Lord Baseheart regarded Serge with astonishment.
“Do you take me for an even greater fool than I have so far proved? I have never heard of a servant assuming such influence over his Master. Besides, how do I know you are not implicated in the plot? How do I know you aren’t taking this opportunity to escape after them?”
Serge’s expression was one of such utter disdain that Lord Baseheart drew back.
“Whether you accept my offer or not, I am going in pursuit,” was all Serge said, while Elvira noticed the muscle flexing in his jaw and his hand clenched into a fist.
‘He is so in love with Delphine,’ she mused with a surge of envy. ‘So in love that he is blinded to the impropriety of a servant pursuing his Master.’
The level of his passion shook her. If only she could so inspire a man’s heart, even – and she admitted it to herself with wonder – even Serge’s heart.
“Let him go, brother,” advised Lady Cruddock. “He has more chance than yourself of finding that blackguard.”
‘Blackguard,’ thought Elvira. That was how Serge had described the Prince, just before he kissed her. He must have been trying to warn her not to fall in love with his Master. No doubt it tormented him that the woman he loved, Delphine, had already been duped.
Lord Baseheart now gestured to Serge.
“Go, then. And if you kill the mountebank, you will have my heartfelt gratitude.”
Serge strode out, Elvira’s eyes following him all the way.
“And what about her?” Lady Cruddock pointed at Elvira. “What shall we do with her?”
“We’ll lock her in her room,” growled Lord Baseheart. “Until such time as we learn the truth of her involvement and what she hoped to gain from the scandal.”
“Perhaps,” considered Lady Cruddock, “perhaps Delphine promised to arrange an advantageous marriage for her to some French nobleman or other, something we would never do by reason of her inferior birth.”
Lord Baseheart gave a roar.
“Sister – I’ll wager you’re right! She hoped to be bettered! By Heaven, I’ll see to it that she’s bettered all right. I’ll marry her off, but not to a nobleman.”
“No,” agreed Lady Cruddock, “not to a nobleman.”
Elvira, horrified at their discussion, found the courage to speak out.
“You have no right,” she cried, “to dispose of me in any such manner.”
“No right? shouted Lord Baseheart. “May I remind you that your duty is to me, now that your Aunt Willis has washed her hands of you? I am as good as your legal Guardian.”
“And may I also remind you,” interposed Lady Cruddock, “that after your night alone with Serge in the cottage, you have no reputation to speak of? If you defy us, the whole County shall know the tale.”
“It is a false tale,” exclaimed Elvira. “And the old lady at the cottage will bear me witness.”
“That she won’t,” sneered Lady Cruddock, “unless she speaks from beyond the grave.”
“She – she is dead?”
“Two nights ago,” came in Lord Baseheart with cruel satisfaction. “Our coach driver brought her a hamper and found the undertaker. The coach driver who has, of course, already refuted your version of that night.”
Elvira cast around wildly.
“There is Serge! He knows the truth.”
Lady Cruddock and Lord Baseheart exchanged a look.
“Now there’s an idea, brother.”
“Indeed, sister, indeed.”
Elvira gazed at them in confusion. What was Lady Cruddock’s idea?
“I should not rely on Serge to confirm your story,” added Lady Cruddock with an invidious smile. “It might not be in his interest.”
“His interest?” echoed Elvira faintly.
Lord Baseheart regarded her coldly.
“Reputation intact, as it would be if he vindicated you, would mean you might appeal to other suitors. Reputation ruined, as it would be if he said nothing, would mean you have no suitors. You would not find a swineherd to marry you. Leaving the way clear – for him.”
Elvira’s heart began to pound.
“Serge? He has no desire to be my – my husband. And even if he did, why would he take someone so spurned by others?”
Lord Baseheart did not so much smile as bare his teeth.
“Oh, I think I have ways to convince him to take you off my hands, even with so tarnished a name. Now, sister, be so good as to remove Miss Carrisford from my sight.”
Bewildered, Elvira made no protest as Lady Cruddock once again took her arm in a vice-like grip and conducted her to her room.
She sat on the bed in despair, listening to the rusty key turning in the lock.
She was a prisoner!
*
She remained thus the whole day, only visited by Beth who, under Lady Cruddock’s vigilant eye, brought soup and bread.
Elvira had no appetite but forced herself to eat. She must be strong to resist any plots of Lord Baseheart and his sister.
She did not believe that Serge would ever agree to marry her as he was too in love with Delpine. And she had no desire to marry a man whose heart belonged to another.
Late that evening the key turned again in the lock and Lady Cruddock beckoned her forth. For the second time that day Elvira was conducted to the library.
There she found Lord Baseheart slumped in an armchair, a half empty decanter on a table at his side. Serge stood at the fireside, his boots and the hem of his cloak muddy, his expression unreadable.
Lord Baseheart lifted his head and fixed bloodshot eyes on Elvira.
“They were not found,” he told her. “Vanished. And I am left harbouring a viper in my house, when my own daughter is lost to me! It’s not to be borne. You – valet!”
“Your Lordship?” Serge narrowed his eyes.
“You failed to find my daughter. Well, I have another task for you. Here,” Lord Baseheart jerked his head towards Elvira. “Take that off my hands.”
Serge did not seem shocked but simply regarded Lord Baseheart coolly.
“To what purpose?”
“Why, to marry her!” hissed Lady Cruddock. “Let her spend her life as the wife of a valet. That’ll put an end to her notions.”
Elvira had no doubt that Serge would refuse.
She could not believe it, when he turned and considered her from top to toe appraisingly.
“I will give you a hundred gold guineas,” added Lord Baseheart, a glint of malice in his eye, “if you oblige me!”
Serge stroked his chin.
“A hundred and fifty!”
Elvira gasped, suffused with shame at now being discussed like a heifer at a market.
“I would rather die,” she cried, “than be offered up in this manner!”
Serge regarded her coldly.
“Doesn’t that rather depend on to whom you are offered up?”
Elvira reddened, realising that he alluded to her recent feelings for the Prince. He could not know that those emotions were already dead and buried.
“Take her back to her room,” Lord Baseheart ordered his sister. “Her mind will change after a day or two of starvation.”
Elvira, prodded by Lady Cruddock, stumbled from the room with a sob.
CHAPTER EIGHT
All that day and night and all the next day too, Elvira was left alone.
Beth tapped once at the door, whispering solace, but she was unable to release her Mistress. Neither was she able to bring food, so by late afternoon Elvira was feeling ravenous.
She was curled up under the quilt when she at last heard the key turning in the lock. She sat up, hair tumbling over her face and stared hopefully towards the door. Perhaps it was Beth with something to eat.
The door swung open and there on the threshold stood Serge.
“Come,” he said simply, extending his hand towards her.
Elvira cowered.
“W-where?”
“To the Chapel,” replied Serge
impatiently, “where the Priest awaits.”
“The Priest!” Elvira cried in horror.
Serge’s expression was cool.
“ That’s right. We are to be married.”
“Never! Never!” Elvira shook her head wildly.
“I am not to your taste?” questioned Serge with a wry smile. “That is unfortunate, for I warn you, you have little choice in the matter. Do not underestimate the malice of your uncle. He will not hesitate to ruin your reputation, already compromised, and I will not lift a finger to help you.”
“But – you know the truth,” stammered Elvira, in utter despair.
“The truth is not profitable to me,” Serge shrugged.
“The gold, you only want the gold.” Elvira began to sob, as much from hunger and exhaustion as from humiliation. “You have purchased me like a – like a pumpkin at a country fair.”
Serge’s upper lip twitched as if with suppressed amusement.
“A pumpkin? I would rather have thought a peach.”
“Do not mock me, sir. You – you – are nothing but a market trader without scruples and without pity.”
Serge regarded her coldly.
“Whatever I am, I am your future. So rise and put on your shawl.”
Elvira, defeated as much by fatigue as by Serge’s manner, half rose from the bed, and then slumped down again with a wail.
“I’m so very hungry!”
Serge regarded her dispassionately and pulled the servant’s bell. Beth appeared so quickly that she must have been just outside the door.
She hurried towards Elvira, her face filled with compassion.
“Oh, miss, what a sorry sight you are. With your beautiful hair all untidy and your eyes swollen with weeping.”
“I am – so – hungry, Beth,” whispered Elvira.
“Bless you, miss, I’ve a tray waiting in the corridor, hoping that dragon would allow me in. It’s only bread and cheese and a mug of juice, but it’ll set you up nicely.”
“Yes – yes – bring it Beth, please.”
“And hurry,” added Serge shortly.
He stood looking out of the window while Beth brought the food and Elvira ate greedily.
At last she pushed the tray away.
“I have finished,” she told Beth.
“Then put on your cloak,” ordered Serge from the window. “The Priest has been waiting this good half hour.”
Beth looked from Serge to Elvira and back again.
“Priest?”
“I am to be married, Beth,” wept Elvira.
“To – to whom?” asked Beth in amazement.
“To – to him. Serge.”
Beth stood speechless, mouth open, until Serge motioned her away.
“Take the tray and go, Beth. Your Mistress has no need of you for the present.”
Poor Beth, who had secretly dreamed of a more elaborate wedding for her Mistress, was roused.
“She can’t go to the Chapel and not look her best,” she protested. “And you’re no fit husband if you say she should.”
“See to her, then. But be quick about it,” urged Serge reluctantly.
Swiftly Beth attended to Elvira’s hair, while Serge watched as she brushed the lustrous tresses. All the while Elvira sat in utter silence, as tears poured down her face.
Beth fixed the tortoiseshell clasp to Elvira’s hair, straightened the collar of her dress and stood back to regard her work.
“If I could put on her coral dress,” she began, but Serge cut her short.
“That is all, Beth. Please go.”
Numbly Beth took up the tray and moved to the door.
“God bless you, miss,” she said, as she departed, tears in her eyes.
“Now, madam!” Serge motioned Elvira to her feet.
Elvira rose, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand as she picked up her cloak. All struggle had gone out of her. She was too weary to do anything other than obey Serge’s voice of authority.
In a daze she followed him out of the room and along the corridor.
They passed no one. The castle seemed eerily quiet, though it was not yet six o’clock. Candles along the walls threw flickering shadows across their path.
Serge strode ahead followed by Elvira in his wake.
The steps down to the Chapel were only dimly lit. Serge waited and took Elvira’s hand to lead her. His grip was firm and her small hand seemed lost in his.
At the bottom of the winding stone steps waited Lady Cruddock. She frowned as they appeared.
“What took you so long?” she demanded. “I suppose the fool put up a fight of sorts? Did you have to beat her?”
“No doubt you would find it satisfying if I had,” replied Serge with such obvious dislike that Elvira raised her heavy eyes with wonder.
“I would find it satisfying if you had wrung her neck,” retorted Lady Cruddock, “but since you haven’t, let us proceed. The Priest has waited so long I will not answer for his mood.”
“His mood is of no importance,” remarked Serge, “so long as he does the job he is paid to do.” He looked around. “Lord Baseheart does not deign to attend?”
“He is sick in heart and body. I shouldn’t wonder if the humiliation of his daughter’s flight didn’t kill him all altogether.”
Serge did not answer and Lady Cruddock turned her attention to Elvira.
“I’ve brought you this.”
Elvira gazed at the yellowing gauze veil that hung from Lady Cruddock’s fingers. No doubt it had been dug up from some old trunk in the attic and as she bent her head so it might be affixed, she even caught a whiff of must and mothballs.
‘My wedding veil,’ she thought bitterly. ‘If Aunt Willis should witness this!’
“And here, take these” added Lady Cruddock, thrusting a wilted bunch of violets into her hand. “You shan’t be able to claim we made no effort on your great day!”
Elvira took the sad bouquet and through the veil she watched as Lady Cruddock thrust open the Chapel door and marched down the aisle to sit in the front pew.
A wrinkled ancient Priest stood with his back to the altar, straining his neck upward as if his collar was too tight.
Serge grasped Elvira’s hand roughly and led her in.
They had just reached the altar steps when they heard loud footsteps on the winding stairs that led down to the Chapel.
Turning, they could see Lord Baseheart appear at the head of the aisle.
He came unsteadily forward and threw himself down beside his sister, wiping his brow with a large linen handkerchief.
“How could I miss the spectacle of that upstart being put in her place,” he grunted, loud enough for Elvira to hear. He gave an evil chuckle. “Married to a valet. Ha, ha, ha.”
The Priest gave a gruff cough and the ceremony began.
It all seemed a dream to Elvira, a dream whose significance she could not fathom. It was happening to someone else, not to her. The delicate world she had constructed around her was shattered.
There was nowhere else to go but into Serge’s arms, although he was no more than a stranger. A man who had bartered for possession of her body could not expect to win her heart.
As she whispered her replies to the Priest, tears brimmed and fell.
Then it was over. She and Serge Lacombe – the first time she had heard his surname – were pronounced man and wife.
“You may kiss the bride,” she heard the Priest say.
Serge, who had stood austerely and unyielding throughout, his voice expressionless, now turned and lifted Elvira’s veil.
His gaze was so unexpectedly tender that she caught her breath, wondering if he imagined her to be Delphine. Leaning close, he gently placed his lips on first one, then the other, of her bruised eyelids. After which, taking up a corner of her veil, he gently dried her wet cheeks.
There was an angry stir from behind him that indicated displeasure on the part of the two witnesses. It was not part of their plan that Serge should exhibit
anything approaching warmth towards his bride. She was to be humiliated, beaten and neglected, not cherished!
As if recognising their venomous wishes, Serge drew away and looked impassive. Elvira wondered why he was so deferential and then remembered.
He had not yet been paid for his services and her heart hardened against him yet again.
*
There was to be no wedding breakfast.
A rickety cart with a skinny nag was provided for their departure from Baseheart.
Beth had been busy throwing clothes for Elvira into a carpet bag, which was already roped onto the cart when the couple came out onto the castle steps.
Lord Baseheart and his sister followed.
The night air was cold and the snow still lay packed and white. Elvira heard it crackle beneath her heels as she crossed to the cart in a daze.
Serge helped her up to the seat and then made his way back to the steps.
Elvira flinched as she saw Lord Baseheart press a fat leather pouch into Serge’s hand. He weighed the pouch in his palm, threw it in the air and thrust it in his belt.
“And cheap at the asking,” snarled Lord Baseheart.
“We have no desire to know whither you are bound,” crowed Lady Cruddock. “Take her to the devil for all we care.”
Serge gave a low bow.
“Your concern is admirable,” he muttered, and, turning on his heels, came back down the steps. Elvira watched him from under lowered lids.
His was a strong elegant figure of that there was no doubt.
He leapt onto the cart and took up the reins. At the last minute Beth came running down the steps with a basket.
“Some provisions,” she breathed, thrusting the basket into Elvira’s hand.
She gave a faint smile.
“Beth – thank you. If – if I can ever send for you – I will.”
“I’ll go anywhere to serve you, miss,” whispered Beth. “Goodbye now and may God go with you.”
The cart pulled away. Elvira did not want to look back, but she suddenly craned her head round.
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