Where Love Has Gone (8 page)

“You were wise to leave before you were
caught,” Cadwallon said. “What is it, Desmond? You don’t look happy
about this news.”

“I find it perplexing.” Desmond spoke slowly,
reasoning out loud in the certain conviction that Cadwallon or the
others would correct him if they thought he was in error. Being
challenged to explain his conclusions and how he had reached them
almost always resulted in clearer thought. “From what I’ve heard of
Lady Aglise’s character, and judging by what I know of her mother’s
character, I believe Lady Irmina may have imparted her desire for
high position to her daughter, and may have taught Aglise to use
her beauty to attain her ambitions. Therefore, I doubt if Aglise
was a lady to be satisfied with a mere squire or a man-at-arms –
unless the son of a great noble is fostering under Lord Bertrand’s
tutelage?” He looked from Richard to Ewan.

“Not here,” Richard said. “Warden’s Manor is
strategically important, but it’s not the kind of place to which
great nobles send their sons. It’s too rough and ready, too much a
military stronghold. Lady Benedicta has no interest in teaching
obstreperous boys courtly manners or how to treat ladies with
gallantry. Oh, possibly a highborn lad who’s in disgrace might be
sent here for the sake of the strict training and the discipline
Lord Bertrand can provide, but I don’t know of such a squire. Ewan,
do you?”

“No,” Ewan admitted with a sigh. Then,
brightening, “What about Lord Bertrand’s sons as candidates for
Lady Aglise’s romantic interest? He has two, I believe.”

“So he has,” Desmond agreed. “Both are being
fostered in Normandy.”

“Are they near to Aglise in age?” Cadwallon
asked. “For all his austere way of life, Lord Bertrand is no minor
noble, and he does have good family connections. Then, there is his
long friendship with Royce, which gives him ready access to King
Henry. Perhaps we are wrong and Aglise isn’t dead. If she is aiming
at marriage with one of Bertrand’s sons, she may have run off to be
with him.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Desmond said,
frowning because he couldn’t accept what Cadwallon was suggesting.
First, he firmly believed Aglise was dead. Second, he didn’t see
how she could have found the opportunity, either in Normandy or
Jersey, to bedazzle Lord Bertrand’s sons.

The third, and strongest, reason for his
doubt was the rigid propriety displayed by Lady Benedicta. Desmond
was sure she was a strict chaperone, who would not allow a
beautiful, flirtatious girl like Aglise the chance to become
involved with her sons, or with any visiting noble. Lady Benedicta
might disregard a quiet girl like Elaine, who was quick-witted and
surprisingly lovely in her own discreet way, but she’d be sure to
maintain a careful watch over someone like Aglise.

What in the name of heaven was he thinking?
Desmond sternly reminded himself to keep his thoughts away from the
subject of Elaine, and on the question of what had happened to
Aglise.

“If I ride with them today,” Elaine said to
Lady Benedicta, “I can answer their questions and lay their
curiosity to rest. Then, perhaps, they will leave Jersey even
sooner than they promised.”

It was early morning and the two women were
in the solar, breaking their fast with bread, cheese and ale. Long
rays of sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, turning the
forbidding grey stone walls to gold.

“I have been told that Sir Desmond sent his
squire to Normandy at dawn, aboard a fishing vessel. Richard
carries a message summoning the captain of the ship,
Daisy
,”
Elaine said, not mentioning that the person who had told her so was
Ewan. “If we can satisfy both Lord Cadwallon and Sir Desmond that
Aglise has indeed gone elsewhere, they may choose to depart as soon
as the
Daisy
reaches Gorey Harbor.”

“What change is this? Only yesterday, you
were insisting your foolish sister is hiding somewhere on Jersey,”
Lady Benedicta said.

Her probing gaze on Elaine’s face hinted at a
serious inquisition to come, but Elaine was used to the lady’s
methods. She assumed a blank expression, trying her best to look
innocent, without a trace of worry on her face or in her eyes.
Elaine was glad Lady Benedicta was not standing close enough to
hear the rapid beating of her heart, which was the result of
telling lies. She tried to keep her voice low and calm.

“It’s true that after Lord Bertrand’s
men-at-arms searched the island, I could not believe they had found
no trace of Aglise,” Elaine said. “I thought they might have missed
some little detail that would indicate where Aglise is. But Royce’s
agents, who are surely better skilled in tracking missing people
than Lord Bertand’s men, have searched for two entire days, and
neither did they uncover any sign of her. I think I must finally
accept the explanation you have offered these two months and more.
Aglise has left Jersey, and if she is to be found, we need to
extend the search for her to Normandy or even to England. So, I
think the sooner Desmond and Cadwallon leave here and begin to look
elsewhere, the sooner they will locate her – and the sooner my
worry will cease. I know you won’t approve of what I am about to
say, my lady, but I will be relieved and happy if Aglise is found
hiding in a castle or a manor house with a man whom she loves, who
loves her in return.”

“I never thought to hear you sound as foolish
as your sister,” Lady Benedicta said. “Yet, I do understand that
where she is concerned, your feelings are more tender and less
sensible than they ought to be. I, too, hope Aglise will be found
safe and well, though I will never speak to her again, and I will
never forgive her for the damage she has caused to my lord
Bertrand’s good name – and to mine.”

“Then, may I accompany Desmond and
Cadwallon?” Elaine tried to sound calm and unperturbed, though she
was raging with eagerness to be on horseback and away from the
manor. Out in the open, away from listeners, she could speak
honestly to Desmond.

“They have most likely left already,” Lady
Benedicta said with a glance out the nearest window. “I fear you
are too late.”

“I can catch up to them,” Elaine said.
“Please, my lady, have I your permission?”

The challenging look Lady Benedicta bestowed
upon her told Elaine that she had allowed her eagerness to creep
into her voice, and for a moment she feared her plea would be
denied.

“Very well,” Lady Benedicta said grudgingly.
“But this is the last time I will agree to such a request. I do not
approve of you riding with two men and no chaperone.”

“There isn’t a woman in the castle who could
keep up with us,” Elaine said.

“Really?” Lady Benedicta’s frown should have
frozen Elaine in her place. “Your remark suggests you are riding
for sport and not for any serious purpose. If I did not know you so
well, I’d suspect you of entertaining some reason other than the
desire to find Aglise.”

“Certainly not, my lady. Aglise is all I
think of. May I go now?” Elaine made a hasty curtsey and escaped
from the solar before Lady Benedicta could call her back.

She didn’t
think
she had given
anything away, and she couldn’t imagine how Lady Benedicta could
have guessed her true purpose.

After pausing in her own room just long
enough to snatch up her cloak, Elaine hurried down the steps to the
hall and out the main entrance to the courtyard. Ewan was waiting
for her in the stable, with her horse and his saddled and
ready.

“Lord Cadwallon and Sir Desmond left about
half an hour ago,” Ewan informed her. He helped her to mount and
then they rode through the gate and up to the ridge just beyond the
fork in the road. From there Elaine saw the two men in the distance
riding slowly along the track that edged the cliffs.

Taking a deep breath to steady her fluttering
stomach, knowing she had little time left in which to do what must
be done, she kicked her horse’s sides and made for the cliff
path.

“Let us assume the gossip Ewan repeated to us
about Aglise is true,” Cadwallon said as he and Desmond rode along.
They went slowly, both of them regarding with sharpened gazes the
stony path and the land just beyond it that led to the edge of the
cliff.

“Go on,” Desmond said. He pulled his horse to
a stop and sat frowning at the sparkling blue-green sea and the
clear sky. To his own surprise he found himself longing for real
English weather. A day of fog and gentle drizzle would be a
pleasant change from the constant sunshine of an island that almost
certainly harbored at least one murderous secret beneath its
beauty.

“Suppose,” Cadwallon continued, unaware of
his companion’s dark thoughts, “that Elaine is also correct when
she insists Aglise hasn’t left Jersey.”

“I thought we had already agreed, Aglise must
be dead,” Desmond said with a touch of impatience. “As for the tale
Ewan repeated, we’ve no reason to doubt it. Men-at-arms and
servants almost always know what is really going on in a large
manor. So, before Aglise disappeared, she took a lover. I can think
of many reasons why a man would want his mistress dead, and I’m
sure you can, too.”

“Aye.” Cadwallon nodded sagely, as if he
dealt with such unsavory problems every day of the week. “First
among those reasons being a man’s desire to prevent a lady who has
been indiscreet with him from talking too much in the wrong places.
Some of Lord Bertrand’s men-at-arms are married, and many wives do
not take kindly to a husband who strays beyond the marriage bed. I
know I’d never dare. Not that I’d ever want to, but if I did, Janet
would cut off my – well, you know what I mean.

“Now, imagine a man-at-arms who doesn’t want
his wife to know what he’s been up to, and a young and foolish
mistress who has Lord Bertrand’s ear, because she is his foster
daughter. Whether Aglise was forced, or went to the man’s bed
willingly, she could have threatened afterward to tell Lord
Bertrand her story.”

“The confession would ruin her,” Desmond
noted. He wished he had met Aglise face to face. If he had, he’d be
better able to judge what she might have done. Instead, he was left
with conjectures about how Lady Irmina would have acted in the same
situation. And with the realization that Elaine, whether she had
gone to any man’s bed or not, would never have been so secretive
about it that other people were forced to guess about her actions.
Elaine would be open and honest in her dealings with a lover. Nor
would she ever lie down with a married man.

He was grateful for Cadwallon’s next remark,
because it put an end to his brief, imaginary picture of Elaine
flushed and rosy from lovemaking. Reminding himself yet again that
Elaine was not for him, nor did he want a woman who would interfere
with the secret work he loved more than any female, he gave his
complete attention to his fellow agent.

“Revelation of the affair would ruin Aglise’s
lover, too,” Cadwallon said. “Lord Bertrand stands in the position
of father to Aglise and Elaine. He’d not hesitate to exact severe
punishment from one of his own men for misusing either girl. It
would be a matter of honor to Bertrand. Which is all the more
reason why a guilty man might decide he’d best silence Aglise
before she had a chance to speak the words that could well mean his
own death.”

“There is another possibility,” Desmond
objected, unwilling to agree completely with Cadwallon’s version of
events. “It’s a possibility I think more likely, judging by what we
know of Aglise. Suppose she chose not a simple man-at-arms, but a
visiting nobleman, and lay with him in hope of convincing him to
marry her. Then, when she raised the subject of marriage, suppose
he refused, having got what he wanted of her. If she threatened to
tell what they had done, she could have been killed deliberately,
to keep her quiet. Or, her death could have been an accident.
Perhaps the man struck her, hoping thus to convince her to keep
silent. She could have fallen, hit her head, and died that
way.”

“And just where would this nasty scene have
occurred?” Cadwallon demanded. “If it happened inside the manor
house, the killer would be faced with the problem of removing
Aglise’s body. Though, I suppose she could have been taken out with
the baggage, stuffed into a large hamper, perhaps, and later tossed
overboard far out at sea.”

“To do that, a man would require help,”
Desmond said, readily accepting the difficulties inherent in his
own theory. Cadwallon was proving to be surprisingly intelligent
and Desmond was beginning to respect him. “Let us consider the
logistical problems. You know as well as I that men who are
involved in such an exploit can be depended upon to talk about it
later. If the killer’s own people didn’t speak, surely at least
some of the sailors on the ship would notice a body, or even what
appears to be just a hamper, being dumped into the sea, and they’d
raise questions about it. Therefore, we must discard the notion of
a group effort.

“Whether Aglise’s death was accidental or
deliberate, we may assume it was the act of one person,” Desmond
continued. “Only after the girl was dead did the killer enlist
someone else to help dispose of the body – one very loyal
accomplice who could be relied upon never to tell what he
knew.”

“You make sense,” Cadwallon said after
pondering Desmond’s reasoning for a moment. “In any crime, the
fewer people who know what has happened, the less chance of the
truth coming out. Well, since Aglise is surely dead, and
considering the difficulty of removing her body from the island
without being caught, it follows that she must be buried somewhere
here on Jersey. Which means all we have to do to find her is dig up
every inch of this lovely island.”

“I think not.” Desmond looked at Cadwallon
and smiled, feeling remarkably charitable toward the comrade whom
Royce had foisted upon him against his firm declaration that he
preferred to work alone. “Once again, you have surprised me by
helping me to see what should have been immediately obvious to
me.”