Beloved (43 page)

“Christina!” Maryse cried out when she saw the blood smearing Christina’s cheek.

Christina grabbed for the dagger of glass that had fallen between the folds of fabric in her lap, prepared to defend herself against this newest threat. The action stopped Maryse in the middle of the room.

“Christina, don’t you know me?” Maryse found it hard to believe that the woman before her was, indeed, Christina. Suddenly, the gossip she had overheard in the other room seemed to make sense. The subject of the whispered confidences had been Christina.

Then Christina recognized Maryse. Her first reaction was one of joy. Her old friend, here! It was too good to be true! But then came the memory of their last encounter, so long ago, and she was overcome with shame. She dropped the glass, covering her face again as she wailed in despair.

Maryse quickly went back to the door and opened it a crack. Madame Tallandier was waiting.

“Get me a basin of water and some cloths.” She closed the door quietly and then went to Christina, taking her by the elbows and helping her to her feet.

“Oh, Maryse,” Christina said, “I’m so sorry.” She was exhausted, frightened, and now, facing the woman whom she had so misjudged, she felt very ashamed.

Maryse sat her down on one of the little velvet chairs and began to examine her bloodied face. There was no evidence of any cut there. Then she looked down at Christina’s hand and discovered the source of the bleeding.

Madame Tallandier returned with the basin of water and, seeing that Christina had apparently calmed down, she left the women alone.

Christina continued to cry as Maryse gently began to clean her hand.

She’d been so hurt when she realized that Richard and Maryse had been lovers. But in the weeks that followed that horrible discovery, Christina spent a great deal of time thinking about the conversation she’d had with Richard that summer afternoon in Cybelle’s garden. He’d mentioned Maryse then, though not, of course, by name. But when she’d confronted Maryse and realized the truth, she could not keep from imagining the two of them together. Had he treated Maryse with the same tenderness he’d shown her on the single night they’d shared? Had he kissed her the same way? Touched her the same way? It had been more than she could bear to think of, and it had hurt her for a very long time. For three years he’d been Maryse’s lover and she’d had only one precious night.

Maryse gently lifted Christina’s chin. Her tears and the blood from her hand had made a horrid mask of her excessive cosmetics.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Christina asked. “I just didn’t understand.”

“Of course,” Maryse said, smiling gently. “It was a difficult situation. I’m only sorry you found out the way you did, but how could I tell you?”

Maryse dipped a clean piece of cloth in the water and began to wipe the blood from Christina’s face, removing the horrid paint as well.

“There, that’s better,” Maryse said, satisfied with the now somewhat more natural looking Christina. Then her eyes fell on Christina’s exposed breasts. Christina noticed the direction of her gaze and blushed.

“Would you like me to help you back into your other dress?”

Christina nodded gratefully and allowed Maryse to help her change.

“Christina, perhaps it’s wrong of me to mention this, but I want you to know. From the first time I met Richard, and he was only a boy of sixteen, it was always you that he talked about, always you he loved. He was kind to me, a good friend. No more.” Maryse allowed herself the little lie. Richard had been so very much more to her.

“Thank you,” Christina said softly, her eyes filling with tears again. “It hardly matters now, does it?”
Neither of us will ever see him again
.

Instinctively, Maryse took Christina in her arms, trying to comfort her. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No,” Christina said, trying to dry her eyes. “It’s not that, it’s just that…”

“What?” Maryse sensed that something more than the loss of her first love was bothering Christina. She took her by the shoulders. Looking into her eyes she began to wonder if the gossip about Christina’s mental instability might have some basis. It wouldn’t be difficult to understand, considering who she was married to.

Christina was touched by the concern in Maryse’s eyes. She felt terrible about the way she’d treated her friend.
Friend
. The only friend she’d had since Richard left Arles, and what had she done but allow Guy to separate them? Suddenly, she realized that Maryse might be her only chance to escape.

“Oh, Maryse, please help me. I must get away, please…”

“Get away from what?” The change in Christina’s voice surprised her.

Before Christina could answer, the doors to the room flew open and Guy strode toward them. The look of murderous fury in his eyes quickly changed to one of husbandly concern when he realized Maryse was there.

“No,” Christina said, her voice soft, but filled with terror. She clung to Maryse.

Guy saw Christina’s reaction. Something had changed. Perhaps his wife had somehow recovered her wits. The distant look in her eyes was gone. It had been replaced by fear.

“Why Christina, what is it? What’s wrong?” He went to her and gently pulled her away from Maryse.

“Madame Chabannier,” he said in his most long-suffering tone. “You must forgive her. She hasn’t been herself lately.”

“So it would seem,” Maryse said noncommittally.

“My dear,” he said, taking Christina’s bandaged hand in his. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“She cut her fingers on the glass. I don’t think it’s serious.”

“Well, come now. We’ll just have the doctor take a look at that.”

He began to propel Christina toward the door in a manner that was meant to appear gentle, but Maryse noted how deeply his fingers dug into his wife’s shoulder.

“Monsieur
?
”

Guy turned back.

“I would like to call on your wife.”

“Of course, Madame,” he said, smiling graciously. “As soon as we return from Venice.” He continued toward the open doors.

“And when will that be?” Maryse asked, pointedly.

“Well, I’m not really sure. Most likely by summer.” He smiled again, this time, triumphant. “We shall look forward to seeing you then.”

Guy was furious. It was now out of the question to even consider taking her to Venice. She might try to escape and she knew far too many people there who might help her. That left only one alternative: he would have to leave her at Montmajour with Robert. As long as he could convince Robert that she needed to be closely watched, it could prove a reasonable alternative. While it would change his plans to show her off, it would give him more time to search for Stefano and, if he couldn’t find his old lover, perhaps he could console himself with one of Stefano’s brothers.

Guy smiled. He looked at his wife, who cowered beside him in the carriage. There was a thing or two he intended to remind her of before he left.

C’est trop longtemps que nous nous déunissons.

Reviens-moi, Mon Amour, encore une fois

—Delabesse

We’ve been parted too long. Come again to me, My Love.

Septembre 1759

Marseilles

Though it was late in the afternoon, Stefano was still in bed. He lay staring at the heavy damask canopy trying, as he had so many times over the last few weeks, to put his current situation into some sort of perspective. Sabine had left him not three hours earlier and he’d gone back to sleep. The woman was nearly forty years old and yet she always exhausted him, a fact that continued to surprise him. He was proud of his sexual prowess, his unfailing ability to outperform any partner he encountered, but he had surely met his match in Sabine.

When he left Arles in February, he’d traveled to Paris, determined to see what opportunity might present itself in the glittering capital. As a child he’d heard stories, each more fantastic than the last, and he’d promised himself that someday he would see it for himself. But Stefano found Paris to be a city of the most extreme contrasts imaginable. The forced gaiety and false values of the wealthy set against the horrid squalor of the poor was hard on him. The rich directed all their attention to procuring an invitation to Versailles, the poor to procuring a crust of bread. He, himself, had spent more years than he cared to remember on the streets and canals of Venice, scrambling for crusts of his own, and did not enjoy constant reminders of a life he hoped he’d left behind forever.

In Paris he’d presented himself as a gentleman and easily slipped into the social scene by the grace of some rather interesting liaisons, but after several months he’d grown tired of the frivolity and shallowness of the people with whom he was spending his time. It was then he realized how much he missed Christina. It puzzled him. He thought perhaps it was merely her sweetness, which seemed so pure when compared to the company he was keeping. He was surely not in love with her! Stefano had never loved anyone and was quite proud of the control he exercised over his emotions.

He was still bothered by the way things had been left with Guy. He’d been quite satisfied with their arrangement, and no matter how many times he’d gone over it in his mind, he could not understand what had gone wrong. It had all seemed so perfect and he would have been content, even happy, for it to have continued.

What had really been behind Guy’s anger? It was difficult to sort out Guy’s complicated feelings toward his dead friend, Richard. Stefano doubted that Guy and Richard had been lovers. Guy’s behavior toward him, as Richard, alternated between adoration and fury. And Guy’s relationship with Christina was equally unfathomable. One minute he seemed to regard her as a prize stolen from Richard, and the next he punished her for not loving him enough. It had never made any sense to Stefano and he continued to believe he’d been wise to leave when he did. Guy had become dangerous and Stefano knew he had no other choice but to go.

Still, he found he missed them both. They had become family, certainly more of a family than the rag tag bunch he’d grown up with, all of whom had been too busy trying to stay alive to think much about being close to each other. Stefano had cared little for any of his siblings, except, of course, his baby sister Giuliana. But she had died and even now, after so many years, thoughts of her could put him into a melancholy state that might last for days.

So he’d left Paris behind at the beginning of summer and traveled south again with no particular plan. Stefano had always been adept at spending other people’s money and helping them to enjoy it while he did, so he found he rarely had to contribute much to his own support. There was always someone willing, if not anxious, to perform that service for him, and what he had to do to repay the favor was of little consequence. He still had most of the money Christina had given him, for what little he’d been forced to spend, he’d managed to win back at cards.

He met an interesting young Comte in his travels and spent a few months living in ducal splendor near Bourges, but he’d grown bored with the unimaginative company and continued south again in August. He’d turned toward Lyon then, thinking his knowledge of the silk business might enable him to meet someone he could get on with. He was beginning to believe he wanted to settle down for a while. Nothing permanent, mind you, just a comfortable situation for the winter.

Lyon had nearly proved Stefano’s undoing, for it was there he’d lost all his money. On his first night in that city, he was out walking quite late in a neighborhood he didn’t realize might be dangerous. A group of men sprang out of an alley and fell on him. Stefano was an accomplished street fighter, but there were too many of them. They had taken all his gold and given him a good beating in the process.

Just after dawn, he made his way back to the inn where the coach had dropped him and where he’d paid for a week’s lodging in advance. He slept through that entire day and then that evening, when he went down for supper, he met Sabine.

The dining room was crowded that night and she asked if she might share his table, though it was obvious she found his appearance distasteful. Her reluctance had amused Stefano, who had always been considered extremely handsome. The cuts and bruises on his face might not be considered attractive by a lady of obvious means, but he felt he looked a little dangerous and he enjoyed that.

He managed to engage Sabine in conversation, though she was hesitant until he explained his appearance. He knew she was intrigued, and before the meal ended, he’d skillfully gained her sympathy. He convinced her that he was a wealthy Italian silk merchant who’d been robbed by a group of dangerous criminals. Sabine became so concerned for his well-being that she contrived to bring a sleeping powder to his room that night and soon suggested other ministrations she thought would ease his discomfort. In practice, they seemed to ease hers as well. The next day she moved him to her suite of rooms and they’d been together ever since.

When Stefano realized Sabine enjoyed taking care of him, he tearfully confessed that the money the robbers took had been his employer’s and not his own. He assured her that when his employer learned he’d lost the money, he would be without any means of supporting himself.

As he’d hoped, this only strengthened her attachment to him, and she decided that he should accompany her on an extended tour of Italy as her secretary and interpreter. He found this quite amusing as her Italian was flawless. Nonetheless, he fancied the idea and agreed to travel with her first to Marseilles, where she had some business to conclude before leaving the country.

And so they’d been in Marseilles for nearly three weeks. Sabine set him up in a comfortable hôtel where she visited him daily. After the “few days” became two weeks, she finally admitted the “business” she’d come there to deal with was a wealthy, but apparently not very understanding, husband and she was having a little difficulty arranging their departure.

That piece of news didn’t disturb Stefano overmuch, but he was beginning to grow restless. Sabine paid all his bills at the hôtel but he had no money of his own. Desperate, he resorted to stealing a small amount from her purse each day until he finally had enough to make a decent appearance at the card table. He was a merciless player and a skilled cheat. He expected to increase his fortunes considerably before the end of the week. Depending on the measure of his success, he could then decide how much longer he would be willing to wait for Sabine to be ready to travel.