Jane Feather - The Emerald Swan

"My pet… my pet. What has happened to her? How could she do such a thing?"

Gareth ignored Berthe's moans and ran his eye over the neatly penned missive. His ward informed him succinctly that she had gone away with Miranda to find Miranda's family. There was no reason for alarm. They had money for the journey and she would return in a week. In the meantime, perhaps it would be sensible to explain to the duke of Roissy that she had been taken ill.

The penmanship was Maude's but the composition was Miranda's. That at least was clear as day to Gareth. He thought he understood the rest, but wasn't entirely certain. There was no indication here that Maude knew the truth about her relationship with Miranda, and if she didn't, then why would she run away with her?

"Oh, do stop moaning, woman," he said in exasperation as Berthe's keening grew ever louder. "I'm trying to think."

Twins. He supposed that had to be the explanation. A bond that Maude acknowledged even if she didn't understand why it existed.

"Gareth, the girl has gone!"

"Yes, Imogen." He glanced, unsurprised, toward the door. It would have surprised him if his sister had remained in ignorance of Miranda's disappearance for more than another five minutes. Imogen had entered without knocking and now stood gazing around the empty chamber in total astonishment.

"But why? Why did she leave?"

His expression was grim. "She had her reasons, God knows."

"But Maude? Where's Maude?" "Gone!" Berthe wailed. "Gone! Gone where?"

" To Dover, or Folkestone… possibly Ramsgate," Gareth mused, tapping Maude's letter into the palm of his hand.

"But why?" Imogen's voice rose dangerously.

"Let's continue this somewhere else." Gareth couldn't face combined hysterics. "Berthe, you will remain in here, and you will tell anyone who asks that Lady Maude is ailing and is keeping to her bed. I'll talk to you later."

He took his sister's arm and eased her out of the room. The green bedchamber was close enough to be the obvious choice. "In here, sister." He closed the door behind them. "Now, we may discuss this in peace."

Imogen fanned herself and looked pathetically bewildered. "I don't understand. Why are you so calm?

Maude has gone. The other one has gone. And Henry is ready to sign the betrothal contracts this morning. And there's no bride!" Her voice rose again.

"A little awkward, I grant you," Gareth said in the tone that Miranda would have recognized, but that merely sent his sister's agitation up several notches.

"Has she taken her away? Has the other one taken Maude away? I know she has. I knew it was a misconceived plan. You have no idea about women, Gareth. You never have had." Imogen paced the room. "Why wouldn't you let me deal with this in my own way, brother?" She threw up her hands in despair.

"All is not lost, Imogen," he said, perching on the end of the bed. "Maude will be back. She's already well on the way to finding Henry agreeable-"

"She's met him?" Imogen stared at him as if he were beside himself. "She's been-"

"Last night… yesterday morning on the river…"

Imogen's jaw dropped. "So that was what Dufort meant. It was Maude last night, not the other one."

Gareth nodded wearily. "Precisely."

Imogen's expression lit up." Then everything is perfect. We've got rid of the other one, and Maude will wed Henry, and everything is exactly as it should be."

"Yes," Gareth agreed, standing up. "Everything is exactly as it should be."

"There." King Henry of France and Navarre affixed his heavy seal to the wax beneath his signature. The crisp parchment crackled. He stepped aside, smiling at the earl of Harcourt, who signed and sealed the document with his signet ring engraved with the Harcourt arms.

"Good. Let us drink to it, my lord." Henry rubbed his hands, beaming with satisfaction. His lords around the table witnessed the signatures that betrothed the Lady Maude d'Albard to the king of France and Navarre, and conferred upon the earl of Harcourt the dukedom of Vesle and the position of French ambassador to the court of Elizabeth the First, to take effect on the day of the wedding.

Gareth poured wine into a double-handled chalice. He handed it to the king, who sipped from one side then handed it back for Gareth's ceremonial sip. The cup was passed around amid congratulations and only Henry noticed that his host was somber, his smiles effortful, his eyes shadowed.

"Does something trouble you, Gareth?"

Gareth shook his head with a quick smile. "Indeed not, sire. Nothing could give me greater pleasure or do greater honor to my family."

"Quite so," Henry replied, but he was still puzzled. The earl's declaration lacked something. And he'd acquired an ugly bruise from somewhere, but politeness forbade inquiry. He picked up his gloves from the table, slapping them into his palm. "I am indeed sorry that Lady Maude is obliged to keep to her bed on such a momentous day. I'd have liked a kiss from my betrothed to seal the bargain." He regarded the earl shrewdly." "’tis nothing serious, I trust?"

"No, indeed, sire. Maude has suffered since early childhood from occasional fevers. My sister has had the care of her, perhaps you should talk with her. She'll reassure you, I know."

Henry shrugged and took up the wine cup again. "Women have their trials. But it's a damnable nuisance when I have so little time to spend in London." He drank deeply and then set down the cup, looking rather less disgruntled. "I've been bidden to a hawking party with Suffolk this morning at Windsor. I had intended to refuse and spend the time with my betrothed, but if she's abed, then perhaps I'll accept the duke's invitation. D'ye join us, Harcourt?"

"Forgive me, sire, but business will keep me in London. You'll rest overnight at Windsor, I imagine?"

"Aye, so Suffolk says. He promises a banquet." Henry shrugged, easing his shoulders in his doublet. "I doubt he understands that bread, cheese, and sirloin are banquet enough for me. But I'll do what I can to enjoy it." He pulled a comical face as he extended his hand to Gareth, clasping the other's in a hard grip. "Until tomorrow then, my lord. And I'll hope to see Lady Maude up and about on my return."

Gareth murmured a vague response. He had men scouring the outskirts of the city for information about the troupe and the two girls, but he was far from sanguine that Maude could be retrieved in such a short time. The troupe's movements would be the easier to discover; two girls could blend smoothly into the ceaseless flow of traffic between the capital and the Channel ports. But once he knew where the troupe were headed, he would know where to find the twins.

He escorted his guests outside and waited in the courtyard until the last of the party had passed through the gates, then he turned back to the house. He made his way to his parlor, closing the door, taking up his pipe and the flagon of wine, filling a glass, before picking up the betrothal contract. His eyes ran over it, reading the words that meant the fulfillment of his dearest ambition. So why was he not filled with triumphant satisfaction?

He reread the document, drawing on his pipe, sipping his wine. And an ironical smile twisted his lips. As Imogen had said, everything was perfect. Now that Miranda was gone, out of the picture forever, he didn't need to fear accidental revelations from Kip or from Mary. Once Maude was back, everything would go smoothly.

He tapped the precious document against the edge of the table. If everything was so damned perfect, why was he feeling so god-awful?

Tired. He was tired. He'd had no sleep the previous night and precious little the night before. He was about to lock the document into a small Venetian casket on the table when there was a knock on the door.