Where Love Has Gone (24 page)

With Ewan still holding Lady Benedicta’s arm
in a most uncomfortable position behind her back, they entered the
bedchamber she had appropriated in preference to her rightful
position in her husband’s bed.

It was as neat and clean as the linen room.
Not a wrinkle marred the surface of the plain grey quilt that
covered the bed. No garments lay strewn about. Only a pair of shoes
sat side by side next to the clothing chest.

“You can let her go now, Ewan,” Cadwallon
said as soon as he stood with his wide back solidly planted against
the closed door. “She can’t get away again.”

Elaine took up a position a little to one
side of the men who were all facing Lady Benedicta. Knowing she had
every right to be present while her sister’s murderer was being
interrogated, she was willing to let the others do the questioning.
Doubtless, they had methods unfamiliar to her. She shivered a
little, hoping they wouldn’t have to resort to force to make Lady
Benedicta talk. The way Ewan had twisted her arm had been
unpleasant enough for Elaine. But before either Desmond or
Cadwallon could ask a single question, Lord Bertrand confronted his
wife.

“Why did you do this?” he cried. “In God’s
name, Benedicta, what reason could you possibly have to betray King
Henry?”

“Is that what these men say I have done?” she
responded.

“Are you claiming the accusations they’ve
made against you are untrue? If there’s some other explanation, I’d
like to hear it. You cannot deny murdering Aglise, and that’s
wickedness enough for one lifetime. You must and will be punished
for it. But, treason? Spying? I don’t understand.”

“You have forgotten. I’m not surprised,” Lady
Benedicta said. “It meant so little to you.
I
meant so
little to you. Yet, it meant so much to me.”

“Have you gone mad?” Lord Bertrand cried.

“Let her speak without interruption,” Desmond
said. He laid a hand on Lord Bertrand’s shoulder and pushed him
aside, not roughly but firmly, until he stood in Lord Bertrand’s
place, looking at Lady Benedicta with an expression of kindly
interest.

At first, Elaine was annoyed by Desmond’s
expression. Then she saw Cadwallon smile and nod, and she
understood. Gentle, apparently understanding questioning was one of
Desmond’s methods for obtaining the information he must have if he
was to learn the ultimate purpose behind Lady Benedicta’s
spying.

“Go on, my lady,” Desmond said. “Tell us your
story in your own way. We want to understand what led you to
treachery against King Henry.”

“Shortly after King Henry ascended to the
throne of England, my father died,” Lady Benedicta said, her gaze
on Desmond’s face. “At once, Henry seized the lands in Normandy
that our family had held for more than a hundred years.”

“Your father produced no male heirs,” Lord
Bertrand interrupted rudely. “Of course, his lands escheated to the
crown. That’s the law the Conqueror made and every Norman
understands it.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Benedicta exclaimed bitterly,
“William, the great conqueror! A bastard! The law you speak of,
husband
, was made in England, for those who hold lands in
England to observe. But in Normandy, your precious King Henry is
only a duke, and the laws there have always been different. I
married you as my father wanted, I was an obedient wife to you, and
I bore two sons. My father’s properties should have passed to one
of my sons, or been divided between them. That is what he expected
would happen when he arranged my marriage to you. His wishes are
clearly expressed in our marriage contract. But King Henry overrode
the provisions of the contract.”

“This is ridiculous,” Lord Bertrand said.

“Be quiet, my lord,” Desmond ordered. “Go on,
my lady.”

“While my sons were still young, I spoke to
King Henry about the matter,” Lady Benedicta said to Desmond. “He
promised he would consider my plea. But after years of delay and of
false hopes on my part, he granted my father’s lands – my family’s
lands! – to one of his own supporters, I suppose in an effort to
keep the man’s loyalty.

“When I begged Lord Bertrand to complain
about the injustice done to our sons, he refused because he wanted
to stay in Henry’s favor. Much good that piece of cowardice did for
us. We were sent here, to this isolated island, to rot.”

“I like Jersey,” Lord Bertrand told her. “My
position here is a sign of King Henry’s trust in me. Benedicta,
have you blamed him, and me, all these years? And never said a word
of your feelings?”

“What good would speaking of it do? You men
make your decisions, and a mere woman is powerless to change your
minds.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Desmond said.
“King Henry likes women and he does listen to them, especially to
his wife. He is an unusual king in that way.”

“Ah, yes.” Lady Benedicta laughed. “He likes
women. It’s why he’s reputed to have a hundred illegitimate
children. Now, there’s a fine tribute to the wife he likes so
much!”

“When did you begin spying?” Desmond asked in
the same quiet voice he had been using with her from the beginning
of his questioning.

“I can’t recall exactly. A very interesting
French nobleman visited Warden’s Manor some years ago. We spoke of
inconsequential subjects, as guest and hostess often do, and he
dropped a few hints that I might prove useful to his liege lord. I
found the prospect frightening, yet strangely alluring. Can you
understand that, Sir Desmond?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do understand. The danger
and the excitement of spying can be oddly seductive. What happened
next?”

“My sons had left home by then to serve
elsewhere as squires, and with a husband who was indifferent to me,
I found little to keep myself occupied. When next we went to court,
I chanced to meet the same nobleman again, and again he approached
me about helping his lord. By then, I knew well enough who he meant
– Louis VI of France, Louis the Fat to those who dislike him.

“I don’t know the French king and have no
wish to meet him. But I despise King Henry for robbing my sons of
their rightful heritage, and I was stifling with boredom here on
Jersey. I agreed to provide information about the number of men
stationed on Jersey and on the other islands, about any new
fortifications being planned, and about any scheme against France
that King Henry was considering. The pigeons were my own idea,” she
added with a touch of pride.

“A clever idea,” Desmond said.

“I thought so. It’s only fair to tell you
that Lord Bertrand never noticed what I was doing. He didn’t know
about my spying. He is innocent of that much, at least.” She stared
hard at her husband for a long, measuring moment, while he gazed
back, shamefaced.

“Then, you really didn’t kill Aglise out of
jealousy,” Elaine said.

“Of course not. I never cared which household
slut he took to his bed. Even if I had cared, I knew Aglise meant
nothing to him.”

Lady Benedicta’s twisted smile made Elaine
yearn to slap her. She controlled herself with difficulty.

“But, my sister represented a serious
threat,” Elaine said.

“I have nothing more to say to any of you,”
Lady Benedicta stated with cold arrogance. “You have my permission
to leave me.”

“Not until you tell us who has been receiving
your messages,” Desmond said, his voice taking on a hard edge, all
kindness and gentleness gone from his manner. “I want a name, Lady
Benedicta, and I want it now.”

“I will not speak.” She bestowed a bleak
little smile on him.

“In that case, perhaps you will decide to
talk to Lord Royce,” Desmond told her, “or to King Henry’s
questioners.”

The smile faded and the blood drained from
her cheeks at the threat, but she did not back down. Desmond tried
to smother the faint stirring of sympathy that beset him. He wasn’t
surprised by his lack of success in obtaining the name of Lady
Benedicta’s associate. He could tell she intended to play the game
to its end, the game of stubborn refusal in the face of physical
peril. It was a game he had played himself, to his great cost.

Lady Benedicta’s crimes deserved no sympathy,
yet Desmond experienced a strange sense of kinship with her, for in
her he recognized his female counterpart, a soul eagerly craving
the thrill that only lethal danger can provide. Her resentments
against King Henry and her husband were so great, and her daily
life was so dull, that she had embraced spying as other women took
lovers, seeking therein an antidote to boredom.

The need for such excitement was not an
admirable quality, but it was one Desmond could understand only too
well since he, too, suffered from the affliction.

“You will remain in this room, under guard,
until the ship
Daisy
reaches Gorey Harbor,” he told her. At
his imperious gesture the others filed out and Desmond shut the
door on his hazardous prisoner.

“Ewan,” Cadwallon instructed, “do not leave
this door for any reason and allow no one to enter or speak with
Lady Benedicta. Desmond and I will alternate watches with you. We
dare not allow so formidable a lady the opportunity to escape the
king’s justice.”

“You may depend on me, my lord,” Ewan
promised.

“Desmond, I must speak with you and Cadwallon
in private,” Elaine said.

“In a moment.” Desmond held up a warning hand
to silence her. “Lord Bertrand, I am certain you have arrangements
to make with Flamig. We will trust you to see to the welfare of the
folk of Jersey until you hold your conference with King Henry.”

“Yes.” Lord Bertrand sighed and his shoulders
drooped. “I have neglected my responsibilities. I’ll be with Flamig
if you need me.” He headed down the steps to the great hall.

“Flamig?” Elaine asked, looking at
Desmond.

“He will serve as seneschal until King Henry
appoints a man to replace Lord Bertrand,” Desmond explained. “Did
you know Flamig has been acting as your guardian ever since Aglise
disappeared?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said in surprise. “So,
that’s why he was always hanging about.”

“Lord Bertrand assigned him to protect you,”
Cadwallon said.

“He’d have done better to lock up his wife,”
she snapped.

“True.” Cadwallon grinned at her. “The man’s
a weakling, and he is only concerned with false notions of
honor.”

“Now we are alone, what did you want to say
to us?” Desmond asked.

“I found a parchment hidden among Aglise’s
clothes. It’s small enough to fit on a bird’s leg, and the message
written on it seems to be in code.”

“Where is it?” Desmond asked. “I hope you put
it in a safe place.”

“Yes, but I must ask you to turn your backs
while I retrieve it.” The perplexed look on Desmond’s face made her
laugh and did much to banish the tensions of the last hour. “I hid
it in a purse that’s tied underneath my skirt.”

“Good thinking.” Cadwallon winked at her
before moving to face the stairs. “Turn around now, Desmond, and
let Elaine do what she must.”

Elaine turned her own back before she lifted
her skirt and unfastened the knot at her waist.

“Here.” She held out the parchment. “I’ll
keep the purse, if you don’t mind. My father gave it to me long
ago.”

She didn’t think Desmond was paying attention
to what she said. He was already unrolling the parchment and
frowning at the words and numbers on it.

“I think I deciphered part of it,” Elaine
said helpfully.

“You did?” He didn’t remove his gaze from the
message. “Are you sure?”

“Here.” She pointed to the word that recurred
several times. “I translate this as
Henri
. It must mean King
Henry, don’t you think? And, this seems to be a date.
Le premier
Mai
.” She tapped the parchment at the spot where the
arrangement of numbers appeared.

“The first of May,” Cadwallon said. “Eight
days from now? I’ve lost track of time since we’ve been here. When
I’m at home, I always know the date.”

“I think the message means something will
happen on the first day of May, which is seven days from today.
King Henry is involved,” Elaine said. “Desmond, can you decode
it?”

“I will, given enough time,” he answered.

“We may have ample time,” Cadwallon said,
glancing out the solar window. “If this weather doesn’t improve,
the
Daisy
will be delayed.”

“Hmm.” Desmond was reading the parchment,
counting to himself in a low voice, and frowning more deeply than
ever. “Elaine, can you obtain a sheet of parchment, a quill and
some ink? It doesn’t have to be fresh parchment. Just an old sliver
that I can scribble on will do. Or, if you can’t find parchment, a
wax tablet.”

“Father Otwin will have writing supplies.”
Elaine started for the stairs, then paused. “You may want to
investigate the stillroom. Lady Benedicta was writing something in
there last night.”

“She sent that message off at dawn,” Desmond
said. “It was her last communication with her fellow spy.
Cadwallon, check the stillroom. Collect anything that looks the
least bit interesting – or damning. I’ll be in our chamber, with
the door bolted while I work on this.”

“Desmond.” Elaine laid a hand on his arm.
“I’m convinced the message on that parchment is the reason why
Aglise died. Somehow, she found it, or intercepted it, and
foolishly let Lady Benedicta know she had it. I don’t think it
mattered whether she was able to decode it, or not. She held it in
her possession, and that was enough to seal her doom. Whatever the
message contains, it’s important.”

“You’re probably right. But Lady Benedicta is
in our custody now, and she won’t get away from us. She will be
punished, I promise.” Desmond’s warm hand stroked along her
cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

They separated then, to carry out their
assigned errands.