Free Flight From Blithmore by Jacob Gowans Page A

questions—so many thoughts running through my head right
now, I can hardly think clearly.”
    Henry
kissed her. “Share them with me.”
    Isabelle
took a breath, which helped focus her mind. “My mother’s funeral, how will I
plan it? Where will I sleep until we leave? What will I wear if I can’t go back
home? Where will we end up? What will we do when we get there? How will we be
married?”
    “Alright,
alright,” Henry laughed. “Not so many at once. You’ll stay in Maggie’s room
with her. As for your things, Maggie or Ruther may have some ideas, or we’ll
buy you new clothes at the markets. I’m certain we can arrange your mother’s
funeral together. Maggie will want to help, too.”
    Henry
pulled her in for a tight hug. Crunching grass on the Oslan’s side of the hedge
startled them. Henry stood up and moved between Isabelle and the hedge, his
sword raised, but his face white and strained.
    “Hello?”
he called out.
    “Miss
Isabelle?” Norbin asked as he came through the hedge. “Is that you?”
    Isabelle
exhaled her relief. “Yes, Norbin, I’m here.”
    “Thank
the heavens you weren’t hurt, young lady!” her butler cried in a cracking
voice. “Your father was fit to kill.” He emerged on the other side still wet,
muddy, winded, and flushed from neck to ears. “He left . . . moments ago.
Ordered me to pack his clothes. Then he said to prepare the carriage. When I’d
finished, he left without another word to me. Never seen anything like it. I
thought now would be the best time to move Lady Oslan to the cellar where it’s
cooler until the undertaker can come for her.”
    The
three of them bore Lady Oslan’s body from her chamber, down the stairs.
Isabelle’s wrapping held up well, and they carried her with all the respect
they could. As they moved past the den to the kitchen where the cellar stairs
were found, something struck Isabelle’s eye.
    “Henry,
look!” she cried.
    On
the wall above the mantle of the fireplace, instead of four handsome frames,
there hung three, and only two of these frames now held canvases. Lady Oslan’s
portrait and frame were both gone. Isabelle recognized the remains of both in
the crackling fire. Far more alarming was that the portrait of Isabelle,
commissioned by her mother only a year ago, had been hastily cut out.
    “Did
you see him do this, Norbin?” Henry asked.
    “No,
Master Henry. As I said, he ordered me to pack his belongings.”
    They
stared for a moment longer at the wall that now seemed strangely empty, then
continued through the kitchen and into the cellar. The room was dark, cold, and
smelled of dried fruit. As Isabelle rested her mother’s body down on a long
table, her mind held so many questions. Foremost among them were these: where
had her father gone, and what had he done with her portrait?

 
     
     
     
    Ten -
    Henry’s Surprise
     
     
    Henry
and Isabelle decided to leave Richterton immediately after the funeral
of Lady Oslan. The question they had was when to hold the funeral. They both
needed time to tie up loose ends before leaving town. Isabelle wanted to give
her brother, James, ample opportunity to return, and Henry had to deal with
finishing outstanding orders and placing his apprentices and journeyman in the
hands of capable new masters. Ruther had not yet returned from his latest
travels abroad telling stories, and Henry could not imagine leaving without
bidding farewell to his best friend.
    The
undertaker said he could preserve Lady Oslan’s body for two weeks past her
death, and not a day more. With a date in mind, Isabelle sent letters to James
and all the friends of her mother, informing them of her death and the date of
her funeral ceremony. Henry wrote to all the woodworking masters he knew or had
heard of through his own work and his father’s contacts. He also visited
several in the nearby area.
    On
the merit of his reputation, Henry had no problem placing his apprentices in
training with new masters. It was