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CHAPTER 25
“Goodness, what a mess!” Juliane stands at the workroom’s window open to the street. Lambert hovers behind her.
I dust my hands as I walk around to meet them. “It looks much better than it did a few days ago.” My plan was to appear busy repairing the model so Magister Thomas wouldn’t task me with anything this morning, leaving me free to go with Juliane when she arrived, but she’s earlier than I expected, and he hasn’t left for the Sanctum yet.
Lambert leans closer and squints to see into the room, lingering on the torn and wrinkled parchment of names below where the golden hammer used to hang. “What happened?”
“The table collapsed and dumped it on the floor,” I explain. “Some of the mortar was so old that it crumbled like a stale cake.” My laugh is a little forced. “But you needn’t worry about the real Sanctum. We use much better materials for it.”
Magister Thomas comes down the stairs, Remi right behind him. “I thought I heard visitors,” the architect says cheerfully, though I detect some tension in his voice. “To what do we owe this honor, and so early in the day?”
“The inquiry put us behind in preparing for Lambert’s wedding,”Juliane says brightly. “I’ve come to value Catrin’s opinion, and I’d be most pleased if she could accompany me in some shopping today.”
Remi rolls his eyes, but the architect narrows his. He knows I’ve never enjoyed such things, and he also listened as I complained how Simon believed the grain merchant wasn’t guilty of all three murders. “Where is the good venatre?” Magister Thomas asks with a sidelong glance at me. “I’ve wanted to congratulate him for successfully completing his inquiry.”
There’s a slight emphasis on the wordcompleting. He’s not a fool.
“He’s visiting some old friends,” Juliane replies. “He’ll return in a fortnight.”
Remi smiles sourly. “Those two weeks of work certainly earned him two weeks of leisure.”
I clench my fists. Why does he have to be so nasty when it comes to Simon?
Juliane appeals to Magister Thomas. “Can you spare Catrin today, sir?”
He wouldn’t dare refuse the daughter of his greatest patron, but he knows something is not quite as she says. “Of course, my lady. Since she will be out, Catrin can do Mistress la Fontaine’s shopping as well.”
I suppress a groan, but Juliane only smiles. “Thank you kindly, Magister.”
After he and Remi are gone and I have a long list of items from the housekeeper, Juliane tells her brother he can leave us. When he hesitates, she leans closer to him and lowers her voice. “We’ll be shopping for underclothes, Lambert.”
Suddenly he’s unable to look directly at either of us. “Yes, I think it’s better if I leave that to you.”
Juliane watches him go with a smile. “You do realize you were the reason he wanted to accompany me, Catrin,” she says.
“Me?”
She nods. “Lambert has admired you for years, but he was always too timid to approach you—or any girl for that matter. Father had to arrange things with Lady Genevieve’s family.”
Strange to think the heir to the highest title in the region and the governorship of a large city would be attracted to me, and stranger still that someone so powerful would lack confidence. “The comte probably would’ve discouraged it anyway,” I say, embarrassed. “Seeing as I’m not of noble blood.”
“Neither was our mother,” Juliane replies. “At least that we know of. She grew up in the same convent as you, under the prioress.”
I’d never heard about that. Mother Agnes probably hid the story from us, not wanting girls to nurture the unrealistic hope of marrying a rich nobleman.
“Father was even engaged to another girl when they eloped,” Juliane continues. “And Lambert always thought it was such a romantic story.”
“I don’t mean to cause him any confusion,” I mumble. Juliane doesn’t sound like she’s trying to discourage the idea, but it’s not her brother I’m thinking about, it’s Simon.
Juliane half-snorts. “Honestly, I’m glad to see Lambert pay attention to anyone but me. Ever since our mother died, he’s been annoyingly protective.”
I join her on the street, and we set off together. Since she’s brought up the subject, I ask, “What happened to your mother? She was ill for quite a long time, wasn’t she?”
“She was unwell all my life.” Juliane stares blankly ahead. “But that wasn’t what killed her.”
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about it. “The memory must be painful,” I say. “I’m sorry for asking.”
Juliane nods curtly, and I’m content not to pry further. Though I don’t know where we’re going, I’m surprised when she directs our path to a shopping district.
