Promised to the Crown (26 page)

“Manon, why don't you put the baby Jesus in the crèche before supper?” prompted Nicole. “It's Christmas now.”

Manon reveled in the chance to have a role in the festivities. With the crèche complete, family and friends sat down for the meal. The staff had prepared a feast fit for the holiday: roast goose, creamed potatoes, carrots, chestnuts, cider, and a few bottles of the better wines from Alexandre's collection.

“Everything looks perfect, Sophie,” Nicole said as the cook placed the last dish on the polished wooden table. “I'm only sad I can eat so little these days.”

The maid smiled at the compliment. “Never mind, madame. Most of this can be reheated, as good as new, for you later. Enjoy what you can.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” Alexandre said, by way of dismissal. “We'll let you know if you're needed.”

The squat woman bowed to the master of the house and took her exit.

Too familiar with the servants
.
In front of company, too. How absurd, but I suppose it's what he's used to.

“I've never tasted goose like this before,” Pascal said, proud to be eating with the adults. “When I had it before it was greasy and stringy.”

“A risk with goose, to be sure,” Alexandre said. “But Sophie is among the best cooks in the settlement. Tell me, young man, have you heard from your sister?”

“No, monsieur,” Pascal said, a dark cloud passing over his face. “It's been almost a month, but I expect Papa won't allow her into town.”

Elisabeth patted the boy's shoulder.

Nicole suspected Pascal felt his sister's absence keenly, especially at Christmas.

“You three must be glad for the holiday,” Nicole said to change the subject. “I doubt you've slept much the last few nights.”

“You speak the truth,” Gilbert said, the bags under his eyes affirming his lack of rest. “We couldn't run the ovens long enough.”

“To a prosperous New Year,” Alexandre said, raising his glass. “I think you've re-established yourself beyond expectations, Beaumont.”

“Thanks to your help.” Gilbert raised his glass in return.

“It seems my uncle has been quite the benefactor to us all,” Henri said. “We'll be installed on your estate this spring if all goes well.”

“The sooner the better,” Alexandre said. “Although we'll miss having you and Rose in town.”

“We'll miss it, too,” Rose said, her tone low, “but we'll visit as often as we can manage. You must promise to come see us as well.”

“I doubt I'll be able to keep my wife away,” said Alexandre. “She'll have her own horse and carriage to do as she pleases.”

“Really?” Nicole asked, her expression shocked.

“Yes, really,” Alexandre said with a laugh. “I was going to tell you on New Year's Day. Merry Christmas, dear.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said. With the exception of bringing her family to the settlement, the gift was the most extravagant she had ever received.

“You'll be the envy of all the fashionable ladies in town,” Alexandre said. “Just promise to make good use of it and take Didier or Guillaume to drive you.”

“Of course,” Nicole said. She had never driven a carriage and had no desire to learn.

The jacket she'd bought Alexandre for the new year now seemed trifling by comparison, but with the baby's delivery approaching, she had no wish to venture out to the shops before the holiday.

The rest of the meal continued with the same good cheer with which it had begun, but Nicole retreated into herself.

Fashionable—
that word again. Always so important how we show ourselves to others.

By the time the meal ended, at half-past three in the morning, Nicole was more than happy to see the others leave so she could find her bed.

“You've been quiet,” Alexandre said as they shut the door. “Do you dislike your gift?”

“How could I not love it?” Nicole asked. “It's just so generous. I could never return the gesture.”

“Nor would I expect you to,” he said. “Come to my study. I have another gift for you.”

“There's more?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, and you're to accept it without complaint,” he said, with mock severity.

“If you insist, good sir,” she replied.

When they reached the study, Alexandre unrolled the house plans on his desk.

“Have you changed the plans?” Nicole asked. She saw no difference in the design.

“Only the purpose of the rooms,” he said. “If we ever need to sell, the next owners of the house will expect separate bedrooms.”

“Of course,” Nicole said.

“However, this room does not need to be a bedroom while we live there.” He pointed to the area designated as her bedroom. “You may use it as a private sitting room, or an office—as you choose.”

“Then you want me to . . .” Nicole fell silent, too embarrassed to speak the words.

“Share my bed,” Alexandre said, voice low. “I realized that your previous comments were intended to express how important that was to you. I dismissed your opinion at first. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize, but yes, I would prefer it,” she admitted.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, wrapping his arms around her in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “You're a very patient woman, putting up with a man who does not always listen.”

Nicole sank into the embrace. “You've been so generous of late. I know it's your nature, but has something happened?”

“Other than giving me a child?” Alexandre asked. “I love Hélène as my own, but this is different.”

“I understand,” she said. “But what about Manon? She is my daughter every bit as much as Hélène.”

“The Huron girl means a great deal to you, I know,” Alexandre said. “But, I confess I can't think of her as our own.”

“Because she's a native?” Nicole asked.

“No, though I suppose it doesn't help,” he said. “Don't mistake my meaning. I'm fond of her, and glad to have her here. She's as smart and dutiful a child as I've ever seen. It's just that my affection doesn't run as deep as a father's ought to.”

“I didn't know you felt that way.” Nicole pulled away from his embrace.

“I am sorry,” he said. “If I could change my feelings, please know that I would. Manon will always be welcome in our home. I will give her everything she wants or needs, as I would my own daughter. Please don't doubt that.”

“No, of course not,” Nicole said, feeling an ache grow in the pit of her stomach. “I just worry she'll notice the difference and feel resentful.”

“She has a far more comfortable life than she has ever known before,” Alexandre said. “I hope that she'll realize how well off she is.”

“As do I,” Nicole said, brow furrowed.

“Enough of that for now,” Alexandre said. “It's very late, or, rather, early, and we both need sleep.”

“Agreed,” Nicole said, knowing sleep would elude her.

As they ascended the staircase to Alexandre's room, Nicole noticed the door to the nursery was a few inches ajar. Nicole closed the door, careful to make no noise, and prayed the darling raven-haired girl hadn't heard a word of their discourse.

C
HAPTER
26

 

R
ose tossed a heavy log onto the crackling fire and pulled her chair as close as she dared. Their small stone home was well built, but did little to ward off the wicked spring cold. Rose lay back in her chair and willed the fire to heat the room as quickly as it could. While she waited, she rested and felt the movements of the baby who grew inside her. The helpless little being that would depend upon her for everything. When he appeared in two months, her life would transform, and Rose both longed for and dreaded his arrival.

Observing the birth of Nicole's son, Frédéric, had calmed Rose on one front. Not every birth was traumatic. Not all tears were tears of grief. But would she be able to protect the innocent child? Shelter the baby from all the evils in the world? Even her own papa had not been able to protect her from her uncle. When she voiced her fears to Henri, his response was always the same: “No, you can't protect him from everything, nor should you, so don't fret about it.”

He didn't understand . . . there was no stopping the worry.

Henri and Rose had moved into the house only three weeks before. Though the winter cold held fast, the majority of the crew's work was inside, so the winter weather wasn't a terrible hindrance to their task. Ultimately, Rose was glad that the move had not taken place any later. With a small staff, setting up housekeeping had taken all of her energy. Rose missed the activity of town, of having Nicole and Elisabeth close, but seeing Henri so happy made the sacrifice worthwhile.

Rose had almost drifted off to sleep when a series of thumps at the door startled her to her feet.

The door swung open with a gust of brisk spring breeze.

“Get clean wet rags!” Henri shouted as he entered.

Rose assumed he intended the order for Mylène, one of the two servants they'd hired to replace the elderly staff when they moved from town.

Henri entered the sitting room with a battered Gabrielle Giroux in his arms. She was unconscious, but the rise and fall of her chest showed that she breathed.

“Set her here,” Rose said, indicating a lounging chair.

When the servant entered with a basin of warm water and rags, Rose took them from Mylène's hands and washed the dirt and blood from the young girl's face. All her visible skin was bruised, scraped, or caked with dirt and blood. Rose only assumed the damage was the same under much of her ripped, muddy dress.

Rose assessed the girl's injuries and found no sign of broken bones, though the bruising was severe.

“Let's take her upstairs to a bed,” Rose said. “Mylène, a clean nightgown, please.”

When they reached the bedroom, Rose changed Gabrielle from her ragged clothes and handed the rags to the servant with orders to burn them. Gabrielle didn't wake, which made Rose worry that the beating might have caused permanent damage. A lump rose in her throat at the thought of the sweet, curious girl reduced to a simpleton. She thought of the childlike women shackled to the walls of the putrid cells in the Salpêtrière and could not stem the flow of tears, though she did not let them impede her work.

Henri waited outside the room, pacing in the hallway.

“She hasn't stirred,” Rose reported as she emerged and shut the door behind her. “Even though Mylène and I dressed and cleaned her. Do you know what happened?”

“I was out surveying the land with a prospective farmer when I saw her running toward me,” Henri said. “She collapsed before I reached her.

“Her father's place isn't far from here. She must have recognized me. . . . She didn't start running until she drew close enough to see my face.”

“Poor child,” Rose said, wiping away her tears. “I'll stay with her. I'm not sure what else to do.”

“Don't tire yourself out, or you won't be of any use when she does wake,” Henri said. “I'll fetch the doctor to see if he knows what else can be done to help her.”

Rose took up her vigil by Gabrielle's side, holding the girl's small hand in her own, now soft, long since healed from the cracks and calluses of her past.

“Please wake, Gabrielle,” Rose murmured, not knowing if the child could hear. “You're safe now, darling.”

A few minutes later she tried again. “Wake up, Gabrielle, I'll get you some broth and bread. You must be hungry.”

And later still, “You can go to the Beaumonts' as soon as you're well. I promise.”

She kept up the encouraging offers until Henri returned with Dr. Germain. Father Cloutier and the bailiff came, too, unwelcome additions to the party.

“I'm sorry,” Henri murmured to Rose as they drew aside to make room for the doctor. “They saw me leaving the doctor's in a hurry and asked what happened. Father Cloutier offered to pray over her. I couldn't stop them from following along.”

“I'm not worried about them now,” Rose said. “Let's just attend to Gabrielle.”

Henri nodded assent and they returned to the bedroom.

“Her breathing is sound,” the doctor said. “But I cannot tell how bad a blow she's taken to the head.”

“If the child is stable, she ought to be taken home,” said Father Cloutier.

“I wouldn't risk moving her,” the doctor said.

“She's not going anywhere,” Rose said. “Not until she's awake and well.”

“Young woman . . .” the priest began.

“Out in the hallway. Now,” Henri ordered.

The men obeyed. Rose followed, leaving the doctor to continue his examination.

“You heard my wife and you heard the doctor,” Henri told the priest. “Gabrielle is not well enough to be moved. Moreover, I won't have her sent back home until I learn how she received those injuries, and why she ran away in the first place.”

“She is a disobedient child fleeing from her parents' authority,” Father Cloutier said. “It's not your place to harbor her.”

“You sorry excuse for a man,” Rose said, her temper breaking. “Are you blind to the child's bruises and cuts?”

“Her father has the right to punish her as he sees fit,” the priest declared.

“This is not punishment, you monster!” shouted Rose, the memory of her own abuse surfacing. “This child has been beaten almost to death. She may die yet. Are you willing to send her back for more of the same?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a tone?” the priest demanded.

“I will dare to speak as I please in my own home—get out of my house. You are not welcome here.”

“And you can go with him, Bailiff,” Henri added. “You may return when you have an order from a judge, and not before.”

“You may trust to that, Lefebvre.” Cloutier turned his back to Henri and Rose and found his way downstairs with the bailiff on his heels.

“Off to inform her good-for-nothing father, no doubt,” Rose muttered. “Worthless scum, the pair of them.”

“Not so loud,” Henri said. “Insulting a priest won't earn you friends in this settlement.”

“I don't need friends who take up with such an evil man,” she said.

When she returned to Gabrielle's side, Rose asked, “Any change, Doctor?”

“None, I'm sorry to say,” he replied. “I've done what I can. Keep her still and hope she wakes.”

Rose did her best to keep her composure. Gabrielle needed her to be strong. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Don't thank me,” Dr. Germain said. “I wish I could do more. With cases like these, either she'll recover or she won't. God's will, I suppose.”

“As you say,” Rose said. “If you think of anything that might help her, please let us know.”

“Of course,” he said. “But be prepared for the worst.”

“Let me see you home, Doctor,” Henri said. “You must be tired.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Thank you. And good luck to you all.”

Rose squeezed Henri's hand as he left the room. She returned to her seat by Gabrielle. Though the child slept soundly, Rose took some comfort from her even breathing.

It was more than an hour before Henri returned.

“You ought to get some sleep, darling,” Henri said as he entered the room.

“Not until she's awake,” Rose said. “I don't want her to find herself alone in a strange place.”

“I'll stay with her awhile,” Henri said. “And I'll wake Mylène or Yves to take a turn before I sleep. If her situation changes, someone will come for you.”

“Very well,” Rose said. “I'm about ready to fall asleep as it is.”

“I sent word to Elisabeth and Gilbert,” Henri said. “No doubt they'll visit in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Rose said. “I imagine Pascal will be in a state.”

“Justifiably so.”

The tears Rose endeavored to control burst through her determination. Henri took her in his arms.

“I know,” he murmured. “Come, let me put you to bed.”

Exhausted and disconsolate, Rose submitted without argument. Once tucked into bed, she heard Henri leave with a quiet click of the bedroom door.

He'll take good care of Gabrielle,
Rose thought, just before the fatigue took her away.

 

“I've asked Yves to look over Gabrielle,” Henri said as he climbed into bed sometime later. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

“She doesn't know him,” Rose said, stifling her yawn with the back of her hand.

“He can assure her she's safe and he'll come get us. I promise.”

“Poor child,” she said into his chest.

“Yes,” Henri said. “Get some rest so you can be of use to her.”

 

The Beaumonts and the elder Lefebvres arrived together the following morning.

“Merciful Lord,” Elisabeth stammered when she saw Gabrielle's still-sleeping body. Aside from the bruises and cuts, she was also thinner than when she had left the Beaumonts' care.

Gilbert held his wife's hand, his expression grim, when the child did not respond to their voices.

To Rose's surprise, Pascal did not rage, but held Elisabeth's hand and stared at his sister.

“Demon,” Elisabeth breathed. “Only a devil would do this to a child.”

“Too true,” Rose said. She held baby Pierre, who cooed and patted Rose's chest with his fat hands, unaware of the situation. “I'll leave you with her for a while.”

“Thank you,” Elisabeth said, taking a seat in the chair Rose had occupied since dawn.

Gilbert and Pascal accompanied Rose to the sitting room where Henri, Alexandre, Nicole, and their children waited.

“Is there anything that can be done, Uncle?” Henri asked.

“Normally, these matters aren't for the courts,” Alexandre said. “The judges don't like to meddle in domestic affairs. This is an extreme case, however, and we may be able to see Giroux prosecuted, if we can find enough evidence that he did this. If the child doesn't survive, it would be a murder case.”

“She's going to make it,” Pascal said, trying to control his voice.

Gilbert embraced the boy, but made no promises.

“I took the liberty of speaking to the judge,” Alexandre said. “Asked him to send a bailiff to question Giroux. We have a public account of him hitting her, which creates the necessary suspicion to support a questioning, at least.”

“Thank you,” Gilbert said, his face ashen, an arm still around the shaking Pascal.

Rose sent Manon to occupy Hélène and the babies, leaving the adults to wait. Henri paced, while Nicole produced some knitting that she hadn't touched in over a year. Alexandre borrowed paper and a plume from his nephew and wrote out an account to send to the judge. As a
seigneur,
his testimony would be valuable to the court.

Two hours later, the bailiff approached the house, along with Brigitte Giroux and three small, dirty children. Henri opened the door, though his face was anything but welcoming.

“Madame Giroux was hoping to see her daughter,” the bailiff said, far more polite than the previous night.

“I know I haven't the right to ask for anything from you,” the woman said. “But I'd like to see her.”

“Come with me,” Rose said, from behind Henri. She could not bring herself to deny the woman entry.

Rose escorted Brigitte up the stairs while the three smaller children flung themselves at their brother. The bailiff stood just inside the door, as if prepared to leave as precipitously as the night before.

“Elisabeth, Madame Giroux would like a few moments with Gabrielle,” Rose whispered as she knocked on the open door frame.

Without releasing Gabrielle's hand, Elisabeth wiped the tears from her face and stared at Brigitte. Rose saw a mixture of loathing and pity in Elisabeth's face. After a long moment, Elisabeth kissed Gabrielle's hand and left the room without a word for the shabby woman.

“I'm sorry,” Rose said to Elisabeth. “She came with the bailiff.”

“Gabrielle is her child,” Elisabeth said.

Rose could see in Elisabeth's face how much it cost her not to tear the Giroux woman in half in front of the bailiff and the whole passel of Giroux children. Not for the first time, Rose admired her friend's tremendous restraint.

 

Rose could see in Elisabeth's face that Gabrielle's condition had not changed. Gilbert briefly caressed her shoulder, almost absentmindedly. Rose suspected anything more demonstrative would cause him to betray his own calm façade.

“We miss you, Pascal!” the youngest Giroux child said. He was a boy of about five years, named Jean.