The Fire Star Page 7

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lady Cassandra has always been a violent sleeper. I watch Reeve avert his gaze from the crumpled sheets and untucked blankets beneath the deep blue curtains of the bed’s canopy. With a blush, he turns his attention instead to the still-open window, through which I can hear the ringing clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. Indeed, the courtyard below hums with the bustle of normal life, quite as though nothing has happened.

  The wispy white curtains dance gently in the light breeze, and I can see dots of dust, like starbursts, floating in the shafts of morning sunlight.

  ‘What do you see?’ Sir Garrick asks, and Reeve turns to him with a frown as I steady my breathing, drawing in the faint scent of lavender.

  ‘Don’t be a dullard,’ says Sir Garrick, snapping his fingers. ‘When we track prey in the forest, or try to outwit enemies across the countryside, the key is to focus on exactly what you can see, what you can hear, what you can smell. Not what you think you should see or hear or smell.’

  I shudder a little at the analogy of the hunt. It will not do to underestimate this man, and Lady Cassandra must never forget it.

  Reeve stands to attention, his head leaning to the right as he studies the room. I stand silently at my post, as still as one of the Airl’s stone statues.

  ‘Say it aloud, boy,’ Sir Garrick says, watching Reeve with those fierce black eyes. ‘Let us see if we agree.’

  ‘Very well,’ says Reeve, and I can see the effort it takes him to think in the face of Sir Garrick’s intense observation. Much is at stake for this new squire, and he will want to impress.

  ‘The window is open, but whether that is because it was open all night or because Lady Cassandra opened it to sound the alarm this morning, I do not . . .’

  Reeve stops, appearing to think hard. ‘I think it was open already. I was in the courtyard and did not hear the shutters slam against the stone before I heard the scream, nor after.’

  My heart sinks at his words, but I keep my expression blank.

  Sir Garrick’s forehead smooths. ‘Very good,’ he says. ‘Very good indeed. Go on.’

  Reeve creeps forward, avoiding the dressing table, peering at the floor. ‘I can see many footprints in the rug,’ he says, his hands mimicking the way in which the fibres of the thick rug have been disturbed. ‘They are . . .’

  Reeve pauses again, kneeling down beside the disturbed section of the rug. ‘There is one bare foot – I can see the toes. The Lady Cassandra, recently alighted from her bed, perhaps?’

  ‘And?’ Sir Garrick prompts.

  ‘One pair of soft house shoes, of around the same size as the bare foot,’ Reeve continues, glancing across the short distance from the open window to the dresser. ‘And one larger, dusty shoe print – no, boot print.’

  Reeve crawls over to take a closer look at the boot print. ‘Strange.’

  ‘What’s strange?’ says Sir Garrick, and now he moves across the room to stand beside Reeve as my mouth goes dry. ‘What?’

  ‘There is just the one boot print,’ says Reeve. ‘And it’s facing towards the window.’

  ‘And that’s strange because?’ Sir Garrick queries.

  ‘Well,’ says Reeve, standing to examine the windowsill, careful to avoid the boot print. ‘If someone had climbed in the window, I would think there would be at least one other boot print, with the toes pointing into the room. But just one, facing out of the room is . . . strange.’

  I inwardly curse him.

  ‘Not strange,’ says Sir Garrick, ‘if the thief was already inside the castle and made his escape out of the window.’ I almost let out a sigh of relief, but manage to contain myself.

  ‘True,’ Reeve agrees, leaning out through the window to stare down to the courtyard below. ‘But it’s a long way down, with few toeholds in the stone. If he managed to creep in without waking Lady Cassandra, why would he not sneak out the same way?’

  I am back to silently cursing. He is altogether too clever for his own good, this squire.

  But I am more than a match for him. I move to stand beside Reeve at the window.

  ‘Perhaps he was surprised,’ I say, deliberately placing my foot into the disturbed section of the rug, all the better to mess it up some more. ‘I sleep in my lady’s dressing-room, and I wake very early. As you saw this morning.’

  Reeve pulls back, resting his hands on the sill as we both stare out across the great courtyard. A plump milkmaid leads a huge brown cow past a group of young men who are lounging on hay bales near the stables, lazing in the morning sun. I recognise the rowdy group that filed past me into the hallway last night.

  ‘And yet,’ says Reeve, slowly, ‘you mentioned no intruder, and neither did the lady?’

  I swallow before responding as calmly as possible. ‘Just because I did not see him does not mean I did not surprise him.’

  Reeve turns his head to give me a long look, and I return his gaze without wavering.

  ‘I have seen enough here,’ says Sir Garrick, breaking the deadlock, and gesturing for Reeve to follow. ‘It seems that our thief was a member of the household, and so we have only to wait for Lorimer to unearth the stolen goods and all shall be revealed.’

  ‘But –’ Reeve continues to stare down at the courtyard, appearing to search for someone, before remembering his place and walking towards the door.

  ‘Enough,’ Sir Garrick reiterates, opening the door to the hallway. ‘I understand that you are under some pressure with regard to this, but rest assured that Airl Buckthorn would not have set you this task if he did not truly think that unmasking the thief would be the work of minutes. Leave it to Lorimer.’

  Reeve pauses mid-step. ‘Sire, I could assist Lorimer,’ he begins, his face looking worried. I understand his worry and, for a moment, feel bad for him. After all, if the thief is not unmasked, it is Reeve who gets the blame and is sent home.

  But feeling sorry for him does not mean that I will help him. Every hour that the Fire Star remains missing is one hour closer to freedom for Lady Cassandra. And for me.

  Sir Garrick laughs, pulling me from my thoughts. ‘How? A mere boy? Lorimer is a thorough man, and a splendid steward. If anyone can winkle out the truth, he can.’

  He pauses, seeming to really look at Reeve’s anxious face for the first time. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I can see how this means a great deal to you. If it would help you to feel as though you are doing something, then ask any questions you can get away with. But be aware that most will not even speak to you. You are too new to be useful to anyone just yet.’

  With that cursory summary of castle life, Sir Garrick steps out into the hallway, his voice floating back through the door. ‘I will expect to see you at lunch. Do not be late.’

  After Sir Garrick’s departure, the room felt strangely silent to Reeve, despite, or perhaps because of, Maven’s presence. Under the girl’s disquieting gaze, Reeve continued to pace the room, noting as he did that Lady Cassandra’s travelling trunks were all in a neat pile in the far corner of the room. The door to the dressing-room was shut, but Reeve could imagine that the Lady Cassandra’s gowns, including her wedding attire, were all laid out inside.

  It seemed that Maven had been busy.

  Reeve paused, looking at the closed door. Something about it bothered him, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

  Reeve took a step towards it.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ Maven asked. ‘You seem to have more questions?’

  Reeve paused at the dressing-room door, which seemed to taunt him. Without responding to her question, he turned the brass knob, pushed the door open and looked inside.

  To his disappointment, it was as tidy and ordinary as the room he’d just left. The Lady Cassandra’s gowns – three of them – were hanging on hooks on the walls, airing. They had few creases in them, which spoke to careful packing at the beginning of her journey. One of the gowns was shrouded in a light muslin cloth, stamped on the outside with a simple drawing
of a tree and a tiny red bird – Lady Cassandra’s wedding finery, Reeve assumed, wondering which of the kingdom’s finest seamstresses had stamped this mark, which he did not recognise, on the overlay.

  Two leather cases, straps buckled, sat on the floor beneath the shrouded gown, and three pairs of shoes were lined, toes to the wall, beside them. On the opposite side of the narrow room, beneath a tall stained-glass window, lay a thin mattress, the quilts pulled up to the pillow.

  ‘Getting an eyeful, are you?’

  Reeve turned towards the voice behind him. Maven had moved and now leaned, unsmiling, on the wall near the door.

  ‘You don’t talk like any lady I’ve ever heard,’ Reeve blurted out. He’d done nothing wrong here but, somehow, this girl made him feel as though he’d been snooping.

  Maven grimaced. ‘And how many “ladies” have you actually spoken to? Besides people who have to be nice to you, that is.’

  ‘I, er, well –’ Reeve could feel his face getting hotter and hotter. It was true that most of his interactions with girls had been in practice sessions for etiquette and chivalry. Except for . . .

  ‘The Lady Anice,’ he blurted out. ‘She’s never nice to me.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Maven, prowling across the room towards him like a cat surveying a field mouse. ‘Well, that makes you just one of many.’

  ‘You know her?’ Reeve asked, surprised, willing his feet not to take a step backwards.

  Maven stopped in front of him, unsmiling. ‘I do.’

  Reeve waited for more details, but she said nothing.

  ‘Right, well, er, I’d best be off then,’ Reeve said, moving to walk around her.

  ‘I heard what was said this morning,’ Maven said, suddenly, putting a hand on his arm. ‘I know what’s at stake for you. But don’t think for one moment that I will allow the Lady Cassandra to be hurt because you want to be a knight.’

  Reeve took in her words, controlling his expression with effort. ‘All I want is the same as she does,’ he said, perplexed. ‘The truth about what happened to the Fire Star. Surely, getting it back is what she needs?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Maven said after a tiny beat. ‘But she is a pawn in this game of men and she deserves better. She does not feel safe here.’

  Reeve just managed to stop a snort. ‘She is safe with Sir Garrick. There is no better knight in the kingdom.’

  Maven dropped her hand and stepped back, allowing Reeve to pass. ‘That’s as may be,’ she said. ‘But the Fire Star was here for just one night, and it has been spirited away. It would take a well-connected person with great strategic skills to plan a robbery on such short notice.’

  Reeve gasped, stepping back in shock. ‘You are not suggesting that Sir Garrick had anything to do with this?’ Had this girl taken leave of her senses?

  Maven paused, her face solemn. ‘I am not,’ she said, finally, and Reeve let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. ‘But everyone knows that he is as lukewarm about this marriage as my lady is. If he has the Fire Star, he doesn’t need to marry her to get it – and everyone knows that the only reason he is marrying is because Airl Buckthorn wants that stone.’

  Reeve felt his eyebrows knit together. ‘You are suggesting that Sir Garrick and the Airl have conspired to steal the Fire Star? But that makes no sense! You heard Lorimer this morning – Airl Buckthorn wants this marriage to go ahead at all costs.’

  Maven tossed her hair. ‘All I’m saying is that the stone is one of the most valuable in the kingdom. It is Lady Cassandra’s greatest asset. Without it, she is reduced to ruins, and any chance at future happiness is gone. She will go to the nunnery.’

  Reeve hesitated, mulling over what Maven had said. A thought struck him. ‘And you? Where will you go if she goes to the nunnery?’

  ‘Why, with her, of course,’ said Maven, her pointed chin lifted. ‘As her companion, I will join Lady Cassandra in the cloister.’

  Reeve was careful not to meet her eyes. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life locked up behind high walls, giving his days over to prayer and contemplation, and, from what he’d seen of Maven, even after such a short time, he could not imagine her in the role of supplicant novice, either.

  ‘If I unearth the thief and find the stone, I am able to help us all,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Maven said, moving past him to the window at the end of the dressing-room. ‘Perhaps.’

  Reeve bowed towards her. ‘Then I will leave you now,’ he said. ‘There is much to do and not much time in which to do it.’

  ‘Less than three days,’ Maven said softly, still staring through the glass.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Finding the Fire Star in a place the size of Rennart Castle, with its rabbit warren of rooms, countless nooks and crannies plus secret passages that even the very old struggled to remember, was always going to be difficult. As Reeve stared out over the Great Hall, now packed to bursting with the Lady Cassandra’s entourage along with the keenest wedding guests, he began to wonder if Airl Buckthorn had only set him the task to get rid of him.

  There were upwards of two hundred people in the hall for luncheon, on top of the one hundred or so servants that he knew were going about their daily business of keeping the castle running – with another two hundred guests to come before the wedding day. As he stood behind Sir Garrick’s chair, ready to tend to the knight’s every need, Reeve’s mind spun at the size of the task ahead of him.

  To Reeve’s right, Lord Harrenth, the Lady Cassandra’s father, sat deep in conversation with Airl Buckthorn, his expression pained. Lord Harrenth had arrived before lunch, full of bluster and bad mood after his discovery that Lady Cassandra had taken it upon herself to steal away from his home and arrive at Rennart Castle the day before. The bad mood escalated into apoplexy at the news of the Fire Star’s disappearance.

  Reeve knew the Airl had convinced the man to cause no fuss about the theft for the moment, but the strain it was placing on their relationship was clear.

  Sir Garrick sat in silence, chewing his roast boar methodically, and Reeve could almost hear the cogs whirling in his brain.

  ‘Reeve,’ he said suddenly, not turning to face his squire, ‘tell me again about that boot print. Quietly.’

  Reeve leaned forward, as though responding to a request, and poured ale from a silver jug into Sir Garrick’s tankard. ‘One boot print, facing the window,’ Reeve whispered.

  Sir Garrick took a slow sip from the tankard. ‘And it struck you as odd?’

  ‘It did,’ Reeve affirmed, taking his time as he placed the jug back on the table.

  ‘As it did I,’ said Sir Garrick. He wiped his lips with a linen cloth. ‘Go now to the courtyard, under that window. Report back to me directly after lunch on what you see.’

  Reeve swallowed. ‘I am dismissed from table?’ he asked, knowing it would not reflect well that he was being sent away before the meal ended.

  Sir Garrick caught his eye and smiled. ‘Do not fear. I shall tell the Airl you were on my business.’

  Reeve bowed low and retreated from the table before ducking towards the door.

  Outside the great hall, the hallway buzzed with activities as servants strode in the doors with platters of food and out of them with trays of dirty trenchers. Weaving through the hustle, Reeve followed a maidservant with a platter piled high with food scraps down towards the steamy kitchen, then darted past the door as Cook shouted orders, making for the side door that led him out into the sunny courtyard.

  Reeve took a moment to fill his lungs with fresh air, a relief after the smoky closeness of the Great Hall where a fire roared day and night, no matter what the season, due to the chill created by its stone walls and vast proportions. With most castle residents inside for luncheon, the courtyard was a subdued place, and it was so quiet that Reeve fancied he could hear the honey bees buzzing through the tall spears of lavender that were planted along the border of the walled kitchen garden.

  The soft burble of vo
ices beyond the wall caught his ear. Reeve slowed, wondering who would be wandering through the knot garden now, when all the kitchen staff were working so hard to keep everyone fed. He walked past the wooden gate, then hesitated.

  His curiosity had got him into trouble one too many times when he was younger – first from his brother, who’d hated him for ‘spying’, then from some of the residents of Harding Manor, who had complained he was always underfoot.

  But this was different.

  This time, he was tasked by the Airl to find the Fire Star, and surely that meant that he needed to investigate anything that might pertain to that matter?

  Torn, Reeve stood with his hand on the gate, listening.

  He heard a girl’s soft giggle, and the rumbling tones of a man’s voice in response.

  The girl protested with a laugh, though Reeve was unable to hear her words clearly, and the man’s voice came again, this time wheedling.

  Reeve dropped his hand from the gate. This was not his business. It was just a servant girl and her beau taking the opportunity for a clandestine meeting.

  He turned to leave.

  ‘Brantley, no!’ came the girl’s voice again, still laughing but this time more commanding, and Reeve suddenly heard her footsteps striding towards the gate. Not wanting to be seen – particularly when he’d decided not to spy – Reeve tucked himself in behind a lavender shrub, hoping the bees wouldn’t mind some company.

  The gate swung open as the girl giggled again. ‘I decide when you get a kiss,’ she said as she stepped through, and Reeve caught a glimpse of swirling red hair and a bronze-coloured velvet gown. ‘Never forget that.’

  As the girl looked right and left, smoothing her curls, Reeve shrank back against the wall, biting his lip as he recognised Lady Anice.

  Now, Anice skipped lightly away around the side of the castle, ignoring the servants’ entrance that Reeve had used to enter the courtyard. Moments later, the tall, slightly unkempt form of Brantley slouched out behind her, a sly grin spreading across his face.