Bascomb’s gaze slid first to Edwina, then down at the tea tray. “Nicely done of Cook.” One large paw reached out, snatching up two sandwiches. “Hearty.”
Edwina watched the movement of his mouth as he ate, the bob of his throat as he swallowed. She had never found a man devouring a bit of roast beef to be quite so intriguing.
Dear God, what was wrong with her?
“Is something amiss, Collins?”
“Not in the least, my lord. I wanted to ask, What is the size of your staff at Rose Abbey? I didn’t realize you had a cook—”
“How do you think I eat?” He frowned. “Mrs. Oates. Lovely woman. Did you think it was Page who did the cooking? She can’t boil an egg.”
“I’m curious why you have a housekeeper with only a cook, a maid—”
“And Thomas. Good lad. Lifts things. Like your trunk. Helps me with repairs and such. Mr. Oates, husband to my cook, takes care of the stables. They reside in a cottage a short walk from here.” He raised a brow. “Is there a point to this discussion, Collins?”
“Not at all.” Edwina kept her expression polite. “I was only trying to ascertain who was in your employ.”
“Mrs. Page came with Rose Abbey, if you must know. She was my uncle’s housekeeper. Perhaps something more,” he said offhand. “I’ve never been clear on their relationship. Her mother served as housekeeper as well, to another Lord Bascomb. My uncle’s grandfather, I believe. Very complicated family tree. At any rate, Mrs. Page deals with all the little details I don’t care about, such as whether there’s enough beeswax or clean linens. If you’re looking at the household accounts, she is the person who knows best.”
“Understandable.” Mrs. Page had likely grown up at Rose Abbey if her mother had once been the housekeeper here.
“I see you’ve met Lady Renalda.” Bascomb nodded at the portrait. “She was the last abbess to preside here. This was once her house, or at least part of it was. The library was her office.”
“Mrs. Page told me as much. She said it was your family who made the renovations after being gifted the estate.”
“‘Gifted’ is a bit of a stretch.” His eyes were on Lady Renalda. “My ancestor performed a sordid service for the Crown. Rose Abbey was his reward. Did McDeaver leave that part out, Collins?”
Thunder boomed again.
A shiver dusted Edwina’s skin. “The nuns were not treated kindly.”
“No.” Bascomb had a pained look on his face. “I find it shameful a relation of mine, no matter how far in the past, had a part in the murder of innocents. My ancestor had been promised a title and an estate”—he waved his arm around the room—“but first he had to evict an order of nuns and secure the wealth of Rose Abbey.”
“What sort of wealth?” McDeaver had been vague on the details.
“Relics of a religious nature, I’d expect. Gold chalices. Silver crosses embedded with jewels. That sort of thing. There’s no actual record of such wealth, but since Rose Abbey had never been raided as so many other monasteries and convents had, the assumption was made that there was a trove of gold plate and the like to be found here. However, when the soldiers and my ancestor arrived”—he gave her a sideways glance—“they found nothing but a determined abbess and her devoted flock.”
“McDeaver claims Lady Renalda was overly prideful. That she refused to surrender to anyone but God. That their blood is on her hands. He made her sound very greedy.”
Bascomb shrugged his massive shoulders, drawing Edwina’s attention to the pull of the fine lawn along his arms. “My ancestor confronted Lady Renalda here, in this very room, while his soldiers scoured the grounds. Demanded she give over the abbey’s wealth. She laughed in his face. He ordered the abbey and church set afire, hoping to force Lady Renalda to relent. Ordered his soldiers to kill anyone they came across.”
Edwina imagined how frightening it all must have been. “Lady Renalda should have just surrendered.”
“She didn’t. Instead she kept my ancestor in this room with her, refusing to budge on her position, while everything behind her burned. Lady Renalda brandished a sword and was cut down,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I don’t think she was mad, Collins. Or prideful. Or any of the other things McDeaver probably made her out to be. Her death, her sacrifice, was a diversion. She was buying time for the others.” He looked up at Lady Renalda with something very much like admiration.
“The others?”
“Rose Abbey was once a small village on its own. Nearly thirty nuns and novices, along with a small group of orphans, resided here. Possibly more.” He turned back to her. “I’ve looked at the archives. Only five nuns were executed with Lady Renalda.Five.No one else. Certainly no mention of orphaned children being slaughtered. I think it makes sense to assume that she gave orders for everyone else to escape while she kept that first Lord Bascomb and the soldiers occupied. I’m sure those innocents were long gone before the torch was put to the abbey.”
“Where did they go?” Edwina’s brow wrinkled. “There is only one way in and out of Rose Abbey. The road leading to Portsmith. Surely the soldiers would have blocked it.”
Bascomb shrugged. “A mystery. The records show that the soldiers found no gold. No treasure. Not so much as a silver cross. The first Lord Bascomb searched for weeks and enlisted half the village to look. Eventually, he took possession of Rose Abbey and began adding to the home of the abbess.”
“I find it a bit morbid that he wanted to keep the room she was murdered in and merely build around it.”
Bascomb nodded. “Odd. Especially since he allowed the rest to go to rot. But I think the horror of what he’d done never left him. He even kept the portrait of Lady Renalda. Claimed to see her and the other nuns walking about the grounds. Rambled away like a madman.”
Edwina looked up once more at the abbess. McDeaver had painted Lady Renalda in a very unflattering light, but Edwina supposed it was more fun to tell stories of a wrathful abbess than talk about this year’s crop of wheat when a stranger visited Portsmith. A ghost story was much more amusing. “The villagers in Portsmith insist Rose Abbey is haunted.”
