Madalena

by Sheila Walsh

Samson inclined his head. ‘Yes, monsieur. All is well. He awaits your arrival.’

  Hope hovered uncertainly in Madalena’s face. Devereux drew her into the circle of his arm. ‘Yes, chérie ‒ your father is safe. You will see him very soon now.’ She nodded, unable to speak. He turned to Samson. ‘You come most opportunely with the carriage; mademoiselle may now be driven in comfort.’

  The brigand chief looked less than pleased however; to lose two prisoners and a fine carriage and pair took some swallowing. When, however, the situation was explained to him, he bowed to the inevitable. The name of Monsieur de Brussec was not unknown even here, so far from Paris; he even went so far as to offer them an escort so that the little mademoiselle’s papa might be safely restored to her.

  The offer was tactfully refused, but the big man said cheerfully that they would be close at hand if needed ‒ and the werewolf and young mademoiselle parted on the best of terms.

  Several hours later, the carriage was turning in between the high ornamental gates of Madame de Marron’s villa and drawing to a halt before the steps. Madalena had been very silent on the journey and Devereux, sensing that she was suffering from a degree of reaction, made no attempt to rouse her. She attributed his apparent withdrawal to discomfort and weariness and pretended to sleep so that he would not feel obliged to entertain her. Little by little a black depression settled upon her.

  In the foyer, Janine de Marron waited; her eyes met Devereux’s, the fine line of her brows arching in amused query at the sight of the wraith-like little figure at his side.

  There was a stirring in the doorway behind her ‒ and the small figure came to life suddenly, to run and fling herself upon the astonished gentleman who had emerged.

  Monsieur de Brussec caught Madalena in a bear-like embrace, his strong, intellectual face working with emotion.

  ‘Maddie! My little Maddie! Why are you here? I could not believe my eyes when I looked from the window!’

  Madalena was laughing and crying at once; her explanations became increasingly incoherent until her father cried enough. ‘Later, ma fille! For now, I think you should go with Madame.’ He looked enquiringly at Janine. ‘Mayhap she can transform you into something less resembling a little scarecrow?’

  Introductions were effected and Janine came forward with outstretched hands. ‘Indeed, yes chérie.’ With droll good humour she measured Madalena’s slight frame against her own more voluptuous curves. ‘Hélas, it will not be easy, but my good Celestine will contrive something.’

  ‘You are very kind, madame,’ Madalena said in a flat, polite voice. Her heightened senses had at once detected the degree of intimacy between this woman and Dev; like Lady Serena Fairfax, she was of his world. The notion left her curiously bereft ‒ her big adventure was ended.

  ‘And when you have her safe in a dress, my dear Janine,’ Dev was declaring firmly, ‘you may burn those damned breeches!’

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Madalena. ‘I am very fond of my breeches.’

  ‘Well, I am not, child.’ Dev took her chin between finger and thumb and shook it gently; a smile lurked deep in his eyes. ‘They seem destined to land you in trouble ‒ and I do not propose to spend the rest of my days hauling you out of scrapes.’

  ‘Oh, well …’ She swallowed hard and allowed herself to be led away by a vastly intrigued Janine. Dev had never looked at her in just such a way!

  Devereux also found himself coming under keen scrutiny from another direction. Monsieur de Brussec had intercepted that same look and was, not unnaturally, curious to learn its meaning ‒ and to learn also how his daughter, who should have been safe with her aunt in England, came instead to be gallivanting across France in so unseemly a fashion and in the company of this strange and enigmatic character, Lytten.

  ‘I believe, Duc,’ he said, somewhat sternly, ‘that I must demand of you an explanation.’ He eyed the other’s arm. ‘Do you feel well enough to accommodate me now?’

  ‘By all means, monsieur,’ sighed Devereux, stifling his, by now, abominable weariness.

  They retired together into the front salon where, over a glass of Janine’s fine Manzanillo, he recounted as much of the affair as he thought would satisfy Monsieur de Brussec, glossing over certain episodes in deference to parental sensitivity.

  His feeling for Madalena, however, was implicit in every word he spoke ‒ and it troubled the older man greatly; no matter how many fine qualities this Lytten might possess, instinct told him that he was not a man on whom one would wish to bestow one’s daughter. For the moment though, the situation must remain in abeyance, for the conversation had turned to the matter of his own deliverance.

  ‘For the instigation of which, I believe I must look to you, Duc,’ Monsieur de Brussec observed dryly. ‘I am bound to state that it was accomplished much against my wishes.’ He shrugged. ‘But my opinion was not heeded.’

  ‘How were matters resolved in the end, sir?’

  ‘Oh, I believe the Emperor was induced by the concerted advice of his ministers to sign my release on the understanding that I would leave the country. It needed only a hint of mob revolt and the imminence of full-scale insurrection for him to capitulate. How much truth there was in such rumours is a matter for conjecture, but the last thing our good Emperor wants at present is trouble at home.’

  ‘The rumours were true enough, monsieur, I give you my word,’ said Devereux. ‘I think you underestimate the extent of your popularity.’

  The lawyer smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps. Certainly when I left Grande-Force, the rue Roi de Sicile was choked by a noisy mob. I was urged to deliver a short speech assuring them that I was a free man. From thence, my departure was discreetly engineered by the Prince de Bénevént ‒ again, as I believe, at your instigation.’

  He spread his hands and there was an air of acute distress in the simple gesture. ‘So ‒ you behold me now, Duc ‒ an exile from this land I so love.’

  ‘Not for long, monsieur, and then France will have great need of you, and men like you.’ Devereux drained his glass and stood up. ‘And now, if you would excuse me …’

  ‘I must crave one moment more, Duc, if you will bear with me,’ said the lawyer with gentle significance. ‘I would be grateful to have certain matters clarified, concerning my daughter …’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Seamew slipped quietly in on a full tide and Jason, still nursing a thick head, clambered on to the little jetty under the lee of the cliff and made fast the mooring ropes.

  Devereux had been urged by Janine de Marron to stay longer and rest. Monsieur de Brussec was not now a wanted man, so what need was there for haste?

  Samson had dressed the Duke’s wound and had confided to Madame that it was still far from healed; in fact, he wondered that Monseigneur should be on his feet at all. The signs of strain were plain for all to behold ‒ the mouth set in a rigid line, the manner taciturn.

  Yet he would not be shifted from his purpose. He was in a fever of impatience to be home; at home it would be easier to get Madalena to himself and talk to her, for it was becoming increasingly clear to him that she was deliberately avoiding his company.

  At first he had made excuses for her; she was exhausted by her ordeal; she had much time to make up with her father. But when, by the second evening of their stay, matters had not improved, he was forced to the conclusion that the answer lay in none of these things.

  She had come downstairs to dine ‒ a vision in palest gold tiffany ‒ so far removed from his little urchin boy that he knew a momentary stab of pure anguish. She had been quiet throughout dinner, unnaturally so for her ‒ and afterwards had hardly left her father’s side.

  Janine had come to lean over the back of the sofa where Devereux sat, his gaze straying often to the newly washed and gleaming red-gold curls bent so close to the greying head.

  ‘She is an enchanting child, chéri,’ Janine murmured. ‘The best thing that has ever happened to you.’

  ‘Why ‒ so I think,’ he had agree
d softly.

  ‘You would marry her?’

  ‘It is my intention to do so ‒ if she will have me.’

  Janine had looked thoughtful. ‘You have her complete adoration. It is there for all to see whenever she speaks of you …’

  ‘And yet?’ He snapped the question at her, sensing a hesitance.

  Janine shrugged. ‘I am not sure; mayhap the little one is just tired.’

  That was when he had decided. He had entrusted the safe delivery of Prince Talleyrand’s letter to Janine’s care and had resolved to leave on the following day.

  Since it was obvious that he was in no condition to sail the boat and Jason was still suffering severe bouts of pain, Janine had loaned them Samson, who had surprised Devereux yet again by proving himself a most accomplished sailor.

  He it was who now came forward to assist Madalena and her father from the boat. The sharpness of the morning air caused Madalena to wrap her cloak more closely about her.

  ‘We’ll take the passage, Jason. Fetch a lamp, will you?’ Devereux turned to Monsieur de Brussec. ‘I fear you may find it a trifle dark and damp, monsieur, but it will save you a long and tiresome climb.’

  They had almost reached the mouth of the passage when a shout made them turn.

  Daniel Merchent had emerged unnoticed from the shadow of the cliff near the steps, the pistol in his hand trained unwaveringly on them.

  ‘I knew you must come, sooner or later. Quite a touching family scene!’ he sneered.

  Devereux signed to them all to stay quite still. ‘I had hoped you would be in custody by now, Merchent,’ he said evenly.

  ‘Yes, damn you ‒ and I very nearly was, thanks to that accursed brother of yours, Madalena, my dear! In fact, the dragoons are most probably scouring Kent for me at this very moment. But I had a score to settle here.’

  Madalena stared at him as at a stranger. Gone was all elegance, all charm; Daniel was now dishevelled, his coat torn apart by brambles; his eyes were bloodshot and shifted constantly from one to the other of them. She was very much afraid of what he might do in this mood.

  ‘Daniel!’ she pleaded with him and her voice shook. ‘You are being very silly. Please to put away your gun.’

  ‘Be quiet, you stupid little bitch!’ he spat at her. ‘Can’t you understand? It’s you who have brought me to this ‒ you, and that whey-faced brother of yours!’ The gun trembled in his hand. ‘God! How I wanted you! I endangered my whole enterprise because of you … and now I’m ruined!’

  At her side, Monsieur de Brussec stiffened, but Madalena laid a warning hand on his arm.

  Devereux said heavily, ‘All this will do you no good, Merchent. It isn’t like the last time you killed here on these cliffs. Leclerc was but one man ‒ we are many.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘Leclerc? Oh, the little scarface. Yes, I had to kill him. He recognized me, you see, saw me in France, saw too much altogether. Couldn’t have him blabbing to you. But you found out anyway, curse you!’

  ‘Yes, I did. I know all about you now ‒ and so do others. That’s why you can’t win. You can only kill one of us and you haven’t a hope of getting clear.’

  ‘Where would I go?’ Daniel’s voice was rising to the edge of hysteria. They realized that he had gone a little mad. ‘Everything is over for me, thanks to your accursed meddling! But I can take one of you with me. Who shall it be, Lytten? You ‒ or your beloved Madalena?’

  He swung the gun on Madalena as he spoke. There was a deafening explosion and she felt a tremendous impact as she fell. In the noise and confusion it took her several moments to realize that she was not shot at all, but that Dev had hurled himself upon her and thrown her to the ground as the shot was fired.

  It was Daniel who lay dead in a crumpled heap. Armand came from the passageway with one of the Manor servants, very shaken and holding in his hand a still smoking pistol. He threw it down in disgust and stumbled forward to embrace his father.

  ‘I was almost too late, Papa,’ he stammered through chattering teeth. ‘I thought Dan was captured and then I saw him as I was taking an early ride, he was in the bushes, watching the boat out in the bay … I knew at once what must be his intention, and I had no weapon. So I rode to the Manor for a pistol and Thomas here showed me the way through the tunnel so that I might arrive in time to warn you.’

  Madalena scarcely heard his words; she was on her knees beside Dev. He was lying frighteningly still and ashen-faced, his greatcoat thrown off in the fall ‒ and blood was seeping steadily through his bandages.

  She raised a face, distraught with grief, to her papa. ‘Il est mort!’ she sobbed.

  The lawyer bent to look, but Samson was already kneeling at her side. ‘No, mademoiselle.’ His quiet voice was reassuring. ‘He lives.’

  ‘’Tis the fall opened up his wound,’ grunted Jason. ‘Best get him up to the house. I’ll go for the doctor.’

  ‘No … no, I will go,’ said Armand. ‘I can go more quickly and you will be of more use to stay here.’

  Samson lifted the Duke with ease and the party hurried through the tunnel in silence. Jason’s lamp bobbed ahead of them all the while and Madalena, with tears coursing soundlessly down her cheeks, was obliged to run in order to keep abreast of Samson’s loping strides.

  In the master bedchamber at the Manor Dr Laidlaw dressed the wound and re-bandaged it and Armand, who had been assisting him, moved over to the fireplace where his father and the rest were holding a subdued inquest on the recent happenings.

  Above their heads hung a portrait of the Duchess. Madalena remembered it from her previous visit to this room; a younger, more vivacious Duchess than she had known, but with the same smile of incredible sweetness. She found her gaze returning to it again and again, as though silently entreating her help.

  Dr Laidlaw was now feeling Dev’s pulse, his face grave. Madalena hovered at his shoulder and a great fear was growing in her.

  ‘When I removed the bullet,’ she whispered. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  The doctor laid the arm back on the bed and turned to give her his whole attention. ‘When you removed the bullet?’

  She nodded. ‘You were … so grim. I … wondered …’ Tightness closed her throat completely.

  ‘I thought it was your brother who aspired to be the doctor!’ Dr Laidlaw smiled and gave her hand a comforting pat. ‘You did a splendid job, my dear child! By God’s grace the lung is not affected and I have every hope that the Duke will make a full recovery. This is but a setback.’

  ‘You are sure? Dieu! He has such pallor!’

  ‘The wound was torn open; his grace has lost a deal more blood, mademoiselle. He should not have been gallivanting about.’ The doctor shook his head. ‘These strong, silent men ‒ they convince themselves that they are indestructible.’

  ‘It was for me,’ she breathed on a sob and he found his curiosity growing by the minute.

  The Duke’s eyes fluttered open and Madalena was at his side in an instant, bending over him, smoothing back his hair.

  ‘Still there … little Madonna …?’ the murmured words were scarcely audible.

  ‘Oui, bien-aimé.’

  He possessed himself of her hand. ‘Will you be there always?’

  ‘As long as you have need of me,’ she vowed steadily. ‘Now you must sleep.’

  His eyes closed and with Madalena’s hand still held prisoner, he slept.

  Dr Laidlaw, as the only close witness to the little scene, found a great many things suddenly made clear.

  Madalena and her father were embraced with great volubility by Mrs Vernon on their arrival. Relief struggled with tears and recriminations as she declared that she had sustained a severe shock to her system in the past week, with first Armand and then Madalena disappearing without apparent trace. Had her dear children not remained at home to sustain her, she must have endured far worse!

  The Brigadier had been summoned from Lower Meckleton and had taken himself off at once to London with Kit to see wh
at could be done to discover their whereabouts. It was only when Kit returned with Armand that they had learned something of what had been happening.

  Armand’s belief that Madalena had gone to France with Lytten to secure his papa’s release had brought on fresh palpitations, but his aunt’s attention had soon been diverted into horrified contemplation of Daniel Merchent’s duplicity ‒ and of what an escape Madalena had had, if only she might be brought safely home to appreciate it.

  Trying though he found her, Monsieur de Brussec bore his sister-in-law’s empty prattle with patience and an innate courtesy. He assured her of his deep gratitude for all the love and care she had bestowed upon his incorrigible pair.

  Incorrigible or not, he was patently overjoyed to be once again united with his children. He received the intelligence that his son wished to practice medicine with quiet pleasure. Armand had already confessed to his papa the extent of his involvement in Daniel’s smuggling activities and had been surprised by the mildness of his reproof.

  His father was, in fact, far more troubled by the inconsistency of his daughter’s behaviour. For several days Madalena could hardly be persuaded to leave the Duke’s bedside ‒ until the morning when she had arrived with her papa to be greeted by a beaming Thomas with the news that the patient was very much improved and was demanding to see her. To everyone’s astonishment she had turned pale and rushed from the house.

  She would not be persuaded to return. When her father had sought her out later he found her tearful, but adamant.

  ‘You are not being very consistent, chéri,’ he had probed gently. ‘When the Duc is so ill you can scarcely be prised from his side. Now you will not go near him. He is understandably distressed ‒ and bewildered!’

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she said nothing.

  Monsieur de Brussec had continued with a touch of wry humour: ‘When a gentleman has made up his mind to propose, it is very lowering to find his beloved so elusive! The more so when he is confined ‒ and so may not seek her out!’

  He surprised in her a look of acute misery.