“I promise.”
“Good.”
He released her hand and, as if his strength was now exhausted, fell back in the chair, his eyes writhing in his livid face, sweat breaking on his forehead.
“Father! Father! What is it?”
An agonised groan broke from him and his whole body seemed to be convulsed in pain.
Catherine ran to the door and flung it open.
“Michel, quick! Help me!”
“What about this?” He gestured to where Ahmed’s body lay.
“Bring it in here so no-one sees it. Oh, merciful Heavens! Look at my father! What are we going to do?”
Between them they managed to move Armand to the bed.
“It’s like some sort of seizure,” Michel whispered, watching as his limbs thrashed wildly and his features contorted.
“Is there any water in that jug? Perhaps if I found a kerchief and bathed his face...”
“It can’t do any harm, Catherine. Here.”
Gradually, painfully slowly, minutes and then hours dragged by. Catherine sat by her father’s side, pressing the moistened cloth to his forehead and murmuring soothingly to him. At times he seized her hand in a crushing grip, clinging to her as if she was his only hope of salvation. At others he muttered incoherently, convinced that Catherine was a whole succession of people: most of them seemed to be female and they all appeared to have wronged and angered him. The name ‘Eleanor’ was the one he called most frequently and Catherine remembered that she had been his brother’s wife. Michel had to restrain him at one point when he sat up, grabbing Catherine’s shoulders and violently shaking her.
“How could you kill my son?” he was shouting furiously. “How could you do it?”
“Father, Father, Simon is well – your son is safe.” Desperately she sought to reassure him.
Eventually he grew quieter, dozing briefly between bouts of pain and fevered ramblings.
“If only he could sleep,” Catherine said. “I’m sure he’s exhausted.”
“Is there anyone here who could mix him a draught?”
“There was only Ahmed,” she said bitterly. “But he’s no use to us now.”
As she looked down at her father, his eyes opened again.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked softly, taking his hand.
“Oh yes,” he gave a ghastly smile. “Mother...Vivienne – as young and beautiful as ever. You and I will go to Hell for what we have done. But I consider it to have been worthwhile.”
His eyelids closed and again he drifted into sleep. As she watched him, Catherine felt a strange mixture of emotions.
“Why don’t you lie down on the bed beside him, Catti?” Michel suggested after a while when Armand hadn’t stirred. “I’ll deal with anything that happens.”
“Would you, Michel?” She could feel her eyelids drooping.
“Yes, go on.”
She stretched out and almost immediately, slept.
“Catherine, wake up.”
A hand was shaking her. She opened her eyes, confused for a moment about who was speaking and where she was.
“Oh!” She remembered in a rush and sat up in alarm. “Father?”
She looked at the space beside her but Armand was up, wearing different clothes, standing next to her. He looked better, almost well.
“What has happened?” she demanded.
Armand shrugged.
“I have slept and I feel much stronger. Tidy yourself and then we must go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Your mother is to be buried an hour after sunrise.” For Armand, the voice was gentle. “We must be in the chapel when Father Hervé arrives.”
Catherine looked at her father in surprise. She had not expected piety from him. He seemed to read her thought and smiled grimly.
“As he will not expecting me to be there, I am eager to see the expression on his face. Come, Catherine, you must hurry now. I do not want to seem ungrateful, and it has been a while since I have had a beautiful young lady in my bed but -”
“Do not mock me!” Catherine snapped, blushing.
“I wasn’t, my dear. I really mean -”
“What about Odette? She’s -”
“Odette need not concern you. And truly, Catherine, I am grateful -” He glanced towards Michel. “- to both of you. I am sure I do not need to ask you not to speak of what you have seen tonight, do I, Gilbert?”
“No, my lord. I will say nothing, I swear it.”
Catherine slipped off the bed and hastily set about straightening her gown and neatening her hair.
“Are you happy in your present situation?” Armand was asking Michel. “Whom do you serve?”
“Jacques Poulains. He’s a knight in Lord Roland du Plestin’s guard, my lord.”
“Would he spare you to me, do you think? With Ahmed gone I need a personal squire – someone I can trust. Your father has served me well for many years. Will you?”
“It would be an honour, sir.” He knelt impulsively. “I dedicate my life and my honour to your service.”
Armand said nothing for a moment then reached out and put a hand Michel’s shoulder.
“You will still win your spurs with me, boy, I promise you that. Now help me on with my sword. You can dispose of the body while everyone is at the funeral.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“If you are ready, Catherine, let us go.”
“I should check on Simon, my lord. Sévrine and Marie were both sleeping heavily when I left them. Perhaps he is crying and there is no-one to hear him.”
“Go first and check on the child, Michel. If his nurses are fit to care for him, deal with the other business. If not, you must become nursemaid for a time. Can you do that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Come, Catherine.”
Father Hervé’s reaction must have been extremely gratifying to Armand, Catherine decided. He behaved as if he had seen a ghost. Of the other lords, Roland seemed to be genuinely pleased to see that the baron had recovered. The Count looked furious. The two ladies gushed volubly about how delighted they were to meet the famous Lord of Radenoc. Again they insisted that Catherine must be with them throughout Mass and on their way back to the castle after the interment. Fortunately Guy kept well away from her – he was with Baron Le Folgoet, his father, and several of the other young noblemen. Catherine kept an anxious eye on her own father but he seemed to have undergone a miraculous transformation. It was hard to believe that this was the man who had been racked with convulsive pain the previous night. She was pleased that Lord Roland was by him. She was sure he could be trusted.
When they returned to the castle, a meal was to be served in the hall. Catherine was horribly afraid, as she made her way towards the High Table, that she would be again made to sit with her tormentor. She had caught him grinning at her as she entered then saying something to the squire who now approached to conduct her to her place. Armand was already seated in one of the two great carved armchairs at the table’s centre. The Count of Léon would sit beside him in the other. As she was desperately trying to think of some excuse to absent herself, Catherine suddenly heard Armand calling her name.
“Sit here by me, Catherine,” he said, his ringing tones carrying clearly across the hall. “Count, perhaps you would sit to the left of my daughter.”
With obvious reluctance, Léon allowed her to take what he clearly regarded as his rightful position at the table. With a surge of triumph and relief, Catherine took her place.
“Our young friend tells me that the women are quite recovered,” Armand murmured quietly to her. “Lord Simon is perfectly well so you have no cause to worry.”
“I am glad to hear it, Father,” Catherine replied.
During the meal, she was largely ignored. It suited her and gave her a chance to order her thoughts. Armand devoted himself to Lady Margot on his right, entertaining her in a most amusing way, judging by her frequent bursts of laughter. Piqued, Léon talked
exclusively to Baron Le Folgoet, seated to his left.
When the foodstuffs had been cleared away and those at the lowest tables had left the hall, Armand called for silence.
“My lords and ladies, there are a number of matters which need to be discussed before you take your leave today. I understand that two of you have propositions to lay before me and I myself have an announcement to make. Lady Hélène, you may begin.”
She rose from her seat and made her way round to the front of the table until she stood directly facing Lord Armand. She curtsied gracefully then smiled up into his face.
“My lord,” she began in her clear, sweet voice, “my sister and I have been very glad to make the acquaintance of your dear daughter. We are so sorry to see her here, motherless, alone, without a woman to turn to.”
Catherine stiffened.
“Well, my lady, where is all this sympathy leading to?”
“We would so much like it if Catherine could come home with us. There are many jolly young people in our household. She would learn the art of dalliance, hear music skilfully played, become a lady.”
Catherine dug her nails into her palms. The idea of going with them was appalling – she would have no peace, no privacy. Please let him refuse, she thought frantically.
“Are you suggesting that my late wife did not school my daughter satisfactorily?”
Catherine heard the icy note in her father’s voice and held her breath.
“Not at all, my lord,” Hélène cooed. “It is just that Catherine now needs to be in a suitable place to help her make that special and difficult transformation – from an awkward gawky child to a graceful and beautiful young woman: from a cygnet to a swan. I remember so well how I...”
“You speak most poetically, my lady,” Armand interrupted. “Unfortunately, however, I must decline your invitation. I have other plans for Catherine.”
Catherine turned to her father with a grateful smile but his expression was forbidding.
“Baron le Folgoet – you also have a request to make, I believe?”
Catherine’s smile faded and a feeling of sick dread swept over her. She clutched the arms of the chair to stop herself from losing control.
“Now, baron, speak.” Armand’s voice was smooth and urbane.
Lord le Folgoet took Hélène’s place, glanced at his son and then began.
“It can hardly surprise you, Radenoc, that I propose a match between my son and your daughter. Guy is my heir, twenty-three years old, strong and well favoured by the ladies.”
He grinned at Catherine knowingly.
“She’s young but Guy likes her,” he continued. “I suggest a wedding next spring if you’re agreeable.”
“I see,” said Armand musingly. “You don’t need to know the details of her dowry before they plight their troth?”
Catherine felt panic rise in her stomach. Surely he couldn’t be doing this! He was going to give her to that vile, that disgusting, foul...
“I’m sure that you’ll be generous, baron,” le Folgoet was saying jovially. “But if you could just give us a rough outline? We know how wealthy you are.”
Catherine’s knuckles gleamed white. She would have to do something, say something. As if he knew that she could barely contain herself, Armand put his hand over hers and squeezed it – whether in reassurance or warning, she didn’t know.
“Catherine will have no dowry,” Armand said abruptly. “I do not propose to break up my domain. If your son will have her as she stands, he is welcome to her.”
“As she stands?” le Folgoet faltered. “You are joking, my lord, surely? You must give something with her...Guy couldn’t take her without.”
“Is that so?” Armand stood and looked along the table to where Guy was sitting. “Well, young man, do you wish to marry my daughter? Your father tells us that you like her.”
Guy shifted in his seat and scowled.
“Lost your tongue, eh?” Armand sat down again contemptuously. “Perhaps we should ask the lady instead. Catherine, what do you say? Would you like to marry Guy de Bégard? If you are keen I might be able to find a small sum with which to bless your union.”
At the mention of money, le Folgoet looked happier. He had glared at his son but now he looked at Catherine in hopeful anticipation.
“Speak honestly, daughter,” Armand said softly, his hand again covering hers. “You may, you know.”
She glanced at him doubtfully and then cleared her throat.
“I would not marry Guy de Bégard if he was the last man in Brittany,” she said, meeting le Folgoet’s eyes squarely.
“What?” he roared. “The impudent little bitch! How dare she?”
There was a babble of comment all along the table. Guy leaped up, red-faced and furious.
“Lord Armand, you cannot sit by and let this...this girl insult my father and me in this way!”
“You heard what my daughter said.” Armand hadn’t moved or raised his voice but everyone instantly fell silent. “Now either sit down and say nothing more, or remove yourself from my hall.”
“You have discerning taste, child,” Armand murmured in an undertone. “He was not a worthy suitor.”
At the far end of the hall the doors swung open and Odette, dressed in her best, was ushered in by Captain Rénard.
“And here is my prospective spouse,” Armand announced, releasing Catherine’s hand and getting to his feet. “Mistress Taloc, you are welcome.”
“I am glad to see that you have recovered, my lord,” Odette said with a gloating smile.
All the feelings of joy and relief drained out of Catherine. Probably Armand didn’t want her to marry Guy because he wanted her here to run errands for his own new wife. She, Odette, could teach Catherine all about dalliance – she had no need to go to Penmarch. She clutched her hands together in her lap.
“A seat for Mistress Taloc, someone please. Thank you. Place it there, in the centre. That’s right. Now, my dear, be seated.”
Walking with slow dignity, Armand moved round the table, and came to stand beside the stool on which Odette now was sitting. He put a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from rising. All eyes in the hall were fixed on them – the woman in gleaming scarlet, the white haired man robed in black.
“This is not, of course, a consecrated place,” Armand was saying, “but I am sure good Father Hervé would have no objection to saying the appropriate words now, at my request. Is that so, Father?”
“Of course, my lord. Whatever you wish.”
“As most of you know, Odette has been my faithful mistress for the last four years.”
“Five years, my lord,” Odette corrected, showing her teeth in a dazzling grin.
“Is it indeed so long?” His gaze travelled slowly along the line of avid faces at the High Table, paused, briefly, to meet Catherine’s agonized eyes before continuing to the end.
“After such tender devotion of course she now longs to be my wife: to tend me and care for me in my declining years – is that so, my love?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“And so, witnessed by you all, I shall give her the reward that she deserves.”
“Armand, my shoulder,” Odette objected in a peevish tone, “you’re hurting me.”
“Oh, I am sorry, my sweet. I had not realised you were so easily hurt.” He released his grip on the woman’s shoulder, taking her hand instead and helping her up. “Father, step down here, if you please.”
There were murmured comments from the guests as the fat cleric struggled to his feet and made his way down to where the couple stood.
“Now then,” he wheezed once he was in position. “Do you wish me to marry you or are you simply plighting your troth?”
“Marry? Plight our troth?” said Armand in a bemused voice. “I do not wish you to do either.” He paused for a moment and Odette looked at him uncertainly. Then he laughed softly and turned back to the priest. “I wish you to excommunicate her as a liar, a cheat and a whor
e.”
“What?” Odette shrieked.
“Did you think that I did not know?” Armand continued relentlessly. “You must have truly believed me to be in my dotage! I know how many of my knights you have slept with and with whom you have been plotting. What favours have you promised them? How are you going to pay them now?”
“Armand! I haven’t...I would never...Ask Ahmed, he’ll tell you!”
“Ahmed has left Radenoc,” he told her coldly. “And now you will follow. I give you twenty-four hours to get off my land. If after that you are found anywhere in this barony, you will be put to death immediately.”
“But how will I carry my things? Will you give me horses, servants? I can’t...”
“You will take nothing but the gaudy rubbish you are wearing. Think yourself lucky that I have not also deprived you of the consolation of the Church. Pray that God will help you. I shall not.”
“Do you not wish her to be excommunicated after all, my lord?” Father Hervé asked, in evident confusion.
“Do you think she deserves it? You must have heard her confess. I expect you have even had her yourself, Father. Do as you think fit.”
“Had her myself? My lord, how can you think that I would consort with such a low, wicked creature?”
“You were ready to marry her to me a moment ago.”
“Yes, my lord, but I did not know then how depraved she was. If you say...”
“Silence. The subject bores me. Take yourself off. Captain Rénard, throw the slut out.”
“Willingly, my lord.”
“I take my leave of the rest of you. Farewell, my lords, ladies. I do not imagine that you will wish to delay your departures any longer.”
As Odette was half carried, half dragged out of the hall by Captain Rénard, René Gilbert watched them go, his expression unreadable. Baron le Folgoet and his son delayed barely a moment before following them out. Others, having bade a hasty farewell to their host, made their own way down from the table and out of the hall. Hélène and Margot, obviously realising that a further appeal to Lord Armand was fruitless, simply curtsied deeply and went off with Lucien Kerboul.
Armand's Daughter Page 8