Beloved (30 page)

Robert studied her for a moment before he answered. “God has created a great deal of beauty in this world and I admire it wherever I find it. I did not, however, mean to offend you.”

She looked at him. Robert’s eyes were warm and filled with compassion. It was a look she’d often seen in Richard’s. She smiled.

“You haven’t offended me, and I thank you for the compliment.” She stopped her work long enough to pour some of the coffee into a cup for him. Then she began to separate the dough into loaves.

“Is Richard up yet?”

“I don’t think so. He has trouble sleeping his first nights off the ship so I usually let him sleep in when he can.”

“He’s always been like that.” Robert laughed. “He can’t sleep off the ships and I can’t sleep on them!”

“He seems to love it.” She smiled. “He’s at sea more often than he’s here. I thought perhaps after he was hurt so badly he would stay home, but as soon as he regained his strength, he was gone again.”

“I’d like to ask you more about that. You didn’t give me very many details in the letter and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Richard about it yet.”

She set her bread to rise and sat down with Robert, her earlier coolness disappearing as they talked.

When Robert finally went to wake Richard, he found his brother at the basin, shaving.

“Frankly, it’s a miracle that you survived this,” Robert said, examining the scar. “It’s to Arabella’s credit that this healed so cleanly. Does it trouble you at all?”

“Only here,” Richard said, indicating the lowest point of the wound. “Apparently my ribs stopped the blade, but it was the deepest here. I only notice it sometimes when I’m climbing.”

Robert shook his head in amazement, wondering if his brother really knew how easily such a wound could have been fatal.

“So what are your plans for today?”

“Bella asked for some headstones for the graves, so I’m going to go down and talk to Gérrard and see what can be arranged. Perhaps something can be brought over from Lavezzi. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“I was wondering if maybe we could move that stone bench from the front courtyard and put it out near the graves,” Robert suggested. “I think she might like that.”

“What a good idea. Ask Tomas and Alfredo to help you.” Richard pulled on his shirt. “Have you been able to get her to talk to you?”

“Not about the children or the Curé, but it will come.”

Later that evening, it was Alfredo, not Arabella who served them their supper.

“Alfredo, is Bella all right?” Richard asked when the old man appeared carrying a tray full of food.

“The Signora is fine, a little sad tonight, perhaps. She asked me to tell you that she has gone to bed.” Alfredo smiled at Richard and Robert, amused by the concern on their faces. “But you mustn’t worry. It’s her cooking, not mine, that you’ll be eating!”

They all laughed.

Richard asked Robert to begin the meal without him while he went to check on Arabella. He knocked lightly on her door, but when she didn’t answer, he went in.

“Bella?”

The candles were out and she was in bed. He heard her crying and he went to her, sitting down on the bed beside her.

“What is it?” he asked, smoothing her hair back from her face.

Arabella managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m sorry, I just…” She started to cry again.

Richard took her hand. “Would you like me to make you some tea so you can sleep?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for having the bench moved.”

“That was Robert’s idea. He thought you might like having it there.” He took out his handkerchief, another one of Christina’s, and wiped her cheeks, then handed it to her. “I talked to Gérrard about the stones today. They’ll be very special, I promise.” He lifted her hand, kissing it. “Would you like Robert to bless the graves? I know he’d be happy to do it.”

She shook her head and started crying, harder this time, and Richard pulled her up and held her.

“I’m sorry. I thought it might make you feel better. Whatever you want is fine.” He held her tightly. “Bella, is there something you need to tell me?”

She shook her head. Arabella longed to tell Richard what happened, to explain to him that it was all her fault that her children were damned, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to be alone tonight. Do you mind?” she asked softly.

“Of course not. But promise you’ll come if you need me?”

She nodded and attempted to smile as she lay down again. Richard straightened the bedcovers, then he bent over and kissed her.

“Goodnight, Bella.”

Arabella watched him go. She looked down at the handkerchief he’d given her and she started to cry again.

Richard was troubled when he rejoined Robert.

“How is she?”

“Not good. But she doesn’t seem to want anything to help her sleep.” Richard shook his head. “I still have the feeling that there’s something she hasn’t told me, something to do with the Curé.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“You do know him, then? He seemed rather surprised to see you yesterday, but I thought it might have only been that he was glad to see our ‘conversation’ come to an end.”

“I know him. He visited the abbey shortly after I became a monk. His cousin is at Montmajour—my secretary. He’s a hard man, but very meticulous. I can only hope that one day he’ll find a little joy in his vocation.” Robert shook his head. “But this one—I can only say I’m sorry that he isn’t cloistered someplace where an Abbot could keep an eye on him.”

It was obvious that Robert was unwilling to discuss the Curé, so Richard let the matter drop. They talked of other things, of Arles and old friends, and of their father.

Louis began to lose interest in life after Richard left. He’d curtailed his business activities to the point that he hardly ever left Beauvu anymore. In someone else, this news concerning a man of seventy-nine years would not be surprising, but Louis had always led a very active life and in him the decline was sudden and severe. There was little Richard could do. He hadn’t heard from his father since he left Arles and the letters he’d written had gone unanswered. There was always news with the ships, but none of it encouraging. Richard wondered if his father still believed him responsible for Marco’s death.

Finally, Richard asked about Christina. He was puzzled by Robert’s reluctance to discuss her. And Robert had dreaded the moment.

“I’ve seen very little of her, but I hope she’ll be spending more time with us when Guy’s traveling,” he offered.

When Robert noticed how unhappy Christina seemed to be, he’d suggested she take a retreat at the abbey whenever she liked. She’d thanked him for the offer, but since she no longer confided in him, Robert had no idea if she would, in fact, come. What he was telling Richard was wishful thinking on his part.

“Is she well?” Richard asked pointedly.
Why is he being so evasive?

“Yes! She’s well.” Robert said more loudly than he intended. He put his hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss Christina with you.”

“For heaven’s sake, why not? I’m only asking if she’s well and happy. Is there some reason I shouldn’t know?” Richard was angry.

“No, of course not. It just seems to me you have Arabella to think of now.”

“What does that mean?”

Robert raised his hand in a gesture meant to deflect Richard’s anger.

“Only that Christina has made a new life for herself and I was hoping you’d done the same,” he said patiently.

Richard pushed away from the table and stood up, glaring at his brother. “Oh yes, I have a new life. I’m at sea ten months of the year and when I’m here, I’m waiting to leave again.” He began pacing. “Any time spent off the ships is time spent wondering why Christina isn’t with me!”

“You know why she isn’t with you,” Robert said quietly.

“Do I? I’m afraid I still have just a little bit of trouble understanding why the woman I’ve loved all my life chose to stay behind and marry someone else.”

“Nonetheless, that seems to be what happened.”

Richard slammed his fist into the bookcase. “Yes, it does.” He hung his head and Robert could see the defeat in the line of his broad shoulders.

Robert waited before he spoke again. “What about Arabella?”

“Arabella is my housekeeper.”

“And the children?”

Richard just looked at him. “Are you asking me if they were mine?” He turned to the window and stared out at the sea. “They weren’t. Arabella was working at the inn where I was staying. I didn’t know she had children when I asked her to come to work for me.” Richard’s voice softened. remembering that first day he’d seen Piero and Luisa.

“I came back early from one of the runs and found them here. She was only having them with her during the days while I was gone. When I found out, I had her move them up here. This place is big enough, and I’m rarely here.” Richard looked out the window again. “Perhaps if I’d spent more time here, she’d still have them.”

“There could be others,” Robert suggested gently.

Richard looked at his brother sharply, his hand on his hips. “Tell me, are you concerned about continuing the family name, or do you fear your brother’s soul is endangered by his living arrangements?”

“Richard, do you care about Arabella?”

Richard exploded, throwing both hands in the air. “For the love of God, Robert, I presume you’re not about to lecture me on the subject of sin.” He walked back to the table and looked at his brother. “I wonder if you even know what sin is. Do you? Sin is being falsely accused of killing your friend and being forced away from your home and the woman you love. Sin is taking the two most precious things in her life away from a good woman like Arabella. And sin, Dear Brother, is that damned Curé calling a grieving mother a whore!”

“Richard, I’m not judging you,” Robert said quietly as he stood up. “I was only going to ask if you had considered taking Arabella for your wife.”

Richard looked away.

“It could mean a family for you, and a reason to stay at home. A way to be happy,” Robert offered.

“Answer one question for me: Is Christina happy?”

“As I’ve told you, Christina has given me no reason to believe she’s not content.”

Richard sighed. It was obvious that Robert wasn’t going to give him a straight answer and he wished he knew why. He turned back to the window.

“Very well. If I were to take a wife, I couldn’t ask for a better woman than Arabella, but it’s not something I’ve given much thought to, and I doubt she has, either.”

Robert woke a little after two in the morning and got up to pray as he had every morning for the last thirty-seven years. He dressed and opened the shutters. In the perfect stillness of that hour he heard sobbing. Arabella was on the ground near the graves, apparently in her nightgown, her head in her hands as she leaned against the stone bench.

He went quietly along the hall, down into the kitchen and out the door, taking a heavy shawl from the peg beside the door as he passed. He approached Arabella, slowly, not wanting to startle her. She hadn’t heard him.

“Arabella?”

When she didn’t look up, he bent down and carefully laid his hand on her head.

“Please, let me help.”

She looked up at him, her face swollen from the crying. “How can you help? No one can help.”

“Are you so very sure? Perhaps I could try?” He reached down and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. He put the shawl around her shoulders. “Now sit here with me and tell me what’s troubling you.”

Arabella was still clutching Richard’s sodden handkerchief. She was exhausted. She looked at Robert, then down at his hand holding hers. He was so like his brother, despite the great difference in their ages. Though they only shared a father, like Richard, he was kind.

“My children are damned, Father.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Robert asked, lifting her chin and looking into her eyes.

“Oh, the Curé made it quite plain,” she said, shaking her head. “They’re damned forever, and it’s my fault.”

“I want to know what happened between you and the Curé, and I think perhaps you need to tell me.”

“Can you save my children?” She sounded as though she might be willing to strike a bargain.

“Your children have already been saved. They’re with God.”

“You don’t know how I wish that were true.” The tears began again.

“My dear girl, of course it’s true. It’s you who’s suffering, not your children.” He took the edge of the shawl and wiped her tears. “Won’t you let me help you?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, but you must promise me something.”

“If I can.”

“You mustn’t tell Richard. I’m afraid of what he might do.”

“To you?”

“No, of course not. Just promise me.”

“Anything you tell me will go no further. I swear it.”

She seemed satisfied. She took a moment to collect her thoughts as she rearranged the shawl, then she clasped her hands properly in her lap as she began.

“I’m a whore, Father.”

He just looked at her.

“Hasn’t your brother told you?”

“Come now,” Robert said quietly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Do you really think Richard would call you a whore, Arabella?”

She tried to smile. “Did he tell you where he met me?”

“He told me that you were working at the inn where he was staying.”

“Yes, I was working there, but I was serving the men as well as the food.” She looked up at him. “Am I shocking you?”

“No.” Robert smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid it will take a great deal more than that.”

“Well, there is a great deal more. The innkeeper wasn’t too particular who he sent me with. But I had to do it. In the beginning I needed to support my brother and my sister, and then, later, the children.” She stopped talking.

“I don’t doubt you did what you had to do, but what has this to do with the Curé?”

“He’s an evil man. He does wicked things to the children. I don’t know what he did to my brother, but two days after it happened, Giancarlo threw himself off of the Citadel.” She was crying again. “He was only eleven years old.”