“Mr. Whitfield, Genevieve is not my daughter — she’s my niece, and I have done everything in my power to make sure that she was well taken care of, and received a good education that would enable her to make a life for herself outside of the convent since she never wanted to take the veil.”
“Are you saying that your brother seduced my sister?”
““Seduced” is not a word I would use when speaking of my brother,” the cardinal replied warily. “My younger brother, Henri, was the one destined for the Church, as the youngest son, but my father knew from the time he was a small boy that Henri would be much better suited to the army. He was always a cruel and violent child who enjoyed inflicting suffering and pain. My father tried to discipline him, but he couldn’t do much to change his nature, especially when my mother was always pleading his case. No amount of beatings and punishments could make him into a kinder person. When Henri was little, he limited his cruelty to animals, but as he got older, he became more interested in people and the power he could wield over them through force and manipulation. No maid was safe from him, and after he worked his way through the chateau staff, he turned his attention to the village.”
“You mean, Martine?” Alec had to restrain himself from driving the dagger further into the cardinal’s neck, infuriated by his calm acceptance of his brother’s crimes. The cardinal lifted his hands as if to indicate that it had been the will of God, and not the callous actions of his brother that resulted in her untimely death.
“Martine was a lovely girl, and I was sorry she died. She was only fifteen at the time, but many women die in childbirth, no? My father should have sent Henri away then, but he felt that Henri was still too young for the army and kept him at home for another two years. You see, I blame myself for what happened to Rose because I unwittingly piqued Henri’s interest in her. I often spoke of her to the family, marveling at her unwavering faith and devotion to God. I think Henri saw her as the ultimate challenge.”
“So he raped her?” Alec asked through clenched teeth. He was seething with rage, his heart burning with the need for vengeance against Henri, the cardinal, and their father, who abused his position as mayor and used his power to protect his son.
The cardinal just nodded, having the decency to finally look contrite. “Mr. Whitfield, I had no knowledge of what happened until the day Rose died. Mother Superior came to see my father on the night Genevieve was born. She suspected that Henri was the father, and demanded that he take responsibility for Rose and the child since she could not allow her to stay at the convent with the baby and remain a nun. It was out of the question. My father promised to see to it that Henri married Rose and acknowledged the child as his own. He’d turned a blind eye on many sins, but even he couldn’t ignore the fact that his son had defiled a nun. My father has a great fear of God, probably because he has good reason to.
Unfortunately, my father underestimated Henri yet again, trusting him to do his bidding. Henri strangled Rose and tossed her into the river to make it look like a suicide.” The cardinal snuggled deeper into the corner of the carriage, fearing Alec’s reaction to his confession.
“And you knew about this all along?” asked Alec, shocked that a priest would allow such a crime to go unpunished. “You kept your silence to protect your brother?”
“I had no choice. Henri told me everything under the seal of confession. I couldn’t come forward without being defrocked by the Church. My father sent Henri off as soon as he learned the truth, refusing to do anything to punish him. We argued bitterly, but in the end, I had no choice but to go along with him, especially since my mother was mad with grief and begged me not to come forward. She wanted to take the baby, but my father refused, not wanting to give the villagers any more reason to speculate than they already had. I’ve lived with the guilt all these years.” The cardinal wiped his cheek, although it appeared perfectly dry.
“Yes, your suffering must have been great,” remarked Alec sarcastically. “You were elevated to the position of cardinal while my sister was buried at a crossroads with her soul condemned to Hell, and your niece was raised in a convent where she was reminded every day of her mother’s shame and her bastard status. It must have been hell for you,” he added, his eyes glinting with anger. “And where is your brother now, if I might ask?”
“My brother was killed a few months after joining the army. You’ll be pleased to know that he didn’t die in battle, but was killed by one of the other officers for cheating at cards. It was a form of justice, don’t you think?”
“Not really, but I suppose I must accept it and proceed accordingly, which is where you come in, Your Grace.”
“What would you have me do, Monsieur?” asked Neuville, looking nervous. He couldn’t break the seal of confession even after all these years for he would lose everything, not to mention bring terrible shame on his family.
“I would have you travel to Loudun just as you planned. Once you get there, you will have my sister’s body exhumed, and buried in the church cemetery with a proper burial service conducted by you. You will make a public statement saying that she was murdered. I don’t expect you to name your brother as the murderer, but you will clear her name. You will also convince your father to make provisions for Genevieve, making sure that she’s well-provided for the rest of her life. I will act as her guardian until she marries and will give her my name. Is that clear, Your Grace?”
“And if I refuse?” All the fight had gone out of the cardinal, but he wasn’t ready to capitulate, still hoping to avoid having to deal with the consequences of his family’s actions.
“If you refuse, you will be the next body they pull out of the river, followed by that of your father.” Alec replied conversationally.
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Whitfield?” the cardinal asked, shocked. “You, a Catholic, would threaten a cardinal of the Church?”
“Yes, I am, Your Grace, and my threats are rarely idle. I will kill you, make no mistake. You might not have raped my sister, but you stood by and allowed her to be treated as a suicide while your brother went free.”
“You know that I could have you excommunicated?” the cardinal asked loftily.
“I live in Virginia, and as far as I know, there isn’t a single Catholic church anywhere within a hundred miles. You may excommunicate me, Your Grace, but it will make absolutely no difference to my faith or my life. Now, I will get out of your carriage and let you consider my proposal, but I won’t be far behind. I will accompany you to Loudun and attend either my sister’s funeral or yours. The choice is yours.” Alec bowed to the cardinal, exiting the carriage and jogging to his own, which had been following the cardinal’s coach as instructed.
“Well?” asked Valerie, noting the blood drying on the dagger. “What did the “Devil of Loudun” have to say for himself?”
“The cardinal will honor my request with pleasure,” said Alec with a smile, giving Valerie a warm kiss.
“Somehow I doubt that pleasure will enter into it, but I’m glad you got what you came for.”
“I will be at peace knowing that Rose rests in consecrated ground. I never believed she went to Hell, but I know it would have been important to her.”
“May she rest in peace,” Valerie said, squeezing Alec’s hand.
“Amen.”
Chapter 66
The day dawned sunny and bright, the cloudless sky the color of bluebells. It had grown colder over the past few days, a hint of the coming winter noticeable early in the morning and at night, when darkness settled over London chasing the last bit of warmth away and replacing it with the crisp air of fall. Louisa loved this time of year. Another week or two and a fire would be needed during the night, the lovely smell of burning wood and dancing shadows filling the bedroom. Louisa put her hand on her belly as she did every morning, checking if it had grown any bigger. Her stomach was still flat, but it felt different, more tender. Her breasts had grown larger, the nipples more sensitive and the veins bluish against t
he milky whiteness of her skin. Her figure was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the child inside her proclaimed dominion over her body. Louisa had to admit that she was looking forward to this new experience. It made her a real woman. If only she could be sure that the child was Theo’s. It would make things so much easier. Would she ever know who the father really was unless the child bore a striking resemblance to Theo or Tom?
“Rise and shine,” her aunt sang as she entered the room, carrying Louisa’s gown. “You’d better get up now if you want to have time to have some breakfast before we leave for church. Your uncle has already gone to collect Theo. They will meet us there at ten. Nervous?”
Louisa sat up, watching her aunt hang up the gown and take matching shoes out of the trunk. She seemed in good spirits, which was an improvement on the last few weeks. Louisa couldn’t bear it if Aunt Lou and Uncle Kit were angry with her.
“No, Aunt Lou, I’m not nervous, but I am excited. Theo is everything I ever wanted in a husband.”
Her aunt gave her a puzzled look as if to ask what in the bloody hell she had been doing with Tom when Theo was such a prize, but she remained silent, not wanting to ruin the special day. Louisa hoped everything would go as planned. Theo’s brothers were coming to the wedding, and Walter was already at Aunt Caroline’s London house having come up from the country the day before. Louisa looked forward to meeting them and hoped they would approve of their brother’s choice. She knew that Robin had his reservations about Theo marrying a Catholic and a commoner. If only he knew that the Catholic commoner was also pregnant with a child that might or might not be his brother’s. Louisa washed her face and sat down in front of the mirror, allowing the maid to brush out her hair before arranging it in an elaborate hairstyle. She intended to be a beautiful bride, radiant and confident despite the circumstances. Tom was gone for good, so no one had the power to betray her any longer.
If only Genevieve was happier for her. The girl had been sour and pensive since the day at the graveyard, but she wouldn’t say a word. Her fear of being cast out was too great, making her easy to manipulate. Genevieve would come to the church and be happy for her, but it would be a relief not to live in the same house with her any longer. The newlyweds would take up residence at their new house in Cheapside, which Robin had generously bought for them as a wedding present. The house had come fully furnished, sold by a family who’d fallen on hard times and needed to raise capital in a hurry. Louisa wasn’t pleased with having to live with someone else’s choice of furniture and decorations, but she would change everything in time, putting her own stamp on the house and making it a thing of beauty and comfort.
Theo had a country estate as well, but Louisa was in no hurry to go to the country. They would go there next summer to escape the heat and infection of the city, but for now, she wanted to enjoy everything London had to offer. Louisa closed her eyes for a brief moment, picturing herself sitting on a blanket in a sunny meadow with a beautiful infant in her lap, his dark hair curling just like Theo’s. She smiled at the image, resolving to put Thomas Gaines out of her mind forever.
**
The ancient church was bathed in sunlight as Louisa stepped from the carriage, holding up the hem of her skirt. Aunt Lou’s seamstress had outdone herself, creating a gorgeous gown of pale-pink silk with a rounded neckline and winged collar worked with tiny seed pearls. The bodice and hem were worked with the same pattern, leaving the voluminous skirt unadorned in between. It was beautiful, yet understated, bringing the eye to the lovely girl wearing the dress and not the over-the-top decoration that had been so popular in earlier years. A dainty hat made of matching fabric completed the outfit, perched atop Louisa’s dark curls at a jaunty angle giving her a flirtatious air. Louisa had never felt as beautiful as she did at that moment, and she smiled at Uncle Kit, who came out of the church to escort her inside and give her away in marriage.
Louisa barely noticed the two handsome men who stood when she walked in, or the disapproving gaze of Aunt Maud, her eyes on Theo, whose face split into a smile of joy as he saw her walk down the nave. Her life began at this moment and everything that came before was just chaff. Louisa only wished that her parents were there to see her take her rightful place in London society as Lady Carew.
Chapter 67
A light rain fell from the pewter skies, covering everything in sight with a glistening sheen of moisture. The street was quickly turning into a muddy mess, and the mucky sidewalk was even more slippery than usual, making walking at a good pace a dangerous sport. A thick mist blew off the river, the boats nearly invisible, their lanterns giving off fuzzy orbs of light that appeared to be floating out of the mist of their own accord. Boatmen could be heard calling to each other, their voices sounding strangely detached from their bodies.
Kit stared straight ahead as he walked along, concentrating on not slipping and falling into a pile of refuse. He was miserable enough without being covered in shit. He supposed he could have taken the carriage, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going. He’d been taken aback when Buckingham invited him to come to York House on the Strand. Would he really make love to him with his wife right there in the same house? Kit wondered if the poor woman knew of her husband’s proclivities, but then again, maybe she didn’t care. Few marriages were based on love and desire; most being contracts between two families designed to further the political and financial interests of both parties. Lady Katherine Manners had been sold to Buckingham in marriage like many others of her station. All the same, Kit hoped he wouldn’t have to face her.
The house loomed up ahead, solid and imposing, a palace unto itself. It wasn’t nearly as vast as Whitehall, but it had a grandeur that marked it as a residence of someone to be reckoned with. Kit could hear the splashing of water against the dock as a boat pulled up to the arched water gate on the river bank. Was someone coming or going? Kit had a flash of hope that Buckingham had changed his mind and left the premises, but he knew it wasn’t likely. Whoever was getting out of the boat was alone, and Buckingham was never alone.
A liveried manservant led Kit down several hallways, their vaulted ceilings and high windows reminiscent of a church. The only sound was the echo of their footsteps on the marble floor, and the oppressive sound of a house with not enough occupants and too many rooms. Kit supposed Buckingham had his private apartments separate from his wife, who he probably visited only occasionally for the purpose of procreation.
The servant led Kit through a set of heavy wooden doors, which led to yet another hallway and another set of doors. A maid scurried past them, carrying a basket of linens, but otherwise the hallway was deserted. The final set of doors led to Buckingham’s private apartments, — “The entrance to Hell,” Kit thought as he pushed open the door and walked inside. Buckingham didn’t come to greet him this time. He sat with his feet up on a low stool, a fire blazing in the grate. It wasn’t cold, but dampness penetrated everything this close to the river, the mist swirling right outside, engulfing everything in a gray shroud.
Buckingham gestured to a chair opposite his own, his eyes never leaving the merry fire. He certainly didn’t seem amorous today, his hooded eyes blank and staring, a goblet of wine in his hand.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Kit asked, hoping he wasn’t. Buckingham took a sip of wine, his eyes never straying from the dancing flames. He just shook his head as he shrugged noncommittally.
“The Duke of Buckingham is always all right; it’s George Villiers that has his moments of melancholy. Get some wine, Christopher,” he added absentmindedly.
“What’s troubling you, George?” Kit asked, pouring himself a glass of wine and sitting back down. He suddenly realized that Villiers wanted more from him than just physical gratification. He wanted him to play the lover, listening and comforting him in his hour of need. That was absurd, but he supposed listening to Buckingham for a little while was a lot less agonizing than being fucked.
“Come, George, tell me about it,
” he invited, taking a sip of wine and watching his “lover” debate the wisdom of sharing his concerns.
Buckingham ran his hand through his unruly curls, finally turning to face Kit. “I suppose I’m just being overly sensitive, but I’m not very popular these days.” He gave Kit a dramatic look, his face scrunched up like a child who was about to cry.
“Surely His Majesty still loves you,” Kit replied. He’d recently heard a rumor that the king referred to Buckingham as “my sweet child and wife” in one of his letters. It hadn’t been the first expression of love from their monarch, his love for Villiers an open secret at Court. Was it really possible that the king himself was a sodomite, maintaining a relationship with Buckingham right under the nose of the queen?
“Sweet James will always love me, but it’s the people I’m referring to. They’ve gotten wind of Charles’s betrothal to Henrietta Maria of France, which I helped to broker. His Majesty approves the match for his son, especially since the alliance with the Spanish princess didn’t come to fruition, but the people are not happy, Christopher. She’s a Catholic princess; that’s all they care about. What does it matter if she flagellates herself or yearns to burn someone at the stake? Her only job is to guarantee our alliance with France and spread her legs often enough to produce several heirs. It’s not as if she will have a voice in anything that matters.” Buckingham took another sip of wine, pouting like a girl. Kit was sure he wasn’t finished with his list of grievances.
“And speaking of heirs, did you know I only have one daughter? I must have a son to carry on the title once I’m gone –- a son!” He turned to Kit as if he were the one who failed to provide him with an heir. “You have a son,” he added accusingly. “How happy you must be.”
Maybe you’re sticking it in the wrong place, thought Kit with uncharacteristic venom, forcing himself to rearrange his face into an expression of understanding and sympathy.
A Game of Shadows Page 28