The Silver Rose (31 page)

But something had, she knew, and she didn’t demur when her mother put on her own cloak and accompanied her out into the now lightening morning, up the track to the lane running between the village and the castle.

A dray approached and came to a halt beside the two women. “Mornin’, Mistress Sarah, Miss Jenny.” The carter touched his forelock. “It’s early fer you to be standin’ around in the cold. Can I take you anywhere?”

“We were waiting for Edgar from the castle, Giles.” Jenny recognized the man’s voice. “He was supposed to come for me at seven, but something must have delayed him. Lady Ariel caught a chill yesterday and I was going to see how she’s doing this morning.”

“Oh, well, you ’op up, then, Miss Jenny.” The carter jumped down to give the young woman a hand. “’Ow bad is Lady Ariel? Is yer mam comin’ too?” He glanced inquiringly at Sarah, who shook her head firmly and stepped back onto the verge. She had no need now to pass beneath the archway into Ravenspeare Castle.

“Ariel had the fever,” Jenny said, not needing to see her mother’s movement to know that she had refused the carter’s offer. “She has a weak chest, you know, so it’s always a matter of concern if she gets chilled.”

“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 Up. “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?” Edgar’s 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.