“My lady?”
“How much money did he give you to run this household?” she asked sharply.
“Several…hundred marks,” he replied uneasily.
“How many hundred?” she asked softly.
“I do not—”
“How many?”
He fidgeted, casting glances over his shoulder at the cook and his helpers, who were looking on curiously. The questioning was sounding more and more like an interrogation.
“Eleven or twelve hundred,” Erneis said evasively. “I do not recall exactly. But, my lady, I do not see why this concerns you—unless you wish to buy something. If that is the case, I would be more than happy—”
“I am sure you would,” she said curtly. “So I may assume that what you have not spent from the funds my husband gave you is still within the locked chest?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“And the rest accounted for in these?” She raised the papers slowly and held them in front of his face.
“Indeed, yes.”
“Then you will not object to having your quarters searched before you are turned out of Crewel, will you?”
Erneis blanched. “My lady? You—ah—I misunderstand your meaning, I think.”
“I think not,” she replied tightly. “You have been able to lie to my husband about the accounts because he is a man of war and not used to running an estate, so he cannot be expected to know the expenditures involved. But you were a fool to think you could hoodwink me. I am not an idle woman. I have been my own steward for several years. I know exactly what it costs to run a household this size, down to the last coin.” His eyes widened, and she smiled. “I see the light is dawning for you, Master Erneis.”
His lips tightened. “You have no proof, my lady, that I did anything wrong. Crewel is not Pershwick. There was chaos when Sir Rolfe came here. Supplies were low and costs high.”
“Were my husband not injured I would let him deal with this, for you try my patience,” Leonie said angrily. “You say I have no proof?” She turned to the cook and demanded, “It is stated in these accounts, Master John, that last week you needed supplies costing thirty-five marks. Is that right?”
“My lady, no!” The man gasped. “Not even ten marks were spent.”
Leonie’s eyes flew back to the steward, whose pale face was now mottled with anger. “Well, Master Erneis?”
“You have no right to question me concerning the accounts, Lady d’Ambert. I will speak with your husband—”
“No, you will not!” she snapped, stepping back toward the entrance and signaling to the guards, who had been listening, amazed. “Take Master Erneis to his quarters and search his belongings. If the money he has stolen can be found, he may leave Crewel with the clothes on his back—no more. If the money is not found”—she looked at the little steward once more—“you will get your wish to speak to my husband. And I doubt he will be lenient.”
Leonie returned to the hall to wait, stewing with anger, wondering if perhaps she should not have handled the matter herself. Should she have told Sir Evarard, or Thorpe de la Mare, and let them take care of the steward?
It was a very short time before she learned that the episode was, for good or ill, finished. The guards approached her sheepishly to say that the steward had flown while they were searching his belongings. Only fifty marks had been found. Out of hundreds, only fifty? How was she going to tell Rolfe?
Chapter 27
ROLFE groaned as he bent over to open the large chest. He knew he should not be out of bed at all, as Thorpe had warned him repeatedly. He was weak and his wound had been stitched together only the day before.
But Rolfe was impatient. Ever since he had learned that Leonie had helped him instead of causing his wound, he had wanted to make amends for his boorish behavior. What must she think of his distrust, especially after she had only just helped him to win Wroth?
He had spent most of the day wondering what he could give Leonie by way of a special gift. He didn’t want her to think he was buying her forgiveness, but he wanted to give her something lovely, something she would treasure. He realized that he did not know her likes and dislikes, and that he had no inkling of what she already possessed. A visit to her chests in the anteroom was called for, and he waited eagerly for Thorpe to leave the room so that he could rise from the bed.
The first two chests contained only clothes. The third, smaller chest held Leonie’s treasures. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw how little was there. There was an ivory chess set, and a small wooden box lined with velvet that contained twelve silver spoons. There were pouches holding imported spices. On the bottomof the chest wrapped in soft wool was a jeweled leather girdle, and another of gold cord. In a small box he found three gold brooches. One was set with garnets, another was enameled. Besides these there were two silver hairpins, a gold buckle, and one fine piece, a gold necklace with six large garnets spaced between the links of the chain, a gold cross dangling from the center.
So few fancy jewels for one so beautiful. But Rolfe knew that Leonie had been put aside by her father as a child. Who had there been to gift her with pretty trinkets, to watch her eyes glow with surprise and delight? A flash of hatred washed over Rolfe for the man who had hurt Leonie so badly.
The door opened softly and there she stood. And there Rolfe stood—her chest open to him, and blood soaking through the sheet he had wrapped around himself. Caught red-handed, with no excuse.
