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Chapter 3
Keswick, England
The death of Brandon Crompton, Baron Keswick, had shaken the foundation of his Keswick Barony to its bones. The tenants were shocked and disheartened, the lords were dismayed, and the men in that room when the Baron had died, the leaders of his troops, were out on a mission for blood.
Who had the sheer audacity to kill their leader? That thought was seen by the murderous expressions on the faces of the men that had been comrades with the Baron. In their eyes, it would have been better to have slain the King than the Baron.
The very day he had died, scouts had been sent out, ordered to search far and wide and fetter out the blackguard who had dared such a crime. Knights were aching to drag his black-hearted person back to the barony to be drawn and quartered. While the scouts were doing their duty, the body of her father had been sent to be prepared for his burial.
Magdalene had been inconsolable from that day, only a week and a half ago. But now, staring at the man piling dirt over her father’s coffin already lowered into the ground, she felt weak. Magdalene leaned on her mother, who though as devastated as she, was still a bit stronger than she was.
Weak tears, springing from eyes that had gone dry days ago, began to drip down her cheeks. The handkerchief in her hand was sodden and twisted nearly to the point of the cloth unraveling. The question that kept running through her—and everyone's—mind came back again.
Why would someone kill my father by poison?
Thank God, Uncle John had come back from the capital city of Winchester after he had gotten word of his brother’s death, and had taken on the brunt of the family responsibilities when all were at a loss. He was the one who had organized the funeral and he was the one who had sent out more scouts to find out where the poisoned basket had come from and more impo
rtantly, who had sent it. He was the sudden backbone that she and her mother had dearly needed.
Magdalene knew her father and her uncle had differences when it came to many things, politics mainly, but that did not stop Uncle John from supporting them when they needed him most.
The parish priest, clad in his funeral garb of surplice and black stole, was standing aside the grave while the burial dirge was being recited. A warm hand rested on her shoulder and Magdalene swiftly met the soft, sorrowful eyes of Uncle John as he was on her other side. His grief was not as distinct as hers and her mother’s, but there was some, as he had lost his only brother.
Her father’s advisors were a circle of drab grey clothes and coats, and his fighting men in all black and leather armor with their swords strapped on their sides and shields at their feet in respect. The graveyard was quiet, not so much because the church frowned on exaggerated outbursts, but more because disbelief over the Baron’s death was still lingering among them.
Lady Larie’s lips were thin under her black veil and her arms were clasped while the priest droned on. Magdalene wished she had half the composure her mother had as tears, again, begun to fall. She counted her breaths, gritting her jaw tight and her eyes closed as the ceremony dragged on.
When the burial was done, Magdalene sucked in a deep breath and began walking back to the house with her mother beside her. Instead of participating in the funeral banquet, Magdalene begged off and retired to her rooms, the image of her dying father still fresh in her mind. She sank onto the bed, still fully clothed.
It’s a dream. It has to be…a night terror. My father is not truly dead…I cannot afford to think so.
She had not planned to drift off, but grief and disbelief, added to fear, pain, and exhaustion, dragged her into a deep sleep, blessedly without dreams or memories of her father dying in the dining hall. It was Mrs. Croft who woke her with a soft touch to her face.
Magdalene resisted at first, a part of her knowing that if she woke up bad memories would overcome her and sorrow would blanket her soul again. But Mrs. Croft was insistent and she sat up with a grimace, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Lord Keswick needs you and your Mother in the antechamber the late Lord Keswick used for his meetings,” Mrs. Croft said, lips pursed. “I can only bring you there as I am excluded from this meeting.”
“Why?” That was the first question out of her mouth. Excluding Mrs. Croft was senseless. The woman had been there from before her birth. Mrs. Croft was family.
“I cannot tell you,” Mrs. Croft said. “Now, please, straighten your gown while I fix your hair.”
Setting her gown to rights, Magdalene spotted darkness out of her window. How long have I slept for?
The funeral had ended at just noon. With a few passes of her brush through her hair and a fresh braiding, she was off to the meeting room.
Curiosity was strong in her mind. What was Uncle John, the new head, planning to do now? The doorway was partly open and she could hear the muffled voices of her uncle and her mother speaking. She did not hear the words exactly but the tones were hard and clipped. Were they having an argument?
She cast an apologetic look to Mrs. Croft as the lady’s lips pinched tightly, she nodded, and walked away. Her mother and uncle paused speaking when she stepped in. From the imbedded line in her mother’s face and the thin press of her uncle’s mouth, she definitely knew they were having an argument.
“Good evening, Mother, Uncle John,” Magdalene greeted as calmly as she could, while smoothing her skirts under her to sit.
Uncle John smiled at her, “I’m sorry to wake you, Magdalene,” he said apologetically. “But we have some serious matters to discuss.”
Why did she feel so anxious? “Like what?”
“I am changing some policies around here,” Uncle John said evenly. “Since I won’t be able to live in Winchester anymore, and there is no sense in keeping two estates, I will be living here and letting go of some of your father’s men to add some of mine.”
