Where Love Has Gone (19 page)

“You are fortunate, indeed,” Desmond remarked
coolly. “But, tell me, Cadwallon, if those noble folk don’t care
about their spouses, why should any of the wives be jealous enough
to commit murder against a husband’s mistress? The answer is, they
don’t. It almost never happens. Husbands occasionally dispose of
wives whom they believe have dishonored them; wives take a
different view.”

Elaine stared at him, considering the
implications of his remarks.

“Lady Benedicta has an unusually cool and
precise nature, not at all warm-blooded, as Elaine and Ewan have
just pointed out,” Desmond said. “Her cool character makes me
wonder how she could become angry enough to kill anyone, for any
reason at all?”

“She couldn’t,” Elaine declared, feeling
excitement rising, certain Desmond was on the right trail. “I’ve
known Lady Benedicta since I was a child, and I have been in her
company daily for more than two years. Never have I seen her in a
fury. Irritated, yes, when someone misplaces a piece of linen, or
doesn’t mend a sheet properly, or disturbs the birds in her
dovecot, or enters the stillroom without her permission, but never
really angry. She has scolded me for all of those offenses, but she
uses words, not blows, and she is always well controlled. It’s as
though real, scorching anger is beneath her dignity.

“That’s why the servants all fear her. They
expect to be hit, and when it doesn’t happen, when she just lashes
out at them with cold and scathing accusations of wrongdoing,
somehow it’s worse than a beating that’s quickly over and done
with.”

“The two of you are suggesting there had to
be a cold and very logical reason for her to kill Aglise,”
Cadwallon said. “It does make sense. But, what can the reason be?
What could possibly be important enough to justify ending a young
woman’s life?”

“She cannot have feared that Lord Bertrand
planned to set her aside and marry Aglise,” Desmond said. “Lady
Benedicta has given him two sons, so Holy Church wouldn’t accept
any reason he might offer for ending the marriage. Therefore, her
noble rank and position are secure. Given her cold nature, it’s
unlikely she has committed adultery.”

“I’ve heard no whisper of unfaithfulness on
her part,” Elaine noted. “Nor have I ever seen her bestow unusual
favor on any man. Still -” She frowned, remembering.

“What?” Desmond asked. “If you know anything
you haven’t told us yet; even if you merely suspect something,
speak up and do it now. I don’t have to remind you how important
this is. You are no longer protecting your sister.”

“Please,” Cadwallon urged her gently. “We
want justice

e for Aglise, too. Help us, Elaine.”

“Very well, though it may be nothing,” she
said with a sigh. “Just before Aglise disappeared, she seemed to be
hiding something.” There, it was out at last, and Elaine prayed she
hadn’t made a mistake in telling them.

“What something?” Desmond demanded.

“Let her take her time,” Cadwallon said,
continuing the same kind treatment he had extended to Elaine
throughout their discussion. “Let her think it through and then
speak. She won’t fail us.”

“By then,” Elaine said, “I suspected Aglise
of having an affair, and I feared it might be with Lord Bertrand.
But I wasn’t entirely certain. As I’ve already told you, I had no
proof, so I held my tongue. The idea of Lord Bertrand as her lover
was too horrible to consider. I was remarkably naive in those days.
Only two months ago; how far in the past it seems now.

“Aglise was excited. Several times I thought
she was on the verge of revealing whatever she knew, but she held
back. I didn’t want to hear about an affair, no matter who the man
was, so I made no effort to pry the details from her. I wish now
that I had pleaded with her to talk to me, and continued to press
the matter until she did speak. Perhaps, if I had, she’d still be
alive.”

“You say she was excited,” Desmond said, his
words breaking through Elaine’s pensive sadness. “What kind of
excitement was it?”

“Desmond, in heaven’s name, how could she
know such a thing?” Cadwallon sounded so much like an overly
protective brother that Elaine smiled at him.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I know what
Desmond means and I understand what he’s trying to do. It was the
I-have-a-secret-and-you-can’t-guess-what-it-is kind of excitement,
like a child who has learned something only the grownups are
supposed to know and who is taking great delight in the knowledge.
Perhaps, it was something she had overheard or learned by accident.
Whatever it was, she was hugging the secret to herself and gloating
over it. I had the most peculiar impression that it was something
to do with Lady Benedicta.

“All this time, ever since Aglise
disappeared,” Elaine continued, “I’ve been trying so hard not to
think about that. I told myself it was because I hated to think of
her involved in a scandalous affair. Then, after she was gone, Lady
Benedicta persisted in accusing her of having run off with a lover
and I felt compelled to defend her, so, I didn’t think more closely
about the meaning behind Aglise’s odd behavior.

“One frightening possibility has only now
occurred to me; do you suppose Lady Benedicta was trying to
distract me with her accusations, just in case I did know what
Aglise’s secret was?”

“I’d say it’s very likely, although, since
you haven’t said anything on the subject, she probably realizes you
don’t know the secret,” Desmond told her. “A few moments ago, you
mentioned a dovecot and you spoke of the birds as belonging to Lady
Benedicta.”

“So they do. The dovecot is in the courtyard,
not far from the mews where Lord Bertrand keeps his hunting
falcons. One of the servants who’s assigned to the mews, also
cleans the dovecot regularly. Occasionally, when meat supplies are
low toward the end of winter, we eat some of the birds. But mostly,
they are Lady Benedicta’s pets and her particular charges, like the
linen room and the stillroom.

“I never could understand,” Elaine went on,
“why a woman as fastidious as Lady Benedicta would care so much for
those messy birds. I hate the dovecot, with all the feathers
floating about and the droppings on the floor. Ugh! It’s even worse
than the mews. Going into the dovecot always made me cough and
sneeze violently. I was glad when Lady Benedicta ordered me to stay
away. She said I disturbed her precious birds.”

“Pigeons?” Desmond asked, looking at
Cadwallon.

“Why, yes, there are some pigeons,” Elaine
answered. “But mostly doves.”

“There’s not much difference between the
two,” Desmond said. “A dovecot is a perfect place to conceal
pigeons.”

“Why would anyone want to hide pigeons?”
Elaine asked with a little laugh. “They are common enough,
especially in Gorey village, though the seagulls do tend to drive
them inland.”

“Pigeons can be trained to carry messages,”
Desmond said.

“Surely not. They’re only birds.”

“A message can be written on a tiny piece of
parchment,” Desmond explained. “The parchment is rolled very small
and placed into a tube that’s attached to the bird’s leg. Then the
bird is sent aloft, to fly home and deliver the message.”

“To whom?” Elaine asked, looking from one man
to the other. “And why?”

“Well,” said Cadwallon, “I’ve known such
messages to be sent in time of war, to provide warning of an
attack, for instance.”

Elaine sat quietly for a time. Desmond
watched her, almost convinced he could see the working of her mind
by the expression on her face. He didn’t think it would take her
long to reach the answers she sought.

“I suppose the secret messages are sent in
code,” she said. “Perhaps, in a code that shortens the message to a
few words or numbers, so large sheets of parchment aren’t
required.”

“Clever girl,” Cadwallon said in unconcealed
admiration of her quick wits.

“I may be clever about
how
the
messages are sent,” Elaine retorted. “I still don’t understand why
anyone would need to send a secret message from Jersey. To where?
And to whom?” She stopped abruptly, puzzling through the
possibilities.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “You don’t imagine-?
No, I won’t say it. My brain is reeling. I cannot make sense of all
this, except that, if Aglise understood more than I do of what you
are hinting, the knowledge was certainly dangerous to her. Was it
dangerous enough to cause her death?”

To Elaine’s intense embarrassment, at that
moment she loosed a huge yawn. She simply couldn’t help herself. It
was as though her mind had absorbed all it could tolerate for one
day. All three males looked at her in open sympathy.

“You are exhausted and you still haven’t
eaten much,” Desmond said. “Thank heaven, the worst of this unhappy
day is over. Elaine, my dear, you need to rest and we all need to
consider how to proceed next.”

“Yes.” Elaine paused to yawn again. “I think
I will go to my room. I’ll sleep for a while, and then I’ll pack my
belongings. But, Desmond, promise you won’t act without me. If you
learn anything new, come and tell me, no matter how late the hour.
I will likely be awake, preparing to leave tomorrow.”

“I promise. And for your own protection, I
want you to promise to be careful not to let Lady Benedicta know
we’ve guessed some of her secrets.”

“I will be careful.” Elaine yawned again.

Desmond stood and helped her to her feet.
Cadwallon rose, too, and the two of them and Ewan watched her walk
across the hall with dragging feet and bowed head, as if she was
deep in thought. Desmond believed she was too tired to think much
at all.

“I noticed,” Cadwallon said when Elaine had
passed from view, “that while you promised not to act without
informing Elaine, you did not swear to cease our investigation.
It’s a fine point, I know.” He grinned at Desmond before saying,
“Well, then, let us begin with the dovecot. Ewan, how can we
acquire a key?”

“According to Lady Elaine,” Ewan reminded
him, “Lady Benedicta keeps the only key.”

“No matter.” Desmond’s fingers lightly
stroked the small pouch attached to his belt. “I have in here a
tool that I have often found useful in the past. We will simply
pick the lock.”

“Only think what will happen if we’re
caught,” Ewan exclaimed. “I’ve a feeling that both the lord and the
lady of Warden’s Manor would dearly love an excuse to toss all of
us into the dungeon. Will we find anything in the dovecot that’s
worth such a risk?”

“Well, lad,” Cadwallon said, clapping him on
the shoulder, “we won’t know until we look, will we?”

By the time Elaine reached her bedchamber the
events of the last few days had combined to drain her of the
ability to think or to feel. Her mind and heart numbed by grief,
too weary even to remove the dark grey woolen gown she had worn for
Aglise’s funeral, she picked up a warm shawl from atop her clothing
chest and sank onto the bed she had once shared with her
sister.

“I’ll undress later,” she murmured to
herself, pulling the shawl around her shoulders. “After I’ve rested
a little, I’ll think about packing.”

A moment later she was asleep. How long she
slept she wasn’t sure, though the sky outside her narrow window was
dark with night when she was awakened from a dream of Desmond
embracing her tenderly and kissing her, his mouth a fiery brand on
her lips. At first she simply stayed where she was, clutching at
the last, shimmering fragments of the dream and uncertain what had
torn her from such delicious sweetness.

How lovely her life would be if she were free
to think only of him and of the emotions he evoked in her. She had
learned to control her emotions during her childhood with a kind
but very busy, often absent father and a mother who detested her
daughters because they were not boys, who saw the girls as rivals.
Elaine had been devastated by her father’s death, but she had
buried her own pain so she could comfort and protect Aglise.

Now Aglise was gone and Elaine’s most
pressing need was to obtain justice for her sister and punishment
of the murderer. She could scarcely think beyond those twin goals,
yet she longed for tenderness and warmth and closeness. If she were
given a choice, Desmond was the man from whom she’d seek the
affection her soul craved.

The scratching at her door that had intruded
on her romantic dream sounded again, pulling her back to reality.
Elaine sat up, listening intently. The scratching grew louder and
she thought she heard a soft voice calling her name.

“Desmond?” she whispered, made cautious by
the quietness of the sounds at her door. “Have you learned
something new and come to tell me about it?”

When she scrambled off the bed and hastened
to open the door, it wasn’t Desmond who was waiting for her. Jean
tumbled into the room, landing hard on his knees.

“Please,” the boy moaned, “Lady Elaine, I beg
you, close the door. Be quick about it. I don’t want her to find
me.”

“What’s wrong?” Spurred by the note of fear
in his voice, Elaine shut and latched the door. “No one can reach
you until I open this. Now, tell me what’s happened.”

She leaned down to help him stand, but when
she put her hand on his shoulder, he cried out in pain and pulled
away from her. Only then did she realize he was weeping.

“Stay where you are,” she ordered. “I keep a
candle on the table by my bed. Let me light it so I can see
you.”

It took too long for her liking. Her fingers
were shaking and at first the flint wouldn’t strike a spark.
Finally, the lint in the dish next to the candle caught fire and
she held the candle wick to the tiny flame. Then, with the candle
casting a steady light and the lint safely extinguished, she turned
to look at her unexpected guest.