Strands of Bronze and Gold (25 page)

One morning I awoke with a start to find Tara standing over me, surrounded by a soft glitter.

“Tara,” I forced a whisper.

She smiled a faint, forlorn smile.

“What is it?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

Her silence and her smile made the hair rise on my arms as she faded away.

I allowed myself to convalesce for a week, resting and eating whatever food promised nourishment and strength (even eel broth)—a relapse would be unbearable.

I wondered again why M. Bernard hadn’t called a doctor. Yes, I was recovering, but it had by no means been an assured outcome. He had told Ducky he didn’t trust physicians, but maybe a doctor would have insisted they crop my hair, which was typical with a fever. I smiled faintly—M. Bernard would never have let them do that.

On Saturday night, for the first time since my illness, I joined my
godfather in the library. We sat in our customary chairs, and as he related events I’d missed during the past weeks, I worked on the neglected tapestry. My fingers fumbled—I was still feeble and clumsy in my convalescence, and my mind was on other things. In just a couple of days my family would arrive. I planned how we would entertain them and what we would discuss. They would find me changed. Much water had passed under the bridge since we were last together.

M. Bernard trailed off from the anecdote he’d been telling and looked at me. There was a hunger in his expression that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat, pretending to be engrossed in my stitching. I had to remind myself to breathe. I dropped my needle, and as I reached for it, he grabbed my hand. He kissed the center of my open palm. It lay limp and white as a dead fish beneath his lips.

“Sophia, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” The words dropped on me like stones.

For a moment I couldn’t utter a sound. When I could control my voice, I frantically snatched back my hand and said, “Please, I’m not ready for this. I’m still not fully recovered from my illness.”

He stood abruptly, looming over me. “You cannot have been unaware of my feelings. I have been patient with you, due to your youth, but I will wait no longer. We will announce our engagement to your siblings when they arrive. In fact, we shall hold a Christmas ball to proclaim it to the world.” His tone was peremptory. He had thought all this out and assumed it would roll forth as planned, with no contribution from me. “The ceremony probably cannot take place until after the New Year, but our engagement will be
pleasurable,
mon cœur
.” He moved behind me and pulled aside my hair to nuzzle my neck. “Very pleasurable,” he murmured, and I felt the scrape of his teeth.

I shrank, struggling to hide my revulsion. “Sir, I’m grateful for the honor you do me, but I cannot marry you.”

He froze as I withdrew, then straightened and returned to his chair, sitting on the edge and facing me. “And may I ask why not?” he said coldly.

Somehow I must answer without insulting him. “There are—there are many reasons. I’m entirely unsuitable. I’m too young and have so little knowledge of the world. I’m penniless. And I care for you as a—as a dear friend and protector who stands in place of a father, but I cannot love you as a husband.”

“Are you afraid to marry me?”

“Afraid? No, not of you, of course, but of the responsibilities of being Madame de Cressac and mistress of the abbey.”

M. Bernard leaned back and squeezed and released the soft plush of the armrest. “Have you considered your options? On the one hand, you could be my wife, with all the resources I can provide. You would have a husband who adores you, who would strive to do all in his power to make you happy. And I do not believe you are indifferent to me; I have felt your response at times, and we have been affectionate companions, have we not? You have told me time and again you wish you could repay my generosity. I offer the opportunity to repay me in full. I ask only this one thing.”

He did not look at me as he continued. “On the other hand, your family is in severely straitened circumstances. If you return to them,
you will be a burden. Of necessity you would have to obtain employment, as perhaps a factory worker or nursery maid. You might even be an Odette, scurrying about trying to please a mistress who despises you. In the early years there will be men who will be happy to flirt but not offer marriage.” He paused before his next words, as if to give them emphasis. “Especially when it is known you lived here alone with me.”

I gave a gasp. “But nothing has happened. We’ve done nothing.”

“Ah, but others do not know that. They will believe what it titillates them to believe, and a word here, a misspoken comment there … Things have a way of getting out. While you are young, perhaps you can eke out a pittance to live on, but imagine when you are old and entirely alone. You and your family might well be destitute.” He licked his lips, as though savoring the idea. “I ask you to think it over carefully.”

“Monsieur Bernard,” I said, drawing a long breath. “I don’t—”

“I said—
think it over
, Sophia. Upon reflection, you will know we are destined to be together.”

I scrabbled together my reels of sewing silk, dropping half and kneeling on the floor to grope for them under the chair. Finally I stood. “I … shall retire now.”

“Bonsoir, ma petite.”

As Odette undressed me, I hardly noticed what she did. When she left, I huddled in one of the armchairs, knees drawn to my chest. I was thunderstruck. Yes, there had been hints. No, I must be truthful; they had been too obvious to be considered hints, but I had told
myself M. Bernard was merely being playful in a flirtatious, French sort of way. And early on, when I had been attracted to him, I had toyed with the idea that he might someday want to marry me. I
knew
this was coming, but I had willfully disregarded it as I became more and more disillusioned about my godfather, and even more from the moment I met Gideon. Particularly while I wandered in the daze of loving Gideon and then in my daze of heartsick loss, I had barely noticed anyone else.

Well, Gideon was gone now—since my illness, he seemed a lifetime ago, almost as if he had never existed. There was no more Gideon for me. I could marry M. Bernard in order to help my family and others. Was one life too much to sacrifice for the happiness of so many? M. Bernard could be affectionate and even kind if it suited him. He was interesting and amusing.

But there were his former wives—his bereavement did not excuse the fact that he had made them all miserable and it did not excuse the way he often treated me. I had thought I could manage him better than they, and perhaps I did, but it meant walking on eggshells, and I had been a fool to think I could
always
soothe his abnormal moods.

M. Bernard said we would have a “pleasurable” engagement. I began trembling for what that might mean. It was actually impressive how patient he had been. He could have done whatever he chose from the beginning and no one would have stopped him. Probably I owed it to that fastidiousness in his nature that wanted things done a certain way—he did wish for me to come willingly. At least he was still speaking of legal marriage.

Without knowing it, I had been combing through my tresses
with my fingers. I looked down now, bewildered, at a clump of hair tangled in my hand. How much of M. Bernard’s desire for me was this—my bronze hair? It fed his obsession.

I crawled under my covers and wept for all my girlish, romantic dreams. Something brushed my back, soft as a breath. When I opened my eyes a crack, the pale glimmering light of the Sisters bathed the room. I heard one word whispered, not out loud, but neither was it in my mind:
“Runnnnn!”

As I touched the fine linen sheets the next morning, I told myself firmly, “Savor them now, because you are leaving them behind very soon.”

During the night I had resisted mindless fleeing, without money or transportation. Even if I could make it to the main road in my weakened state, I would be picked up by the patrollers who watched for runaway slaves and who would be only too ready to return an underage ward to her very wealthy guardian. And even if I reached Anarchy or Gideon, I would put them in jeopardy from the law and from M. Bernard.

Now, in the sensible daylight, I was still determined to leave the abbey, but I knew I must inform M. Bernard and seek his assistance and understanding.

A soft tap sounded on the door.

“Who is it?” I called, terrified it would be my godfather since Odette never knocked. I could not face him yet.

“Me, Miss.” It was Talitha.

When she entered, her eyes were downcast. “Please, I got to talk to you. You the only one who might help.”

Her expression was so piteous, so different from her usual proud bearing that I slid from bed and ran across the room to her. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It be that Garvey out in the stables. Since Charles left, he’s after me and after me. He say, ‘Meet me in the hayloft’ at this time or at that. Always I stay away, but it’s getting worse. It be only a matter of time before he catch me by myself, and I so afraid. What do I do, Miss?”

In that moment we shared something, and she was aware of it. She knew the position I was in with her master. I understood that what Garvey intended for Talitha was something much more devastating than a stolen kiss.

I reached out and we tightly gripped hands. For the first time she completely trusted me.

“Leave it to me,” I said. “Somehow … I’ll … fix it.”

She looked at me intently for a moment, then nodded. We released each other and she ducked out.

I had no influence over Garvey except through M. Bernard. I would have to request him to intervene. But how could I ask for this favor and at the same time announce I was leaving?

Everything in this place led back to M. Bernard. Was I only pretending I had a choice? Was I set inevitably on a path that led to being bound to him forever? Panic rose at the idea, like a little mouse scurrying around in a trap trying to find a way out to save itself.

I dressed and went downstairs early in order to approach my godfather at his meal.

He looked up with a smile so genuinely warm that already my will began melting. “Why, how is it you are stirring so early,
ma petite
? Am I to have the pleasure of your presence at breakfast?”

I shook my head. “I don’t feel like eating, sir. I came down to speak to you.”

“Well, do not look as if I might bite your head off. Here, take this seat.” When I hesitated, he said, “What? Can you not even bear to sit beside me?”

“It’s easier to say the hard thing I have to say while standing.”

“So it is to be a formidable speech. I shake in my shoes with apprehension. Out with it, then.”

I took a deep breath. “I think it’s time I brought my stay to an end.”

He found my words diverting. “And why would you possibly think that?”

This was not going as I had planned.

I glanced toward George, who stood by the sideboard, and said quietly, “Because if people really will be gossiping, and if you—if you really have those feelings for me, I must not stay because I
cannot
marry you.”

“Yes, you told me that before, and I asked you only to continue to think about it. When you have had sufficient time to consider, if you still do not wish to marry me, then we will go on as before.”

“But you suggested my only choices were to marry you or to leave.”

“You did need to understand the reality of your situation. However, of course there is the third choice—that we shall remain fond companions, with Mrs. Duckworth as a suitable chaperon and
visits to and fro with your family. There need be no awkwardness attached. Are you so anxious to abandon me?”

“No, sir.”

“I am glad. I have spared no effort or expense to give you all that might make you happy. And your family is to arrive this week; you would pass one another on the road if you left now. I have a good many pleasures planned for them. Would you choose to spoil their visit?”

“Indeed, I would not. It’s only that under the circumstances—”

“Bah! ‘Under the circumstances’ nothing! No more dramatics,
s’il vous plaît
. I am sorry I spoke last night.”

“But you said you were out of patience. You said—”

“I said—I said … Obviously I made a muddle of everything. I will not repeat my proposal unless you bring it up, nor will I embarrass you with demonstrations of my affection until you welcome them. Have I put your mind at rest? Do we understand one another now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now I shall spread honey on this biscuit just for you. Sit down here next to me and eat it to oblige me.”

I sat down to the biscuit like the good little pet that I was, reeling from the way M. Bernard managed to twist my words and feelings so that, no matter my determination otherwise, in the end I did what he wanted.

After I finished the biscuit, I opened my mouth to bring up Talitha, but I hesitated, unsure how to word my request.

“Is there something else?” M. Bernard asked.

“Please, sir, I also have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, up to half of my kingdom,” he said, then laughed. “No, I take that back—anything within reason, I should have said.”