“Well,” he began, as evenly as possible, “I should tell the woman that if the child be mine, we should wed, otherwise... Threaten to tell her family, or the other suitor.”
Pleased with his satisfactory response, Benoit casually rested back against the rock. “Thank you for your wise counsel,” A barely disguised look of scorn swept his tough features. “At least, we agree on the action to be taken... But your advice has come too late...you see, I’ve already put to her what you have suggested... Would you like to guess what I was told?” His face darkened with the passion of remembrance, words trailing in despair.
“She said... I...I was not worthy of her hand ... Although I had her heart, and she had chosen to marry...Another. Another! Someone else to raise my child, because I’m not good enough!”
His anger was such that Nicholas’ regret having opened the conversation, but he had released the floodgates now and he supposed that he would have to listen.
“She begged me to continue seeing her, promising that, in exchange for a vow of silence, I would be granted her charms ... She had a plan, she said. Soon she would be rid of her husband. It would not be long. Then, she would be mine.”
Tears began to fall down his broad face, and he turned away.
At seeing this, Nicholas felt slightly sorry for the foolish man, but the woman was a moral degenerate. He was better rid of her. Still, the man was half mad with grief and anger and he wasn’t about to convince him otherwise.
When he composed himself, the rancour returned.
“Much as she tortured my soul, I loved and believed her. I could not refuse her terms. She was... Is, like drink to a dying man... I know she doesn’t love him, but though she as lain with me many times since her marriage, lately, I have begun to think differently...”
Nicholas was chilled to the bone, bored and tired. If this story was leading somewhere, he wanted the fool to get on with it, so they could get back.
“Now, with the child about to be born, I can no longer believe that she will be rid of him ... Maybe now, she means to trick me ... But I will stand up and take what is rightfully mine,”
His eyes took on a crazed quality, voice trembling with escalating rage.
“For it’s you, you stinking bastard,” he spat, moving toward him, “ I am speaking to the one who wrenched from me all hope of happiness... You, you idiot, who married a woman carrying another man’s child,” His demoniac laugh split the air. “Whatever plan she had, you fell for it, she wanted your name, and with you gone, she will have the wealth and prestige she desires, and be free to marry me!”
Nicholas felt he had been split between the eyes with an axe.
That was it! The wily bitch! She had used him as a means to an end. He had been an even greater fool than he imagined. He should have known that she was capable of sinking to the lowest depths of depravity to save her skin. His mind was assaulted with thought, but within a millisecond, everything fell into place ... The rendezvous she had arranged with him that night, in full knowledge of her pregnancy by a dim-witted private, who could slake her libidinous desires, but not her dreams of grandeur. She had fabricated the tale about her brother’s involvement in an unlawful scheme, as a ruse to arouse his sympathy and interest. Once she had him alone ... Perhaps a sleeping draught in his drink, causing him to fall asleep, enabling her enough time to set the scene, for the appearance of a forced sexual encounter. She feigned the role of wronged maiden to the hilt. Once the ring was upon her finger, her true personality had revealed itself. She was a diabolically, ruthless person, who was no above doing anything to secure her fortune. Now she had it all; a name for her bastard, a title ... a crazed but obsequious lover and a husband robbed of choice and personal integrity, by an act of treachery.
Fool that he was, Benoit would be willing to stand by her and feign his involvement ... The crazed and love struck man would as soon kill Nicholas, as stoop to dishonour his unscrupulous lover.
The madman continued, “I could not believe my good fortune in finding you alone like this ... For months now, I have been planning every possible means for your demise, but she wanted it her way ... And now, by this stroke of luck...”
He deliberately dropped the musket, realizing that the fire would draw attention, and withdrew his knife, leaping to confront his nemesis, on the flat rock.
Nicholas, knowing that his own musket was not near enough, drew out his knife, and sprang towards him, slicing at the air.
He made contact with Benoit’s cheek. In surprise, the man reacted by touching the wound, giving Nicholas time to slash his hand, forcing him to drop the knife, which fell off the rock, and into the water.
He grabbed Nicholas by the wrist, in an attempt to wrestle the knife, and it too, slipped in.
Benoit jumped off the rock and scrambled for his musket, but not before Nicholas lunged at him, landing two solid punches to his brow and head, knocking him off balance.
He recovered quickly, shaking the rain and blood from his eyes, he grabbed Nicholas by the uniform and countered with a cut to the left and another to the chest, causing him to fall back into the shallow water, winded and slightly dazed.
He made to stand, and in the same moment, Benoit, and right eye nearly swollen shut, swooped over him.
Nicholas bent his leg and thrust it sharply against his chest, vaulting the larger man back into the water.
Benoit cursed, and by luck, felt one of the knives by his side in the water. He came at his opponent full force, before Nicholas had a chance to rise.
“Now it is your turn to do the suffering,” he spat, venomously, raising his arm in an effort to plunge it into his chest.
In that split second, an arrow hit him straight in the back. Benoit fell forward, driving the knife into the thigh of his adversary, and falling atop him, in the same motion. The pain was searing as Nicholas attempted to free his legs, bent, trapped beneath him. For several seconds, he tried but he was no match for the bulk of a dead man.
He lay unmoving, nearly in shock, partly covered in water. The rain increased in force, driving heavily upon him. He closed his eyes.
He heard a rustle, a footstep nearby, but was too weak to respond. Then, he felt like a boulder had been lifted off his chest, and in the next moment, was dragged from the water, and turned on his side.
A pair of hands ripped open his uniform, searching, feeling for ... His heart?
... Another moment passed, and he felt an excruciating tug on his leg, sending him into a spasm of agony ... And then the smell of moss, and the vague sensation of something springy pressed against his tortured limb.
The rain continued to lash across his face, while fingers forced his eyes open, and for an instant, deep, enquiring brown eyes bore down into his.
He was poked and prodded a while longer, then, having reached the threshold of his pain tolerance, he mercifully passed out, unaware that he had been hoisted and carried off into the dark depths of the rainy wood.
………
“I see them coming... Their coach ...Maman, is it not grand!” the young woman cried, excitedly, her long black hair streaming rhythmically in the warm summer breeze, as she stuck her head out the window, and observed the first of the carriages meander up the promenade to the stables and coach houses.
Her face, softly featured in palest copper, held the percipience and charming animation of a budding young woman.
“There now, my sweet, you must not do such things,” responded the exasperated mother, good naturedly, “would you have us keep our guests waiting, while you dilly dally.”
She tugged her in, and clasped the window shut, with a little laugh. Standing face to face with the girl, nearly her height, she began, more seriously,
“I understand that soirees of this kind are new to you, but we must remember our manners and show a proper sense of decorum. The time for playfulness is over. You must show yourself to be a lady.”
Her light blue eyes shone on the girl, admiringly, but her tone was not l
ost on Shanata. Her mother would not be trifled with. During her youth, she had been free of many restraints, but rules regarding manners and education, were now strictly upheld and unyielding.
“Now scurry off, and let Marie attend to you, while I welcome our guests.”
Louise carried herself down the wide staircase, with great aplomb, exaggerating her natural elegance like one in sudden need of displaying it.
Her hair, gradually changing from blonde, to white, was dressed in side curls and swept off her forehead and nape, over a pad to make it appear higher, then finished in pomatum and powder. Etched in soft lines, her face, still held the loveliness of youth, though her slight figure now appeared a bit fuller, more mature, yet not unattractive, swathed as it was, in a gown of richly embroidered sea green taffeta, with matching fan, giving her an air of respectability befitting her title, and surroundings.
The chateau, designed by the wife of a De Belaise ancestor in the 1500s, had many outstanding features, and while Louise was not inclined to appreciate the grandiose proportions of older estates, she had grown to love its gracious towers, and the enchanting moat that enhanced the exterior beauty and reflection along a portion of the front wall, while granting additional light through its many large windows.
Inside, the rooms were expansive; each bedroom consisting of writing desks, silver candlesticks, damask chairs, closets with clothing chests, trunks, and dressing rooms with commodes and cupboards. The kitchens too, were large, with nearby servants quarters, wine cellars, a large gallery hung with expensive tapestries, two parlour rooms, a games room with billiard table, and an enormous and elaborately furnished, ballroom, which had been stripped of much of its contents, in preparation for the evenings fete.
And now, hours before its formal the event, servants and musicians alike, were bustling in and out of rooms positioning instruments, refreshment tables, lighting chandeliers.
Louise peeked through the doorway, smiling as she strolled past. Everything appeared to be running smoothly and she was determined to leave nothing to chance.
It would be indefensible to mar this event, for, other than the yearly dinner she held on behalf of business acquaintances, this was the first ball she had staged in the years since the death of Felippe, and above all, it was to be a coming out for Shanata, in the hopes that she might find acceptance amongst her social peers.
For herself, she cared little, her quiet life on the estate with limited social contact suited her temperament and enabled her to focus on her two most consuming interests; raising Shanata and overseeing her son’s estate.
Fortunately, their lands were situated in the most productive area in all of France, where, amid the lower sloping hills, acres of vineyards spread out in rich abundance, and nearby, cattle grew fat, alongside gardens of vegetables and melon.
Further along, hillsides were dotted with monasteries and abbeys built of Tufa, a substance that shone white under sunny skies. The limestone cliffs, from which they quarried this material, over time, became tunnelled with cool storage places for millions of bottles of wine, and as a place to cultivate mushrooms; some were even used for human habitation.
Though often called ‘the garden of France’, with its pleasant landscape and kindly climate, many of the wealthy, chose to leave their palaces and lands in Loire, to live at court or abroad, which meant that their estates were usually left in the hands of an agent to manage their affairs.
These unscrupulous agents frequently conspired with peasants to rob their absentee mistress or master of the fruits of their lands, causing owners to rely on merely a quarter of their income, a situation known to have occurred on the De Belaise estate.
With her sense of fair play, astute business sense and attention to detail, Louise had managed to secure the confidence and loyalty of her workers, and in time, the estate had become one of the most profitable in the region, a fact she took great pride in.
The estate again running smoothly, she could focus more fully on the needs of Shanata.
Through correspondence, both Nicholas and she had decided upon and made provision for, Shanata’s financial future, but this was not enough.
She had no intention of having her accepted on the basis of wealth alone. Her deepest need was to fully integrate her into refined society, to have her socially accepted... Eventually, married with a family of her own.
The fact of her mortality had always been a concern, and loomed more heavily with the passing years, when she considered that her child might be someday, be left alone.
Now that she was a young woman, Shanata’s innocence and vulnerability had changed, but become no less important.
With her medium complexion, ebon hair and eyes, she could pass for a Sicilian but, try as she might to keep the child’s origins a secret, she suspected that news of her native origins had become common knowledge, and her actions had been much frowned upon, from aristocratic circles, to the servants of her household.
Her parents and sisters, mortified, treated her with the contempt of one who has sullied the family name, and concluded, in a series of scathing letters, that she had been either mad, or ridiculously ill advised.
Even her dearest Celeste, stated her disapproval, hoping Louise would reconsider, pressuring her to, “place the child in a convent, or barring that, the family of a servant or field worker ... One could even have such a child in ones employ …”
The prying eyes and opposition were insufferable from the start, and caused her to sequester, for fear of their adverse effect on Shanata. This only served to strengthen her love and commitment.
She cared little for the hypocrisy and insincerity of her class; widowhood was, of itself, a social hindrance, and the invitations would have been scarce irrespective of Shanata.
Only now, with the girl approaching full womanhood, did she recognize the need to exploit these characteristics, to her, and ultimately, Shanata’s advantage.
Shanata had lately, shown sign of a need to exceed the perimeters of the estate.
Where once, Shanata had been allowed to play amidst the vineyards and stables with the children of their employees, before long, Louise was required to reinforce her daughter’s social standing, to become less a playmate than a mistress’ daughter, much to Shanata’s disappointment and confusion. Henceforth, the children kept to their own.
Outwardly accepting this condition, she never fully understood why, within her mothers’ world, people were not treated the same.
In consequence, she was forced to spend much of her time alone and unfettered, retreating from the imprisonment of her status, to an imaginary world of her own design.
Much as it reminded Louise of her early years, she was always fearful lest the child fall back into the liberal ways of her race, to legitimize the assumption that she was “ill-bred”. She had, therefore, taken great pains to educate and school her in the social graces, resulting in this accomplished and remarkable young woman; intelligent, well read, mannerly, skilled in the womanly arts, while free of the more obvious airs and graces.
She had not been jaded by the opulence of her surroundings, nor was she petulant and ungrateful.
Louise could not have been more pleased, had she been her own flesh and blood, and chose to believe that this life was better than anything she might have had with her own kind.
Still, when she once observed the girl ruminating over a thought, while sitting on the wall overlooking the river, she wondered where her memories took her, and if being with Louise had been enough. She gathered herself to assume the appropriate aspect of a lady of quality, gesturing to the doorman.
The doors opened, and in fluttered three of Felippe’s nieces and their husbands, followed by a number of their retinue, carrying several chests for their brief stay.
At first, she did not recognize them, they had aged so in the intervening years, but their haughtiness was the more apparent. The introduction was boring and decidedly pretentious.
“Duchesse de Belaise, my dear aun
t, you have a most handsome estate.” One Comtesse choked, disdainfully daubing on her nose on a lacy handkerchief.
“Perhaps, you could settle something between us. Marguerite and I, were arguing in the coach, that it had been upwards of fifteen years ... prior to the death of uncle, when we last had the good fortune to grace your doorstep,” the tone was less of inquiry than subtle reproach.
“I suppose that it shall be upwards of the same, before we are again, so chosen,” added her tactless sister, beneath her breath.
“My, but you are looking well,” offered the third. “So youthful! Could it be the country air?”
She knew it was coming, but she did not think that they would foolishly allude to it in their introduction
“...Or possibly, the flush of motherhood, which often sustains ones vitality.” Offered Isabelle, flashing a sardonic grin beneath the fan. “Tell me, where is your much vaunted daughter”?
Their non-partisan interest was palpably insincere, but curiosity had won out. She would not disappoint. They certainly did not expect to behold the beautiful girl they were about to see. She grit her teeth and smiled as pleasantly as possible.
“I am sure that she would not wish to keep our guests waiting, but will join us presently. There will be time enough for introduction. You must be exhausted after so long a journey,” she offered, placating in an effort to rid them from her sight. “Gentlemen and ladies, if you would please to make yourselves comfortable, you will be seen to your rooms.”
Stepping aside as the group were hustled up the stairs, she could hear their derisive comments muttered between them like nattering hyenas, while their obsequious husbands trailed behind, trying valiantly to ignore.
The doors were about to close, when the sound of clomping hooves flurried to a standstill, forcing her to remain by the doorway, bracing for yet another, ghastly visitor.
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