Scoundrel of Dunborough (5 page)

A baby cried from within a nearby house and a woman began a lullaby, soft and low and tender. Again she felt that yearning ache, and she pictured herself by a glowing hearth with a dark-haired baby at her breast.

But the image quickly faded, for she had already decided what her fate would be.

Reaching the house, she slipped the key into the sturdy lock, silently blessing Audrey for making sure she had a key, and for telling her to hide it. Otherwise, she would have turned it over to the mother superior, who would surely have taken as long to “find” it as she had to send word to Ireland that Celeste should return to the convent. There was news of her family, the message had said, giving no hint of what Celeste was going to hear when she arrived back from her pilgrimage, which had been more of an exile.

Celeste pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the empty house. As she had told Gerrard, she didn’t fear ghosts, but there were unwelcome memories and, worst of all, no Audrey there to greet her and remind her of the few happy times they’d shared.

She hurried past the main chamber with that horrible stain, trying not to envision what had happened there or imagine a man capable of such jealous rage that he could brutally attack a woman he claimed to love.

In the kitchen at the back of the house, a pot with a ladle still in it hung over the cold ashes in the hearth. A basket of laundry, wrinkled and musty, lay on its side beside the worktable, its contents spilled onto the floor. There were spoons and a wooden bowl in the stone sink. The room looked as if it had been suddenly, abruptly abandoned, as it probably had.

She went to the larder, noting that the door stood slightly open. That was not so surprising if the servants had fled quickly. Inside, a few mice had been at work, tearing open a sack of lentils and another of peas to get at the contents, although the destruction was less than might have been expected. Fortunately, there were plenty of other stores that were untouched, enough to last her for several days.

Her eyes narrowed as she ventured farther into the storeroom. The contents on the shelves were as neat and tidy as Audrey would have wanted, but there was only the slightest coating of dust on the shelves. To be sure, the nearly closed door might explain that, but perhaps somebody else had been there looking for—

Two eyes gleamed in the dark.

She gave a little shriek and jumped back, her heart racing until she realized it was a cat. A big orange cat. The animal studied her solemnly, then jumped down and walked out of the larder, bushy tail swishing, as if this was his house and she an unwelcome intruder.

His presence likely explained the lack of dust, given the size of his tail.

“Have you been keeping the mice at bay, too?” she asked, reaching down to stroke it.

The cat ran under the worktable, then crouched and stared at her again.

“Very well, I’ll leave you alone,” she said, before she went to the servants’ stairs that led up to the second floor, where the bedchambers were.

She peered into the one she had shared with Audrey. The shutters were closed and the room dim. Nevertheless, she could see well enough to tell that the two cots were still there, albeit without any bedding. Otherwise, the space was empty.

Audrey must have taken her parents’ bedchamber for her own.

It, too, was dark, the shutters closed. Celeste could make out the bed, though, and the shape of other furnishings. She felt the softness of a carpet beneath her feet as she went to the window and opened both the cloth and wooden shutters. Cold air streamed into the room, as well as light, so she hurried to close the cloth shutters over the opening before she turned back.

Yes, the bed was the same; the opulent silken hangings and bedding, however, were not. A large and colorful tapestry depicting a colorful garden hung on the wall opposite. A bronze brazier with a full bowl of coal stood near the dressing table.

She spotted a flint and steel on the table and, taking some straw from the mattress beneath the feather bed, kindled a fire. Grateful for the warmth, she also lit what was left of a candle on the dressing table, noting the fine sandalwood combs, the carved box of hairpins, the brush and, most expensive of all, a mirror.

She couldn’t resist looking at her reflection, so she did—and gasped. Why, she looked like Audrey! Although God didn’t care what she looked like, and neither should she, Celeste couldn’t subdue a little thrill to discover that she resembled the sister everyone called a beauty more than she remembered.

Trying to dismiss such vain thoughts, she began to examine the contents of the largest wooden chest. It was full of clothes—costly gowns and fine linen shifts, silken stockings, veils and beaded caps. These things must have cost a great deal of money...

Audrey must have found their father’s treasure! How else would she have been able to afford all these clothes and run the household, too?

How much was left and where was it? There had to be a considerable amount still. Many times their father had bragged to their mother that he was rich as Croesus and if she left him, she would never see a penny of his wealth.

Rummaging again in the chest, Celeste found a carved wooden box and opened it to find a host of jewelry—rings and necklaces, as well as broaches and pins that glittered red and green and blue and white among their golden settings.

Trembling with excitement, she took the box to the window, setting it on the sill. The value of these things would surely be enough to bribe...encourage...the bishop to send the mother superior away from Saint Agatha’s, perhaps even to the far reaches of Scotland.

Celeste drew out a ruby necklace and held it up to the window to examine it closely.

Her stomach knotted.

The one lesson their father had purposefully taught them was how to tell the difference between real gems and fake, “so you won’t be cheated by charlatans, even if you’re only women and all women are mostly fools.”

The rubies were paste and a swift examination proved the other jewels were false, too, as well as the gold that bound them.

These couldn’t be part of the wealth her father had hidden.

Another moment’s reflection gave her some relief. Of course Audrey wouldn’t keep real jewels in so obvious a hiding place, even if she had a fierce Scot to guard the house. Any thief who managed to get in and overpower him would look in the chests. Audrey must have found a better hiding spot.

A loud series of knocks rattled the door at the front of the house.

She went to the window and opened the cloth shutters to look into the yard, trying to see who it might be. Unfortunately, she couldn’t. However, there was no white horse or group of soldiers outside her gates, so it couldn’t be Gerrard, not that there was any reason for him to come here. As for anyone else, she was in no mood to entertain inquisitive visitors.

Perhaps if she stayed upstairs and didn’t answer, whoever it was would go away.

The knocking commenced again, just as loud and persistent. If it
was
Gerrard, he was stubborn enough to knock for a very long time, especially if he was sure she was there.

Her lips pursed, Celeste adjusted her veil and wimple and went to deal with whoever was pounding so insistently on her door.

Chapter Five

I
t was not Gerrard. A thin man wearing a dark brown cloak over a fawn-colored tunic cinched with a tooled leather belt stood on the threshold. There was something about his narrow face, pale blue eyes and long nose that nudged the edge of her memory, but she couldn’t come up with a name.

“Good day, Celeste! Or I suppose I should say, Sister! Welcome back to Dunborough.” A sorrowful frown came to the man’s homely face. “Although naturally we’re all upset at the reason why. Your dear sister will be much missed.”

His name came to her. “Norbert, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, indeed!” he cried with delight. “To think that you remember me!”

He wouldn’t have been so pleased if he knew that she remembered him as a skinny young man several years older than Roland and Gerrard, a nasty fellow Audrey called “Nosy Norbert.” Since he was the first of the villagers to come to call, she suspected that name would still apply.

“How delightful to have you back home in Dunborough!” he exclaimed as he stepped over the threshold, although she hadn’t invited him to enter. He half turned and made a swift, impatient gesture for someone on the other side of the door to enter, too.

The slender, pockmarked youth who’d been taking down the shutters of the shop sidled into the house, his head bowed, his cheeks aflame with a blush. His cloak was of a lesser quality than the older man’s and frayed about the edges. His short tunic exposed lean legs and knobby knees, and his boots looked old enough to be castoffs.

“This is my son, Lewis,” Norbert said. She recalled that Norbert’s father had been a chandler and the shop that the young man had been opening had been full of candles. Clearly Norbert had become a candle maker, too.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lewis,” she replied, hoping to dispel some of the lad’s obvious embarrassment.

Lewis raised his head and bright blue eyes met hers. His gaze was unexpectedly intense before he looked down again and mumbled, “Good day, Sister.”

Disconcerted by the boldness of that swift glance so at odds with the rest of his demeanor, she turned toward his father.

“Forgive him, Sister,” Norbert said, regarding his son with displeasure. “He’s a shy lad. Takes after his late mother that way.”

That glance had been anything but shy. Nevertheless, Celeste let the remark pass. “It’s a pleasure to meet a modest young man. So many are not these days.”

“That is sadly true,” Norbert agreed. He came farther into the house. “I hope, Sister, that you have not had any impertinence from that young rogue in the castle.”

She certainly wasn’t going to tell Norbert about her dealings with Gerrard. “If you mean the garrison commander,” she replied, “he has been courteous and accommodating.”

Most of the time.

“I’m glad to hear it, Sister, very glad!” Norbert cried. “When I heard you’d spent the night there, I confess I feared...”

He fell awkwardly silent, and she wasn’t about to ease his discomfort.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to,” she said. “I thank you for coming, Norbert, and I’m happy to have made your acquaintance, Lewis.”

“Anything I can do to help, you have only to ask,” Norbert replied. “I was a good friend of your sister’s. A very good friend.”

Celeste doubted that, given what Audrey used to call him.

“Ah, Norbert! Trust you to be first to pay a call on a lovely lady!” a voice boomed from the doorway.

A middle-aged man dressed in a fur-lined red cloak and long black tunic strode into the house. He had a belt of silver links around his broad middle, and his hair was cut in the Norman fashion.

It was not a flattering style for a man with such full cheeks, and his eyes above his wide nose were beady and rather too shrewd.

Nevertheless, she smiled in return. “Greetings, sir.”

“You must forgive me for not waiting to be introduced properly,” he declared. “I came as soon as I heard you’d returned to the house.” His gaze darted to Norbert, who did not hide a scowl. “I wanted to express my condolences. I cared very much for your sister.”

“Thank you...?”

“Ewald!” he bellowed. “Ewald of York, and Dunborough, too.”

“He deals in hides and tallow,” Norbert clarified, his tone implying that Ewald’s profession merited disdain.

“Indeed I do! Best hides, best tanning, best tallow, although this fellow won’t agree.”

“Most expensive tallow,” Norbert retorted, “and not worth the cost.”

Ewald’s eyes narrowed until they were mere slits. “Plenty of folk in York disagree, but then, they make better candles.”

Celeste noted Lewis edging his way toward the door and didn’t blame him. “Please, gentlemen, I must ask you both to excuse me. I have much to do.”

“No doubt, no doubt!” Ewald agreed, giving her a sympathetic smile, though his tone was no milder. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to sell the house quickly and get back to the convent?”

“I shall be wanting to sell the house, yes.”

“I’m your man for that!”

Norbert stepped in front of him. “If you wish to sell the house, Sister, I wouldn’t deal with this fellow.”

“Who should she deal with? You?” Ewald demanded as he elbowed Norbert aside.

“Better me than you,” Norbert retorted, shoving him in return.

Ewald tried to ignore him. “About this house, though, Sister, should you wish to sell it, I shall be more than happy to—”

“His offer will be far too low,” Norbert interjected.

His thick fingers balling into fists, Ewald glared at the chandler. “Shut your mouth, you—”

“Gentlemen!” Celeste hurried to interrupt before they came to blows. “I am not yet ready to discuss the sale of this house.”

Ewald loudly cleared his throat and straightened his belt. “Of course. You need to take an inventory of the furniture and other goods first. I understand. Take as long as you like.”

“How magnanimous!” Norbert sneered, fairly trembling with rage. “She has no need to deal with you at all, you...you scoundrel!”

“And I suppose you came here because of your vast sorrow over Audrey D’Orleau’s death? I’ve heard you denouncing her more than once in the Cock’s Crow because she owed you money.”

“I’m not the only one complaining about that. You yourself have sat in the tavern bemoaning how much she owed to you.”

Celeste regarded them both with stunned disbelief before she managed to speak. “What are you saying? Did Audrey owe you money?”

How could that possibly be true, with all the fine and costly garments upstairs?

The men blushed and neither one would meet her gaze.

“Did Audrey owe you money?” she repeated.

“As a matter of fact, Sister,” Ewald began, after darting another angry look at Norbert, “she did. I’m sorry to say there are likely a few other merchants who will be looking to you to pay her debts. But the house alone—”

“If Audrey was in debt, I will repay all that she owed,” Celeste interrupted. “Any debts she left will be honored once I sell the house.”
Or find our father’s wealth.
“Now if you’ll
please
excuse me, I
do
have things to do.”

Mercifully, or perhaps because he understood her tone of voice, Ewald gave a brisk nod and headed out the door. “Good day, Sister.”

Norbert looked as if he was about to refuse. Once Ewald had gone, however, he likewise nodded and with a hasty “Good day” mercifully took his leave.

Flushing as red as a holly berry, Lewis was the last to go. “I’m sorry, Sister,” he said quietly, his expression one of genuine sympathy, “but I’m afraid it’s true about your sister. She left many debts.”

Sorrow and dismay washed over Celeste and she leaned against the wall.

“Can I get you anything?” the youth asked anxiously. “Some wine perhaps?”

“Lewis!” his father shouted from outside.

“No, no, I’m all right,” she assured the kindhearted young man, even though she’d been shaken to the core. “You should go.”

Lewis gave her a last pitying look, then hurried away, softly closing the door behind him.

“Oh, Audrey,” Celeste murmured as she slowly made her way to the kitchen, “what did you do?”

* * *

Some time later, Celeste was in the storeroom looking for any signs of a hiding place when she heard a tentative knock on the kitchen door. She hurried from the room, grabbed the veil and wimple lying on the kitchen table and swiftly put them on. “One moment!”

Going to the door, she tucked in any stray wisps of hair that might have escaped, then pushed down the rolled-up sleeves of her tunic. “Who is it?” she asked, dreading another creditor.

People had been coming to the house ever since Norbert and Ewald had left, making it difficult for her to search, and adding to her worries. Apparently Audrey owed money to the butcher, the shoemaker, the smith for repairs to a kettle and some pots, the alewife, the wine merchant and the miller. Indeed, Celeste was beginning to think there was no tradesman in Dunborough to whom she did
not
owe money.

“It’s me, Sister. Lizabet, from the hall.”

Celeste let out her breath slowly and opened the door, to find the young woman standing on the threshold. Instead of a cloak, she wore a large and colorful shawl and a kerchief over her dark hair. Her gown was of thick wool and she had an apron over that.

Despite her heavy clothing, her nose was red with cold and she had her hands tucked in her shawl to warm them.

“Please, come inside,” Celeste said at once.

“No, thank you, Sister,” Lizabet replied, her teeth starting to chatter. “I can’t stay. I came to tell you that it’s nearly time for the evening meal.”

Celeste’s brows contracted. If it was a busy time at the castle, why had she...?

“It’s nearly time for the evening meal,” Lizabet repeated more firmly, as if she thought Celeste hadn’t heard her. “You’re a guest of Dunborough.”

With sudden understanding, Celeste replied, “Only for last night. I should have made it clear that I had no intention of imposing on Gerrard’s hospitality for any longer than that.”

The maidservant frowned with concern, or possibly dismay.

Celeste gave the young woman her most pleasant, placid smile. “Please convey my thanks to Gerrard for the invitation, as well as my assurances that I’m quite content to remain in my family’s house while I’m here.”

“If you say so, Sister,” she hesitantly replied.

“I do. Now you’d best be off before you catch a chill.”

Lizabet did as she was told and, thinking Gerrard would likely be as glad of her absence as she was relieved not to see him again, Celeste went back to searching the larder for any sign of money hidden there.

Albeit with a heavy sigh.

* * *

The sun was setting when Gerrard and his men returned from their patrol. There was no reason for them to go so far that frigid day except that Gerrard wasn’t eager to return to Dunborough.

This time, though, it wasn’t his irate, cruel father he was reluctant to see. It was a nun.

He handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy and went to the hall. A few of the hounds trotted toward him, eager for a pat and a good word. The trestle tables had been set up for the evening meal and the servants and soldiers not on duty or seeing to the horses and other tasks were already assembled.

Gerrard removed his cloak and hung it on a peg beside the door, then scanned the hall.

He scanned it again, thinking he must be mistaken.

He was not.

Celeste—Sister Augustine—was not there.

Gerrard sighed with relief, then frowned. It would look bad to the soldiers and servants if she kept to her room a second night, and rumors would start circulating in the castle and probably the village, too, that she refused to have anything to do with him.

That could very well be true. Nevertheless, it would likely start other rumors, none of them good, at least where he was concerned.

Or perhaps there was another reason for her absence. Maybe she was sick, exhausted from her journey.

“Lizabet!” he called, summoning the maidservant standing with the others at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Where is Sister Augustine?” he asked when she reached him. “Is she unwell?”

The servant shook her head. “No, sir. She’s at the house...her family’s house,” she added when Gerrard’s frown deepened.

“Did no one send word that it was time for the evening meal?”

“Yes, sir, I went myself, but she said she wasn’t coming back. She said she’d rather stay in her own house.”

“By
herself
?”

Wringing her hands, Lizabet looked as if she was about to cry.

Gerrard instantly regretted his harsh tone. The blame was not hers, after all.

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “She’s always been stubborn.”

That was true. Even when she was a child, it had been nearly impossible to make Celeste change her mind. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to allow her to put herself in danger by staying in that house alone at night. Too many people believed there was a fortune hidden somewhere inside.

“Serve the meal,” he ordered, putting his cloak on again. “I’ll be back soon with Sister Augustine.”

Whether she wants to come or not.

* * *

With a sigh, Celeste sank onto the bed in the upper chamber lit by a flickering oil lamp. She hadn’t found anything in this room, either. She’d checked all the chests and boxes for hidden compartments and even looked in the rafters overhead. When she’d taken time to make a stew, she’d searched on and under the shelves in the larder again, sneezing from the dust, while the ginger cat stared at her as only a cat can.

She was beginning to believe Audrey hadn’t found their father’s hidden hoard. Surely if she had, she wouldn’t have been indebted, unless she’d spent the entire fortune on fine clothes and furnishings. Audrey had often said a woman had to look wealthy to attract a wealthy husband.

Celeste gazed again at the beautiful embroidered gown of scarlet silk that lay on top of the large open chest. It was, without doubt, the loveliest gown she had ever seen, and likely cost more than many a man earned in a year.

But even so, and despite the other costly garments, Audrey couldn’t have spent
all
their father’s wealth on clothing. From what he had said, the treasure would have paid for a hundred costly garments and more besides.