Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty

by Ted Bader

  The Count noticed her focus and said, with no emotion in his voice, “When we marry, I will of course have your painting done to replace that of Marcella, my first wife. We’ll dispose of her painting then.”

  Felicia started at this and bit her lip.

  Poor child, Sarah thought, surely she would like her mother’s portrait to remain and her memory to be cherished.

  “I have never enjoyed people looking at me,” Sarah said softly but firmly. “Marcella was a beautiful woman, I would rather have her picture gracing the room. I am sure Feclicia. . ..”

  “That would not be proper,” the Count said. “We will remove her picture as soon as we wed.” Then softening his voice to the courtly one Sarah was familiar with, he said, “We will leave my portrait hanging there until you feel ready to have yours added. Now, let us talk of more pleasant things. Please try the appertif. Our cook is one of the finest anywhere.”

  Madame Duval gave Sarah a look that said, He is trying to be pleasant now. Follow along.

  “Do you not wish to say grace?” Sarah asked.

  “If you wish, I will do so.” He quickly recited a standard table prayer.

  Well, at least he knows a grace, Sarah thought. “Thank you,” she said and then tasted the food before her. “Your cook is excellent. This combination is very pleasing to the palate as well as to the eye.”

  “I am glad you find it so,” said the Count. “The housekeeper has been overseeing menu plans since my wife died; but, of course, you will take over when we marry.”

  “If we marry,” Sarah said kindly, but with emphasis.

  Madame Duval turned to Felicia and said, “You are a very mature young lady. I am happy you are in our company this evening.”

  “Thank you Madame. It is nice to be old enough to eat with the adults.”

  Sarah hardly noticed what she ate that evening. She could feel the gaze of both the count and his daughter with each of her movements. When a dish of cheese was served, the Count pointed out that the cheese was produced locally. It’s creamy, sharp quality was exceptional. Felicia seemed friendly when responding to Madame Duval’s questions, but she answered Sarah’s queries with a sullen formality. As dinner ended Felicia courteously wished the three adults a bon nuit and made her way upstairs.

  The count directed the two women to a small parlor. The walls were covered with a cream-colored fabric, which provided a bright backdrop for the many cheerful paintings. A mirror graced each wall, causing the light from the fireplace and candles to dance around the room in a delightful way. “What a lovely, cheerful room,” Sarah said as she entered. Glancing at Madame Duval she realized that the matron understood her relief that the building had at least one bright spot.

  “This is, of course, the ladies sitting parlor. While it is not a room particularly enjoy, I thought it would be more comfortable than the men’s parlor,” the Count said. “After breakfast I will give you ladies a tour of the house and the grounds.”

  “Thank you,” Madame Duval said. “We shall look forward to seeing the remainder of your. . . spacious home.”

  Sarah silently applauded her companion for the tactful statement. The house might be dark, damp and drafty, but it was certainly large.

  The Count told a bit of his family history and answered many questions. After an hour’s pleasant chat, Sarah asked, “How long ago did your wife pass away?”

  “It has been a year,” came the dour answer.

  “May I ask how she died? Did she suffer long?”

  “I will not discuss it.” the Count answered and then rose and escorted the ladies to their room. Bowing over each of their hands, he gently touched Sarah’s with his lips and bid them goodnight.

  Sarah quickly brushed out her hair, washed up and prepared for bed. Then she glanced at her roommate and asked, “Do you know anything about the death of the count’s wife?”

  “No. I’m afraid not. Why?”

  “You do not suppose he had anything to do with her death, do you?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course not,” Madame Duval responded. Then she said more thoughtfully, “At least, I hope not.”

  The two stared at each other, with horrible thoughts reflected in their eyes. Finally, the elder lady laughed, “My dear, your writer’s mind is looking for mystery where there is none. I must admit I was also letting my imagination run away.”

  “You are probably right,” Sarah said. “In any case, it is certainly not a thought to dwell on prior to retiring. Let us talk of more pleasant things.”

  Madame Duval seemed to take forever to prepare for bed. She sat before the mirror and carefully wrapped several locks of hair in rags before putting on her nightcap. With the nightcap and the rags, her head looked like a cushion with its stuffing popping out.

  “So that’s how you keep those curls framing your face.” With an effort, Sarah managed not to laugh and said, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the patience.”

  “Usually my maid takes care of it for me,” Madame Duval said, “but, I learned to do it myself for occasions such as this. After all, a matchmaker must take pains with her own appearance.”

  “Perhaps you would like a match for yourself?” Sarah teased. “I will keep my eyes open.”

  “No. No. For me I think there was only one true love,” she answered reflectively. With a spark of mischief, “My matchmaking is all my husband’s fault. He made me so happy that I want to help everyone else find the same.”

  Sarah smiled, “You will have to tell me about your husband. He must have been very special.”

  “Indeed,” said the older lady as she began to arrange several containers in front of her. She harshly rubbed one of the strange-smelling mixtures into her skin and tried to talk at the same time.

  Laughing, Sarah said, “Why don’t we wait til you’re done with your toilette, so I can understand you.”

  Madame Duval smiled and nodded agreement as she fanned herself.

  Watching in fascination, Sarah listened as her roommate explained the use of the various items she spread on her skin. Some she rubbed on with a vengeance; others she gently patted on.

  Madame Duval spread the fourth and final concoction over her face and neck and turned to Sarah and said, “This is the one I told you to try on your scar. Have you used it yet?”

  “No. I forgot and have not even opened the container you gave me,” Sarah said with chagrin. Then she looked at the matron, “I noticed when you opened that first mixture, it had a rather unpleasant odor. Does not it’s smell bother you at night?”

  “Oh, no, not this mixture,” the elderly lady laughed as she walked over and put a spot of the ointment on Sarah’s nose. “You see, it smells delightful. I believe it has some lavender in it. I rinse that first mixture off before I apply the others.”

  Sarah reached for a handkerchief to wipe it off with, but Madame Duval stopped her. “No, no. If you must remove it, put it to good use on your little scar.”

  Content that her wishes were complied with, Madame Duval closed her containers and climbed heavily onto the bed. “As I get older, it takes more and more work to look acceptable.” Catching Sarah’s humor-filled glance she added with a grin, “You find my ointment covered face amusing? Well, as long as there is no emergency in the night, it hardly matters what I look like to sleep. By morning I expect these magic potions to have turned me into a beautiful young princess. . . perhaps I’ll give a try for the Count.” Then she tucked a linen scarf under her chin and tied it above her nightcap.

  Sarah couldn’t help giggling at the older woman, who now looked like she had grown rabbit ears. “Well, if I don’t recognize you in the morning, please introduce yourself.”

  They doused their candles and laid in the darkness, whispering like school girls. It wasn’t until her companion grew silent that Sarah noticed the wind blowing rain against the window. Well, at least this castle is sturdy and will stand secure against any storm, she thought as she settled into bed. Just as she began to drift toward sleep
Madame Duval began emitting a soft snore, which soon grew into a bed-shaking, sleep-chasing roar.

  Sarah tried to block out the sounds of the storm raging outside and of her bedmate’s snoring. After a long period of tossing and turning, she finally drifted off to sleep.

  A loud noise awakened Sarah and she laid listening for a repeat of the sound. Over the storm’s wails, she heard a creaking sound from the hall that sent a shudder up her spine. Then she saw a faint light under the door. Perhaps someone was in the hall with a candle. Why were they pausing at her door? The worst possible thought popped into her head. . . perhaps the count had hastened his wife’s demise and now she haunted this castle-like home. Was she anxious to have any potential replacement leave? Did she want to protect Sarah by telling her about the count’s nefarious tendencies?

  Sarah lit the candle on her bedside table and then wakened her companion. “Madame Duval,” she urgently whispered, “wake up.”

  The matron sat up, looking startled. “Whatever is it, my dear. Are you feeling ill?”

  “No; but, look, do you see the light moving back and forth in front of our door?”

  “Yes. It appears someone is pacing in the hallway. What time is it?”

  “One o’clock. No one should be up and about at this time of night. And, why would they be hovering about our room?”

  “Oh, my. What shall we do? Do we have anything for our defense?”

  “Surely, no one would harm us,” Sarah gasped. “There is but one thing to do,” she continued resolutely. “We must find what we can for our protection and see who is there.”

  The light began to slowly move away from their door. “Quickly,” Sarah urged. “You carry the candle and I will take the fireplace poker for our defense.”

  Slowly, Sarah opened the door. Madame Duval huddled behind her, half pushing her into the hallway. They glanced in the direction the light had moved. A ghostly apparition, dressed in a long white gown, with a white nightcap seemed to float down the hallway, carrying a candle. Then she suddenly disappeared from view.

  The two women stared at each other for a moment, both thinking, Was that a ghost?

  Sarah whispered, “I think I’ve read too many stories. I feel a bit like Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey.” She clasped the older woman’s hand. “I am so glad you are with me,” she whispered. “Shall we investigate?”

  The portly woman shook ointment-covered head in the affirmative, pushing the flopping rabbit-ear ends of the linen cloth back away from her face. Together they tiptoed down the hallway, Sarah a bit ahead of the older woman. They were almost to the point where the apparition had disappeared, when a door opened. Madame Duval turned to the doorway and stood face-to-face with an girl they had never seen before.

  The girl took one look at Madame Duval’s white-smeared, linen-wrapped face and quickly screamed and then fainted.

  Sarah rushed back to the scene and together they assisted the girl back into her bedroom. “Perhaps it is best if you are not her first vision when she awakens, Madame; since the potions have not yet had time to finish their work.”

  “Oh, my dear. No wonder the poor thing was frightened,” Madame Duval said as she put her head in her hands. “To see an unknown figure looking like a ghost with it’s head tied on. . . the poor girl.”

  As the girl began to open her eyes, Sarah said, “It is all right, my dear. We are sorry to have given you a fright. We are guests of Count Frontenac.” Smiling to reassure the girl she continued, “My name is Sarah Bingley. What is your name?”

  “I am Miss Cassandra Frontenac.” She glanced at Madame Duval and then whispered to Sarah, “What is wrong with her? Was she injured?”

  Sarah chuckled and whispered back, “No. She thinks the ointment will help make her look more beautiful and the cloth is to prevent the ointment from soiling the bedclothes.”

  Cassandra looked doubtful at these two strange-looking apparitions, but managed a tentative smile as Sarah introduced her to Madame Duval.

  “Did you see someone in the hallway with a candle? Is that why you were coming out?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes. I thought it might be my little sister. . . she walks in her sleep. I was going to check on her and,” glancing at Madame Duval, “I was startled to find a stranger.”

  “Very tactfully said,” Madame Duval replied with a smile. “That must have been who we saw. Perhaps we should check on her. The last place we saw her was just a little further down the hall.”

  “She is most likely back in her room then,” Cassandra said. “It is at the end of the hall.”

  The threesome relaxed a bit and Sarah said, “Shall we tuck you back into bed after giving you such a fright?”

  “Yes, please,” Cassandra said. “Felicia was wrong. You are nice,” she continued as she settled into her bed.

  Sarah smiled as she pulled the blankets around the girl. “How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

  “I have four sisters. You met Felicia. Susannah is the sleepwalker, she’s the youngest. In the morning you’ll meet Nanette and Josephine. Father said we were all to look our best to be introduced after breakfast.”

  “We had all better get some rest then if we are to look our best,” Sarah said. “I shall look forward to seeing you again in the morning.” She extinguished the girl’s candle and whispered, “Good night. Sleep well.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah awakened in the morning to find Madame Duval sitting at the little table in the alcove. She looked up at Sarah’s approach and said, “Good morning, my dear.”

  “Good morning. I am sorry for the sleep you lost because of my foolish imagination.”

  “Not to worry, my dear. I think the castle-like atmosphere of this place and unknown details of Countess Frontenac’s death made us both quite susceptible to jump to conclusions last night. Now that I look back on it, it was the most diverting experience I’ve had in some time.”

  Sarah laughed, “I was so afraid. . .then I felt foolish when we found out it was just a little girl sleepwalking. I was almost disappointed it wasn’t a ghost.”

  Soon the two ladies were dressed for the day and joined Count Frontenac in the dining room. He was having a cup of tea and reading a newspaper. Felicia sat quietly beside her father, who rose when the twosome entered. “Good morning,” he greeted, “please join us. Felicia, let the cook know that we are all assembled.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said as she scooted off to comply with her father’s directive.

  As they enjoyed the delicious pastries, Sarah said, “We met Cassandra last night. She seems a delightful girl.”

  The count snapped, “I had planned for you to meet the children when they looked their best this morning.” Then regaining control of his voice he said, “I hope she did not disturb you. If she did, I will take care of the. . . .”

  “Not at all,” Sarah said. “It is our fault. We nearly scared the poor child to death.”

  Felicia giggled as Madame Duval briefly retold the story. The count did not seem to find the adventure amusing.

  The count said, “As you can see, your duties as my wife will keep you quite busy.”

  “If we should decide to wed, I would be happy to assume the responsibilities of the household. However, I do hope to continue my writing career.”

  “My wife found little time to keep her diary updated, but perhaps you are more organized.” In any case, “I am sure such a trivial pursuit will not distract you from your responsibilities to your family.”

  “Madame Duval must not have told you that I write poetry for publication and am currently working on a novel.”

  He clenched his jaw, glanced at the matronly woman for a moment and then back to Sarah, “I believe she did mention that you had a poem or two published; but, you will find it unnecessary to allow your thoughts to be displayed in such a public way when we are married. You will have no need for finances beyond what I provide and there will be little time for such foolishness.”

 
; He does not even seem open to discussing the idea of my writing, Sarah thought. In fact, he acts as though writing for publication would be an embarrassment to him. My stories are like my children, I cannot give them up.

  After breakfast, the other children were ushered in. Sarah’s heart went out to the motherless group. Little Susannah smiled shyly and said, “I am sorry if I scared you last night.”

  Sarah knelt down before her. “My imagination is what caused me to be frightened. You cannot help your sleep walking.” She smiled and the little girl took her hand as she met the other girls.

  Cassandra grinned at Madame Duval, “It worked! You look much nicer this morning.”

  The count snarled, “How dare you talk so to an adult. You are to be on your best behavior. If you cannot do that, you may excuse yourself.”

  “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry,” the little girl said as tears welled in her eyes.

  Sarah whispered in her ear, “You are right. She does look much better this morning.” Then as the count’s attention was drawn away by a servant, Sarah pulled out her handkerchief and dried the tears that threatened to overflow the girl’s wide eyes.

  The count turned and announced, “Now, children. The nanny will take you for a stroll while Miss Bingley and I discuss our forthcoming wedding.”

  Turning to him, Sarah said, “You assume too much sir. I have not been formally invited to be your wife.”

  “The invitation to come here was the same as a proposal. The evening we met at the ball, I found you to be acceptable.”

  “I was told the purpose of this trip was for me to get better acquainted with you and to meet your family and then. . . .”