Chapter Twelve
In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler.
‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. Deny me, if you please.’
‘Very good, ma’am.’
‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace.
‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’
‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. ‘I left a message at home that he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent.’
Saling coughed. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’
‘Yes, yes. Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham, and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his stately way to the door.
To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s attention and she threw out a hand. ‘Stay, Saling!’
The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. Melusine glanced towards the elderly dame and found that sharp gaze directed upon her. But her words were not addressed to Melusine.
‘If Major Alderley should happen to call, you may admit him also.’
A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. The major will not call.’
She turned quickly away that her feelings might not be obvious to Lucy and her great-aunt. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. Melusine could not wish either to know how their kindness served only to emphasise the lack in her life ensuing from Gerald’s continued absence.
The events that had initially followed in the wake of her triumph over Emile Gosse had quite confused and dazed her. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. The arrival of la tante Prudence late next day had changed all this, it is true. For she and this old lady became at once friends. Gerald had himself told her that this Prudence will present her to society as Melusine Charvill. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest—that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her.
It would be the culmination of her plan. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House. This was good. She was very satisfied about this. But about the unknown Englishman she was not so satisfied.
She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch her meagre belongings. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison.
To be no longer with Martha was strange. They had cried a little, both. But it was not adieu, so she promised her old nurse. Only au revoir. All her life Martha had been there. Without her, it was lonely. Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier.
Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. He says only that he must tie up all the loose ends. But days had now passed. How many ends had he?
Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire?
‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. ‘Poor Gerald has been very busy about your affairs this last week.’
‘This is not a new thing,’ Melusine snapped, goaded. ‘Always he is busy about my affairs. But he does not come to see me since three days, even that these are my affairs and one could think that he would tell it to me if there is news, no?’
‘When he has news to tell he will come, child, trust me,’ the old lady assured her.
Melusine gritted her teeth. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. Soon I shall make my début, that it will be known that I am the real Melusine Charvill, and then I shall not require the services any longer of this imbecile of a Gérard.’
‘It’s already known,’ said Mrs Sindlesham, ‘judging by the number of callers we have had these two days.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. ‘The whole town is talking. And I, I am happy to say, am in the delightful position of being in the know. I am sure I never enjoyed so much popularity in my life.’
The dimple that so fascinated Melusine peeped in her great-aunt’s cheek. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’
‘I should say so. I have held people spellbound—in confidence, so that we may be sure of its spreading like wildfire—with an account of all Melusine’s activities, and—’
Horror filled Melusine and she jumped up. ‘Lucy, do not say that you have told everyone all that I have done?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
Consternation filled Melusine’s breast. ‘But you are idiot. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle. This I know, for the Valades have taught me so, and the nuns also. How will I get an Englishman to wed me if they know that I behave not at all comme il faut?’
‘Perhaps the Englishman in question will not care,’ suggested Prudence, with a twinkle in her eye for which Melusine was quite unable to account.
‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and—and I know only...’
Melusine’s voice petered out. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her.
Lucy’s bright tones pursued her. ‘Never fear, my love. I’ve made no mention of guns and daggers or, indeed, any of the more exciting aspects of the business.’
Melusine turned her head. ‘But you have told them that I have been disguised, no? That I have broken into Remenham House, and—’
‘No, no, child, don’t be alarmed,’ said her great-aunt, her tone soothing. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. Have we not received Lady Bicknacre just this morning? Not to mention the Comtesse de St Erme.’
‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters.’
‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence. ‘She has constituted herself leader of the émigrés here, and feels justifiably slighted by having taken the pretend Valades under her wing.’
‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. ‘Both of them so wise after the event. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. While Lady Bicknacre had never trusted Valade. What a treat to see all the old tabbies
taken at fault for once!’
‘You are a dreadful child,’ scolded Mrs Sindlesham, with which Melusine could not but agree, despite the dimple rioting in her great-aunt’s cheek. ‘You see, Melusine, that none of our visitors were as informed as they would wish to be. They know only that the Valades have practised an imposture which affects all society, and some will think your adventures excessively romantic.’
‘Pah! How can it be romantic? That is silly.’
‘People are silly. They cannot imagine the discomforts involved, and they see only mystery in your fight to recover your lost heritage. But the factor of overriding interest is that they have all met and approved the said imposters. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks.’
The idiocy of it all irritated Melusine. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people.’
‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield.
A rare moment of amusement lightened Melusine’s mood for a moment. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy. So says your capitaine.’
Lucy giggled. ‘Hilary is a darling.’
‘This is what you say of him? Me, I find he is growling all the time like a dog.’
As if to bear her out, the door opened at this precise moment to admit Saling, who barely announced Captain Roding before the man himself strode into the room.
His eyes swept the company, and fell upon Melusine with a glare.
‘Ha! Just the person I want. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you.’
Annoyance sent Melusine leaping to her feet. ‘Certainly I have them with me. But what affair is this of yours?’
But Captain Roding was not attending. Instead, he was bowing to her great-aunt. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint.’
‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped.
To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. ‘And what the devil do you mean by demanding that I wait on you here? D’you think I haven’t enough to do handling that caper-witted female’s affairs, without dancing attendance on you?’
‘Don’t be cross,’ begged Lucilla, much to Melusine’s disgust.
She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face.
‘Do you think I could bear to be without you for a moment longer? I am quite jealous of Melusine taking up all your attention.’
It was immediately evident that Lucilla Froxfield was not as silly as Melusine had thought, for the face of her captain immediately changed and he took her hands, a look on his face that caused Melusine an instant pang. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look.
‘Didn’t mean it, love. Know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you.’
Melusine watched with a tightness in her chest as Captain Roding kept hold of Lucy’s hand, even as he turned back to Prudence.
‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. Gone off, cool as you please, and left me to manage everything.’
‘Gone off?’ repeated Melusine, her wrongs rising up to tear into her chest. ‘To where has he gone off?’
‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain. ‘That fellow of yours is a deal better, by the by. Should be home soon.’
The shift threw Melusine’s attention off the errant major for the moment. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’
‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know.’
‘But tell,’ demanded Melusine impatiently.
‘Yes, tell us everything at once,’ instructed Lucilla, pushing him towards the sofa she had vacated, and obliging him to sit beside her.
Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. ‘Dear me. If you two are examples of the modern miss, I don’t know what the world is coming to.’
Noting the twinkle in her great-aunt’s eye, Melusine forebore to comment, grateful to Lucilla for adjuring Captain Roding to give an account of himself. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair.
‘Well,’ began Captain Roding, looking at Melusine, ‘you know those nuns of yours took up Valade—I mean, Gosse—and put him to bed to mend his wound, and I posted a guard outside his room so he couldn’t escape, for Gerald told you all that. I went off to round up his wife. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’
‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile.’
‘Had a certificate for it,’ argued Roding. ‘Signed by a priest at Le Havre, so it must be true. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid. In any event, I brought her to the convent and we had her locked up separately, and told ’em both they’d be taken into custody as soon as Valade was fit to go.’
‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. ‘He isn’t Valade, and the Comtesse de St Erme is absolutely furious.’
‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence.
‘Yes, don’t interrupt me,’ said Captain Roding severely.
‘But you cannot expect that we will any of us remain altogether quiet,’ objected Melusine. ‘And me—’
‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to—’
‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little.
‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly.
Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
‘I have not asked for this trouble from anyone. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so.’
To her surprise, Captain Roding backtracked. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind.’
‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla.
He frowned. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. Made me fetch up Trodger and a couple more men, and together we searched his luggage and got hold of every single paper the man possessed. Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that. Fellows are drawing up the necessary papers, but gave Gerald a letter of authorisation for you, mademoiselle, to use in the interim.’
‘But where then is Gosse?’ demanded Melusine. ‘Do not tell me he has escaped.’
‘I’m coming to that. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. Gather he found stuff belonging to the real Valade, and the vicomte, as well as your own letter. He kept that, but the rest...’
He paused, but Melusine caught the inference.
‘He destroyed the papers?’
‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair.’
‘Bon,’ exclaimed Melusine, triumph soaring. ‘I find this was excessively clever of Gérard.’
‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone.
Hilary threw up his eyes. ‘Then he went stark staring crazy, if you ask me. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland.’
‘He let them go?’ asked Miss
Froxfield incredulously.
Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. Lucilla broke across Melusine’s thoughts.
‘Melusine, don’t sit there. Say something.’
‘Ain’t you in a rage?’ asked the captain. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. That’s why I wanted your weapons. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them.’
‘I fetched them with my clothes when the son of madame took me to see Marthe,’ Melusine admitted. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. On the contrary, I am altogether satisfied.’
The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand.
‘Well said, my dear. Now tell them why.’
Melusine shifted her shoulders. ‘As to Gérard, I do not know why he does this.’ She closed her mind on the possibility of finding out, and went on, ‘But me, I have been in a war, and I have won. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times.’
‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed.
‘I have justice. I have Remenham House which is my right. It is known that I am Melusine Charvill, which is also my right.’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. ‘Do you think I would do to him as he made a threat to do to me? No. This is not honourable.’
This was Leonardo’s philosophy. Those who lived outside the law might squabble among themselves, even unto death, Leonardo told her. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities.
‘I rather suspect,’ added Prudence, ‘that Major Alderley’s motives were somewhat different. A trial always brings those involved into public notice, and I dare say he feels there will be scandal enough without adding to it. A nine days’ wonder is soon forgotten. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again.’
There was sense in what she said, Melusine was obliged to concede. But next moment, Captain Roding put up her back.
‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then.’
‘Grateful? Certainly I am grateful,’ Melusine snapped, knowing full well she sounded anything but gratified. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.’
‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me. I’d to go to Remenham House as well, and show Pottiswick your letter of authorisation. And, incidentally, check on that unfortunate young fellow Kimble.’
‘But where? Where has he gone? Always he goes off, and he says no word to anyone. I shall know what to say to him when he comes.’
The door opened and Saling entered again.
‘Major Alderley, ma’am, and General Lord Charvill.’
Melusine’s heart leapt, and as swiftly clattered into dead stillness as the implication of the second name hit home. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room.
Gerald vaguely noted that his junior leapt to his feet at sight of his former commander, and that Lucilla sat with her mouth at half-cock, dread in her face. His attention was focused on Melusine’s transfixed stare and he forgot to say any of the things he had planned to say. He had known she would be shocked, but he was equally certain Melusine would have refused to see her grandfather had she been forewarned. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair.
‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. I suppose you have come to see your granddaughter.’ She moved to Melusine’s side as she spoke. ‘Here she is.’
‘Don’t need you to tell me that, Prudence Sindlesham,’ barked the old man, his glance snapping at her briefly, before resuming his study of Melusine, who, to Gerald’s intense admiration, was standing before him, glaring and stiff with defiance. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. ‘No mistaking you this time. Spit of your mother.’
‘Parbleu,’ burst from Melusine indignantly. ‘I do not need for you to tell me this. I also have eyes, and I have seen the picture.’
Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head.
‘What’s this? Impertinence! French manners, is it?’
‘Grace à vous,’ Melusine threw at him fiercely.
‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper.
Predictably, Charvill turned on him. ‘I know what it means, numbskull! Didn’t spend years in the confounded country without picking up some of their infernal tongue.’ His head came thrusting out at Melusine like a belligerent tortoise from its shell. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father.’
‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury.
‘Dead then, is he?’
‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. But this I cannot do. I do not know anything of him since I have fourteen years, and that he sent me to Blaye to be a nun.’
‘Ha! You’re Catholic, too, damn his eyes,’ growled the general.
‘Certainly I am catholique. I say again, grace à vous.’
‘How dare you?’ roared the general.
‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught. ‘Now I see that you are mad indeed. You bring me this grandfather, whom you know well I do not in the least wish to see, for I have told you so.’
‘I didn’t bring him,’ Gerald returned swiftly. ‘He just came.’ He gestured towards the fulminating general. ‘Can’t you see he is not a gentleman with whom one can argue?’
‘You think so?’ Melusine said dangerously, and her eyes flashed as she swept about again and confronted her grandfather once more. ‘I can argue with him very well indeed.’
‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house.’
‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room.
At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield.’
‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. ‘What has that to say to anything?’
‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. She indicated the captain who had retired behind the sofa. ‘I think you know my affianced husband.’
‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back.’
‘None of your sauce, Alderley,’ rejoined the general, shaking hands with Hilary who came forward to greet him. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her great-aunt’s interruption. ‘Now then, girl.’
She turned her head, eyes blazing. ‘Me, I have a name.’
‘Melusine, sir,’ Gerald reminded the general, exchanging a f
rustrated glance with Mrs Sindlesham. Her efforts were vain. There was going to be no quarter between these two.
Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. ‘Melusine…Melusine. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’
‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. I am entirely English, as you know well. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’
‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl.’
‘Pah!’ rejoined Melusine, apparently unconscious of echoing him. ‘You and Jarvis Remenham both, yes. Parbleu, but what grandfathers I have!’
It was stalemate, Gerald thought, irrepressible amusement leaping into his chest. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other.
‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. ‘What could either of us have done?’
To Gerald’s acute consternation, Melusine’s lip trembled suddenly, and her eyes filled. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered.
‘You could have fetched me home.’
Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose.
For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features.
‘I wish you joy of the wench. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Sindlesham loudly, casting an anxious glance upon Melusine.
Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. To his relief, she nodded.
‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. I’ve been wondering where she got her dogged will, and that hot-headed adventurous spirit, for it wasn’t from either Mary or Nicholas, that’s sure. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter.’
Gerald was relieved to hear the loud guffaw issuing from the old man’s lips. ‘You think so? Well, if that’s so, I know where she gets her impudence, Prudence Sindlesham.’
‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door. ‘Let us go elsewhere and discuss the matter. I loathe this room. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends.’
So saying, she threw a meaning look over her shoulder at Lucilla, much to Gerald’s approval. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him.
Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. ‘Come, Hilary. Mama will be expecting me. I will come later to see you, Melusine.’
‘Yes, but I need a word with Gerald,’ protested the captain, hanging back.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone. ‘Talk to me another time.’
‘What?’ Hilary glanced from Gerald to Melusine, and coloured up. ‘Oh, ah. Yes, of course. Later.’
The door closed behind them both and Gerald was alone with Melusine.
From the corner of her eye, Melusine saw Gerald move towards her and she turned to confront him, the confused turmoil in her mind causing her chest to tighten unbearably. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints.
‘Why did you bring him? I hate him.’
‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her. ‘I went to see him because I thought he ought to know about you, having already been imposed upon by our friend Gosse. He had to know the truth, Melusine.’
She eyed him, all her uncertainty surfacing. ‘And this is where you have been all the time?’
‘I would have been back in a day, I promise you. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. What could I do?’
‘Anything but to bring him to me,’ Melusine threw at him. ‘If you had told him that I would rather die than see him, he would not have come.’
Gerald grinned. ‘You don’t know him.’
‘No, and I do not wish to do so,’ Melusine pointed out.
His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes.
‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind.’
Melusine took refuge in defiance. ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. First you do not come to see me since three days, and me, I know nothing of what happens with Gosse until this capitaine of yours has come today. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him.’
He sighed elaborately. ‘I know, Melusine. I am altogether a person of a disposition extremely interfering, as you have so often told me.’
‘Do not make a game with me,’ she interrupted, gripping her underlip firmly between her teeth to stop the threatening laughter.
‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. ‘Here were you patiently waiting, without uttering one word of complaint the entire time, which of course you never do, being yourself a female altogether of a disposition extremely sweet and charming without the least vestige of a temper—’
‘Gérard,’ Melusine uttered on a warning note, desperately trying to control the quiver at her lip.
‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.’
Melusine stifled a giggle. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed.
Gerald shook his head. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life.’
‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast.
There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. ‘You see, I had another reason for visiting your grandfather.’
Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. Eh bien, why did he not repeat it? What was she to say?
‘Prudence,’ she began hesitantly, pronouncing the name in the French way, ‘has said that she will help me to—to marry an Englishman.’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,’ Gerald said. ‘I, on the other hand, want to help you to marry this Englishman.’
Melusine’s heart leapt, raced for a moment, and suddenly dropped again. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman.
‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused.
‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you. I’d need to be out of my senses.’
Quick anger flared, surpassing the fluttering hope.
‘Dieu du ciel, is this
a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’
‘Ah.’ Much to Melusine’s chagrin, Gerald folded his arms and leaned back, as if wholly at his ease. ‘I can answer that. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent.’
She was too distressed to bear this. ‘Imbecile. Is this a reason?’
‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you. I’ll have to think of something else.’
‘Do not hope it,’ returned Melusine, snapping uncontrollably. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. You do not wish to marry me at all, that is seen.’
Gerald unfolded his arms and threw his hands in the air. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. I don’t wish to marry you at all.’
‘In this case, I do not at all wish to marry you,’ Melusine threw at him furiously. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you.’
‘But you must,’ Gerald said, quite as if he meant it. ‘Not kill me, I mean. Marry me.’
‘I will not.’
‘But the general gave his permission.’
‘Je m’en moque. And it is not at all his affair.’
‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. You have to marry me.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I can’t live without you!’
‘That is your own affair, and—’
Melusine broke off, staring at him, shocked realisation kicking in her gut. Reaction set in and she leapt at him, beating at his chest with her fists.
‘This is the way you tell me that you love me? You English idiot, you!’
He seized her wrists to hold her off, actually daring to laugh, much to Melusine’s increased fury.
‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman.’
Melusine wrenched her wrists out of his hold and stepped back, digging into her skirts, which she had adequately prepared some days ago. ‘But I do not pay this penalty.’
‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. ‘Here we go again.’
Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him.
‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head.’
‘Will you indeed? Truly?’
His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. But, no. This she would not endure. She infused menace into her voice.
‘Say it.’
Gerald remained infuriatingly calm. ‘I’ve never before made love at pistol point.’
‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out.
‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’
Her pulses jumped and she stared. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’
His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened.
‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you.’
A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. ‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo.’
His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders.
‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. ‘What was Leonardo to you?’
Melusine was instantly on the defensive. ‘Laisse-moi.’
‘Damn you, answer me!’
Her eyes flashed. ‘It is not your affair.’
‘Was it yours?’
Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’
‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. ‘That’s why I’m asking.’
The fury welled. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. Leonardo he was my—’
‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Then pain entered their depths. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine.’
Releasing her, he turned and walked swiftly towards the door. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. Then instinct took over. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way.
‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. You make me angry, and I lie. Voilà tout. Leonardo was to me nothing at all.’
There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you.’
‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. ‘You do not understand, Gérard. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think.’
‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone.
‘You are jealous!’
‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. ‘Because I love you. I can’t help it.’
Melusine’s eyes misted. ‘You said it. And I have no more the pistol.’
She was seized by two strong hands and drawn close. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers.
‘Tell me the truth, Melusine.’
‘Of Leonardo? Yes, I will tell you.’ She spoke with difficulty, holding down the rising emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘He was very kind to me. Not like my father. Nor my grandfathers both. To them all I am nothing. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. I am no one, Gérard.’
Gerald did not speak, but there was a look in his face that made Melusine glad she had at last had the courage to confide in him. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his.
‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. To—to find myself. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone.’
‘You were always someone, Melusine. Even if you didn’t know it.’
The gentleness in his voice nearly overset her. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. Until Leonardo.’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile. ‘En tout cas, it is not reasonable that I could be at all in love with him. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat. Also he is ugly. And I was altogether disgusted when he kissed me.’
‘How shocking,’ Gerald returned, grinning. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you.’
‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. ‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once.’
‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing.
‘Do not be imbecile. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’
‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward.’
Melusine drowned in his kiss. Her heartbeat raced, her limbs turned to water, and it was only by a miracle and the strength of the arms that held her that she remained standing on her feet.
It was some time later, after a series of these devastating assaults, that Melusine found herself seated on the sofa lately vacated by Lucilla and Captain Roding, cuddled firmly in the arms of a major of militia reduced quite to idiocy.
‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. I love yo
u calling me Gérard and idiot, and I love you when you threaten me with every weapon under the sun, and—’
‘Pah!’ interrupted Melusine, scorn in her voice. ‘I do not believe you. You make a game with me, imbecile.’
‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald.
Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. ‘Certainly you are imbecile. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’
‘But you are idiot, Gérard. The pistol, it was not loaded.’
‘You mean I need not have said it? Damnation.’
‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned.
‘Oh, have you? Well, in that case, I love your little booted feet, and your ridiculously long eyelashes, and—’
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Mademoiselle at Arms Page 12