Where Love Has Gone (3 page)

“Cadwallon is right,” Desmond agreed somewhat
reluctantly. “Pay close attention to what goes on around you. At
this moment, we don’t know much more than we did yesterday, and the
most casually dropped piece of information may lead us to the
truth.”

Caen, Normandy.

The court of Henry I, king of England and
duke of Normandy.

So, the noble baron of Wortham dared to
suppose he could uncover and prevent the plans that The Spy and a
few others had been commanded to set into motion on the first day
of May.

Normandy ought to belong to Louis VI of
France, and so should the nearby islands. The Spy and his
associates were secretly working toward that goal. And they would
prevail. He knew it with all the confidence that was so much a part
of his nature.

The Spy smiled darkly, pleased with himself
at the information he had cleverly extracted from Lady Irmina
during the last hour. Such a foolish creature, to talk so freely
about something she wasn’t supposed to know. Some women just could
not keep their tongues from wagging. She had never guessed at his
true intentions.

He, of course, was always careful of what he
revealed. The Spy had worked in secret for years, ingratiating
himself with King Henry, making a place for himself at the royal
court. Neither Henry, nor his spymaster, Royce of Wortham,
suspected his true purpose, of that The Spy was certain. No hint of
suspicion had ever attached itself to him.

Royce of Wortham simply was not equal to the
clever men who pretended loyalty to Henry, but who actually owed
their allegiance to Louis of France. As proof of his ineptness,
Royce had no idea that, thanks to Lady Irmina’s tendency to drink
too much wine and to babble carelessly, The Spy was now aware that
a man had been dispatched from Caen to Jersey, ostensibly to search
for Royce’s missing goddaughter.

The chances were good that Royce’s man would
never find the girl, and even if he did, Aglise wouldn’t talk. King
Louis’s agent on Jersey would see to it.

The Spy poured himself a cup of wine and
sipped it slowly, with great appreciation. So far, all was
proceeding exactly as he wanted. The missing girl in Jersey would
provide a useful diversion to keep Royce’s attention away from what
was actually happening right under his nose. If Royce could be made
to look a fool for not suspecting what was about to befall King
Henry, and for leaving his king unprepared and unprotected, then
King Louis would be well pleased with his secret agent, and he’d
cease complaining about all the money The Spy was spending. Louis
was a tightfisted miser, but he was also the rightful ruler of
Normandy and the islands of the Narrow Sea. The Spy intended to see
that Louis got what was rightfully his.

Upon reaching the great hall again Desmond
and Cadwallon found Lord Bertrand pacing before the dais, where the
table was being set for the evening meal. From the appetizing
smells drifting into the hall from the direction of the screens
passage it appeared that the guests, uninvited though they were,
would be treated to better fare than the usual evening menu of cold
meats, cheeses, and breads not consumed at the midday meal.

The candles in the silver candelabra on the
high table were already lit and in the flickering light Lord
Bertrand’s harsh features were thrown into sharp relief, so they
resembled a crude carving of a warrior baron. A very irritated
warrior baron, who greeted his guests in a voice that rumbled close
to a warning growl.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting for you
this half hour and more. In those letters you brought, King Henry
and Lord Royce both bade me co-operate with you in your search for
Aglise. Let us be done with this matter before the ladies appear. I
have nothing to hide. What do you want to know?”

In Desmond’s experience, people who claimed
they had nothing to hide were usually hiding something important.
He decided to keep silent for the moment and let Cadwallon do the
talking, trusting to the Welshman’s easy charm to elicit whatever
information he could. After Cadwallon was finished Desmond would
begin pressing Lord Bertrand more seriously.

“Since Lady Aglise is Royce’s goddaughter,”
Cadwallon said with a pleasant smile, “he does, quite naturally,
wonder what has become of her.”

“I don’t know where she has gone,” Lord
Bertrand declared. “I wish to God I did know. I have a spotless
reputation and this incident besmirches my honor, since Aglise was
given into my care. I am not incompetent to protect a young woman,”
he added with a hint of bluster.

“No one believes you are,” Cadwallon said in
a reassuring tone. “However, I’ve known a few sixteen-year-old
girls in my time, so I’m aware how incredibly foolish and impulsive
they can be – and how remarkably clever at evading the most careful
adult supervision. Is it possible that Aglise’s eye was caught by a
handsome squire or man-at-arms and they’ve run off together?”

“Are you accusing my people of immoral
behavior?” Lord Bertrand shouted, one hand straying to his sword
hilt.

“Certainly not.” Desmond intervened sooner
than he intended, deciding the time was right for him to seize
control of the discussion. Wondering why Lord Bertrand should be so
easily offended, he spoke quietly, appealing to reason. “We don’t
know enough about Aglise’s disappearance to make any accusation, or
even to know if an accusation is warranted. I assume you do
entertain occasional guests, and that ships come and go from Jersey
with some regularity. Could Aglise have taken advantage of a
guest’s good nature or, perhaps, have slipped unnoticed onto an
outbound ship?”

“It’s possible, I suppose.” Lord Bertrand
looked relieved by the suggestion that he wasn’t responsible for
the girl’s disappearance. “Yes, now I think about the matter, that
must be what happened. It was thoughtless of Aglise to leave no
message to keep us from worrying, but that is the nature of young
women, as Cadwallon, here, has noted. We will probably learn she’s
safe at Caen with her mother.”

“You may well be right,” Desmond said, though
as far as he knew, Aglise had not gone to Lady Irmina, whom she
must have known would not welcome her. Desmond thought Irmina most
likely regarded her beautiful and reputedly flirtatious daughter as
competition. He suspected that was why Aglise had been sent to
Jersey in the first place.

“Lord Bertrand,” said Cadwallon, “I’m sure
you ordered the entire island searched as soon as Aglise was
reported to be missing?”

“Of course, I did. To this day, not a trace
of her has been found.” Lord Bertrand brightened considerably. “So,
obviously, she left the island by stowing away on some ship and you
will find her in Normandy, enjoying herself at the royal court. I’m
sorry you were put to the trouble of coming here for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Desmond said. “We were
able to bring you the latest news from your friend, Lord Royce, and
we will be happy to carry your replies to him and to King
Henry.”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” said Cadwallon, gazing
with appreciation at the high table, where fresh bread and pitchers
brimming with wine were being set out. “We will be perfectly
content to visit for a few days more, my lord, until the ship that
carried us here returns for us. That means you will have ample time
to think about your responses to the letters we brought and to
dictate them to your chaplain. We’ll be glad to take your letters
when we leave and we will convey them promptly to Royce or the
king.”

Desmond wasn’t certain whether Lord
Bertrand’s renewed scowl was entirely due to Cadwallon’s seemingly
innocent words, to the possibility of his guests remaining for
longer than he wanted, or to the appearance of his wife in the
hall. Taking note of the play of emotions across Lord Bertrand’s
face and observing the look full of meaning that passed between
husband and wife, Desmond’s thoughts began to spin with fresh
possibilities. Though a little distracted by his suspicions, he
bowed politely as his host presented the guests to Lady
Benedicta.

“We are honored,” Cadwallon said, smiling
cheerfully as he took her hand, “to meet so remarkable a lady.”

“You are most welcome to Warden’s Manor.”
Lady Benedicta spoke with an oddly reserved and distant
correctness. She did not return Cadwallon’s smile and swiftly
withdrew her hand from his.

Desmond could see she had once been lovely,
though he wondered if Lady Benedicta had ever, even for a few
hours, been the kind of silly young girl that Cadwallon had just
described. She was attractive in a stately, dignified, carefully
controlled way. Although her waist was thickening with advancing
age and her golden hair was somewhat faded beneath her sheer veil
and gold circlet, her blue eyes remained clear and she moved with
such self possession, such elegant grace and confidence, that no
man would dare suggest she was less remarkable than Cadwallon had
proclaimed her.

“My lady,” Desmond said, taking her hand,
“King Henry sends his personal greetings to you, with a wish that
you will accompany Lord Bertrand when next he appears at
court.”

“Perhaps I will.” Lady Benedicta favored
Desmond with a faint smile. Then, drawing forward the young woman
who stood a little behind her, she added, “This is Elaine of
Dereham, elder daughter of the late Baron Aldwynd of Dereham.”

Desmond turned a curious gaze upon the lady
whose desperate plea to Royce had precipitated this journey to
Jersey. She had remained so quiet and so motionless in the shadow
of her foster mother that he had scarcely noticed her. He guessed
she was frequently overlooked, for she appeared no more
consequential than a small, brown house sparrow. What he could see
of her modestly lowered face was completely unremarkable, just a
wide, smooth brow and a straight nose. Slender hands were clasped
together at the waist of her simple brown woolen gown. Her hair was
light brown, bound into a single, tight braid.

He put her age at nineteen or twenty, which
was old, indeed, for a noblewoman to remain unwed, especially a
lady with a decent dowry. From what he could see, she was not at
all like her mother. Desmond was aware of a faint, unjustified
disappointment. He disliked Lady Irmina, with her painted face and
gaudy clothes and her provocative manner, so why should he be
disillusioned at finding her daughter was different? Yet he was,
and he realized that, having repeatedly heard of the younger
sister’s exceptional beauty, he had expected the same from Elaine.
He was honest enough to admit his expectation was not fair to
her.

Then Elaine lifted her gaze to his and
Desmond caught his breath. Beneath perfectly arched brown eyebrows
her eyes were a clear silver-grey, fringed with dark lashes. They
were intelligent eyes, and they seemed to pierce the walls he kept
about himself until she had found and touched the emptiness lurking
in his deepest soul. Desmond was stunned. For a moment he could not
speak, but only stare at her, while she withdrew her gaze from him
to look at Cadwallon.

“Sirs, I am glad, and most grateful to see
you here.” Elaine’s low-pitched voice matched her eyes in clearness
and intelligence.

“Elaine, you miserable creature!” Lord
Bertrand exclaimed, turning on her. “How dare you send a message to
Royce without consulting me first?”

“If I had consulted you,” Elaine said in her
quiet voice, “you would have told me not to bother Royce, for you
would soon find Aglise. But you haven’t found her, not in the weeks
before I wrote to Royce, nor in all the time it has taken for my
letter to reach him and for him to send these men here to look into
her disappearance. I think I was justified in writing to him.”

“Your writing suggested that I haven’t done
all I might have done to learn where Aglise has gone,” Lord
Bertrand insisted. “I never expected such disloyalty from a girl
whom I took into my household, whom I have treated as my own
daughter.”

“He does have a point, Elaine,” Lady
Benedicta said. “Your letter to Lord Royce was a slur upon Lord
Bertrand’s honor. Surely, you know by now how important his honor
is to him.”

Desmond imagined a certain scornful twist to
those last words, but Lady Benedicta’s face wore a bland
expression, while Lord Bertrand was still glaring at Elaine in
undisguised annoyance.

Interesting
, Desmond thought.
I do
believe the lady is not overly fond of her husband
.

“What I know,” Elaine declared in response to
Lady Benedicta’s words, “is that my sister is still missing, after
more than nine weeks of searching and worrying. I wrote to Royce
because I thought she might have gone to him. I prayed he would
write back to tell me Aglise was safe with him, or with our mother.
But she isn’t, is she?” she asked of Desmond.

“Royce has neither seen her nor heard from
her,” Desmond confirmed. “Nor has Lady Irmina.”

“Ah, but you have been on your journey for
some time,” Lady Benedicta pointed out. “Perhaps you and Aglise
passed each other along the way, neither knowing the other. She may
even now be with Royce, or with her mother.”

“No!” Elaine declared with remarkable
vehemence for one who on the surface appeared to be meek and
submissive. “You are wrong, my lady. And so are you, my lord
Bertrand. Why can’t either of you see how serious this is?
Something dreadful has happened to my sister. I know it. I can feel
it. The knot in the pit of my stomach tells me Aglise is not safe
and well. Something terrible has happened to her. With the help of
these two men whom our godfather Royce has sent, I will discover
what that something is. And if anyone has deliberately hurt Aglise,
Royce and I, together, will see that person punished.”

She was magnificent, an avenging angel
willing to face down the devil himself for her sister’s sake.
Desmond wondered how it would feel to have someone care so deeply
about him. He shook his head, knowing it was impossible, telling
himself he didn’t care, for he loved the business of spying, of
ferretting out the very details that so many people tried to keep
secret, details the king needed to know.