Sir Roger paid her little heed, merely shrugged and said, “There are few enough servants and they are a surly lot. Some even escaped Langthorne after the marauders devastated the area and killed your brother. I didn’t have enough men to catch them. My Glenda does her best with them, but it is difficult.”
“Aye, my lord,” Glenda called out. “The lot we have are pigs.”
She had a lovely musical voice. Her teeth were white and straight. She was rubbing herself against Sir Roger’s arm. The man’s eyes glazed. Sir Roger was an even bigger fool than Hastings imagined.
“There has been no work done on repairing the outer walls,” Severin said as he pushed the pewter plate out of the way and leaned forward on the trestle table. “Why?”
“There aren’t enough men, my lord.”
“Gwent told me that you have nineteen men. What do they do all day?”
“They patrol the area and improve their skills on the practice field.”
“As of tomorrow, you will divide the men into three groups. Whilst one group practices, another will patrol, and the third group will begin repairs.”
Sir Roger gulped.
“The money I sent was enough to hire workers from the villages around here to assist in the repairs. What have you done with the money, Sir Roger?”
“As I told you, my lord, the funds were only sufficient to keep us clothed and fed.”
“I have remarked upon all the servants here. They are ragged and dirty. My own mother was wearing a rag. If the money went for clothing, then who is wearing it?”
“There was no reason for your dear mother to have new gowns, my lord. She is mad. She would not know it if she were wearing a new gown or an old sack.”
Hastings said very quietly, “What happened to Lady Moraine’s clothes? I could find only rags in that small trunk in the chamber.”
“Who is Lady Moraine?” Hastings heard Glenda ask Sir Roger.
“That is the woman of whom you are so very fond,” Hasting said. “That is the poor madwoman with whom you are so very tender and loving.”
“Glenda simply did not know your mother’s name, my lord. It is nothing more than that.”
“Where are Lady Moraine’s clothes?” Severin asked.
It was in that instant that Hastings knew. “Ah,” she said, in the mildest of voices, “I venture to say that perhaps her clothing is in one of the large trunks in the lord’s bedchamber?”
“Aye, that’s it,” Glenda said. “There was no reason for the poor dear mad creature to wear the gowns, so I removed them so she wouldn’t shred them.”
“I see that you are wearing one of them,” Hastings said.
“Oh no,” Glenda said. “I do not wear her gowns. The lady’s clothing was old and ugly.”
“I wish to see an accounting of the money I sent you, Sir Roger. Now.”
“There is no steward, my lord.”
“Then you will show me what records you have kept.”
Sir Roger rose slowly. He was sweating. “Indeed, my lord, I have not yet spent all the money. I have held it close. I have not spent it on needless things. I want to use it wisely. I am a cautious man.”
Severin rose slowly to his feet. He pushed back the lord’s chair. He stood there, tall, fierce, all in gray, his whip coiled about his hand, his expression unreadable even to Hastings. She fancied she could feel the fear rolling in waves off Sir Roger. She said not a word, just waited, watching her husband.
He strode to Sir Roger, leaned down, grabbed him about his tunic, and pulled his feet off the floor. He didn’t release him. He said very quietly, “You will fetch the money right now. You will bring what records you have here to me.”
He shook him, then released him. He turned to Glenda, who wasn’t looking quite so complacent now. “You will bring me all the gowns you own. Now.”
He didn’t touch her, just watched her scramble from the bench and run toward the stairs.