by Sheila Walsh
Devereux brought for Madalena her little statuette and also the picture of the Madonna which had hung beside the Duchess’s bed and which she had so admired. With it was a note in the Duchess’s hand.
When Devereux had gone she took them up to the privacy of her own room, where she opened the letter.
It was brief ‒ no more than a few lines in a shaky, yet elegant hand; Madalena fancied she could hear the gentle voice framing the words. ‘Ma Chère,’ it ran, ‘I am leaving to you my picture which you so admired as a remembrance. It is impossible for me to write what you have brought to my life these last months. Such deep and abiding joy cannot be measured. Do not grieve for me, for be assured that I shall always be near you.’
There was more ‒ something about Devereux, but Madalena’s eyes had blurred and she could not read it.
She folded the letter and laid it neatly away with the statuette in a drawer beneath a pile of clothes. Then she closed the drawer with a dreadful feeling of finality, leaving only the picture to be hung above her bed.
Chapter Ten
Phoebe was married in late October and was soon blissfully installed in a little house not far from John’s parents. Madalena had not expected to miss Phoebe so much, but though Armand rode with her most mornings, he had become very much taken with the idea of becoming a doctor and spent most of his days at the Laidlaws, so that she was thrown very much back on her own resources. She too was always welcome at the Laidlaws, but much as she liked Sally, her undiluted company was a trial.
The fact was, Madalena was missing the Duchess keenly ‒ and not only the Duchess. She had seen Dev only once ‒ and that briefly ‒ since the day of the funeral, and her heart ached for a sight of him.
Daniel, they had seen only once also. He had put in a brief appearance during the late summer. It was a visit charged with an uncomfortable atmosphere and ending in disaster.
Mrs Vernon, showing a distinct lack of perception, had insisted upon his staying for a night or two, convinced that not only must Armand be pleased to see his friend, but that his visit was just what was needed to lift Madalena out of the lowness of spirits occasioned by the Duchess’s death.
Since the conquest of Madalena was the sole object of his visit, Daniel Merchent had ignored Armand’s hostility and had set himself, with practised ease, to the task of making himself agreeable to her.
Mrs Vernon, her mind already full of bridals, began to cherish notions that this nice young man was becoming serious in his attachment to her niece. Of course it would be necessary to obtain Etienne’s consent, but even Hortense had had no fault to find with either Mr Merchent’s connections or his prospects; she was persuaded that it was a match Madalena’s father could not but approve.
And so, basking in the warmth of Mrs Vernon’s approbation and further encouraged by Madalena, who over-compensated for Armand’s fit of the sullens by being spontaneously generous in her attention to him, Daniel suddenly threw discretion aside and declared his passion ‒ begged her to marry him.
Madalena was stunned! She stammered a blank refusal and watched the colour flood the fair, intense face as disbelief turned slowly to mortification and then to anger. Peste! If she had not been so preoccupied, she must have seen the signs ‒ and could then have steered him away from so precipitate a proposal!
As things were, he took it hard. He left almost at once, leaving Madalena distressed, Armand vastly relieved ‒ and Mrs Vernon tearful. Fortunately however, Phoebe’s wedding was soon upon them and there was little time for morbid reflection.
Kit came home when the preparations were at their height and stayed several weeks, providing Madalena with just the required anodyne ‒ a protective, unquestioning affection that demanded no more of her than that she should be herself.
Had she but known it, Kit was more than ready to lay his heart ‒ his very life if need be ‒ at her feet, but he knew that for her only one man existed; he was content to remain her devoted cousin, friend ‒ and, when necessary, confidant.
He took his mother quietly to task over the business of Daniel Merchent ‒ pointing out the futility of such scheming ‒ an accusation which caused his mama’s breast to swell with indignation. It was an extraordinary thing, she had bridled, that her son, who spent most of his time in London, should feel himself better qualified to gauge his cousin’s innermost feelings than she, who saw Madalena every day!
‘For it may surprise you to know, Kit, that the child has not so much as mentioned Lytten since his mama passed away. I am persuaded that she has put him quite out of her mind!’
Kit had given up. Useless to attempt to convince her that Madalena’s reticence was a matter for disquiet.
But now Kit had returned to London and when Madalena was not with Armand or Sally, she would take long solitary walks, assuring her aunt that trudging through sodden leaves was of all things what she enjoyed doing. More often than not her steps took her in the direction they had so often taken in the past.
So it was that, on a bleak November day, she stepped out on to the carriageway near Lytten Manor to be joyously greeted by Castor and Pollux. Heedless of the damp ground, she knelt to hug them; rough, eager tongues licked at her face, heavy tails thumping back and forth.
The horses were almost upon her before she saw them.
Devereux, leaner and more saturnine than she had remembered, sat astride Thunderer ‒ and at his side, coolly elegant in a flowing habit of rich crimson, a dashing hat perched at a becoming angle on glistening dark curls, was Lady Serena Fairfax. The amused smile kindling her worldy-wise eyes was reflected in her low, musical voice.
‘Why, it is our little émigrée! How delightful to see you my dear ‒ and how unexpected!’
Madalena struggled to stand erect, but the dogs impeded her. Devereux dismounted and called them to heel. They backed off with reluctance and sat, their tails still thumping the ground.
Devereux lifted Madalena up and brushed the damp leaves and twigs from her soft brown pelisse. Her bonnet had slipped a little to one side; without speaking, he straightened it and, tucking away a stray red-gold curl, secured the ribbons, subjecting her as he did so to a minute examination.
Disconcerted by the presence of Lady Serena, Madalena stammered incoherently, ‘Pardon … I did not know. Sometimes I walk here … but I would not intrude …’
Devereux silenced her, holding her when she would have turned away. ‘Foolish one! You must know you are free to go wherever you choose.’
Her eyes were intent upon him ‒ as though she would treasure up every feature and store it away.
At last she withdrew from his clasp. He caught at her hand and said with low urgency, ‘You are all right?’
She nodded. Their eyes held for a moment longer and then he let her go. The murmur of voices floated back to her as she stumbled along the path ‒ voices, and the sound of a husky, very feminine laugh …
It was as Christmas approached that Madalena felt the absence of her father most keenly, but Kit came home again and Phoebe and John braved the inclement weather to join the family gathering, so that it became impossible for her not to enjoy the festivities.
When Phoebe arrived, the two girls exchanged a rapturous embrace and soon Madalena was carrying Phoebe off to her room, where Phoebe’s new found dignity soon deserted her and they fell to chattering like a couple of magpies.
‘You are happy with your John, my Phoebe? Ah yes, I can see it ‒ there is a glow about you!’
‘Oh indeed, it is prodigious fine to be a married lady!’ exclaimed Phoebe. She jumped up and went to the window ‒ and then turned, her cheeks rather pink. ‘Maddie? Can you keep a secret?’
Madalena looked at her and clapped her hands. ‘Voyons! I have guessed it! You are enceinte, n’est ce pas?’
She rushed across to envelop her cousin in an enthusiastic hug. ‘You ‒ to be a mother! It does not seem possible!’
‘Maddie, do hush! I have not yet told Mama. You mustn’t breathe a word until I
have done so.’
The news, when told, was celebrated in fine style and the time flew past.
It was on a bitter morning at the end of December that Daniel Merchent appeared again. The family had driven out to return Christmas calls ‒ all but Madalena, who had kept to her room with a slight cold.
It was there that Armand sought her out. His face was ashen and she pulled him quickly inside and shut the door. ‘Armand, are you ill? Why do you look like this?’
‘Dan Merchent is here. I met him as I was riding back from the Laidlaw’s. He is downstairs waiting to see you.’
‘Peste! I do not wish to see him! You can say that I am very ill.’
‘Maddie, you must see him!’ Armand stood tense, his back against the door and something in his voice sent a small shiver of apprehension through her.
‘Something is badly wrong. You will please to tell me.’
Armand was silent for so long that she almost screamed ‒ and then, in an unsteady voice, he began.
‘Dan has news … out of France. I … he says Papa has been arrested.’
‘Dieu!’ The room swayed and Madalena sat down abruptly on the bed. ‘So ‒ it has come at last.’
Armand slumped beside her; without speaking, like children seeking comfort, they clasped hands.
‘Did he … say what happened?’ Madalena asked at last.
‘No ‒ I did not ask. He was most insistent that he should see you.’
‘Then he shall see me.’
In the little morning room Daniel Merchent turned from the window.
Madalena launched at once into speech. ‘Is it true ‒ what you have said? For it seems to me very strange that you should know such a thing!’
‘There is no mistake, I promise you.’ Daniel’s voice was harsh, uncompromising. ‘Your father is in La Force ‒ after a highly inflammatory speech condemning his Emperor and the entire disastrous Russian campaign.’
Madalena shut her eyes. It would be true ‒ Oh, without a doubt it would be true!
Daniel Merchent observed her reactions closely and seemed strangely pleased with what he saw.
‘Your father means a lot to you?’
‘I would die for him gladly!’ Madalena declared passionately.
‘I hardly think that such a drastic sacrifice will be called for.’ Daniel’s voice was smooth. ‘However, a few weeks ago I made you a proposal which you were pleased to scorn …’
He paused, watching her with narrowed eyes. Armand, suddenly realizing what was to come, started forward with a cry.
‘If,’ Daniel continued as though Armand did not exist, ‘you were now prepared to reconsider your answer, I for my part would guarantee to arrange for your father’s escape.’
Madalena stood very still and straight. She was dimly aware of Armand beside her, urging her not to make any such bargain. In a detached way she even found time to wonder how she could ever have thought Daniel attractive. Truly ‒ the eyes were of a hardness ‒ the mouth cruel.
‘So, monsieur ‒ I am to sell myself to you in return for my father’s freedom. This is what you are suggesting?’
Daniel Merchent’s mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘I would hardly call it selling yourself, mademoiselle; I am still prepared to offer you marriage ‒ a generous offer in the circumstances. I am sure you will appreciate that I might well demand less … happy terms!’
Her look scorned him. ‘I make you my thanks! But since I do not in the least wish to marry you, your terms are of little interest to me.’
He flushed. ‘A brave show of insolence, my dear, but you would do well to weigh your words with more care. How will they sound, think you, when your father’s head rolls in a basket?’
Madalena gasped ‒ her lips grown curiously stiff. ‘The Emperor would never …’
‘Would he not! Etienne de Brussec has been a thorn in his side for long enough; he is not like to show him much mercy now.’
Armand put a swift arm round his sister as she swayed ‒ his own face only a little less ghastly than hers.
‘Leave her alone, Merchent! Have you no pity?’
‘Pity is a useless emotion, boy ‒ fit only for fools and weaklings.’ Daniel Merchent set his hat on his head and picked up his gloves. The lash of his riding whip jerked through nervous fingers. ‘You have until noon tomorrow. I stay overnight at the inn in the village. Perhaps, Madalena, you will be good enough to convey your answer to me there.’
His hand was already on the door when Madalena’s voice halted him. Her face was bloodless ‒ only her eyes blazed with the unbearable agony of her decision.
‘I will not trouble you to wait for your answer, Daniel. It is … no.’ She forced the word out and her voice steadied. ‘I do not ask how you came by your information, for it seems to me that such knowledge could well come from dishonourable sources.’
She thought of Dev, and for a moment she almost wavered. ‘You do not, I think, know my father, but I will tell you now that of a certainty he would never accept his freedom on such terms as you have laid down.’
Armand’s sharply drawn breath was almost a sob.
Daniel Merchent shot her a venomous look; the whip jerked once more through his hand. ‘Then God help him!’ he flung at her and strode from the room. A moment later the hall door slammed, reverberating through the house.
‘Amen!’ whispered Madalena piteously. She began to shake, so that Armand had to hold her tight.
‘Stop it, Maddie! Ah, ma pauvre, I beseech you to calm yourself or you will be ill. We shall think of something.’
‘Say you do not blame me … that I did not agree …’
‘Agree! To such a monstrous suggestion!’ Armand exploded with feeling. ‘I tell you, you do not know that man as I do; someday I will tell you! We do not even know that he speaks the truth.’
‘No ‒ it is true.’ Madalena sighed and touched her breast. ‘I feel it ‒ here.’
‘Voyons ‒ then I will go myself to France. There are still many people who love Papa enough to help us.’
Madalena sprang up, suddenly resolute. ‘That is madness! No, no, it is clear that I must see Devereux without delay.’
‘Lytten?’ Armand stared. ‘Why Lytten? How can he do anything?’
Like a whirlwind, Madalena was almost through the door. ‘I cannot explain, but he will help, I know he will! Promise me that you will do nothing foolish, my Armand, and say nothing to the family, I beg you!’
Within a very short space of time Madalena had dragged on her riding habit and was riding furiously towards Lytten Manor.
Thomas, the young footman, was delighted to see the little mam’selle again. The stooping figure of Gaston appeared and, in answer to her urgent query, he was obliged to inform her that his grace was away from home.
Thomas could not help noticing how the brightness dimmed in the girl’s face ‒ and wondered at it. There had been much speculation below stairs; the house had been an empty place since their dear Duchess’s death had deprived them of the little missy’s visits and the hope that the Duke would take her to wife seemed, by now, doomed to disappointment. Still, p’raps there was hope after all …
Gaston was saying kindly, ‘We are expecting his grace to return sometime this evening, probably late, mademoiselle. I will tell him of your visit. He will doubtless call on you.’
‘No ‒ no!’ She saw their surprised faces. ‘I will call again myself tomorrow.’
When night came and all had long since retired, Madalena was still tossing. How difficult it all was … if only Armand would be patient a little longer … she had tried to reassure him … She tried to compose herself, but sleep would not come. She banged her pillow crossly. ‘Tiens, it is of no use, you are like one big lump of lead!’
Throwing back the blankets, she padded across to the window; already it was thickly crusted with frost. She rubbed vigorously at the pane, her face pressed to the icy surface, her eyes straining in the direction of Lytten Manor …
&nbs
p; It was well turned midnight when Devereux let himself quietly into the house. A dozing footman sprang to attention and relieved his grace of hat, gloves, whip and finally the all-enveloping greatcoat. He wondered whether his grace would be requiring refreshment, it being a rare frosty night to have been on the road. Devereux moved to the staircase. ‘I require only one thing ‒ and that is my bed.’ He turned. ‘But you may remove my boots, if you would make yourself useful. I doubt I can raise the energy.’
The household, being well used to his odd comings and goings, had been well trained. Even his valet was not permitted to wait up for him.
In his room a welcome fire blazed in the grate and brandy decanter and glass were set in readiness upon a small side table.
Devereux poured a generous measure and stretched out on the bed with a thankful sigh. The last few days had been more than usually trying; there was little joy in crossing the Channel at this time of year, but it would have to be attempted at least one more time.
He drew a letter from his pocket and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand ‒ a letter he had carried from Hartwell, where the exiled court of King Louis was established. He would give much to know what the old Archbishop of Rheims, Louis’ chief chaplain, had written in reply to the letter brought by Devereux from Prince Talleyrand. He had certainly been overjoyed to receive word from his illustrious nephew and seemed to see in it a sign that the prodigal was at last acknowledging the error of his ways.
Devereux’s lips twitched, remembering how different had been corpulent Louis’s reaction to Prince Talleyrand’s apparent change of heart. He had remarked with some malice that Bonaparte must be nearing his end, for when the Directory had been in similar straits, the then Monsieur Talleyrand had written in like manner to the ‘little corporal’. The King had then bent an acid smile upon the old prelate and concluded, ‘If you are replying to the letter, my dear Archbishop, pray tell the Prince that I accept the augur of his good memory!’