Rolf cocked his head. “This way, Master Boyd.”
* * * *
Beryl paced her small chamber floor, wringing her hands. Her pages were still scattered on her narrow cot, the ink still drying, but she found she could not sit still with her thoughts.
He’ll take you from me, too.
What had Lady Hargrave meant? The other servants rumored to have gone missing from the householdover the years?
Or Cordelia? Euphemia?
You do things without my knowledge. I know it.
Beryl shuddered at the thinly veiled implications the lady had dared in the hall. There had been no one else close enough to hear the accusations save herself, and for that very reason, Beryl knew the stakes had only gone up for her. Hargrave would surely put her under closer watch now. It was unlikely she could glean any useful information about his movements without placing herself directly within his dangerous reach, and then it might be impossible to extract herself. She was already risking so much…
A pair of raps fell upon her door, causing her breath to freeze in her chest. Everyone in the hall had likely thought her to have followed the other servants chosen for the Scots’ camp when she left, and so whoever knocked could only be one who knew she had not been presentat the muster.
As if in answer, another quick pair of raps fell, followed by a single knock. Two, two, one. The old signal from the abbey. She could put him off no longer, for eitherof their sakes.
She walked to the door and placed her mouth near the seam of wall. “Who is it?” shecalled quietly.
“You bloody well know whoit is,Beryl.”
She slid the bolt and opened the door, allowing Lucan Montague to slip inside. She secured the door once more and turned to face him. His face was stony—she had no idea in which direction he would go.
But then he held out his arms. “I am so very glad to see you.”
Beryl flew into them with a cry of relief and pressed her faceinto his chest.
“I may take a strap to you later,” he amended, “but Iam truly glad.”
“Oh, Lucan, I had no idea you would be here so soon.” She pulled away. “Whyareyou here, and with thatScottish man?”
“Why amIhere?” he queried with a stern look. “Iris Montague, you know bloody well why I’m here. Why areyoubloody here? And as Lady Hargrave’s bloody maid, no less! Are you mad? Why are you called Beryl? When did you arrive?Rolf implied—”
Iris held up a palm. “Come, sit down,” she said. “I don’t have long, but I can tell you the very first of it. Or show you, rather.” She gathered the pages and her leather portfolio together and held them out to him.
He took them. “What is all this?”
“What I’m bloody doing at Darlyrede House,dear brother.”
Lucan sifted through the pages as she spoke, quickly at first, and then his movements slowed, hiseyes widening.
“After you last visited, we had a girl come to the abbey; a lady’s maid from an English household traveling in France had gotten herself with child and been left behind to bear the baby. Her name was Beryl and she wasunder my care.”
Lucan tore his eyes away from the pages to look at her. “That doesn’t explain howyoucame to behere.”
“The lady Beryl served sent messages occasionally, to ask after her welfare. She was quite awful from the sounds of them, and I knew that her home in England was not far from Darlyrede. I read them all, and replied for Beryl. But then Beryl died in childbirth,” Iris explained. “As did her baby. And that very day another message came from Beryl’s lady. So I again responded, telling Lady Paget that the child had died, and that I—as Beryl—was too heartbroken and ashamed to return to her employ. I begged her mercy to recommend me toanother house.”
Lucan’s expression seemed to freeze. She had managed to surprise her stiff-lipped brother. “Lady Pagetgot you theposition here?”
Iris’s eyes widened and she clasped her hands together at her chest. “Yes,” she hissed. “Caris Hargrave sent funds and an escort for my travel. Isn’t it amazing?”
“No, it’s not amazing,” Lucan insisted. “It’s mad! The maid came fromthe Pagets? And the Hargraves didn’trecognize you?”
“Of course not; the last time they saw me, I was a child, Lucan. It was clearly God’s will.”
“Speaking of God, how did you escape the abbey? Surely when the escort arrived for Beryl, the abbess told himshe was dead.”
