“Well, to be fair,” Marguerite said, “we might not have looked with quite as much enthusiasm. Delphine wasn’t the only one envisioning a chest full of gold and jewels.”
They turned to look at the girl, who seemed to have recovered from the shock of disappointment, at least sufficiently to be dressed in normal fashion. She was fluttering prettily around the vicomte, who was sitting up in a throne-like chair by the fireside. He wore a dressing gown of crimson velvet and his legs were covered with a thick blanket, protecting him from any chill.
Although he smiled benignly at his relatives and other visitors, and thanked Ned most graciously for his perspicacity in unraveling the secret, his attention was focused on the ceremony that would restore the Treasure to the village. The steward, a man Ned had never even seen before, acted as second in command, noting down the vicomte’s orders and sending minions off to do his bidding.
It took almost a week for the preparations to be in order. This was in part because the vicomte wanted the presentation to take place in the hall of the chateau, the place where the priest had died. While his young relatives had made some effort toward cleaning up while they searched for a treasure, they had made only the slightest of inroads into the dust of decades. Every servant in the household was put to work dusting and scrubbing and polishing.
The Penworths would have departed but the vicomte insisted that, far from intruding, they were necessary for the celebration. After all, it was their son who had penetrated the secret that had kept the Treasure hidden all these years. In addition, he said with a smile in Marguerite’s direction, he suspected that their families might be united in the not too distant future.
While the cleaning proceeded, Delphine set about creating floral decorations—a task at which she excelled, Tony attempted to compose a speech that would meet with his great-grandfather’s approval, and Marguerite supervised the moving of the harpsichord to the hall, where she was to provide musical accompaniment for the ceremony and procession.
Although Marguerite approached her part in the coming extravaganza with tense concentration, Ned’s first reaction had been amusement. “I’m surprised the vicomte doesn’t want an entire orchestra,” he said.
She did not even seem to hear him, so intent was she on getting the three footmen who had been carrying the instrument to place it precisely where she wanted it. But she had heard. After she had dismissed the footmen, she turned to him. “He would have liked that, but there are no musicians in the village and there was not time to import an orchestra from Paris.” With that, she took a deep breath, lifted the lid of the harpsichord, and propped it open.
Although he had heard her playing for the vicomte, Ned had never seen the harpsichord before, and he was sorely tempted to laugh. Not that the instrument was not beautiful: the sides were painted a deep pink with garlands of roses and gilded swirls, all very artistic. It was the painted interior of the lid, visible only when the harpsichord was open, that prompted his reaction.
A naked goddess reclined on a couch amid lush draperies, with servants laying offerings of flowers before her and cherubs hovering above her.
Trying to keep a straight face, he asked, “Won’t the priest be a bit shocked by the instrument?”
She looked confused for a moment, then realized what he was looking at and laughed. “Do you know, I’m so accustomed to her that I no longer notice. But you need not fear that she will cause a scandal. No one will see her, because I will be playing behind a curtain. Now you must go away. I need to practice.” She made a shooing motion with her hands before sitting down at the keyboard and ignoring him completely.
Ned started to say good-bye but realized it was pointless. She had started playing and did not even notice the noise of the servants busily working in the hall. It seemed as if her entire being was concentrated in her fingers. With a smile, he left her to it. He was going to have to get used to this.
The day of the presentation dawned bright and clear. For once, the sky was blue, not gray. The wind was, if not vanished, at least subdued—a breeze, not a gale. Though the November sun rose late and hung low on the horizon, it was still strong enough to provide some warmth for the villagers who arrived at the chateau gates.
It looked as if the entire village had turned out—the male half of the village, at any rate. An acolyte, holding high a ceremonial cross, led the procession. He was followed by a priest in splendidly embroidered vestments, accompanied by two more acolytes with censers. Four more acolytes followed, carrying something that looked rather like a stretcher. Then came the schoolboys, neatly two by two, in their blue smocks. And after them came the villagers, somberly dressed in dark coats and top hats.
Ned was suddenly grateful that Marguerite had warned him to dress formally in a black dress coat and pantaloons, with a silk waistcoat and top hat. Anything less would have been an insult to the occasion. His parents, standing beside him, were naturally dressed in the proper formality. His mother wore a costume—it had too many parts to be called just a dress—in two shades of violet, bright enough to be festive, sedate enough to prevent her from becoming the center of attention.
Tony, representing the family, greeted the procession at the door and led them into the hall where the vicomte sat enthroned on a gilded chair upholstered in tapestry. No one could mistake him for a young man. He was pale and shriveled, almost insubstantial. Yet his eyes were bright and he held himself erect and looked on the procession with a benign air. Beside him, Delphine hovered like a butterfly in her bright silks. The music from the hidden harpsichord floated over them all like an otherworldly benediction.
Tony gave his speech of presentation, the priest gave his speech of acceptance, and the mayor spoke of the gratitude of the village. Then the vicomte raised his hand. His voice was thin, but did not quaver. “Many years ago, l’abbé Seznec entrusted the Treasure of Morvan to the care of my family. Now, at last, we fulfill our responsibility and restore the Treasure to its rightful place.” He gestured to the table at his side. Tony moved the Treasure to the front, and the vicomte lifted the silk cloth.
The reliquary had been carefully cleaned so that the gold shone and the gems glowed. Marguerite’s brooch now gleamed in its proper place. Whether the placement had been deliberate or not, the sunlight coming through the glass cupola bathed the Treasure in glory. A collective gasp ran through the gathering, and many of the villagers fell to their knees.
The priest held out his hands and chanted a prayer in Latin, of which Ned understood not a word but he bowed his head along with everyone else. Then two acolytes waved their censers about, and the smoke of the incense surrounded the reliquary before drifting up to the dome. The stretcher brought in by the remaining acolytes proved to be a palanquin. The reliquary was placed on it; they hoisted it to their shoulders and led the procession out while the schoolboys followed, chanting a Te Deum.
Ned found himself unable to move. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Emotional outbursts, perhaps. Sobs and cries of joy. What he had not expected was this dignified reverence. There was joy, but joy restrained by awe. He had not been able to help himself—he had bowed his head when the reliquary was carried past him and stared after the procession till it was out of sight. When he looked around, he was struck by the expression of peace and joy on the vicomte’s face. Beside him, Delphine smiled angelically and put a protective hand on the old man’s shoulder.
Those remaining in the hall stood in silence until they heard the outer doors close, shutting off the sound of the chanting. The vicomte relaxed then, leaning against the back of his chair and smiling up at Delphine, patting her hand.
At that moment, his attention was drawn back to his parents. Lady Penworth reached out a hand to her husband, who passed his handkerchief to her.
“Are you all right?” Ned asked. His mother did not go in for public displays of emotion, and it was unnerving to see her dabbing at her eyes.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” Lady Penworth
whispered. “I was prepared to be polite. I know this is all superstitious nonsense. But somehow…all these people…and the music…it was really very moving.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
Dinner that evening was the most peaceful meal Marguerite had ever eaten at the chateau—and Delphine was not present. All the tension of the past weeks and months had dissipated, and not only because the Treasure had been found and restored to its rightful place.
Assured of funding for his factory, Tony was a relaxed and charming host. It probably helped that his digestive woes were at an end now that he was no longer being poisoned—thank heaven. She could not believe that they had escaped tragedy so easily. But there he was, enthusiastically tucking into his boned quail stuffed with foie gras. She could not remember seeing him so cheerful. Of course, she recalled, when she had first arrived she had been so wrapped up in her own worries that she hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to him.
She was relaxed as well. And, she admitted to herself, she was pleased with her appearance. Her black velvet gown, trimmed with satin, was becoming even if it was nowhere near as fashionable as Lady Penworth’s blue silk splendor. Since she had no jewels, she had tied a satin ribbon around her neck.
Ned’s parents were also being charming and…friendly. Not that strained graciousness of people who would like to drown you in the nearest ditch but are too courteous to say so. No. They had been warming to her over the past week. This evening, the smiles they gave her were truly welcoming, and Lord Penworth complimented her on her appearance.
Had it been her own defensiveness that saw dislike and distrust when she first met them? She did not think so. But whatever the reason, she was grateful, especially since she had told Ned that she didn’t care what his parents said. She was going to marry him.
They also seemed to look at their son differently. When they’d arrived, their affection for him had been obvious, but it had been tinged with exasperation—rather the way parents look at a beloved child who has fallen into a mud puddle and ruined his good clothes again! Now, however, father and son were discussing some point about English politics and Lord Penworth was listening to Ned’s comments with respect.
As for Lady Penworth, she was talking to Marguerite about music—quite knowledgeably for someone who was not herself a musician. She wanted to know about the piece Marguerite had played during the presentation. “It sounded rather like Bach, but it was not, I think, anything I had ever heard before,” she said.
“It was a concerto by someone named Telemann.”
“Telemann.” Lady Penworth frowned in thought. “I don’t believe I have ever heard of him.”
“Nor had I. The harpsichord is not my instrument, so I am not familiar with the repertoire, but it soothed the vicomte to hear me play it. I had to go through the music stored here to find pieces to play, and this was one of them. It seemed to belong to the age before all the violence took over.”
“Before the violence took over,” Lady Penworth repeated. “Yes, that is a good way to put it. Do you suppose this recent foolish war with Prussia will mean the end of it?”
Marguerite shrugged. The only thing she knew of wars and politics was that the farther from those in power one was, the safer one was. However, she had gathered from Ned that his parents were near the centers of power in England. Perhaps it was safer in England than on the Continent. This was something she would have to grow accustomed to.
Ned had accepted her family with all its problems and oddities—not just Delphine and her delusions but also Tante Héloise and poor, simple Horace. Even if, as he assured her, he could easily afford to provide for them, how many men would be willing to do so?
In her turn, she would have to grow accustomed to his family. It wasn’t that they were odd, but they had a different way of looking at the world. They did not have to treat the powerful with caution, because they were themselves the powerful.
Lady Penworth certainly didn’t seem to find questions of war and peace intimidating. She discussed them as casually as Marguerite’s father and his friends debated the merits—or lack thereof—of Berlioz and Wagner.
However, at the moment Lady Penworth seemed prepared to put political debate aside. She raised her glass in a small, private toast and said, “Let us hope that there will now be peace, not just for France, but for all of us.”
Yes, peace. There was peace at the moment. Better yet, there was no fear. Marguerite had lived with fear for so long that it had taken her a while to recognize its absence. She caught Ned’s eye across the table and for a brief moment they both sat motionless, smiling, happy.
She was very grateful that Delphine had declared herself too weary from all the ceremony to dine with the others, and ordered a small collation brought to her room. But even thoughts of Delphine could not distress her too much. Ned’s plan to provide her with a house of her own and guardians in the guise of servants sounded as if it would not only solve that problem but solve it painlessly for all of them.
She rose from the table, still trying to come to terms with the realization that she did not have to be afraid any longer. She was going to have everything she had ever wanted—Ned, music, opportunity to perform, time to compose—and those who depended on her would be safe.
Before she reached the doorway, Tante Héloise stopped her.
“It is all right then?” the older woman asked, tilting her head in Lady Penworth’s direction. “His parents, they are agreeable?”
“Yes.” Marguerite felt like spinning around with joy, but held herself to a smile. “Yes, all is well with his parents.”
Tante Héloise raised her brows, surprised, but nodded. “If it is well—then I am happy for you. It is time for good things to come to you.”
The vicomte had been too weary to dine with them, but they were to join him in his rooms for coffee. Marguerite walked down the corridor with her hand on Ned’s arm, savoring the warmth of his nearness, the hidden strength of him. In front of them, Tony was burbling away about the new steel process they would be using, waving his hands about in a thoroughly French fashion.
Leaning down to Marguerite, Ned murmured, “You would never realize it to look at him now, but Tony was the complete English schoolboy when we were growing up. Now he seems more French every day.”
Marguerite started to laugh, but the smile froze on her face when she stepped through the vicomte’s door. Delphine was seated beside the old man and he was patting her hand.
Behind her she heard low voices.
“The young woman appears to have recovered from her fatigue,” Lady Penworth said.
Tante Héloise was less charitable. “Diantre! I should never have left her alone. Horace cannot control her.”
Obviously. Marguerite could see Horace hunched over in a corner of the room, looking miserable.
The vicomte and Delphine, on the other hand, were looking delighted with each other.
“There you all are!” The vicomte beamed at them. “I trust you dined well. This pretty child has been keeping me company.” He patted Delphine’s hand again, and she ducked her head shyly.
Marguerite hissed in a breath. As if Delphine had ever been shy! But before she could say anything, Ned pressed her hand and gave her a warning look. He was right. This was no time to make a fuss, especially when she did not know if there was anything she should be making a fuss about. There were times when Delphine behaved in a charming, perfectly sane, manner.
This seemed to be one of those times. Delphine was dressed appropriately in her favorite dinner dress of mauve gros grain trimmed with flounces of satin and lace, and she sat quite still with a small smile on her face. Marguerite was not sure she trusted that smile, but there was nothing she could do. Or was there?
The vicomte was near the fire, sitting up in a high-backed armchair with a blanket covering his legs. Delphine was sitting at his left and there was a small table to his right on which rested a cup of coffee. Great God in Heaven! Delphine had been giving him h
is coffee? What if there had been seeds they did not find? What if Delphine had some other poison hidden away?
The chair next to him should have been for Lady Penworth, the highest-ranking lady in the room. Too bad. Marguerite didn’t care if her future in-laws considered her rude and mannerless. She had to get at that coffee cup.
Hurrying across the room in front of Lady Penworth, Marguerite seated herself beside the vicomte. Ned followed but looked at her quizzically. She met his eye, then glanced at the coffee cup and looked back at him.
Thank heaven he was not a fool. He understood immediately and took the chair next to her.
Once they were all seated, servants came around, bringing coffee and small glasses of liqueur. Marguerite removed the vicomte’s cup, saying “This must be cold by now,” and replacing it with a fresh cup. At least she hadn’t needed to knock it out of his hand. He looked startled, but said nothing.
Delphine noticed the maneuver, but looked amused rather than frustrated. There had probably been nothing wrong with the coffee. Probably. Marguerite would give a great deal to be certain.
The vicomte waited until they were all served before he spoke again. “I believe I owe you an apology for being less than forthright about the Treasure.”
Marguerite found it amazing that his voice was so much stronger. A week ago, the vicomte had been as fragile as a desiccated leaf. Today it was difficult to remember that he was ninety years old.
“It had been entrusted to our family, and the burden of having lost it weighed on me more and more as the years passed. I should have trusted you, but I feared that you might not view it in the same way. So much of the past has been overturned. Men view with disdain what we once viewed with reverence.” He shook his head.
Tony looked a bit uncomfortable, a feeling Marguerite shared. She knew that Tony was inclined to share the anticlerical views of the revolutionaries. Her own family had been more indifferent to religious observances than anything else. Ned, who was fascinated by the past and sought to understand vanished ways of thinking, was the one who truly appreciated the significance of the Treasure.
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