The English Heiress (11 page)

“Monsieur St. Eyre,” she said anxiously, “now that we have a few moments to talk, I wish to thank you for making my father’s last moments so happy. It was very generous of you. However—however—I understand that—that it might be—inconvenient… I mean—”

“Inconvenient! Leonie! Oh, I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle de Conyers, I did not mean to be familiar.”

Grief and fear notwithstanding, Leonie had to laugh. Only an Englishman would think of apologizing for informality at such a moment. “Please, Monsieur St. Eyre, do call me Leonie,” she said.

“Perhaps I should,” he mused. “We must travel together. Yes, of course. Could you bring yourself to call me Roger?”

“Travel together?” Leonie’s voice trembled. “Do you mean…? Was it true what you said to Papa? Not only to comfort him?”

“Indeed it was true, Leonie. I came to France with the single purpose of finding your father and helping him bring his family home, if he needed and would accept my help.”

“My uncle sent you?” Leonie cried.

“My God,” Roger muttered. “Oh, my poor child, I have more bad news for you. No, let it wait. You have enough to bear—”

“Tell me,” Leonie insisted, her voice rising, so that Roger realized that uncertainty and doubt would be worse for her than fact. “Has my uncle changed his mind? Will he not receive us—me?”

“Not receive you? He would have done so with all his heart. He is dead, Leonie. I am sorry.”

“Uncle William is dead?” Her lips quivered. She had never met her Uncle William, but they had corresponded, and he had sent her a present once that had been very dear to her. Leonie wrenched her mind away from that. It was all past, all dead, even the little dog most likely. She must think of practical things now. “I am glad Papa did not need to know. But then, Uncle Joseph—do you think he will not want me because he has his own children?”

“God in heaven, no! He is dead also, Leonie, and his whole family.”

Her eyes widened. “I do not believe you,” she whispered raggedly, at last on the verge of hysteria. “For some reason you are trying to drive me mad. It is not possible! It is not possible that every person to whom I could belong is gone! Why are you here? What are you trying to do?”

Roger caught her hands and held them. “Child, child, I am here to protect you. What an idiot I am! I shouldn’t have told you. I swear you will be safe with me—as safe as I can make you.”

Roger’s effort at comfort was somewhat misdirected. Leonie did not fear him in a personal way. Nonetheless, the strong yet gentle grasp of his hands and his obvious distress steadied her. Her fears were general. One, which she had voiced already, was of the unknown. If her uncles had not sent St. Eyre to help her father, how and why had he come? Just now anything unknown had an air of mystery and menace. Her second fear was more formed and more poignant.

“Where am I to go? What am I to do?” Leonie cried.

“I beg you not to be frightened,” Roger soothed. “First, as soon as I can, I will take you to my father’s house. You will be safe there. Lady Margaret is the kindest woman. Then, when you are a little recovered from this dreadful experience, you will decide what you wish to do.” Leonie pulled back, and Roger released her hands. She put one waveringly to her head. “You mean you will still take me to England? But I do not understand. If my uncles are dead,” she choked back a sob, “how will I live? I do not wish to be a beggar, a charge on strangers. I suppose—I suppose I could teach French. Does—”

“No, no, do not be silly. You will be no charge on anyone,” Roger assured her. “I do not know exactly how the entail is arranged, but I am sure the bulk of the property will come to you as heir general. Indeed, Leonie, you will be a very, very wealthy young woman”

“What?” Leonie gasped. “What can you mean? Papa was not rich. Some money came from England, I know, but it was not—”

“That is true. Your father was the youngest son, and the estate settled upon him was not large. That will come to you in its entirety, I am sure, but you will also have nearly all of your Uncle William’s and Uncle Joseph’s property—no, not Joseph’s unless—” Roger cut that off.

He was an idiot, he thought. How could he maunder on about the legal problems involved if Joseph’s small daughters were not found? Leonie was staring at him, open-mouthed. Then she swallowed and dropped her eyes. Had the answer to her second fear also answered the first? Leonie remembered her father and mother making jest of the “proprieties” of England, of the fact that an unmarried woman alone with a man would lose her “reputation” and be forced to marry him. Could he—Roger—have come to marry an heiress? No, how silly! When he left England he must have believed that Mama and François were still alive. She would not have been an heiress under those circumstances. She raised her eyes again.

“I still do not understand. How did you come here? How did you happen to be in the crowd that attacked the Hôtel de Ville? How did you happen be in Saulieu on this particular day? How—”

Roger cleared his throat. “I am afraid, Leonie, that I am in some sense guilty of your father’s death. It was I who arranged the attack on the Hôtel de Ville—that is, the money I gave that man in the other carriage was for arranging it for me. I cannot tell you how grieved I am that this happened. I will never forgive myself for not having foreseen that Louis would sound the tocsin. I will always blame myself for—”

Leonie reached out and grasped Roger’s wrist. “For not being God and having foreknowledge? Do not say it! Do not think it! I told you Papa made himself live because he knew it was his duty to protect me, but he was—was dead inside already because he also blamed himself for—for many things only God could have foreseen.” Leonie had almost said “for my mother and me being raped”, but that was none of St. Eyre’s business.

She was about to assure him again that death had been what her father craved, when the clerk returned from down the road. He had seen the patron’s carriage turn back toward Saulieu without hesitation. Then he waited until he could not hear the horse or wheels any longer He could not, of course, swear that they had not stopped and waited farther down the road, but there was no way of being sure about that. He advised turning the horse, going back to the road, and if the patron’s carriage was not in sight, going on their way.

“I—you have somewhere to go?” he asked uncomfortably. Plainly his conscience told him he should invite them to the farm his relative owned, but he was afraid they would either not be welcome or would be discovered there.

Roger hesitated. This had all taken much longer than he expected. He was very much afraid that search parties would be out looking for them very soon He knew nothing of the area. If the clerk thought the farm would be dangerous, then…

“Yes, we have someplace to go,” Leonie said firmly, cutting into Roger’s worried thoughts. “Only tell us what will be best for you.”

“That is easy, just leave me here,” the clerk said with relief “There is a path a little farther down this lane that will take me where I want to go. I wish I could have done more, but…”

Roger assured him that he understood, and Leonie echoed his thanks and gratitude. After a brief hesitation, the young man melted away in the shadows.

“I hope you meant what you said,” Roger remarked, turning to Leonie. “I have not the faintest notion of where we are, let alone where to go. I am sorry to be so…”

He was very like her father, always feeling responsible for everything, Leonie thought, as she interrupted to assure Roger she knew where to go and instructed him to turn away from the town when they came to the main road. Roger did not do that directly. He paused to descend from the carriage and reconnoiter. The woods certainly seemed empty, and listening did not contradict the evidence of his eyes. When he returned to the carriage, Leonie was in the front seat.

“I laid Papa down,” she said with only a small tremor in her voice, “so that he would not fall. I thought I had better sit here to direct you. I could not see very well from there, and the back lane to the château is rather overgrown.”

“The château!” Roger exclaimed. “But Leonie—”

“I know it is most likely a ruin,” she said, “but we must go there. There is nowhere else to go, and we can hide in the cellars. Papa told me how to find the deep passages. Also, he said there is money there, in a secret room, but—”

Roger choked back the protest that the château would be one of the first places searchers would come. It was clear from what Leonie said that she knew it. Also, Henry de Conyers must be buried. Roger hoped that the château, like many great houses in England, would have its own mausoleum or area of consecrated ground. What he would do, for a coffin, he had no idea. It offended him and would hurt Leonie simply to cast her father into a shallow, hastily dug grave. He pushed the new problem away, his mind was reeling between fatigue and anxiety, and he did his best to blank it completely and give his whole attention to directing the horse. The moon was very low in the sky now, and the light was worse.

Beside him, Leonie leaned forward tensely, her eyes on the left of the road. After a few minutes she said, “There, that is the road to Thoisy la Bec. Turn there.”

“Must we go through the village?” Roger asked. “It would be better if no one knew a carriage came this way, and so late at night the sound will surely wake someone.”

“The road does pass through,” Leone replied, and then, “Wait, we can go round through the fields. The haying carts go through. Yes, there are gates. Turn on the road and then keep to the right.”

Roger drove for a few minutes, slowing the horse to a walk as Leonie put a hand on his arm, but she shook her head. Another long minute passed. Roger could feel her hand tremble. “You are cold,” he said. “Hold the rein a minute. I will give you my coat.”

“You will be naked,” Leonie murmured.

“I beg your pardon,” Roger said coldly, appalled at forgetting he was wearing no shirt and furious at the picayune nicety that would worry about a bare chest at such a time. “I did not mean to offend you.”

Again a laugh was drawn from Leonie. “Dear Monsieur St. Eyre—no, I am to call you Roger—I am not offended. If you give me your coat, you will be even colder than I. That was all I meant.”

Her answer made Roger ashamed of himself. “Don’t worry about that. It is not really cold, and I am larger and warmer than you. Just take the reins.”

In fact, he was already feeling chilled because he was so tired, but he was also very worried about Leonie. Her fortitude seemed incredible. He expected any small additional pressure or shock to break her. He knew too, that feeling cold intensified fear and loneliness. But Leonie did not reach for the reins; she shook her head.

“I am not cold, only nervous and frightened. I am used to being cold I—oh, I did not miss it. There, turn right.”

Roger directed the horse into a break in the tall grass that bordered the road. Before he could speak, Leonie jumped down and opened the gate. Roger drove through. She closed the gate, and Roger reached down a hand to help her back into the carriage. It was the first time he was conscious of touching her, although he may have done so before, and a shock of desire passed through him.

“Follow the track,” Leonie urged, far too intent on their rough path to notice that Roger had held her hand just a little longer than was really necessary.

He did not answer but gripped the reins until his knuckles went white, wondering if he was going mad. Was this a time to feel such an urge? And how could he be such an idiot as even to think of such a thing in connection with this girl! She was little more than a child and was completely dependent on him. Fortunately, although the track was no more than two deep ruts, the ruts fit the carnage wheels quite well, and they negotiated it safely, emerging on the road well west of the village. Again Leonie watched the left side of the road, unconsciously pressing against Roger in her need to see. Roger was just about to suggest that they change places when she pointed again.

“There.” She sighed with relief. “I thought I was closer, but I am sure that is—yes, there are the old gates that Papa never had repaired.” Her voice failed and she began to sob softly, hopelessly.

Now he would have to touch her again. Roger passed the reins to his left hand and put his right over Leonie’s shoulders. He could feel his arm tremble with the effort he was making to prevent the embrace from becoming more insistent than an offer of comfort should be. He should speak too, Roger knew, but he could force no voice past his suddenly dry throat. They drove very slowly up the winding lane, which was pitch-dark—the horse feeling its way a foot at a time, Leonie locked in her misery of recollection and Roger fighting himself.

Suddenly, ahead, there was a lighter patch. With a low oath Roger pulled the horse to a stop. “Leonie, hush. I must go and look to be sure no one is lying in wait at the house. My dear, I am sorry to be so cruel to you. You have much to weep for, I know, but try not to weep now.”

He did not know whether his plea would overset her and drive her to hysteria and he was prepared to muffle her cries by force if he had to, but the sobs choked off and a trembling hand took the reins. Roger made his way toward the lighter area and saw, within it, the dark bulk of a large house. There was no sign of life—no light, no movement. Roger crept forward, crouching and sliding from one shadow to another. Eventually he reached the house. He could see that the doors had been wrenched from their hinges and the hall loomed black and empty.