Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

  Walking along the corridor, she prayed she wouldn’t meet Caroline or her maid on the way to the front door. Thankfully, the apartment was quiet and she was able to sneak out unnoticed. Weak and dizzy, she stopped several times to steady herself against the banister as she climbed down the stairs. Just how long would it be before the effects of the laudanum wore off?

  Once in the street, she breathed in the cold, crisp air and directed her steps towards the Place Louis Le Grand. Her plan was to buy a passage for the next coach to Beaujeu and make her way from there to her great-aunt Hermine. From there, she would make contact with her father.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘My poor child. You look about to pass out.’

  Hermine stood in her night clothes and frilly lace bonnet in the cold and dark hallway of Marzac Manor. She gave instructions for food and drinks to be brought up immediately and led the way to the drawing room where Pierre was busy lighting a fire.

  Relieved by her great-aunt’s welcome, Marie-Ange rubbed her arms with the palms of her hands to stave off the cold but couldn’t stop shivering. During the two hours it had taken the coach to reach Beaujeu and her long walk from the town to Marzac, she had grown more and more anxious and exhausted, imagined being mauled to death by her great-aunt’s guard dogs, or having to find shelter in a barn or a ditch if the gates were closed, or even being turned away by Hermine herself.

  As it were, her great-aunt said she had been expecting her.

  ‘That good-for-nothing Uxeloup Malleval paid me a visit two days ago. He said you absconded with this man—this Capitaine Saintclair who came here with you last time—and demanded I let him know immediately if I heard from you.’

  She gave Marie-Ange a stern look and crossed her arms on her chest.

  ‘So, what have you got to say and what on earth have you let yourself into? Has this cuirassier dishonoured you?’ She almost spat the words, making it very obvious what she thought about Saintclair.

  Marie-Ange sighed. She took her hat off, shook her head, and combed her hair roughly with her fingers.

  ‘I am afraid I have not been completely honest with you, Aunt Hermine.’

  The old lady narrowed her eyes. ‘As I suspected!’

  Marie-Ange told her about Christopher losing his memory and working as a spy for Fouché.

  ‘You are saying your husband survived a shipwreck and has been living for the past six years in France under a false identity while you lamented his death in England? This is extraordinary…But are you sure it’s him? I mean, people’s appearance can alter a lot in six years.’

  Marie-Ange sighed. ‘It is him. He has indeed changed very much, but not in appearance. He has become a cruel, dangerous man. He even stabbed Capitaine Saintclair in the back when he was only trying to help me.’

  ‘Ah yes, Capitaine Saintclair. You seem to hold him in great esteem.’ Hermine sneered. ‘Yet he is nothing but one of those ruffian officers promoted by Napoleon.’

  ‘You are not being fair, Aunt Hermine. He has been a great help over past few weeks and has risked much for me,’ she said with passion.

  ‘I see.’ Hermine pursed her lips, still disapproving. ‘What are your intentions regarding your husband, then? What happens if he doesn’t regain his memory? Will you go back to Devonshire, pretend you never met him and carry on as if he were dead, marry again, maybe?’

  ‘No, it would be bigamy.’ Marie-Ange bent her head and sighed. ‘Anyway, there is no man I wish to marry.’ But even as she said the words, she knew it was a lie.

  ‘Tell me, child, why does Malleval want to get hold of you so badly? Is it because of what we discussed last time—the Cross?’ Hermine lowered her voice.

  ‘Yes, he is obsessed with it. He held me captive twice, once at his house on Isle Barbe and later in his fortress in the mountains. He even had his physician, Karloff, hypnotise me, to reveal the words to a song my mother knew—a song that points to the location of the Cross at Beauregard.’

  ‘Karloff! He was the physician who dealt with Aline, was he not?’

  ‘Yes. He is involved in some kind of secret society and just as desperate to lay his hands on the Cross as Uxeloup.’

  ‘How did you escape from Malleval?’

  She took a deep breath. The moment of revealing the existence of her real father had come.

  ‘A man helped me…’ she began. ‘His name is Baldassare dei Conti. He is a Turcopilar.’

  Hermine opened her eyes wide.

  ‘The name sounds familiar. Where did I hear of him? You said he was a Turk? Why would a Turk help you out?’

  ‘Not a Turk, a Turcopilar.’ Marie-Ange then explained about Turcopilars, the Order of the Knights Hospitaller, and the Knights Templar. Baldassare was the man Aline had written about, the young interpreter sent by Saint Germain with a team of craftsmen to build the dovecote at Beauregard, and who later rescued her mother from Malleval’s claws.

  A sleepy-eyed maid walked in with two cups of hot milk and slices of cake. Marie-Ange welcomed the interruption. She needed a little more time for the revelation that was to come. She drank the hot milk, licked her lips, and bit hungrily into a thick slice of orange-flavoured cake.

  ‘Aunt Hermine, Baldassare told me something else…’ she started again when all the cake was gone. She placed her empty plate on a side table. ‘You see, I am his…Well, he is my…’

  ‘What is it? Get on with it, girl.’ The elderly lady stamped her cane on the floor.

  ‘He is my father, my real father.’ There! She had said it. Hermine would be horrified at the thought her niece Catherine had conceived a child out of wedlock and with a mysterious foreign agent who lived the life of an errand knight.

  ‘Oh! But how…? And what about your father, the English gentleman?’ Hermine looked confused. Her hand shook as she lifted her cup of milk to her lips.

  ‘Baldassare said he had to let my mother go to England alone because, as a Turcopilar, he wasn’t allowed to have a family life.

  ‘Pity he didn’t think about that before.’ Hermine put her cup down.

  ‘Baldassare and his companions are now hiding near Beauregard. I need to find them tomorrow,’ Marie-Ange added.

  ‘I shall send my two stable lads with you although I am afraid they won’t be much help against Malleval’s men. I heard he has some brutes from his mountain clan with him at Beauregard. What about your capitaine? Where is he now?’ Hermine sneered. ‘No, don’t answer that. He is probably rolling in a warm bed with some dancing girl.’

  ‘No. He had to go to Paris, talk to people, about Christopher.’

  ‘Hmm…’

  The two women didn’t speak for a while.

  ‘Aunt Hermine,’ Marie-Ange resumed. ‘What can you tell me about the Cross of Life? Baldassare said I had to find it and take it back to Arginy.’

  Hermine sat back in her chair and considered her a moment in silence. ‘Do you know about Guillaume de Beaujeu, the Great Templar Master?’

  ‘Uxeloup said his body was first laid in the chapel of the Temple of Paris, but that a member of his family, his nephew I think, later took his remains to Arginy, together with documents and artefacts, among which the Cross of Life.’

  ‘That’s right. Guichard de Beaujeu reburied Guillaume’s body and hid the Templar treasure in the crypt at Arginy back in 1307.’

  ‘Uxeloup also said that at the end of the fifteenth century, Anne de Beaujeu searched Arginy and found the Cross.’

  Hermine sighed. ‘That is correct. Anne de Beaujeu ordered her men to go down into the crypt despite the traps Guichard had planted to protect the Templar treasure. Many of the men died a horrible death, their limbs crushed by stones, their bodies pierced by lances, their skin burned by fireballs…Some claimed the crypt was cursed by the Knights Templar. The poor man who did manage to bring the Cross back became a raving lunatic, ranting about shadows wanting to rip his soul out of his body. After the Cross was found, Anne had the entrance to the crypt walled. There is sup
posed to be another entrance somewhere, but nobody knows where it is.’

  The more Hermine talked about Arginy, the more Marie-Ange was reminded of her nightmares. She closed her eyes, recalled her visions of a tall, round tower and an opening in the wall leading down to a slippery stone staircase and the vaults, where she heard whimpers of pain and where the shadows waited.

  She whispered. ‘Why do I have to take the Cross to Arginy? Why can I not just give it to the bishop, or any other church authorities, once I have found it?’

  ‘Our family stole it from the crypt—well, it was Anne de Beaujeu but we, as Beauregards, are her nearest blood relatives, so it is our responsibility to put it back. And the legend says that only someone of the same bloodline as a past Great Master—that is a Beaujeu or a Beauregard—can handle the Cross without any risk to their life, to their sanity and soul.’ She paused. ‘It must be done, child, because only when the Cross is back at Arginy will the eleven Templar guardians be able to rest.’

  They were the eleven shadows haunting her nightmares, the Keepers her father told her about.

  ‘What did Anne de Beaujeu do with the Cross?’

  ‘Towards the end of her life, Anne believed she was cursed,’ Hermine answered. ‘She was plagued by horrifying visions that drove her almost insane. She only found peace after she gave the Cross to a dear friend of hers shortly before her death in the 1520s. The man was a scholar, alchemist, and a member of the Rosicrucian order which had vowed to guard the Templar Knights’ secrets. She knew the Cross would be safe with him.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Count Saint Germain.’

  ‘But that’s impossible! How can Anne de Beaujeu know Saint Germain? She lived centuries before him.’

  Hermine smiled but said nothing.

  ‘You cannot seriously believe Saint Germain was alive in the fifteenth century and lived through to the 1780’s,’ Marie-Ange protested, incredulous.

  ‘There have been too many reliable witnesses who testified meeting Saint Germain across the centuries to doubt that it is true. Some claim to have talked to him only recently.’

  Marie-Ange shrugged. ‘This is nonsense. Nothing can make a man immortal.’

  ‘Something can. Don’t forget the Cross’ extraordinary powers, child,’ Hermine said with quiet assurance.

  It was useless to argue, her great-aunt would not see sense.

  ‘Anyway what do you know about the relic inside the Cross?’ she asked. ‘Karloff claims it belongs to…’

  ‘An angel,’ Hermine finished in a whisper. ‘That’s right, child.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’

  ‘And yet it is true, the story was passed down in our family through generations. The relic is a piece of clothing worn by a being, an angel, who appeared to two veterans of the First Crusades, the French knights Hugues de Payens and Godfrey de Saint-Omer. The angel asked them to create a military order to protect pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land. They obeyed and that’s how the Order of the Knights Templar was founded in 1119.’

  ‘Angels don’t exist,’ Marie-Ange objected once again.

  ‘They do, we just don’t realize they wander the earth among us, undetected because they can take a human form,’ Hermine declared matter-of-factly. ‘The angel came to Payens and Saint-Omer as a man but his appearance changed once he had delivered his message. Witnessing the transformation, Hughes de Payens rushed to ask for his benediction but accidentally tore a piece of his clothing.’

  ‘My mother’s song refers to a wing.’

  Hermine nodded. ‘That’s right. I was told the relic was a very fine, translucent, piece of fabric which glowed like the brightest moonlight. I believe the cloth was indeed the angel’s wing as he changed back to his celestial form.’

  Marie-Ange pulled a face but did not disagree. ‘Why did Saint Germain choose Beauregard to hide the Cross?’

  ‘Because it was close to Arginy and belonged to our family. Unfortunately he did not foresee that Edmond Malleval would one day own the place. That man was evil, I am glad he is rotting in the ground,’ the old lady hissed the words vehemently between her teeth.

  ‘Edmond Malleval wasn’t buried, Aunt Hermine.’

  Hermine gasped and put her hand in front of her mouth.

  ‘My God. So he is waiting…’

  ‘What do you mean, waiting? He is dead.’

  ‘He is waiting for his son to get the Cross, and raise him from the dead.’

  Marie-Ange shook her head. Clearly her great-aunt was as deluded about the Cross’ powers as Uxeloup and Karloff.

  Pierre walked in. He looked agitated. ‘A gentleman requests an urgent interview with you, Madame. A Capitaine Saintclair. What shall I tell him?’

  ‘Saintclair!’ Marie-Ange stood up, her heart leaped with joy. He was back from Paris at last. He had come for her. She turned a hopeful face towards her aunt.

  ‘Please, Aunt Hermine. Let him in. He must have news.’

  Hermine sighed and tightened her shawl onto her shoulders. ‘Very well. I suppose we’d better hear what the man has to say.’

  Marie-Ange sat down and took a few deep, calming breaths but her heart still beat wildly and her face was hot when Saintclair entered the room. His dark blue coat was dusty and covered his uniform, a leather satchel was slung across his chest. She couldn’t repress a happy smile when he took his hat off and bowed deeply in front of her. Her smile however died on her lips as soon as he looked up. His eyes were cold, almost hostile.

  ‘May I ask, Madame, why you saw fit to leave Mademoiselle Dupin’s apartment in blatant contradiction of my orders?’ His voice was as frosty as his blue eyes.

  ‘Monsieur Saintclair. What brings you here?’ Hermine asked before Marie-Ange gathered her wits to reply.

  ‘The safety of your niece, Madame,’ he replied shortly. ‘I do apologise for the lateness of the hour but this isn’t a visit of courtesy. I had to make sure Madame Norton was alive and well. She absconded earlier from my friend’s apartment, leaving my poor friend understandably upset and concerned.’

  There was only so much she could stand. Marie-Ange jumped to her feet and walked towards Saintclair, her face burning with anger.

  ‘Your poor friend plied me with champagne, drugged me with laudanum, and threw me in the arms of an army captain while she cavorted with a major in her boudoir. The said captain intended to have his wicked way with me before taking me to Uxeloup as repayment of a gambling debt! That’s why I left Lyon this afternoon.’ She caught her breath and carried on. ‘And what is this about you giving me orders? I am not one of your soldiers or your stable lads, Capitaine Saintclair.’

  How dare he treat her like an unruly child acting on a whim when she had escaped from Caroline’s apartment to save her own life?

  ‘Drugged? There were men in the apartment…in the boudoir? That’s not what Caroline reported.’ He didn’t sound so sure of himself any longer.

  ‘Of course not. Caroline may be mean and calculating but she isn’t stupid,’ Marie-Ange added. ‘She doesn’t want you to know she had men in her apartment at any time of the day and night.’

  Wild jealousy twisted her heart when she saw how pale Saintclair became then. Obviously he was so taken by the woman he hadn’t realised she entertained other men.

  ‘Marie-Ange, please, this is not appropriate,’ Hermine remonstrated, looking suitably shocked.

  She ignored her aunt, crossed her arms on her chest, and tilted her chin up.

  ‘You really didn’t have to come after me. I will take care of myself from now on.’

  Saintclair took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. ‘I do have to protect you, Madame. I am the one who brought you to France, unwittingly throwing you into a very awkward, even deadly, situation. I now feel responsible for what happens to you.’

  He felt responsible, that was all. That was the only reason why he was here. Her vision was suddenly blurred with tears.

  ‘Well, there is really no need,
’ she retorted, trying to stop her voice from breaking. ‘Anyway, how did you know I would be here?’

  ‘It was easy. I came back from Paris late afternoon and went straight to Caroline’s apartment, but you had already left. I noticed you had taken the men’s clothes my batman gave you. When I made some enquiries at the coach stations in Place Louis le Grand, one inn keeper remembered a young man with a brown hat and a grey coat who bought passage for Beaujeu in the afternoon. I thought it might be you. I was sure you’d come here rather than try and find Baldassare on your own at night.’

  ‘I am very grateful for your concern for my niece, Capitaine,’ Hermine interrupted calmly. ‘Let me offer you some refreshments. A little brandy maybe, or a cup of mulled wine? And please sit down and make yourself comfortable.’

  Marie-Ange glanced up, surprised by her aunt’s uncharacteristic politeness towards the cuirassier she seemed to despise so much. Saintclair asked for mulled wine. Marie-Ange decreed she would have some, too. When the maid brought the drinks, she drained her cup at once. The hot, spicy liquid burned a trail down her throat and she immediately asked for another. To spite Saintclair, who was looking at her, his eyebrows arched and a mocking smile on his lips, she drank her second cup in one gulp, too.

  Hermine turned to him. ‘I know you are a brave, honourable man, you have proved it by coming all this way to make sure Marie-Ange was safe. There is one thing I must ask of you. Please go with her tomorrow to look for the Cross of Life at Beauregard and return it where it belongs, at Arginy.’

  ‘Dealing with religious artefacts is a little beyond my usual military duties, Madame.’