by Jane Feather
"No!" The scream of protest burst from her as he pulled her leg straight and fastened her ankle to the post at the end of the bed. "No!" But he had secured her other leg before the cry had died in the air, and she lay spread-eagled on the bed, shaking with terror, staring up at him, her eyes dark with fear.
"Now, my dear." He sat down on the bed at the head. "I am going to give you something to drink. The sooner you drink it, the sooner this, unpleasantness will come to an end."
She shook her head, her tangled hair framing her face, blackest black against the ghastly whiteness. He was going to kill her as he'd killed Elvira.
She tried to scream again, but the sound was thick and somehow curdled in her throat, so great was her terror. She tried to turn her head aside as he brought a shallow silver cup toward her.
He leaned over her and pinched her nostrils between finger and thumb. She gasped for breath, her mouth opening. And he poured the contents of the cup straight down her throat. She choked, swallowed before she drowned. It was bitter, herbal, medicinal.
He held her nose until he was certain she had swallowed every drop, then he let go and stood up. "You'll not breed a bastard," he said cruelly. "Whatever you're carrying, you'll lose before morning. And then, my deceitful whore of a wife, you'll lie beneath me night and morning until you carry and deliver my son."
Uncomprehending, she stared up at him, the horror of what she had endured, of what she feared, indelible in her eyes. "I'll leave you now to your reflections." He unfastened the ropes that held her, then stood looking down at her with his asp's smile. "I doubt you'll pass a comfortable night, my dear, but I believe the punishment is appropriate to the offense."
He walked away. She heard him lock the door to the salon, then he left through her dressing room. The door clicked shut behind him and the key turned from the outside. She was alone.
Merciful God, what had he given her? She fought to control the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, to banish all rational thought. What had he said? "You'll not breed a bastard."
Now she understood what he'd done. He had given her something to abort a pregnancy. A bastard pregnancy. He must have discovered her relationship with Leo. But how? And she didn't even know if she was pregnant, and, oh God, the final irony. If she was carrying a child, it would be Michael's. Leo was too careful.
She sat up, looking around the familiar room. When would it begin to work? What would it do to her? The thought that some alien substance was working within her to cause damage and destruction was so terrifying that the black mists of panic this time nearly engulfed her, but she pushed them away with every fiber of her being.
What would happen if she screamed? Nothing. He'd locked the doors, taken the keys. And besides, the servants were accustomed to the sounds that came from this chamber during the long hours of the night. And they were far too terrified of their master to intervene. Her alliance with Brion didn't encompass his risking his livelihood.
She closed her eyes on the bitter tears and tried to empty her mind so that she could sleep. Even ten minutes would be ten minutes gone of this interminable night.
The cramping began just before dawn. She groaned, curling onto her side over the pain, trying to ease the muscles in her belly. The pain was more violent than her customary monthly terms, and the flow of blood felt stronger. She was suddenly too debilitated to move, to examine what was happening to her. The sheet beneath her was soon soaked and sticky, and the great waves of lassitude broke over her, rendering her almost immobile.
She was going to bleed to death, helpless on this bed.
Cordelia opened her mouth and screamed. She screamed and screamed until her throat was sore. And now there were sounds from the salon. Voices, footsteps. The handle turned, met the resistance of the key. She screamed again.
The door to the dressing room was flung open. Michael strode in. "Stop your caterwauling, whore!" He flung back the sheet and stared at the red mess beneath her. Then he looked up into her face and said with quiet satisfaction, "You'll be breeding no bastards."
Cordelia had little strength left, but she screamed again. It seemed it was the only thing she knew how to do. She screamed in pain, in fear, and in hatred.
Michael looked down at the blood again. There was surely too much. He didn't want her to bleed to death. He hadn't finished with her yet. He flung open the salon door and bellowed, "Brion, fetch the physician."
Cordelia hauled herself onto one elbow. Her eyes fixed on him through the tangle of hair. "If you don't want me to die, fetch Mathilde." She spoke slowly, with an effort, the words dragged from her. "Mathilde will know how to stop it," She fell back again.
Michael hesitated. He didn't want her to die. He wanted to hurt her. To punish her. To tear from her any life that might not be of his own blood. But he wasn't finished with her yet.
"Where is she?"
Even through the agony, Cordelia knew that by divulging Mathilde's whereabouts, she was putting all their plans in danger, but she did not want to die. And only Mathilde could help her. It was possible Michael was tricking the address out of her, but it was a risk she had to take. "In. the town. At the sign of the Blue Boar." She closed her eyes against the tearing pain in her vitals.
When next she opened her eyes, her blurred gaze fell onto Mathilde's face, and unstoppable tears spilled down her cheeks. Mathilde bent and kissed her cheek. "It's all right, my babe. It's all right."
"Am I going to die?"
"Bless you, no." She smiled, but the smile didn't diminish the grimness in her eyes. "It's slowed now." "How?"
"I have my ways, child. Sit up and take some of this." She slipped an arm beneath her and lifted Cordelia up against the pillows.
The sheets were clean and crisp beneath her, her nightgown freshly laundered. There was no sign anywhere in the chamber of that blood-soaked, pain-filled terrifying horror of the night. Except for the red liquid Mathilde was holding to her mouth.
"What is it?" With instinctive revulsion she tried to push it away.
"Drink it down. You need your strength."
"Is it blood?" She looked in disgust at her nurse.
"And a few other things."
Cordelia closed her eyes and tipped the warm, evil-smelling liquid down her throat. Curiously, it didn't taste bad at all. Didn't taste salty like blood.
"You'll drink some more in an hour." Mathilde took the cup away.
Cordelia lay back against the pillows, feeling warm and sleepy. "Mathilde?"
"Yes, dearie?" Mathilde came back to the bed. "Was I? I mean did I lose…?"
"If you were carrying, my dear, it was too soon to tell," Mathilde said briskly. "Where's Michael?"
"That bastard son of a ditch-born drab!" Mathilde was not given to swearing, but her face was as harshly savage as her words. "I've not finished with him yet."
"Is he here?"
"No. He's gone to the king's levee, and I'm to be out of here before he returns," she said dourly.
"Did he say anything else to you?"
Mathilde shook her head. "Just told me he believed you were miscarrying and I'd better do something about it."
"He gave me something to make it happen," Cordelia said dully. "I don't know what it was. But he must know about Leo."
Mathilde looked up, and her eyes, bright, black, and utterly unreadable, rested on Cordelia's face for a minute. Then she nodded once and, with the same inscrutable expression, returned to her task. She was packing things in the leather bag that accompanied her everywhere. Over the years, Cordelia had grown to trust the contents of that bag as she trusted the woman who administered them. "That girl?" Mathilde gestured with her head toward the dressing room. "Is she as gormless as she seems?"
A weak smile flickered. "Yes, but she's very willing and good-hearted."
Mathilde clucked crossly. "Well, I'd best tell her what to give you and when."
"Tell me. I feel quite strong now."
"You lost a power of blood," Mathilde stated. "And you need to put it back." She flourished a jar of the red liquid. "Take a glass of this every hour until it's finished."
"What is it?" Cordelia asked again.
"Marrow, ground liver and heart, salsify, ginger… Oh, a host of things that you needn't trouble yourself about." Mathilde placed the jar on the bedside table. "Now, if the bleeding becomes heavy again, more than your usual terms, send the girl for me."
Cordelia nodded. "Mathilde, Leo wants the children out of the palace this afternoon. Their governess believes they're going to a music lesson. I gave Christian a note yesterday afternoon, asking him to notify the Nevry woman formally that he will be giving them a lesson at three o'clock this afternoon in his lodgings in the town. I was going to escort them myself, but I don't think I can. Will you make sure they get there?"
"Aye, leave it with me." Mathilde bent over her again, brushing her hair from her face. "Tell me where to find them in this warren."
Cordelia gave her precise instructions, Mathilde nodding her comprehension. "I'll see to it, child. You've a bit more color in your cheeks now. How are the pains?"
"Just the usual dull kind of ache."
"Rest in bed for today and you'll be right as rain tomorrow." She kissed her nursling and patted her cheek. "We'll come through this, never you fear."
Cordelia's smile was a trifle wan. Mathilde's complete lack of reaction to Michael's part in all this was surprising, but Mathilde was often surprising. Now the nurse gave her another brisk kiss and bustled away into the dressing room.
Cordelia heard her giving slow instructions to Elsie as if the girl was in possession of only half her senses.
She would not come through this unless she could escape her husband. Cordelia knew this as she had never known it before. There was nothing that Michael would not do if he felt in his vile, twisted mind that it was necessary.
And Leo was planning something. He had not been giving her the entire reason why he wanted her out of Versailles this afternoon. She had tried to convince herself that he had told her the whole truth, but she knew that he hadn't. She closed her eyes again, thinking. There was to be a play in Madame de Pompadour's theater at four o'clock. Toinette had been thrilled with the exquisitely designed and decorated theater, eagerly reliving the theatricals of their childhood in the little theater at Schonbrunn where all the royal children had entertained visiting dignitaries as well as members of the royal household.
There was the play. And nothing else until the usual evening festivities.
But why would Leo not want her to attend the play?
"Is there something I can get you, milady?" Elsie bobbed a curtsy beside the bed, and Cordelia opened her eyes.
"Yes, pour me some of that foul mixture in the jar," she said. If she was to get herself out of bed and to the play, she was going to need all the strength she could muster.
When Prince Michael returned at noon, he found his wife peacefully asleep. The nurse had done her work well and had then disappeared as ordered. He surveyed Cordelia. She looked almost herself, her cheeks slightly pink now against the white of the pillow. If the woman had failed, she would have ended her days in the Bastille. But she had succeeded. He would reward success in this instance. For as long as she kept out of his sight, he would leave her be.
Cordelia's eyes fluttered open and for a moment fear stood out naked in their blue depths as she saw her husband's frowning regard.
"You are better, I see."
She nodded weakly. The frailer he believed her, the more likely he was at this point to leave her alone.
"You will keep to your bed," he declared, then turned on his heel and left the chamber.
She would keep to her bed until close to four o'clock. Then somehow she would drag herself to the theater.
Chapter Twenty-four
"Where's Cordelia?" Christian sprang up from the spinet as Mathilde with Amelia and Sylvie entered the room in the lodgings at the sign of the Blue Boar. "The viscount said she would be coming with the children." He ran a hand through his hair, looking as distracted and anxious as he had felt since the viscount had taken him into his confidence and laid such a heavy charge upon him.
"She's keeping to her bed today," Mathilde said, bending to untie the children's bonnets.
"Is she ill?" Christian sounded almost panicked. "The viscount said I was to keep her here until this evening."
"Not ill, just a touch of the female complaint," Mathilde responded stolidly, ignoring Christian's sudden flush. "Now, stop your fretting and meet the girls."
Christian pulled himself together. Somehow, in Mathilde's company it was impossible to indulge his anxieties. He turned his attention to the two little girls, who were regarding him solemnly.
"We saw you at the concert with the dancer," one of them said.
"She was so pretty," the other said. "I wish we could dance like that. Cordelia said we can have lessons."
"This is Amelia and this is Sylvie." Mathilde touched each child in turn.
The children looked at each other, startled. They had done their morning switch and had only met Mathilde once or twice before. How could she get them right without knowing?
Mathilde's smile was tranquil. "You'll not fool me, m'dears."
"Oh," they said in unison.
Christian looked bewildered, but he took their hands and shook them earnestly. "I'm to give you music lessons."
"Yes." Their twinned noses wrinkled simultaneously.
"Don't you care for music?" he asked, incredulous. At their age he was already composing and was an accomplished player on both harpsi
chord and spinet.
"Madame de Nevry says we're very bad at it," Sylvie confided.
"But she's very bad," Amelia put in. "She plays but it doesn't sound like music at all."
"Come." Christian beckoned them over to the spinet. He sat down. "Listen to this and tell me if it sounds like music."
He played a light air, but for once the music didn't soothe him. Cordelia was supposed to be here too. How could he fulfill his responsibilities to the viscount if the plans changed? The viscount had said he didn't think they would need to leave Versailles this afternoon, but he was to hold himself ready for anything. A coach and fast team were ready to start at a word. Mathilde had arranged boys' clothes for the children, and a groom's britches and jerkin for Cordelia. Christian had the passports and papers.
But there was no Cordelia. They couldn't leave without Cordelia. He was confused and dismayed. The entire operation was risky enough without unexpected hitches.
He brought his hands down on the keys in a final chord and sat staring at a crack in the wall above the spinet, talking sternly to himself. Mathilde didn't seem concerned. And this was only supposed to be a trial run. When it was time to go, Cordelia would be here. Everything then would go according to plan. And if he couldn't control his anxiety on a trial run, what good would he be when it came to the real thing?
He swung around on the seat and regarded the children, standing hand in hand behind him. "Well, did that sound like music?"
They nodded in unison.
"Would you like to learn to play like that?"
Another vigorous nod.
"Then sit down, you… Sylvie, is it? You first." "I'm Melia."
"Oh. Well, you go first, then. Show me what you've learned so far."