Scoundrel Of Dunborough. Margaret Moore
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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.
It 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