Mademoiselle At Arms (28 page)

‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed. ‘Why do
you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d
seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Joan
told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where
after all this time.’

‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said,
opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little
rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. ‘I have Joan to tell me
how much I look like Mary. And also I have this Prudence.’

‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’

‘I will ask—’

She broke off. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. Better
to remain silent. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home
last night. She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to
know. It had ever been her policy, much to Melusine’s relief, for she was apt
to complain that it only made her mad and there was nothing she could do about
it.

Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the
shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. Martha had grumbled at being
obliged to report the matter to Mother Josephine, who had decreed that Melusine
must confess to Father Saint-Simon.

Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed
his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. But to
confess about Gerald—no, a thousand times.

En tout cas
, why had he not
returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite
retreat. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to
send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town. He had been gone entirely
one day, for yesterday afternoon he had departed from Remenham House, and she
had waited with patience like a saint, and now it was again the afternoon. The
late afternoon,
en effet.
Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until
he came back, what was there for her to do?
Eh bien
, it made no sense to
do anything. For if Gerald had indeed gone to see this Prudence, it was better
to wait for his report.

At least here she was safe. Without Jack, it was certain that
she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. Besides, the sun had gone
in and it looked like rain. And who knew if the men that Gerald had posted
there would follow her to protect her somewhere else? In truth, where were
these soldiers? She could not see them, although she assiduously searched the
mist-shrouded square from the vantage point of the bay window in the large first
floor room which had become her headquarters.

It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of
guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas
and padded chairs. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage
vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its
pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. Melusine,
starved of colour for years, revelled in it.

But not today. Nothing could occupy her attention long today,
unless it concerned her situation. Yet there was nothing for her to do. She had
thought of the lawyer who conducted the Remenham business, but she knew not
where to find him. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him.

A new thought checked her steps and she froze. If Gerald
knew, what should stop Gosse from finding out? Perhaps he was even now at the
lawyer. He would take with him that traitress Yolande, and claim to the lawyer
that this was Melusine Charvill.

Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her.
Dieu du ciel
, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself
standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without
seeing it.

Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on
her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. She touched
it, and her gaze lifted.

Critically, she stared at her own features. Her long
incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her
own appearance. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. Vanity was a
vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. Only
Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. Now, as she
stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had
said. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. And he liked her. Her
heartbeat quickened.

In truth, she liked Gerald also. Too much, perhaps. For it
was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry
another. She could not say who, not yet. But there must be an Englishman who
would like to marry her to get Remenham House. For she knew that men married to
get something. So it was with Gosse, who had wanted to marry her. Leonardo
would not have married her. He had said so. He was not in love with her
en
désespoir
which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without
getting a dowry from his wife. And Gerald—

Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat. Gerald
would not marry her even with a dowry. Had he not said so? Not that she wished
him to marry her. Not at all. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition
altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with
her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had
he not kissed her, just when—

Her thoughts skidded to a stop. She closed her eyes and felt
again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met
hers. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on
her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm
encircled her.

As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her
mouth and closed down hard.

‘
Silence
,’ hissed a voice in French.

Melusine’s limbs nearly gave way beneath her. Gosse!
Dieu
du ciel
, but how did he get into the convent?

She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was
impossible. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was
placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. So often as she
had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that
pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom.

Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and
hardened into a bid for retaliation. Did he intend to kill her now, this
instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s
dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her,
and perhaps even spring it. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. She
tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in
her petticoat. But Gosse began to drag her towards the door.

Hope reared. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps
even out of the house. He was a fool. Why not kill her here, and leave
silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention
to kill her?
En tout cas
, it gave her a chance.

‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a
growl in her ear as they headed for the door. ‘The sisters here will not save
you. They are all at prayer at this hour.’

Melusine knew it to be true. He had chosen his time well. Even
were she to get an opportunity to scream, it would be some time before such a
call, unprecedented though it might be, brought the nuns so much out of their
absorption that they interrupted their prayer to investigate. Time enough for
Gosse to shut her mouth forever, as he did not hesitate to point out to her.

‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth
so that he might open the door.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful
accent.

‘Think I’m fool enough to do my business in a convent?’ he
said scornfully. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you.’

‘Where, then?’ Melusine asked again.

She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. If he
got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. Only how had
they missed him? Were they
imbecile
? Or perhaps the mists had concealed
him from them. Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind.

‘Never mind where. But don’t think your heroic
milice
will save you. I came in by the vestry, and we will go out that way again.’

Joy rose in Melusine’s bosom. Now she knew why the soldiers
had not caught him. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s
earlier incarnation. The chapel was situated in the old ballroom, and from
there, down a few stairs, the vestry had taken the place of the pantry next to the
kitchens. And in the vestry was the sword of
monsieur le major
.

Her mouth was once more covered as they left the second floor
guest saloon and headed for the back stairs. Melusine did not try to fight her
captor, for that would only make him angry. But she made a pretence of
struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and
she did not want to arouse his suspicions.

He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that
was plain. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had
been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door
that led into the chapel.

It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had
been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. Pews had
been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white
cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. All the precious paintings and
statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set
above the altar. No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and
even Gosse hesitated in the doorway.

Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he
would not change his mind and take another route. She must get to the vestry.

The delay was only momentary. Emile Gosse must know his only
chance was to be rid of Melusine. Had he not said as much at Remenham House?

She allowed him to march her through the chapel without
resistance. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were
extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. Gosse had to release his clamp on
her mouth, for the awkwardness of the position made it impossible to negotiate
the little stair.

‘
Silence
,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger
at her heart.

Melusine did not attempt to speak. She gulped for air merely,
for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the
supply to her lungs.

They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a
corner. As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity
loosen slightly. Her elbows were ready. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. He
grunted, and his grip gave. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps
and through the doorway. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it
in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her.

She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the
lock. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because
the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so
briefly.

Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the
rattling that immediately ensued at the door. Darting quickly to the chest that
contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to
scrabble behind it on the floor. Her fingers found the lump she sought and,
with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil.

Grace à Leonardo
, she could defend
herself now!

Gosse was still attempting to manhandle the door, when she
turned the key and wrenched it open. Then Melusine jumped back into the fencer’s
pose, on guard, the point of the wicked blade directed towards her enemy. Washed
in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar
the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor.

For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. He looked from the
sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. Then
he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers.

‘Very clever, Mademoiselle Melusine.’

‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned.

‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of
a girl?’

For answer, Melusine lunged at him. He jumped back, cursing. She
resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again.

‘
C’est ridicule
. That I should be challenged by you of
all people.’

‘
Hélas
, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically.

He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open,
revealed his own buckled sword-belt. No surprise, for Melusine was aware no
Frenchman in his situation would dream of walking abroad unarmed. He thrust the
smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. Taking hold of the hilt
of his own foil, he drew it forth.