Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

‘Blanchard, a former lieutenant of mine, bought a tavern in Vienne when he left the cavalry. He won’t ask any questions.’

  They reached the town as night drew in, rode across the main square which featured the ruins of an impressive Roman temple. They left their horses in a stable block at the back of the temple and carried their bags into a small inn tucked away in a narrow street.

  ‘Capitaine! What brings you here?’ A tall, large man exclaimed when Saintclair walked in, followed by Marie-Ange, her father and his two companions.

  The two men shook hands and gave each other a few resounding slaps in the back as greeting. Saintclair then imparted some news of his regiment before taking his former lieutenant to one side.

  ‘We need board and lodging for tonight,’ he said. ‘And we don’t want anyone else to know we’re here, if you catch my drift.’

  ‘No problem, Capitaine, I’ll shut the inn for tonight, you will be my only patrons.’

  Baldassare and his two Turcopilars climbed up to their rooms. Marie-Ange was about to follow them when Saintclair put his hand on her arm to stop her.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said with a low voice. ‘It’s about your husband.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blanchard showed them into an empty parlour after Saintclair asked for a quiet place. Marie-Ange sat near the fireplace, Saintclair pulled a chair opposite her. Despite shivering in her wet clothes and water-logged boots, she longed to hear what he had to say.

  ‘There was a note for me when I came back from St Genis the other night.’ He produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Marie-Ange.

  Her fingers shook as she unfolded it.

  ‘The man you want will be at the Mère Vitry Inn on Saturday evening. 21h00’

  That was all.

  ‘Is it your husband’s hand?’

  She dropped the note in her lap and shook her head. ‘I don’t recognise it. We must go to Lyon for the meeting.’

  She put her hand on her heart. It was beating too fast. Her head was spinning. Tomorrow night, she would see Christopher. She would have the chance to speak to him and help him remember who he was, at last. She would…

  ‘What about this relic?’ Saintclair’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘What if Malleval and Karloff are already on their way to Beauregard. Do you want to run the risk of them getting there before you?’

  ‘They can’t find the Cross on their own,’ she said with confidence. ‘What is more important right now is that I meet Christopher tomorrow night.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ Saintclair cut in. ‘I will go to the rendez-vous and you will wait in my quarters. The man is dangerous. He already tried to hurt you once, remember?’

  ‘That was because he did not know me. When I explain…’

  ‘I will do the explaining and you will wait in a safe place. Is that understood?’ His tone brooked no contradiction.

  Marie-Ange bowed her head and muttered a vague agreement. It was easier to pretend to go along with his instructions for now.

  ‘Thank you, Capitaine, for all you have done for me. You cannot imagine how grateful I am. You helped me escape from Uxeloup and welcomed me in your family. You came to my rescue at Malleval, and now you may have found my husband. I will be forever in your debt.’

  He showed no sign that he heard her but stared hard at the flames, his face set in stone. He turned to her suddenly and asked.

  ‘Who are these men upstairs? How can you be sure their leader is really your father? He could be an impostor.’

  ‘He is my father, there is no doubt about it,’ she said softly, recalling the extraordinary feeling she experienced when she set eyes on Baldassare dei Conti for the first time. Somehow, she had recognized him for who he was.

  ‘Of course, there are still many things I don’t know or don’t understand, especially about the Cross of Life and about my father. He says that he is a Turcopilar.’

  Saintclair almost jumped out of his seat.

  ‘A Turcopilar? That’s impossible! They were disbanded centuries ago when the Templar Order was broken down.’

  ‘What—or who—exactly are these Turcopilars?’

  ‘They were the light cavalry for the Crusader armies, mostly mercenaries recruited among Christian populations rescued from Ottoman provinces. At one time, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, they numbered hundreds of thousands. The Crusaders couldn’t have fought any battles without them. They were disbanded in the fourteenth century, or so I believed.’

  He smiled dreamily. ‘They are the stuff of legend. But how did he meet your mother? What can a French aristocrat and a secret fighter from the Knights Hospitaller possibly have in common?’

  ‘My father came with the men who built the dovecote at Beauregard. Years later, when my mother was abducted by Edmond Malleval’s men, he rescued her and helped her reach the north of France where she boarded a ship to England. On the way, they fell in love and…’ She bent her head and sighed.

  There had been a poignant sadness in her father’s eyes when he had told her how he had let Catherine board the ship to England. He must have known he would never see her again, and would probably never meet their child.

  ‘Did your father explain about the relic?’

  ‘Not really.’ She sighed. ‘It appears it is indeed the wing of an angel…’ she hesitated, ‘which can make people immortal.’

  Saintclair whistled between his teeth, and then let out a short laugh.

  ‘Angels and eternal life! Is that all? I need a stiff drink.’

  He got up and came back a few minutes later with two pitchers of mulled wine. He handed one to Marie-Ange.

  ‘Go on. Tell me all about angels.’ He directed his bright blue eyes at Marie-Ange, his lips stretched into a smile. Her pulse quickened under his gaze and she drank a sip of mulled wine to hide her confusion.

  ‘Well, let me see…Angels do God’s work on earth. Some bring messages. For example, Uriel warned Noah about the flood; Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she was going to have a baby. Others carry out special missions, Raphael, for example, has healing powers and Michael does God’s justice on earth.’ She shrugged. ‘I am afraid that’s all I know.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Saintclair stretched his legs and sighed contentedly. She couldn’t tell if that was because of what she had said or because he was enjoying his spiced wine. She suspected it was probably the latter.

  ‘Oh, yes! I forgot about the seraphims and cherubs who guard the gates of the Garden of Eden.’

  ‘The Garden of Eden? Is that where Adam and Eve cavorted naked, blissfully happy until Eve succumbed to the urge to eat an apple and got poor Adam into trouble?’ He looked at her, a grin on his face and her cheeks became hot again.

  A voice called from the doorway. ‘Angels are sublime beings, spirits of love. They guide humans through ordeals and take them to Paradise.’ Baldassare entered, he was dressed in an austere dark grey jacket and breeches. ‘I see you are not a believer.’ He regarded Saintclair severely.

  Saintclair shrugged. ‘I’m afraid not. I have seen too much suffering on the battlefields of Europe to believe in a benevolent God. Anyway, what is it about this relic?’

  Baldassare pulled a chair and sat next to Marie-Ange. ‘The Cross must be returned with the Keepers as soon as possible. We cannot let Malleval get hold of it.’

  ‘What Keepers?’ Sainclair asked.

  ‘Those who brought the Cross over from Palestine.’

  ‘You mean the Knights Templar? Aren’t they all dead?’

  Baldassare nodded. ‘The Keepers are the souls of eleven Knights Templar who guard the vaults at Arginy.’

  Turning to Marie-Ange, he added, ‘Since your mother is no longer with us, you are the one chosen to find the Cross and put it back where it belongs.’

  ‘No!’ She stood up so abruptly her chair fell behind her.

  Her father’s words had conjured up nightmarish images of a dark chamber filled with distant sc
reams and whimpers of suffering, of ghostly, faceless shadows crowding around her.

  ‘I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go down there.’

  Baldassare got up and took his daughter’s hands in his. ‘You have to, daughter.’

  Marie-Ange put her hands to her throat, struggling for breath as panic welled up inside her. Saintclair sprung to his feet and scooped her in his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder, too exhausted to protest.

  ‘I’ll take you to your room.’ Holding her tight, he looked at Baldarasse sternly. ‘And let’s have no more talk of angels, ghostly Knights Templar, or holy relics for now. She needs to get warm and to rest.’

  He carried Marie-Ange to her room and laid her gently onto the bed. ‘Your dress is soaking wet. No wonder you’re not feeling well,’ he remarked, his voice gruff. ‘I will ask Blanchard’s wife to lend you some clothes.’ With a last look at her, he went out.

  Baldassare entered as Saintclair left. ‘I am sorry if I frightened you, Marie-Ange.’

  She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘I had nightmares about that place, the vaults at Arginy. I saw the shadows, I heard the screams.’ She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and gestured for her father to come closer. ‘Father, there is something you must know, something which will delay my journey to Beauregard.’ It was time to tell him about Christopher.

  She could sense her father’s mounting disbelief as she explained how her English husband, who had been lost at sea off the coast of Spain six years previously, was alive and, she suspected, working as a spy for Fouché.

  ‘I will know for sure tomorrow night when we meet him at the inn in Lyon,’ she finished.

  ‘Then I shall come with you. The man sounds dangerous.’

  ‘He is my husband. He will not harm me,’ she protested feebly. She wasn’t so sure about that any longer.

  ‘Head injuries can change people, turn them into somebody else entirely,’ Baldassare said. ‘I have known men who were of a generous and cheerful disposition become so cruel and mean-spirited it seemed they had lost their heart and soul. From what you said, that is what seemed to have happened to your husband…if the man you met is your husband.’

  A knock on the door announced the entrance of a plump, red-cheeked woman holding a selection of underclothes and dresses.

  ‘Capitaine Saintclair asked me to bring you these, Madame.’

  She put the clothes on a chair. ‘I’ll have a tub and some hot water brought up for you right away,’ she added.

  Marie-Ange could think of nothing she wanted more than a hot bath and dry, clean clothes.

  ‘I shall leave you now. We will talk during dinner.’ Baldassare squeezed her hand and left.

  A short while later, Marie-Ange discarded her wet clothes and got into the tin bath Blanchard and two servants had brought up and filled with warm water for her. She didn’t want to think any longer, not about the Cross, not about Christopher, and certainly not about Saintclair. Yet as soon as she closed her eyes and reclined in the tub, her thoughts drifted towards the Capitaine again. She had been so happy when she saw him outside the barn that morning. What she felt for him then had been overwhelming, exhilarating, almost like…she stopped the silly, unwelcome thought which popped into her mind.

  No. She was feeling grateful, that was all. Saintclair came to rescue her, braving the snow storm and the Pilat mountains’ inhospitable terrain. He had been prepared to face Malleval and his henchmen alone. And tomorrow, he would take her to Christopher. She owed him a lot, more than she could ever say.

  Christopher…Would she be able to make him remember her? She heaved a sigh and said a silent prayer, hoping that the kind, gentle man she married was still there, underneath the harsh and ruthless exterior of the agent he had become.

  When the water had gone tepid, she stepped out of the bath and scrubbed herself dry until her skin was bright pink and her hair shone and curled on her shoulders. The clothes Madame Blanchard had left for her were all too big, but at least they were dry and clean. She chose a linen chemise and a corset made for a much more generous bosom than hers; grey stockings that she rolled up and tied around her thighs and a blue dress with a white petticoat. She left her damp hair to dry loose on her shoulders. By the time she was dressed, she was ravenous.

  Saintclair, her father and his two companions were already sitting at a table in the dining room. Baldassare gestured to Marie-Ange to sit next to him and scooped a generous helping of chicken and root vegetable stew onto her plate. The men resumed their conversation about travel arrangements for the following day. Saintclair persuaded Baldassare that he was more than capable of seeing to his daughter’s safety in Lyon and it was decided that the Turcopilars would ride straight to Beauregard, where Saintclair and Marie-Ange would join them after meeting Christopher.

  ‘Uxeloup may take a few days to get there anyway. He can’t travel as fast as he used to. He isn’t well,’ Saintclair remarked.

  ‘I don’t understand. He wrote he was wounded, yet he was dancing the other night at the ball,’ Marie-Ange said.

  Saintclair put his knife and fork down on his plate. ‘There was no battle wound, I’m afraid. Malleval caught syphilis two years ago from Spanish brothels,’ he declared.

  Marie-Ange put her hand to her mouth, shocked. There was no known cure for syphilis. Uxeloup would die in terrible pain, and he would probably lose his mind, too. What would happen to Sophie, his fiancée, and the servant girl he’d been with the other night?

  ‘So that’s why he wants the Cross, he knows he is lost,’ Baldassare remarked. ‘Who was that old man you were with in the village? I have the feeling I have seen him before.’

  ‘You may have, years ago, when you rescued my mother from Edmond Malleval. He is known as Karloff and belongs to the Société Angélique, a secret organisation.’ Marie-Ange went on to explain about Polycarpe de la Rivière and the coded parchments stolen by the Malleval clan almost two centuries ago and which Karloff had deciphered for Edmond Malleval. She shook her head. ‘The man is completely deluded. He thinks an angel will appear when we get hold of the Cross. Isn’t that just crazy?’

  She waited for her father to agree but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘How did you manage to find out so much?’ Saintclair looked at her, a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘Karloff wants the Cross as badly as Uxeloup. He tried to hypnotise me twice but I managed to hold on and not reveal the words of my mother’s song. The first time, he came to my bedroom one night on Isle Barbe and it was…’

  Saintclair put his pitcher of wine down on the table with such force that some wine spilt out onto the table. ‘He came into your room at night?’

  Marie-Ange blushed as she remembered the way Karloff sat on her bed while she was clad only in her nightdress. She nodded and stammered as she explained what had happened. ‘He tried to hypnotise me, but there was some noise and I woke up. It is very odd this ability he has to make you tingle all over and to send you into a trance just by looking into your eyes. His voice is so persuasive…’ She shuddered. Karloff said he had reached out to her through her dreams. Even though she knew it was impossible, she had heard his voice over and over again in her nightmares.

  ‘What happened at Malleval?’ Saintclair asked with a low voice, leaning towards her. There was concern in his eyes and a deep line at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Uxeloup and Karloff wanted the words of my mother’s song. I managed to give them the wrong words, but they guessed that the Cross was in the dovecote, even if they have no idea how to get to it.’

  Baldassare put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You did well. You were very brave.’

  ‘Oh no, I wasn’t brave. I was terrified.’

  Saintclair gestured to her neck. ‘I couldn’t help but notice…’

  She put her hands to her throat to hide the ugly bruises Uxeloup had left, and swallowed hard. ‘Uxeloup was angry we had escaped and made a fool of him.’

  Saintclair n
arrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. ‘Wait until I lay my hands on him. Sick or not, he has no right to hurt you,’ he growled.

  When they finished their meal, Saintclair decreed they should retire as he wanted to leave early the following morning.

  ‘We will call at my house in St Genis first. I want Lucie to see that you are safe. She has been sick with worry about you.’

  ‘I was very concerned about her, too. Poor Lucie, she was so scared I thought she was going to faint. I will get my bag and my locket from your house before we go to Lyon.’ Marie-Ange put her hand on her heart, and a smile stretched her lips. ‘Oh, Capitaine, I cannot believe that tomorrow night I will be reunited with my husband, and it is all thanks to you!’

  Saintclair glared at her.

  ‘I think you should wait before thanking me. You don’t know what we’ll find in Lyon,’ he retorted before slamming his empty pitcher down on the table and hailing Blanchard for more wine.

  She stared at him, puzzled. Why was he so disgruntled all of a sudden, when all she had done was express her gratitude for his help? She sighed and bid him good night. He didn’t even reply.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Thank God you’re safe.’ Lucie greeted her with a huge smile.

  Marie-Ange rushed across the drawing room to take her in her arms. The girl felt frail, she looked ill, too. There were dark circles under her red, swollen eyes, her skin was so pale it was almost transparent, and her breathing was laboured and wheezy.

  Emilie Saintclair invited her guest to sit down before leaving the drawing room to organise some refreshments.

  ‘Where were you? Who was that horrible man driving the carriage?’ Lucie squeezed Marie-Ange’s hand. ‘It was awful to watch you disappear into the fog and not being able to help.’ She turned to her brother and gave him a tender look. ‘Luckily, there is nothing Hugo cannot do. I knew he would bring you back to us.’

  ‘We cannot stay long,’ Saintclair said. ‘We have to be in Lyon tonight.’

  Lucie’s face crumpled with disappointment. ‘Why so soon?’ She turned to Marie-Ange. ‘You haven’t even tried the dresses Maman made for you. They are beautiful, I am sure you will love them.’