He rang the bell for his valet and Dalton came a few minutes later bringing him a jug of hot shaving water.
“I thought, seein’ Your Grace had no sleep the night before and you were ever so late last night, it was best not to disturb Your Grace.”
“You are an old woman, Dalton,” the Duke retorted. “Have you ever known me the worse for losing a night’s sleep?”
“No, indeed, Your Grace.”
The Duke stretched his arms.
“Prepare my bath and I will get up at once.”
Having bathed and dressed himself with unusual care, the Duke surveyed himself in the mirror and, even as he did so, he was amused by his own vanity. Yet, like any other man in love, he wanted to look his best.
His breeches fitted him to perfection and his coat of periwinkle blue satin was without a crease. He looked at his watch, it was a quarter to ten.
“Order my coach at once, Dalton,” he said “If Mademoiselle Amé is ready, we will drive ahead and you can follow with the Berlins. I expect Mr. Waltham has made arrangements about the other luggage.”
“Your – Grace’s – coach?” Dalton stammered.
“Yes, of course,” the Duke said. “Don’t be nit-witted, Dalton, you know we are all leaving for England today. We will have luncheon on the road.”
“But – Your Grace – your coach has gone!”
“Gone!” the Duke exclaimed. “Gone where? What are you talking about?”
“I thought Your Grace knew and the arrangements were cancelled.”
“Knew what?” the Duke enquired angrily. “What the hell are you trying to tell me, Dalton? For Goodness sake, come out with it, man!”
“Mademoiselle Amé took the coach early this morning,” Dalton answered. “It was understood that it was at Your Grace’s command.”
The Duke was suddenly very still.
“Mademoiselle Amé left this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace, about four o’clock,” Dalton replied. “She sent her maid for me. She said that the coach was to be ready immediately, but for fear of wakin’ Lady Isabella she would walk to the stables and get into it there. I had no idea I was doin’ anythin’ wrong in carryin’ out Mademoiselle’s orders.”
“Did she go alone?” the Duke asked and his voice was very quiet.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Her maid did not go with her?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Send the maid here to me.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Looking bewildered and unhappy, Dalton went from the room.
It was only a few seconds before he returned with Ninette, a sprightly little French girl whom Isabella had engaged to look after Amé. She was young and obviously in great awe of the Duke. She dropped him a curtsey and then stood twisting the corner of her apron in her fingers with her eyes downcast.
“Your Mistress left the house, I understand, very early this morning?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Did she tell you where she was going?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Relate to me exactly what happened.”
“I was waitin’ last night to help Mademoiselle undress. She disrobed and then she says to me, ‘take my watch, Ninette, and come back to me at four o’clock.’ I did as Mademoiselle told me. When I went in to her at four o’clock she said she was sorry to have kept me awake. She was always very kind and considerate, Your Grace.”
“Yes, yes,” the Duke said impatiently. “Continue!”
“She sent me for Mr. Dalton and when I brought him she told me to go to bed.”
“Is that all?”
“No, not quite, Your Grace. She told me that, when you asked for her in the mornin’, I was to give you this.”
Still trembling with fright, Ninette drew a letter from the pocket of her apron.
“You should have told me you had it and I would have brought a salver,” Dalton hissed at her as she held it out to the Duke.
The Duke, however, crossed the room and took it from Ninette’s trembling fingers.
“That will be all,” he said sharply.
Ninette and Dalton turned towards the door, but as they reached it, the Duke raised his head.
“One other thing. What was Mademoiselle wearing when she left the house?”
“A black cloak, Your Grace,” Ninette answered, “and under it a white dress. I did not help her into them and I had never seen them before.”
“She took nothing else?”
“No, nothin’, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind Ninette and Dalton.
The Duke sat down at his dressing table. For a moment he stared at the letter, which was addressed with one word, ‘Monseigneur’.
It was some seconds before he broke the wafer, then for a moment Amé’s writing, clear and beautifully formed, seemed to dance before his eyes. With what was a considerable physical effort he steadied himself to read what she had written.
“Monseigneur, I love you. You know that and yet must say it again and again so that never for one moment will you doubt the truth – I love you. And because I love you so I deeply, because I know you love me, I know that we cannot, through our happiness, hurt someone else.
“It is not only for my mother I am afraid but also for the Queen. It is impossible, Monseigneur, as I know and you must have known from the beginning, for you to marry someone like me and not cause curiosity and interest. You are a man of importance, you are a Duke and you have a great position in England that few men can equal. The woman you marry must be able to take her place at your side without being afraid of saying who she is or where she comes from.
“We pretended to each other yesterday that it would be easy to hide from the world who I really am, but I am not so simple or so stupid as not to know that sooner or later someone will discover the truth. It is not I who will suffer, for I have nothing to be ashamed of, but for my mother and the Queen it would be disastrous. We both know too what evil uses the Queen’s enemies would make of such knowledge and the far-reaching result it might have for France.
“We just cannot deliberately spoil our love, Monseigneur, by knowing that through our happiness we are bringing unhappiness and perhaps worse to others. It is because of this that I decided yesterday afternoon, when we sat together in the little powder closet, that I must return to the Convent. I shall take my final vows and remain there for the rest of my life.
“Please, Monseigneur, go back to England at once, do not try to see me or persuade me against what we both know to be the right and the only thing to do. You can announce that your Ward, Miss Court, has died on the journey. That will satisfy those who make enquiries for the Duc de Chartres and in a way it will be true, for Miss Court will no longer exist. There will only be Amé, unknown and forgotten, but whose love for you will never ever die.
“I love you, as I told you last night and I shall love you for ever. I know in my heart that we have been together before and we shall be together again. This is but a brief separation, it is not for Eternity. Take care of your dear self, Monseigneur. I shall pray for you always and wherever you go, whatever happens, my love will be there with you.
Amé.”
For a long time the Duke sat looking at the letter and then he covered his face with his hands.
He was, however, quite composed when he came downstairs to the breakfast room. Isabella and Hugo were waiting for him and he saw by their faces that Dalton had told them what had happened.
It was with a little sob that Isabella held out her hand towards the Duke.
“What does this mean, Sebastian?” she enquired. “Dalton tells us that Amé went away last night, dressed in the clothes she wore when she came from the Convent.”
In a voice calm and devoid of all emotion, the Duke told them what had happened the afternoon before when they had gone to the Princesse de Frémond’s.
“The Duc de Chartres again!” Hugo exclaimed.
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��Yes, again,” the Duke agreed, “and this time, although he does not know it, he has had his revenge upon me.”
“What are you going to do?” Isabella asked.
The Duke looked at his watch.
“Amé will be at the Convent now. I shall leave at once in the second coach. When my coach returns, give the horses a rest and then you and Hugo follow me.”
“To the Convent de la Croix?” Hugo enquired.
“To the coast,” the Duke answered. “I shall call at the Convent and take Amé with me to Calais. If you overtake me, we can change coaches. If not, we will meet aboard my yacht. We will sail as soon as the Berlins reach Port.”
“Everything shall be done as you say,” Hugo answered. “The second coach is waiting now. The horses are not so fast as your own team, Sebastian, but good enough.”
“You are sure you would not like us to go with you?” Lady Isabella asked. “If I could speak with Amé, I could, I am sure, persuade her that she is wrong.”
“I will do all the persuading that is necessary,” the Duke replied swiftly.
Without another word he walked from the room. From the window they saw him climb into the coach that was waiting outside the front door. It was drawn by four perfectly matched greys. The horses were fresh and at the touch of the whip they went off at a fine spanking pace.
As the coach disappeared out of sight in a cloud of dust, Isabella turned towards Hugo.
“He will be in time?” she questioned.
“I hope so,” Hugo answered, but his tone was doubtful.
“Hugo, I am afraid,” Isabella said, clinging to him, “afraid that Amé will not listen to Sebastian. She loves him, no one can ever doubt that, but her love of what is right and what is good is much stronger.”
“I know that,” Hugo agreed.
“And she is correct too in what she says about their marriage,” Isabella went on. “Of course people will talk, of course, they will be curious. We cannot disguise that fact from one another, however much we may try, Amé sees the truth. But Sebastian, poor, poor Sebastian, it will be little comfort to him.”
The Duke, however, as he journeyed towards St. Benis, did not look as if he was to be pitied. His face was very grim, his lips set in a hard line. There was no tenderness now in his eyes, and those who knew him well would have said that he looked at his most formidable and at the same time his most determined.
He had always had what he wanted from life, whether it was women, a position or the gaining of some achievement. And when things looked difficult or defeat was likely, it was then the Duke seemed to draw on fresh reserves of strength and an obstinacy and power, which had invariably obtained for him what he desired however impossible it might seem.
There was certainly no sign of apprehension about the Duke as the carriage drew up outside the Convent and his footman jumped down to pull the heavy bell. The Duke descended from the coach.
There was, it seemed to him, a long wait before a face appeared at the iron grille in the centre of the heavy oak door and a voice asked what was his business.
“I wish to speak with the novice called Amé,” the Duke replied.
The grille was closed and a moment later the great door of the Convent swung open, an old nun, wrinkled with age, invited him in with a gesture of her hand and then closed the door behind him.
He found himself in a long arched passage, which led into a great Cloister and beyond he could see two others.
There was only the sound of his footsteps on the flagged floor and the building seemed lofty and cool with the chill atmosphere of perpetual silence. There were more corridors, all with a strange indescribable beauty about them, which seemed to come from the very walls so that one visualised beauty without seeing it and was aware of some appeal to the inner senses that was not perceptible to the eyes.
The old nun led him through the Refectory.
On the other side the nun paused and knocked on an oak door.
A voice called out “entrez,” and the Duke found himself in a square room with narrow windows. It had whitewashed walls and there was rush matting on the floor. The furniture was austere and plain and the room was dominated by a huge Crucifix on one wall.
A woman in white rose from a desk where she had been writing and came to greet him.
She was tall and her face was beautiful in its unlined serenity. She had an air of authority about her that told the Duke without any need of an introduction that he was in the presence of the Mother Prioress.
He inclined his head.
“I am the Duke of Melyncourt.
“I was expecting you,” the Mother Prioress said quietly, “Will Your Grace sit down?”
“There is no need,” the Duke replied. “I wish to speak with the novice Amé, who, as I understand it, has returned here this morning.”
“That is so,” the Mother Prioress answered.
She looked at the Duke and he realised that she was scrutinising him closely. He returned her gaze almost defiantly until it seemed to him that she was satisfied with what she saw.
“Sit down, Your Grace,” she said again and this time he accepted her invitation, seating himself in a high-backed, rush-bottomed chair beside the writing desk.
The Mother Prioress sat too. And the sunshine coming through the windows lit up her face, showing the beautiful lines of her chiselled features and the smooth softness of her unblemished skin. Her hands were long-fingered and blue-veined. As she rested them in her lap, the Duke thought that there was a stillness and a sense of peace about her that he had never known in any other person.
“Amé has told me everything that has happened to her since she left the Convent,” the Mother Prioress said at length. “She told me too that you might come here today.”
“I have come to fetch her.”
“She expected you would say that.”
“I am taking her away to England with me,” the Duke went on. “She will be my wife. If anyone has the impertinence to enquire into her antecedents or to make suggestions in any way defamatory or slanderous, I shall deal with them effectively.”
“And you really think that Amé would be happy in taking her happiness at the risk of endangering her mother’s peace of mind?”
“I have already said that it is ridiculous to anticipate that things will be brought to such a pass. The Duc de Chartres is not infallible. He may make enquiries, but I feel sure I can arrange that such questioning takes him nowhere.”
“But people will still talk.”
“They are not important!”
“Why not?”
At the simple question the Duke looked at the Mother Prioress in surprise. There was a moment’s silence; a silence which was somehow poignant with importance. It was as if the whole future hung on his reply, yet why, it was not clear.
Then slowly, as if the words were dragged form his lips, the Duke said quietly.
“Because I love Amé.”
His eyes, fierce and demanding, then met the gentle dark eyes of the Mother Prioress and suddenly all the obstinacy was gone and there was only fear and a deep humility.
“I love her,” the Duke repeated. “And I believe she loves me. I am not worthy of her and I do not deserve her love. But because of it I will do all that is in my power to make her happy and in doing so I believe in all sincerity that I can make reformation for my past.”
Even as he spoke, he knew that this was a test.
For a moment an agony of fear struck at his heart that he might have failed. Then he thought he saw a faint smile of the lips of the Mother Prioress.
Bending forward, his hands clasped together so that the knuckles showed white, the Duke said,
“Help me, Reverend Mother, I beg of you, help me for I am in desperate need of your sympathy.”
Never before had the Duke of Melyncourt stooped to plead for anything and never had he humbled himself in such a manner, but there was no mistaking the stark sincerity and longing in his voice.
“Am
é was right,” the Mother Prioress said softly. “And I will help you, Monsieur le Duc, because I believe that in your love for Amé and hers for you, you will find God and repent the sins and errors of the past.”
“I swear to you that I will try as hard as I can.”
“None of us can do more, it is the effort that counts!”
The Mother Prioress touched the cross on her breast.
“I had two plans in mind when you came into this room,” she said. “First that Amé should do as she has requested and take her vows tonight.”
“Tonight!” the words seemed to be hardly breathed through the Duke’s lips and he had gone very pale.
“Already everything has been prepared. But now I have another plan.”
“Which is?” the Duke prompted her.
“In the Chapel there is the body of one of our sisters who died two days ago,” the Mother Prioress went on.
“She was very old, of obscure origin, and as far as I can ascertain, has no relations left alive here. She is to be buried tomorrow, but I have not yet notified the authorities of her death.”
The Duke’s face was suddenly alight and young, as if someone had taken the burden of many years from him.
“You mean ‒ ?” he said hesitantly.
“My records will show that a young novice named ‘Amé, who was left on our doorstep as a small baby, has passed away after contacting pneumonia,” the Mother Prioress said firmly. “It may be a great wrong that I do in deceiving the Cardinal, but I believe it to be a greater wrong that a child whose heart belongs elsewhere should take the veil, even though she is eager to do so to save those she loves from worldly scandal.”
“How can I thank you?” the Duke asked and his voice was low and moved.
“By keeping Amé safe and unsoiled by the evil and corruption that I fear will destroy France,” the Mother Prioress replied. “And now, my son, you must act swiftly; every moment that Amé remains in the Convent is dangerous. Go and go quickly!”
The Mother Prioress went from the room and the Duke stood immobile with an expression on his face that no one had ever seen.
Love Me Forever Page 27