18

18

It had been a strange afternoon, Konrad reflected on their way home, the culmination of a strange day. Freda had been almost incoherent with gratification at her inclusion on their expedition. She had made a good many exclamations and ramblings off subject on their way, which had almost made Konrad regret the impulse to invite her. Her nervous chatter had always annoyed him, and her timid manner around him somehow made it ten times more irritating.

Once sat in the goldsmith’s workshop, however, she had proved invaluable. Freda remembered, in what Konrad considered to be astonishing detail, the various pieces that had made up the Bartree collection. She painstakingly sorted little piles of gems for the different pieces. One pile of emeralds and opals was designated for the diadem, or coronet as the goldsmith referred to it, another for a necklace of rubies and pearls.

Freda conferred with the goldsmith, a short man with intelligent eyes and a long white beard, as he sketched out small designs from her various descriptions. However, even after she had set aside several stones for remembered rings and brooches, there was still a pile of random jewels remaining. Freda had eyed them anxiously. “Oh dear!” she had exclaimed turning to him. “So useless of me, but I really don’t remember any more, try as I might. I have an idea there was a sapphire brooch that my aunt owned, in a sort of bar design with a pearl on either side, but …” She bit her lip. “I cannot recall it precisely to mind just now.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “It is most vexing, for I feel as though my memory of it is enshrouded in a sort of fog.”

“You have done very well,” Konrad assured her. “Far better than I expected. And in any case, he has enough to be going on with for now.”

Blyfield looked up from where he was poring over his sketches to nod vigorously. “Quite so, my lord.”

“Perhaps you could confer with Mistress Magnatrude this evening?” Ankatel suggested helpfully. “It may be that, between the two of you, you could shed some light on the matter.”

“Oh yes!” Freda said turning to him with enthusiasm. “What a very good notion! For Trude is sure to recall with greater accuracy than I her own mother’s brooch.”

Konrad wondered if that was true. Freda almost looked like a magpie, presiding bright-eyed over the shiny piles of stones. He could not see his sister taking such delight in the task as she had. Then again, maybe all women liked jewels.

His father-in-law coughed. “Perhaps a brooch or ring could be fashioned for your kinswomen, Kentigern?” he suggested.

“Oh no!” Freda had sounded quite shocked. “The collection must be kept together, not broken up. They are for the Baroness Kentigern alone. I know Trude will feel the same.”

Ankatel frowned. “Yet you inherited your grandmother’s brooch,” he reminded her.

“Well yes, but that …” She fidgeted. “It was a minor piece and not made of gold.”

For a moment, the older man looked as though he would say more but then checked himself. “Which reminds me,” he said turning to Konrad. “Two are for the silver heart brooch, are they not?”

“Silver heart?”

“The brooch Mistress Freda gave unto Aimee.”

“Oh yes,” Konrad gazed down at the pile. “Which would you … er … suggest, Freda?” he asked his cousin. “You will be most familiar with the brooch after all.”

Freda turned quite crimson. “Two of the jewels for Aimee’s brooch?” she said breathlessly. “Oh, how … how very touching.” She frowned fiercely down a moment before selecting two sapphires of matching size. “I always think that blue and silver looks well together. On either side of Master Ankatel’s perfect pearl, I think these would look exceptional.” Her face fell. “Unless, of course, they should be designated elsewhere. Do you think we ought to wait until Magnatrude has had a chance to have her say?”

“No,” replied Konrad succinctly. At Freda’s slightly scandalized gaze, he added, “We were never going to be able to entirely replicate the past, and I don’t think we should try.” He glanced down at the pile. “Which stones are Trude’s favorite?” he asked impulsively.

“Rubies,” Freda admitted.

“And yours?”

“Mine?” Freda was startled. “Why, I … that is, I scarcely know. I have never really considered the matter.”

“Sapphires?” Konrad guessed shrewdly, going from her previous choice.

“Yes, I suppose they probably are,” she admitted looking dazed.

Konrad reached across and slid two rubies and two sapphires toward the jeweler. “A matching brooch and ring. One in rubies, one in sapphires,” he said.

Freda almost fell off her wooden stool. “Konrad!” she yelped. “You must not think that I –”

“Now, Mistress Freda, you must allow him his head in this,” Ankatel soothed her. “There is nothing remiss in Lord Kentigern making such a gift to you and his sister.”

“He ought really to have conferred with Aimee first,” Freda protested, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her long, draping sleeves. Though why she should be reduced to tears, Konrad really did not know. “They really all belong to her and –”

“Aimee would be the first to agree,” Ankatel said firmly.

“Aimee can present them to you,” Konrad said. “They will be her gift to you.”

“An excellent gesture,” the other man agreed, flashing him a look of approval.

Freda made a good many exclamatory phrases, none of which made any sense, but his father-in-law helped her down off her stool and tutted and murmured soothingly in reply, and soon he had shepherded her down the rickety stairs and into the street below. Konrad left his purse of coins with the jeweler and followed them out.

Konrad glanced up at the sky and realized supper time must be fast approaching. Gerold Ankatel allowed himself to be persuaded to join them, and it occurred to Konrad that the old man might be feeling rather lonely in his empty house. Maybe that had been the reason for his strange comments earlier?

Konrad spared a glance for the picture Ankatel and Freda made walking down the street together arm in arm. Freda was at least a head taller than Gerold Ankatel, yet he cut a neat and spritely figure beside her in his orange and brown robes. His grey beard and whiskers were neatly trimmed, and he wore a tall, soft hat upon his head which almost made up for the height disparity between them.

Would Freda be receptive to the addresses of a merchant, Konrad wondered. He had not the faintest notion. It was one thing for him to wed Aimee, for a wife assumed the social status of her spouse. If Freda were to marry a merchant, then her standing would plummet rather than rise. Then again, he reflected wryly, she had spent the last eight years living with his frequently ill-tempered sister in a falling down lodge with a roof that leaked in a downpour.

Ankatel’s wife would have every comfort money could buy, a fleet of servants to wait upon her every whim, and be mistress of her own household. Not just that though, Konrad found himself reflecting as he watched Gerold Ankatel pat Freda’s hand. She would have congenial company and the fellowship of someone who actually wanted to hear what she had to say. Neither he nor Magnatrude had ever taken the smallest pleasure in Freda’s society.

Then again, would Freda really have anything in common with a room full of merchants and guildsmen? He doubted it somehow. Still, he thought, remembering her chattering away at his wedding, without anyone to keep her ruthlessly in check, Freda would likely twitter on regardless, whether it be to a duchess or a market stall holder.

He had been in an oddly thoughtful mood by the time they reached the house on Lime Street. Thoughtful had swiftly become wrathful when he found his wife and sister had not yet returned from the palace.

“Ingrid?” he roared heading back into the passage after the other two were seated. Then he recalled the name of Aimee’s servant. “Golda?” Golda appeared, wiping her hands on her skirts and looking startled. “The fire needs lighting in the main chamber. Also bring some ale.”

She nodded and disappeared, and Konrad returned to the dining chamber. “It’s getting late,” he muttered and was only appeased when the boy scurried into the room carrying an armful of logs. Golda followed on his heel with a pitcher of ale and cups which she set down before them. “You have heard no word from your mistress?”

“No, my lord.” Golda shook her head and knelt down by the fireplace, taking over for the boy.

“It will have been a long day for them and no mistake,” Ankatel commented. “Needlework, did you say?” He turned to Freda. “In an outdoor setting? It goes off very cold in the evenings, very cold indeed. I hope Aimee thought to take her mantle.”

Konrad doubted it somehow, remembering the blazing sun from earlier. A small tug on his tunic had him looking down. The boy pointed toward the window, and he glanced in that direction. “They’re back,” he said and strode out into the hall.