He turned back to Coster, who was fidgeting from one foot to the other. Before Garrett could say a word, Coster removed something shiny from his pocket and handed it to Garrett.
“I’m sorry, my lord. ‘Tis all my fault.”
Garrett recognized the brooch in his palm as one that Lady Sanvale wore frequently. He looked at Coster in confusion. “Come again, Coster. You’re not making yourself clear. Why would you give me Lady Sanvale’s brooch?”
“You’re to keep it for now. ‘Tis from Madeleine.”
“Why would Madeleine give me a brooch? Where the devil did this come from?” Garrett frowned at his servant. “Coster, you have much to explain. Start at the beginning.”
“I know ‘twas wrong.” Coster sighed. “Ye must punish me, my lord, for I deserve it. I ne’er should ha’ helped her.”
His words had an immediate impact upon Garrett. The Hall grew quiet as everyone gathered there waiting for Madeleine watched intently.
Garrett’s tone was even and controlled. “What did you help Madeleine do, Coster?”
Coster fumbled for the words before they rushed out in a torrent. He explained how Madeleine was worried about her mum and how he’d helped her borrow a horse to reach home for a short visit.
“She promised to return the horse, my lord. The brooch was only if something unforeseen happened to her. Ye were to have it.”
“Where did she go, Coster?”
“Why, down Sussex way, my lord.”
A cacophony of whispers filled the room. “She’s got a mother, he said?”
“I bet ‘er mum is as pretty as she is.”
“Why’d she go now, ye think?”
Garrett felt as if he’d been torn in two. As soon as he had declared his love for her, Madeleine had disappeared without a word to him.
Just as Lynnette had.
Why would she do such a thing?
She’d admitted doing things she would reveal to no man. Was she a thief, as he’d once suspected? He squeezed the brooch in his fist, knowing it belonged to Lady Sanvale. Had Madeleine helped herself to such a pretty piece?
That could not be the case. The dowager had a kind heart and had greatly admired Madeleine. It would not surprise him if the old woman had gifted Madeleine with the brooch.
Then why had Madeleine gone? He swallowed hard, thinking of her scarred legs and back. Did her sudden disappearance have something to do with those old injuries?
His love for Madeleine was strong enough to outweigh anything he’d learned about her. To learn the truth about her was taking a chance. But as he lived and breathed, he knew it was a chance he must take.
He forced as pleasant as an expression as he could muster onto his face as he turned to de Picassaret. “I’m afraid I have some unexpected business to attend to. I trust my servants to meet your needs for the short time that I need be gone.”
De Picassaret’s face turned a deep red. “But, sir, we have business to conduct.”
Garrett waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of all that.” He paused, aware of the countless eyes upon him. “Have your man draw up the necessary papers. I’ll sign them immediately upon my return, then send them posthaste to your estate. We’ll be in business together by the next harvest.”
When de Picassaret didn’t say anything, he added, “Does that suit you, sir?
“Of course.” He hesitated. “This woman, Madeleine, must be important for someone like you to drop a business deal in this manner.”
“No one you need concern yourself about.” He turned to Coster. “I will deal with you upon my return,” he told the gentle giant. “For now, saddle my horse. I ride to London.”
Chapter 21
Garrett cursed, loud and long, the entire ride to London, disregarding those he passed. He knew they thought him mad, but he didn’t care. Madeleine had driven him to the point of insanity.
Why had she left?
Had her guilt over the consummation of their love driven her from his arms into God’s? She had told him she planned to enter a convent. Was there one within the walls of London in which she could hide from him?
And what of her family? Did Peter and her parents really exist, or were they more of her fanciful tales? How could he have fallen in love with someone who lied as easily as birds flew or ducks swam? Why could he not let her go and simply get on with his life?
“Because I had no life before her.” A pleasant existence had been destroyed by a runaway wife, and that part of his life was still unresolved. Now he was chasing after yet another woman who had deserted him.
As surely as the sun would rise, Madeleine was his ray of hope. Garrett ached inside with the knowledge that he had no future if she did not share it with him. He needed Madeleine as much as he needed the air he breathed. He craved her, all of her—her humor and intelligence, her warmth and kindness, her willowy body and its hidden curves of pleasure. He would seek her out to the ends of the earth, kiss her into submission, and then drag her home to Stanbury.
He pictured the scars on her legs and back and wondered if her flight had some connection with the abuse she had suffered. He’d not said a word to her about them after they’d made love. He doubted she had any idea he knew just how terribly she’d been scarred. No, when he found her he’d smother her with love then demand answers. The truth, this time.
The massive gates to London were sealed when he reached them. He rode up, a solitary figure in the still morn. He cursed his luck, knowing he would be denied entrance until sunrise. He dismounted Ebony and paced back and forth, his breath visible in the damp night air.
He’d taken a huge risk by coming to London, but he would have expected Madeleine to mislead Coster as to her final destination, knowing the serf would eventually pass along the information to Garrett. It was a flimsy excuse. He doubted Madeleine even had a mother, much less one as close as Sussex.
No, his heart told him she was somewhere within those walls. He would find her, his French beauty. As he’d ridden, it became clear to him. Her gestures were typical of the French. Even her very name was French. She could be related to the same Bouchards at Chateau Brasnais. He would begin at the waterfront and see which ships were headed to France.
As he waited he continued to pace, searching his memory for any clues within his grasp. All had seemed well until the arrival of Henri de Picassaret.
Garrett halted in his tracks, his legs tingling from the constant pacing. Was that the connection? De Picassaret was French. Did the nobleman know Madeleine? Or her abuser? Garrett tried to recall if Madeleine had reacted oddly in any way once he’d told her de Picassaret was to visit Stanbury. He had been so enamored with her and the time they’d spent in his bed that he remembered little else.
She had fled when the Frenchman arrived. There was some connection. If only he’d thought to speak to de Picassaret in-depth before he stormed away from Stanbury. The vineyard owner must think him mad.
He remembered the nobleman had indicated he would make his way to London upon leaving Stanbury, as he was ready to return to his home. It could be worth his while to locate him. The Frenchman might shed some light on the mystery called Madeleine Bouchard.
The sun broke across the horizon, slowly casting its rays against the gates. A nightingale called for its mate, the sound mocking him. The tired watchman peered down upon him.
“Must warn ye, my lord, ‘bout the typhus. Was raging fair out o’ control for a while, though ‘tis been much better these last few weeks. I’m suppose to let all travelers know this before they enter.”
The thought of falling to typhus gave Garret a chill, but his choice was made. “Hell and be damned, man! Open up!”
The clang of the gate behind him sent a shiver up his spine, but it also renewed his commitment. The city was quiet in the bleak dawn. Little activity was to be seen. As Garrett headed for the waterfront, he spotted a few bodies wrapped in sheets, left outside for the early morning death wagon. The greenish stains on the linen reminded him o
f his vigil at Luke’s bedside as he lay dying of the dreaded disease. Besides the fever and vomiting, Luke had been racked with abdominal pains and reddish spots that appeared all over his torso. He had been confused, too, which hurt Garrett most of all.
Many vessels of all shapes and sizes filled the harbor. Trade was at a standstill. It looked as if few ships, if any, had been let out during the epidemic. If that were the case, it might be easier to find Madeleine than he originally thought.
He first sought out the harbormaster, eventually finding him asleep in a nearby tavern. The place was littered with drunken sailors, sleeping off their night of carousing. He shook the man awake and pulled him out into the empty streets, as much for a private word as to escape the stench of stale, unwashed bodies.
The man recognized him through blood-shot eyes. “Why, Lord Montayne,” he slurred. “What brings you to London? ‘Tis not our usual time to do business.”
“I know, Raleigh, but I have need of information.” Garrett produced a gold coin, which Raleigh quickly pocketed. The man wiped his chin on a sleeve.
“How bad is this typhus?”
Raleigh rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pushed back the falling strands of hair. “Just about run its course, m’lord. The death count has fallen off considerably with the cooler weather. I’ve been told we’ll open up for trade in a week’s time. His majesty’s counselor was sure of it.”
His speech was interrupted by a loud grumbling. Raleigh looked sheepishly at Garrett. “Sorry. M’ stomach just about rules me, I fear.”
“I require your help, Raleigh.”
The harbormaster squinted. “What need you, m’lord?”
Garrett quickly explained. “More than likely she’ll wish to sail for France. Can you find her?”
Raleigh nodded wearily. “All of the manifests will come my way.”
“Not good enough, Raleigh. She would think to travel under a different name.”
“If you’re willing to spend the gold, I can arrange for the port to be watched carefully. Give me the name and a description of this woman, and I assure you she will be found.”
Garrett paused before he spoke as his loss of Madeleine washed over him anew. “She’s very tall. Thin as a reed. Her hair is the color of wheat in the summer as ‘tis ready to be threshed. Her eyes are a deep amethyst, and she has a small scar running across—”
“I know her. ‘Tis the same woman.”
Garrett’s insides raced. “What mean you, Raleigh?”
“Back in the spring a Frenchman came to me. He described the exact woman you now do. He was also very anxious to find her.”
“Who was this man?” Garrett demanded, ready to slam the man’s face into the nearest post. “I’ll have his name.”
Raleigh shook his head. “Don’t recall it. He were a servant, but he had plenty of coin to pass around. She had booked passage on a cargo ship bound for Calais, but she never showed up to sail.”
So he was right. She was French. And she had been running from her abuser the night they’d met. He was sure of it.
“Was her name Madeleine Bouchard?”
Raleigh grinned, his yellowed teeth prominently displayed. “That it were, m’lord. That it were.”
Garrett completed his arrangements with Raleigh and left for his London home. It would be dark since his servants weren’t expecting him, but he was weary from his long ride. With no ships sailing for at least a week, he knew Madeleine was stuck in London. Garrett wanted nothing more than his bed for now. The sleep would rejuvenate him as he matched wits with his beloved Madeleine. When rested, he would begin his search.
Although Garrett thought he’d confiscated all of Madeleine’s jewels when he removed them from her tunics, she must have had more hidden, counting on selling them to aid her escape. He’d visit as many jewelers as he could. Surely she would turn up that way.
It took two days before he found a man who remembered her. He was a wizened bag of bones, but his eyes sparkled as he spoke of her.
“Oh, yes, my lord, ‘twould only be her that ye describe. A vision of loveliness, she was. I really didn’t want what she was trying to pawn, but she seemed desperate for money. I gave her the best price I could.” He sighed. “Would you like to see the piece?” Garrett had no desire to, but his need of further information from the shriveled little man drove him to respond. “Yes. Show it to me.”
The jeweler reached under his counter and lifted a necklace, placing it on black velvet for better display.
Garrett glanced at it perfunctorily and then whipped his eyes back, startled that the necklace was indeed very familiar to him.
It had belonged to Lynnette.
How had it come into Madeleine’s possession?
He felt a queasiness in his stomach as a moment of doubt flooded him. Did Madeleine know what happened to Lynnette? Was this the unspeakable act she referred to? Was the woman who filled his every waking moment in league with someone who . . .
He turned to the shriveled jeweler. “And you said the woman I described sold this to you?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. ‘Tis a nice piece, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Garrett agreed. “Very nice. How much?”
It was early afternoon when Garrett climbed the stairs of the dark, dank building. A child wailed loudly in the distance. The smell of urine and stale vomit overwhelmed him. A tattered woman and her young son passed him on the stairs, their eyes downcast, their faces covered with filth. Garrett shuddered at the place Madeleine had chosen to hide, guessing her funds must have dwindled considerably if this was the best she could afford.
It had been easy to find her. She’d given the jeweler a good idea where she could be found in case he had further interest in her stones.
Garrett heard her voice as he neared the top of the rickety stairs.
“Zut, zut! Oh, when will this end?”
Yes, that was his darling, cursing in French. Quietly, Garrett opened the door.
The alcove was small, with barely enough room for a narrow bed and chair. Stale air hung like a curtain, blanketing the entire space. A fat rat scurried by his foot, as if glad to make its escape from the enclosed place. The only window was cracked down the middle, and he could feel the sharp wind pour into the nook, chilling him.
Madeleine was on her knees next to the lumpy bed, her fingers laced together, her head bowed. She was giving God a dressing down, with a few apologies thrown in for good measure. A single shaft of sunlight fell upon her, radiating a halo around her head. His desperate, runaway angel.
“Oh, my Sweet Lord, I’m so sorry, but I cannot say any more “Hail Mary’s”! I’m so tired and lonely and frustrated. I want only to serve You, but I cannot stop thinking of Garrett.”
She sighed, biting her lower lip. “I know I must never see him again, my Dear Lord, for I know marriage vows are sacred. I am so very sorry indeed. I just want to go home now and see ma mere et mon pere. I miss them so much. I promise to go to the convent if you’ll only grant me a few days of peace with them.”
She crossed herself once and then again. “In Your Name, oh Holy Christ, I offer these prayers. Amen.”
Without opening her eyes, she flung herself against the tattered quilt. Once again, her sobs were silent. Somehow Garrett felt sure these noiseless tears were a key connected to her past.
Garrett stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.
She banged her fists against the bed several times and then croaked out, “Oh, Garrett, I miss you so.”
“Then why did you run away?” he asked softly.
Her head popped up. Her face was red, her eyes swollen from crying. She began to tremble all over. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head back and forth. “It can’t be.” She rose unsteadily to her feet. “I . . . I don’t want to see you,” she said stubbornly, her chin rising a notch.
Her words crushed him, but he stood straight as a Montayne would. For a long moment he gazed at her steadily, without speaking.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip as if she were nervous. “You must leave, Garrett.”
He could see her pulse fluttering wildly against her slender, white throat. He took a step toward her and she shrank back. “You take my declaration of love for you and throw it back in my face? Without a word, you forsake both me and Lissa. Did you think she and I would simply pick up our lives where we left off?”
Tears welled in Madeleine’s eyes. She blinked, spilling them down her cheeks.
“I thought my heart could not be broken twice in this lifetime, but you proved me wrong. You broke it again, Madeleine. I cannot imagine what your thoughtlessness will do to my child.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration with her growing. In agony, he told her, “You abandoned us. Just like Lynnette.”
His words were stronger than any blow Henri had ever dealt her, for Henri had only hurt her physically. Garrett’s words pierced her soul.
She felt the waves of anger that emanated from him. His words were meant to hurt her, and they had. He compared her actions to Lynnette’s. She couldn’t let him think he was unloved. What Lynnette did had almost destroyed his soul. In the end, she would still have to leave him, but she must let him know she loved him and trusted in him.
She prayed God would give her the strength and courage to do what she must do.
She stared at him, his eyes blazing, his mouth set so firmly, and her face crumpled. Oh, God, she loved him so much.
She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. She clutched him as if her life depended on him. Finally, he placed his arms around her tightly.
Tremors rippled through her body as she held onto him. He bent and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.
Music For My Soul Page 20
