Louisa Rawlings (18 page)

She’d never thought anyone could he so angry. His eyes burned with a terrible light and he bared his teeth. “You damned chit! Will your willfulness destroy the whole scheme? Maybe a ducking in the horse trough will put a stop to your coarse language once and for all!” He lunged toward her. Trembling, she backed against the table. Her hand touched a large plate. She picked it up and hurled it at him; it grazed his forehead and smashed on the floor beside him. He stopped in his tracks and rubbed at the red welt on his brow. Then he looked at her and smiled, a grim smile that was more terrifying than his rage had been. “Now, by God,” he muttered, “you deserve more than a ducking, hellion.”

“No!” she squeaked, reading the look in his eyes. His hand shot out and grasped her by the ear. She yelped loudly, her fear compounded by the humiliation of being treated like a child, like an unruly servant. Like an underling.

“Lucien, let her go.” Martin stood at the door. His brows were knotted in fury. “I said, let her go!”

“Damn it, I’ve had enough of the chit’s defiance. I intend to put a stop to it.”

Martin strode into the room. “You’ll let her go,” he said evenly, “or you’ll have me to deal with.” He glared at Lucien.

Still held fast by Lucien’s hand on her ear, Topaze trembled. Neither one would back down; she could see it in their faces. “Stop,” she said. “Both of you. I don’t…”

“Oh dear! Have I interrupted a rehearsal?” Madame Le Sage bustled into the room. Lucien released his hold on Topaze’s ear, but continued to exchange venomous glances with Martin. Madame Le Sage smiled at them both. “Is it going badly?”

“I’ve broken your pretty plate, I’m afraid.” Topaze tried to keep her voice from shaking as she knelt to the floor and began gathering up the shards.

Lucien rubbed at his forehead again. “On your head be it, Martin, if the girl forgets—” He stopped himself and glanced at Madame Le Sage, who was straining to hear. “If she forgets her part, and swears like a fishwife at the wrong moment in the play.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

Madame Le Sage’s eyes were filled with sympathy as Topaze stood up and put the broken pieces on the table. “Leave those, my dear. I’ll have Henriette sweep up later.” She looked from one tense face to the other. “Sometimes a play can be more serious than real life,
n’est-ce pas
?” For the first time Topaze wondered if they’d fooled the older woman for a moment these past weeks. Madame Le Sage nodded cheerfully. “I’ll just leave you two alone for now.”

As the door closed behind her, Topaze moved to the window and stared out at the day. It looked like rain. The sky was as bleak as her heart. She began to cry.

“Topaze?” Martin’s voice came from just behind her. She kept silent, feeling too overwhelmed by her woe to answer him. “Topaze, turn around and look at me.” His voice was firm and insistent. Reluctantly she turned. At sight of her tear-drenched face, he swore under his breath. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Damn him. He would have beaten you. A villainous thing to do.”

She managed a small smile. “Perhaps he would have. Not that I didn’t goad him into it, and probably on purpose. I think I wanted to see if I could truly anger him.”

He shook his head and laughed ruefully. “Well, you succeeded.”

She sighed. “No. That’s just it. He was vexed, the Holy Mother knows! But there was no passion in it. Not really. He’s like a soldier in war who quarrels with his fellows but saves his passion for the battle. I’m a means to an end for him—the money, and the de Ronceray woman. Nothing more. And he’ll smile at me, or beat me, with the same indifference.” She sighed again. “Ah, well. What does it matter? When this is done, I’ll go back to Bordeaux and find a bad-tempered old sailor to marry.”

“Or perhaps I’ll come back from Guadeloupe and marry you myself.”

“You dear, foolish friend.” She started to laugh, but sobbed instead, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, Martin, why doesn’t he see me? Do you know, in all this time, he’s never called me Topaze? Only ‘girl’, or ‘that chit’. Or Véronique, when he thinks he’s being kind.”

“Topaze.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

She lifted her head and sniffled. “It’s his eyes, Martin. So cold, so distant. And yet…” She stared at him, bewildered. “Why do I see pain there? God knows it would be easier to take him as he seems. To give back nothing, instead of trying to please him, to touch him. What does he see with those distant eyes of his? He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anybody. Oh, God, Martin, what does he see?”

“Not enough.” He dabbed at her tear-stained face.

“He’s dreaming of
her
, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he love her very much?”

“I don’t know. But he wants her. Wants the marriage.” He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, Topaze. Forget all this. Come away with me. We can talk Lucien out of the plan. We’ll go away. We can…”

Dieu!
What was he saying? “Forget it? When it means so much to Lucien? When all his hopes are in this scheme?”

He released her and stared in disbelief, as though he were seeing her for the first time. “You love him. Sweet Jesu, you
love
him.”

“Love?” she whispered. It was the most astonishing thing she’d ever heard. “Love? Is that what it is? Oh, Martin, is that what I feel? The pain. Joy. Oh, such confusion. I make him laugh. I like it when he laughs. And every morning—I wait to see the look on his face. If he’s smiling, what happiness. If he frowns, dark despair; I look in vain for the sunshine.”

“Yes, that’s love,” he said softly.

She gave a little laugh. “But it’s absurd. It makes no sense. He’s far away from me. Beyond a wide gulf. How can I love him? When he’s a stranger? Oh, sweet Virgin.” She wrapped her arms about herself; the pain was too great to bear. “And yet I spend my days trying to please him, to make him see me, to reach out across that gulf. It makes no sense.”

“No. Love makes no sense.” He turned about and kicked at the leg of the table.

“Martin? What is it?”

He turned back to her; his eyes were dark and filled with misery. “You must know I love you.”

“Oh no. You can’t.” She felt a pang of guilt. All those kisses. Had she been blind? Or had she hoped—sweet, wild hope!—to make Lucien jealous? “That day in the loft, Martin…and all those kisses…you misunderstood, perhaps…”

“No, I didn’t,” he said quietly. “You said it was a kiss of friendship. And so it was. But when I realized you hadn’t”—he frowned—“slept with Lucien, I still thought there was a chance for me. What a fool I was. I’ve been wooing you, these past few days. My God. Hadn’t you even noticed?”

“Ave Maria!” she breathed. “You thought I slept with…?”

“Henriette is a busy gossipmonger. Yes.” He stared at her, then laughed. “How the gods do mock us.”

Love.
And Lucien, through the many weeks. Lucien, watching her as she bathed. Lucien in the snow. Lucien laughing. She thought,
Yes. Yes, a part of me must have loved him from the first.
Love. How strange it seemed to think of it, to link the word to Lucien. But how natural. Dear Lucien, with his blind eyes. She looked at Martin. His face was as filled with despair as was her own heart. “What a pair we are.”

“Indeed.” They stared at each other in silence. In the yard, a farm boy shouted happily.

Lucien came into the room. His eyes were guarded, but he smiled at Topaze in good-natured mockery. “Where the devil did you learn to swear like that, girl?”

There was an awkward silence. Lucien appeared eager to put their quarrel behind him, but Martin still scowled. Topaze glanced from one face to the other and sighed. It was up to her to make peace between them. They were friends, after all. Before everything. She laughed to lighten the air. “Well, I’m not a fool, by Sainte Cécile! The streets of Bordeaux are good teachers. Almost as good as you two.”

Lucien looked genuinely contrite. “And you’re not a child, either. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose you took me by surprise.”

“You? Surprised?” She smiled into his world-weary eyes, and saw the pain beyond.
I
do
love him
, she thought.
God knows I do.
“Is there anything that can surprise you?”

“Very little. I’ve heard peg legs in the Caribs swear like that. And a half-blind sailor after a night of drinking. But…”

“But not sweet young ladies? About to be reunited with their aristocratic families?”

“Never.”

“Do you
swear
it?”

He chuckled. “By Lucifer, you don’t lose your wits easily.” He turned to Martin—who still glowered at him—and held out his hand. “Truce?”

Martin hesitated, then took the proffered hand. “Only a fool doesn’t know when to retire from the field of battle.”

“My friend,” said Lucien. “I’m glad to make peace. But you concede the field? Does that mean you think I had the right—if only for a moment—to lose my temper with this saucy girl?”

Martin glanced at Topaze. She read resignation in his face. And deep sadness. “I think you’ve won more than you know.” At Lucien’s mystified look he smiled, put his arms through both of theirs. “Come along, my friends. Spring is here. The sky is clearing. There’s time for a walk before supper.”

Chapter Eleven

“Madame
Le Sage went to church yesterday.” Topaze smiled across the table at Lucien.

He poured himself more wine and allowed Henriette to take his empty plate. “And so?”

“I haven’t been to church since we came here. Madame Givet would be disappointed in me. It would be nice to go for Easter.”

“I suppose it would be safe enough. If you shield your face. Have Martin take you.”

“He won’t be back from Nantes in time. Tomorrow is Easter.”

Lucien grunted. “So it is. Well, I trust my friend the banker has no pious scruples about traveling on Easter Sunday.”

“Here we are. Good Spanish oranges.” Madame Le Sage came into the room bearing a shiny copper platter heaped high with the fruit. “Enjoy them at your leisure, and forgive my absence for a little while. The Easter cakes will never reach the oven this evening unless I spur on the cook.” She smiled at them both. “And then, perhaps, we’ll have a round or two of cards before bed?”

“In honor of the festive holiday,” muttered Lucien.

“Eh?”

“That would be very nice, madame,” said Topaze quickly. She stared at Lucien until Madame Le Sage had left the room. “I don’t suppose
you’d
take me to church,” she said at last.

He reached for an orange and began to peel it. “When Hell gives up its dead.”

“Don’t you believe in God?”

He laughed. “I don’t believe in your Church. There’s no God there.”

“Weren’t you raised in the Faith?”

“Indeed. I was well taught. A fine Jesuit school.” He raised his wineglass in salute; his gaze was far away, focused on some person, some thing he saw only in his mind’s eye. “But life was a better teacher. Out there, it’s every man for himself. And devil take the laggards.”

“And so you never go to church?”

“Lord, I’d be afraid to.” His voice was filled with playful sarcasm. “I’d have to spend a week in the confessional alone.”

Despite his light words, she caught the edge of bitterness. Her heart ached for him. “Alas.”

“By Satan’s beard, I don’t need your pity. What do
you
tell your confessor, my little thief?”

At that she fell silent, concentrating on the orange before her. She hadn’t been to confession since she’d begun to steal. Only to church to pray for the Givets.

“Damn.” Lucien sat back in his chair and frowned. “Confession. The Chalotais will expect you to be penitent. That means confession. And
Le Loup
. What will you do? Lie, I suppose.”

“By all the Apostles, I haven’t sunk that low! I still have a conscience.” She saw the cynical look on his face and smiled sheepishly. “Somewhere.”

He grinned. “The tiger recognizes… And so, what will you tell Père François?”

“The truth. But only as much as I can. I’ll not lie. But I may be forced to…leave things out.”

“And if he asks you, right to the point, if you’re Véronique, what will you say?”

“I’ll weep, that he should doubt me. Then recount every wicked deed that Topaze has committed on the streets of Bordeaux, and hint that life with an
actress
was even more immoral. That should keep him so busy prescribing Hail Marys that he won’t think to pursue my authenticity. Only the sins of my past.”

He chuckled. “By Lucifer, it was my lucky day when you tried to steal my knife. You’re a rare bird, my girl.”

She glowed in pleasure. “Then you think I’ll do well?”

“I think, with what Martin and I have taught you, that you’ll be superb. Damn! but I wish I could be there to see their faces. When they’re finally forced to accept you… And then, when you’re gone, and they find the money’s gone as well…” He rubbed his palm against the scar on his cheek. He laughed, a chilling sound, and poured himself another glass of wine. “I wish they could know it was I who planned it all. I wish there was some way for them to know. Perhaps when I’m a very rich and respectable planter, with my respectable wife…”