Tea with a baker, and the story of a stolen crown

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Tea with a baker, and the story of a stolen crown

Her Grace, the Duchess of Haverford, stood in her parlor, admiring a new addition. A fine, large round mirror, edged in an ornate gold frame, adorned with painted gold leaves. As she surveyed her well-dressed form, the mirror seemed to shimmer.

A second later, a young woman stood behind her.

The Duchess gasped and turned around. “Who are you?”

The woman jumped, a hand darting to her mouth. “I… I…” She looked around. “My name is Bronwyn Blakenhale and… I’ve been here before.”

“My word. I recognise you. So you have.” The duchess blinked. “What on earth are you doing here?”

She remembered the young woman, a maidservant in her late teens to early twenties. Not overly tall, but an average height, with long blonde hair and light eyes.

She opened her mouth to dismiss the young woman immediately for appearing so suddenly in her parlor without being invited. But something about her was peculiar. No, make that extraordinary. She recalled strong intelligence and a fierce determination to seek out the truth. She rather liked the young woman, and a part of her was glad to see her again. The other part wondered how on earth she had appeared in her parlor, but good breeding and proper training ensured she made no mention of it. Instead, she raised her head and said, “I remember you. You came here before, quite unexpectedly. What brings you back?”

“I do not know. One minute I was hiding a crown, and the next, I was here.”

“Hiding a crown? Oh my dear, you simply must tell me about this. Come, sit, and we’ll have tea.”

The duchess walked over to the fashionably decorated wallpaper and tugged on a cloth bell pull. In minutes, a servant knocked and entered. “You rang, Your Grace?”

“Tea for two. The green, I think.”

The servant glanced at the young maidservant, but wisely did not comment. Instead, he bowed and left, closing the doors behind him.

“Sit, sit, Mistress Blakenhale. Tell me why on earth you were hiding a crown.”

“Well… “ Bronwyn followed the duchess’s direction and took a seat on a finely upholstered sofa, perched at the edge of the fine cushions. She sat awkwardly, as if ready to flee at any moment.

“Speak, Mistress Blakenhale.”

Bronwyn nodded, looking around the room. She glanced at the duchess watching her and cleared her throat. “I was in the empress’s camp, in Lincoln.”

“Oh yes, I remember. There was a famous battle there in the twelfth century, wasn’t there?”

Bronwyn cocked her head. “Was it famous?”

“Hmmm.” The duchess pursed her lips. She had the benefit of knowing the history and what happened; this young woman did not. How much could she say to a future dead woman? “Tell me what happened.”

Bronwyn nodded, and was quiet as at that moment the servant brought in a tea tray, complete with a piping hot silver tea service and two dainty white bone china cups and saucers.

The duchess politely poured tea for herself and her guest and dismissed the manservant. Once they were alone, she passed Bronwyn a cup of tea. “Do be careful, it is hot.”

Bronwyn blinked. “Thank you.” She blew on the tea and set it down, resting her palms on her knees. “I… It all started after the battle. I was with the empress’s camp, and we were attacked.”

“You were? Oh my…”

“Yes. The empress and my friend, Lady Alice, were fine, but a good and honest lady in waiting, Lady Eleanor, is dead. She was kind.” Bronwyn said, a note of regret in her voice.

“Was it an accident?”

“I do not think so. But worse, the empress’s crown was stolen.”

The duchess’s eyes widened. “Stolen? The history books make no mention of that.” She tapped a finger to her chin, trying to remember her history lessons from her governess.

Bronwyn shrugged. I believe it is a plot, meant to disturb the empress’s plans.”

“What do you mean?” The duchess asked and sipped her tea.

“The empress plans to be crowned queen at Westminster. But how can she without a crown?”

“She wants to be… But we know from history that di–” the duchess paused. She remembered that lesson, for it stuck in her mind, even as a young woman, bored with her lessons. To learn about the intrepid woman, Empress Maud, in a fight for the English crown against King Stephen and his wife, Matilda… For a young woman like Bronwyn to be living during such a time would be a tumultuous experience. “Never mind. But wait, you said you were hiding a crown. Does that mean you found it?”

“Not exactly. My friend, Lady Alice, sort of did. But she didn’t steal it.”

“I see. Then how did it come into your possession?” the duchess asked.

Bronwyn held the china teacup carefully and took a hesitant sip. “This is good.”

“Mistress Blakenhale… The crown,” the duchess prompted.

“Someone put it in her things. I suspect another lady in waiting, out to hurt her reputation.”

“I see. Surely the empress has advisors, trusted men, to look into this matter.”

“She does. But she asked me, too. She wants it kept quiet.”

“Understandable.” The duchess drank more tea and made an observation. “My dear, are you blushing?”

“No.”

“You are. Now, why is that? Is one of the men your sweetheart?” The duchess’s face lit up in a smile. “Who is it? The empress’s military commander, the duke?”

“No, certainly not. He’s old.” Bronwyn turned her head, unable to stop the creeping blush along her cheeks. “But he has a squire… Theobold.”

“Aha, I knew it. Do you fancy him?”

“No. But he keeps annoying me. He is the most arrogant, obnoxious, rude, self-serving squire I have ever met. He’s nothing like Rupert.”

“And just who is Rupert?”

“Another squire. He’s loyal to King Stephen and the queen.”

“I see.” There was no mistaking the softness in the maidservant’s voice as she spoke of Rupert, the duchess noticed. “And which side do you support, Mistress Blakehale?”

“I couldn’t say. I never thought my life would be so different. I always thought I’d live and stay in Lincoln and now…” She sipped her tea, drinking down the hot liquid, almost sloshing it over the teacup. “I don’t know where my family are, or if they are even still alive. We all got separated during the battle of Lincoln, you see, and…”

“Come, stand up.” The duchess ordered.

Bronwyn set down her teacup and stood. “Your Grace?”

The duchess led Bronwyn to the mirror she’d been admiring before. “Look into the glass.”

“It is a very fine mirror, Your Grace.”

“Yes, yes, but look at yourself. Do you know what I see?”

“Your Grace?” Bronwyn cocked her head at her hostess.

“I see a young woman, smart and capable. Do your best to do what is right. Even if your family hasn’t survived the battle, I know they would be proud of the honourable young woman you have become.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. That is very kind.”

“And I trust that in due time you will choose which side you are on…” The duchess blinked and looked in the mirror.

Bronwyn was gone.

“Mistress Blakenhale? Girl?”

The duchess looked around. Had she been hallucinating? No, there were two teacups on the little side table, and one was mostly empty. She hadn’t been imagining things. She breathed a small sigh of relief.

A servant entered the room. “Your Grace? Did you need something?”

“That girl I was just talking to. Where did she go?”

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace. Are you hiring for a new position? One of the cooks or butlers could help if you prefer…”

“No, no. I’m fine.” The duchess looked back in the mirror at her reflection and felt a chill run through her. “Actually, now that you mention it, I’ve decided I don’t like this mirror after all. Get rid of it.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“And bring me a book on the history of the anarchy in the twelfth century. I want to know what happens.”

Winter’s Crown

Having just narrowly escaped from the battle of Lincoln, fierce baker Bronwyn Blakenhale is a refugee who joins the camp of the invading Empress Maud. But when an attack on the camp leaves her running for her life, Bronwyn stumbles across dead bodies in the empress’s tent. Not only that, but someone has stolen the empress’s crown.

To prove her innocence, Bronwyn is tasked by the empress to find out what happened and must work with Theobold Durville, a handsome squire known for his flirtatious manner. As if keeping her head alongside such a man weren’t difficult enough, Bronwyn still fancies the squire who served in the false king’s court—and who’s courting the spy-turned-friend she met before the fall of her hometown. Seeing them together breaks her heart, but there’s a killer on the loose, and with a civil war brewing, no one is above suspicion in Empress Maud’s court.

The empress will not tolerate subterfuge in her camp, but she must have her crown to become Queen of England. Can Theobold and Bronwyn find the missing crown and a killer, and will working together lead to something more?

Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0DX3YK8ZC?ref_=dbs_m_mng_rwt_calw_tkin_1&storeType=ebooks

About the author

E.L. Johnson is a member of the Hertford Writers’ Circle and won the Sci-Fi London Film Festival’s 2014 48-hour Flash Fiction challenge. When not penning stories, she is an avid reader of fiction, a decent epeé fencer, and lives with her husband and cat Arya, named after the Game of Thrones character. E.L. Johnson also runs a chatty book club in London.