The Forgotten Marriage

by Ellen Fitzgerald

  Much to his surprise, Lucian found himself actually indignant at Barbara’s use of that particular term. “I do not think—” he began.

  “And,” Barbara interrupted, “I am glad that we have a real reason to be rid of her. I thought my suggestion of frightening her from the house a good one. I was the tiniest bit annoyed that you decided against it.”

  “It would have done no good. She does not believe in ghosts.”

  “Well, it little matters now ...” she said, and paused at a knock on the door. “Ah, finally she has arrived,” she continued thankfully. There was a touch of triumph in her tone. “Madame Tasnier will tell you everything!”

  Madame Tasnier was small, thin, and dressed in the black favored by most lodging-housekeepers. She had a narrow face and beady eyes. Her mouth was thin and her nose was slightly hooked. Her complexion was yellow. To Lucian, she breathed of battered old houses on mean streets, of dark halls, steep stairways, and attic bedrooms. The thought of Alicia dwelling in such a place did not sit well with him, which again filled him with surprise. The woman was, he noted, looking at him with some concern. Bobbing a slight curtsy, she said, “I do not believe that me you remember, monsieur?”

  “No,” he said. “My memory—”

  “Oui, ” she interrupted. “Mademoiselle Barrington, she ’as tol’ me. It is a sadness that . . . and tres difficile.”

  “Yes, it does have its difficulties,” he acknowledged. “I am told that you are acquainted with my wife?”

  “She is acquainted with the woman who calls herself your wife,” Barbara corrected quickly. “We are, as you must know, Madame Tasnier, speaking of one Alicia Delacre.”

  “Ah, oui, that one.” Madame Tasnier nodded. “She and the one who call ’imself ’er brother. They in my ’ouse live a short time.”

  Lucian leaned forward. “He calls himself her brother? Mr. Delacre?”

  “Ah, oui, that one who is, ’ow you say, an ivory turner.”

  “An ivory turner!” Lucian exclaimed.

  “ ’E ’as that reputation.” Madame Tasnier nodded.

  “I cannot believe that Lucian is interested in his, er, profession, Madame. Tell him about his, er, relations with the woman, known hereabouts as his sister.”

  “Eh, bien. These two . . . they are tres friendly for a brother and ’is sister. I ’ave seen them ...” She shook her head. “But I do not like to tell what I ’ave seen.”

  “Please, for the sake of my poor friend, you must,” Barbara prompted. “Please.”

  “Ah, non, I cannot. Suffice to say only that I ’appen to know that these two . . . they are not related.”

  “How do you know that?” Lucian rasped.

  “My dear, you sound as if you did not believe Madame Tasnier.” Barbara stared at him in consternation. “There is not much of a family resemblance between them ... if you will remember.”

  “No, but—”

  “Ah, mon pauvre monsieur, I speak the truth.” Madame Tasnier sighed. “Rooms they share, but they come at different times and in my ’ouse they meet pour la premiere fois.”

  “The first time, Lucian, the first time,” Barbara said triumphantly.

  “Yes, I understood what she meant,” he said more sharply than he had intended. He continued, “Would you, Madame Tasnier, would you say that to my wife’s face?”

  “Lucian,” Barbara exclaimed. “Are you once more implying that Madame Tasnier is not telling the truth?”

  ‘‘C'est vrai.” Madame Tasnier drew herself up. “Monsieur, me, I speak true, and, oui, oui, oui, I would say the same to ’er.”

  “Then, say it you shall,” Lucian exclaimed. “I want you to come with me to Richmond.”

  “Richmond?” Madame Tasnier looked blank. “Where is this Richmond?”

  “It is in Yorkshire, nearly two hundred miles from here,” Barbara explained. She looked at Lucian. “My love, you have the register and you have Madame Tasnier’s sworn statement. Can it be that you still require more proof?”

  “I would like to hear what my . . . what she says when confronted with this woman,” Lucian replied. He was surprised at the doubts that were assailing him, surprised because he would not see Alicia in any house over which this creature presided. Yet, coupled with his incipient disbelief was a fear that, after all, she might be telling the truth. He looked at Barbara and, for once, received no pleasure from his contemplation of that beautiful and, he thought for the first time, cold, proud face. She reminded him of the statue of some avenging angel while Alicia, who was every bit as beautiful, exuded warmth and love. It was with something closely akin to pain that he mulled over Barbara’s accusations. He fixed his eyes on Madame Tasnier, whom he disliked more each time he looked at her. “Will you come with me to Richmond?” he repeated.

  “If you are willing to go, Madame Tasnier, I will accompany you,” Barbara said determinedly. “Iam sure we will be able to make the journey in your coach, Lucian?”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Madame Tasnier visited a sharp look upon Lucian’s face.

  “Me, I do not like the idea that I am not believed, particularly when it comes to that salope. But I will go.”

  Lucian winced. He was aware of a sinking feeling. He had been trying to test her veracity and she had accepted that test or challenge, as the case might be. “Very well,” he said. “I hope that you will be able to start first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “Ah, oui” Madame Tasnier nodded.

  Staring at her unprepossessing countenance, Lucian thought she bore a close resemblance to a bird of prey. He pitied anyone who had had the misfortune to stay in her lodging house and the thought of Alicia being under that roof was particularly horrible to him. And if she had been, he would not blame her for trying any device to be free of it. He did not want to think of her possible connection with the man she had introduced as her brother.

  He glanced at Barbara. She was smiling triumphantly and it occurred to him that he would not relish the idea of being closeted with either her or Madame Tasnier in the confines of his coach. He hoped that the weather would permit him to ride on horseback most if not all the way.

  13

  In spite of a well-sprung coach and comfortable inns, Barbara and Madame Tasnier pronounced the journey hectic. Miss Barrington also castigated Lucian on his decision to ride outside most of the way, angrily refuting his excuse that he did not want her to feel crowded. She pointed out that his coach was commodious and that, furthermore, she would never have been discommoded by his presence. When they finally reached the Barrington estate, both ladies shrank from the thought of five extra miles and Lucian managed to anger Barbara still more by refusing her invitation to remain with them.

  “ ‘Twould not be seemly without your mother in residence,” he had said. “I think I must return to the abbey.”

  ‘‘You will not say anything to that woman, will you?” Barbara demanded. “Forewarned is forearmed, you know, and she is very clever.”

  “I will say nothing,” he assured her. His horse being weary, he borrowed a mount from the Barrington stables, and accompanied by Martin, one of his outriders, and Jacob, he set off for the abbey.

  It was growing dark by the time Lucian and his companions arrived at the abbey gates. That the gatekeeper did not come out to greet them failed to surprise him. He was old and crochety and a glance through his window would suffice, but it occurred to Lucian that it was time and past that the man be pensioned off. He had done very little about the servants. He had also failed to hire more keepers. And that he should have done, given Juliet Cotterel’s warning. He had been remiss all around, letting Alicia get along with what could be called a skeleton staff, at least compared to the retinue of retainers in most country houses. She had not complained and she had managed very well.

  He frowned. It was amazing how his initial prejudice had dissipated, and without his even knowing it. No, that was not entirely true. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he had known it, had de
sired her as much, if he were absolutely frank with himself, as much as he had once desired Barbara. It was well that Barbara could not see into his mind.

  During the past four days, he had been trying to deal with the possibility that once the situation with Alicia was resolved, he would be able to wed Barbara, who, when they had put up at the various inns to be found along the Great North Road, had said more than once that she hated Yorkshire in general and the abbey in particular.

  She had begun several sentences with the observation, “Were it not for you, dearest Lucian, I would never set foot in this part of the country again. I hated it as a child, with its freezing winds and its bleak moors. Indeed, I wonder that that creature who has had the temerity to call herself your wife had the fortitude to stand it.”

  Upon his answering that Alicia had seemed to like the abbey, she had attributed that to her oft-mentioned “duplicity,” adding that obviously there were no ends to which she would not go in order to retain her hold over him.

  Thinking of Barbara’s contentions, it was still difficult for him to match them with the young woman he had come to know. Alicia had seemed to love the abbey and she certainly had labored long and hard to rearrange the rooms. She was liked by his friends, and generally they could tell the true from the false. The servants respected her and they were even more discerning than their masters. If only there was not this blackness in his mind . . .

  Riding around a bend in the road, he was surprised and shocked to find that the house was dark. Usually, by this hour, the windows were ablaze with candlelight. He glanced over his shoulder at Martin and Jacob. “There does not seem to be anyone at home,” he remarked uneasily.

  “No, my Lord,” Martin said.

  “An’ where be Effie?” Jacob sounded equally uneasy.

  Lucian spurred his horse forward, and reaching the entrance to the house, he leapt down and secured his mount at a nearby post. Martin and Jacob would have ridden to the stables, but something prompted Lucian to say quickly, “No, stay with me.”

  A few seconds later, coming up on the porch, a most unwelcome suspicion was forming in Lucian’s mind. Had Alicia taken advantage of his absence to flee? Had she, being as clever as Madame Tasnier and Barbara insisted, guessed that his hasty decision to leave for London was based on the fact that her perfidy had come to light? It was a suspicion he must needs entertain, and yet, at the same time, he deeply regretted that necessity. In spite of all Madame Tasnier had had to say in London and during the course of their journey, her presence had continued to revolt him; oddly enough, the idea of Alicia spending as much as a moment under her roof had continued to disgust and anger him. However, he remembered unhappily, the woman had not deviated from her story one iota and there was the further evidence of the marriage register.

  Reaching the door, he saw that the curtains of the small windows on either side of the door were not even drawn. Was the house empty, then? He slammed the knocker against its plate and then there were cries behind him. He whirled in time to see Martin stagger and fall beside Jacob, who lay at the bottom of the steps. A dark shape with something in its hand sprang toward him. He moved aside but could not avoid a blow to the head. It sent sparks dancing before his eyes and was followed by a blotting out of everything.

  The cannon boomed and there was the clash of steel on steel. On every side of him came grunts and groans and cries of mortal agony. He lay on the ground, his face pressed against the earth. His head ached fiercely and there was a pounding at his temples. He had been struck down, he realized, while fighting hand to hand with a French officer. The man’s visage had been splotched with blood. He was weakening, and then, from behind, someone else had come and struck the blow that had felled him. His leg hurt him, too. He was in considerable pain, but at least he was alive. He was glad of that. If he had died, he would never see his love again, and even if he went to heaven, it would be hell without Alicia.

  Rough voices were in his ears and a woman’s cry ... A woman on the battlefield? Some officers’ wives had traveled with them, but could not have ventured into the thick of the fighting. The guns had suddenly stopped booming and now he no longer felt the rubble of the field beneath his cheek. No, there was a floor ... A floor? Yes, he could not be mistaken in that ... a wooden floor. Had he been pulled into one of the little houses that he had seen on his way here?

  “Do not touch me,” someone cried. It had been a woman’s voice, a voice he knew. Lucian opened his eyes and saw furniture legs. And beyond them, on the wall, flickering shadows cast there by candle flames. And across the floor he now saw feet, small feet in neat black slippers. He tensed. Those feet were bound together by a rope and above them was the edge of a gown, a golden-brown material that he knew from somewhere . . . and there was a sound in his ears, footsteps, heavy footsteps coming down a flight of stairs.

  “Damn’n blast, I cannot find ’em,” a man growled.

  “Damn ye for a blasted simpleton. I told ye where to look,” rasped another equally rough voice.

  “But 'tis all every which way . . . wasn’t where we left’m. Somebody’s been at them trunks.”

  “Ah, an’ would you be knowin’ about that, my pretty?” demanded his companion.

  “I do not know what you mean,” came the answer, delivered in a small, unsteady voice.

  “Alicia,” Lucian mouthed, and started to raise his throbbing head, but thought better of it. He closed his eyes as memories parted from his mind for so long a time rolled over him like the waves of an ocean, shutting out all other sounds but bringing with them realization, at last. And with it came a lifting of the black curtain that concealed so many, many secrets. Yet, he could not dwell on these; he must try to understand what had happened: why Alicia, his dearest love, his wife, was bound to a chair in the great hall of the abbey, by thieves, two of them, unless he were deeply mistaken. No, more than two, he decided as another set of footsteps clumped heavily across the floor.

  “Wot’s all this?” demanded the newcomer. “Where’s the swag?”

  “ 'E can't find it,” returned Voice Number Two.

  “Wot’s this? ’Ave ye in yer mind to gammon me?”

  There were strong protests from the other two men and then the third man said contemptuously, “The two o’ ye couldn’t find yer own noses’n them attached to yer ugly faces. I tol’ you where ’twas. Ye come wi’ men ye'll find it right enough.”

  “Wot? ’N leave ’im on the floor wi’out bindin’ ’im up?”

  “Nah, look at ’im. Ain’t stirred an inch since I laid ’im out,” said the second man. Footsteps approached Lucian. His head was lifted by the hair and let drop; pain shot through him, but resolutely he did not stir. “You see . . . ’e’s as cold as a trout an’ if yer not sure look at this.”

  Lucian had expected it and braced himself, but when the kick to his ribs was administered, a groan escaped him. Fortunately, it was covered by Alicia’s scream.

  “Let him alone,” she wailed. “Can you not see—” There was another cry, followed by rough laughter.

  “Let ’er be,” Voice Number Three exclaimed. “Ye can buss ’er later’n to yer ’eart's content. She be a pretty piece, I’ll tell you’n a fair exchange for the one wot got away, wot d’ye say to that, my lass? ’Twas you took in our Juliet, were it not? An’ you’ll ’oo’ll go in ’er place, one wench is very like the next.”

  “I’d rather die,” she cried.

  “ ’Twas wot she said, but she didn’t, ’n didn’t even try. She were ’appy enough’n ye’ll be ’appy too. Let me gi’ ye a taste o’ wot she got’n see if you don’t agree, lovey.”

  There was another cry from Alicia. Lucian bit back a groan. He was hard put not to stir, not to leap to his feet and choke the life from her tormentor. However, in his present weakened condition, he could do very little against the three of them. He would have to wait.

  “Bide ye there, Mark,” one of the men growled.

  “Aye, I don’t mind,” the other responded.


  In another few minutes only Mark remained in the hall, striding back and forth. Lucian, daring to open his eyes, could see the glint of his spurs on his mud-caked boots. Suddenly he strode to Alicia's chair and now his thick legs shut it from Lucian’s vision. Tensing, he cautiously lifted his head. A wave of dizziness coursed through him and Mark growled, “Eh, but yer a pretty piece. I’ll ’ave a taste o’ ye myself. Share’n share alike’s wot I say.”

  “Keep away from me,” Alicia cried furiously. “You . . .” Her words were muffled, and listening to those strangled sounds, Lucian could bear it no longer. Rising swiftly but silently, he saw the suit of armor with the mace caught in its mailed fist. As a child, he had once pulled it out and tried to swing it around him, but to no avail and an eventual beating from his father. Yet, it had come from that hand easily enough, he remembered; it had only been resting there. Hoping against hope, he reached for it and pulled it out, but this time the figure rocked dangerously and crashed to the floor. Caught off guard, the man called Mark turned with a cry and Lucian swung the mace, catching his would-be assailant in the chest. With a strangled groan, he stood staring wide-eyed at Lucian and then, clutching his chest, fell forward, lying very still. Shooting a look at the stairs, Lucian stepped to them and stood there for a moment, his ears straining for sounds, but there were none. Moving back, he said to Alicia, “Are there more than three of them?"

  “I do not believe so. I am not sure,” she said weakly. She looked up at him in concern. “Your head . . . and he kicked you.”

  “Never mind that, my very dearest,” he said. Moving behind her chair, he winced, seeing that the ropes that bound her wrists were pulled so tight that even in the wavering light in the hall her hands looked unnaturally white. Kneeling, he started to yank at the knots.