Scoundrel of Dunborough Page 10

  Norbert and Ewald could wait some time longer, she decided. She wouldn’t give up yet. She would look for another week, and if she hadn’t found the treasure by then, she’d sell the house, pay what debts she could and seek another convent to take her in.

  “Here, Sister, let me help you!”

  With a start, she realized Lewis was at her elbow.

  Although she didn’t require any assistance, the youth appeared so eager, she didn’t have the heart to send him on his way.

  Instead, she let him take the basket containing butter, dried apples and the salted cod. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry about my father,” he said, falling into step beside her. “He shouldn’t keep bothering you about the house.”

  “It does have to be sold.”

  “But not right away,” Lewis replied. “It must be difficult for you, having to sort through everything.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get a good price when you do decide to sell. I overheard you dealing with the fishmonger. You drive a harder bargain than my father! I daresay you could hold your own even in London.”

  Celeste gave the young man a smile, although his compliment conjured unhappy memories. “I learned to bargain at my father’s knee.”

  She’d also heard the whispered insults and curses when the bargaining was over and her parsimonious father not in the room.

  She caught sight of Gerrard striding through the market and instinctively ducked into the nearest doorway. She was still ashamed and embarrassed by how she’d acted the day she’d encountered Eua, and didn’t want to meet him.

  She was surprised that he was alone, for he so rarely was.

  Clearly, he enjoyed the company of the soldiers of the garrison and was comfortable among them in a way Broderick and Roland never were. He was not an aloof lordling to them, but a respected leader and good comrade—a rare combination.

  “I don’t like him, either,” Lewis muttered, frowning as Gerrard passed by. “He rides as if he’s the lord, although he’s only the garrison commander. He wouldn’t even be that if he hadn’t found out about Dalfrid and brought him back for trial.”

  Dalfrid—the steward Eua had been in league with.

  “He was the steward of Dunborough and Gerrard discovered he’d been stealing to keep a mistress in York.”

  Obviously Lewis didn’t think she’d heard about that. “Lizabet told me something about it,” Celeste said. “I’m surprised anyone would try to steal from Dunborough. Sir Blane would have had him put to death at once on suspicion alone.”

  “Not Roland.”

  Neither had Gerrard, despite his impetuous temper.

  “Dalfrid’s been taken to York for his trial. It shouldn’t be long now.”

  Once Gerrard had disappeared among the crowd, Celeste started toward her house again. “You said it was Gerrard who discovered the man was stealing?”

  “Merely by chance,” Lewis replied with a hint of defiant scorn. “He’d gone to York after another argument with Roland, swearing he would never come back. He was in a tavern when he overheard some men talking about Dalfrid, and figured out something wasn’t right.

  “Of course it would be in a tavern,” Lewis noted with more disdain. “The men he called friends!” he added when Celeste didn’t reply. “Rogues and wastrels and gamesters the lot of them. The last of his cronies were the worst, though.”

  “His brother wouldn’t have been pleased that he had such companions.”

  Indeed, she could think of fewer things that would drive the dour, dutiful Roland to distraction, which might very well have been Gerrard’s plan at the time.

  “Roland sent them away and they turned outlaw.”

  “Is that why Gerrard rides out on patrol every day?”

  Lewis shrugged. “The outlaws in the band his friends joined are all dead or scattered. Gerrard just likes to ride around on his fine white horse, lording it over everyone, while Roland’s at his wife’s estate. Roland and his wife seem quite happy together, no thanks to Gerrard. He made trouble for them from the moment she arrived.”

  Celeste’s heart sank a little. Unfortunately, she could see Gerrard being envious of his brother’s marriage to a nobleman’s daughter and knew that he would take no pains to hide it.

  “He didn’t dare try to seduce her, though, much as he might have wanted to. Roland would have killed him.”

  Celeste felt a chill that was not from the breeze. Yes, Roland would probably have attacked Gerrard if his brother had tried such a thing. Nevertheless, she wanted to believe it was something other than fear that had prevented Gerrard from any attempt at seduction.

  “He’d finally met a woman who didn’t like him,” Lewis added with a snide little laugh. “Lady Mavis saw him for the scoundrel he is, no matter how much he tries to pretend he’s changed since Roland got hurt and let him stay on as commander of the garrison.

  “Gerrard doesn’t only drink and gamble,” Lewis continued. He lowered his voice. “There’s a place in the village, down an alley, with women who—”

  “I don’t need to hear all of Gerrard’s vices.”

  Celeste had heard more than enough already. Fortunately, they had reached the gate to her yard.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you, Sister.”

  She was sorry she’d let it show. “It’s always disturbing to learn of men’s sins,” she said by way of explanation. She took back the basket and gave Lewis another smile. “Thank you again.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Sister?” the young man asked fervently. “Anything at all?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is one thing.”

  The youth’s face lit up. “Yes?”

  “There are several gowns that belonged to my sister that should be sold. Can you think of anyone who—”

  “Absolutely, Sister! Bartholemew and Marmaduke. They sell fabric. Some of it comes from London.”

  “Would it be too much trouble for you to ask them to visit me today, unless they’re otherwise engaged?”

  “I’ll fetch them at once!”

  “Only if it’s convenient!” she called as the young man dashed back toward town.

  He’s an excitable lad, she thought as she walked into the house. Enthusiastic, kindhearted, yet also capable of derision and anger. In that, he wasn’t so different from the youthful Gerrard, who had once had such promise and now...?

  And now she must try to see Gerrard as he truly was, not as she wished him to be.

  Chapter Ten

  “Sorry to disturb you, Sister,” Lizabet called from the bottom of the ladder to the garret. “Marmaduke and Bartholemew are here.”

  Surrounded by old wooden packing boxes and dusty furniture, Celeste sneezed, then rose from her knees and brushed off her hands. “I’m coming.”

  She went to the ladder and carefully began to descend. “There are a few pieces of furniture up there,” she said to the maidservant when she reached the bottom. “Once they’re cleaned, I should be able to sell them. Otherwise, it’s mostly dust and cobwebs.”

  And no sign that anybody had been up there in years.

  With a nod Lizabet returned to the kitchen and Celeste went to meet the men to whom Audrey probably owed the most, if her wardrobe was any measure.

  The two were waiting in the main room. The stain was now covered by the carpet that had been in Audrey’s bedchamber, and the remaining furniture had been put back in its rightful place. The needlepoint had been packed away in a leather pouch for Celeste to take with her, and the stand dismantled. The candleholder had been moved to the center of the table, probably when Lizabet polished it.

  One of the men was tall and thin, the other short and plumper. Both were very well dressed, the tall one in a long tunic of so
ft blue wool with a wide leather belt around his slender waist. The other had on a short yellow tunic over green breeches and was holding the most amazing yellow-and-green-striped cap she had ever seen. The colors were so bright it almost hurt her eyes to look at them.

  “Good afternoon, Sister,” the short one began. “I’m Bartholemew and this is Marmaduke. We would have come to express our condolences for the loss of your dear sister sooner, but we thought you might need some more time to...time to...”

  “Grieve,” Marmaduke supplied.

  “Yes, grieve,” Bartholemew continued. “However, Lewis gave us to understand you wished to see us right away.”

  Their willingness to wait until she summoned them, as well as their genuinely sorrowful and respectful demeanors—so different from most of the tradesmen she’d already met—made her like them instantly.

  “We didn’t really get the chance to know your sister well,” Bartholemew admitted, twisting the cap in his hands. “Still, I’d like to think we were her friends. Isn’t that so, Marmaduke?”

  “Indeed! She had many friends, and admirers, too. Such a lovely woman! And she always dressed so well.”

  “Audrey did like pretty things,” Celeste said.

  “She certainly did!” Marmaduke confirmed.

  A blushing Bartholemew cleared his throat. “Costly things.”

  Celeste hurried to set them at their ease, at least on this one point. “I suspect she owed you money for some of her gowns.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Bartholemew began, while Marmaduke looked down at the toes of his polished boots, “there is the small matter of the last three bolts of fabric she had yet to pay for.”

  “Naturally you must either have the money repaid or the fabric returned,” Celeste replied. “Unfortunately, I’ve found no bolts of fabric, only gowns. I have no need for such finery, so will you take the gowns as payment instead?”

  The two men exchanged uneasy glances. “We don’t deal in clothing already worn,” Marmaduke said after an equally uneasy silence.

  “They are hardly worn,” she said. “And there are silk veils, too, and scarves. The value of all should be more than enough to cover your loss, I’m sure. Won’t you please come upstairs and look at them?”

  Again the men exchanged wary looks.

  “I must confess to you, gentlemen,” Celeste reluctantly continued, “that if they will not satisfy you, you may not get all that you’re owed. Audrey had many creditors, and even with the sale of the house, there might not be sufficient—”

  “No, no, it isn’t that,” Bartholemew interrupted.

  The two men turned as red as ripe apples before Marmaduke leaned forward and whispered, “I fear it wouldn’t be proper, we being men, you see, and you a woman, to go upstairs together.”

  “I am a nun,” she replied with a smile, appreciative of their concern for her reputation, especially when other men were not, and sorry that she had to lie to them. She nodded at the entrance to the kitchen. “There is another woman in the house, so I see no harm.”

  The two men relaxed. “If you see none, we will be glad to go with you,” Bartholemew said.

  Together they followed Celeste up the stairs and into the large upper chamber.

  Bartholemew immediately rushed toward the bed. “By blessed Saint Dorcas!” he exclaimed, feeling the fabric. “Look at these bed curtains! Venetian silk, as I live and breathe!”

  “And look at that tapestry!” Marmaduke cried. “It has to be Italian, too, or maybe French.”

  “They will have to be sold, as well,” Celeste noted as she opened the large chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the men give each other significant looks and guessed the bed curtains and tapestry were as good as sold if they could agree upon a price.

  She lifted out the red gown and refused to feel a pang of regret. What use would she ever have for such a garment? And the one time she’d worn it had been a disaster.

  “Oh, my!” Bartholemew gasped.

  “It’s lovely, simply lovely!” Marmaduke declared, hurrying to hold out the full skirt while Bartholemew carefully examined the embroidery. “I’ve never seen anything so well done,” he murmured reverently.

  “I think Audrey did it,” Celeste said with a hint of pride. “She was good with a needle.”

  Bartholemew ran a measuring gaze over her. “It would fit you, I think.”

  “Indeed, I believe it would!” Marmaduke cried with sudden excitement. “And the color would suit you perfectly! You would look like a queen, wouldn’t she, Bartholemew?”

  “I should say so!”

  Shaking her head, Celeste stepped back. “I have no wish to look like a queen.”

  “Ah, yes, forgive me, Sister,” a chastised Bartholemew replied.

  “I’m not offended,” she quickly assured him. “Will you take the clothes in lieu of payment?”

  “Although as I said, we don’t usually deal in worn gowns,” Bartholemew answered, “I believe in this instance we can make an exception. Isn’t that so, Marmaduke?”

  His companion nodded.

  “All these things are worth somewhat more than the debt. If you include the bed curtains and tapestry, we’ll give you...” Bartholemew glanced at Marmaduke, then back at her. “Twenty marks, as well.”

  “That is most generous of you!” she replied with heartfelt gratitude.

  “Unfortunately, we didn’t come prepared for such a transaction and have a shipment from London to deal with before the day is out,” Bartholemew said. “We could return tomorrow.”

  “There is no great hurry if tomorrow will not do,” she replied. “I don’t intend to leave until the sale of the house is concluded.”

  And I’ve either found my father’s money or searched everywhere I can.

  “Excellent. We do have a bit of time at the moment to see more of the gowns, Sister, if we may.”

  “Of course. Please, go ahead.”

  Sitting on the stool, she watched as the two men removed gowns, shifts, caps and veils from Audrey’s chests and boxes. They gave many excited exclamations and were clearly delighted.

  Yet these had been her sister’s things. Gowns and caps and veils and scarves Audrey had worn. Lovely things she’d no doubt enjoyed.

  If only she could have spent more time with Audrey and gotten to know her better. She remembered Audrey as so much older and more mature, although only a few years had separated them.

  The ginger cat padded into the room and wound itself around the stool. A tear fell down Celeste’s cheek as she bent to stroke it.

  At the same time, she realized Bartholemew and Marmaduke had stopped talking. They were regarding her with sorrow and sympathy once again, and she quickly wiped her cheek.

  “We’re sorry, Sister, if we’ve upset you,” Bartholemew said quietly. “Under the circumstances, we should have given you more time to consider.”

  “No, no, it’s quite all right,” she said, putting on the mask of placid calm she had learned to wear. “It’s just difficult thinking about Audrey.”

  “We quite understand, and if you’d rather we depart—”

  “Not yet,” she interrupted. She clasped her hands together and regarded them with sincere longing. “I know so little about my sister’s life since I went to the convent. I want to think she was happy and admired before she...died.”

  “She was certainly admired!” Marmaduke exclaimed.

  “Indeed! So many admirers! And offers to wed, too, no doubt. I thought Sir Roland would marry her. However, in hindsight, I think it was for the best he didn’t. Such a grim fellow, and your sister...well, Gerrard would have been a much better match.”

  His words were like a cold finger down Celeste’s spine. “Did he ask for her hand?”

  Batholem
ew looked stricken, as if he’d said something rude. “Not that I heard of, and I don’t think she would have accepted.”

  “Nor I,” Marmaduke agreed. “Your sister was an, ahem, ambitious woman.”

  It was true Gerrard had no wealth or title, and Audrey had wanted both. Even if she had felt something for Gerrard, she would never have married him.

  As for what Gerrard might have felt for Audrey...

  It would have come to nothing. Audrey wouldn’t have risked any gossip about a liaison with Gerrard lest it hurt her chances to catch a rich and powerful husband.

  Celeste gave them both another sad little smile. “I’m aware that my sister wanted to marry well. I admit I’m as surprised as anyone that she hadn’t wed already, unless...”

  Both men leaned closer.

  “Was it common knowledge she was in debt?”

  They both reared back. “We didn’t know,” they said in unison, and so firmly she believed them.

  They might not be ignorant of other things concerning her sister and her household, though. “Did either of you ever think that Duncan MacHeath might hurt her? Or that she should fear him?”

  “No,” they replied together.

  “He was clearly a rough and rather savage fellow,” Bartholemew added, “but we never thought he’d hurt her.”

  “And he’s paying a terrible, everlasting price for his crime, especially if he killed himself,” Marmaduke said.

  Gerrard hadn’t said that MacHeath had ended his own life. “I was told he fell into the river after Roland wounded him.”

  “Well, he might have,” Bartholemew hastily admitted. “Nobody knows what happened to him, not exactly. He’d been wounded by Sir Roland and they found his body in the river. That’s all we know for certain. He could have fallen in.”

  “He didn’t seem the remorseful sort,” Marmaduke helpfully noted, “but when you think about what he did—”

  Bartholemew put his hand on his partner’s shoulder and steered him toward the door. “Either way, he drowned,” he said with firm dismissal. “Now you really must pardon us. That shipment may be here already. Good day, Sister!”