Cut to the Quick (44 page)

They walked on, Bellona capering around them. Maud said, her eyes on the ground, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too.”

“Did you? What about?”

“I was wondering—your mother doesn’t seem to know we aren’t engaged anymore. The other day she took me all around the house, as though she thought it might be mine some day. I didn’t know what to say to her Haven’t you told her that I— I’ve released you from your obligations?”

“I told both her and my father that I was appallingly rude to you, and you d very rightly broken things off between us. I also told them I was going to ask you to reconsider.”

Maud stopped walking. “To— to reconsider?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you can forgive me for the way I acted the other day. I also don't know if you can bring yourself to marry into a family with a murderess in it, and a traitor.”

“My father tried to blackmail you and your family. That’s very nearly as bad.”

“Maud, couldn't we forget it all and start fresh? You don’t have to say you’ll marry me—it would be enough if you thought you might come to like me a little.”

“I think I might.” Her lips quivered into a smile.

“Oh, Maud!” He caught her hands and kissed first one and then the other. “I've been wanting to tell you how I felt for so long— but I thought you were in love with Kestrel.”

“Poor Mr. Kestrel! I mostly talked his head off about you.” “Maud, are you saying— can it be that you— oh, my dear love!” He kissed her hands again.

Bellona, who had been eyeing them uneasily, jumped between them and tried to leap up on Hugh. “Oh, the deuce!” He picked up a stick and flung it as far as he could. Bellona went bounding after it. Hugh put two fingertips under Maud's chin, coaxed up her face, and kissed her on the lips.

Bellona scampered back and dropped the stick at his feet. If it had been a lighted torch, he would not have noticed. “Maud, can I tell my parents we’re engaged again?”

“If you want to,” she whispered.

Later, when they were walking back to the house arm in arm, he said, “I thought, when you didn't want me to go to London with you—”

“I did want you to go, very much. But I was afraid Papa might find out I was trying to steal the letters from him, and if you were going to London with me, he might think you were involved and do something to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t have cared about that.”

“/ cared.”

Hugh had to stop and take her in his arms again. Bellona flicked her tail in disgust and ran off.

Much later, Hugh asked, “Do you miss him very much? Your father, I mean.”

“Sometimes. I'd be miserable if I really thought Fd never see him again. But you see, I think he’ll forgive me one day. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

Hugh smiled and drew her arm through his. “Perhaps when he’s got a grandchild.”

*

With the inquest over, there was nothing to keep Julian in A1 derton. He had no intention of losing touch with MacGregor, but for now he needed to get away from the neighbourhood of Bellegarde He heard (from Dipper, who must still be contriving to see Molly Dale) that Maud and Hugh were reconciled, but the idea of his being groomsman at the wedding was allowed to drop His only direct contact with Bellegarde was when Sir Robert sent him the hundred pounds’ reward that had been posted for solving the murder To Julian, it seemed more like thirty pieces of silver. He sent half the money anonymously to Louisa Howland and gave the other half to the parish fund for poor relief

On his last night in Alderton, he went for a walk. It was nearly nine o’clock, but the days being at their longest, it was not yet dark The sky was violet, translucent as mother-of-pearl. The moon was rising, and the brightest stars were twinkling into life Julian strolled aimlessly at first, then began to walk more briskly For a long time he tried to pretend to himself that he did not know where he was going.

No one tried to stop him entering the park of Bellegarde Un doubtedly there were gamekeepers on patrol, but if such a large estate could be effectively guarded, poaching would not be the lucrative trade that it was He went round to the far end of the garden, where the flowering trees grew wild and the ordered paths snaked into meandering trails. Passing through a wicket gate, he

spotted the rose arbour, its lacy fretwork etched against a slightly paler sky.

Some ten days ago, he had seen the arbour bathed in sunshine, the pink and red roses in full bloom, and a lovely woman seated among them. Now the roses were closed, the moonlight had drained them of colour, and the woman would never sit there again—

He stopped in his tracks. There was a woman sitting there, silhouetted against the twilight. She was tall and slender and straight, the image of Isabelle. For an instant his mind reeled. He did not believe in ghosts. And yet, there she was.

She must have heard him. She turned, and he recognized Lady Tarleton. His heart sank. She was the very last person on earth he wanted to see tonight. But it was too late for retreat: she was gazing toward him, willing him to go to her. He went. She was entitled to have her say, he supposed. And in a way, it would be a relief to be reproached and upbraided by one of the Fontclairs. The others had been so excruciatingly just and forbearing toward him about Isabelle’s death. At least he could count on Lady Tarleton to show him no such mercy.

She sat enthroned among the roses, her proud head tilted back to meet his eyes. Even by moonlight, she looked years older. The white had all but driven the red from her hair. Her face was thin and pinched. But her eyes were the same—full of glitter and venom, burning with the fevered radiance some fires have before they die

“What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"I once talked with Miss Fontclair here. I came here to think about her.”

“Were you in love with her? I hope you were! I hope you’re suffering all the torments of hell, knowing it was you who destroyed her!”

“Miss Fontclair was more generous toward me than you are pre pared to be ”

“Are you asking for mercy, Mr. Kestrel? When did you show us any? Oh, it’s ironic—bitterly ironic!—that though I hate you for what you’ve done, though I shall hate you all the days of my life, you are the only person in all the wide world I can talk to I am

utterly alone! I’ve never been so alone before. Even an enemy is better company than no one at all!”

“I don’t understand.”

"You
¹
Ve never understood. You tried, of course! How clever you thought you were, making out that that miserable little French doxy was my natural daughter! Do you imagine any child of mine would live and die so contemptibly? My daughter died like a Roman— like a Roman, Mr. Kestrel!”

“What— what are you saying?”

“You were so close to the truth—so close, and you never lit on it! I made sure you wouldn’t. I threw you a bone—I told you about Geoffrey’s letters. I knew it was the one thing that would draw you off prying into why I went to France all those years ago. Oh, yes, it was in order to hide my shame! And I succeeded. My family never knew. And he never knew—Mark Craddock. He might gloat over the fact that I yielded to him, that one mad, terrible day. But he never knew there was a child. I would have died before I gave him that satisfaction!

“I meant to give the baby away. I was planning to leave her to be raised by some French family. But after she was born, I couldn’t do it. She was mine, and she was a Fontclair! There was nothing of that man in her, nothing! But how to keep her near me, how to give her my name, and acquaint her with her heritage? It seemed hopeless.

“Then one day my old governess, who was with me in France, ran into my cousin Simon in the street. He and his wife had just come back from Barbados, where they’d been involved in some plantation venture, and of course had made a hash of it, as they always did of everything. They were keeping out of England because they owed so much money there. Well, I saw at once how to make use of them—they seemed sent to me by God! No one knew anything about their life in Barbados. It wouldn’t be a nine days’ wonder if they’d had a daughter without anybody hearing of it. So from that time forward, Isabelle was theirs. They brought her back to England and raised her as their own. I’d done it, Mr. Kestrel! I’d given her my name, made her a true-born, legitimate Fontclair
¹

“Of course it cost me dear. I had to settle Simon's debts, and pay him and his wife a very pretty income besides. Once I married Sir Bertrand, I had his fortune to draw on, but he made a nuisance of himself, always wanting to know where the money was going. And even with all I gave to Simon, the fool couldn't live within his means. He and his wife died penniless, when Isabelle was three. By that time, Sir Bertrand and I were living apart, and I wanted desperately to adopt her, now she was supposedly an orphan. But I didn't dare! Everything I'd done, I'd done to protect her from the pain and humiliation of knowing the truth about her birth. I couldn't risk undoing all my good work by showing too marked a partiality toward her. So I stepped aside and let Robert and Cecily have her.

“I spent as much time at Bellegarde as I could. What matter if no one wanted me—if they thought I was intruding, that I'd outstayed my welcome a hundred times over? I was near her—that was all I cared about. She didn't have to know I was there for her sake. She never would know what she meant to me.

“One thing, above all, I was resolved to do for her. I never lost an opportunity of urging on Robert and Cecily what a good match she would make for Hugh. Because then she'd be truly secure! Even if the secret of her birth came to light, no one could take the name Fontclair away from her.

“And he ruined everything! Coming to Bellegarde with his threats against Geoffrey, forcing a marriage between Hugh and that common little daughter of his! Can you wonder I hated him so much? Can you wonder I searched his room, trying to find those letters and put an end to his scheme? When he found me there, I went so far as to threaten to tell Robert what he had done to me twenty years ago. That’s what your eavesdropper overheard us talking about. Of course, I never could have brought myself to carry out my threat, but he couldn’t know that for sure. He was frightened enough, to lie for me, to hide the fact that I'd been in his room that afternoon. He knew Robert would never let Hugh marry the daughter of a man who'd dishonoured me—no matter what the consequences to Geoffrey

“At least I made him suffer a little in return for all the agony he put me through. All the while he was at Bellegarde, I was terrified every moment that he might find out about Isabelle. The night I saw her sketching his portrait, I thought I would run mad. She mustn't look at him, mustn’t think about him—they must have nothing to do with each other! They might sense some link between them, and I couldn’t have that! She was mine, I tell you, mine! There was nothing of him in her!

“I was right not to tell her the truth about her birth. I was right, can’t you see that? It would have broken her heart. Better for her to think her father was a Fontclair, even a dolt like Simon, than to know he was a servant, a tradesman, a nobody! I shall never understand it, never forgive myself! How could I have fallen into the arms of a creature like that? A thing out of the stables! A groom!” Julian looked at her, but it was Isabelle’s voice he heard: Do you know what it is to love someone unworthy? When you can’t respect the person you love, you can't respect yourself \

“I was right,” she kept muttermg. “I was n.ght How could I have known any harm would come of her thinking Simon was her father? The first time I saw her using his knife to sharpen her pencils, I said, don’t be a fool, you’ll cut yourself, sharpening pencils with a blade like that. But she said she liked that knife, she had so little to remember her father by. If— if she’d used a penknife— she could never— But how was I to know* It wasn’t my fault! You destroyed her! You, not I'”

“She destroyed herself.” And for the first time, he realized it was true. He felt a great weight lifted from his conscience. “Isabelle knew she was no one’s victim That was what she tried to make me see, the last time we spoke She didn’t blame me, and she wouldn’t have blamed you, for the tragedy that overtook her.”

“You may forgive yourself, Mr Kestrel, but I shall never for give you!”

He wanted to urge her to forgive, not him but herself—for Is abelle’s birth as well as her death. But he knew he would only be flinging his words to the winds.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked helplessly “There’s only one thing I ask of you* to forget everything I’ve

said! I didn t want to confide in you. My grief drove me to it. I had to talk to someone. Now it’s finished. Promise me you will never speak of it again. Not to my brothers, not to Mark Craddock, not even to me. Promise me!”

”1 promise,” he said