My Rival, My Love, page 5
The master stood as they entered. His wrinkled face and long gray hair were testament to his decades of experience. “Simon, I was pleased to receive your missive. May I see the item you wish appraised?”
His eyes widened as Simon unwrapped the chalice.
“My, my.” Julian took it with care, then set it down and studied it with a magnifying glass, slowly turning it to view each gem and raised profile. He turned it over and examined the underside of the base. Curiosity, and perhaps a touch of covetousness, gleamed in his eyes. “How did you say you came by this?
“I didn’t. It was passed down to me in a locked box that I—we—finally figured out how to open,” Simon said.
“This is amazing.” Julian trembled with the reverence one paid a holy relic. “See how the handles continue to curve inward after meeting the rim and end in more scrolls? Unique.”
Julian might study it all day if they let him.
“It’s at least two hundred years old,” Simon said.
Julian picked up the magnifier and peered through it again. “Older than that, I’d say. And it wasn’t crafted here. Perhaps in Germany. The detail on these faces is remarkable for the time. I’ve never seen the like. I must do some checking, but it resembles an item rumored to belong to Empress Matilda’s regalia.”
“What?” he and Cecily cried at the same time.
What were those exclamations of wonderment coming from the master’s office? Cuthbert Johnson, Master Newby’s clerk, set a pile of correspondence on his desk. He walked to the slightly open door and peeked in. His master held up a stunning chalice. All those gems, all those pearls!
Finally. The opportunity he’d been waiting for to change his fortune and escape a life of drudgery. He held an important position, to be sure, helping Master Newby ensure the guild members followed the rules. But rather than enforce, he yearned to be subject to them. Jealousy seethed day after day as successful goldsmiths came and went. They were respected. Like Simon, who was also too tall and handsome. One man didn’t deserve so many blessings when Cuthbert had so few.
What did these men know or have that he lacked? He yearned to walk among them and have the right to wear the livery.
Cuthbert pressed against the wall next to the door and strained to listen.
The chalice would be his.
Simon’s training and experience told him the chalice was priceless, but he’d had no idea it might have a royal provenance. How did one put a price on that? Could he sell it? If not, he’d never earn enough coin to compensate Cecily for her half.
“I happen to be a scholar of royal regalia,” Julian said. “You see, Matilda, the daughter of our King Henry I, moved to Germany as a girl. In 1114, she married her first husband Henry V, the Holy Roman Emperor. After his death, her father brought her to Normandy and wed her to Geoffrey Plantaganet, Count of Anjou in—”
“Julian, your vast knowledge is remarkable, but please keep to the relevant facts.” Excessive historical detail stretched Simon’s patience.
He huffed. “If you insist. Matilda left all of her valuables to her grandson, England’s King John. Thusly, if I’m correct, this could also be part of John’s vast treasure said to have been lost in tidal waters in the Wash in the fall of 1216, shortly before he died. Wagons, carts, and pack horses carrying his treasure all supposedly drowned.” He tugged a piece of parchment from the middle of a tall stack and ran his finger halfway down the page. “This is the list of some items rumored to have been in John’s coffers. No official list has been documented. See here?”
He pointed to an entry that read, “Large gold chalice of sardonyx, cabochon gems, and pearls.”
They gasped. Could it be?
“But rumored doesn’t mean true,” Cecily said.
“And the description is rather vague,” Simon added. “Other chalices could be composed of the same materials.”
“As far as my research has taken me, none of the contents of John’s lost treasure have been found,” Julian said. “At least, none have surfaced. John’s young son was crowned Henry III with a gold circlet of his mother’s, and at his second coronation, with a crown of King Edward’s. Surely if John’s crowns had survived the Fenland tides, his own son would wear them. In any case, no record of those crowns after John’s death exists.”
“Did my mother know what the key opened…and if so, did she know what was in the box? Why wouldn’t she have used the key herself? More and more, I understand your circumstances all these years, Simon. Words can’t describe how frustrating and disappointing being unable to find information is.”
“Do you have more items?” Julian asked.
“No,” Simon said. “But I thank you for your time.”
“I’d be honored to do an assay!” Julian called as they left.
Back on the street, Simon and Cecily hurried in silence to his home. Usually the noise didn’t bother him, but today the children’s shouts, horses clopping and carts rumbling by made his head ache.
Everyone who glanced their might know what was in his satchel. That couldn’t be true, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
After the man and woman left the office, Cuthbert risked abandoning his post. Making sure the pair didn’t notice, he followed them down the street, avoiding their notice.
Had Simon spotted him? He ducked behind a wall.
Oh, no. Where had they gone? Ah, Simon’s height allowed Cuthbert to keep sight of him as they moved on.
If he got caught or was away from his desk for too long, he’d lose his position. Then his life would be ruined. A man frowned and a woman clutched her parcels tighter and changed direction when he nearly bumped into her. He was trained as a goldsmith, not a thief. Perhaps he appeared too desperate.
He was running out of breath. Rain pelted him as they turned a corner. Simon held up his satchel to protect the woman from the wet, and they walked even faster. After a few more turns, they entered a handsome house. Simon’s home. The kind Cuthbert should have.
He bent over and panted. He couldn’t have gone much farther.
For the fourth time that day, he prayed to St. Dunstan, the patron saint of goldsmiths. “Light my way. Help me succeed.”
Best to return to work and think this through. The discovery of the chalice was enough progress for today. But if he delayed too long, they might sell his last hope.
He smiled–St. Dunstan must’ve heard him.
Chapter Seven
As soon as they were inside Simon’s house with the door locked and the shutters closed, Cecily collapsed into a chair.
She was exhausted, but her mind still raced. “I wonder if the box and key were separated to protect the chalice. If someone back in 1216 knew what they had, maybe they’d have wanted to keep the information to themselves,” she mused. “Would they have had to prove it wasn’t stolen if someone asked, and if so, how…unless they had some sort of official grant or letter? How many people back then would’ve recognized it? Now that more than two hundred years have passed, if it was the king’s, would it be considered stolen? Does that even matter?”
Simon poured each of them some wine. He took his cup and paced before the fire. “We may never learn whether the chalice was gifted or taken from any previous owner or how my family came to have it. Or if those owners included King John. What we have is very similar to the one on Julian’s list. But that doesn’t prove the chalice is from John’s lost collection.”
“I’m going to research my distant relative, Jenkin de Lacy. Maybe there’s a record of a gift or some other written history. I think we owe a duty to our country and the current king to return it to someone in authority.”
“I disagree,” Simon countered, coming abruptly to a halt. “Our families have had possession for too long, proving to me we’re the rightful owners.”
The unknown weighed heavily on Cecily. “I have more information to add. As I’d mentioned, Jenkin was one of the barons who rebelled against John. Their enmity ran so deep, the king took one of his holdings in a battle, though Jenkin eventually regained it.”
“Perhaps in the thick of their quarrel, your distant relative took the cup. Or someone took it from him. Or from the baggage train before it was lost.” Simon joined her at the table.
“If John spent any time at de Lacy’s holding, he could have brought the chalice with him and left it there. We could surmise for hours.” Cecily took a sip of wine. “My view is we need to return it to someone in authority. The chalice is too costly to be gifted, and the secrecy and measures to prevent access to it prove the point. Returning it is about doing what’s right.”
“How can we be sure giving it up is right? And right for whom…England’s treasury? Then neither of us benefits. We have more guesses than proof. It has to mean something that my family has been custodian for centuries.” He threw up his hands. “I’m torn between keeping it and selling it. If ‘we’ keep it, what happens…you have it one month and I take it the next? Was it intended to be a rarity on display or to fund the future for whoever opened the box?”
“Why did your family have the box and mine only one key? Why didn’t anyone pass down essential details? Instead, each generation endured difficulty and expense in trying to open it. My guess is because whoever put it in the box chose to prevent his kinsmen from getting in trouble for possessing stolen property. Maybe the king would offer us a reward. If not in coin, our reward would be peace of mind,” she said.
His pursed lips told her she hadn’t convinced him.
Cecily should let Simon handle the matter from here. Not because she wasn’t invested in the outcome or because she thought the chalice belonged to him alone. Because she found herself welcoming every moment they spent together, even debating with him and challenging herself to keep up with him.
She enjoyed trying to figure out each step on their path. And as each discovery unfolded, she was as glad for the new information as she was to have another reason to continue the investigation and prolong their time together.
Yet at the same time, seeing him again would be difficult. She liked him too much. The more she knew of Simon, the more her heart opened up to him.
Worse, his visage and enticing voice sent the first tendrils of attraction winding through her.
How could her feelings grow when they disagreed on such a crucial decision? Could you truly care for someone who didn’t share your views?
Remaining at Gran’s where all was familiar would be far easier.
Thanks to the events that had transpired since she received the key, she’d become a different woman. One who’d taught herself to speak her mind and stand up for her beliefs rather than just follow orders. The last three years had mostly been spent mourning.
Cecily couldn’t afford to waste any more time making mistakes. How could she trust herself enough to make the right choices? Maybe that’s what her mother meant by being mature. Not for the first time, Cecily wished her mother were still alive to offer guidance and comfort.
“Can we agree to think on it for a day or two?” he asked. “I need time to sort out my thoughts.”
“If you wish.” Cecily was certain about the chalice but needed time to sort her feelings about Simon. One minute she yearned for him to kiss her again, the next, his opinions riled her. If she were to open her heart, would he just crush it as time passed and they failed to agree on other important issues? Or would they learn to solve problems together? She didn’t want to give in to his will, yet her best efforts hadn’t swayed him.
Cuthbert kept his arm over his satchel and smiled as if enjoying a pleasant stroll as he neared Simon’s house. Where could he hide until the goldsmith left for his shop?
He scurried behind a large bush near the door. His prayers were answered when Simon departed. Cuthbert couldn’t tell what he carried in his bag. Might he be taking a risk for something that wasn’t even there?
He sneaked to a window and peeked in. No one was in sight. How long did he have to search?
Then a woman entered the hall. He ducked before she turned his way. Waiting several moments, he peered over the ledge. She was cleaning the fireplace with her back to him.
How many servants toiled in that large house? Did they live there, or did Simon live alone? He just wanted the chalice, not to hurt anyone. He’d flee England and sell it in another country and wouldn’t have to worry about coin while pursuing his craft. What country had the least stringent guild?
He’d produce better pieces than anyone else.
Cuthbert bit his lip. He could avoid one maid.
He sneaked around the side of the house and tried the only window he could reach. It didn’t budge. Dare he break it? He retrieved his hammer from his satchel, then tapped the glass. Nothing happened. He hit the window a bit harder. Then harder still. The loud crashing of falling glass made him cringe.
Cuthbert dropped to his knees behind a hedge and scanned his surroundings. Was anyone paying attention? No. After using the bottom of his cloak to brush away shards, he climbed into a well-appointed chamber that led into the large hall.
What a lovely home Simon had. Such beautiful goldwork on display. Jealousy seethed inside him again. Soon he’d have his own pieces and a home, too.
Hastily, he searched every room, checking often to be sure no one crossed his path. His spirits fell. Neither the chalice nor the large box Simon had brought to the office were to be found. Mayhap Simon had taken them to his workshop.
He’d have to resort to more extreme measures.
Cecily clung to the hope that the historian Julian had suggested would provide the details she needed to convince Simon.
“What is it you need to know?” Richard Worcester, a cheery, bald man in charge of maintaining the library at Ethelham Abbey, asked her from his desk.
“A descendant of mine served King John. If one sought records of their friendship, say if the king gave him any gifts of note, how difficult would that be?” Cecily cautiously shared relevant details about what she knew about Jenkin de Lacy.
“I chronicle the fourteenth century, so I am not as informed in details of John’s reign. I do have a chronicle of John’s reign that might mention de Lacy. And I can suggest many places you can try, though the information you seek may not exist.
“If any of de Lacy’s holdings remain in the family, I’d start with any records or letters kept at those. Next you could review the privy seal office signet warrants, which include records of royal gifts, even minor ones. Those are in Latin, though, so you might also need a translator. I could help with that. Or we could read the letters from King John himself that are recorded in the Patent Rolls in the Tower of London. After that—”
Her head spun with all the possibilities. How many places would she have to visit? How many documents would she have to examine? What was the chance she’d find answers? “Thank you.”
Defeated, she accepted that she and Simon would have to resolve the situation with what they already knew.
Simon returned home after a long day of work. Tired, he sought to eat his meal, then sit by the fire and read. Perhaps delving into stories and characters would take his mind off of Cecily. Her lovely face kept flashing through his mind, distracting him from the delicate goldwork he’d been doing on the brooch. First, he saw her smiling, then he glimpsed her being thoughtful and curious. Without a choice, he liked her no matter what happened.
Everard joined him in the hall before his sisters did. “Simon, one of your windows was broken this morning. By the number of shards on the floor compared to those on the ground, I doubt it was an accident. Perhaps I should’ve waited until your return so you could see the damage, but I’ve already had it boarded up and sent for a glazier to repair it.”
“I trust your reasoning,” Simon said in a calmer tone than he felt.
Someone had come for the chalice. Who else knew of it besides the attorney and Julian, both of whom he trusted as much as his steward? Had Cecily told someone? Surely not.
Thank goodness he’d had the foresight to store it in his safe at the shop. Was it out of harm’s way even in the most secure place he knew?
They had to decide what to do with the chalice. He’d been stalling to garner more time with Cecily. The stakes were too high to avoid moving forward.
With some apprehension, Simon went downstairs the next morning to meet formally with his sisters. Their request, delivered last night during the evening meal, had surprised him. All they’d say was that they had something important to discuss and requested his full attention.
The sight of Cecily in his chair at the head of the table sent a slight jolt through him. Instead of their usual places, the oldest on one side and the younger two on the other, his three sisters sat in a row. He took a chair across from them.
Each held a piece of parchment in front of her.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this gathering, but he was sure Cecily had instigated it.
“Thank you for your time, Simon. We appreciate your willingness to listen to what we have to say,” Annis began, though she was often the shyest. “And we value all you do for us and how hard you work.”
She paused, as if unsure about proceeding. Her sisters nodded, and Cecily gave a slight wave of encouragement.
“But we’re all grown women now and wish to remove the sole burden of caring for three of us from you,” his eldest sister continued. “We are willing and able to take some responsibility for our futures. By permitting us to do so, you’ll have less to worry about, less financial burden and more time to meet your goals. We’re here to make our interests clear. Each of us truly hopes you’ll help or at least allow us to follow our own paths, even if you aspire to something else for us.”
She frowned, as if mustering the courage to speak pained her. “For years I’ve been interested in becoming a nun. Perhaps I’ll change my mind after talking with those at the abbey or, if they accept me, before taking my formal vows. Not even trying makes me sad. I’m not fulfilling my God-given purpose. Will you agree to let me talk to the prioress?”
