The Secret Slipper Read online

  Amanda Tero

  ~ Other Works by Amanda Tero ~

  Orphan Journeys Novellas

  Journey to Love (Marie’s Story, 1901)

  Orphan Journeys Short Stories

  Letter of Love (Edward’s Story, 1902)

  Tales of Faith

  Befriending the Beast

  The Secret Slipper

  Short Stories

  Coffee Cake Days

  Deb’s Bible (for new readers)

  Debt of Mercy

  Hartly Manor

  Letters from a Scatter-brained Sister

  Maggie’s Hope Chest

  Noelle’s Gift

  Peace, Be Still

  Non-Fiction

  Me? Teach Piano?

  The Secret Slipper

  © 2017 by Amanda Tero

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Amanda Tero

  Decatur, MS 39327

  All Scripture references taken from the King James Version. Public domain.

  This novel is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-942931-23-2

  _______________________________________________

  Cover design by Amanda Tero

  Images from

  www.pixabay.com

  Elizabeth Tate, SunKissed Photography

  Used by permission.

  Formatted by Amanda Tero

  To Grandpa and Grandma Carpenter

  You have always been cheering me on

  and encouraging me in whatever hobbies

  or businesses I put my hand to. I love you!

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Discussion Questions

  Historical Note

  Author’s Note

  Kiralyn Castle

  Another grave. This time, a short one. Nes tossed the spade onto a patch of unturned earth and stood straight. Mayhap the plague would take him next and spare him from seeing body after body plunge from healthy to dead. He was old enough. His aching back provoked the reminder. He looked at the hole in front of him. He’d rather die himself than bury another child—let alone the lord’s child.

  Turning from the empty grave ready to receive its burden, Nes walked toward the castle, his footsteps slow. In a few hours, the blonde lass would be buried beside her mother—two fresh graves, waiting to welcome Lord Kiralyn home. Nes shuddered. At least he was not the one telling Lord Kiralyn. He only had to bury the child once the friar finished the service. Within time, the lord would move on and find another wife. Mayhap raise another family. His riches provided such luxury—unlike Nes, whose lot in life had never altered from when he was a lad.

  Nes brushed his dirt-encrusted fingers on his breeches and stopped at the well. He drew a bucket of water and let its weight settle on the stone ledge. The yard was silent, like it had been for the past few days—as if people were afraid to breathe anymore.

  Nes splashed water onto his face, letting the cool droplets run down his dry cheeks. If someone would hand him a passage out—whether by death or by journey—he would take it. Any place where he did not have to spend his days burying the losses from the plague.

  He turned and looked at the castle behind him with a frown. Lord Kiralyn should be here, not out fighting war with some other vassal. He had money enough to send an army of trusted knights and stay behind himself, seeing to the needs of his own serfs here at his castle.

  Laughter trickled down to the courtyard. Nes’s frown deepened as he looked up at the windows of the castle. The days had been too long and sorrowful. Mirth shouldn’t come from the castle for a long while. Especially not the morn after Ellia’s death.

  A blonde head bounced in front of the open window. Nes squinted as he looked harder at the window, rubbing a rough hand over his face. He was at the castle door before he realized he had left the well.

  Though no royalty was around, Nes found himself glancing over his shoulder before entering. He hadn’t been in the castle before, but something wasn’t right—either his mind, or…

  Things were as silent in the castle now as they had been in the yard. Nes hesitated before rushing up the corridor toward the window he had seen from below. The lass was still there, taking one uneven step after another. He brushed his forehead as he watched the limp.

  “Child!” Sharp tones echoed through the passageway.

  Nes slipped into the shadows as he recognized the voice as Ellia’s nursemaid, Bioti. Hadn’t he been told that Bioti ordered the grave? Chills crawled through his body as he saw the nursemaid lunge toward Ellia, jerking her away from the window.

  “I told you to stay in the room.”

  “Mo-er.” Ellia pointed in Nes’s direction. He flattened himself against the wall and held his breath.

  “Mother is dead. Now hush so we can leave.”

  When the nursery door slammed shut, Nes stepped forward. He looked out the window, the open grave in clear sight. If Ellia was alive, then whose

  grave had he been digging? And where was Bioti planning on taking her? He turned and opened the door that Bioti had entered.

  Bioti spun around, her long skirts hiding the lass. “Nes!” Her slate-gray eyes hardened. “Shut the door.”

  He stepped into the room and pushed the door closed with his back. “Methinks you have some explainin’ to do.”

  “Methinks not.” Bioti stepped up to Nes, her young face smooth and unreadable.

  “Whose grave be I digging?”

  Bioti’s mouth lowered into a frown. She reached into her russet kirtle and pulled out a pouch. She held it toward Nes, shaking it so that coins clanged against each other. “You are digging Ellia’s grave.”

  “Nay, I am not.” Nes looked from Bioti to the child, whose fingers had slipped into her mouth. “What be ye doing?” Or should he ask what she was planning on doing with the little lass?

  Bioti straightened. “I see that as none of your concern.” Her fingers clenched the pouch.

  “If ye touch the lass—”

  “Fool. I’m not going to kill Ellia.” Bioti pressed the pouch into Nes’s hand. “You need to dig a grave for me in the peasant’s plot—convince the others that I died too. Bury something in it; it doesn′t matter what.”

  Nes threw the pouch down and grabbed Bioti’s shoulders. Surely the plague had made her mad. “Think calmly—”

  “I have done nothing but think, Nes!” Bioti pulled away from his strong grip, her hands up and clenched, as if ready to fight. “If you had seen it—what Lord Kiralyn did to my husband—you would have been thinking, too. Aye, you would be doing a lot of thinking.”

  “Bioti, that was years ago.” If she was reasonable, Nes might try
to prove that, for once, he stood with Lord Kiralyn. Bioti’s husband had usurped the lord’s authority. Lord Kiralyn had every right to send him to the fields, just like he had sent dozens of other men. But no one expected Phillip to contract scurvy. The lord could not be blamed for that.

  “You think I do not feel the pain every day? Phillip is dead because of Lord Kiralyn. He deserves to lose his daughter. To feel the pain of her absence every morn the sun rises.”

  Nes shook his head slowly. “He has already lost his wife.” He knew too well how that felt.

  “Aye.” Bioti nodded her head, an evil smile creeping onto her face. “Even the hand of Providence is against him.”

  “Then let Providence take his child.”

  “Nay!” Bioti looked back at Ellia, who was watching the argument with wide eyes. She turned again to Nes, lowering her voice. “Have you never wanted a new life?

  A life where you didn’t have to work so hard to gain too little? Look around you, Nes.” She gestured with both arms.

  Nes sighed and let his eyes travel around the child’s room. Dark carpet covered the floor, scattered with fancy toys. A cradle stood in the corner, lined with a shiny material. There was more in this one place than in Nes’s entire cottage, which he was forced to share with others, since he had no family.

  “You can live better than you live today.” Bioti’s soft words drew his attention. “I have access to a whole chest of money.”

  “What is that to me?” Nes kept his voice indifferent as his eyes rested on the blonde head of a child who, as the daughter of a lord, would never experience toil or pain.

  “It can all be yours. Dig yourself a grave too. Let people think you have died.”

  “And who would be there to report my death?” Nes scoffed.

  Bioti shrugged. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it happen.” Her gray eyes penetrated into Nes’s, challenging him. “Journey to another village. Start a new life as a rich man. I promise: no one shall discover the truth.” Bioti reached down and picked up the pouch. “This alone holds more coins than you ever see in a season, and you can have it all today.”

  “How do I know you will give me the rest?”

  Bioti smiled. “Because you will walk away with it.”

  Nonsense. Nes brought his hands up to massage his aching neck as he watched Bioti reach under Ellia’s lacy bed. She pulled out a trunk and thumped it with her fist.

  “I cannot lift it, but you can.” She tilted it enough for coins to tumble around on the inside.

  Nes knelt beside the chest, secured with a lock. A passage out? Surely wishes didn′t come true. Not for peasants. “ʻTis your money?”

  Bioti rolled her eyes. “What servant has this kind of money? Lord Kiralyn will not miss it nor will he miss you.”

  Nes’s jaw tightened at her comment. If she was trying to remind him that he had no one to care for him in his old age, she wasn’t missing her mark.

  “The fine and mighty lord has enough to lend. Especially if it will guarantee the safety of his precious daughter.” She straightened and picked up Ellia. “Take the chest. And if that is not enough, I shall see to it that you live comfortably for the rest of your pitiful life.” Her jaw ticked tighter as she spoke.

  Nes looked from the chest to Bioti. “You think I shall trust you?”

  “Aye.” Bioti’s eyes flashed. “This is far better than anything Lord Kiralyn would do for you. When he returns, your chance will be gone.”

  “And the lass. She’ll live?”

  “If you take the money and flee, aye.”

  Nes held Bioti’s gaze. “I will hold you to that.”

  Bioti smirked. She backed away from Nes and placed her hand on the door behind him. “Three graves. Cover them, then flee.”

  Ten Years Later

  Kiralyn Castle

  Raoul, lord of Kiralyn, turned to take one more look at the king’s castle. King Jarin hadn’t changed for the better since he had last seen him, when Belle had come to live at Kiralyn Castle. But Raoul couldn’t argue Belle’s decision to follow God and stay with her father, even though it left an aching hole in his heart.

  He leaned forward and urged Malkyn to go faster, letting the wind lace itself through his hair. Focusing on riding stole his concentration from the heartache at hand, yet he couldn’t stop his prayers from coming. “Father, I thought Thou hadst sent her to us…to fill the void we so desperately needed to be filled.” His throat tightened. He couldn’t begrudge the king his daughter, when, after all of these years, he still yearned to hold Ellia in his arms. “Father, let there be no bitterness in us.”

  Malkyn went through the gates of Kiralyn Castle before Raoul was ready. He led the horse to where the stable lad waited then swung to the ground.

  “Did you have a fair trip, m’lord?”

  It was a simple question, but it drove a stake deeper into Lord Kiralyn’s heart. “Fair enough. Thank you.” He ran up the steps to his castle, not stopping to admire the grandeur before him. It was a part of his life, but it had never been enough to have wealth. He had to have someone with whom he and Elayne could share it.

  “Where is Lady Kiralyn?” Raoul asked as he entered.

  The butler bowed. “In the parlor, m’lord.”

  Raoul slowed as he neared the parlor. Elayne had taken Belle completely under her wing, as if she was the daughter that Elayne could never have.

  He stopped at the doorway and leaned his head against the frame. “Father, give me the right words.” He waited for a few moments, steadying himself with several deep breaths.

  “Raoul, is that you?”

  Raoul suppressed a groan as he straightened and entered the sitting room. Elayne was seated near the window, embroidery in hand. Strong, yet elegant. He stepped closer as Elayne lifted her eyes to meet his.

  “Have you been crying, my dear?” He quickened his pace.

  “Percy came after you left.”

  “Ah.” Raoul knelt before his wife, not knowing whether to feel relieved or distressed that the news had already been revealed. “Is it safe to assume he shared with you the same news that Belle told me?”

  “Aye.” Elayne nodded and took a shuddering breath. “ʻTis right, isn’t it?”

  “I wish I could deny it, but she had such peace.” He said the words as much for his benefit as for hers. “She sends you her love.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “I suppose we must move on.”

  “Aye.” Raoul looked up at his wife. She fought to maintain a smile.

  “Life certainly shan’t be the same,” Elayne said, rising and moving around the room, touching various items that didn’t need to be straightened.

  “We shall learn to live this way.” His voice sounded flat, even to himself. But he couldn’t grieve Elayne by baring his heart. The parlor seemed emptier, now that he knew Belle wouldn’t be returning. He stood up. “I shall be in my study if you need me.”

  Remembrance flashed across Elayne′s face. “Jolin is in the study. He said it was urgent business and that he would not leave until you returned.”

  “Send for Galien.” Whatever the business, Raoul knew he’d need both men at his service. His stride quickened as he went through the halls. His study door was open. “What is it?” he asked, before fully entering the room.

  Jolin closed the door and stood beside it, studying his hands as they rolled and unrolled the brim of his hat.

  “Well?” Raoul went to his desk and sat down, laying his forearms on the surface in front of him. “I am ready for business, Jolin. Or shall we wait for Galien?”

  Jolin walked to the chair opposite the desk, but didn’t sit down. “I met one of your old servants, m’lord.”

  Raoul groaned and leaned back. How was this urgent? “The complaints of unjust dues. Really, Jolin, you ought to know how to handle those by now.”

  “Nay, m’lord.” Jolin met Raoul’s gaze, his blue eyes serious. “ʻTwas Nes.”

  Raoul’s
neck stiffened as the door opened, admitting Galien. “Should I remember him for any particular reason? He was my groundsman—”

  “Who allegedly died in the plague.” Jolin’s blunt tone added force to his words.

  Raoul lowered his voice, even though Galien had already closed the door. “You say he’s alive?”

  “Aye. He is asking for money.”

  “Why should the lord hand money to a servant?” Galien asked, settling into the chair beside Jolin, seeming to piece the conversation together. “You ought to make him pay, leaving under a guise.”

  “He says he’s not the only servant who left behind an empty grave,” Jolin said. “He’ll give information…for a price.”

  “Get to the point, Jolin.” Raoul couldn’t explain the growing tension that threaded itself through his muscles. As far as he cared, Nes and the memories of the plague could be removed from his life.

  “Bioti didn’t die either.” Jolin’s fingers kneaded his hat again. “Nes says she took Ellia with her.”

  Abtshire

  Water sloshed over the sides of the pail, drenching Lia as she stumbled into the stables.

  “Tardy again?” Dumphey’s tones were light, but Lia glared at him.

  “If it weren’t for Geva and Helga, you know I would have been here earlier.”

  “Ah, ʻtwas your sisters then?”

  “They are not my sisters,” Lia hissed. She had told him dozens of times already. He couldn’t see the tension that knotted in her stomach whenever she was linked to the spoiled daughters of Bioti.

  Dumphey reached for the pail. “You spilt half of the water.”

  “I shall take another trip then.” Lia frowned as she relinquished the pail.

  “There isn’t time for such. We shall have to let Noel go for it if needed.”

  Dumphey’s long strides widened the space between them as he walked to the far end of the stables. Lia raised her voice as she hobbled after him, schooling her face to hide her wince. “Noel should despise me by now, always making more work for him. I shall get the second bucketful.”