Scoundrel Of Dunborough. Margaret MooreЧитать онлайн книгу.
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,”