Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

  Yours,

  Aline R. Beauregard

  Thoughtful, Marie-Ange put the letter down. No wonder Malleval, and others, believed Saint Germain hadn’t really died. She read through several more letters spanning the next few years. Catherine, her mother, was growing into a vivacious young girl. With the passing of time, Aline seemed even more proud of her husband as Philippe became involved in social reforms on the Beauregard estate. He even represented the local gentry during the Etats-Généraux which opened in Versailles in May 1789, charged with reforming the country’s finances and introducing social reforms. However he returned home in July, only days before the turmoil of the revolution. Aline and Philippe spent the following year at Beauregard. The relative tranquillity of their lives came to an end in October 1790. By then, Hermine and her husband, Armand Marzac, had fled to Neuchatel in Switzerland, and this was where Aline now wrote to them.

  Beauregard, 20 October 1790

  My dear Hermine,

  I am concerned for our safety. Despite the terrible unrest which has engulfed the whole country this last year, we were fortunate to live a relatively sheltered existence here. The reforms Philippe started years ago won him the trust and respect of the municipal committee.

  However things have changed. Moderate members of the committee were replaced recently by hateful and vindictive men. The new public prosecutor, Edmond Malleval, visited Beauregard last week, demanding a tour of the chateau and the estate.

  I was not present that day but Philippe reported that Malleval was particularly critical of his reforms. There was a strange incident, too. Malleval was so taken by the portrait of our dear Saint Germain in the library he made an offer to buy it there and then. He was furious when Philippe refused.

  He has now summoned Philippe to appear in front of the Tribunal at Beaujeu for treason. Philippe assures me his allies will vouch for him, but I fear I cannot share his optimism. I have heard that Malleval is a close associate of Joseph Fouché and Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois, and that, like them, he is an ambitious, blood-thirsty brute. I sent Catherine to her godmother at Salles for her safety. I will write to you as soon as I can.

  Yours,

  Aline R. Beauregard

  Marie-Ange stared into the flames. She knew what happened next.

  Beaujeu, 26th October 1790

  Dear Sister,

  I have terrible news. Philippe’s trial took place yesterday. He was found guilty of being an enemy of the National Assembly and sent to jail, awaiting execution. He was not even allowed to speak in his own defence. I am staying at the Jument Blanche Inn for now. I fear I will be here for some time as I cannot bear to go back to Beauregard without my husband.

  Yours,

  Aline R. Beauregard

  Beaujeu, 28th October 1790

  Dear Hermine,

  I met with the devil today. Edmond Malleval summoned me this morning. After keeping me waiting for several hours, he finally called me into his office. The man is frightful. He stared at me in complete silence, arms crossed on his chest, refusing to acknowledge my greetings or questions. He has the strangest eyes—dark, with a peculiar dusting of gold at the centre of the iris—which remind me of a reptile. When he finally spoke, it was to make me the most abject proposition.

  He promised to spare Philippe if I became his mistress. He has given me until tomorrow night to make my decision. Should I refuse him, he will have Philippe executed at the end of the week. However I have no guarantee he will spare my husband if I give in. When this letter reaches you, I will have made my decision. Whatever it is, I will have lost my heart or my soul, or both.

  Please pray for me.

  Yours,

  Aline R. Beauregard

  Marie-Ange dropped the letter onto her lap. So that was how Edmond formed his relationship with Aline. He blackmailed her.

  Beaujeu, 30th October 1790

  Dear Hermine,

  I am lost and broken. I am no more than one of these poor, degraded street girls. I have no honour left. Even if Philippe is indeed spared, I will never be able to look into his eyes again. Citizen Malleval is a brutal and lecherous man. I wonder why he hates me so much. Everything in him repulses me, from the coarseness of his manners to the cruel glint in his eyes when he ‘teaches me a lesson’. How he enjoys hurting me, making me cry with pain. He has forbidden me to leave Beaujeu and has taken away my certificate of citizenship and my travel permit.

  Yours,

  Aline

  Marie-Ange noticed her grandmother had dropped her husband’s name. Did she feel she no longer deserved to be called a Beauregard? Yet, what had she done wrong? She had sacrificed her honour in exchange for her husband’s life.

  Beaujeu, 17th December 1790

  Dear Hermine,

  Your kind words cannot soothe my broken heart, but I thank you for not giving up on me. Citizen Malleval has decided I shall reside at his Beaujeu townhouse as his official concubine. My shame is therefore public. I pray that Philippe never hears of this, or indeed my sweet Catherine at Salles.

  Malleval keeps asking about Count Saint Germain. He is fascinated by our friend and wants to know everything about him. He is particularly interested in a sacred object Saint Germain had in his possession—the Cross depicted in his portrait—which Malleval says used to belong to the Knights Templar. He got very angry when I assured him I knew nothing about it.

  Pray for me and for Philippe.

  Yours,

  Aline

  So Edmond Malleval coveted the Cross of Life too!

  Beaujeu, 20th January 1791

  Dear Aunt,

  It was all in vain. Malleval told me yesterday evening that Philippe was executed on the Place des Terreaux in Lyon. He now insists that we wed as soon as possible and threatens to harm Catherine if I refuse. I fear Catherine will hate me when she learns of my union with the very man who sent her father to his death. Yet, what can I do? I must spare my daughter the same fate as mine.

  I do not care about myself any longer. I am following my own path to hell.

  Citizen Malleval has been enquiring about Saint Germain again. For some strange reason he does not believe our friend died in Denmark. He says he was seen in Paris recently…I fear the man is mad as well as evil.

  Pray for me and for the soul of my Philippe.

  Yours,

  Aline

  When she finished reading the letter, Marie-Ange had to force herself to breathe in slowly.

  Beaujeu, 31st January 1791

  Dear Hermine,

  The deed is done. I was married to Malleval this morning by a municipal officer. Malleval now owns the estate of Beauregard and all of Philippe’s assets. He owns me and my daughter. I wonder what his fellow associates at the committee make of him becoming a wealthy land owner, one of those they have fought so hard to destroy. Mind you, many of them are now wealthy men themselves, having bought or stolen property which used to belong to the Church or to families from the gentry.

  Malleval has threatened to take Catherine away from Salles and hold her captive in a secret location until I tell him what he wants to know about the Cross. He has brought a strange man to Beauregard—a physician named Karloff—to ‘treat me’ for memory loss. I told him it was useless since I did not forget about the Cross, I just never knew where it was in the first place.

  Yours,

  Aline

  There were only two letters left.

  Beauregard, 25th March 1791

  Dear Hermine,

  Malleval told me today he is keeping Catherine somewhere safe, but refuses to tell me where. He now believes that she is the one who holds the secret he so desperately wants. I am beyond myself with worry about my daughter. His physician, Karloff, left Beauregard after confirming that I had indeed no knowledge of the Cross of Life. He was a strange, frightening man who could control my very thoughts and my very being by staring into my eyes and talking to me with his deep, soothing voice.

  I live in the hope of holding my dau
ghter in my arms again—that is if she ever forgives me for marrying her father’s murderer. My health has been poor since I came back to Beauregard. Being here, surrounded by the memories of happier times, is breaking my heart.

  Yours,

  Aline

  Marie-Ange read Aline’s last letter with tears streaming down her face.

  Beauregard, 15th April 1791

  Dearest Hermine,

  My life is finished. Malleval told me Catherine died of illness some days ago, although he would not tell me where she was or what ailed her. The thought of my sweet daughter alone and frightened as she lay dying is more than I can bear. I have no intention of remaining Malleval’s wife a day longer. Take great care, dearest aunt, and pray for my soul.

  Yours forever,

  Aline

  Chapter Eight

  Hermine walked back into the drawing room, leaning heavily on her walking stick. She glanced up at Marie-Ange and shook her head at the tears staining Marie-Ange’s cheeks.

  ‘How did my grandmother die?’

  ‘She drowned in the pond at Beauregard.’ The old lady’s voice quivered.

  The pond with the dead lily pads floating over dark, slimy waters. Marie-Ange shivered. Believing Catherine to be dead, her grandmother had chosen to end her life. She had nothing and no one to live for and it was all because of one man. Edmond Malleval. She clenched her fists in anger. She now understood why she was here.

  ‘Edmond Malleval did not search for my mother all over Europe to bestow some money from Beauregard on her,’ she stated. ‘No! He believed she could give him what he so desperately wanted. The Cross of Life. And now his son is asking the same thing of me.’

  Her great-aunt frowned. ‘He asked you about the Cross?’

  ‘Last night. He claimed the Cross made people immortal. He even insisted Saint Germain had lived for centuries and was still alive! Now I understand where he got that notion from. It sounds as if his father passed his obsession on to him.’

  She glanced at the window. The sky was darkening. ‘I must get back to Beauregard.’

  Her heart felt heavy at the prospect of a night in the chateau now that Saintclair had left. With him around, she didn’t fear Uxeloup. She didn’t fear anything. She shook her head. Enough of these silly thoughts! Why should she miss the presence of the arrogant, short-tempered cuirassier? She was more than capable of dealing with Malleval on her own.

  The two women hugged and promised to meet again soon.

  ‘You do not have to return to Beauregard, you know,’ Hermine said. ‘You could stay here for a while. We could get to know each other.’

  ‘I have to go back.’ She didn’t want to tell her aunt about the ball in Lyon where she was hoping to meet Fouché and ask him about Nallay. ‘But I will come and visit you again.’

  Hermine nodded. ‘Next time, I will tell you what I know about the Cross of Life.’

  It was pitch black when Marie-Ange arrived back at a very quiet Beauregard. She found Sophie sitting in the drawing room with some embroidery on her lap. The young housekeeper didn’t look much happier than the previous evening, but at least she wasn’t crying.

  ‘Did you enjoy your visit to Marzac?’ Sophie asked. ‘Is your great-aunt well?’

  Marie-Ange nodded. ‘She is, thank you, but why is the chateau so quiet tonight and where is Monsieur Malleval?

  ‘He left for Lyon with some of the staff this afternoon. There were final preparations for the ball to be made. His man, Rochefort, will take you to his town house in the morning.’

  Marie-Ange couldn’t hide her relief to learn that Uxeloup was absent. ‘Are you not coming to Lyon, too?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Oh no, I never go anywhere with Uxeloup…with Monsieur, I mean,’ she corrected hastily. She bent her head and toyed with the linen on her lap, looking forlorn. A servant girl announced supper was served and the two women made their way to the dining room. During the meal, Marie-Ange asked Sophie about herself.

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’ The young woman put her hand on her throat. The large ruby she wore on her wedding finger glittered in the light of the candles. Surely no ordinary housekeeper wore such a beautiful jewel. Tonight again, Sophie wore an exquisite gown, this time of cream and pink silk. Perhaps the relationship between Sophie and Uxeloup was more complex than the one between a master and his housekeeper? Perhaps she was more than an employee…

  Sophie confided she had started as a housemaid seven years before, as a girl of sixteen. ‘I became Beauregard’s housekeeper a few months ago, after Monsieur Edmond passed away. Monsieur Uxeloup was always very good to me.’ She smiled and looked at her ring.

  ‘Tell me, what was Monsieur Edmond like?’

  Sophie’s face contracted in a grimace. ‘He was a hard master. Nothing ever pleased him.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He was frightening too, especially when he became obsessed with the dark arts.’

  ‘The dark arts?’

  Sophie looked around her uneasily. ‘Wizardry and witchcraft…All kinds of strange men and women visited here, but out of them all, Karloff was always the worst.’ She raised the glass to her pale lips and drank the red wine in one gulp.

  Marie-Ange stared at her. He was the man her grandmother mentioned in her letter. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Monsieur Karloff is a physician,’ Sophie answered. ‘If you ask me, he’s really a wizard. He can make you do things just by looking into your eyes. He can put thoughts in your mind or make you fall asleep.’ She shivered.

  ‘Is Uxeloup involved with him too?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Oh yes, Karloff is his physician, just like he was Monsieur Edmond’s and he visits quite often. Actually, I heard him talk to Monsieur about you.’

  ‘Really?’ Marie-Ange put her knife and fork down, dread creeping through her.

  ‘It was after Monsieur Edmond’s death.’ Sophie lowered her voice. ‘When the village priest came to talk about arrangements for the funeral, Karloff shooed him away and ordered that Monsieur’s body be put in an iron cask and taken away to his village in the mountains. I heard him tell Monsieur Uxeloup that they would keep him there, in the vaults of their fortress, until the ‘Beauregard girl’ was found.’ She looked at Marie-Ange nervously. ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’

  Marie-Ange pushed her plate away, her appetite fleeing as fear formed a hard ball in her stomach.

  ‘You mean to say Edmond Malleval was not buried and his body is still…’

  Sophie nodded and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to frighten you, just to warn you about Monsieur Karloff. He may be at the ball in Lyon tomorrow.’

  ‘The ball…Fouché will be there too, will he not? Does he ever come to Beauregard?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Sometimes, for hunting, although he hasn’t been here since Monsieur Edmond died. I don’t like him. He is a hard, cruel man.’

  Her face brightened up. ‘Anyway, you will have nothing to worry about. Capitaine Saintclair will look after you. He may be a little wild but he’s a man of honour.’

  Marie-Ange tightened her lips. Capitaine Saintclair’s notion of honour was probably very different from hers.

  ‘About tomorrow night,’ Sophie said, ‘would you like me to ask the chambermaid to press your ball gown?’

  ‘I have no ball gown.’ Marie-Ange pointed to her dark blue silk dress. ‘This is my best dress and it will have to do.’

  ‘Why don’t you wear one of your grandmother’s gowns? They’re still in a closet in the dressing room. I am sure we could find one to fit you.’

  Curious, Marie-Ange followed Sophie up the stairs.

  There were rows and rows of dresses wrapped in silk covers. Sophie pulled several out and shook her head.

  ‘What a shame, this one was eaten by moths. The light green one wouldn’t suit your colouring at all. And that white gown has yellowed…Ah, this is more like it!’ She held out a silk and gauze azure blue gown. Its bodice was covered with embro
idered rose buds, and a white lace border ran along the low-cut décolleté and cap sleeves.

  Marie-Ange touched the delicate fabric. ‘It is ravishing but look, there is a tear in the skirt.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Sophie declared. ‘A cousin of mine is a seamstress in Macon. I shall have her fetched this instant.’

  ‘Oh no, do not drag a poor woman out of her home in the middle of the night on my account,’ Marie-Ange protested.

  ‘I will make sure she gets adequately rewarded. Monsieur Uxeloup leaves me in charge of the household expenses.’ She gave Marie-Ange a knowing smile and leant towards her to confide excitedly. ‘I know I should not speak about it just yet but…’

  She showed Marie-Ange her ruby ring. ‘Uxeloup gave it to me last month. He said we would get married soon, when his health improves.’

  Without giving Marie-Ange time to absorb her news, she pointed to the dress. ‘You should try it to see if anything else needs altering.’

  The dress fitted perfectly. Its delicate fabric hugged Marie-Ange’s body, emphasizing her high, slim waist and round shoulders. The colour was almost identical to the aquamarine shade of her eyes.

  ‘Isn’t it a little too revealing?’ Marie-Ange frowned and tried to pull the dress up to cover the top of her breasts.

  ‘Not at all. It looks as if it was made for you,’ Sophie said, dreamily.

  Was she thinking of a day when she too would wear a ball gown, maybe even a wedding gown? Marie-Ange doubted the event would ever take place. Uxeloup didn’t strike her as the type of man who had any scruples discarding girls after bedding them. Having said that, he might have feelings for the girl, otherwise why would he bother giving Sophie an engagement ring?