by Anna Gracie
the silently flowing Seine. They ate hot nuts cooked on a brazier
before their eyes, and Magnus had to lend Tallie his handkerchief to
wipe her greasy fingers. And he kissed her in the darkness and tasted
salt on her lips.
Later, following the sound of music down a dark lane, they came to a
small, open courtyard, where gypsies sang and leapt and gyrated under
flaming torches, their heels tapping out a frenzied tattoo, their
guitars and throats sobbing with tragic passion. Tallie found them
very moving, even though she could understand none of the words, and
she clutched her husband's arm and watched the gypsies with tears in
her eyes.
And Magnus dried Tallie's eyes and took her home and made love to her,
first with an urgency and passion that left her gasping with ecstasy,
then later with such tenderness she found herself weeping again. Only
this time he did not dry her tears, but kissed them away, and held her
in his arms until they both fell asleep.
The next evening they went to the Theatre Francais to see Fleury, the
most famous actor in all France. It was Tallie's first visit to a
theatre, and though it was hot, stuffy and crowded, she found it quite
wondrous and fantastical. Her husband found he could barely take his
eyes off her enraptured face, and when he brought her home that night
he made slow, sensual love to her, marvelling at her passionate
response, fearing and hungering for her to say it again. I love you,
Magnus.
But she didn't say it.
Magnus accompanied her everywhere. He took her to the new Palais
Royale, which contained libraries, gambling houses, coffee houses,
pawnbrokers, jewellers, ice shops, exhibition rooms, theatres and even
a chess club. They attended balls and masquerades. And each night
they made magical, tender love.
And she seemed happy, Magnus thought. She told him once in sweet
exhaustion that she imagined two people could feel no closer than when
making love. He wanted to tell her it could also be the loneliest
feeling in the world, that it had been for him--until her. But he
couldn't.
And she never again said the words he both craved and dreaded. I love
you, Magnus.
"Milady," said Monique one morning while she was arranging Tallie's
hair.
"When do you think your baby will be born?"
Tallie stared in surprise at the reflection of her maid in the looking
glass.
"Baby? What do you mean, Monique?"
"Oui, you are enceinte, are you not, milady?"
"Enceinte? I have no idea."
The maid frowned.
"But, milady, I 'ave been with you more than seven weeks now."
"Yes, it would be about that. But what does that signify?"
"In all that time you 'ave not 'ad your monthly courses."
Tallie's eyes widened.
"No, that's right," she said slowly.
"How clever of you to notice. But what has that to do with a baby?"
Monique explained.
"Really?" exclaimed Tallie.
"So that's how one knows... And you really think I am increasing?"
"Oui, milady. Unless your courses are always irregular?"
Tallie shook her head.
"No, never. I just thought I had missed them because of being married
or travelling or something." She felt a quiver of excitement ripple
through her. A baby. How wonderful.
Monique smiled at her mistress.
"Lord d'Arenville will be very pleased, yes?"
Tallie froze. Once her husband discovered she was increasing, he would
want to take her home to England and d'Arenville Hall. He had said so
in no uncertain terms.
And then she'd never get to Italy.
And getting to Italy was almost as important to Tallie as her baby was.
She had delayed too long in Paris as it was. There was something much
more important at stake here than mere pleasure. She had been selfish
and thoughtless and had allowed herself to be seduced by pleasures and
entertainments.
"No, Monique," she slowly.
"I will not tell my husband just yet. It will be our little secret,
agreed?"
Monique looked troubled.
"If you say so, milady."
"I do," said Tallie firmly.
"And now, if you please, we must make preparations to leave Paris."
"Leave Paris?" gasped Monique.
"Yes, in three days, I think," said Tallie firmly.
"You will come with us, will you not? To Italy?"
Made shrugged.
"Of course, milady. Why not? I 'ave never been to Italy. But mil
or--will 'e wish to go so suddenly?"
Tallie smiled.
"You may leave milor to me."
Chapter Twelve
Oh," said Tallie, stretching luxuriously in her canvas seat and gazing
contentedly at the passing scenery. They had left Paris three days
before by coach, but had transferred to a barge that morning.
"This is indeed much more agreeable than I had expected it to be. How
pretty those fields and vineyards are. And how smooth the water
slipping by."
Magnus smiled. The barge trip had been suggested by Luigi Maguire, the
major-domo hired to make arrangements for the journey, a Frenchman with
an Italian mother and an Irish father. Maguire was already proving his
worth.
"I did tell you it would be easier on the bones than a carriage, but
you wouldn't have it, would you? Now confess-you thought you would get
seasick, didn't you?"
Tallie nodded.
"You are right, as usual. Oh, the Rhone is such a pretty river. How
long do you think it will take before we reach Italy?"
Magnus frowned. There was something peculiar about her sudden rush to
get to Italy. Of course, she had told him once that she wished to go
there--to visit her parents' graves, or some such thing--but he'd
thought she'd forgotten about it. Certainly one would have thought the
delights of Paris would more than compensate for what could only be a
duty visit, after all. But she was adamant, and he was finding it more
and more difficult to refuse his wife anything these days. He pushed
aside the unwelcome thought. But if they wanted to get to Italy, they
had to cross over the Mount Cenis Pass. Magnus repressed a shudder.
He hated heights, and would infinitely have preferred to go by ship,
but with his wife's tendency to seasickness there was no question of
it. It had been difficult enough to persuade her to travel down the
Rhone in a flat-bottomed boat. Besides, there was always the danger of
pirates in the Mediterranean.
"According to Maguire, we will remain on this barge for at least five
days," he said.
"Until we reach Avignon. And I thought we could rest there for a week
or so. You will want to visit the Palais des Papes, and several other
sights."
"Oh, no, I do not think that would interest me very much," responded
Tallie mendaciously.
"I have seen a great many palaces now, and one more, even if it
belonged to a pope, is no great thing. I am not greatly interested in
popes."
Magnus regarded her thoughtful
ly.
"I did hear," he said casually, 'that some people prefer to view the
Palace des Papes by moonlight. "
"Moonlight?" Her eyes lit up, as he had known they would. Tallie
thought for a moment.
"Perhaps if we stay in Avignon for just a day or two, then."
Magnus repressed a smile. It was becoming easier to calculate his
wife's tastes. He watched her as she turned her head back towards the
riverbanks. He had found so much of his life dull and tedious before
his marriage. But Tallie's open fascination with all sorts of things
had opened his eyes to a host of small pleasures and interests and he
was beginning to see the world differently. It was probably a sign of
weakness, he knew, but there seemed nothing he could do about it.
After Avignon, they returned to their coach, which had also been
transported on the barge. The roads were a little rough, and Magnus
had been worried his wife would be sickened by the incessant jolting.
Instead, she spent most of the journey peering out of the window and
deriving great enjoyment from the way the postilions leaped out of
their enormous jackboots at every stop, leaving the boots in the
stirrups until a new man came out and leapt into the same boots.
Finally the roads narrowed and their pace slowed as they climbed higher
into the foothills of the Alps. Tallie called to Magnus, who was
riding.
"Magnus, I don't think these poor horses can pull us any more. It's
getting terribly steep. Whatever shall we do?" She stared up into the
mountains.
"They cannot possibly pull us over those mountains."
"We stop at the next village," he called back.
"The coach will be dismantled and mules and men will carry it, and us,
over the pass."
"Carry the coach?" she squeaked in amazement.
"Are you hoaxing me?"
He grinned.
"Wait and see."
They stopped for the night at the next village, and in the morning
Tallie saw the coach had been dismantled and bound with rope into a
number of huge packages. A dozen men and as many mules were assembled
outside the tiny inn. There was much shouting and discussion as the
packages was strapped to the mules under the supervision of Maguire.
John Black, Magnus's coachman, watched with phlegmatic English
disapproval.
"Oh, the poor things," Tallie said, clutching Magnus's sleeve in
distress.
"Those bundles are far too big and heavy for such dear little
animals."
"The porters know what they are about, my dear. Do not concern
yourself, they've all--men and mules--done this trip many a time before
today."
Tallie looked around.
"And how do we travel?"
"By mule, I believe," he replied.
Tallie looked aghast.
"I cannot ride a mule."
Magnus frowned.
"You have no choice. There are no horses."
"It would make no difference if there were. I cannot ride. I have
never been on the back of an animal in my life."
Magnus was stumped. He had never heard of such a thing. ;
Everyone he knew rode; even the females.
"What, never?"
She shook her head and bit her lip worriedly.
Magnus walked over to Maguire and the head porter and a brief
discussion ensued. Maguire called out an order and a young boy emerged
from a nearby barn, carrying a large, odd- shaped wicker basket. He
began to strap it to the back of a mule.
Tallie observed the preparations with deep mistrust.
Magnus's lips twitched.
"I am not going over the Alps in that!" she muttered mutinously.
"Then there is no point in continuing. We shall return to Paris at
once," responded Magnus.
She flung him a black look, then stalked over to the mule and waited to
be helped into the basket. One of the porters reached towards her to
do it, but Magnus was there before him. He swung his wife into his
arms and set her sideways in the basket.
"There you are," he said, tucking a thick bearskin around her to
protect her from the cold. It emitted a pungent odour uncomfortably
reminiscent of its original unfortunate inhabitant. Tallie wrinkled
her nose. Magnus bent forward and kissed her lightly on it.
"As snug as a bug in a rug."
She gave him a baleful look.
"I feel very silly. Why can I not walk, like those men?"
He didn't respond, but glanced over to where Monique, with shrieks and
giggles, was being installed likewise on another mule.
"Oh, very well," said Tallie crossly.
"I shall behave myself-but I feel ridiculous."
"Sometimes we must sacrifice dignity for expediency," said Magnus
austerely, and walked away.
The ascent was slow and tortuous, the pathway narrowing visibly until
it seemed to Tallie's eyes no more than a few inches wide. It was
amazing how the porters even knew which was the path, for there were
goat tracks leading off it at almost every turn. The men took it in
turns to carry the huge packs of their belongings. Tallie thought of
all the shopping she had done and felt guilty.
However, she soon cheered up, because the scenery was magnificent:
enormous jagged peaks and rough crags, the occasional twisted tree,
gnarled and bent by the harsh weather. And the higher they climbed the
colder it became, even though it was summer.
The track was narrow and tortuous, but Tallie had no time to be
concerned. The most splendid, awe-inspiring vistas lay all around her,
and fresh delights were revealed with each turn of the track and each
minor peak accomplished. She had never seen anything like it in her
life--only imagined it from books like Mrs. Radcliffe's.
And silence seemed to hang in the air all around them. She could see
some bird of prey, a falcon or a hawk, perhaps, circling with grim
patience over a crag in the distance. She watched it bank and soar
effortlessly, then suddenly dive out of sight, and she shivered,
imagining some poor tiny creature caught in its talons. The air was
cold and crisp and so pure that she felt almost dizzy breathing it.
All she could hear was the stomping of the heavy boots of the men
walking close to her and the occasional musical ringing of a mule's
horseshoes on a stone. The sound carried in the still, crystal air,
rebounding and repeating from the jagged peaks.
Tallie had never heard such a superb echo. She could not resist it.
"Helloooo," she called. The echo came back to her from a dozen distant
crags. Ahead of her Magnus turned on his mule and looked back, as if
concerned. She waved.
"Hellooo, echo," she called again and, "Echo-echo-echo," her words came
back to her.
One of the porters grinned at her delighted face and began to sing. In
seconds others joined in, strong male voices, deep and true, ringing
through the mountains with the joy of being young and strong and alive.
Someone up ahead began a harmony and another man joined him, then
another. An older man with a thick white beard began a third line of
harmony, a deep bass, a
nd more voices joined him. The mountains threw
back the sound, magnifying it and leaving a trail of echoes to mingle
with the harmonies. It was better by far than any choir | Tallie had
heard. It had none of the solemnity and restraint of I a choir. There
was something special about a score or morel lusty male voices, ringing
in the open air, echoing with the confidence of strength and vigour as
their heavy boots pounded out the rhythm. Music rolled and swirled and
echoed around the mountains.
Tallie was enchanted. She sat spellbound, drinking in the wonder of
what was happening. Here was plain, ordinary Tallie Robinson--who had
once thought she would never go any| where--and now look at her!
Almost at the very top of the 1 world, gazing at what was surely one of
the most utterly splendiferous sights imaginable. And listening to the
most glorious music in the world. And up ahead rode her handsome,
