The Silver Rose cb-2 Page 23

  "Oh, aye," the carter agreed sagely, raising a hand in farewell to dumb Sarah as he set the dray in motion again. "We can't 'ave Lady Ariel fallin' ill. What'd 'appen to the rest of us?" He turned the dray expertly on the narrow lane to return the way he'd come. "But we'll be losin' 'er soon enough, o'course. When she goes off to 'Awkesmoor."

  Jenny murmured something that could have been taken for assent. Even if Ariel didn't go to Hawkesmoor, she didn't intend to stay at Ravenspeare. But Jenny was beginning to wonder about her friend's plans, and how Hawkesmoor would fit into them.

  The question absorbed her and banished the puzzle about Edgar's failure to appear until the carter drew up before the arched door leading into the kitchen courtyard of Ravenspeare Castle. " 'Ere y'are, then, Miss Jenny. Should I come in wi' you?"

  "No, I can find my way to the kitchen, thank you, Giles."

  He nodded and jumped to the ground to assist her to

  alight. "There'll be plenty of folk in the kitchen to 'elp you out."

  Jenny smiled her agreement and went into the castle. She edged her away along the narrow path between two rows of vegetables in the kitchen garden and reached the opened door without misstep.

  "Eh, Miss Jenny. You be come to see Lady Ariel, I'll be bound." Gertrude's cheery voice hailed the blind woman as she stood somewhat uncertainly in the doorway.

  "Edgar was to come and collect me from home at seven, but he didn't appear." Jenny allowed her arm to be taken, allowed herself to be eased into a chair at the long table. "I begged a ride from Giles, the carter."

  "That's funny." Gertrude frowned. "I 'aven't seen Edgar meself, this mornin'. 'E's usually in 'ere fer 'is breakfast by six." She looked around the busy kitchen. "Eh, Mister Timson? You seen Edgar this mornin'?"

  Timson shook his head. "Can't say as I 'ave, Mistress Gertrude." He glanced around and grabbed a potboy by one thin but wiry wrist. "You, boy, run to the stables and see if Mister Edgar's there."

  The lad raced off and Gertrude sat down beside Jenny, saying comfortably, "So, 'ow's yer mam doin' these days? She was 'ere lookin' to Lady Ariel, Doris says."

  "She's well enough, thank you," Jenny replied, squashing memories of her mother's strange troubled behavior on the previous day. Her mother had seemed perfectly well ever since, so there was no point continuing to fret over it.

  "Oh, Mistress Gertrude, Mister Timson, ye'd best come quick!" The potboy reappeared in the kitchen door, his eyes wide with a mixture of fright and excitement. "It's Mister Edgar. 'E's dead. Stone-cold dead."

  "What?" Timson was at the door before Jenny and Gertrude were on their feet. He clipped the lad over the ear. "If this is one of yer jokes, young Benjie, I'll 'ave yer 'ide."

  "'Tisn't, Mister Timson. Swear to God, it isn't," the lad burbled, chasing after the footman. Gertrude took Jenny's arm unceremoniously and hurried with her after them.

  Edgar lay on his cot beside the now cold brazier. His eyes were closed, his face as white as milk. Not a twitch of breath, not a sign of life.

  Timson stood somewhat helplessly looking down at the inert figure. Gertrude bustled over with Jenny, then stood aside respectfully so that the younger woman could make her own examination. Jenny bent over, her fingers deftly unbuttoning Edgar's jerkin and pulling up the rough homespun shirt beneath. She laid an ear to Edgar's bare chest, placed her flat palm over his mouth.

  "He's not dead," she pronounced quietly.

  "Ooo, I did think 'e was, Mister Timson," the potboy wailed, stepping out of the footman's reach. " 'Onest to God, I thought 'e was. It weren't no trick, mister."

  "Scarper!" Timson ordered, raising a threatening hand. The lad scarpered.

  "It's a death sleep," Gertrude pronounced in a voice full of doom. "I've seen 'em like that afore. Sleep like death, then off they goes, sliding into God's 'ands." She wiped her eyes with her apron. "Poor Mister Edgar. Such a good man, 'e was. Lady Ariel'll be beside 'erself."

  Edgar twitched and a small popping sound came from between his closed lips.

  "Death sleep or not, looks to me like 'e's wakin' from it," Timson observed. The tankard by the wall caught his eye, and he picked it up, sniffing judiciously. "Dipped a bit deep in the blackstrap, if you asks me. Powerful stuff'tis."

  "May I see?" Jenny held out her hand for the tankard. She smelled it, then ran a finger over the drops clinging to the sides and licked it. She frowned but said nothing, merely placed the tankard on the floor and bent over Edgar again.

  "Edgar? Can you hear me, Edgar?" She spoke softly but insistently. The man's eyelids fluttered, he lifted one hand from the cot, laboriously as if it weighed a ton and he was having to move it through treacle, and touched his mouth.

  His eyes opened. His bewildered gaze fell on Jenny and a stricken look crossed his befogged eyes. "Oh, Miss Jenny, I were comin' to fetch you, weren't I? What time is it?"

  "Close on eight," Jenny replied. "Lie back for a few more minutes, Edgar. You'll feel stronger shortly. Perhaps if you had some strong tea…?" She looked inquiringly at Gertrude.

  "I'll send one o' the girls out wi' the tea," Gertrude said. "Anythin' else you'd be wantin'?"

  Edgar shook his head and Gertrude went off. Edgar sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. The ground rushed up to meet him and with a groan he dropped his head onto his knees.

  " 'Ad a bit too much o' the blackstrap, Edgar," Timson opined jovially. "Gets to us all sometimes, but I never figured you fer a serious drinkin' man."

  Edgar raised his head cautiously. He blinked around the tack room. "I'm not." He shook his head. "Lad brought me a tankard last even, after I'd seen to the 'osses. Wi' compliments of the earl of 'Awkesmoor, 'e said."

  Jenny picked up the tankard again. "Lord Hawkesmoor sent you the drink?"

  "Aye. An' right good it was, though powerful strong. Must 'ave gone to me 'ead."

  "I expect that was it," Jenny said. "If you think you'll be all right now, I'll go inside and see Lady Ariel. I'll come back afterward."

  "Aye, an' I'll be ready to take you 'ome whenever," Edgar said. " 'Ere, Timson, give me an 'and." He took the footman's proffered hand and staggered to his feet. "Gawd, I'd better see to the 'osses. Lady Ariel'll be wantin' to know 'ow the roan's doin'." Shaking his head, he stumbled slightly toward the door to the stables.

  Early in the morning, Ariel's bedchamber had resembled market day in Cambridge as a stream of visitors inquired after her health. But at last she was left alone when the wedding guests set off for the day's sport.

  A day of enforced idleness was not appealing, even though Ariel's physician self told her that it was as wise as it was necessary. She lay back against the pillows waiting for the skittering claws of the hounds in the corridor outside as Doris returned them from their morning's walk. Doris had taken them herself because Edgar would be out fetching Jenny.

  Ariel sat up abruptly and looked at the clock. It was past eight. Edgar should have been back with Jenny long since.

  The dogs yelped at the closed door even as she thought this. They burst into the chamber as Doris opened the door. "Mercy me, Lady Ariel, they've run me off me feet," she gasped, panting. " 'Ere's Miss Jenny, come to see 'ow y'are."

  "Thank you for taking the dogs, Doris." Ariel smiled warmly at the girl. "I was worried about you, Jenny." She reached out a hand to grasp Jenny's as the other woman stepped closer. "Surely Edgar didn't forget to come for you."

  "Not exactly," Jenny said evasively, gesturing slightly toward Doris, who could be heard setting the room to rights behind her. "How are you feeling this morning?" She placed a cool hand on Ariel's brow. "The fever's broken, then?"

  "Yes, sometime in the night." Ariel opened her shift so that Jenny could listen to her chest. "I sweated rivers, it was quite disgusting. Poor Simon was constantly having to change the linen."

  "He proved a good nurse, then?" Jenny inquired in an oddly flat voice.

  "Surprisingly so." Simon's dry answer from the door made Jenny jump with a startled little
gasp.

  But she recovered quickly, beginning to palpate Ariel's throat as she responded neutrally, "Good morning, my lord."

  "Good morning, Jenny. What's your opinion of the patient?"

  "Better. Is your throat sore, Ariel?"

  "Very."

  "We should wrap it in hot flannel." She turned to address Doris. "Run down to the kitchen, Doris, and ask Mistress Gertrude to heat strips of flannel in the bread oven."

  "Yes, miss." Doris hustled past the earl, who still stood in the doorway. Doris didn't notice the rather puzzled frown in his eyes.

  Jenny seemed to be avoiding conversation with him. When he stepped closer to the bed, she jerked sideways, tension rippling through her thin frame. What on earth was the matter with the woman?

  "Well, I'll leave you to your ministrations," he said, hearing the shade of awkwardness in his voice. "I'm sure she's in better hands than mine, Jenny."

  Jenny didn't respond, seemed to be concentrating all her attention on taking Ariel's pulse.

  "Enjoy the stag hunt, my lord," Ariel said. "I wish I was coming with you."

  "Well, you can't," he stated, bending to kiss her. "You'll stay in bed wrapped in hot flannel, and I'll join you for dinner by the fire.",

  When the door had closed behind him, Ariel said swiftly, "What happened with Edgar?"

  Jenny sat on the edge of the bed. "Apparently he drank deep of a powerful mixture of blackstrap last night and overslept."

  "What do you mean, apparently?" Ariel never missed a trick.

  Jenny bit her lip. "There was more than October ale and apple brandy in the tankard, Ariel."

  "Oh?" Ariel sat up, an intent look in her widened eyes.

  "Verbenum, certainly, and maybe belladonna. And I could definitely taste celandine."

  "Oh." Ariel stared at Jenny. "You're saying the blackstrap was drugged?"

  Jenny shrugged. "There were only a few drops left. I could be wrong."

  "No, you couldn't," Ariel said flatly. "Where is Edgar now?

  "Checking on the horses."

  Ariel felt the dread start from a pinprick somewhere in her chest and expand like a swelling balloon until it seemed to fill the whole cavity of her rib cage. She gazed in silent horror at Jenny's still figure beside her.

  The two women waited in silence. Waited for what they both knew they were about to hear.

  When Edgar entered the room a few minutes later, his face deathly white, his mouth and nostrils pinched, Ariel forestalled him. "What have we lost?"

  "The mare in foal." He stood helplessly, wringing his hands. "I can't believe it 'appened. I can't believe I could 'ave drunk meself silly, but… but I did." A wail of anguish broke from him and his shoulders hunched. "I'll leave right away, m'lady. I wish I could do somethin' to show 'ow sorry I am, but-"

  "There's no need to flay yourself, Edgar," Ariel broke in briskly. "It wasn't your fault. The blackstrap you drank was drugged. Jenny tasted it."

  "Drugged?" Edgars shoulders snapped straight again and his eyes were suddenly wrathful, all anguish, remorse, and guilt banished. "Someone wanted me out of the way."

  Ariel flung back the bedclothes as if they were stifling her, impeding her thought processes. "Ranulf," she stated.

  Edgar's gaze shifted abruptly. He cast a glance to where Jenny now stood beside the bed, her face closed as granite. He cleared his throat. "The tankard, m'lady, it didn't… didn't come…" His voice faded.

  Jenny picked up the thread, her voice cool and resolute. "Edgar told me earlier that the ale had been sent him by the earl of Hawkesmoor."

  "The lad what brought it, m'lady, said 'is lordship sent it with 'is thanks. I thought because of lookin' after the roan." Edgar fell silent again, unable to look at the white face in the bed.

  Simon? Simon had drugged Edgar and then staged a raid on the Arabians? Simon knew she bred them. As an experienced horseman, he would have seen that they were fine specimens. He had a perfect hiding place on his own estates, easily reached by barge along the rivers and drainage cuts crossing the fens. Could he have seen what a gold mine she had in her stables? Had he assumed that a naive young woman wouldn't realize how lucrative her hobby could be? Had he acted accordingly? Simon? How could it be possible? It wasn't possible.

  "Which of the lads brought you the ale, Edgar?" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a wrap lying over the end rail.

  "I didn't know 'im, ma'am." Edgar shuffled his feet uncomfortably, staring fixedly out of the window beyond the bed. In his shock and guilt, he had rushed in on Lady Ariel in her bedchamber without giving a thought to the intimacy of the surroundings. The sight of his lady sitting on the edge of the bed in her shift, swinging her bare legs, flooded him with embarrassment.

  "You think he's not one of ours?" She thrust her arms into the sleeves of the wrapper, unaware of Edgar's discomfiture.

  "Mebbe, m'lady. Mebbe 'e's new an' I 'adn't seen 'im afore."

  "Go down to the kitchen and ask around," Ariel instructed as briskly as before. "Find out who knows him, where he comes from. And then find him. I'm going down to the stables to check on the others."

  "Right y'are, m'lady." Edgar went eagerly to the door. "The roan's doin' fine this mornin'. Wounds closin' over nicely an' she 'ad some bran mash."

  "Good." Ariel slipped from the bed and stood up gingerly, assessing her strength with a critical frown. "Go now, Edgar."

  The man left and Ariel began to pace the bedchamber. "I don't believe Simon could have stolen the mare." "He had the opportunity," Jenny pointed out.

  "Yes, but I don't believe he would do anything so underhanded. It's much more likely to have been Ranulf. He's been making inquiries, and Edgar told me he was livid when I shipped the colt out. He must have some inside information and he heard that I had a buyer for the mare."

  In other circumstances it would have made Jenny smile to hear Ariel championing a Hawkesmoor-a man whom she would once have believed capable of any despicable act, a man whom a few short days ago she would have cheerfully pitchforked into the pits of hell.

  "Well, whether it was your brother or not, I don't think you're going to do yourself or anyone else any good if you go out again in the cold, Ariel," she said practically.

  "No." Ariel flopped down in the rocker, drawing the folds of the wrapper tightly around her. "You're right, I'm not." She bit a fingernail, tearing it off with a snap. She was going to have to move fast now. Ranulf would not stop at the mare.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ranulf had a more than usually self-satisfied air, Simon thought, as the earl of Ravenspeare turned his horse toward the drawbridge and led the hunt clattering out of the castle, over the moat.

  Simon rode up alongside his brother-in-law and offered a comment on the day's expectations.

  "We should see good sport if Ralph has done his work," Ranulf replied. He cast a darkling look at his young brother riding just behind him. The younger man flushed.

  "I can't be responsible for inept hunters. I've instructed the beaters and made sure the woods are well stocked. What more can I do?"

  Ranulf didn't answer. "Do you intend to go to court when you leave us, Hawkesmoor?" His voice was pleasant, as if he was having the conversation with an amiable acquaintance. "You have the duchess of Marlborough's patronage, as I understand it."

  "Sarah and I have a shared interest," Simon responded. "We're both deeply concerned for the health and welfare of her husband."

  "Ah, yes, our valiant John, duke of Marlborough." Roland's tone, unlike his brother's, was caustic. "I've heard it said that Queen Anne grows a little impatient with her hero."

  Simon's lips tightened for a moment, then relaxed. He smiled and shrugged. "Men of Marlborough's caliber don't find it easy to dance to the tunes of a whimsical conductor- monarch or no. But I've not yet heard his loyalty questioned." His voice had the faintest edge to it.

  Roland made some nonchalant answer, not prepared to attack the character of a man known to be among
Simon's closest friends, and regarded as a demigod by the whole country.

  "Do you know anything about a woman called Esther in these parts, Ravenspeare?" Simon addressed Ranulf, his tone still light and conversational. "She would have come here some thirty years ago. Maybe a few more."

  Ranulf looked surprised. "I was but ten years old."

  "I just wondered. I've a mind to discover her whereabouts, if she's still alive."

  Ranulf now looked very interested. "What's she to you, Hawkesmoor?"

  "Nothing, as far as I know. But there seems to be some family mystery about her." He shrugged again. "I detest mysteries."

  "She came from Hawkesmoor land to Ravenspeare land?" Roland asked sharply. As usual, of the brothers, he was the quickest to grasp the point.

  "Possibly."

  "Are you implying that there might be some connection between our two families with this woman?"

  "I know of none," Simon lied smoothly. "Her name was mentioned in my father's papers. Not much was said about her, except that she left Hawkesmoor land and it was believed that she had moved to Ravenspeare. I was curious and simply wondered if the name meant anything to you."

  "Not to me," Roland declared. He called over his shoulder, "Ralph, d'you know of a woman by the name of Esther living anywhere on Ravenspeare land?"

  Ralph drew up alongside his brothers. His expression was still sullen. "I can't be expected to know the names of every tenant, let alone the fly-by-nights and vagrants coming through."

  "No, that's certainly more in Ariel's line," Ranulf observed. "I should ask your wife, Hawkesmoor. If Ariel hasn't heard of the woman, you may rest assured that she isn't here… buried, maybe, but living…?" He shook his head, put spur to his horse, and took after the crying hounds toward a distant copse.

  The rest of the hunt followed suit, and Simon dropped back into the midst of his own cadre. Ariel had never heard of Esther. Edgar had never heard of her. Perhaps Ranulf was right and she was dead. Thirty years was a long time, and the Ravenspeare involvement, if there had been any, would have concerned Ranulf's father, maybe even his uncles. Whatever had happened, it was now buried. If there had been any reference in the Ravenspeare archives, Ranulf would have known of it. And his ignorance had not been feigned.