The door latch was lifting. Lion snatched up Charity's bandbox. "I'll take this, ma'am,'' he said as Jean-Paul stuck his head inside. "You bring fleabait."
Blinking away tears, her knees shaking, Charity followed him through the door, prepared to meet her fate.
Chapter 10
Outside, the air was bitterly cold, and Charity drew her cloak tighter about her shoulders. Clem and Jean-Paul walked along the deck on each side of her, Lion following. She saw now that the ship was tied up in a landlocked harbour, a place teeming with activity, a large yawl moored next to them, and two other vessels standing off in the channel, waiting a chance to dock. The island was quite large, as she had gathered, and looked a harsh, bleak place. Far off to the east a long range of hills lifted bare and jagged teeth against the cold sky. Northwards rose another hill, solitary and surmounted by a frowning old castle that appeared to Charity to crouch there as though gloatingly awaiting her arrival.
Jean-Paul assisted her down the gangplank, from which all other passengers had been cleared. When they reached the ground, it seemed to Charity to sway as though she were still aboard ship. A closed chaise was waiting, a groom holding the door. To her relief, it was empty. Jean-Paul handed her up, and he and Clem occupied the seat opposite. The coachman cracked his whip, and they began to edge through the noisy, bustling confusion of the dock area, coming at last to a well-kept road that wound inland.
Despite her terrible apprehensions, Charity tried to notice as much as she could of this strange place. The area they had left appeared to contain most of the major buildings, and there were many of them; large sheds and warehouses, crude houses and huts and long low buildings that, as they climbed higher, she could see were erected around a parade ground where men were drilling and where she fancied to glimpse Gerard's dark figure.
The road curved around the hill, and rows of dense, high-growing trees shut out the view of the docks. The ocean was visible now, slate-grey and frigid-looking with lines of whitecaps stretching to the misty horizon. A schooner was approaching the island, her sails being reefed in as she neared the channel. The sight of the vessel, so much smaller and sleeker than the ship that had transported her, put Charity in mind of the Silvering Sails. Only last year, Justin had worked so hard to refurbish the yacht… Her brother's kind, loved face drifted before her mind's eye, and tears blurred her vision.
Clem said, "Well, 'ere's your new 'ome. Ain't it a fine cottage? Proper cosy like, eh?" He laughed. Jean-Paul chuckled. Charity's gaze shot to the right.
From this elevation the castle was even larger than it had appeared earlier; a great threatening bulk against the gloomy sky. Even had she not known who dwelt there, Charity must have thought it a brooding pile, its massive walls spreading out over the brow of the hill in a low sprawl, rather than soaring up in lofty splendour like the castles she had known.
She asked in a shaking voice, "What… is it called?"
"It's Tordarroch Island, yer ladyship," Clem said. "And the little hovel up yonder"—he jerked his bullet head to the castle—"that there's Tor Keep. And that's what they're a-going ter do, lady, keep you there. At least till yer brat's born."
Jean-Paul gave him a contemptuous look, but was silent. Charity stared at Clem and wondered in a remote fashion how a tiny, innocent babe could grow up to become so bestial, so without feeling as this coarse, ignorant man. And she remembered what Lion had said of his own early years. "He could be the same," she thought sadly. "If no one rescues him from his hopeless servitude he might eventually become like this creature, lacking all compassion and humanity." She sighed and asked, "Where is my kitten, please?"
"Lion has her," said Jean-Paul. "He is upon the box, madame."
They were rattling across cobblestones. A dark shadow slid over them and with it a chill that seemed to pierce Charity's heart. They jerked to a stop. The door was swung open and the steps let down. A liveried footman bowed and handed Charity down. The bitter wind blew her skirts about. The great dark walls loomed over her. Wide steps, worn by the elements and the tread of countless feet, led up to an enormous door embellished with bands of black iron and great iron studs. To Charity it seemed the door of doom, beyond which could lie only horror, and she faltered, her wide eyes fixed upon that fateful entry.
A familiar voice grunted impatiently, "Hurry up, do, ma'am. This worthless mog's clawing me!"
Her terrified gaze flashed to meet Lion's. He was scowling ferociously, but the eye that was farthest from Clem twitched into a faint wink. Immeasurably heartened, Charity tried to stop trembling. The door opened slowly, and somehow she managed to walk across the chill yard and into the ancient frowning keep that was Claude Sanguinet's stronghold.
She entered a great hall. A fire blazed on an enormous hearth to her right, and lofty walls were beautified by fine tapestries. Several gleaming suits of armour were placed here and there, and the furnishings were antique and massive.
The footman who had admitted them passed them on to the butler, a dapper gentleman who ushered them to a broad stone staircase and thence to an upper floor and a wide hall hung with weapons and banners, the shining floors strewn with thick rugs. Tall lackeys stood about, their eyes following the little procession curiously. The butler paused outside a carven door. "You will wait, s'il vous plait," he murmured, and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
Clem muttered a profane imitation of the Frenchman, and Jean-Paul grinned. "I hear as his royalty's generous when he's pleased," Clem hissed. "We'll likely rate a fat bonus fer this job of work, mate.''
Knowing Claude, Charity thought they would be far more likely to rate a thrashing, at the very least.
The butler reappeared. "Madame Leith and you"—he gestured to Jean-Paul—"are to be received. You two may go.
Clem growled resentfully, but shambled off. Still carrying the kitten, Lion followed, backing away, his gaze fixed on Charity in undisguised apprehension.
Jean-Paul took Charity's elbow. "En avant, madame."
He led her into a magnificent apartment, all red and gold and for the most part appointed in the same semifeudal fashion as the lower areas. Rich red velvet hung at the window embrasures; deep chairs were set about before the fire; fine tapestries and paintings softened the mighty walls. All this, Charity saw only dimly. Her attention was fixed upon the two occupants of the room. Claude Sanguinet, slender and very dark, was seated at a large, ornately carven desk near the fire, looking up at his brother. Guy, a man at least ten years his junior, with brown hair, a sturdier frame and a lighter complexion, stood beside Claude's chair, leaning back against the desk and speaking in a low, intent manner. Neither man glanced up as the newcomers entered, but the very sight of them caused Charity to feel as though the blood had frozen in her veins, and she leaned giddily upon Jean-Paul's arm.
Guy glanced at them idly. With an expression of horrified astonishment replacing his gravity, he sprang up. "Sacre nom de Dieu!'' he gasped.
Delighted by such a violent reaction, Claude chuckled and swung his chair around. His eyes fell on Charity. He checked, as though turned to stone.
Pale with shock, Guy stammered,"Ch-Charity…?" He spun to face his brother. "For the love of God! Now what have you done?"
Claude came to his feet and stalked around the desk. For a man of such enormous wealth and power, he presented a disappointing appearance. He was elegantly clad, but, despite the care with which his nearly black hair had been brushed into youthful curls, it was obvious that he would not see forty again. His figure was slender, but he was neither tall nor muscular; his features were regular but lacked distinction; his complexion was inclined to be sallow; and only his eyes were noteworthy, being wide and of an unusual brilliance, although the colour, somewhere between brown and hazel, was not admired, some maintaining that Claude Sanguinet's eyes glowed red when he was angered. He was angered now, and those hot eyes deepened the terror in Charity's heart.
"You!" The word was a hissing whisper. His hands crooked into
claws as he advanced on her. "You!'' It was a howl this time, his face contorting with frustrated rage as he sprang forward.
Guy leapt between them. "Are you gone entirely mad?" he cried in French. "Why in heaven's name have you brought her here?"
Claude gave vent to a muffled sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His arm flailed out, and Guy was sent staggering. Crouching, looking up from under his brows, Claude turned on Jean-Paul. "Peasant!" he cried shrilly. "How could you mistake this insipid girl for a glorious creature like Rachel Strand? Idiot! Animal!'' He advanced on Jean-Paul, his expression so twisted, so maniacal, that Charity retreated, trembling.
Backing away also, one hand flung out protectively, Jean-Paul whimpered, "We do as we are told, monseigneur. Your spy tell us to take the lady wearing the cloak. We take the lady wearing the cloak. Monseigneur! Name of a name! The lady say nothing. I beseech you—-how are we to know?"
"You… were… paid … to know!" screeched Claude, his tight clenched fists raised and quivering with passion. "Moronic dolt of a canaille! You were paid to know!"
He flung around to face Charity, but Guy again came between them.
Very softly, Claude said, "Stand aside… little bastard."
His fists lifting, Guy replied grimly, "Not this time."
On a marble platform in one corner of the room stood a tail marble clock; a cunningly wrought mechanical device that now shattered the tense quiet to begin its preordained salute to the hour. Doors opened on each side of its wide base, and a parade of porcelain figures began to emerge and make their jerky way from left to right to the accompaniment of a peal of merry bells.
Claude's narrowed, glinting eyes turned to the source of that sound. He ran to seize the massive timepiece. With astonishing strength, he raised it high above his head and turned to his brother.
Guy uttered a gasp, jerked Charity behind him, and threw up both hands prepared to defend himself against that great weight.
Face purpling, teeth bared, Claude hesitated, his enraged glare shifting to Jean-Paul. ''Mais non!'' gasped Jean-Paul, retreating.
Claude turned and hurled the still chiming clock straight into the large and lovely Chippendale mirror that hung over the fireplace.
The crash was deafening. For an instant the room was alive with hurtling shards of glass and marble. Guy whirled around, pulling Charity closer and bending above her. Jean-Paul essayed a frantic leap for the shelter of a bookcase. Only Claude did not attempt to shield himself, but stood there, his shoulders a little hunched, his arms slowly lowering as the porcelain parade was ended for all time and the pealing little bells gibbered discordantly into silence.
Peeping at Claude, Charity saw the slim shoulders rise and fall again, as though he had sighed deeply. She saw also that Guy's hand was cut and that Jean-Paul had suffered a graze across his cheek.
Claude turned to them. His face shone with perspiration, but the madness had faded, and a mild smile curved his mouth. Astonishingly, he was completely untouched, although he had been closest to the exploding mirror.
Guy wrapped a handkerchief about his small injury while watching his brother steadily.
"So," said Claude, strolling forward to eye Charity with amused contempt, "you said nothing. Why, I wonder? Did you fancy you were protecting your sister? Your fine sister who broke her promise to me as soon as my surgeon had restored your health?"
Charity thought, incredulous, "He behaves as though nothing had happened!" Somehow she managed to answer, "Your doctor kept me chained to an invalid chair long after I should have been well. You used my illness and prolonged it, so as to force Rachel to agree to marry you.''
"And now I shall use you once more, I believe." Claude stepped closer, saying gently, "Were I to have one of your fingers removed and sent to your so-gallant brother-in-law every three or four days, say, I wonder how long it would be before he agreed to exchange his life for yours…"
Charity felt sick.
Guy said in a low growl, "She will not be harmed, Claude."
Claude threw back his head and laughed merrily. "Whilst you live to prevent it? Ah, do not tempt me, Guy." He sauntered to a crimson and black bell-pull and tugged it.
The door opened at once, and a scared-looking footman entered, his eyes becoming round and more scared when he saw the condition of the room.
Claude said, "This lady is Mademoiselle Strand. Take her to the room we prepared for Mrs. Leith." He nodded to Charity. "Go with him, foolish girl. And do exactly as you are told else, despite my noble brother, I shall be quite happy to arrange that your stay with us is very uncomfortable indeed."
The bedchamber to which Charity was conducted was not uncomfortable in the least, however, except for the iron bars outside each window, and the large, hard-eyed woman, incongruous in the uniform of an abigail, who waited there. Stamping about the room, hanging up gowns and flinging undergarments into the chest of drawers, she informed Charity that her name was Meg and that she wasn't nobody's fool. "Gulled poor Ella proper, didn't you, Miss Strand? Well, you won't gull Meg, so don't never try it."
Charity did not deign to reply, quietly putting off her cloak and bonnet and dropping them on the bed.
Two footmen arrived, bearing a hip bath and followed by a line of servants carrying buckets of hot water. Charity's attempt to dismiss her truculent abigail was not successful. Folding massive arms, Meg revealed that "the Frenchman gent'' had ordered her not to leave her charge for an instant. "Me bed's in there," she added, nodding her untidy, greying head towards the adjoining dressing room. "So you needn't think as you can get up to mischief after dark, neither."
Charity ignored her and began to disrobe. Meg snatched the garments as they were shed, but beyond tossing a sponge and towel onto a chair and pulling it within reaching distance, she made no further attempt to help. Charity was painfully conscious of the woman's scornful gaze and of her own small breasts and boyish slenderness. She fought against betraying an awareness of Meg's insolence, and only later, when she was seated before the dressing table and the woman drew a hairbrush so roughly through her curls that it brought involuntary tears to her eyes, did Charity say sharply that there was not the need for such force.
"You'll want to look your best, I thought, my lady," smirked Meg.
"I have no title," said Charity, her chin high. "You are as aware of that as you are aware I am not here of my own free will. You are insolent, and also I have to assume you are a criminal."
"Hey!" protested the big woman angrily. "Who you calling a criminal?"
Charity lifted one hand in an unknowingly regal gesture. "I know Monsieur Sanguinet well enough to believe that he does not wish me to be served with impertinence. If you address me in so rude a fashion again, I shall ask that you be replaced."
The woman glared at her, but after a moment she said grudgingly that there was no need to fly into a pucker. She was more tractable after that, but her pale blue eyes glittered with malice and Charity could not be at ease with her.
Whatever her shortcomings, Meg knew her trade. She arranged Charity's hair in a most becoming style, completing that task when a knock came at the door, and Guy asked to be admitted. Charity slipped into a wrapper and went to sit beside the fire.
Impeccable in a dark brown velvet coat and beige pantaloons, Guy said, "Merci. That will be all."
Meg, standing militantly behind Charity, said, "Monseigneur said I was to stay by her. Day and night," she added with a sneer.
Guy smiled. "Would you wish your feet to direct through that door,'' he enquired, ''or should you prefer that I bodily convey you?"
"Monseigneur says—" Meg began, folding her arms.
Purposefully, Guy walked towards her.
"Like to see you try it, I would," she shrilled.
"By all means.'' He reached for her and she squealed and ran. Closing the door behind her, he turned to Charity, both hands held out, his comely face a study in regret. "Oh, ma cherie, mon petit chou, how very much I am sorry for this
."
To be in the company of this man who had been such a good friend after her father's death, to see the sorrowful apology in his hazel eyes, to hear the fondness in his voice, overwhelmed Charity's tattered nerves. She was in his arms in a rush and sobbing gustily into his cravat. "Oh, Guy! Oh, Guy… he will murder me, I know it! Or… worse…"
"Now you know that I will not allow such a thing to happen, little one." He hugged her tight for a moment, then drew back, smiling into her tearful eyes. "Claude has, alas, very many faults but you need not have the fear he means to violate you." He patted Charity's blushing cheek gently. "He has, you see, a most willing lady residing here. And besides, whatever else he may be, I never have known him to force a woman. He has too much of the pride for that. Now come, compose yourself, for we have only a little moment of the time." He led her to the small sofa and sat beside her. "Tell me this quickly, does anyone know you are here? Is there any hope for help to come to you?"
She shook her head. "A red-haired boy named Lion was kind," she whispered. "He said he would help me if he could."
"So there are two of us…" He looked grave, then said bracingly, "And two it is better than not one, eh? Now, you must be brave, cherie, and have some faith in this Guy Sanguinet who is not such a bad fellow, despite his bad blood."
Charity wiped impatiently at her eyes. "If you did but know how grateful I am. But, Guy, forgive me, but… so often Rachel and I wondered why…"
"Why I remain with my infamous brother?" He said with a twisted smile, "It is a debt of love. One I have been tempted very many times to cancel. But cannot. Some day, perhaps, I will tell you of it. But for now, I am sent on the errand. Claude's yacht is to be readied for departure. Some men have come with letters from England and news of importance. I do not know what this is. But you are summoned to dine with him. I shall contrive to have this boy, Lion, assigned to guard you if I can. You are sure you can trust him?"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown Page 15