Beloved (67 page)

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he said with an uncharacteristic tone of defeat.

“I think what you need to do right now is get some rest.”
And give me some time to think
. This was going to take some careful planning, for Stefano realized that he, too, wanted Christina back and that he, too, was willing to do anything to get her.

Robert returned well after dark. When he learned that Christina had eaten nothing in his absence, he insisted that they all sit down to supper. Only then did he tell her that Richard was back in Arles and that his wound wasn’t serious.

Christina was annoyed by the delay, but she dutifully ate what was put on her plate as she questioned him.

“Then you saw him?”

“No.”

“No? But why not?”

“Well, strangely enough, they refused to let me see him.” Robert himself was puzzled by the Inspector’s insistence that he have permission from the Mayor before he could be admitted.

“But why?”

“I don’t know. The Mayor is in Carcassonne and won’t be returning until mid-week.”

“But…”

Robert interrupted her. “I know. And believe me, I’m as anxious as you are. I’ve sent someone to the Mayor and I’ll go back to the jail tonight, when the guard has changed. There will be a way, I just haven’t found it yet.” His expression was sympathetic as he watched her try to eat.

“Christina, you must think of the baby. You’ve had a very long day and even though it seems impossible, you must try to rest. I give you my word that the minute I know anything more, I’ll wake you and tell you.”

Christina knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not until she was sure Richard was safe. Not until she had seen him for herself.

It was just after midnight when Robert set off again for the
Hôtel de Ville
. The wind was cold and bitter and the streets were totally deserted, the foul weather forcing the usual denizens of the night to seek whatever shelter they could find. He pounded soundly on the heavy wood of the gate on the north side of the building. When there was no answer, he knocked again.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” came the disgruntled reply. Evidently the guard was none too pleased to venture out into the weather, himself.

Robert could hear footsteps on the stone as the man approached. The tread was uneven, he seemed to limp. Finally, the little iron port slid aside and Robert was suddenly looking into a pair of dark eyes, barely illuminated by the lantern the man held beside his face.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“I wish to see Monsieur Magniet.”

“What? At this hour?”

“Oh, I know it’s late. I’m sorry.”

The man stared at him a moment longer, then slammed the little metal door. The sound of his retreating footsteps were accompanied by grumbling. Robert banged the wooden panels again, this time with a great deal of force. The footsteps stopped, then turned back toward the gate. Eventually, the panel slid open again.

“No visitors at this hour! Now go on about your business!”

“But Monsieur, this is my business,” Robert said mildly.

“And what business could you have here at this time of the night and in this weather?”

“I’m a priest, you see. I’m also a doctor of sorts and I understand that your prisoner has been wounded.”

The man seemed to stand on his tiptoes in an effort to see all of Robert.

“A priest, you say?”

Opening his heavy wool cape, Robert made a point of showing his robes. In the dim light of the torch above the gate the heavy gold cross glittered on his chest. Robert could see the surprise in the man’s dark eyes—the cross, though modest compared to many, was an indication that he was no ordinary priest. The port slammed shut again, but he could hear the bolts slide free and then the gate opened.

Robert followed the limping man across the courtyard and past the small holding cells that were reserved for short term prisoners and those awaiting execution. Just inside the building, next to the stairway that led to the dungeon, was a small cubicle. The man bade Robert enter. It was a tiny space with room for the little wooden table with its one chair and the small coal heater sitting on the floor in the corner. Even so, the room was cold.

The man eased himself down into the chair as though relieved to be off the heavily bandaged foot, which seemed to be causing him considerable pain.

By the light of the single candle, Robert found it difficult to determine the man’s age. He sat slightly hunched, though it was impossible to tell if it was because of his injured leg or the weight of his years. His dark hair was streaked with grey and tied none too tidily at the back of his head. He smiled when he looked up at Robert, showing what was left of a set of bad teeth.

“So, Father, would you be so kind as to tell me why it is you want to see this prisoner, and at this hour?”

“I apologize again for disturbing you so late,” Robert began solicitously. “But I only just heard he’d been brought in, and that he was wounded.” Robert set the worn leather satchel he carried on the table in front of the guard. “I came to see if I could comfort him. Pain and suffering pay little attention to clocks…as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Aye,” the man sighed. “I’ve noticed. Now, I’ll just have a look in there, if you don’t mind,” he said, pulling the bag to him and riffling through the contents.

Robert waited patiently.

“And what’s this?” the man asked, pulling one of the shiny scalpels from their little leather case.

“Oh, please be careful. They’re very sharp.”

“I see that. You weren’t planning on slipping the prisoner a weapon, were you?”

“Oh no, of course not. But as I told you, I was given to understand that he’s been shot, and sometimes, you see, one must cut away the damaged tissue. It’s often burned and it putrefies…” Robert could see that his words were having the desired effect. Luckily for him, the man had a weak stomach.

“Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.” He returned the case to the satchel.

“I understand your concern. I’d be more than happy to have you watch if it should be necessary for me to…”

“No, no. But you see, Father, I have a little problem.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve instructions that no one is to see the prisoner without written permission from the Mayor.”

“Oh, dear. And why is that, do you think?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Them’s me orders.”

“Well, I suppose I could call on Monsieur Maillard, but while he’s always been kind to me, I doubt he’d be pleased to see me at this hour.”

The man sneered.

“Do you believe those orders were meant for someone like me? I mean a priest, a doctor, someone who only wanted to offer comfort to someone less fortunate?”

“Don’t know, Father. They didn’t leave me no fancy explanations.”

“I hate to ask—it’s obvious that you’re a man who takes his job very seriously…”

“Yes?”

The man leaned closer and Robert knew he’d hit on the right solution.

“Well…please forgive me if I offend you but…could you see your way clear, I mean…” As he stumbled along, pretending to be quite unsure of himself, Robert pulled a gold Louis from the pouch at his waist.

“You see, I’ve always felt ‘called.’ It’s my vocation…and when I fail, I feel as though I’ve failed God.” He put the glittering coin on the table. “I’m sorry, but it’s all I have.” Robert was convincing and he knew that the coin lying on the table between them probably represented at least a year’s wages to the guard.

The guard’s dark eyes stared into his for some time. “Well, now. We can’t have you failing God, can we?”

Robert smiled as the man neatly scooped up the coin and led him back out of the room and down the dimly lit stairs to the cells beneath the building.

Arabella moved from table to oven with her loaves of bread. She was happy to have the extra warmth of the baby in this, the coldest month of the year. The icy wind flung sheets of rain against the windows, but the big kitchen was warm and dry and filled with the comforting smell of yeast.

When all the loaves were safely in the oven, she went to look in on Alfredo. He was sleeping soundly, though she heard the warning signs in his rasping breath. He’d weakened steadily after the fall and she doubted he would ever get up again. She tiptoed into the room to add more wood to the fire and prayed she would be able to spare him the terrible congestion of the lungs that often followed such an accident when the victim was elderly. She moved closer to the bed, checking his color and satisfied, she quietly closed the door.

She went on down the hall, past the morning room to Richard’s bedroom. She added wood to the fire there, too, replacing the chill of disuse with a coziness she knew Richard would appreciate.

Everything was clean, dusted, aired, oiled and in perfect order. Her fingers ran lovingly over the linen pillowcase and she was comforted, knowing he would soon be home. The fact that Christina was coming with him didn’t disturb her. He would be safe at the cottage and that was all that mattered.

Richard woke suddenly as the guard slammed the heavy ring of keys against the bars of his cell, calling out that he had a visitor. He was disoriented for a moment, but as he sat up, the searing pain in his shoulder brought the situation into sharp focus.

“Seem’s the Father here’s come to save your soul and do a little doctorin’ as well. Stand up and greet him proper.”

Richard was startled to see his brother, but caught the look of warning in Robert’s eyes and said nothing.

The guard opened the door and motioned Robert into the stinking enclosure. As soon as Robert stepped in, he abruptly locked the door again.

“Thirty minutes, no more.” He turned and limped back down the torch lit corridor.

They both watched him go and neither moved until the man disappeared up the stairs. Then Robert embraced Richard.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he said softly. But he could feel the fever in Richard’s skin. “Best let me have a look at that shoulder.”

“Where’s Christina?” Richard asked as he seated himself in the single wooden chair and allowed Robert to remove his torn, filthy shirt.

“She’s safe. I took her to the townhouse.”

“You must take her to the abbey.” Richard was relieved she wasn’t with Guy, but the townhouse was far too close.

“She won’t go. I’ve tried to convince her, but she wants to be near you.”

Richard shook his head, wincing as Robert began to clean the wound.

“You’re lucky. The ball apparently missed your collarbone, and glanced off your shoulder blade. There’s a little bone fragment here but not much.” Robert continued to push and probe, to raise Richard’s arm, in spite of the obvious pain it caused. “As I said, you’re a lucky man.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly lucky, just now,” Richard replied sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” Robert said sincerely as he began to pack the wound with antiseptic salve.

When Richard failed to respond, he explained how Denis had followed to be sure Richard was all right and then brought the news to Robert. He couldn’t help but smile as he recounted how he’d snatched Christina away from Guy.

“Guy won’t let it go, you know. He’s obsessed with her.” Richard was helpless and he hated it. “Someone is going to get hurt.”

“You mustn’t worry. I’ve hired armed guards for the townhouse. I don’t think he’ll try anything.”

“You have to find some way to convince her to go to Montmajour!” Richard insisted, grabbing Robert’s sleeve.

“I can’t,” Robert said gently. “She wants to be here with you. And I don’t want to force her. We have to think of the baby.”

Richard released him.
How has everything gone so wrong…again?

Robert bandaged his shoulder and helped him into the clean shirt he’d brought, then immobilized his arm. He mixed a packet into the water jug and bade Richard drink. Richard didn’t even question it.

“The most important thing now is for you to sleep,” he said, his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You’re going to need all your strength these next few weeks. And you’re going to have to look your best for Christina. We have to keep her from being too upset.”

“You’re not thinking of bringing her here?” Richard was appalled.

“She won’t rest until she sees you. You know that.” They both heard the guard’s uneven footsteps on the stairs. “But I’ll see what I can do to make it a little more presentable for Christina…and more comfortable for you.” He pulled off his heavy cloak and put it around Richard’s shoulders. “Wrap up tight and get some sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

While the inspector refused to let Robert in the next morning, he did allow some of the servants from the townhouse to clean the cell, to bring some food and furniture, clothing and bedding so Richard might at least enjoy some of the comforts a noble title might afford a prisoner.

When the letter of consent arrived from the Mayor, it was disappointingly limited to visitors from the “immediate family.” This meant a further delay while Robert arranged for some false papers for Christina, which proclaimed her to be Corsican and married within the past year to Richard.

They went for that first visit after midnight on the fourth day and encountered the same lame guard. He was at first happy to see Robert, smelling another “bonus,” but he became wary when he saw Christina. Robert was able to convince him that she’d just arrived from Corsica and was frantic to see, with her own eyes, that her husband was alive and well. Robert hinted that pregnant women were known to be susceptible to bouts of hysteria, and for the sake of all concerned, she should be admitted as expeditiously as possible. The guard reluctantly agreed and they followed him into the bowels of the building.

Christina clung to Robert’s arm as they passed down the corridor of cells. Most of the men were asleep, but some insomniac prisoner realized there was a woman in close proximity and he began to whisper filthy propositions as she neared his cell. When she ignored him, he started shouting, and before long, half the men were on their feet calling to her, displaying themselves with lewd suggestions, and grabbing at her clothing as she passed. Robert put his arm around her, sheltering her with his cloak as best he could, until they reached the larger cell at the end of the passage where Richard was waiting for her, the knuckles of his right hand white as he angrily clutched the bars.