Her body had vibrated to everything he had said.
She felt as if she understood what he was trying to say and it was so much deeper and more passionate than anything that could be expressed.
Then suddenly she felt very young, inexperienced, and unsophisticated.
What did she know about love—if it was love?
How did she know what a man like Comte Raoul would say to a woman who he thought attractive?
Perhaps this was some rather clever approach which would make her intrigued and excited by him; a technique he had used before and found it successful.
Then she told herself that that was not true.
This was not the flirtatious overture of an experienced heart-breaker. He had been speaking with a sincerity that was undeniable.
There had been in some way beneath his voice a note of pain she could not quite explain.
She put her hands up to her face.
Her cheeks were flushed and she knew that ever since she had been with Comte Raoul her heart had been beating tumultuously against her breast.
She had felt too a strange constriction in her throat, and yet it had been a wonder beyond anything she had ever experienced before.
“Why does he make me feel like this?” she asked herself and would not face the answer.
She undressed and got into bed, but it was to lie awake thinking of Comte Raoul, being sure that he was thinking of her, drawing her thoughts so that she could not escape from him.
“I must be sensible!” Larisa told herself.
And yet she knew that there was nothing sensible in the feelings that rippled through her and the chaos that existed within her mind.
An irrepressible ache made her yearn for the morning to come quickly so that she could see him again.
Larisa took Jean-Pierre downstairs for his morning walk earlier than usual.
She tried to tell herself that she was hurrying because the sun was shining and it would be good for Jean-Pierre to get out in the fresh air. But she knew in her heart that she was hoping Comte Raoul would be waiting for them.
As they came down the great staircase, Jean-Pierre holding Max on a lead, it was to find Monsieur le Comte standing in the Hall, taking his stick from one of the footmen.
He looked up as they approached.
There was a faint smile on his lips as he contemplated his grandson.
“Max is going a walk, Grandpere,” Jean-Pierre said.
“So I see,” Monsieur le Comte replied. “Is he a well-behaved dog?”
He looked at Larisa as he spoke and she answered:
“He is very good, Monsieur, and Jean-Pierre is very fond of him.”
“Then see he does no damage to the treasures in my house,” Monsieur le Comte admonished.
He spoke pleasantly and Larisa said quickly:
“We never let him off the lead except in the School-Room, Monsieur.”
Monsieur le Comte took Jean-Pierre by the hand and led him out the front door and down the steps.
“This is Valmont, your home, Jean-Pierre.” he said in an impressive tone. “The gardens are yours—the land is yours—it all belongs to you!”
“Max wants to run, Mademoiselle,” Jean-Pierre said, having apparently not heard his grandfather.
“He can run when you get into the woods,” Larisa replied quickly. “Listen to what your grandfather is saying to you.”
“He is too young to understand,” Monsieur le Comte said, “but one day he will.”
He relinquished the boy’s hand and walked away, moving slowly with his shoulders back and very upright.
‘He is like a soldier going into battle,’ Larisa found herself thinking.
Jean-Pierre was running off with Max in another direction and she followed quickly after him.
The day seemed to pass slowly.
It was difficult to concentrate on Jean-Pierre; to tell him stories; to try to make him absorb just one or two of the things she was trying to teach him.
Larisa found herself thinking so vividly of Comte Raoul that it was as if he were there beside her.
She went back over their conversation of last evening, and although she was shocked at her own feelings she knew, if she was honest, that she had wanted him to kiss her.
“How can I be so fast or think in such a reprehensible manner?” she questioned.
But her practical common sense seemed to have left her and all she could think of was the expression in his eyes and the note in his voice which evoked strange and exciting emotions.
At last when Jean-Pierre had finished his supper Suzanne took him off to bed and Larisa went to her own room.
She started to change, taking off the gown she had worn during the day and choosing from the wardrobe another pretty muslin she had made herself.
She had just put it down on the bed preparatory to washing when there came a knock at the door, and before she could answer Nurse came into the room.
Larisa took one look at her face and ejaculated:
“What is the matter? What has happened?”
In answer Nurse shut the door behind her and then she burst into tears; the deep, half-strangled, frightening tears of the elderly.
“What is the matter? What has upset you?” Larisa asked.
She put out her arms and drew the old woman across the room and into an arm-chair. Then she knelt down beside her. saying:
“Tell me. Please tell me. I cannot bear you to be so unhappy.”
“My baby! My poor baby!” Nurse cried.
“Has there been an … accident?” Larisa asked.
She knew who Nurse always referred to as “her baby,” and she felt as if an icy hand had been placed on her heart and it was difficult to speak.
“How could one think … how could one believe … that a father could plan anything so wicked?”
Larisa was suddenly still.
“What has Monsieur le Comte done?”
“I can’t tell… you,” Nurse sobbed, “no-one must know … but oh, my baby! My poor baby!”
Larisa drew a deep breath and then deliberately she reached out and, taking the Nurse’s wrists, drew her hands from her face.
“Tell me!” she said almost fiercely. “Tell me what has happened! I have to know!”
The tears were running down the Nurse’s cheeks and her mouth was trembling.
“Bernard was … boasting of it … downstairs. I heard him … but he didn’t … know that I was … listening.”
“What was Bernard saying?” Larisa asked.
“I can’t … tell you,” Nurse whispered. “Perhaps it’s not … true. My baby! My baby! I love him so much!”
“Tell me what you have heard!” Larisa insisted, and now it was a command, an order.
Although Nurse struggled feebly she could not release her wrists.
For a moment Larisa thought that she would not speak, then suddenly she capitulated in a burst of tears.
“The … wine!” she sobbed, “the wine is … poisoned!”
Larisa let Nurse’s hands go free and said, her voice sounding strange even in her own ears:
“Monsieur le Comte intends him to die?”
“He’s always … hated him!” Nurse murmured. “But I could not … believe a man would … kill his own … son!”
Larisa rose to her feet.
She could not comprehend for a moment that what she heard had actually been spoken.
It was incredible! Unbelievable! Something that could not be contemplated that a man like Monsieur le Comte could actually seek to destroy his only child.
Then she remembered the fanatical note in his voice when he had said:
“Jean-Pierre will take my place. Valmont will be his!”
He was mad!
But that would not save Comte Raoul!
As she thought of him she knew what she must do.
She turned again to the sobbing woman.
“Listen, Nurse,” she said, “I must save Comte Raoul and you have
to help me!”
Her words arrested the tears and the Nurse looked up at her.
“What can … you do, M’mselle?” she asked.
“I am going to Paris,” Larisa answered. “I will warn him, but no-one must know I have gone. If I go to the stables, will they tell Monsieur le Comte?”
Nurse’s breath was coming in little jerks between her lips, but she was no longer crying.
“Ask for Leon, you can trust him,” she said. “Do not say where you are going. The Head-grooms will have gone home. There will only be Leon and some stable-boys on duty. Just tell Leon you wish to go for a ride.”
“I will do that,” Larisa said, “and you must tell Suzanne and the house-maids who do my room that I have a head-ache and must not be disturbed.”
She went to the wardrobe as she spoke and found a habit she had brought with her to France.
Her own, which had been passed down to her by Cynthus, was far too old and threadbare, so she had taken her mother’s, which was only four years old.
It was made in the new fashion of a riding-bodice and was particularly suitable for summer wear.
It was black with a touch of white at the neck and it fitted Larisa like a second skin. The skirt was wide and looked very elegant when it fell from the pummel and covered the stirrup.
The high-crowned hat which her mother had worn when out hunting was simple and yet smart.
Larisa swept back her hair from her forehead and pinned it tightly into a chignon so that it would not become untidy at whatever speed she travelled.
In a drawer she found a purse, her riding-gloves, and a thin, silver-handled whip which her father had given her on one of her birthdays.
Nurse had hooked her bodice up the back and now was standing watching her, the tears still wet on her cheeks.
“Now I have to get out of the Chateau without being seen,” Larisa said.
“I will show you the way,” Nurse answered.
They slipped out of the bed-room, having seen that there was no-one outside. Nurse locked the door and put the key into her pocket.
They crept along the passages and Larisa realised that Nurse was taking her through a part of the Chateau that was not in use.
Finally after walking what seemed a very long way they reached the North wing and Nurse let Larisa out through a door which was only a very short distance from the stables.
“Ask for Leon,” Nurse whispered, “and may le bon Dieu bless and keep you.”
“Pray that I may find Monsieur Raoul in time,” Larisa replied.
She too spoke in a whisper, then she turned and ran the intervening space between the Chateau and the stables.
A quarter of an hour later she was riding across the fields in what she knew was the direction of Paris.
It had been surprisingly easy.
Leon had understood when she told him she wanted to go for a ride, so he saddled a spirited horse for her which she knew would carry her swiftly but at the same time was not too hard for her to hold.
Larisa could ride well, but Monsieur le Comte’s horses were better bred than those her father had been able to afford even in the days when he had seemed comparatively wealthy.
If she had not been so frightened of what lay ahead and agitated about Comte Raoul, she would have enjoyed the sensation of having the magnificent piece of horse-flesh beneath her, knowing that the animal, because he was well trained, responded to her touch.
But for the moment she was concerned only with reaching Paris and when she did so of finding the Comte.
Supposing she was too late?
She found it impossible to think of him dead! He was so vitally, compellingly alive.
She thought of the deep note in his voice when he had talked to her last night, the feeling of his lips against her hand!
Then she could see only his gay, debonair, expressive face, the way his dark hair grew back from his forehead, the faint smile on his lips.
She had met him yesterday for the first time but now she felt he had always been in her thoughts and in her life.
He was right—they had been meant to meet! It was fate, and perhaps too it was fate that she should save him!
She spurred her horse so that he moved faster! She must be in time!
She knew where Comte Raoul lived because Madame Savigny in talking of the different districts of Paris had said that the Champs Elysees was the most fashionable.
“Needless to say, Raoul lives there.” she had said with a touch of pride in her voice. “At Number Twenty-four, next to the fantastic mansion that was built for La Marquise de Frava.”
Larisa had never heard of the most extravagant, depraved, and acclaimed courtesan of the Second Empire, who had scandalised Paris before the German occupation in 1871.
But she had remembered the number of the Comte’s apartment and she thought when first she saw the lights of Paris in the distance it would not be too hard to find the Champs Elysees.
But there were more streets in the suburbs than she had anticipated and she had to ask her way a dozen times.
Finally she emerged at the top of the Champs Elysees and saw the brilliantly lit avenue sloping away in front of her down to the Place de la Concorde.
After that it was not hard to find Number 24, and when she dismounted a small, ragged boy came forward and offered to hold her horse.
She pulled at the iron bell beside the impressive-looking door and impatiently raised her hand to the knocker.
It was opened by a servant wearing the Valmont livery.
“I wish to see Comte Raoul.”
“Monsieur is not at home, Madame”
“Not at home?” Larisa repeated.
She had somehow expected it but it was still a blow.
“Then where is he?” she enquired.
She knew he had a party because he had told her so, but she had imagined that he would be entertaining in his own house.
“I’m not certain, Madame, where Monsieur will be,” the servant replied, “but I have an idea he was going first to the Folies-Bergere and then perhaps to Maxim’s.”
“You are sure that is where I would find him?”
“I am almost sure, Madame.”
“Is the Comte’s valet here?” Larisa asked, remembering the man who had come with Comte Raoul to the Chateau and looked after Max in the phaeton.
“No, Madame. Henri is out.”
Larisa stood on the doorstep, indecisive.
What should she do?
Should she wait for Comte Raoul?
At the same time, if he had a party he might be drinking the wine.
“When Comte Raoul returned from the country today,” she said to the servant, “he brought with him a case of wine. Do you know what happened to it?”
“No, Madame, I was not on duty when Monsieur returned.”
He frowned as if in concentration and added:
“But I heard Monsieur speaking of some special wine he required at his party tonight. I cannot remember what was said but I thought that he was choosing the menu.”
Larisa’s heart gave a frightened leap.
“I must find him!” she exclaimed. “Do you think as late as this he will still be at the Folies-Bergere?”
She had no idea of the time but thought it must be nearly eleven o’clock.
“Oh yes, Madame,” the servant answered, “the Folies-Bergere does not finish until after midnight.”
“Then I must go there,” Larisa said. “Will you please arrange for my horse to be taken to the stables and call me a voiture?”
The servant looked faintly surprised but Larisa had the feeling that he had been asked to do stranger things while he had been in the service of Comte Raoul.
A groom was summoned from the stables, which were at the back of the house, a voiture was brought to the door, and she stepped into it.
“Tell the cocker to drive to the Folies-Bergere as quickly as possible!” she said.
As the man whipped up his horse she
was thankful to remember that she had put her purse into the pocket of her riding-habit.
If Comte Raoul had already left the Folies-Bergere she would have to go on to the Restaurant where he was having supper.
Now they were driving down the Champs Elysees. Unlike Larisa’s curiosity about the city when she had arrived at the Gare du Nord, she was not now interested in looking out of the carriage windows.
She tidied her hair with her hands, sweeping it back smoothly under her hat and wondering what Comte Raoul would say when he saw her so unexpectedly, and in a riding-habit, when all his guests would be in evening-dress.
But it was not important what he thought or did not think. Larisa decided.
All that mattered was that she should find him before he drank the wine his father had poisoned.
She had thought as she rode towards Paris that it was incredible and unbelievable that Monsieur le Comte in his hatred of his son should stoop to anything so bestial as murder.
But at the same time she was sure that what Nurse had overheard was the truth.
Bernard was a dark, rather sinister-looking man who Larisa had encountered a number of times in the passages and who had seemed almost to resent returning her polite greetings.
She thought now that he was not only surly but there was something furtive about him.
He reminded her of a mediaeval servant who would follow out his master’s commands whatever they might be.
The voiture had moved away from the wide Boulevards and was travelling, Larisa realised, along narrow, rather sordid streets.
She looked ahead of her apprehensively, until at last she saw night-lights on the left-hand side of the road and a moment later the voiture came to a standstill.
There seemed to be a great many people on the pavement outside an entrance illuminated with electric bulbs and plastered with posters of women kicking their legs high in a manner which Larisa thought was indecent.
Suddenly she felt shy and embarrassed. How could she enter such a place—and alone?
Then she told herself that it was of no consequence.
She had to find Comte Raoul, for once he had left the Folies-Bergere she might never be able to get in touch with him again.
She stepped out of the voiture, paid the cocker, and pushed her way through the gaping crowd.
The Devil in Love (Bantam Series No. 24) Page 11
