Where Love Has Gone (20 page)

Jean crouched on the floor with his arms
wrapped around his knees and his head buried in his arms. When
Elaine put a gentle finger under his chin and lifted his face,
tears streamed down his bruised cheeks. Jean’s lower lip was bloody
and swollen.

“Come and sit on the bed,” she said. “Let me
see your shoulder. From your reaction just now, I fear it’s in
worse condition than your face.”

Jean obeyed meekly, perching on the side of
the bed with his back toward her. Elaine lifted his rough woolen
shirt and stared at the purple welts on his upper shoulders. The
skin wasn’t broken and she didn’t think there was any permanent
damage, but she was certain the injuries were painful.

“Who did this to you?” she asked, expecting
him to say the younger male servants had been bullying him again.
Jean’s response rocked her back on her heels.

“Lady Benedicta beat me.”

“I have never known her to hit a servant,”
Elaine cried. “In fact, only a short time ago, I told Lord
Cadwallon and Sir Desmond that she isn’t given to violence, for she
prefers scathing words to blows.” Yet, Lady Benedicta was capable
of a secret kind of violence, for she had certainly used an herbal
potion to kill Aglise. “Tell me what happened, Jean. I want to know
all of it, every detail. This may be more important than you
realize.”

“I was returning to the kitchen after taking
a pail of hot water to Lord Cadwallon’s chamber,” Jean explained,
wiping his damp face with a grubby fist. “As I passed by the
stillroom, I saw a light inside and I thought it was awfully late
for anyone to be in there. So, I stepped in, planning to tell
whoever was there that they ought to leave before they got into
trouble. We all know we aren’t supposed to intrude into that room.
If someone was stealing herbs, I planned to run away and find Lady
Benedicta, and tell her what was happening.”

“Only Lady Benedicta holds the key to the
stillroom,” Elaine reminded him. She didn’t doubt his story. Jean
had probably envisioned himself as a minor hero for warning Lady
Benedicta of a thief rummaging among her precious herbs. He might
even have hoped for a small reward or a word of approval.

“I thought someone could have stolen the
key,” Jean explained. “So many strange things have happened in the
last few weeks. I thought Lady Benedicta could have forgotten what
she did with the key and someone else might have taken it.”

That was a distinct possibility. Desmond or
Cadwallon, or even Ewan, could have found a way to filch the key in
order to investigate the various herbs Lady Benedicta kept in her
locked stillroom. However, none of them would have struck Jean in
response to finding him there.

“Who was in the room?” Elaine asked.

“It was Lady Benedicta. When she realized I
was standing in the doorway watching her, she shrieked at me that I
had spoiled the special preparation she was making, and she grabbed
my wrist and started hitting me.” Jean held out his left hand,
which Elaine hadn’t noticed, and she saw the bruises on his wrist
where strong fingers had gripped him.

“This is very strange,” Elaine declared, her
intention being to reassure the boy. “Though, it’s possible Lady
Benedicta was making an herbal medicine that has to simmer for long
hours and you could have interrupted her at a crucial point.”

“Why would she start to make a special
medicine on the same day when Lady Aglise is being buried?” Jean
asked with innocent youthful logic. “She spent most of the morning
in the kitchen or the great hall, supervising preparations for the
funeral feast.”

“So she did. At least, it was the excuse she
offered for not attending the funeral.”

“Anyway, she wasn’t preparing anything that
needed heating,” Jean said. “I didn’t smell herbs cooking and there
was no fire in the brazier.”

“Then, what was she doing?” Elaine asked,
with a sudden suspicion that she already knew the answer to her
question.

“She was writing something. I saw the quill
in her hand just before she threw it down and turned on me.
Perhaps, she was writing an herbal recipe so she wouldn’t forget
it? But, why would she do it so late at night? It’s after midnight.
That’s the first thing she yelled at me. ‘It’s after midnight, you
stupid child. Why aren’t you in your bed?’ Then she started hitting
me. She didn’t even give me a chance to tell her I hadn’t seen the
recipe, and I can’t read, anyway. I thought she knew that.”

She couldn’t take the chance that you
might decipher a word or two
, Elaine thought,
because she
was writing a secret message that she plans to send by pigeon just
as soon as it’s light enough for a bird to fly
.

“Please, don’t tell her I told you,” Jean
begged. “She’ll just be angry with you for knowing what happened,
and she’ll beat me again for talking about it.”

More likely, she’ll kill you for what she
fears you’ve learned
, Elaine thought.
She’ll kill me, too,
if she discovers I know how she uses those birds of hers
. She
drew a long breath, hoping to chase away the chill settling around
her heart. With that calming, head-clearing breath, knowledge burst
upon her with all the force of a sudden revelation.
Lady
Benedicta killed Aglise for learning about the messages she sends.
That is the secret Aglise was hiding just before she
disappeared
.

“Lady Elaine?” Jean was looking at her as if
he had been speaking to her for some time without eliciting any
response. “Are you all right?”

“I was only wondering what to do with you for
the rest of the night,” she said. “I don’t want to send you back to
the kitchen to sleep there. Not with those injuries.” She reached
out to stroke his thin shoulder, hastily drawing back when he
winced at the light contact.

“I can bear them, really I can,” Jean said
earnestly, “if only you’ll let me stay here for a little while.
That’s what I was asking you just now, while you were thinking.
It’s so hot and noisy in the kitchen, and so nice and quiet here. I
can curl up on the floor in a corner of the room and I promise, I
won’t make any noise. Do you have any more of the healing ointment
you used at Christmastime, when I burned my hand? If you do, could
you use some of it on my back and my face?”

“Of course, you may stay here,” she said,
relieved to have a practical concern to divert her thoughts from
what she had just realized about the true reason for her sister’s
death. Jean, with his face still damp from tears and his huge,
pleading eyes, reminded her of the way Aglise used to look when she
was just a child and their mother had caught her in a naughty
scrape and was about to punish her. She could not turn Jean away
any more than she could have avoided taking the young Aglise’s
part; she wouldn’t have done so even if Lady Benedicta had been the
kindly woman her name implied. “Lie down, my dear, and let me cover
you.”

Trying to be careful of his injuries, she
pushed him back onto her bed and tucked her shawl around him.

“My shoulders hurt,” he sniffled, tears
starting again.

He looked so forlorn, and so small and
helpless, that Elaine almost gave way to tears, herself. She fought
the impulse to gather him into her arms and comfort him, instead
offering the help he had requested.

“I’m going to fetch the jar of ointment,” she
said, starting for the door. “I know just where it is. I won’t be
long. No one will bother you here. Just lie quietly. Sleep, if you
can.”

“The ointment is in the stillroom, isn’t it?”
Jean reared upright, wincing at the discomfort the swift movement
caused. “What if Lady Benedicta is still working in there? She’ll
be so angry with you! Please, don’t go! My back doesn’t hurt so
much, really it doesn’t. I’ll be much better in the morning.”

“I can see that your shoulders do hurt, and
so does your lip. Do as I command, Jean. Lie down and be quiet
until I return.” She was out of the room before Jean could beg her
again to stay.

A few men-at-arms always remained on guard in
the great hall and they kept the candles and oil lamps burning
through the night so they wouldn’t fall asleep and incur Lord
Bertrand’s wrath. Guided by those lights, Elaine hurried down from
the solar level, across the hall, and along the short corridor to
the stillroom, which was located near the kitchen.

As she expected, Lady Benedicta was there,
standing beside the big table in the center of the room. She spun
around when Elaine opened the door, and Elaine noticed how she
tried to conceal a small, tube-shaped object in the folds of her
skirt. A quill pen lay on the table beside a pottery ink
bottle.

“How dare you come in here without my
permission?” Lady Benedicta demanded.

“Did you know the door was unlatched? Anyone
could enter.” Elaine kept her voice quiet, trying not to reveal how
angry she was. “You ought to be more careful, my lady. Some of your
herbal preparations are dangerous, as you, yourself, have so often
claimed.” She started into the room, heading for the shelves of
medicines.

“What do you want?” Lady Benedicta watched
her suspiciously.

“Only this.” Elaine picked up the jar of
ointment used for the cuts and scrapes sustained by the kitchen
servants, or for the burns they sometimes incurred while cooking,
and also used by the men-at-arms, who often injured themselves at
weapons practice. “I will return it in the morning, after I am
certain Jean’s hurts are not serious.”

“You are coddling that stupid boy, just as
you always have.”

“You beat him, without waiting to learn that
he believed he was preventing a robbery in this room. He thought to
help you keep your herbs secure and in return, you punished him.”
Elaine walked right up to Lady Benedicta, until she stood almost
nose to nose with her. She spoke quietly, almost pleasantly. “I
warn you, my lady, never touch Jean again.”

“Or what?” demanded Lady Benedicta. “Do not
imagine you can threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Elaine said,
amazed at how calm her voice was. “I am merely stating a fact. You
are not to touch Jean again, for any reason.”

“You may not instruct me in my duties,” Lady
Benedicta snapped at her. “Give me the ointment. I didn’t prepare
it for a loathsome brat to use.”

“Nevertheless, that is how I will use it, on
the shoulders and face of a boy whom you deliberately injured
without just cause. I do wonder, my lady, why a woman who is so
self-possessed that until this night I never saw or heard of her
striking out at anyone – why a woman who has always preferred harsh
words to blows would stoop to beating a mere kitchen boy. What can
Jean have interrupted in this room that made you angry enough to
lose control? How very odd.”

Seeing the look on Lady Benedicta’s pale
face, Elaine realized that for her own safety, she ought not to say
anything more. Indeed, it was possible she had already said too
much. She stepped back, about to turn and leave the room. Without
warning Lady Benedicta’s hand whipped out and slapped her hard on
each cheek. In the next heartbeat, her fingers were entwined in
Elaine’s braid, tugging her head backward. The older woman’s voice
hissed in her ear.

“Now, let
me
warn
you
, foolish
girl that you are. Do not cross me. Do not seek to thwart my will.
And do not ever come into this room again. Now, give me the jar of
ointment.”

“No! I won’t!” Feeling the grip of Lady
Benedicta’s fingers in her hair beginning to loosen slightly,
Elaine wrenched herself free. She left a few strands of hair
behind, but that scarcely mattered to her. She raced out of the
stillroom, pulling the door shut behind her.

“My lady?” Flamig stood in the corridor,
frowning at her. “Is aught amiss? I heard loud voices. Why are you
awake so late at night? I should think you would be abed and fast
asleep after the last two days.”

“Elaine! Come back here!” Lady Benedicta
wrenched open the stillroom door and rushed into the corridor. When
she saw Flamig, she halted, glaring at the man-at-arms. “Well, what
is it, Flamig? What do you want? Does no one ever sleep? Half the
castle seems to be awake tonight.”

“I confess, my lady, I sneaked into the
kitchen to find something to eat.”

Flamig’s explanation was offered so quickly
and easily that Elaine at once recognized it as a false excuse,
prepared in advance in case he needed it. If Lady Benedicta
noticed, she gave no indication.

“Men-at-arms are to eat in the great hall,
when the food is served there,” Lady Benedicta said. “Stay out of
the kitchen.”

“That’s exactly what the cook told me when
she found me slicing bread,” Flamig admitted with a sheepish smile.
“She told me to wait until morning. Lady Elaine, may I escort you
back to the solar?”

“Thank you, Flamig.” Elaine responded with
her gaze on Lady Benedicta, whose glittering eyes and cold
expression boded no good intentions toward her.

With the stalwart man-at-arms by her side and
the jar of ointment held firmly in her hand, she turned her back on
her foster mother.

“Cleverly done,” Cadwallon remarked. “Were
you a thief before Royce recruited you as a spy?”

“Are you claiming that you couldn’t pick a
lock if the need arose?” Desmond asked, amused in spite of the
danger they were incurring by their presence in the courtyard
during the waning hours of the night. If they were caught, they’d
have no suitable explanation. Excitement flared in him, sharpening
his senses and making him feel more fully alive.

“Oh, I can open a lock,” Cadwallon said,
chuckling. “I just wouldn’t do it as quietly as you did. Ewan, get
in here and close the door so we can use the lantern without being
seen.”

As soon as the dovecot door clicked shut,
Cadwallon opened the sliding side of the enclosed lantern he was
carrying. A narrow beam of light pierced the darkness of the
dovecot. The birds murmured softly and rustled about on their
perches. The smell of feathers and bird droppings permeated the
small building. Outside on the battlements, a sentry called softly
to his fellow watchman.