Where Love Has Gone (11 page)

“Well, it’s too late now,” Cadwallon said.
“The killer will very soon know Aglise has been found.”

“And that knowledge will put all of us in
danger,” Desmond added, “including you, Elaine. Whoever killed
Aglise will want to protect himself by stopping us before we can
learn who he is.”

“Yes,” Elaine agreed almost absently, her
gaze fixed upon the wrapped shape lying at her feet.

“What was it you wanted to say to me?”
Desmond asked.

“What?” She stared at him blankly, as if she
hadn’t heard him clearly and was having trouble seeing him.

“I’m talking about the reason why you rode
after Cadwallon and me today,” Desmond prodded. “You said you
wanted to speak to us in a place well away from any
eavesdroppers.”

“Oh.” Elaine sighed, the sound making
Desmond’s heart ache to hear it. “Never mind. Since Aglise is dead,
it doesn’t matter.”

“Perhaps it does matter. If you know anything
that will help our investigation, you must tell us,” Desmond
urged.

“What I know,” she responded, “is that we
need to move Aglise now. Soon the water will enter the cave and we
will all be trapped here.”

“She’s right,” Ewan declared. “We spent a lot
of time exploring the other caves before we chanced upon this one,
and while we weren’t paying attention to the sea, the tide has
turned. When I was on the beach just now I could see how the waves
are moving closer to the cliff with each surge.”

“Then, let’s do what we have to do,”
Cadwallon said. “We can talk more after we are safely up the cliff
path.”

He and Ewan spread out Flamig’s blanket on
the cave floor and Desmond helped them to lift Aglise’s body onto
it. Once the heavy woolen folds were wrapped securely around the
pathetically small shape, Ewan began to crawl backward through the
cave entrance, dragging one end of the blanket with him, while
Desmond and Cadwallon guided his burden from inside the cave,
taking care that it didn’t snag on the rock.

Meanwhile, Elaine searched the cave in the
light of the guttering candles, seeking any tool or any piece of
Aglise’s belongings that might provide a hint as to exactly how she
had been killed, or who had done it.

She heard Cadwallon shouting from outside the
cave, but she wasn’t paying attention to what he said, until
Desmond caught her hand to pull her to the entrance.

“Didn’t you hear?” Desmond asked. “Cadwallon
says the last wave entered the outer part of the cave opening. If
you don’t want a mouthful of salt water on your way out, we have to
leave right now.”

“I didn’t see Aglise’s necklace,” Elaine
said, still looking backward.

“She wore none.” Desmond spoke impatiently,
out of his eagerness to be gone.

“Yes, she did.” Blindly, thoughtlessly,
Elaine tugged on his hand, trying to get away from him so she could
continue her search. “She always wore it. Father gave it to her.
Fine gold links with a tiny gold cross. It belonged to his mother.
I have Grandmother’s bracelet and a ring, and Father gave her
necklace to Aglise.”

“I saw nothing like that on her body, nor
while we were digging,” Desmond said. “Elaine, we have no more
time.”

He caught her shoulders, pushed her down to
the sand, and thrust her into the tunnel-like cave entrance. A
surge of icy water hit her square in the face, shocking her out of
her numb and bewildered state.

It wasn’t a very long tunnel, only two or
three feet, but to Elaine it felt as if she crawled for miles. Salt
water repeatedly slapped her in the face. By the time Cadwallon
grabbed her wrists and pulled her out onto the beach she was
drenched and gasping for air, but though grief remained, her mind
was clear at last.

Once she was free of the rock, Cadwallon
released her and turned to tug Desmond from the cave entrance.

With Ewan’s help Elaine staggered to her
feet. When she looked around she saw how narrowly they had escaped
the cave. The incoming waves were already crashing against the base
of the cliffs and as they withdrew they left damp sand in their
wake. The blanket covering Aglise was wet.

“Oh, no.” Elaine bent to touch the sodden
wool. “Oh, my dear, I wanted to keep you warm and dry.”

“Ewan and I will carry her,” Cadwallon said.
At his nod, they caught the ends of the blanket, lifting Aglise as
if in a sling.

“You two go up first,” Desmond ordered. He
grabbed his sword just before the water reached it and buckled the
weapon at his waist. Then he slung his damp saddlebag over his
shoulder. “I’ll see that Elaine gets up safely.”

By the time they reached the top of the cliff
they were all shivering, for in spite of the bright sunshine the
wind was brisk and every member of their group was at least
partially wet.

Cadwallon and Ewan carried Aglise’s body well
away from the cliff edge, setting it down on a grassy patch not far
from where they had tethered their horses. Desmond led Elaine
toward the others.

“Lady Benedicta will be most upset with us,”
Elaine said, looking at her companions. “Each of us will surely
catch a chill. She will have to dose us with her vile herbal
nostrums.”

“You are remarkably calm,” Desmond noted.

“Am I?” She ventured a pale smile. “Perhaps
it’s because I am not greatly surprised by what we found down
there. But it is a great sorrow to me. I loved Aglise so dearly,
even after—”

She stopped, swallowed hard, and lifted her
chin in a gesture of courage that Desmond found so touching he
could not bring himself to ask the question raised by her last
words.

“Over the past few months, since Aglise
disappeared,” Elaine continued, “I slowly began to realize that if
she was still on Jersey as I felt certain she was, then she must be
dead. I didn’t want to believe it. I fought so hard against belief
and I refused to say the words,
she’s dead
, aloud. But all
the time, deep in my heart, I understood it was probably so, and
was more likely with each day that passed without word from her.
It’s almost a relief to be certain.

“Gentlemen,” she said, looking from Desmond
to Cadwallon, to Ewan, “I am deeply grateful for what you’ve done
for my poor sister, for the respectful way you have treated her
remains, and for your kindness to me this afternoon.”

“We will find whoever killed her,” Desmond
promised.

“I know you will.” She met his gaze squarely,
with no sign of tears or deceit. “And when you do, I will have even
more reason for gratitude.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t find her alive.” Desmond
laid one hand on her shoulder.

Suddenly, she couldn’t hold back the tears
any longer. Every hope, however faint, that she had held for
Aglise’s safe return, every futile prayer she had whispered over
the long, worrisome weeks, every promise she had made to heaven to
be more patient with Aglise, if only she were alive and involved in
something merely foolish and exasperating, instead of frightening
and dangerous – all of it had been for naught.

Elaine stood on the wind-whipped cliff,
fighting for her composure and losing the battle. Desmond put his
arms around her, enfolding her slowly, as if he was fighting his
own battle against any suggestion of intimacy with her. Gradually
he drew her close, and Elaine laid her head on his shoulder and
wept like a lost child. She was only dimly aware of his lips on her
forehead, or of his cheek pressed against hers. Yet in his embrace
she found a measure of comfort.

The cart from Warden’s Manor arrived almost
an hour later, with Flamig driving it and a grim-faced Lord
Bertrand riding beside it.

Elaine met her foster father calmly. She had
finished her weeping and the wind had dried her face, so she was
prepared to deal with Lord Bertrand’s questions, and with the
arrangements for Aglise’s funeral. Mercifully, Desmond had not
pressed her further to reveal what she knew about her sister.

“Elaine,” said Lord Bertrand as soon as he
had dismounted, “Flamig tells me you were with these men when they
found Aglise. I am so sorry you had to see her thus. I wish you had
stayed at the castle. Lady Benedicta is greatly annoyed with you
for insisting upon riding after our guests.”

“At the moment, I am not concerned with Lady
Benedicta’s feelings,” Elaine snapped at him. “My sister is dead,
sir, and your wife’s irritation means little to me in the face of
so great a loss.”

“Oh, Elaine, I assure you, I do grieve over
Aglise.”

“Of course you do.” Elaine dismissed Lord
Bertrand’s sympathy, though she saw in his dark eyes that he was
honestly saddened by Aglise’s death. And well he ought to be sad.
But she had no time for anyone else’s grief. If her own sorrow was
not to overcome and immobilize her, she was going to have to stay
busy.

“I want Aglise buried in the village
cemetery,” she said.

“You don’t want her taken to Normandy, so
your mother can be present at the funeral?” Lord Bertrand asked,
looking surprised by her demand. “Nor to the family plot at
Dereham?”

“My father’s cousin holds Dereham now,”
Elaine said, “as you well know, my lord. Dereham hasn’t been our
home for several years. As far as our mother is concerned, I’m sure
she would prefer that I see to the arrangements so she won’t have
to think about Aglise’s death. Aglise loved this island, loved the
sunshine and the flowers and the warmth. I want her to lie here,
where the villagers will remember her with affection.”

“We will all remember her with affection,”
Lord Bertrand said. “Very well, then. I’ll speak to Father
Otwin.”

“
I
will speak to Father Otwin,” Elaine
corrected him. “I am Aglise’s closest blood kin. I will make the
arrangements.”

“As you wish.” Looking old and weary, Lord
Bertrand bowed his head.

Desmond was surprised by how cold Elaine was
toward him. Though Lord Bertrand did not impress him as a
particularly warmhearted person, he did seem genuinely moved by
Aglise’s death. And, in a way, he was responsible for her loss,
since he had assumed the position of parent to the girl. Possibly,
Elaine blamed him for not searching more diligently for Aglise when
she was first reported missing.

Not that a search of every cave on the
beaches along the northern shore would have made any difference to
the dead girl. The fact that she was wrapped in a makeshift shroud
proved she was dead when she was placed in the cave. Whether she
was murdered on the beach or elsewhere, Desmond seriously doubted
either Lord Bertrand or Elaine could have done anything to save
her.

With Lord Bertrand watching in silence and
Elaine standing a short but significant distance from him, the
other men lifted Aglise and laid her in the cart. Then they mounted
and rode back to Warden’s Manor, with Flamig still driving the
cart. They made a sad, solemn and, for Elaine, an angry funeral
cortege.

“Just as you predicted,” Desmond muttered to
Cadwallon as they rode side by side through the gatehouse archway,
“the word has spread. It looks as if every last inhabitant of the
manor is lined up to watch us bring the poor girl into the
courtyard What in the name of heaven do they expect to see?”

“They are going to be looking at Elaine and
at Lord Bertrand,” Cadwallon replied. “They want to observe how
Aglise’s closest kin are taking her death. And we, my friend, ought
to be observing the crowd in return, in case there’s a guilty face
among them.”

If there was a guilty face, Desmond couldn’t
find it. Lord Bertrand’s men-at-arms, squires, and servants all
stood in respectful silence while the cart bearing Aglise’s body
moved slowly under the heavy arch at the entrance to the courtyard.
Flamig halted the cart at the foot of the steps leading to the
manor house. Immediately, two men-at-arms came down the steps with
a litter.

“Ah,” Cadwallon said quietly to Desmond,
“there is Lady Benedicta, waiting at the top of the stairs, exactly
where she ought to be. She looks properly distressed, too.”

Desmond had time to cast only a hasty glance
at Lady Benedicta before his gaze was caught by the youthful face
peering around the doorframe just behind her. He recognized Jean,
the kitchen boy, whose cheeks were wet with streaming tears.
Desmond recalled Elaine saying how Jean adored Aglise, who had been
kind to him. All the same, he wondered at the lad daring to creep
so close to Lady Benedicta when his rightful place was far in the
background. But then, love and grief brought with them their own
high rank.

While the riders dismounted and handed their
horses over to the waiting squires, several men-at-arms moved
Aglise’s body to the litter and carried her up the steps. Lady
Benedicta stepped back, her head bowed, hands clasped at her bosom
in a sorrowful attitude while they passed before her.

“Father Otwin is waiting in the chapel. I
have told the men to take Aglise there,” Lady Benedicta said to
Elaine as soon as she reached the entry. She bent a disapproving
look upon her foster daughter. “You are wet. Go and change your
gown. I will see to Aglise.”

“No!” Elaine stopped short. “
I
will
prepare Aglise for burial. I, alone, will do what must be done for
her. If I need help, I will call upon Father Otwin.”

Lady Benedicta met the younger woman’s hard
gaze for a long, measuring moment, before she lowered her head in
an acquiescence similar to Lord Bertrand’s earlier acceptance of
Elaine’s demands on behalf of her sister.

“Whatever you wish, Elaine. I know you are
deeply hurt by this tragedy.”

“You have no inkling of what I feel,” Elaine
snapped. “No one has. Except, perhaps, Jean.” She held out her arms
to the weeping boy, who rushed to her and wrapped his arms around
her waist.

“Jean,” Elaine said, smoothing his hair and
placing a kiss on his forehead, “will you help Aglise one last
time?”