Bright Hair About the Bone

by Barbara Cleverly

  “So be it. I’ll inform Marcel. Are you going to name him?”

  Letty shook her head and d’Aubec’s smile faded. Naming a dog was the first sign of acceptance and he recognised her gesture for the decisive refusal it was. “Then I shall give him one. Let’s call him ‘Dagobert’—a good Burgundian name. But, Letty, I mean you to have him. On one condition: that he stays here. This is a breed that works hard in the fields but it’s highly intelligent, it loves human company, and becomes devoted to its master and its mistress. A herd dog, remember—it doesn’t like to see its humans straying off. You should be aware! Now you’ve got acquainted…this dog will know you next time you come…. You can give him back to Bella, who’s growing anxious, and we’ll get on with our ride. I see the horses are ready.”

  The sun was glowing richly on the hills ahead of them as they first walked, then with Dido gaining confidence, trotted down the slope away from the château and began the steady descent to the valley beyond. A wonderful evening and, in other circumstances, Laetitia would have felt herself completely in tune with it, blessed to be here in this corner of France which she acknowledged was weaving her into its enchantment. Critically she asked herself how much of the excitement she was feeling was due to the countryside and how much to her companion: a man who alarmed but attracted her, a man whom she despaired of ever truly knowing, distorted as his image continually was in her eyes by Daniel’s shadowy, necromancing presence.

  And d’Aubec’s mother had sabotaged, with her over-hasty revelations, what was to be her last evening with Edmond, her last chance properly to understand him. Should she be influenced by the extraordinary claim with all the undercurrent of insinuation and deceit? Laetitia needed time to delve back into her own past, searching her memory for badly understood childhood impressions; she needed time to uncover and face something she had always known and ignored. Something uncomfortable. But, in a contrary way, she found she wanted to seek d’Aubec’s assurance that he knew nothing of Daniel’s alleged plans for her. She wanted to hear his gasp of surprise when she told him, and his hot denial that he was involved in the deception. She wanted to hear his incredulous laughter warning her that his poor old mother was surely on the rocks and breaking up fast, and Letty was to smile and humour her. No harm meant. Just the romantic imaginings of an elderly lady.

  She glanced sideways at him to find that he was watching her, warm and concerned. She instinctively returned his smile and her heart gave a warning thump. Oh, Lord! What had happened to the immunity she had boasted of to Marie-Louise? The defences she had assured Paradee she had? Had she heard a single one of Gunning’s warnings? She wouldn’t be the first woman to have fallen for a rogue, but surely that could never happen to someone with her common sense and awareness?

  She urged herself to take the thoughtful, adult approach and put her feelings for Edmond d’Aubec under a microscope. And what she saw there was: friendship—certainly; admiration—yes, but qualified; physical attraction—undeniable; love? There she stopped. An unconscious twitch on the reins communicated itself to the horse, its reaction reflecting her own uncertainty. Love? How could she know? What was her yardstick, where her co-ordinates? She rejected as unhelpful guides both the emotion she had felt for the White Fox of her early years and the almost cerebral awakening at the touch of her scientist. She mistrusted even more the state of being in love as portrayed in novels. She’d met lady novelists. Her problem would not have arisen in an earlier age—if a marriage with the dark lord had been arranged for her in feudal times, she’d have counted herself lucky to be his fair lady. Ah, well…Edmond d’Aubec would never take her heart by frontal assault, she thought whimsically, picturing him all too easily in armour and plumed helmet. But perhaps he knew of other, more stealthy ways of approach. She grinned at the intriguing idea.

  “Something amusing you, Talbot?” He poked her in the ribs with his riding crop.

  “No…I was just thinking about…fortifications. There’s a wonderful view of your château from here. I was trying to trace the line of the original walls and work out whether there may have been room for a Celtic oppidum on the flat top. Something on the lines of Bibracte, perhaps? I think, you know, there would have been space enough for a small town, and you’re right on an ancient trade route from the tin mines of Cornwall down to Marseilles. And, have you ever noticed?…it’s more obvious from up there now the wheat’s fully grown…that there are field markings down here in the valley. Small—half-to five-acre Celtic field outlines, I’d say…”

  He reined Hannibal to a halt with a groan. “Will you take your nose off the historical scent for a while? I brought you up here to get away from all that. I would have been proud to take you out to dinner in town tonight, to show you off. And you’ve certainly earned it, but I think you would have refused to be seen in my company.”

  “Edmond, how can you be so unaware? Everyone knows I’ve been coming here to see you almost every evening since I arrived in Fontigny. What do you suppose they think I’m doing here? Teaching your mother needlepoint? It’s just as well I have an alternative identity to hide behind—I’m afraid my reputation was shot to pieces the first evening I spent with you. I expect you’ve ruined many?”

  “Ruined? Some women have been honoured and delighted to have been observed in my company!”

  “And why have you never married one of these grateful ladies? I’d have thought a fellow as dynastically minded as you, would, by now, have been busy ensuring that the line would continue. I’m amazed that you haven’t a whole troupe of little d’Aubecs walking behind you learning how to swagger!”

  He looked frostily at her. “None of my ‘grateful ladies,’ as you so unkindly call them, would have been suitable for me. But you’re quite right. As a matter of fact you touch, in your usual insensitive way, on an issue of pressing importance to me. Many people are of the opinion that I should marry.” He thought seriously for a moment then added, “I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve led an interesting life; yes, I could well settle down now. In fact, Laetitia, I think of it more and more often. My mother is weary of helping me to run such a grand establishment—she would be delighted to hand over her châtelaine’s keys. She has probably confided her concerns to you? The house needs a mistress, children racing down the corridors as I used to do with my cousins, ponies in the stables again…”

  Letty began to bite her lips, casting about for emollient phrases of rejection.

  “Well…the next time I ask Gabrielle to marry me, I’m confident that she’ll say yes.”

  “Gabrielle?” said Laetitia. “Who’s Gabrielle?”

  “My cousin. I think I may have mentioned her? The family have been trying to marry us off for years,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “I told you I had to go to Lyon tomorrow. We shall be staying at my uncle’s house, and my cousins François and Gabrielle will be there. We always have a sort of Family Annual General Meeting at this time of year. We own a lot of property between us, we have many commercial interests, and there are important affairs to be decided. You remind me of my duties at a good moment, Laetitia. Yes, perhaps this year I will add an extra item to the agenda…The Question of the Dynastic Succession,” he said, and, kicking up Hannibal, he moved on.

  “Wait! Edmond! I think Dido’s gone far enough!” she called after him.

  “Dido is doing very well and enjoying the ride,” he called back. “Can I say the same for you? How are your spirits, Laetitia?”

  “Never higher!” she shouted back, and set off after him.

  They worked their way along a twisting old green trackway which she thought was taking them back, in a loop, towards the outcrop of the château. The huge mound, bristling with military fortifications, was visible from every angle in this countryside, and whenever she looked up it seemed her eye was challenged by its imposing presence. They emerged once again into the sunshine before he stopped. “We’ll get off here!” he announced, dismounting, and taking the horses by the bridle, he led them
off the path and through a stand of stunted oak trees.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To a favourite place of mine. I discovered it when I was a child and I come back often when I’m feeling sad or angry. It has a calming atmosphere which always does me good. Perhaps it will work its magic on you, Laetitia. I am not a total insensitive—I do notice that you have been preoccupied this evening…anxious…not yourself. I would like to think you are distressed at the idea of my leaving you behind for a few days.” His sudden grin defused the sharp remark that came to mind.

  A few yards farther, bursting through a clump of fragrant juniper bushes, they came upon a small glade. It was a circular space of close-cropped, springy turf, surrounded by short-growing oak trees and dotted with yellow stonecrop and pink rock roses. The side farthest from them was closed off by a low cliff of red-gold rock, and from the rock jetted a spurt of pure spring water which gurgled into a stone trough and spilled over back through the rocks and underground again.

  The horses made for this at once. When they’d had their fill Edmond led them off and hitched them to a branch. Turning back into the clearing, he stopped at the sight of Laetitia, who had been drawn straight to the spring and was playing with the water, drinking from cupped hands and cooling her hot brow then raising full hands and gasping as the water ran down her arms.

  He watched her in silence for a moment, seeing her silhouetted against the dying sun, hair the colour of the rock and arms gleaming. She turned, all hostile feelings dissolved away by the magic of the glade, and saw him staring at her.

  “I love your special place, Edmond! It’s a holy place. I can feel it.”

  “And you are its spirit, Laetitia. It recognises you,” he said softly, and began to move towards her.

  The last melancholy note of a thrush died away and did not come again. The air was still with the expectant hush of an audience just silenced by three warning raps. At last the sun dipped below the surrounding hills and Letty shivered. Not quite sure how she had allowed herself to be led so smoothly into this remote and Celtic scene, she was starkly aware of his intentions. Aware also of her own treacherous thought—Why not walk towards him? She judged the space between them. Four steps would take her into his arms and into his life for a little longer, perhaps forever. The water which had trickled down her body in a cooling shower now clung, hot, to her skin; her breathing was unsteady, the dark man filling her horizon no longer a threat but a desired object. Hers if she chose him. She was aware of a rush of power through her limbs, a playful confidence. He moved again towards her, arms reaching out, and she saw him afresh, clearly, the distorting mist of suspicion melted away: a suppliant, loving and beloved.

  Three steps.

  A piercing whicker of fear from the white mare ripped through the silence, speaking to her directly. Startled, Letty turned to see her tugging at her halter, eyes rolling in terror, hooves waltzing.

  “It’s getting dark, Edmond. There’s something out there spooking Dido, I think. I’ll lead her back over the next bit, it’s rather rough for her.”

  She started towards the horses but her arm was seized as she attempted to pass him. “Never mind the bloody horse! You’re perfectly well aware of what I’m offering and what I want in return,” he muttered in her ear, holding her close. “Aware of, and, I would have said, eager for. But I see I’ve misjudged the moment and perhaps even the place—dammit! And I risk exposing myself to a rejection. You know me well enough by now to understand that my pride will not countenance a rebuff!”

  “You’re quite wrong, Edmond—I don’t understand what you’re saying. You have nothing to offer me and I have nothing to give you. In fact, I’ll tell you straight—you and the countess between you have thrown me into total confusion. You tell me you are to marry this…Gabrielle? Well—you’d better confide in your mother, then. She appears not to be aware of your plans. Indeed, she has schemes of her own, to marry you off to me in a medieval way! A little project dreamed up, she tells me, by herself and Daniel. It’s all for our own good, apparently. And it’s confidently expected that we will be very happy.”

  Instead of releasing her, his grip tightened. “Oh, no! Damn it! I specifically asked her not to…” His voice trailed away in confusion.

  “You knew this? You stand there, a stranger, claiming to know more about me than I know myself? Are you colluding with your mother…with my godfather…in this? I hadn’t taken you for anyone’s puppet, Edmond.”

  “I think for myself. I act in my own interests!” he exploded, clearly rattled. “My mother—your fathers, my cousins, the whole boiling—they can all go to hell! We don’t need to listen to anyone, Laetitia! Who cares what anyone else thinks, wants, advises, requires, or expects? I’m fed up with being told what I may and may not do! I know very well what I want and soon you’ll know what you want and it will be the same thing. Why are you laughing?”

  “I was just thinking that your grove doesn’t seem to be working its magic this evening. It’s rather eerily exaggerating the differences between us, driving us farther apart. I’m increasingly tearful and petulant and you are shaping up to be the insensitive brute I’d always suspected you to be.”

  He was instantly contrite. He sighed and moved a lock of damp hair gently from her face. “Forgive me. It’s not easy…Making a proposal that you think is bound to be rejected…well…it leaves a fellow a bit exposed, you know. Not used to that. But I’m not the clod you describe. I concede that all this,” he waved a hand at the surrounding countryside, “is intimidating. Scares me sometimes,” he lied unconvincingly. “But you’re right. Not quite ourselves this evening, either of us, are we? And perhaps it’s too late to retrieve your goodwill. But I don’t give up. Ever. And I have more patience than you give me credit for. Laetitia—there’s something I want you to do for me.”

  Feeling her begin to shiver in the night air, he took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. Holding her firmly by the upper arms he bent his head to look her in the eye. “I want you, while we’re away, to assume my mother’s duties of châtelaine here. The run of the house, the bunch of keys—literally!—all the trappings. A room will be prepared for you and the staff left behind will be told to take their orders from you. You will have to come up to visit your dog, anyway.”

  He smiled to see her mystification. “I am, of course, showing myself to be exactly what you have suspected: manipulative, scheming, and thoroughly selfish. I want you to have the time, unencumbered by my presence, wagging like a spaniel at your heels the whole while, to fall in love with the house, with my possessions, with the spirit of the place. You already love me, Laetitia,” he said with a grin that acknowledged and mocked his own over-confidence. “It shouldn’t be difficult to…”

  But she wasn’t listening.

  “Laetitia, what’s wrong?”

  All her attention was fixed over his shoulder. Alarmed, he whirled around, ready to confront whoever had invaded their glade. “That bloody priest! If that’s him, slinking about in the underbrush, I’ll…”

  The horses were restive but d’Aubec could detect no human presence.

  “Have you seen a ghost?” he asked, bewildered.

  She pulled her startled gaze back from the horizon. “No, Edmond. Not a ghost. A saint, perhaps…or a goddess,” she murmured.

  He nodded, understanding. “Ah! That’ll be Domina Luci! The Lady of the Grove, the tutelary deity in these parts. She’d be likely to surface to take a look at a rival!”

  “A rival? For your attentions, d’Aubec? Are you then her devoted acolyte?”

  “But of course,” he answered with mock gravity. “I worship at her altar. The Lady would always expect me to present the human object of my affections for her inspection. I think she’ll approve of you.”

  The ride back was completed in silence, Letty’s emotions an uncomfortable mixture of regret and relief. When they entered the château she walked a pace behind him, lagging back as they went along what she ha
d come to think of as “the portrait corridor.”

  “Getting to know them?” He waited for her to catch up, smiling approval. “I shall, of course, quiz you on all their names and dates the moment you accept to join their ranks. You’d better do your homework.”

  “I was wondering why they almost all had their portraits painted outdoors? And with the same backdrop? Unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Just showing off the family estate from the best angle, I assume. What about your English artists: Reynolds? Gainsborough? Weren’t their subjects shown in bosky dells or set against wide acres?”

  “Yes, you’re probably right.” She wandered along the row, making contact with each of the counts and his family. “Poor chaps! Oh—lucky chaps, I know, to have their wealth and position, but what turbulent times they lived through. So many in uniform—it seems they never were at peace. I wonder how many of them died at peace in their beds?”

  She could not imagine what it was in her innocent remark that triggered his odd reaction. His face darkened and he went silently to stand by his brother’s picture at the end of the line. “The uniforms end with this one,” he said. “The last sacrifice.” He stretched out a hand and pointed back down the line. “Look at the last two centuries. War, nothing but war. Struggles against almost all our European neighbours…the Revolution…the German invasion of 1870…the German invasion of 1914. Millions dead. A constant haemorrhaging of French blood. Why?” His eyes appealed to her to supply a reason. “Tell me why, Laetitia.”

  Throughout her life Letty had been subjected to rigorous questioning by men who thought they knew the answer and who waited with varying degrees of patience for her to chant their views back to them. She was a skilful player, but she was suddenly tired of the game. “Do you want my diplomatic answer or my honest one?” she asked.