Court of Swans, page 20
“But I am so very grateful to you for discovering all this. Thank you so much. I am sure my brothers will be able to find who is responsible for the murders.”
“Even if they do, it may not help you. Lord Yelverton is very influential with the king and the other councilors. To some people, the truth is irrelevant.”
Delia’s heart sank. Then she had a happy thought. “But Lady Anne is coming here.” She drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps she will help us.”
“She will be much more likely to help if you have facts to lay before her. And I no longer have the luxury of time to help you. I must prepare for the lady’s visit. There is still much that needs to be done, and I shall be occupied with making the abbey ready to accommodate the future queen. Much food must be bought and prepared for the queen and her entire retinue.”
“But if the future queen is here, I can speak with her, convince her—”
“You must have evidence. We have none as yet. Murder is a serious crime, especially murder of the king’s coroner. The law demands that the murderer be executed. Besides that, Anne of Bohemia will stay for only a short visit, to rest, before going on to Leeds Castle and then to London for her marriage and coronation. You must hurry and find the evidence to present to her.”
There was too little time. “How should I go about finding this evidence? Will you help me?”
“I have given you all the information I was able to obtain. My sources would not give me any names other than the ones I’ve told you. Now it is up to you. My advice is to go to Wycrofton. Meanwhile, I have a duty and responsibility as the leader of this abbey, and a duty and responsibility to my king and his future queen. Anne of Bohemia and her retinue will be arriving soon, and my time has been appropriated by this important event. You and your brothers must work out your own salvation, as it were.”
Delia could feel her throat constricting. But as always, she knew showing fear would not gain her anything. She could do this. She could find the people responsible for her brothers’ imprisonment—the false witnesses who had accused them of murder and treason. She had to. And now she wasn’t alone.
After leaving her aunt, she went to Sir Geoffrey and her brothers and told them all the information her aunt had just given her. They made a plan to head out first thing the next morning.
She thought she had lost her chance to speak to the future queen when her brothers were so quickly tried and sentenced to death, when they’d been forced to escape their prison and leave London. But perhaps all hope was not lost.
* * *
Delia opened her eyes to someone pounding on her door. The only light was from a few glowing embers in the fireplace. Where was she?
She sat up as it came to her. She was at Rosings Abbey with her brothers and Sir Geoffrey. She had been placed in a room with another woman who was traveling to London. The tiny bit of gray light around the window shutters revealed it must be dawn.
The knock came again, very insistent. The other woman did not rise, or even move, that Delia could see.
Delia wore only her underdress, but it covered her from head to toe. Nevertheless, she drew on her cloak before hurrying to the door and using the key to unlock it. Sir Geoffrey stood there, his face barely visible in the dark corridor. Men were not allowed in this part of the convent.
“What is it?”
“Your brothers are gone.”
Delia’s heart stopped. “What do you mean?”
“They were taken during the night.” He motioned for her to follow him. She stepped out and closed the door behind her. O God, don’t let anything happen to them.
“I was sleeping in the healer’s chamber with Edwin when a servant came and said soldiers had stormed into the abbey and seized your brothers—all except Edwin.”
She could hardly breathe. “But surely this couldn’t happen. Aunt Beatrice . . .” She struggled to draw in enough breath to speak. “She would not allow soldiers . . . Perhaps my brothers left to go find evidence.”
But she knew from the grim look on Sir Geoffrey’s face . . .
“No, no, no, no, no.” Delia bent forward, the most excruciating pain sinking down on her, on her shoulders, inside her chest. God, why did You not save them?
Sir Geoffrey took her arm, as if to hold her up.
“We can go after them.” Delia grabbed hold of Sir Geoffrey’s shirt. “We can save them, rescue them when they stop for water or to rest their horses.”
“There will be too many of them,” Sir Geoffrey said gently. “We need to find witnesses, or even evidence of their innocence. That is the best thing we can do for them.”
“They did not take Edwin?”
“No. Your brothers told them Edwin had died from a putrid wound. The soldiers seemed eager to leave the abbey—one of the men mumbled there would be a curse on them for entering the abbey and removing someone who had taken refuge in a house of God—and they left quickly.”
“Does my aunt know?”
“Yes. She sent a servant boy to tell me.”
Was there no one to help them? Delia’s heart seemed to break in two.
“I am surprised they did not look for you or me as well, as they must know by now that you and I played a part in their escape, but there may have been some miscommunication. Or their fear, or the abbey guards, forced them to leave before they could search for us.”
O God, O God. Delia could not even pray, could not form words, could only cry out silently.
“Get dressed if you wish to come with me.” Sir Geoffrey was standing quite close, still holding tightly to her arm, as if to keep her attention. “Or do you want to stay here?”
“I am coming with you.” Delia opened the door behind her and stumbled inside, then shut it.
She was breathing hard as she found her dress and pulled it on over her head, put on her shoes. She was too horrified, too frozen inside, to cry. My brothers, God. My brothers. They would be in prison again and in the clutches of the Earl of Yelverton and Parnella. Please help them, God, please.
She clasped her belt around her waist, her small money pouch attached. Then she hurried out the door to where Sir Geoffrey was waiting for her. So stalwart and faithful. So kind.
“At least they didn’t arrest you.” As soon as she said the words, she threw her arms around him and let her forehead rest on his chest.
His arms immediately went around her, and he pulled her closer. Why did his embrace feel so comforting? And why did she feel as if she were completely alone in the world except for this man? He was her only friend now.
His arms gave her strength. She would stand up straight and tall. She would not give in to frailty or give up on saving her brothers.
“Forgive me. I don’t want to slow us down,” Delia said, lifting her head.
Sir Geoffrey’s face was very near hers, his eyes so close, a brilliant blue. When she tilted her head ever so slightly, all she could see were his lips and his stubbly chin. She wanted to touch his face. With her fingers. And her lips.
She pulled away and Sir Geoffrey let her go. But she felt stronger, as if his strength was flowing through her. They headed toward the front door.
Delia walked quickly to the stables. “How is Edwin? Does he still have a fever?”
“I believe it was much better this morning.”
“Do you think he will be all right without us?”
“The healer will take good care of him. She said her assistant can stay with him until he is well enough to be left alone.”
She was so thankful he had not been arrested with the rest of her brothers. Poor Roland and David. They must be so afraid. And Charles would be afraid as well, but he would never show it. Were the soldiers who arrested them treating them well? Or were they cruel?
How could this be happening again? How long would they let them live before they executed them? God, please. Help. We need You.
Sir Geoffrey was quick at saddling his horse, and the stable boy helped her saddle a gentle mare, assuring her it was fast and strong. They were soon mounted and headed toward Wycrofton, the village where the coroner, Sir John Stanley, had been murdered.
About midday they stopped to rest the horses near a bubbling spring. They sat down and ate some bread and cheese Sir Geoffrey had procured from the abbey kitchen.
“It seems terrible to be traveling away from London instead of toward it.” And her brothers. “My home—or my old home—is not far to the west of here.”
Sir Geoffrey looked quizzically at her. “My old home—my father’s estate before it was taken and given to my uncle—is not far to the east of here.” He squinted at the ground. “I find it interesting that your stepmother and my uncle are situated so near each other. And interesting that they both seem to want land and titles that aren’t rightfully their own. And they also both seem to want your brothers to be executed and out of the way.”
“What could that mean?” A chill snaked across Delia’s shoulders.
“Who was your stepmother before she married your father?”
“Parnella is the daughter of the Baron Delaford—”
“Baron Delaford? Your stepmother is the daughter of the Baron Delaford? She had a . . . something . . . with my uncle, even though she’s young enough to be his daughter. My aunt was furious. As I recall, this woman—your stepmother—married your father shortly thereafter, and then my aunt fell ill and died.”
“My father was thrown from his horse and died just a few months after my half brother was born. My brothers were home for the funeral when you arrested them. Aunt Beatrice said your uncle’s servant was there when he died, and that your father died in a similar fashion. Do you think these events are related—that all of this is connected in some way?”
“I think it likely that the two of them are conspiring to combine the two estates by getting rid of the rightful heirs and marrying each other. Either that or they are just helping each other. He helps her kill the people who are standing in her way of getting what she wants . . .”
“And she helps him kill the people who are standing in his way.”
“Precisely.”
“But that is so evil.” Delia’s breath left her for a moment. How could anyone be so diabolical? “I always knew my stepmother was not a kind person, and I knew she must have been the one who accused my brothers, but it’s still so shocking that she would help your uncle . . .” Kill your father. “I’m so sorry.”
“My father’s death looked like an accident, and my uncle was far away when it happened.”
“But it could have been done by my stepmother or one of her servants, just as this Rostand whom Aunt Beatrice mentioned must have been the one to cause Father’s saddle girth to break. The groom believed it may have been cut. Afterward, the girth was inexplicably lost.”
“The murderer made sure of that.” Sir Geoffrey’s face was grim, his jaw set and hard.
They both stood and strode to their horses. Sir Geoffrey helped her into her saddle, quickly placing her foot in the stirrup and grabbing her other foot and boosting her up, as if he had often helped ladies onto their horses.
His gaze arrested her. “We must tread lightly and not reveal who we are.”
“Hearken and consider whether I am able to sound like a country rustic.” Delia nearly laughed at her rough change of accent.
Sir Geoffrey gave her a crooked smile. “That is a good try, but no one who looks at you could ever think you anything other than a well-bred lady.”
Delia stared back. “Truly? You could not imagine me as a servant, born to a poor mother in a wattle-and-daub house?”
Sir Geoffrey shook his head. “No.”
“Are a country girl and a wealthy lady so easily distinguishable?”
“It’s not only your unusual beauty,” he said as they rode along at a trot, side by side on the road. “It’s your mannerisms, the way you walk, the expression of your eyes. Rustics don’t move so . . . daintily.”
“I’m not sure I like being called dainty.”
Sir Geoffrey turned toward her, a meek look on his face, his mouth slightly open.
“I’d rather be thought of as strong and resilient. Like a country rustic.”
“You are strong and resilient.”
“You don’t have to flatter me.” Delia laughed. “And I cry far too much to be thought of as strong.”
“Not so. Showing your emotions does not make you weak. Just as not showing emotions does not make you strong. You don’t allow your emotions to stop you from taking action, do you? But if one never shows emotion . . . that might mean that person is cold and unfeeling.”
He was right. Showing emotion wasn’t weakness. She may cry, but she would not shrink from doing whatever was needed to defend her brothers. She’d never seen her father show any emotion except occasional anger. And yet he’d seemed very weak in the face of her stepmother’s badgering. He’d been controlled by her and had done whatever she wanted.
“You are wise beyond your years, Sir Geoffrey.”
He smiled wryly, as if he thought she was teasing him.
They rode on in silence. Not long after, their destination, the village of Wycrofton, was in sight.
Twenty-Two
Delia and Sir Geoffrey rode into the village of Wycrofton at a walk. The rutted main road passed shops and houses, and then on the right was a blackened site where a house had once been. Delia was well aware her brothers had precious little time, so she was grateful Sir Geoffrey stopped the first person he saw on the road.
“Is this where the coroner, Sir John Stanley, perished in his home?”
The woman looked at him with squinty eyes. “It is.” She walked away quickly, as though afraid of him.
Delia, who had distanced herself from him while he questioned the woman, moved closer.
“Perhaps you should allow me to ask the questions. You scare people.” She gave him a half smile and a grimace to soften her words.
“What do you mean, I scare people?”
“You’re a man, you’re tall, and you look like a soldier.” She shrugged apologetically.
He could hardly help any of those things, and he looked as though he might tell her so.
“You look intimidating and intent on a particular purpose, whereas I can present myself as a timid woman, only curious, nothing more.”
“Very well,” he said. “If we find someone who might answer our questions, I shall try to stay silent, let you do all the talking.” He frowned. “And I’ll try not to appear intimidating or soldierly.”
“Very good.” She nodded, then proceeded down the short lane to the blackened ruins of the house where the coroner had died.
She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find. There were only a few stones left, and charred wood timbers and mostly burned debris were all around. There certainly could be no evidence left here; everything of value surely had been burned up or taken by scavengers. And if there had been any evidence, the culprit who set the fire and killed the coroner would have had ample time to come back and take it, as it had been months since the uprising and the burning of the coroner.
God, I know You can do anything. Please help us find something that everyone else has missed. Help us find a bit of evidence to save my brothers.
She kicked a piece of wood out of the way. Perhaps something important could be underneath it. She kicked at the ashes, which were soft and mushy from the recent snow. But there was nothing there.
Sir Geoffrey was squatting by the fireplace and looking inside it.
“Do you see anything?”
“No.” He stood up and moved on, all the while staring at the ground.
Delia continued in the opposite direction, looking at the ground. She overturned anything larger than her hand, kicked at the ashes. She moved slowly, but after a while, she came upon Sir Geoffrey, who had searched in a circle and had come back around to her.
“I don’t see anything useful.” Sir Geoffrey sighed.
Delia’s heart squeezed painfully.
“Perhaps we should look again, move the stones over there.”
“I will if you wish it.” But Sir Geoffrey looked doubtful, pitying. It was obvious he did not believe anything was there.
“What will we do, then?” Delia was asking herself and God as much as she was asking Sir Geoffrey.
“We can talk to people, try to find the coroner’s servants who may have survived the fire and ask them if they saw anything. But you know as well as I do, a servant’s word means nothing when accusing your stepmother, who is the daughter of a baron, or my uncle, who is an earl.”
“Of course. But if they knew something, knew where some bit of evidence was . . .” Fear welled up inside Delia. What if they couldn’t find anything? She did not even know what she was looking for.
“Come.” Sir Geoffrey bent slightly to look into her eyes. “We’ll go to an inn and get something hot to eat. While we’re there we’re sure to find someone who wants to talk about what happened to the coroner.”
Delia nodded, and they walked with their horses down the main road through the village. People greeted them, but there was suspicion in their eyes. The village was not a market town and was not on the main road to London, so they probably did not see a lot of strangers.
They found the only inn in the village and went inside. Sir Geoffrey ordered stew, and they sat down at a small table to eat. It was not as good as her cook’s stew back at home, but it was the best she’d had in a long time. The bread was also good, not too coarse, and the innkeeper even provided a bit of butter.
Delia sighed and felt herself relaxing. But before she’d eaten the next bite, she remembered how dire her brothers’ situation was. Were they being mistreated at this very moment? Would the soldiers beat them, knowing they’d had a part in killing one of their fellow guards? Or would they execute them quickly, since they’d escaped once before?
“What’s the matter?” Sir Geoffrey leaned close. “Are you unwell?”
