Where Love Has Gone (9 page)

“Have I? I’m so glad.” Cadwallon’s brown eyes
danced and his false-foolish grin hovered on his lips for just a
moment before he sobered and asked, “What should have been
obvious?”

“If you were going to hide a body on Jersey,
where would you put it?” Desmond responded. He told himself he
shouldn’t care what Aglise’s death would mean to Elaine. Still, he
couldn’t stop thinking about her. He made himself watch as
Cadwallon surveyed the landscape, expecting the big man to
comprehend the problem quickly. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Yes,” Cadwallon said, “I see your point.
This is a rocky island, except in its middle section, where the
land has been cleared and plowed for farming. Because of the
original deep ploughing, the soil in the fields can easily be dug,
but I’d not bury a body where a plough could turn it up. A murderer
who buries his victim’s body wants it to stay hidden, which
eliminates the farmland. Now, as for the forests -” he paused,
shaking his head. “The forest land is unsuitable, too.”

“Exactly,” Desmond said. “Like most noblemen,
Lord Bertrand enjoys the hunt. Richard has reported that he often
takes his guests into the forested areas. Bertrand is far from
stupid, so I’ll wager he’d notice anything amiss on his land. In
addition, he surely has a gamekeeper or two, to keep watch over the
deer and the birds and whatever else he hunts. With so many
sharp-eyed men about, it would be difficult to conceal a body in
the forest for long. The smell alone would give its location away.
Dig up a bush to bury a body under it and the bush will likely die
– if you can get the thing out of the ground in the first place to
put a body under it. If you trample the underbrush in the process
of digging, the makeshift grave will be noticeable. There’s also
the matter of what dogs or other animals will do to a body.”

“There must be parts of the island where Lord
Bertrand doesn’t hunt and farmers don’t plough,” Cadwallon said
when Desmond paused to frown again at the sea and the cloudless
sky.

“There may well be a place or two,” Desmond
agreed. “But why go to the unnecessary trouble of locating such a
place and then digging a hole in heavy soil, when there is a far
easier way to dispose of a dead woman?”

“D’you mean, toss the body into the sea from
the cliffs at high tide?” Cadwallon said. “Or carry it across a
beach and into the water and leave it there? I don’t pretend to
understand the sea the way the islanders do, but after all the
warnings we’ve received about currents and strong tides, I’d worry
about the body washing up on shore later. You mentioned that
yourself, only a day or two ago. But Aglise hasn’t washed up on
shore. We’d know if she had.”

“If I am right,” Desmond said, “she never
washed up on shore because she never was in the sea.”

“I’d raise the same objections to the idea of
burying her in the sand,” Cadwallon said. “The tides would
gradually wash away the sand over a newly dug grave.” He shook his
head, staring at Desmond in perplexity. Then, suddenly, he
grinned.

“I see,” Cadwallon said. “And you were right;
it should have been obvious at once, because it’s the only place
where Lord Bertrand and his men-at-arms didn’t look. Elaine told us
how Bertrand sent his men to search the sea caves under the cliffs,
and how they were almost swept away by the incoming tide and barely
escaped with their lives. She said the near-tragedy convinced Lord
Bertrand not to try again to look for Aglise in the caves.”

“Which means,” Desmond finished for him,
“that one area of the island remains unexplored for traces of
Aglise.”

“How do we get down there?” Cadwallon asked,
looking along the track as if seeking a path to the beach
below.

“We ask Elaine,” said Desmond, glancing
toward the manor. His heart skipped a beat before it began a rapid
thudding. He tried to speak calmly. “Here she comes, just in time
to assist us.”

Cadwallon screwed around in his saddle to
follow Desmond’s line of sight. “What the devil is Ewan doing with
her?” he asked.

“Most likely, he volunteered to come along.
He has been eager to join us each day, and he’s bored with being
assigned to stay at the castle and listen to gossip,” Desmond said.
“Good day to you, Lady Elaine.”

He spoke formally, because inwardly he wished
with all his heart that Elaine were not present. If his conclusions
were accurate and it was a lifeless body and not a hiding or
imprisoned girl they were looking for, then what they were going to
find would not be pleasant. He fought the urge to protect Elaine
from the possible sight of her sister’s remains by sending her back
to the manor with Ewan for escort. Instead, he told himself if he
allowed her to stay, she could prove useful. Elaine probably knew
the quickest and easiest way down the cliffs, and if they did find
Aglise, she would be the person best able to identify her.

“Desmond, I need to talk with you,” Elaine
said. “Here, away from the manor, seemed a good place. I want as
few people as possible to hear what I have to say.”

“We can talk after you show us how to get to
the beach,” Desmond said.

“The beach?” Elaine gaped at him in open
disbelief. “Do you imagine Aglise is hiding in one of the caves?
Never! It would be far too uncomfortable for her. She wouldn’t last
two hours, let alone two months.”

“The caves are the one area that hasn’t been
searched,” Cadwallon said in a gentle tone. “You told us the
men-at-arms tried to search down there, but they gave up when the
tide turned and they never went back.”

“Are you thinking Aglise could be imprisoned
in one of the caves?” Elaine asked. Then she winced as she
understood. “No; you think she’s lying dead down there.”

“It is a possibility we must consider,”
Desmond told her, though to his own ears he didn’t convey the same
gentle concern that had sounded in Cadwallon’s voice.

“Oh, dear God in heaven,” Elaine whispered.
Her shoulders slumped and for a moment she sat very still astride
her horse, with her head bowed. Then she straightened, took a long
breath, and met Desmond’s worried gaze with dry eyes and a calm
demeanor.

“I must learn what has happened to her,” she
said. “Whatever the truth is, I have to know. I will show you the
way to the beach, on condition that I go with you, that you do not
send me away.”

“You have my word,” Desmond said, wishing he
dared clasp her in his arms and offer comfort. “You may stay with
us for as long as you wish.”

“What about the tides?” Cadwallon asked.

“You’ve chosen your time well,” she said.
“See the large rock in the water just below, the one that’s wet but
the waves don’t quite cover it? There’s a sign the tide has begun
to ebb. If the tide were just coming in, the top of the rock would
be dry because it is well out of the sea at low tide. We have
several hours to search, which is a good thing, for there are at
least ten caves along this section of cliffs, and more in the
cliffs farther to the west. We will have to investigate them on
another day.”

“Would the men who were looking for Aglise
know when the tide is due to be low?” Desmond asked.

“A man-at-arms certainly ought to know.
Nearly everyone on the island pays close attention to the tides,”
Elaine responded. “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason. I was just wondering.”
Desmond offered no further explanation, though his own question
lingered in his mind. If the men-at-arms paid even the slightest
attention to the ebb and flow of the tides, then why had a troop of
them descended to the beach at a time when they would be threatened
by incoming water? Why hadn’t they waited until the tide began to
ebb? Had they been so eager to find Aglise that they paid no heed
to the rhythms of the sea? Or did some other, less innocent reason
lay behind the choice of that particular hour?

“We’ll have to leave the horses here,” Elaine
said. With Ewan’s help she dismounted before Desmond could offer
his hand.

The cliffs were not entirely bare of
vegetation. A few bushes grew near the path and Elaine looped her
mount’s reins around a branch to keep the horse from wandering. The
men followed her example.

From behind his saddle Cadwallon pulled a
shovel with a handle in two sections, and Desmond took his own
saddlebag. When they were ready Elaine led them down a steep, but
not particularly treacherous path. It was, Desmond thought, a path
a man could descend with little difficulty while carrying a small
woman’s body slung over his shoulder.

Elaine reached the bottom of the cliff and
stepped onto the beach.

“I gather the water reaches the cliffs at
high tide,” Cadwallon remarked, looking around. “I notice the sand
is damp right up to the lower part of the path.”

“Yes,” Elaine said. “Some of the caves are
flooded twice a day.”

“Why is there even a path here?” Ewan asked.
“Why would anyone want to visit such a dangerous and uninviting
place?”

“Smugglers and pirates are said to land on
these beaches.” Elaine’s face lit with a brief smile before she
turned serious again. “You should hear some of the wild stories the
islanders tell. I suspect a few of them of helping the outlaws.
They also claim French spies come ashore from time to time, though
in the two years I’ve lived on Jersey, I’ve never heard of any
spies who landed here.”

“Really?” Desmond said, recalling Elaine’s
claim just a day or so ago that Aglise could have learned something
important about French interest in the island. “Perhaps spies did
land here, but you didn’t hear of them because they weren’t
caught.”

“It seems to me it would be simpler, and much
less dangerous, for a spy to come to Jersey aboard one of the
fishing vessels, rather than try to land on these beaches. There
are shoals just offshore, not to mention all the rocks, some of
which can’t be seen even at low tide,” Elaine said. “The sad fact
is that some of the islanders are sympathetic to the French king,
so they wouldn’t bother reporting a spy, wherever they saw him.”
She gestured with one hand. “Three of the caves lie just over
there.”

They began with the nearest cave. Desmond was
the first to climb up a yard or so of slippery, seaweed-encrusted
rock to reach the opening Elaine had indicated, but Cadwallon was
close behind him. The cave wasn’t very large. Daylight extended all
the way to the smooth back wall of what was essentially just an
alcove carved out of the cliff by the action of the sea.

“The floor is stone,” Cadwallon noted,
stamping his feet. “There’s no grave here, and no place to hide
anything.”

“True.” Desmond shrugged. “I didn’t expect
the search to be easy. Let’s try the next cave.”

They searched two more, similar caves before
they were stopped by a projection of the cliff jutting into the
sea.

“Let’s look on the other side of the path,”
Desmond said. “We should have time before the tide turns.”

One cave held no more of interest than the
previous ones. But the next opening was so low that Desmond had to
leave behind his sword and the saddlebag he was carrying so he
could crawl through the entrance on his hands and knees. As soon as
he was inside he discovered that he could stand. He could tell the
floor was made of sand because it crunched under his boots, but he
couldn’t see much.

To his surprise, Cadwallon appeared,
squeezing his bulk through the opening while shielding a lighted
stub of a candle. Elaine came into the cave behind him, with Ewan
following her.

“I always carry flints and bits of lint, in
case I want to start a fire,” Cadwallon explained. “Well, this is
an interesting place.”

They were in a large, high room, the roof
glistening with moisture, the walls smooth from the scouring motion
of the waves over many years. When Cadwallon held the candle up so
he could see better, Elaine paused in the act of brushing wet sand
off her skirts and looked around.

“Whoever would dream the cliff is so hollow?”
she asked. Stepping off from the entrance, she began to pace across
the damp floor, measuring the size of the room as she moved into an
area of rock and shadows on the far side. “I doubt we have time to
search this entire cave before the tide comes in. Oh, Aglise, where
are you?”

Hearing the note of despair in her voice,
Desmond and Cadwallon glanced at each other. Before either man
could say anything, Elaine cried out again, this time in alarm.

“I’m sinking! I stepped into a hole. Oh, dear
heaven! Desmond, help me!”

They rushed forward, Cadwallon handing the
candle to Ewan with a sharp warning not to drop it. Elaine was
tottering ankle-deep in mud that sucked at her feet when she tried
to pull free.

“Is it quicksand?” Ewan cried, the
candlelight wavering as his hand shook. “In Yorkshire, on the
moors, a man can be sucked beneath the surface...”

“It’s not quicksand,” Desmond said. “It’s
just a hole.”

“A hole that someone has deliberately dug,”
Cadwallon added. “There by the rock the sides are almost
straight.”

Desmond had noticed, but he wasn’t listening
to Cadwallon. He reached forward to catch Elaine around her waist
and drag her out of the hole. Before setting her on her feet on the
more solid sand, he held her close for a moment. By the way her
heart beat frantically against his chest and the way she clung to
him, he knew she, too, had guessed what the hole in the sand
contained.

Whoever had dug the hole had chosen a
near-ideal location, close to the wall and protected on two sides
by solid rock. Though the cave was regularly flooded, the
depression in the sand wasn’t especially noticeable. Nor was anyone
not on a desperate search likely to enter a cave with so low and
small an entrance.

“I believe we have found Lady Aglise,”
Cadwallon said, his solemn tone confirming Desmond’s realization.
“I can see linen wound around something solid. Elaine, you ought to
wait outside.”