E. M. Powell (29 page)

“But he did not.” She raised her clear gray eyes to his, cheeks flushed in pride as they walked away from the reeve’s office. “I think I have discovered the name of the boat.”

“How?” he asked in surprise. “Was there someone else in there?”

“Oswin has a full record of all the sailings,” she said. “Either he was too lazy to check them or he thought we were too lowly to bother with. I simply read them for myself.”

“But the record wouldn’t have listed your mother or Edward as passengers. He told you that.”

“No. But I looked for boats traveling to France in the next week without a taxable cargo. I found two: the
Seintespirit
and the
Stella Maris
.”

“Then it could be either of those.”

She shook her head. “The
Seintespirit
doesn’t sail for a full seven days. But the
Stella Maris
goes tomorrow night. A Jacob Donne is the captain. To Cherbourg. What do you think?”

He forced down his envy that he couldn’t have done what she had, even if he sat in front of the documents for the rest of his life. “That reading and writing can be useful once in a while?”

“Oh, shame on you, Benedict Palmer. They are useful all the time, the key to freedom. Where is your acknowledgment of my quick wits?”

“Not too bad, for a nun.”

Frown at the ready, Theodosia drew a breath to reply.

He held his hands up. “I’m only teasing. I’m full of admiration.”

Her frown eased.

“But,” he continued, “we still need to find this vessel, and there’s scores here.”

“That’s easy.” She pointed to the nearest ships. “
Trinité,  Grace de Dieu,  Katrene,  Constance.
I can read them as fast as we can walk.”

“Then God bless those wits of yours. Let’s go.”

She was as good as her word. She reeled off names quickly and quietly as they made their way along. How she did it, he didn’t know. His squire master used to pride himself as a man of letters. But each word used to be a battle in itself, with Lullworth holding a finger beneath each letter, making a comedy of sounds till he got its meaning. For Theodosia, the marks on the ships’ sterns could’ve been calling their names out to her, she was that quick.

“That’s it.” She stopped with a caught breath. “
Stella Maris
. The star of the sea. Another name for Our Lady herself. It must be a sign, a blessing.”

Stacked high with planks of wood on the decks, the small, high-sided boat bobbed peacefully at the dockside. Its curved sides gave it a rounded appearance, and its furled sail sat neat on the single mast.

“Hallo?” Benedict gave a loud call. “Captain Donne?”

A slack-jawed member of the crew appeared, his head and shoulders visible as he looked down on them. “Not ’ere at the minute. Who’s asking?”

Theodosia let her breath out. “Oh, still nothing,” she murmured to Benedict.

“My name is Sir Benedict Palmer, and my companion is Theodosia Bertrand.” He looked at the sailor for any sign he knew her name, the same name as one of the next passengers. None came.

“I’ll tell him you came by when I seen him,” said the sailor.

“When will that be?” said Palmer.

The sailor shrugged. “Dunno, mate.” He disappeared from sight behind the side of the ship.

“Oh, how can this be?” Theodosia balled her hands into fists. “We are close, yet not close enough.”

“We are,” said Palmer. “We’ll just have to wait here.”

“But what if Brother Edward spies you first?” She gestured to the crammed quayside. “He could easily do that, and we would have no chance to tell him of your innocence. He’d raise the hue and cry, have you arrested. The reeve has already marked us as suspicious.” She swallowed. “You might be hurt, or even worse.”

The sailor reappeared, a wooden pail in both hands. “Still ’ere?” He emptied its contents of stinking liquid into the ocean.

“Yes,” said Benedict. “We need to speak with Captain Donne. It’s urgent.”

“Oh. Why din’t you say?”

As Palmer’s arm muscles engaged, Theodosia put a hand on his arm. “Steady,” she whispered. “God forgive me, I want to strike him too.”

“He’s gone to Saint Michael’s maison-dieu. Feller who booked the passage wanted to see him.”

“And who was that?” said Benedict.

“A monk. Brother Edmund, Edwards. Summat like that.”

Her gasp of joy. “Oh, Benedict. We’ve found them.”

“And where’s this hostel?” said Benedict.

“Back through the defenses, French Street, then up High Street. Saint Michael’s has the tallest tower, hostel’s behind it. You can’t miss it.” He gave a lopsided nod. “Follow yer nose if you get lost. Stinks o’ the fish mart.”

Theodosia didn’t wait, and Palmer matched his fast steps to her own.

EPISODE 5

CHAPTER 22

“Sister Theodosia! God in his blessed goodness be praised.” In the narrow ground-floor vestibule of Saint Michael’s maison-dieu, Brother Edward Grim stepped from the bottom of the flight of wooden stairs.

“Brother Edward!” Hands clasped, Theodosia bowed to him for a blessing. He smelled so familiar: clean, soapy, the sweetness of frankincense.

His depth of emotion showed in his tone as he held his hands over her head and thanked the Lord.

When he finished, she raised her head once more.

“My child. I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “It is indeed a miracle, though your roughened appearance troubles my soul.” His green eyes scanned her face. “I could not believe it when Brother Paulus here came to me with the message you were downstairs.”

Brother Paulus, thin, sparse-haired, and elderly, and in charge of the hostel, kept a polite expression fixed on his face. His question of what relationship Brother Edward would have with a young woman showed clear as day, yet he kept his counsel.

“Neither could I believe I’d finally found you,” she said.

“But those murdering knights had you in their clutches,” said Edward. “That evening in the cathedral when they put their foul hands on you, abducted you so roughly. How in heaven’s name did you get away?”

“I had the best of help, Brother.” She raised her voice. “You can come in now.”

Benedict entered through the door from the street, a cautious look on his face.

Edward’s brows drew together. “You.” His tone reverberated low and furious.

“Sir Palmer helped me — ”

With a swish of his black robes, Edward was across the vestibule in three strides. “You have the nerve, the gall, to present your shameful visage to mine.” He struck Benedict hard in the face. “Brother Paulus, fetch the authorities.”

Benedict clutched his jaw with one hand, the other on his dagger. “Don’t even try.”

The old man gaped. “I’m not going past him. He’s a ruffian, Brother.”

“Then I’ll go past.” Edward advanced instead, but Benedict drew his knife.

“No!” Theodosia placed herself between them. “Stop this, stop it now.”

“I beg your pardon, Sister Theodosia,” said Edward. “Since when have you issued orders to me?”

“She’s saving your life, Brother,” said Benedict through gritted teeth. “And given her bravery of the past few days, I’ll wager she can give orders with the best of them.”

Pride fluttered in her chest but died away at Edward’s look of disapproval. “My apologies, Brother.” She bowed her head as of old. “But listen, I implore you. Sir Palmer was with the murderers in the cathedral, no one knows that better than I. He saw the error of his ways almost immediately. Fitzurse had recruited him under false pretenses. Once Sir Palmer realized I too would come to harm, he sacrificed everything, almost his life, to protect me from harm. He has fought with such valor; the four murderers are dead, thanks to him.”

“Is this the truth, Palmer?” said Edward.

Theodosia noted he didn’t give Benedict the dignity of a “Sir.” She could tell by Benedict’s rigid expression he’d noted it too.

“It is.”

No title or politeness in return. Benedict’s dark brown gaze, lit with the passion of fury. Brother Edward’s steely green, with the fire of the righteous. It was like she stood between two thunderclouds that would collide at any moment.

She raised joined hands in pleading. “I beseech you both, now is not the time for strife. You have both been my protectors at different times of my life. You have no quarrel with each other.”

Edward moved first. He swallowed hard and extended his right hand to Benedict. “Sister Theodosia is right. I lost my control when I saw you, which I will be confessing. Please also forgive me for my assault. It was born of rage, which taints my soul.”

Benedict sheathed his dagger and shook Edward’s hand. “Apology accepted, Brother. You weren’t to know the truth.” He let go of Edward and raised a hand to test his jaw. “Faith, you’re a brawler for a man of the cloth. I think you’ve knocked a tooth loose.”

Brother Paulus continued to gape. “Should I fetch the authorities or not, Brother Edward?”

“No, Brother. But please arrange a room for Sir Palmer for tonight.” Edward gave Benedict an approving nod. “It’s the least I can do to thank him for the sister’s safe delivery.” He turned to Theodosia. “Now, would you like to come upstairs? There’s someone waiting who yearns for you without end.”

Theodosia caught her breath in delighted anticipation. “Benedict can come too?”

“Certainly,” said Edward. “He’s one of us now.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Brother Edward advanced up the narrow wooden stairs, each step creaking underfoot, Theodosia eager behind him. Palmer climbed up last, leaving Brother Paulus to mutter and click his tongue about the preparation of another room.

She glanced back at Palmer, her excitement almost touchable in the air.

He was glad for her, he truly was. To find someone you loved when you believed she was lost would be the greatest joy. But he was the one who was losing a loved one. He’d seen it the second Theodosia laid eyes on Edward. Like at Polesworth Abbey, she had snapped back into her old behaviors of shyness, silence, obedience. The behaviors that showed she chose God, not him.

Edward led the way along a corridor, then knocked at a closed door. “Amélie, it is I, Edward.”

“Come in,” said a woman’s voice.

Edward opened the door and ushered Theodosia and Palmer through. Palmer took in a square, plainly furnished room: two beds along one wall, a high wooden settle, a couple of wooden stools, a small oblong table.

“Laeticia?”

He heard Theodosia’s tiny gasp as he looked over to where a middle-aged woman in a dark red dress stood by the tall, narrow window.

Her look fixed only on Theodosia. “Laeticia? Is it really you?”

“Oh, Mama.” Theodosia ran to her. “It is, it is.”

Light-boned like her daughter, Amélie put her small hands on Theodosia’s face, cradled it. “Oh, my dearest, blessed one. Look at you. How you must have suffered.” She broke into sobs. “Those men, those dreadful, sinful men.”

“I am not hurt, Mama.” Theodosia sobbed as hard as her mother, and held her in return. “I’m not, I’m not.”

Palmer understood now why the Abbess had taken convincing that Theodosia was Amélie’s daughter. Though their build was similar, their coloring didn’t match. Theodosia had those gray eyes and dark-blonde hair, while Amélie had deep-blue eyes and the hair under her linen cap was brown. Theodosia’s features were small, delicate. Her mother’s mouth and nose were fuller.

“You see, Amélie?” said Edward. “God has answered our prayers.” The monk had a quiet, satisfied smile on his face.

“Then let Him be praised without end.” Amélie gave a light stroke to her daughter’s cheek, tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “For when I saw you in the doorway, looking so disheveled, so, so rough, I feared…” She shook her head. “It’s God’s own miracle you’re here.”

“God was on my side, as always,” said Theodosia. She turned from her mother’s embrace to smile at Palmer. “But Benedict here was my protector, saving me from certain death.”

“Benedict?” Amélie brought him forward with a gesture.

“Sir Benedict Palmer,” said Theodosia in quick correction.

He bowed in formal courtesy. “Yes, Sister Amélie.”

“Then I thank you from the bottom of my heart for my daughter’s safe deliverance,” said Amélie. “There will be a place for you in Paradise.”

“Once you’ve finished in purgatory,” came Edward’s swift comment.

Amélie appeared not to notice as she turned her attention to Theodosia again. “I believe, Laeticia, that you took another name at Holy Orders.”

“Yes, Mama. Theodosia.”

“How wonderful. My gift from God.” Amélie sighed. “I made the right choice.” Her voice wavered.

“You did, Mama,” said Theodosia. “My vocation has been my life, though I have yet to achieve my full holiness.”

“Oh?” Amélie dropped her hold, tears suddenly dry.

Theodosia hung her head and clasped her hands. “I still have to take my final vows.”

“A short while away, I can assure you, Amélie,” said Brother Edward smoothly.

“I am most relieved to hear that,” said Amélie.

Palmer stiffened at the coldness in her voice. The woman should be rejoicing her daughter was safe and well, not prating on about vows. Not now.

Theodosia didn’t appear to notice, giving Edward a grateful look for his intervention.

“Now, Amélie,” said the monk. “You have something to discuss with Theodosia.”

Amélie grew somber. “Indeed I do.” She took her daughter’s hand. “It is not bad news, my blessed. But it is a little…delicate.”

“It’s the reason you were the knights’ quarry, Theodosia,” said Edward quietly.

“Is this true, Benedict?” Theodosia addressed her frightened question to him.

“I don’t know any more than you,” said Palmer. “My mission was never about you and your mother. All Fitzurse ever told me was that we were to deliver a message from the monarch to Archbishop Becket, one he wouldn’t like. Arrest him if we had to. It was no surprise. The whole kingdom knows he and King Henry fought like dogs these past few years.”

“Ah.” Edward exchanged glances with Amélie. “Then I think you need to stay and listen to Amélie’s account.” He picked up a heavy outdoor cloak and swung it round his shoulders. “I’ve heard it, so I can better use the time to secure a passage to France for you and Palmer, Sister Theodosia.” He fastened the front of his cloak. “We need to bear witness to His Grace the King.”