The Red Necklace (26 page)

It took a while for her eyes to adjust. She was in a long dormitory with two rows of beds, one to each side. There was a narrow table down the center. It was stiflingly hot, the air heavy with the smell of unwashed flesh and urine.

“There’s one free at the end.”

Sido jumped, not sure where the voice had come from.

With her hands out before her she made her way slowly down the dormitory, at last finding the free bed. It was no more than a wooden board. Never in all her life had she felt more wretched than she did now. She started as something brushed past her ankles, and quickly pulled her feet up onto the plank. She could just make out the shape of a large rat sitting up and twitching its whiskers before scurrying away. She put her shawl into her mouth to stifle a sob. Was it really only yesterday that she had seen Yann, sat in a café with him? Had he truly said that he would take her to London? Here in the stinking darkness it seemed as if it must all have happened in a dream, in another life, a long time ago.

In the morning, Sido’s rowdy companions were all curious to know what such a sweet innocent was doing sharing their dormitory.

“This ’ere,
chérie,
is for those who ain’t got a sou to their name.”

Sido said nothing. The women looked to her like brightly colored parrots, their haggard faces painted with rouge, their hair tangled and matted with grime.

“Look what the dog brought in last night,” said one of them, laughing. “She would have made you a bit in your house of sin, eh, Madeleine?”

“Ain’t she sweet, soft to the touch like fresh-baked bread. What d’you bet she’s never lain with a man?”

Sido put her hands over her ears and tried to block out the comments and catcalls.

“Leave her alone,” came a voice she recognized from the previous night. An amazon of a woman came forward. “Go on, shut up the lot of you. She don’t need to hear your vulgar tongues.”

At once all the women fell away.

Sido said quietly, “Thank you, madame.”

“They call me La Veuve Joyeuse, the merry widow, on account of my late husband. They accused me of murder. Self-defense, more like it. Does that shock you, my pretty?”

“No,” said Sido, “nothing seems to do that anymore.”

The woman laughed. “Stay close by me and I’ll make sure those hyenas leave you be.”

“Who are they?”

“Riffraff, my dear. Not to be trusted. They’ll sell their lousy bodies for whatever they can get.”

The cell door opened and the turnkey stood aside as a guard brought in a pail and a basket of bread, which was put on the table.

“Well,” said the guard, grinning at Sido. “How do you find our citizens of the night? Sweet and innocent just like you? I think not!”

The food was handed out, beans and hard, stale black bread. Tepid water, brown in color, was all there was to drink.

“It’s the Café Royal,” said one of the young women, grinning at Sido through broken teeth. “Eat up, citizeness, and welcome to hell.”

Sido felt so desperate for a drink that she gulped down the water. It tasted revolting.

“Easy now,” said her new friend.

She bit into the stale bread. It was so hard that it was impossible to chew. The beans made her gag.

“If you don’t eat, my pretty, you’ll get ill and die,” said the widow.

Sido tried again. Her stomach registered its protest and she was violently sick. She lay on her plank, longing to be able to wash, not to be this filthy, to smell this rotten. When the turnkey came back she still felt so unwell that she could hardly get off her bed.

“Didn’t the maggots agree with you, then?” sneered the turnkey.

His dogs growled at her, showing off their fangs, and Sido, without being able to help herself, was sick on the turnkey’s shoes. “You little hussy, you did that on purpose!” He lifted his hand to slap her.

La Veuve Joyeuse stepped forward.

“She’s not well. Can’t you see that?” And so tight was her grip on the turnkey’s arm that he started to whine and call out for help.

“Anyway,” said the widow, “your dogs have cleaned it up for you, so there’s no cause for complaint, is there?”

That night Sido lay on her wooden board, her stomach still heaving, feeling that death would be preferable to this. She finally fell asleep, but at around three in the morning she was roughly woken by a guard. He grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her through the dormitory.

The women, disturbed by the noise, sat up. “Where are you taking her?” shouted the widow.

“None of your bleeding business.”

Sido felt giddy from having been woken so abruptly, and she couldn’t help stumbling. Her leg hurt. Her head ached.

The guard locked the door behind him.

“So you’ve been royally looked after, I see.”

Sido said nothing.

“Do you know how she got her name, that friend of yours, La Veuve Joyeuse? Shall I tell you?”

Still Sido said nothing.

“She tore her husband limb from limb, because he betrayed her, turned her in as the leader of a gang of brigands. Now there’s one to tell your children—if you live that long.”

Sido was taken back the same way she had been brought the previous night, then up some stone stairs to another smaller door.

The guard knocked and pushed her inside, closing the door behind her.

It was dark in the room but she knew instantly that she was not alone. There was a smell of expensive cologne that she recognized.

“We meet again.”

The voice seemed so close to her that it made her jump, as in the darkness a light was struck and a candle lit. There before her stood Citizen Kalliovski.

chapter twenty-seven

Sido looked completely broken, her face pale, her dress filthy. On seeing her, Kalliovski was in no doubt that she would be his, regardless of the marquis’s objections. The game was all but won.

Only two women in his life had ever had the wit to resist him. One would have nothing to do with him, and the other . . . the other . . . had revealed in him a weakness that no true gambler can afford. Weakness was what he looked for in others; to detect it in himself was unforgivable. His strength was to know that every man had a flaw, every soul its price. Just once had he been powerless against passion, defeated by the Queen of Hearts. Never again.

He dusted down his tailored coat. “How do you find your new home?” he asked as a thin smile curled across his lips. Sido averted her eyes. He repulsed her, his face waxwork-smooth, a mask that hid the beast within. Through waves of nausea she now saw him as a large black cat, playing with its prey, waiting to pounce.

“You wouldn’t be in this situation if your papa had been wiser. Such an ill-advised escape. Leaving France in its hour of need is, mademoiselle, in case you didn’t know, a criminal offense.”

Sido said nothing. All she had to protect herself against him was silence, the one skill in which she had become an expert. It comforted her to see a flicker of irritation cross his emotionless face.

“I have seen your father. He is not himself. He believes me to be Lucifer, the all-powerful. In the circumstances, I have to take it as a compliment.”

He stopped, observing beads of sweat on her forehead. How pale she looked.

“You will be glad to know that when your father wrote to me saying he wished to end the betrothal, I saw it as no more than a symptom of the madness that now afflicts him. I am a generous man and my offer of marriage still stands. If you agree I will make sure that the charges against you are dropped and that you are both freed. I see no reason why your father should not live out his days at the château in Normandy.”

Sido began to feel icy cold, even though the room was hot and stuffy. She could hardly breathe for lack of air. Still she remained silent.

Kalliovski let out a mirthless laugh as he remembered the way her mother had stood before him all those years ago when she had refused to become his mistress. She had paid a high price for that mistake.

“I need a reply,” he said.

Sido felt as if the walls were slowly moving in on her as he came closer.

Don’t flinch, she told herself desperately. Stand tall, think of Yann. She suddenly had a vision of him waiting for her in the Place Royale. Tomorrow, or was it today? She had lost all sense of time. She held her breath as Kalliovski stroked the side of her face, then her neck, pressing his thumb and forefinger into her soft flesh, feeling for her pulse. She knew from the power of his grip that he could strangle her with ease. Still she stood silent, shivering as his hand moved slowly down toward her breast, her heart beating like a caged bird’s. She looked at the floor, feeling she was going to vomit as once again a wave of nausea overtook her.

Her quiet resistance was beginning to fascinate him. It seemed that he might have been wrong about her; maybe she would turn out to be a worthy opponent after all. If she had fallen on her knees and begged for mercy he would have despised her. That was the usual way with women, whining and weeping, saying they would do anything as long as they weren’t ruined. How bored he was by charms so easily won.

Could it be that this docile girl was a more serious-minded version of her mother? That would be something to savor, and the thought thrilled him. Oh yes, she was proving herself to be a prize worth waiting for.

Instinctively Sido turned her face away and tried to free herself. He took hold of her arms, pinning them behind her back so that she could not move.

He said in a whisper, his lips brushing against her neck, “There may be a way out of this prison, but there is no escape from me. I will be the first man to kiss you, to bed you. Whether you come willingly or not, you will be mine and mine alone. Do you understand?”

Sido could hardly hear the words above the whirling sound in her head, the throbbing of the blood in her veins, which was drumming to a frantic beat. A wave of heaviness swept over her.

She hoped that she had said, “I would rather die than marry you.” She could not be sure, for all there was turned black.

Sido woke to find herself not back in the dormitory on her wooden board but in a proper bed in a small room with the luxury of sheets. There was a window, high and barred, and a chair on which was placed a vase of bright bloodred roses, their petals lush and out of keeping with their gray surroundings. She sat up as the door opened, expecting to see Kalliovski. Much to her relief a plainly dressed woman with a bunch of keys at her waist entered, carrying a tray.

Citizeness Villon was a buxom woman, the wife of the prison governor. Carefully she set down the tray with its bowl of soup and freshly cut bread.

"You gave us quite a scare,” she said, handing Sido a spoon.The soup, chicken broth with herbs and potatoes, tasted delicious. She sipped it, savoring its rich flavor.

“It’s good to see you looking better. Citizen Kalliovski has undertaken to pay for all the little extras too. What a charming, thoughtful man! You’re lucky to be under his protection, if I may say so. Why, he’s even gone to the trouble of ordering you a new dress.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Several days. Prison fever. Now, eat up. Have a little more soup and bread.”

“Do you know where my father is?”

“He’s been moved to a cell of his own. Citizen Kalliovski has been good enough to have a bed brought in for him to make his stay comfortable.”

Later that morning Citizeness Villon returned with two warders who brought in a tub of water. Sido bathed herself and washed her hair, beginning slowly to feel more human. Cleanliness, she thought, stands for hope, dirt for despair. She dried herself and dressed in her new gown. It smelled of lavender, reminding her of the château garden where she used to walk on sunny afternoons.

Citizeness Villon inspected her charge.

"You must go back to the main prison now,” she said, handing her over to the turnkey. “But don’t you worry. I’ll bring all your meals as well as your clean laundry.”

"I see you’ve been promoted to your own cell,” said the turnkey as he walked her back along the corridor. He leered at her. His breath stank of stale tobacco and rotten teeth. “You smell nice. I like it when young ladies smell nice.”

He unlocked a door. “Well, here it is. Versailles itself can’t compare.” He chuckled as he bolted and locked the door behind him.

The cell had nothing in it apart from a bed, a bucket, and high up in the wall, a small window. At least, Sido thought, I don’t have to share it.

She slept badly that night, disturbed by screams and sobs from down the corridor. She lay looking up at the window, watching the moon as its large round face peeked in through the darkness, asking her what she was going to do.

She had no answer to that question. It seemed there was nothing she could do, other than accept Kalliovski. There was, as he had said, really no choice. It was a
fait accompli
. The thought of him touching her again made her shiver, and tears rolled down her face onto the lumpy mattress.

The next morning Sido woke to the sound of the bolts to her door being pulled back.

“You’re a popular couple of high-ups, ain’t you?” said the turnkey. “Get up, your lawyer wants to see you. Look lively.”

He led her to a whitewashed room with a table and four chairs, and closed the door behind him. Next to enter was her father, followed by Maître Tardieu and a clerk.

Her father appeared quite altered. His hair had turned completely white and his skin seemed to have fallen from him like the tide pulling away from a pebbled beach. All that remained was the haunted, frightened look in his eyes.

He turned on Maître Tardieu. "I won’t read the will. I refuse. You shouldn’t have let him change a word. I hold you responsible for this outrage, sir.”

"Please, Papa, Maître Tardieu is here to help us.”

The marquis’s voice rose, as did the state of his agitation. “Be silent, madame. Where are my servants? Take me back to my room this instant.”