Where Love Has Gone (12 page)

“Oh, yes, I will,” Jean said, his voice
muffled against her side.

“Please go to the kitchen and ask the cook to
send two buckets of very warm water, a large basin, and several
clean cloths to the chapel. Aglise is sandy. I want to wash
her.”

Jean nodded, sniffling.

“And, Jean,” Elaine said with one eye on
Desmond, “you need not explain to anyone what you are doing. Merely
say that I have given you an order. You are under no obligation to
answer questions.”

“Yes, my lady. I understand.” After a quick
hug from Elaine, Jean headed for the kitchen.

Elaine followed the men-at-arms carrying
Aglise to the chapel, which was located at the far side of the
entry hall. There, at the chapel door, a man in a priestly cassock
awaited them.

“We’ve done all we can for the moment,”
Cadwallon said, looking after Elaine. He glanced around, seeking
his squire. “Ewan, Sir Desmond and I will want hot water and soap,
and dry clothes. And so will you, I think.”

“Aye, my lord.” Ewan shivered in his damp
tunic and hose. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Speaking for myself,” Cadwallon said to
Desmond, “I’ve a mind for a long, friendly conversation with Flamig
this evening, with a large pitcher of ale between us.”

“There’s a good idea,” Desmond agreed. “I’m
sure the man knows more than he’s telling. I’d like to know the
real reason why he left the manor today to ride along the
cliffs.”

“So would I.” Cadwallon started for the
staircase that led to the upper levels of the keep. “Are you
coming?”

“Go ahead,” Desmond told him. “I want to
speak with Jean.”

“Yes, another person who knows more than he
tells,” said Cadwallon. “Did you notice how subtly Elaine warned
him not to answer any questions?”

“That,” said Desmond with a grim smile, “is
why I plan to question him.”

He found Jean in the kitchen, being soundly
scolded by a large, red-faced woman in a voluminous apron, whom
Desmond assumed was the manor house cook.

“What’s wrong here?” Desmond asked her.

The woman gave him a look that should have
felled him. Desmond knew perfectly well that knights almost never
ventured into the kitchen, which was not a man’s provenance. Aware
of intruding where he didn’t belong, he decided to rely on
charm.

“I do apologize for interrupting your work,”
he said, smiling at the cook. “I only wanted to be certain you
received the message that Lady Elaine has ordered hot water and
cloths sent to the chapel.”

“Aye.” She frowned at him, though she didn’t
look quite so angry now. “I’ve seen to it. The water’s
heating.”

“I was certain we could depend on you,”
Desmond said, still smiling. “May we also borrow Jean’s services
for a short time? Lady Elaine especially asked for him.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what use this ignorant
lout is to her,” the cook said. To emphasize her point, she boxed
Jean’s ears so hard that Desmond flinched to see her hand connect
with the lad’s head. “All he does is daydream and try to avoid
work. But Lady Elaine is a kind soul, always polite to the
servants, which is more than I can say for some. If she needs
Jean’s services, she’s welcome to him for as long as she
likes.”

“Thank you.” Desmond took a deep,
appreciative breath and broadened his smile. “Whatever you are
preparing, it smells wonderful. You are obviously skilled with
herbs.”

“I’m fortunate that Lady Benedicta keeps an
extensive herb garden. It’s a hot vegetable stew,” the cook
explained. “I thought Lady Elaine, and you and your friend, too,
would all be chilled after spending time on the beach.”

“That is very thoughtful of you. I’m sure
Lady Elaine will be grateful for your efforts. I know I will.”

“Take this dim-witted boy,” the cook said,
pushing Jean toward him, “and let me get back to work.”

“I apologize again for disturbing you,”
Desmond said.

“You can tell Lady Elaine the water will be
along in a trice,” the cook said.

Desmond put a hand on Jean’s skinny shoulder
to propel him through the narrow screens passage and back to the
great hall. There he paused to look around. Lord Bertrand and Lady
Benedicta were nowhere to be seen. Only a few men-at-arms sprawled
on benches in one corner, talking together. Desmond judged the hall
was about as private a place as he was likely to find within the
manor.

“Jean,” he said, bending close to the boy’s
ear so he could speak softly, “I know you are saddened by Lady
Aglise’s death.”

“She was good to me,” Jean said. “She never
hit me like the others do. She and Lady Elaine tried to protect me.
Now, Lady Aglise is dead and Lady Elaine will go away, and I’ll be
all alone.” He looked as if he was going to begin crying again.

“I shouldn’t think it’s likely that Lady
Elaine will go away,” Desmond remarked, trying to sound both
friendly and casual, though he wasn’t used to talking to young
boys. “She’s still Lord Bertrand’s foster daughter, so she will
probably stay here until her mother sends for her.”

“Lady Benedicta will send her away,” Jean
said with a sob. “She doesn’t like Lady Elaine, because Lady Elaine
talks back to her.”

“I see.” Desmond wasn’t sure he did see, but
at the moment he had more important issues to pursue than the
question of whether or not Lady Benedicta liked Elaine. “Jean, I
need your help. I haven’t been here very long, so I’m not familiar
with the manor. I think you do know where everything is.”

“Are you afraid you’ll get lost?” Jean
asked.

“Yes, I am, because this place is much larger
than most manors.” Desmond sat down on a bench, so his face was
level with Jean’s. The boy was scrawny, as if he didn’t get enough
to eat. He looked to be about ten or eleven, though he was probably
small for his age. Desmond spoke slowly and carefully, so Jean
would have no difficulty understanding him. “I admit, I’m also
curious. I keep wondering how Lady Aglise could have left the
manor.”

“How?” Jean stared at him with a blank
expression that gave credence to the claim of the other servants
that he was dull-witted. “What d’you mean, Sir Desmond?”

“Well, I’ve been wondering if there is a
secret way out of the manor, a way Lady Aglise could have taken
without anyone seeing her go. Because no one remembers her leaving
through the main gate and not returning.” Desmond and Cadwallon had
ascertained as much during their questioning of the men-at-arms,
and Ewan’s conversations with the squires and servants had
confirmed it. “Every time Lady Aglise left the manor, she used the
main gate and she was with Lady Elaine, or with a servant, and each
time she returned, she came in by the main gate. Then, suddenly,
she just wasn’t here any longer. So, the last time she left, she
must have gone out by a different way. Warden’s Manor is built on a
rather high hill. It would make good sense for the builder to have
included one or two lesser gates.” He waited patiently while Jean
considered his remarks.

“There are three ways out, besides the main
gate,” Jean said, and counted on his fingers. “The postern gate
first. Lord Bertrand and Lady Benedicta hold the only keys, so no
one can leave there without borrowing one of those keys. Lady
Aglise couldn’t have gone out by that gate without them knowing it,
and then she wouldn’t have been missing, would she?”

“True,” Desmond said. Judging he had Jean’s
complete interest, he ventured a more probing question. “Warden’s
Manor is built on a rather high hill. What about the other ways
out? Could Aglise have used one of them?”

“There’s a gate at a lower level that we
sometimes use to bring large loads of supplies into the storerooms
directly from the harbor,” Jean said. “Barrels of salted fish, tuns
of wine, things like that. Cook holds the key to that gate, and
Lady Benedicta has one, too, because she’s the chatelaine
here.”

“I suppose the cook wouldn’t give her key to
Aglise,” Desmond remarked.

“She might. But if she did, she’d have told
Lady Benedicta about it right away after Lady Aglise was found to
be missing. Cook likes Lady Aglise. She’s been dreadfully worried
about her.”

“I’m sure you are right. You mentioned three
exits.” He almost held his breath in suspense, but Jean was
speaking openly, man to man, apparently pleased to be holding a
conversation with a grownup knight.

“The last one is a secret way,” the boy
confided. “I only know about it ‘cause I saw Lord Bertrand use it
once, when he didn’t know I was near. The door is just outside the
solar, under the stairs there. It’s set into the stone so neatly
you can’t see it unless you know where it is.”

“The builder must have been very clever. Do
you know where the outer end of that exit is?” Desmond asked. He
was certain Jean did know. When he was Jean’s age, he’d have made
it his business to find out all he could about any secret
passageway.

“It’s at the very bottom of the manor house,”
Jean said. “Right near the cliffs, on the side of the manor that
faces away from Gorey village.”

“You mean the north side of the manor. Do you
suppose Lady Aglise knew about that exit?” Desmond asked.

“Yes, she did,” Jean replied. “When I told
her about it, she said she already knew, because Lord Bertrand had
showed it to her.”

“He did?” Desmond kept his voice low and his
expression pleasant, hoping if he didn’t reveal his own excitement
at this information, Jean would continue his astonishing
revelations. He was beginning to think the boy, though uninterested
in working in the kitchen and therefore probably inattentive to
orders, was actually no more dim-witted than Cadwallon. Desmond
wished he’d had the good sense to question Jean days ago. “Why
would Lord Bertrand show Aglise a secret passage into and out of
the castle?”

“Well,” said Jean, “I suppose it was so she
could go outside and meet him there and no one would know.”

Desmond opened his mouth to ask yet another
question, but his interrogation ended abruptly when two
maidservants appeared, coming from the kitchen. Each maid was
carrying a large bucket of steaming water. One of the women was
struggling to hold a pottery basin under one arm, while the other
tried to balance both her bucket and a pile of folded linen
cloths.

“Sir Desmond,” Jean said, looking at the
maids, “you told the cook that Lady Elaine wanted me. Shall I help
to carry these supplies to her?”

“I told the cook what I did in hope of
preventing her from hitting you again,” Desmond responded.
“However, it does seem to me as if these women could use your
assistance. Then, if the cook asks what you’ve been doing, you
won’t have to lie.”

The grin Jean flashed in his direction told
Desmond all he needed to know about the boy’s intelligence. He was
not the lackwitted child everyone thought he was. Perhaps Jean saw
some advantage to himself in appearing to be simple, or possibly,
the problem was that he was different from the other servants. The
cook had complained about his daydreaming.

Whatever the truth about Jean, he had just
provided a pretext for speaking with Lady Benedicta.

Desmond waited until Jean had taken the basin
and the cloths from the servants and the three of them were out of
the hall and presumably in the chapel. He’d like to follow them,
though he realized he didn’t belong in a place where a young woman
he had never met was being prepared for burial. He would pay his
respects to Aglise – and speak to Father Otwin – later.

Meanwhile, it was time to make himself
presentable for an interview with the lady of the manor.

While Desmond washed and changed his damp
clothing for dry hose and a clean tunic, he reported the substance
of his conversation with Jean to Cadwallon and Ewan.

“Now that we know about the secret passageway
out of here,” Desmond said to them, “you may be able to shape your
inquiries so you’ll learn more. Lord Bertrand cannot be the only
person besides Jean and Aglise with knowledge about that door.”

“Do you think Aglise really was meeting
secretly with Lord Bertrand somewhere outside the castle?”
Cadwallon asked.

“I cannot imagine any reason Jean would have
to lie about it,” Desmond answered. “He certainly wasn’t trying to
fix blame on Aglise. She was kind to him, and he loved her for
it.”

“You do realize, of course, that this
information suggests a highly irregular passion. Desmond, we must
learn the truth about this accusation. We need confirmation, one
way or the other. Speaking for myself, I hope Jean is mistaken. If
he is right, then all the reasons we discussed earlier for a man to
want his mistress dead apply to Lord Bertrand even more than they
would to a man-at-arms.” Cadwallon looked thoroughly disgusted by
the possibility. “If Bertrand is guilty of seducing his foster
daughter, then he may have killed her, and if he learns that Jean
told you about Aglise using a supposedly secret passageway to meet
him, then the boy’s life will be in danger.”

“I know.” Desmond finished buckling on his
sword belt. “It’s why I intend to speak with Lady Benedicta about
Jean right now, before I see Father Otwin. We must do all we can to
keep Jean safe.”

“Never think Lady Benedicta will agree to
protect a mere kitchen boy!” Ewan exclaimed. “Not that high-nosed
lady.”

“I deliberately cajoled Jean into telling me
what he knows,” Desmond said. “Therefore, I am responsible for
whatever happens to him as a result of his admissions. I do not
want the blood of a child on my conscience.”

“What do you propose to do?” Cadwallon
asked.

“My brother and sister-in-law, who live in
Kent, could use a page,” Desmond said.

“You are planning to ask a noble lady to turn
a loutish kitchen boy into a page?” Ewan scoffed.