Читать книгу Scoundrel Of Dunborough - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIt 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.
