I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from shouting at him to hurry up.
He picks up a lamp from a shelf by the back door and we go outside into the night. He lights our way along a gravel path running through a garden. Low hedges, wet with dew, brush against my knees and the scent of moist earth and damask roses overlays the city stench. Before us a low building is silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
A figure looms out of the shadows, making me jump.
Dr Dubois holds up his lamp and I recognise the other man as Etienne’s groom.
‘How is he, Colbert?’ asks Dr Dubois.
‘Still asleep.’
‘Then we shall carry him upstairs.’
I follow Colbert and Dr Dubois into the stable. Etienne’s carriage is stowed at one end and his horses are in the loose boxes, jaws working as they munch their hay.
Dr Dubois unrolls the canvas on to the clean straw underfoot. There are wooden poles slotted through loops either side of the narrower ends.
Colbert opens the carriage door.
Etienne is slumped inside.
Pushing past Colbert, I bend over Etienne. He has a ragged cut on his cheek and his left arm is tied up in a sling. He smells of brandy, and sweat, and the metallic tang of blood. I smother his burning forehead with kisses, stroking his face and whispering words of love, but he remains motionless.
‘Etienne!’
He sighs at the sound of my voice but doesn’t awaken and I’m frightened again.
‘Please step down,’ says Dr Dubois, ‘and allow us to remove him from the carriage.’
Reluctantly, I hover impatiently while Colbert and Dr Dubois manhandle Etienne on to the stretcher. ‘Be careful!’ I say as his arm falls and his knuckles scrape along the steps. I lift his hand and place it across his chest.
‘Shall I fetch a footman?’ asks Colbert, eyeing the doctor as he catches his breath.
Dr Dubois shakes his head. ‘The servants would recognise your master and I don’t care to risk the news travelling abroad that I am harbouring a noble under my roof.’
I glance anxiously at Etienne, who lies unmoving on the stretcher. ‘Shall I go on ahead and see if the coast is clear?’
‘Take the lamp but don’t worry about Madame Brochard,’ he says. ‘She’s faithful to the end.’
The two men carry the stretcher behind me with its precious burden. At the back door I hold up a hand to stay their progress as a maid hurries past with her coal bucket and then beckon them to follow me.
We arrive at the top of the stairs and the doctor indicates the guest room with a nod of his head. Once inside, Etienne is laid upon the bed.
Dr Dubois lifts Etienne’s wrist and takes his pulse. ‘I’d hoped the fever would pass now the ball has been removed,’ he says. ‘Being jolted about in a carriage hasn’t helped him but I thought it better to bring him here rather than to leave him in an inn.’
‘Please, let me nurse him,’ I say.
Colbert looks at me and frowns as he peers at my clothes. ‘That’s my coat!’ Then his eyes open wide in surprise. ‘Well, by all that’s holy! Is it really you, Mademoiselle Moreau?’
I hold a finger to my lips.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Terrible things have happened at Château Mirabelle and I came to warn Monsieur d’Aubery.’
Dr Dubois holds up his hand. ‘Later. My first concern now is for my patient. Mademoiselle, you will please turn your back while Colbert and I undress him. Once he is comfortable you may sit beside him.’
I move out of the way while the men strip off Etienne’s blood-stained clothing and place him, naked, in bed and cover him with a sheet. Fresh blood seeps through the bandage from his shoulder.
‘I must change the dressing tomorrow,’ says Dr Dubois, ‘but for tonight I shall leave him undisturbed. Colbert, your work is done for the present and you may sleep in the loft over the stables.’
I rest my hand on Etienne’s forehead again. ‘He’s so very hot, Doctor.’
Before long I have a small table set up beside me with a basin of water, lavender soap and clean cloths. I fold the sheet down to Etienne’s waist and sponge his face and neck. He mutters and a flash of white shows through his slightly parted eyelids but still he does not wake.
‘I gave him a substantial dose of laudanum to dull the pain while we travelled,’ says Dr Dubois, ‘so he may sleep for some time.’
‘I shall remain with him until then,’ I say.
Dr Dubois purses his lips and then shrugs. ‘There are blankets and pillows in the armoire and I will send up some supper for you. After you’ve eaten you should rest while your patient sleeps. Call me if there is any change.’
‘Thank you, Dr Dubois.’
He bows and closes the door behind him.
The housekeeper brings me a tray of soup, bread and a slice of apple tart, together with my bag of belongings. As soon as the door closes behind her I fall upon the tray, suddenly realising how long it has been since I last ate.
Ten minutes later I dab my mouth with the napkin. Perspiration beads Etienne’s forehead and heat radiates from his body. I squeeze out the sponge and start to wipe him again. The cut on his cheek has begun to heal, but the surrounding skin is still inflamed. I rinse the cloth and slowly wipe it over his throat, tracing it down the cords of his neck to the delicate skin in the hollows above his collarbones. Blood stains his bandages. Etienne’s chest is lightly covered in silky black hair and I cannot supress a shiver of desire as I see, lower down, that it forms a dark whorl around his navel and then disappears beneath the sheet.
Concentrating only on this task, refusing to imagine what might happen if he doesn’t recover, I gently wash each well-muscled arm, first the skin of his forearms browned by the sun and then the paler skin above. The reek of stale sweat and blood is gradually replaced with the clean scent of lavender soap.
One by one I wipe his fingers, washing away crusts of dried blood. The skin on his hands is rough from working in the vineyards and his palms are heavily callused. I fold the sheet upwards and wash his feet and legs, drying carefully between his toes. At last, I dab him dry with a clean towel.
I pour a clean basin of water for myself and, hesitating only a moment to check that Etienne still sleeps, strip off my borrowed clothes and wash myself from head to toe. Reluctantly, I dress again in the same soiled shirt and trousers, feeling that it would draw too much attention if I appeared in a dress now.
I pull the armchair close to the bed and watch Etienne sleeping. It’s strange to be able to study him in such detail, to learn every plane of his face, to see the faint blue veins in his eyelids without him watching me. I press my lips to his cheek. ‘Goodnight, my love,’ I whisper.
A muscle twitches in his jaw and his eyelids flicker but still he sleeps. I curl my hand around his.
The room is quiet. Only a few city sounds, a barking dog and a passing horseman can be heard through the window. A clock ticks sonorously on the mantelpiece and I breathe in and out to the same rhythm.
I sleep.
I hear my name and wake with a start. Light is creeping through the edges of the shutters. I yawn and then realise that Etienne’s eyes are open.
‘Madeleine,’ he says, his voice like a caress. ‘I dreamed of you last night but it seems it wasn’t a dream after all.’
‘Etienne, I was so worried! I couldn’t wake you.’ I touch my fingers to his neck. ‘Thank God! The fever’s broken.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Dr Dubois brought you here to his house.’
Etienne frowns in concentration. ‘I remember now. I crossed the Channel in a fishing boat and landed in a small cove under cover of darkness. The captain was expecting to load a fresh cargo of brandy and sail off again to England with the morning tide, but the militia was waiting for us.’
I grip his hand in fear of what might have been.
‘Several men went down,’ he says, ‘and there was such confusion… I was shot in
the shoulder but escaped.’ He closes his eyes for a moment, his breathing agitated.
I stroke his forehead. ‘Shhh, now!’
‘Somehow I found my way back to the inn where Colbert was waiting for me. He carried me upstairs and put me to bed. My shoulder hurt like the very devil and he tried to remove the ball but it only made things worse. We daren’t call for a doctor. Colbert rode Diable, hell for leather, back to Paris to fetch Dr Dubois.’
‘You’re quite safe now,’ I say.
He smiles faintly. ‘I have nine lives, like a cat. But how did you come to be here? Is Sophie with you?’
I shake my head and tears well up in my eyes. I must not think of Sophie or little Marianne yet. ‘I came to warn you.’ I’m unsure how to break the news of Jean-Luc’s betrayal. ‘All is not well at Château Mirabelle.’
‘Is Jean-Luc with you?’
Mutely, I shake my head.
‘You came all the way to Paris, alone?’ He tries to sit up and I restrain him. ‘What has happened?’
‘So much that I hardly know where to begin.’ I’m reluctant to recount the truth in case the shock is too much for him, in his weakened state.
Etienne takes my hand. ‘Madeleine, you must tell me. Otherwise I shall only imagine something worse than it is.’
‘It’s very bad, Etienne. The worst news you can imagine.’
He shakes his head. ‘As long as you are safely by my side nothing else matters.’
I kiss our entwined fingers, feeling a tiny shaft of pleasure amongst the sorrow. ‘It’s Jean-Luc,’ I say.
He squeezes my hand tightly, his eyes shadowed with sudden fear. ‘Not dead?’
‘If only it were so,’ I say, my voice full of bitterness.
‘Madeleine, what are you saying? Jean-Luc is my closest friend.’
‘He’s no friend to you! He has done you incalculable harm.’
He stares at me. ‘You must have misunderstood…’
‘Misunderstood?’ The anger swells in my chest until I cannot contain it. ‘Etienne, Jean-Luc has been a secret poison in your life for years. He murdered Sophie and Marianne, and your wife and family!’
He grips my hand. ‘He killed Isabelle?’
‘And he tried to kill me and has turned the villagers against you. Even now they have taken over Château Mirabelle and are burning the books in your library and stealing all your treasures. Jean-Luc has denounced you as a spy and if you return there you will be executed.’
Etienne stares at me, his mouth slack with shock. ‘I can’t…’
‘I know it sounds as if I’m raving,’ I say. ‘It’s hard to believe the depths of his treachery, but I promise you that I’m telling the truth.’
‘Could you be mistaken?’
‘I wish I were.’
‘But why?’
‘Because Jean-Luc is your half-brother and wants what is yours.’
‘My half-brother?’ His expression is incredulous.
‘Let me tell you the whole story.’
Half an hour later Etienne leans back against the pillows, white-faced, while his fingers pluck at the sheet folded over his chest. The sight of his distress hurts me and I sit on the bed beside him and wrap my arms around him.
‘I can hardly comprehend it,’ he whispers. ‘If it had been anyone but you telling me this story I should not have believed them.’
The door opens and Dr Dubois enters. ‘I see my patient is awake. I’m sorry to disturb such a touching scene but we’d better have a look at that shoulder, Etienne.’
Pink with embarrassment, I slide off the bed.
Dr Dubois keeps up a flow of conversation while he deftly unwinds the bandages.
‘The wound is still angry, Etienne,’ he says, ‘but there is less infection.’ He smiles at me. ‘You have a good nurse in Mademoiselle, or should I say Monsieur, Moreau? She may keep you company if you wish?’
‘I’m not letting her out of my sight,’ says Etienne, reaching out for my hand. ‘Not after what has happened.’
‘You never told me the turn of events that brought you here, Mademoiselle Moreau,’ says Dr Dubois.
I render a brief version of the facts and at the end of it he shakes his head. ‘After recent happenings here in Paris, the beheadings and the terrible atmosphere of suspicion, with neighbour denouncing neighbour, you can trust no one, Etienne.’
‘I’m beginning to understand that,’ he says. ‘When the Moreaux and I arrived at my house in Rue de Richelieu to break our journey to the coast, a mob of revolutionaries threw stones at us. Once we were inside they tried to force their way through the door. Your grandmother nearly died of fright, Madeleine. When we left, I instructed my housekeeper to close the house and go to stay with her daughter until I send for her again.’
‘You escaped lightly,’ says Dr Dubois. ‘The new Law of Suspects has made terror the order of the day. Anyone whose neighbour has a grudge against him has reason to be frightened since little proof is required when charged with a crime against the Revolution. Punishment is fast and merciless. The tumbrils are rattling their way to the guillotine daily.’
Etienne rubs his eyes in despair.
Dr Dubois sighs. ‘I have other patients to attend to now. I will see you at dinner.’
Chapter 36
Later that afternoon Etienne insists on getting up. ‘I shan’t sleep tonight if I don’t get some fresh air. Anger against Jean-Luc is seething inside me and I must take my mind off it. Where are my clothes?’
‘They were so torn and soaked with blood that we had to burn them.’
‘Then fetch my bag, please.’
It’s useless to argue with him when his mouth is folded in that line of grim determination.
In his travelling bag I find a shirt stiff with seawater and sweat and help him to ease it over his bandages.
Discreetly, I turn my back while he struggles into loose workmen’s trousers and ties the waist with cord. Then I pass him a shabby homespun coat with a limp red, white and blue cockade pinned to one shoulder.
‘There’s a revolutionary sash in the pocket,’ he says. ‘I’d better put it on, if only for the benefit of the servants.’
Unsteadily, he stands up and runs his fingers through his tousled hair. ‘I need a shave,’ he says. ‘I must look like the worst kind of peasant.’
‘Tomorrow,’ I say, tucking my pigtail inside the man’s cap I wear. ‘Now take my arm.’
We make slow progress and Etienne is pale and shaking by the time we reach the garden. A blackbird sings in a tree, the liquid notes full of joy. We sit side by side on a bench in the knot garden. I stretch out my legs and some of the tension of the past days drains away. For now I decide to put aside sadness and revel in the company of the man I love.
I watch Etienne carefully as he draws in deep breaths, eyes closed and face turned up to the autumn sunshine. He’s pale under his tan and the fierce stubble on his chin is blue-black. His hair falls in dishevelled curls over his forehead but he’s still the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.
A smile spreads across his face. ‘I can feel you watching me.’
‘You’re exhausted. I should have made you stay in bed.’
He shakes his head. ‘Blood loss has made me weak but I’ll be well again soon. Meanwhile, I must plan what we are going to do.’
‘We can’t go back to Château Mirabelle,’ I say.
Etienne sighs deeply. ‘Everything I thought was true has turned out to be a sham.’ He turns to me. ‘Except for you, Madeleine.’
I cannot help but laugh. ‘You say that when I’m sitting beside you disguised as a youth?’
‘You make a very fetching youth, if I may say so.’ He curls his fingers around my hand.
The sound of an altercation drifts out of the kitchen window, disturbing the peace.
‘Perhaps Cook has burned the dinner,’ says Etienne, closing his eyes again.
A man shouts and then a girl screams. A door slams violently and I sit up in alarm. ‘Shal
l I go and see what’s happening?’
Then the doors from the drawing room open and footsteps crunch over the gravel path.
‘Etienne!’ I whisper, my heart somersaulting in my chest.
Dressed in his fine coat of cornflower blue silk, matching knee breeches and white stockings, Jean-Luc is strutting towards us.
‘Well, well,’ he drawls as he comes to a halt. ‘Look at the lovebirds!’ He shakes his head in mock consternation. ‘People will spread terrible rumours about you, Etienne, if you’re seen holding hands with a young man. I understand now why my enquiries for a lady travelling alone came to naught.’
Etienne struggles to his feet. ‘How dare you show your face here?’
‘Has Madeleine been telling tales out of school? She’s cleverer than I gave her credit for, but still stupid enough to leave a note at your townhouse letting me know where to find you.’
The familiar scent of Jean-Luc’s musky hair pomade almost makes me gag.
‘I thought we were friends, Jean-Luc?’ Etienne’s voice is low and I can hear the hurt in it.
Jean-Luc’s face twists into a bitter smile. ‘We were, up to a point. But did you not think how galling it was for me to be ever at your side but never your equal?’ His voice grows hard. ‘I’m older than you and our father should have passed on the estate to me. Still, everything is different now,’ he says. ‘It took me years to formulate and carry out my plans but I had to act swiftly when Isabelle told me she was breeding.’
‘You bastard!’ Etienne is white and shaking with rage.
‘That, of course, was my problem,’ says Jean-Luc. ‘Despite that I’ve turned the situation to my best advantage. And the Revolution has evened up the odds for me. Château Mirabelle is mine now.’
‘Not for much longer!’
Jean-Luc’s smug smile makes my fingers itch to slap his face.
‘You have cause to be grateful to me. Now that you know Isabelle is dead, you’re free to pursue your affair with Madeleine,’ he says. ‘And you’re welcome to her since she’s proved herself unworthy of me. What a shame that you’ll have so little time together.’
The Chateau on the Lake Page 34
