“You liar! You cuckold him as she cuckolds me!” He advanced on me, punctuating his words with his damn cane.
I wanted to grab it and strike Liam and Bones for letting him go.
“You are mad!” I spat and stepped back toward the door. I needed to leave.
“She is with child!” Doucette roared.
That stopped me. “What?”
“She cannot hide it from me. I know my wife. I know the signs. She missed her bleed and suffers nausea every morning.”
I found myself—along with everyone else in the room—looking to Yvette. Her stricken face spoke volumes. He was not lying or imagining things.
Gaston was whispering frantically in her ear and she was shaking her head and whispering back to him.
How in the name of the Gods could she be pregnant? Agnes wasn’t even pregnant—after months of syringes full of my seed. Was she actually servicing Doucette? Or more alarming yet, was he still able and she was seducing him to… produce a child?
Her reasons could not matter: they were hers; and any claim of betrayal was Agnes’—unless, of course, she knew.
I whirled on Doucette. “Fine! She is with child! I would think it yours! Or perhaps she has sought another when you could not! She is a fine woman and she has needs! What of it? She has cared for you all these years! She loves you!”
“Will, stop!” Gaston called. “Dominic, it is mine! I gave her a child. I have been lying with her—as you always wished.”
I was surprised. What ruse was this? I supposed one to quiet the bastard. I began to turn to Gaston when Doucette bounded forward and almost jabbed me in the eye with his cane and a triumphant “Hah!” I dove away and found myself outside on the balcony. Thankfully Gaston and Yvette had moved out of my path so that I did not send them sprawling at the top of the stairs.
“I knew it! I knew it! Nature prevails! God prevails! He is only with you from pity! He loves women!” Doucette ranted.
My fragile control snapped. I did not believe a word of what he said, but I had had quite enough.
I pushed Doucette down the stairs.
He went tumbling on the wet wood, lit by bolts of lightning and accompanied by the roar of thunder. Justice was served.
Gaston tore past me to inspect the crumpled form at the bottom. Yvette was howling into Theodore’s chest.
I was done. I turned away and retreated to our room. Once there I took a small draught of laudanum and sat on the hammock to listen to the rain.
No one came for a time. I imagined they must be angry with me. I did not care. I felt no regret. He had been a rabid dog. The disease had been festering in his heart all these months—years, actually. All things considered, I was amazed we had managed to cohabit with him as long as we had without incident. And we did not need him in order to maintain the house any longer. We were leaving. I would go off to kill another rabid dog. All would be well.
Gaston arrived, appearing haggard and dazed. I went to him and embraced him tightly. He returned it with fervor.
Then we were not alone. Yvette and Agnes crept into the room, clinging to one another and looking like condemned prisoners.
“He is dead,” Gaston said raggedly. “His spine was broken.” He gestured at the women. “They have a thing to tell you.”
I looked to the women. They grimaced as one with rue and guilt. My stomach churned despite the laudanum.
“Out with it,” I said; and then added gently, “please.”
“We have lied to both of you,” Agnes said with fresh tears. “Yvette wanted a child, too.”
“It was stupid,” Yvette sobbed. “I’m so foolish when… I’m in love.”
Agnes held her tighter and forged on in a rush. “We were not sure if it would work, and so it did not seem to matter at first, and then… Well, I got pregnant. And then we did not want to tell you, because we thought you would never agree, and you would stop giving us the jism, and…”
“What are you saying?” I asked reluctantly. I thought some of their words would make sense in time, but I was very much not in the mood to consider them now. There was a thing Agnes had said that seemed very important. I especially wished to avoid thinking of whatever it was.
“They are both with child—with your seed,” Gaston clarified for us all.
That was definitely what I did not wish to hear. I was at a loss as to how I should react to please them. I was not even sure how I should act should I wish to anger them. I was numb and adrift.
“I have drugged myself. I am tired now,” I said. I went to the hammock and lay down with my back to them.
I truly wished to sleep, but I was acutely aware of the quiet whispers until the door closed. Then I heard the sodden slap of Gaston’s wet clothes striking the floor. Then he was tugging at mine. I let him strip me—I even helped—and then we were curled in our blanket in the dark.
I drifted to sleep listening to the storm, knowing tomorrow would be a day of discovering what had washed ashore and what had been washed away.
I woke to insistent knocking. Birdsong and sunlight poured through the shutters. For a short time, it seemed as if the night had been some feverish dream—but nay, it had not. Gaston still slept like one dead beside me. I gently disentangled our limbs and sat to consider the shadows. It was late in the morning.
The knocking continued: a pause, and then another series of patient taps, and then a pause and so on.
“I am awake,” I called. “Who is it?”
“Theodore.”
“Hold, I am coming.”
A legion of thoughts pressed at my temples. I sought to ignore them for a while longer. My gaze fell upon the Marquis’ letter where I had left it sitting upon the table. Yet another thing I must attend to.
I fumbled my breeches on and opened the door. “How are you this fine morning?” I asked.
He snorted sadly. “Father Pierre is here to see you. He says it is important. It is apparently not urgent, as he came over an hour ago and was content to sip wine with me and reminisce about Doucette while we waited for you to wake. But now that it is approaching noon…”
“Ah,” I said. “What are his thoughts on Doucette’s death?”
His expression was neutral. “That it is a great tragedy his friend, lost in a moment of madness, fell down the stairs during the storm.”
“By himself?”
“Nay, this bout of madness precipitated his claiming his wife was having an affair, and in the ensuing argument he began to run about wildly attempting to attack people, and he fell on the rain-soaked balcony and down the stairs.”
“Thank you,” I said with great sincerity.
He shrugged as if he did not understand my intent. “It is what we all saw.”
“Am I allowed to display guilt that I was unable to catch him before he fell?”
“Absolutely.”
His gaze held mine for a time. I waited.
“Is she pregnant?” he asked.
I sighed. “They both are.”
His eyebrow climbed high.
I explained about syringes and what the women claimed to have done.
He spent a few moments pounding his head lightly on the doorframe whilst I patted his back in sympathy.
He finally stopped. “Well, it is best we are leaving. No one has told the Strikers yet. We have been waiting to hear the results of the letter. Where did you put…” He sighed. “The Comtesse Montren.”
I snorted. “Chris is at our property. I hope…” I could not stop myself from adding the last. At his questioning look, I added, “Unless she decided to run back to France.”
“Well, let us hope she has not. Gaston should marry her properly—in a dress—no matter how she decides to live.”
“I cannot imagine Gaston being well received in the church in a dress.”
He awarded me a withering glare. “Come down soon.”
“I will,” I assured him. I retrieved the letter on my return to the hammock.
Gaston was aw
ake. He smiled below bleary eyes. “I will not wear a dress.”
“Good.”
“We will have five children.”
“Do not remind me,” I sighed heavily as I flopped onto the hammock—happy I had made him bounce.
He chuckled. “Are you truly angry?”
“I am truly surprised. Beyond that, I do not wish to think about it.” But I could not stop. “It is very good we are leaving here. Wherever else we go, she can claim it was her husband’s before he died in an accident. Here, everyone would know it a bastard.”
He shrugged. “She said she planned to tell anyone who asked that it was Dominic’s: because you have similar coloring. Had.”
“I suppose. And perhaps by the time the child is old enough to have distinguishable features people will have forgotten that Doucette did not look like me?”
“Oui. Now read that,” he said lightly.
I smoothed the crumpled pages and read. I was soon glad we had not finished the missive yesterday. There was good news: the child was fine, and in light of Gaston’s admission about the marriage and her parentage, she had been christened again as the Marquis’ granddaughter. With or without proper Church records, Gaston and Christine were to be considered married by all concerned—even the Church—and little Athena would forever be a Sable—for whatever that was now worth. The bad news was that the name Sable and his title were now all her father would ever have, and might possibly become all her grandfather could claim as well. Gaston had been judged unfit to inherit the family lands based upon his unwillingness to return to France and the continued evidence of his madness. I thought that evidence was likely Gaston’s relationship with me, but the Marquis made no mention of that directly. In conclusion, despite the lack of an heir and the possible loss of his holdings, the Marquis wished to assure his son that he loved him. He was very proud of him, and he felt Gaston had acted with the principles and forethought of a gentleman.
My matelot was watching me with teary eyes and a weak smile when I finished. “We are forever steeped in irony,” he said softly.
“Oui, we should be accustomed to it now,” I said with a smile. “I wonder if the matter of your inheritance is the reason Father Pierre wishes to see us.”
“I need to write my father tonight,” Gaston said thoughtfully as he sat.
“And tell him of Chris. However that has turned out.” There had been no mention of Christine in the letter.
Gaston regarded me curiously and I told him of my conversation with Christine and her wish for death.
He was saddened. “Let us see to the priest and go to the hut as soon as possible, then,” he sighed.
I watched him dress and thought about all the frayed and tattered ends we must mend on the fine tapestry we had been weaving these last months. Tangled webs, my arse: we had not been practicing to deceive—we had been practicing truth—and look what a mess we had been delivered with.
“I am sorry about your lands,” I said as Gaston tossed me my sword belt.
He shrugged and began attaching his weapons to his belt—the one he had stripped for our aborted attempt at play. I nearly flushed anew as I thought on that.
He stopped and regarded me. “I must confess that I have hoped the matter would end this way.”
I smiled and nodded my understanding. “I hope we can find another pleasant place where we can live as we choose and you can practice medicine and our gaggle of children can play—I suppose. I cannot believe they did that. Damn them.”
He chuckled. “The Gods receive what they wish. You are to have two children as I did: twins by different mothers; though Agnes will deliver her child at least a month before Yvette. She was with child when Rachel’s died.”
I sighed: that explained much of her behavior that night. “I suppose there was no helping it on my part. It is on Their heads—the Gods, not the girls.”
My heart was relatively light at we left our room—even as we descended the fateful stairs. Theodore and the good father sat at a table in the shade. The rest of our family was spread about doing chores—though everyone was wearing black and Agnes and Yvette were absent. Apollo and Jamaica were with Hannah. I supposed the girls were holed up in one of the rooms. I supposed I needed to speak with them.
I met Father Pierre’s gaze as we approached, and my empty stomach roiled. There was such sorrow in his eyes upon seeing us.
“What is wrong?” I asked without sitting—or other pleasantries.
Theodore stood to leave, but Father Pierre touched his arm. “If it is acceptable to them, I feel you should stay.”
“Oui,” I said. Gaston nodded.
“Please sit,” the father said.
“You are looking at us as if we are condemned men,” I said. “I would rather not sit until I know if we should run.”
“Not this minute, and not from me,” he said with sincerity.
“But we should run?” I queried as I pulled a chair from the table.
Gaston was looking about; as was I. Liam and Bones were viewing our evident alarm with concern.
“Non, non,” Father Pierre said quickly. “I do not feel there will be armed men arriving… today.”
“My Lord,” Theodore breathed. “What is this about?”
“Doucette’s death was an accident,” I said levelly.
“Non, oui. I have no doubt,” Father Pierre said even as I saw doubt blossom in his eyes. “Even if it was not, that is the least of your concerns.”
I sat heavily in the chair I had chosen. “Speak.”
“I have… um. Where to begin?” he muttered.
“With the worst part,” I said doggedly.
He nodded reluctantly and looked to Gaston. “I received word on the ship that arrived yesterday that you are not to be allowed to inherit. I am sorry.”
“I am relieved,” Gaston said.
Father Pierre sighed. “You will not be. I was ordered to tell you to report to Petit-Goave, or France, in order for your madness to be assessed by individuals judged more... reliable than myself.”
“His madness?” I asked. “Assessed by who, the Church? Why?”
“To determine if it is the result of demonic possession,” Father Pierre said with a grimace.
“Father Mark?” I asked, as I was too stunned to wish to think farther than a likely scapegoat for my growing wrath.
“Non,” Father Pierre said quickly. “He does not dislike Gaston. He hates you. Non, Gaston’s mother was mentioned in these papers. This is a bigger and older matter. I honestly believe it might be an attempt to discredit the Marquis de Tervent.”
“God help us,” Theodore said.
I could not even laugh at the irony of his plea.
“How long do we have?” I asked. “I will tell you now we were only awaiting word from the Marquis before leaving. We have received that word.”
Father Pierre nodded. “Good. The orders I received said a ship would come from Petit-Goave to take Gaston to the Bishop who recently arrived there. The ship that brought my letter left for Petit-Goave this morning: they should reach it in three days at the most. I do not know if that ship contained orders for the Governor and the parish there, or whether they received their orders on one of the other ships from France these last weeks. They could be on their way now, or next week. You are probably quite fortunate they have not already arrived.
“If Gaston surrenders to them, he will be questioned, and if he exhibits signs of madness, it is likely he will be exorcised, and depending on how the inquiring bishop feels about that outcome, he will either be sent to an asylum, or… burned.”
“This is not Spain!” Theodore protested.
Father Pierre shrugged. “It is not The Inquisition, but an inquisition.”
I was looking at Gaston: he was in tears. He shook his head sadly at me and stood to wander away from the table.
Everyone in the atrium was quiet and watching us now. I stood. “Pack! We have word from the Marquis, and now we have learned the Church
seeks to detain Gaston. Let us not waste time discussing it now. The best place to speak will be the deck of the Magdalene. Gaston and I will alert the Strikers and the ship.”
There was cursing, but everyone dove into motion. We had planned for this. Much of what we would take was actually already loaded aboard the ship along with provisions.
“As we planned,” Liam shouted in French. “Find the ladies. Samuel, Bones, Rucker, Agnes, take Mistress Theodore, the cart, the dogs, and the children to the ship. Theodore, Madame Doucette, and I will pack the final things. Hannah, see to the hospital supplies.”
I returned my attention to Father Pierre and bowed. “It has been a pleasure knowing you.”
“I will pray for you,” he said solemnly and stood to embrace me in parting.
Then I went upstairs and gathered our things. I unstrung the hammock and packed it in a crate that would go on the cart Samuel would take to the ship with the mule. I went and collected Pomme, trying not to dwell on this being our last ride together. I truly hoped he would do well. He was not so fat now; and if someone did claim him, I hoped they might see much value in him and not be tempted to eat him.
I found Gaston in the surgery writing a lengthy note for the still-drugged Schoen. This was part of our plan. We would send any remaining patients who needed care to Petit-Goave. We would leave them with notes and enough silver to secure passage there and care from the Governor’s physician once they arrived.
“He will not live with or without me,” Gaston said.
“I am sorry.”
He shrugged.
“About… politics, and France.”
He sighed and smiled before giving the note to Hannah. “We will return as soon as possible. Finish packing as we discussed,” he told her.
“Be careful,” she said.
“They are not here yet,” I said with a reassuring smile.
She shook her head and gave a chiding sound. “You felt it, too. That was a bad wind that blew yesterday. The woman and Doucette may not be all of it.”
I nodded reluctantly. “We will be careful.”
We mounted Pomme and rode out of town. “We will head to the grove first,” I said, “Unless you feel I should leave you at the road to the Strikers’ so that you can warn them quickly.”
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