Beloved (17 page)

“That’s ridiculous. He must have been mistaken.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” Richard threw up his hands in exasperation, then went to the window. “It was something to do with some business debts and I assured Marco we could work out a solution with Father. Marco seemed relieved and he left.” Richard returned to his packing. “I spent the rest of the night in Henri’s room—I didn’t want to wake the house. Then, I came up here just before dawn.” Richard stopped and turned, looking out the window again and down at the groundsman who was raking the gravel near the spot where Marco had died. “I must have walked right by him.”

Richard quickly removed his shirt and tossed it carelessly on the bed. He had little need for silk where he was going. Instead, he took a fresh linen shirt from the armoire and pulled it over his head.

“But the dagger?”

“I know that I had it when I got back, I left my pistol hanging outside Henri’s room. I’m sure that the dagger was with it.”

“But who could have done it?” Robert sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Marco was a fine young man—I find it hard to imagine that he had any enemies.” Robert shook his head. “And certainly no enemies here at Beauvu.”

For a full minute neither of them said anything.

“So, what will you do?” Robert asked.

“Father insists I sail in the morning. He thinks the fact that my dagger was seen puts me in danger.”

“Surely that’s not necessary?”

“He didn’t give me a choice.”

“But where will you go? What will you do?” Things were moving much too fast for Robert. He knew the dangers of hasty action and wished he could persuade Richard to wait a while. Surely, if they discussed this again with their father…

“To Corsica, I suppose. I can run my end of the business from Bonifacio and there’s still the cottage.”

Robert was slowly shaking his head as Richard sat down at the
escritoire
and scratched out a brief note. While he waited for the ink to dry, he took some gold coins out of the drawer and slipped them into a small leather pouch. Then he folded the note and sealed it, writing Christina’s name on the front. He stood up and handed the note and the pouch to his brother.

“Will you see that Christina gets this as soon as she wakes?”

“Of course.” Robert embraced his brother. “Richard, be careful.”

He stood and watched silently as Richard slipped on his coat, grabbed his saddlebags and cape. Before Richard could open the door, Grégoire came in. The two men embraced.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Father insists. He thinks I’m in danger.”

“Surely he knows you didn’t do this?” Grégoire looked from Richard to Robert. There was no question in his mind.

“Well, I would hope so. But it was my dagger, after all.”

Grégoire shook his head. “And so?”

“I’m off to Corsica. Take care of Father.” He clapped Grégoire on the shoulder and turned back to Robert.

“Go with God,” Robert said.

“Amen,” Grégoire said softly.

With a bitter smile, Richard left them.

Grégoire and Robert talked for a while, sharing their thoughts on what had taken place, but neither man could imagine who might have killed Marco. The murder, in and of itself, was appalling, but why with Richard’s dagger?

Robert was intent on speaking with his father. He believed he would be able to reason with Louis and when the heat of the moment had cooled, Richard could return. As he passed Christina’s door Marie, her maid, was just coming out. It was obvious the poor girl had been crying.

“Marie?”

“Oh, Father…” she said, startled.

“Marie, what is it? Has Mademoiselle Christina awakened?”

“What? Oh, no Sir…I mean Father…er, My Lord. She’s sleeping. I was just going to get her something to eat. She’s bound to want something when she wakes.” She started to cry again. “Mademoiselle is so kind…why does such a thing happen to her?”

Robert sighed, realizing that the not-too-bright Marie was hardly likely to pay attention to anything he might say to her.

“It’s not our place to question these things,” he said soothingly.

“Yes, Father, of course…but who would want to hurt Monsieur Marco? He was such a wonderful boy…”

“Yes, Marie, he was. And we don’t know who’s done this terrible thing, but what’s important is that we take very good care of Mademoiselle Christina. So you go on now and get her something to eat.”

“Yes, Father.” Marie blew her nose loudly, somehow simultaneously managing an awkward curtsy. She turned to go but Robert caught her arm.

“Marie, I want you to give this to Mademoiselle as soon as she wakes.” He handed her the pouch and Richard’s note.

“Yes…of course…” she said, slipping them into the pocket of her apron.

Robert stood and watched her go.

Unnoticed by either of them, the door to Guy’s room closed.

When Marie came out of the kitchen, André, Guy’s manservant, was waiting for her. He grabbed her by the hips as she passed, pulling her back against him, nearly causing her to drop the heavy tray.

“Stop that!” she said halfheartedly. She was very fond of the smooth talking André. “You startled me. I mustn’t spill this!”

Kissing her neck, his hands roamed freely over her body, caressing her breasts, then moving on to her waist, and finally stopping at the bulge in her pocket.

“Now what have we here?” he teased as he deftly removed the note and the pouch. “Have you been at your mistress’s purse?”

Marie set the tray down on the massive mahogany sideboard in the pantry and turned to face him.

“Nothing of the kind! I would never…Father Robert gave it to me for Mademoiselle.”

“And what sort of a note is it?” André turned the paper over in his hand.

“Now, how would I know that?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I know…this seal belongs to Monsieur Richard and if I were you, I surely wouldn’t give it to your mistress!”

“What?” Marie was indignant, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Of course I’ll give it to her, just as soon as she wakes. I promised Father Robert.”

“Let me tell you something, my dear,” André said, his voice oozing false concern. “If you give her that note it will break her heart…” then hastily added, “being as it’s from Monsieur Richard.” André threw back his head and laughed at her confusion. “Ah, poor Marie. Don’t you know? It’s wonderful! Monsieur Guy is going to marry your mistress.”

“What?” Marie couldn’t imagine such a thing. She was sure André was teasing her, but what a strange thing to say.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. Her father has agreed.” André paused. “It’s true, I tell you. And just think what that will mean to us. We’ll be together all the time after they marry.” He smiled at her suggestively.

“But Mademoiselle loves Monsieur Richard,” Marie insisted.

“Loves him? I doubt that, not since he killed her brother.”

“What are you saying?” Marie was horrified by the accusation.

André pulled her to him, whispering against her ear. “He did…I saw it…Monsieur Richard’s fancy foreign dagger sticking out of poor Monsieur Marco. So you see, no matter what he wrote to her, it’s bound to upset her. If you really care about her, you’ll want to spare her that.”

Poor Marie was confused. She believed everything André told her and the thought of causing her sweet mistress more grief was more than she could bear. And then there was the intriguing prospect of living in the same house with André, if what he said was true.

“I did promise Father Robert…” Marie still had serious doubts about disobeying a priest, or worse yet, an abbot.

André kissed her suggestively on the neck, completely confident of the effect his lovemaking had on her.

“I don’t think the good Abbot knows what happened yet. He went upstairs with Mademoiselle Christina right after they brought her brother in. Only a few of us saw the dagger. And Monsieur Richard just rode out of here in a big hurry. His saddlebags certainly looked full to me. I’ll just bet they never catch up with him.”

“Oh, André, what ever will I do?” Marie’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Well,” he began, kissing her slowly with each word. “First, I’d forget you ever saw the note, then,” and he held up the leather pouch, “that makes this unnecessary. I think you and I can find a better use for it.”

Marie, carried away by his caresses, didn’t even notice as he slipped both note and pouch into his own coat pocket. Nor did she offer the slightest resistance to his other, rather curious request.

“Well?” Guy said impatiently when André returned to his bedroom.

André smiled at his master, milking the brief moment of triumph for all it was worth. Then, slowly, he pulled the paper out of his pocket. Guy snatched it from his hand and turned toward the window as he opened and quickly read the words.

“And the other?”

“She’ll get it for me tonight.”

Guy dismissed André, smiling as he tucked the note into his pocket.

The next morning brought little improvement in the weather. In the grey light of the coming dawn, a huge bank of dark clouds was becoming visible in the west, the threat behind the gusty wind that blew across the
quais
.

Richard stood on the bow of
Le Bonheur
, his collar turned against the rising wind, his gaze fixed on the bridge that spanned the Rhône. He hardly noticed the men loading the last of the cargo and provisions into the hold of the ship as his eyes strained for some sign of Christina.

The captain, a burly grey-haired man, was standing at the gangplank, carefully checking off the various portions of the consignment as they were carried on board.

“Is that the last of it, then?”

“That’s it. We should be ready to sail in about twenty minutes, Sir.”

Claude Gervaise turned and made his way to the front of the ship. He was an old friend of Louis. They had sailed together as young men when Louis, himself, had worked the ships, learning the business and the men. Claude remained a trusted member of the company in the ensuing years. Now, he found himself in a very awkward position with Louis’s son, a young man he both respected and admired.

“We must leave, Sir,” he said, addressing Richard.

“Yes, I know.”

When Richard said no more, Claude moved off again, shaking his head.

Richard looked down, fingering the heart-shaped garnet ring he’d intended to give Christina for her birthday. He’d hoped they would announce their betrothal at her party. He closed his fist tightly over the ring, wondering for the hundredth time what strange twist of Fate had brought things to such a pass.

Suddenly, above the din of the busy waterfront, Richard thought he heard the clatter of a horse’s hooves moving quickly over the cobbles. He covered the distance to the plank in a few strides, took the steps leading up to the street level two at a time and hurried to meet the approaching rider.

The boy pulled his lathered animal to a halt as Richard caught the bridle.

“Any sign?” Richard didn’t wait for the child to catch his breath.

“No, Sir, nothing. I did see six policemen at the crossroads, but they didn’t stop me. They seemed to be waiting for someone.” The eleven year old Denis Raud was devoted to Richard and dreamed one day of becoming his body servant.

Richard knew he must leave with the ship. He couldn’t understand what had delayed Christina, but he had never considered, even for a moment, the possibility that she might not come.

“Denis, I want you to do something for me. Stay here and when Mademoiselle DiClementi arrives, I want you to take a room for her at
Les Mouettes
and stay with her until our next ship sails. When it does, you must be sure she’s on it.” He pulled some gold coins from the pouch at his belt and thrust them into the young man’s hand.

“And if she doesn’t come, Sir?”

“Then you can keep that for your trouble.” He heard Claude yelling orders and turned to go. Then he remembered the ring.

“And Denis, no matter what happens,” he said handing the tiny ring to the boy, “I want you to be sure that Mademoiselle DiClementi gets this.”

“Yes, Sir!” Denis yelled after him.

Claude was waiting for Richard when he returned to the ship. “Well?”

“There’s no sign of her.”

“Richard, I know it’s none of my business—and for that matter I hope I’m wrong—but you must consider the possibility that she chose not to come.”

As Richard turned to face him, the look in the his eyes made Claude take a step backward.

“How could she?” Richard dared him to defend such an ill-conceived statement.

“She’s so young…it’s not easy for a girl that age to just go off and leave her family and the life she’s known to join you on some…some adventure.” Claude could not imagine Christina accompanying Richard under the circumstances, and hoped to soften the blow.

Richard’s eyes went cold. “I hardly think of my sudden exile as an adventure. And as far as Christina is concerned, we belong together. We both know that. There’s no other place for her than with me.” He spoke with an assurance that Claude was unable to fathom.

“Richard, I’m only suggesting that you must consider the possibility…”

“
No!
” Richard said loudly, as he turned back toward the bow.

Shaking his head, Claude returned to his men, briskly shouting orders.

As
Le Bonheur
began slowly drifting away from the dock, Claude’s words haunted Richard. He stood unmoving as he stared at the busy street above him, where he could not find the face of the woman he loved.

Je t’ai perdu, Mon Amour, pour les raisons que j’ignore.

M’as-tu donc renoncée, la femme qui à toi seul, s’est consacrée?

—La Roche

I’ve lost you, My Love, yet I know not why.

Hast thou forsaken me, the woman who loved only you?

Juin 1753

Beauvu

Christina stared blankly at the wall of shelves in the mausoleum, empty but for one casket, as another was slipped into place beside it. She was hardly aware of the words Grégoire spoke to the small group assembled there, and might as well have been alone in the small cemetery at Beauvu where her darling brother was being laid to rest beside their mother.