels sat with Regin and Marthe at supper in the common room. Freshly steamed fish with lemon was followed by roast goose with onions and herbs. Crusty brown bread, honey and jam, plus mashed turnips with garlic and butter rounded the meal. Regin sipped goblets of a fragrant red wine until her nose tingled. Lord Olsen had certainly selected a fine inn, the double murder in her room not counting.

  When they finished the meal the men excused themselves, but Regin wasn't in the mood to retire early. She remained in the common room to read her new novel and enjoy more of the delicious wine. When she realized she couldn't concentrate on the words because they were swimming on the page, she knew it was time to put the cup down and withdraw.

  She trudged up the stairs, watching her steps and thinking how nice her bed would feel, until she bumped into someone, pushing him back. Her head snapped up, her equilibrium wavered and she stumbled through an apology to the familiar stranger towering over her.

  "Oh! Beg pardon - so sorry - who - what are you doing?"

  Lord Olsen was dressed in narrow, dark green trousers tucked into his tall black boots and a long lime-green doublet, thickly pleated and embroidered with pearls. Pale yellow lace bloomed at his throat and leaked from his cuffs. His eyes glowed emerald and his hair hung in loose curls around his jaw. Were she pressed to describe its color she would have named it sunset or copper.

  All of Lord Olsen's joints seemed to have dissolved. He undulated closer, wrists flopping and hips swaying. He lifted her hand and brushed it with his lips, capturing her with his astounding transformation.

  "What in Thor's name are you doing?" she gasped.

  "We're investigating," Niels responded. Regin startled; she hadn't notice the valet was present.

  Niels started down the steps and Lord Olsen followed. Regin stared openly until the men reached the bottom floor. Lord Olsen turned his head and blew her a kiss over one shoulder. Then he winked.

  No matter how he dressed himself up, no matter how he wiggled, no matter how much he acted the fop, he couldn't disguise that tall, muscular frame. His discerning stare flowed out from under those curls, intense and captivating. He moved with strength and ease.

  Regin felt flushed. She told herself it was from the wine. It couldn't be from the sultry presence of Lord Olsen; it simply could not be. She reached for her door latch and closed herself inside her room. Once in bed, though she blew out her candle and pulled her pillow over her face. It was not sufficient to block out Lord Olsen's jade-green gaze and playfully seductive grin.

  *****

  Niels had spent the day ferreting out gentlemen's clubs, high-class brothels, and establishments boasting fine foods and wines. Tonight, he and Brander would visit the three that in Brander's estimation seemed most likely to yield clues.

  His deafness was not hidden this evening; men talked more freely when they knew. No one ever considered that he might discern their words by watching their lips. To further disguise his acute attention, he procured a pair of smoked eyeglasses.

  The first building they arrived at housed a club for high-ranking men -- and only men. There weren't even servant girls to be seen. The rooms were dark and clustered with groups of upholstered chairs. Uniformed valets offered akevitt, ales or imported wines.

  Brander strode daintily into the club and sat delicately in the middle of the room. He gestured broadly to Niels, who stood behind him and ordered wine for his master. Curious glances met him from every corner and he smiled faintly and nodded to every man whose eye he caught.

  Several minutes passed before a pair of elegantly clad gentlemen approached. Brander waved to them, offering the empty chairs in front of him.

  "Welcome, sir," one began.

  He was dressed in richly embroidered velvet, closely tailored to his soft, pudgy frame. His thinning hair was tied back, displaying its recession. He obviously had money and he indulged.

  Brander dipped his chin and flopped one wrist in a circle. That was Niels' cue to introduce him -- tonight he would be Baron Ulfsen of Copenhagen, just landed in Norway -- and explain that he was deaf. And that he was looking for a particular sort of entertainment.

  "I am Lord Ragnor Marensen, Greve of Telemark," the velvet man said to Niels. "And this is my good friend and host, Baron Magnus Magnusen of Tønsberg."

  "The Baron is pleased to meet you both. Please accept his hospitality," Niels responded.

  Another limp wave of Brander's hand brought the valet with drinks for the men, and a word from Niels prompted a generous tray of meat pies, smoked salmon and pickled vegetables.

  As the men helped themselves, Niels motioned to Brander and translated his gestured responses. Conversation centered on what sort of diversions a nobleman might discover in Tønsberg, if he was to remain for a period in this town. Magnusen was cautious, but after a couple generous glasses of akevitt, his loosened guest leaned forward and began to recommend a particular brothel. It was one on their list for this same evening.

  When they were ready to take their leave, Niels handed each of the men a hand-lettered card, explaining that if they thought of anything else to suggest, they could reach Baron Ulfsen at that location. Then Brander leaned forward and stared into Ragnor Maresen's eyes.

  Opium, he mouthed.

  The man's eyes widened.

  Brander stood offered his hand, bowing to his new friends. Then he turned and sashayed from the club.

  *****

  Back in their rooms at the inn, Brander pried off his boots and peeled off his trousers while Niels hung his fancy green doublet to air. The clock showed nearly the third hour. Far too late to order a bath, though he stunk of smoke, wine and perfume. The dining establishment seemed to offer no leads, so he and Niels moved on to the brothel. The well-dressed whores pressed and stroked his body, trying to entice him to choose.

  He let it be known that he might enjoy a different sort of sport. Their disappointment was palpable and their groping attempts to change his mind almost violent. But in the end, the elder woman who managed the house came and covertly explained that the young man recently in her employ had run off. If the esteemed Baron would give her a day or so, she would procure another to meet his needs.

  Brander nodded magnanimously and left her wi
th the same hand-lettered card and single mouthed word: Opium.

  He washed himself with the cold water in the basin. His skin puckered and the hairs on his chest and arms stood on end. Niels urged the fire back to life. Brander sat close enough to dry and warm his hide. Finally, he donned his linen nightshirt.

  His cousin disappeared from the room, then reappeared with two steaming mugs. Brander could smell the spices and he reached out, grateful for Niels' consideration.

  Thank you.

  "Do you think we did well tonight?" Niels blew on his wine and took a cautious sip.

  Brander nodded: Word should spread that Baron Ulfsen of Copenhagen seeks his diversions in the forms of sodomy and delirium.

  Niels made a face. "Will we go out again" -- he glanced at the clock -- "tonight?"

  Yes.

  Brander drained his mug and handed Niels the empty vessel. The wine settled warm in his belly and relaxed his body in a sleepy and sensual manner. Why that made him think of Lady Kildahl was uncomfortably beyond him. He crossed the room and tossed back the covers.

  Good night.

  Niels saluted with mug in hand and closed the door behind him.

  Brander settled in the bed, all parts of him relaxed save one. He told himself it was the whores' overt attention that aroused him. And the intentional sexuality he needed to exude all evening. But he knew he wasn't being truthful.

  Because he hadn't stiffened until the widow's face appeared in his mind.

  He allowed himself the luxury of picturing her at the top of the stairs earlier tonight. Flushed and a little disheveled, she looked as though she needed a good bedding. No -- as if she would welcome a good bedding.

  Damn him if he didn't ache to give it to her.

  October 11, 1720

  Regin sat in the common room after the midday meal, reading her Danish novel and wondering if every story of Denmark was required to involve royal intrigue, when a movement in the doorway to the stairs pulled her attention. Lord Olsen sauntered in looking far too handsome for her comfort. He was dressed in a simple dark blue tunic over a white shirt with black trousers tucked into his black boots. His hair was tied back so his cheeks and jaw looked exceptionally well sculpted.