Dejected, they repaired to the drawing room. The rear of the house had suffered little destruction beyond a few cracked window panes. At least the brandy decanter had come through the assault unscathed. After the ladies were seated, André poured a glass for each, even allowing Marielle a sip from his. Then he settled beside Lise on the settee.
She put aside her glass, took one of his hands and held it tightly in hers. “We must decide what to do. The house is barely habitable, and who knows what danger tomorrow will bring. We have had a good life here, but it is over. We have remained this long only because of your stubborn pride.”
André squeezed his wife’s hand. “Sometimes that is all a man has left.”
“It has sent more than one man to his grave, and we must think of Marielle. She is young and deserves a chance to live a full life.”
At the mention of her name, and seemingly recovered from her fright, Marielle rushed to her mother’s side. “I am not afraid, Maman. I agree with Papa. Why should we allow the British to drive us out?”
“Perhaps when the roof falls in on your head, you will not be so brave.”
The girl made an impatient sound with her tongue. “That is not likely to happen.”
Lise raised a brow and glared at her daughter. “I have neither the strength nor the inclination to argue with you. If you cannot be sensible, sit down somewhere and be quiet.”
“Oh,” Marielle cried. “Why is it every time I try to express my opinion, I am told to sit down and be quiet? Am I to have no say in my own future?”
“And what do you think the future holds for you here? In France you will be able to complete your education. You will have a proper home. When the time comes for you to marry, you will find more than your share of eligible young men from whom to choose. Your uncle, Hubert, has connections at court and will help you make the right match.”
Marielle’s small hands clenched into fists. “I will not be married off to someone who appeals to you and Papa and Uncle Hubert and whom I shall hate. I don’t care if he has the ear of the king himself. You cannot force me.”
Catherine watched the girl, so obviously miserable, and guessed the source of her anguish. As long as Rive remained in Quebec, Marielle wished to stay as well. Perhaps she hoped, with the passing of a few short years, he would return her affection and marry her. Catherine sympathized with her, but she could offer no comfort. In the past, every gesture of friendship she put forth had been met with a stiff rebuff.
André glanced at his daughter. “No one will coerce you into anything. What your mother meant was that someday you will wish to marry and have a family of your own. If the young man is well-connected, so much the better. That is years away, so calm yourself.”
As if sensing a lost battle, Marielle acquiesced, although she sat smoldering on the edge of a wing chair.
Catherine turned her attention back to Lise and André.
“We are not destitute,” Lise insisted. “We have enough money to spend the rest of our lives in comfort. We could live in Paris or, if you prefer, the countryside. It would be lovely to entertain again, see friends and make plans. None of that is possible here. Even with a British defeat, it will take years to rebuild the city. I am too old to start anew.” Lise’s voice broke and she leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder.
“Hear, hear, do not go on so. You will have a house in Paris if it means so much to you. I do not suppose there is much to salvage here.” He looked about the room at the accumulation of possessions that represented the last thirty years of their lives together. The portraits of their daughters, painted when they were children, looked down upon them from the walls.
He sighed heavily. “Who could have foreseen such a disaster? I have made a fortune, two in some men’s eyes. With most of it already invested abroad, we shall not want for anything. I know you have never shared my deep love for this colony, but you have been a dutiful wife. If returning home will make you happy, that is what we shall do.”
He rose wearily to his feet. “Since that is settled, I am going to bed. I advise you ladies to do the same. With luck, we shall pass the remainder of the night undisturbed. Tomorrow, I shall petition the Governor General’s office for passage to France.” Then he turned to Catherine, who had been following the proceedings with great interest. “It seems you are destined to make a sea journey after all. Only this time, I promise you will not be disappointed.”
“I am very grateful for your consideration.” She made her excuses and left them to go to her room.
The staircase leading to the second story had surrendered whole parts of its wooden banister. Some of the elegantly carved spindles had broken off completely or teetered precariously over the hallway below. In several places plaster had come loose from the ceiling and lay in jagged chunks on the stairs. As she climbed each step, she hugged the wall. Without the banister for support, she might have been skirting the edge of a precipice.
Once undressed and in bed, she lay awake, staring into the darkness. It seemed fate was directing her home after all. More than anything, she wished to return to her family. Together they would face the future, no matter what it held. As for Rive, she would tuck the memory of him deep into her heart. That chapter in her life was, as needs be, irrevocably closed.
Chapter 24
Late one afternoon in early September, Catherine was confronted in her bedroom by a visibly distraught Lise. One look at the woman’s face convinced her that something of an extremely serious nature had occurred. When questioned, however, Lise avoided any direct answers.
“André will explain everything.” She hurried Catherine out of the bedroom.
“Is there a problem with the ship? Has André had disappointing news regarding the voyage to France? Will we not be sailing after all?” Catherine’s stomach tightened and her suspicions grew that she had correctly guessed something of the woman’s dilemma.
“Of course we will sail. Everything has been arranged. Nothing, really, that cannot be remedied once we safely arrive on the Continent. Please, do not worry. Now come, we must hasten. They are all waiting downstairs.”
Upon entering the drawing room, Catherine felt her anxiety grow. Something serious had indeed occurred. For a moment, it looked as if she had blundered into a tableau. André stood stone still near the window, his hands behind his back, his chin lowered almost to his chest. Marielle sat in a stiff pose on the settee, her mouth a tight slash drawn across her face. One small hand was clutched to her bosom; the other lay closed—fisted on her knee. A man Catherine had never seen before hovered beside André. Small and dark, he had piercing black eyes that seemed to stare right through her as though he had seen something beyond that had caught his interest.
Curious, Catherine turned her head just as Rive slowly unwound his tall frame from a chair against the wall. Trouble tightened his features. At first she thought he had risen to greet her for, indeed, he walked toward her. Then he stopped, stepped away and strode purposefully toward André.
“I suggest we proceed. She has been informed, I trust, or have you saved that delicate bit of business for the last?”
Catherine could not imagine what he meant or why he would appear so uncomfortable. Convinced now the problem stemmed from their plans to flee the colony, she was puzzled by Rive’s reaction. Surely, if he had been called upon to assist his aunt and uncle in some way, he would hardly resent it. He had always shown a genuine fondness for them. And, yes, despite his declaration in the garden, she could not believe he would do anything to forestall her leaving. No, there was more to it—something that had prompted the presence of the dark little man who stood somberly in their midst.
The atmosphere grew progressively strained. Seconds passed and still, whatever the news, no one seemed anxious to impart it. Was that the purpose of this man? He looked decidedly ill at ease now, as though he wished nothing more than to fulfill his duty and hasten back to wherever he had been summoned from.
“Will you please be s
eated, my dear.” André surrendered his spot near the window and moved to Catherine. As he did, he drew a chair forward for her.
Just before she sat, she noticed a sheaf of papers on a nearby table. Courtesy forbade her to steal no more than a fleeting glance, which was hardly enough to determine the contents. She had only a moment to speculate about them before André once again began to speak.
“Catherine, may I present Monsieur Duprey.”
As she acknowledged the introduction, the man edged forward, head bobbing as he bowed.
“Something has ... ah ... occurred,” André began, “which was unforeseen and which I assure you has only recently come to light. I will explain everything. Once you are privy to the facts, you will understand why certain measures are necessary.”
Before he had a chance to continue, Rive broke in. “Really, Uncle, must you go about this in such a drawn out manner? If you are unable to come directly to the point, then allow me, as I suggested earlier.”
André held up a hand, staying any further protest. Rive shrugged, then went to a window and stared out into the growing dusk.
André cleared his throat and again addressed Catherine. “Now then, as sometimes happens when making plans, unexpected complications arise. In this case, we have a situation that presents a slight annoyance. You see, each individual who wishes to obtain passage on one of His Majesty’s ships—a difficulty these days as space is exceedingly scarce—must show proof to Monsieur Duprey that he or she is unquestionably a subject of the king—either through birth or marriage. We are all, of course, French citizens, but that is not the case with you. Under any other circumstances, this rule would not be so strictly enforced. Unfortunately, with conditions as they stand, Monsieur Duprey cannot see his way clear to bend this rule for anyone.” André glared at Duprey before turning back to Catherine. “So you see, some unorthodox measures are required in order to remedy the situation.”
Catherine’s brows knit together in a frown. “I don’t understand how such a circumstance can be changed.”
“It can, I assure you. It will be perfectly legal.”
“You mean I am somehow to become a French citizen?” Catherine glanced at Monsieur Duprey, who nodded his head in agreement. “Surely there is no time. There must be certain requirements to fulfill. I am at a loss as to how to proceed.” Her eyes went to the papers just beyond her reach, and she hastily concluded they must be the instrument by which this requirement would be satisfied.
André extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. Having appeared reasonably calm up to this point, he now gave a different impression. Catherine tried to ease any distress she might have caused. “Of course, I will do whatever you suggest.”
Her answer, however, did not bring the expected relief. André still appeared troubled. Even Lise, who sat unobtrusively away from the group with tightly clasped hands, was ill at ease.
“Is there something else?” Catherine was now thoroughly bewildered.
“I wish it were as simple as acquiring immediate citizenship,” André continued. “I fear only the king himself could facilitate such a matter with the stroke of a pen. So we must seek other channels by which to accomplish this deed. We ... that is ... Rive and I have consulted with Monsieur Duprey and come to a conclusion. Our only alternative is to follow his advice.”
“Which is?” Catherine was suddenly seized by a premonition it would not be to her liking.
“You must be married at once to a French citizen.”
“Married?” At first she thought she must have misunderstood. Then all at once, Lise’s reluctance to answer her questions became clear. Now, too, she understood Rive’s presence. They ... he expected her to marry him. She pushed herself up from the chair.
“I will not do it. I will not even consider it.”
Lise rushed forward and put her arms around Catherine. “I understand how you feel, but it is the only possible solution.”
“Is it?” She looked from Rive to André. “I would rather stay here.”
“That is out of the question,” André exclaimed. “You have no idea of the rabble the British have recruited. Don’t think for a moment the Americans will conduct themselves like gentlemen if they are given free rein over a vanquished city. No, you must leave with us.”
“If Madame Flint prefers the company of the Americans, then I do not think you should force her to marry Cousin Rive.” Marielle’s voice, high-pitched and tremulous, carried across the room. “I am certain he does not wish it either. I think you are being unfair, and I, for one, shall never forgive you.”
During the girl’s tirade, Rive vacated his position by the window and stalked over to Catherine. With a firm grip on her arm, he steered her toward the open doorway. Once through it, he guided her to the other side of the house and into the parlor. A chill spread through the room in spite of the heavy drapes kept constantly drawn over the now glassless windows. No fire burned in the hearth; yet neither of these privations caused the coldness that seeped through Catherine’s body. Even if sunlight flooded the room, it could not dispel the cold that gripped her.
“You planned this. How could you?”
“Listen to me, Catherine.” He spoke softly, but in a serious tone that told her he would brook no contradiction. His fingers gripped both her arms as if in anticipation of her flight. “First, I have no influence upon the decrees issued by the Governor General. Second, and most important, if I were to enter into a marriage contract with you, it would be one that poses little chance of consummation. On that you have my word.”
“I do not believe you.”
“This is a temporary measure.” Underlying the persuasion in his tone, there sounded a clear undercurrent of urgency. “After the marriage is duly recorded, you will be under no obligation to conduct yourself as my wife. When you reach France, the marriage will be put aside through legal channels. It will be as if it never happened.”
Catherine’s gaze locked onto his. “I have only your word. What guarantee do I have?”
“What more should you require beyond my word?” He sounded almost incredulous that, after all this time, she would question his veracity. “Do you think I would maneuver you into marriage just to satisfy my own desire? You know I wish to marry you. I made that clear. However, your refusal ended my hopes. For heaven’s sake, Catherine, do you think me so villainous, so base ...” Suddenly he stopped speaking and just stared at her for a moment. “My God, that’s what Flint did.”
She remained stoic, did not even blink. Her jaw tightened, and she clenched her teeth.
“Oh, my sweet. Why did you not tell me?” One hand came away from her arm to gently cup the side of her face. “Ma chère.”
“Mr. Flint has no bearing here.” She turned her face away.
“I could not disagree with you more. I shall not belabor the point, however.” He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped back from her. “My uncle Hubert will carry out your wishes. On my honor.”
She took a moment to decide if he spoke the truth and chose to trust him, for she could think of no instance in which she had caught him in a blatant lie. He was a man who comported himself in a manner he believed justified his actions. He never made excuses, at least to her, for his behavior. She had branded him with many an epithet, but “liar” had never been among them.
“I will agree to the marriage under the conditions you stated. As long as it is understood that I can never fulfill the duties of a wife.”
“I have no choice but to accept your terms.” His expression up to then had appeared dour, but now it lightened somewhat. “However, a wise man once said that it is most impolitic to utter so irrevocable a word as ‘never.’ ” He appeared to smile, although subtly enough as to leave some doubt. “Yes, it can be most impolitic. Can you not, at least on the face of it, see some good advice there?”
“No.”
“Ah.” He nodded as if accepting defeat.
She remained silent. If she knew onl
y one thing about Rive, it was his expertise at parrying words.
He let a few moments pass. “Come. We had best return to the others before André’s heart finally gives out.”
When they reentered the drawing room, André stepped forward expectantly. Lise hurried to Catherine. Marielle appeared as grim as if attending a funeral.
“I believe we are ready for Monsieur Duprey.” Rive guided Catherine to where the man stood.
“Then I shall perform the ceremony without further delay?” Duprey turned to André. “You and Madame St. Clair will be required to act as witnesses. Do you have a ring?”
Rive reached into his jacket and brought out a simple gold band. When and where he had acquired it, Catherine could not even guess. Perhaps it had been in his possession for some time in the hopes she would agree to become his wife. As Monsieur Duprey’s voice drifted over her, Catherine managed to utter the few required words. Rive took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then there were papers to sign, and, shortly after gathering them together, Duprey took his leave.
Springing up from her chair, Marielle gave in to the misery that had kept her silent during the exchange of vows.
Her eyes swollen and red, she glared at her parents. “How could you? Oh, I hate you. I hate you all!” She dashed out of the room, slamming the door closed.
André and Lise seemed anxious, too, to exit. Making their excuses, they followed on the heels of their daughter. Rive, on the other hand, showed no such haste to withdraw. Quite the contrary, he stayed close to Catherine’s side.
“So it is done.”
She stood dazed. With great effort, she finally managed to set one foot ahead of the other, intending to take her leave as well. She had gained but a step when he stayed her progress and turned her toward him.
“But not quite.” He took her in his arms and brought his mouth down onto hers in a kiss that bespoke the passion of a man finding himself alone, for the first time, with his bride. As the kiss deepened, he parted her lips and coaxed a small response. He moved his mouth in such a way as if to end the kiss, only to resume it with renewed ardor.
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