Zoe Page 17

  Jean-Claude walked in and looked around. This château was much more lavish than the one in Narbonne. At the thought, he remembered the reason for his presence.

  “Is le seigneur awake? ” he asked.

  The servant hesitated. He seemed to be struggling with some inner decision. After a moment, he said, “Follow me. I will take you to him.”

  As he led the way up the marble spiral stairway, his candelabrum held high, the old man said, “I am Gérard, the count’s manservant. I have served his family for more than fortyfive years, and I have seen much, but I have never seen my master in such a state.”

  “Is he not well? ” Jean-Claude inquired.

  “You shall see,” Gérard said. “You shall see.”

  The flames of the candles cast flickering shadows on the walls as they walked down a long, lonely corridor. Gérard led the boy to the very last door at the end of the hall, pushed it open and stepped inside. He crossed a magnificent sitting room to the inner chamber door on the other side. This door, too, Gérard entered without the usual knock. Jean-Claude was amazed: Gérard hadn’t even bothered to announce their presence much less ask permission to enter, but the moment the boy stepped into the room, he understood why.

  Julien La Roque lay on his bed, sprawled on his stomach, his long hair tangled and covering his face. Overturned goblets littered the floor and the room reeked of whiskey and soiled linen. Jean-Claude could see La Roque was completely drunk and thought it would be a hopeless cause to try to wake him, but when Gérard grabbed La Roque by the shoulder and shook him, La Roque moaned and rolled over, on to his back.

  “What is it? ”

  “A messenger has come,” Gérard said. “It is urgent.”

  La Roque managed to lift his head and squint at JeanClaude. Apparently unimpressed, he yelled at Gérard. “Why in hell would you bring him to me in the middle of the night? ”

  “The message, it is urgent,” Gérard repeated. “And it’s from Mademoiselle Bouchard. Zoé Bouchard.”

  La Roque sat up, breathing hard. He swiped a tangle of thick dark hair back from his forehead. His eyes were red and shadowed. A scraggly beard was forming around his face. His skin was pale and pasty. Jean-Claude had been told of the love his mistress bore this man. He couldn’t understand it. How could she love someone so broken?

  “Mon seigneur Comte La Roque,” he said, then walked over and offered the letter.

  La Roque snatched it out of the boy’s hand. He tore open the envelope, unfolded the page and read it with shaking hands. He blinked rapidly and Jean-Claude realized that the count was fighting back tears.

  “How is she? ” La Roque asked in a shaky voice.

  “Not well,” Jean-Claude said. “The doctor told the family that her father would not survive this night.”

  La Roque closed his eyes. “Tell her I’m sorry.Tell her—”

  “Mon seigneur,” said Gérard, stepping forward. “Forgive me for speaking so directly, but a gentleman must deliver his condolences himself.”

  La Roque gave Gérard a look meant to silence him, but the servant stood his ground.

  “Mon seigneur—”

  “Leave me!” La Roque snapped.

  Jean-Claude turned and left. Behind him, he heard Gérard say, “This has gone on long enough. This business is killing you. You must make it right.”

  “Leave!”

  Jean-Claude waited in the antechamber. Gérard stepped out, closing the count’s door behind him. Jean-Claude looked at Gérard, confused. The manservant shook his head, his face expressing both sorrow and frustration.

  As they started out, there came from within La Roque’s room a cry of great anguish. The two servants paused and exchanged looks. Then, of one accord, they continued out the door, leaving the count to his misery and madness.

  EF Marguerite looked at Jean-Claude. “Did you deliver the letter to le Comte? What was his response? ”

  Marianne stopped her pacing to hear his answer. The limp blonde curls hanging around her face made her appear vulnerable, but the blazing fire in her green eyes revealed her determination to protect her sister. “Is he on his way? ”

  Marianne walked with Marguerite to the rear of the stables and approached Jean-Claude. He was tending to a horse as they approached.

  “When did you return? ” Marguerite asked.

  “I just arrived.” He glanced at Marianne and his eyes widened at the sight of her black gown. “Monsieur Bouchard? ” he asked with a shaky voice, noticing her attire.

  “Papa is dead,” Marianne said, “and if you don’t help me, Zoé will be sold off to America, which will kill her and me for sure!”

  6

  “I don’t understand. America? Why is she being sent to America? ” Jean-Claude asked.

  “Maman is entertaining an offer from a horrible man

  named Flynn Sheridan,” said Marianne, pacing.

  Jean-Claude shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s

  a drunkard.”

  Marianne frowned. “A what? ”

  “A drunkard, mademoiselle. He was barely awake when I

  saw him last.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  Jean-Claude stood his ground. Marianne stared at him

  for several minutes, and then ran her hands through her hair, still

  damp from the rain.

  “I don’t care!” she cried. “He must be told that my sister

  needs him. If he knew that his friend was trying to take her to

  America, then he would come.”

  Marguerite nodded. “Jean-Claude, you will have to go

  back to Toulouse. We will try to stall Madame, but you have to

  get word to La Roque!”

  “I am telling you that he is not well. The man is drinking

  himself to death.”

  “Then you pour him some tea and drag him here,”

  Marianne said. “I won’t lose my sister. Do you hear? Now go!” Jean-Claude bowed and readied his horse for the ride. Marianne turned to Marguerite. “We need to find a way

  to stall Monsieur Sheridan!” she said, putting her hand to her

  head.

  EF Madame knocked on Zoé’s bedroom door but got no response. She opened the door and saw the girl stretched out on her bed. “Are you ill? ”

  Zoé said nothing and closed her eyes.

  Madame walked into the room and saw several large trunks already packed and lined up at the door. “I need to talk to you,” she said, surprised that Zoé had already packed everything she owned.

  Madame watched for a reaction but still saw nothing but the back of Zoé’s black curly head. Walking over to her bed, she sat down at the foot of it, putting her back to her stepdaughter. “I know that your father told you our history.”

  Zoé stared at the window in front of her and said nothing.

  “I would like to say that he exaggerated or that my intentions weren’t so malicious, but that would be a lie. We are well past lies now,” Madame said, her hands in her lap, wringing them over and over in her own guilty grip.

  She looked back at Zoé, who still hadn’t moved, and sighed. Through the years they’d had their problems, but overall Zoé was a good girl, very good up until her fall from grace, and the subsequent destruction of their family.

  She remembered how protective Zoé was over her little sister, how Zoé, only two, would pull baby Marianne from her cradle and hold her in her tiny arms, talking to her in baby talk. At first Madame had been shocked at the sight and afraid for her baby, but then she saw how smart and protective Zoé was.

  Even then she saw the beauty and innocence in her stepdaughter. She was bold and daring, qualities that Capucine possessed, the qualities that Madame envied most of all.

  “I want to do right by you and for years, I have tried,” she now said. “You have to know that.”

  Silence.

  “We have nothing,” Madame continued. “I know that you think that I’ve always wanted t
his fate for you and I will admit to threatening you since you were small enough to understand. I can only say that I never really intended to follow through.”

  Madame began to pace. “He’s offering me and Marianne a chance to survive. Without your father we have no way to manage. I can’t run his business. Listen to me. This is for Marianne, as well as me. I know that you love Marianne and want her happy. I think you should—”

  “I want to go with him,” Zoé said in a voice stripped of emotions.

  Madame was stunned. “What did you say? ”

  Zoé turned to face Madame. “I said I want to go with him. I’m dead anyway. I don’t care what happens to me.”

  Madame’s eyes watered “Oh, ma chérie…” She walked over to the bed, ready to reach for Zoé, but the contempt in the girl’s eyes stopped her.

  “It’s what I want, so let’s just be done with it. When does he want to leave? ”

  “Now.”

  Zoé sat up. “Bien. Please excuse me while I dress.”

  Madame turned her head in shame. Walking to the door, she thought of all that was transpiring and her role in it. How long would it take before she forgot about Zoé? She prayed that it would be soon. She couldn’t bear more guilt.

  EF Standing before his mirror, bare-chested and in long pajama pants, La Roque had just finished receiving a fresh shave. He looked at his face in the mirror and smiled grimly at the familiar man staring back. The mustache and thinly-lined beard that framed his lower jaw and connected to his sideburns was perfectly trimmed. He wanted to look his best. He was going to bring her home, after he begged her pardon for all the ways in which he’d failed her. She would be his wife and the lady of this château, which without her had become his mausoleum.

  He read her letter over and over and drank and drank until his tongue and brain were numb, yet her face and smile still remained. No matter how much he drank, no matter how much he tried to forget her, his pain and desperation grew. He had to stop it and the only way was to reach her and make things right for them both. He realized that her love was his salvation, and that if he were to continue on with life she would have to be at his side. He believed that reclaiming his love would keep him sane. Madness came only when you allowed fear to rule your actions. He would do that no longer.

  He knew that her father’s impending death would leave her in peril. Bouchard would have to listen to him. He had to get to his bedside, beg his pardon, and ask for her hand in marriage.

  “Mon seigneur?” La Roque turned to see Gérard stepping in the room. “What is it? ”

  “News from Narbonne. It just arrived.” Gérard shuffled over with a folded message.

  La Roque had asked Gérard to have the local postman relay any news of Bertrand Bouchard. Now, as he read the message, he felt his chest tighten. Bouchard was gone. The funeral was to have been held that very day. La Roque crumpled the paper.

  “Saddle my horse!” he snapped, snatching the hand towel from his shoulder and wiping his face of shaving soap. He had to leave immediately.

  EF Marianne came back inside to see several footmen carrying out large trunks from upstairs. Maman and Sheridan stood in the foyer, talking. Marianne approached them, Marguerite two steps behind her.

  “What is going on? ” Marianne asked.

  “Zoé and Monsieur Sheridan will be leaving soon,” Madame said.

  “No!”

  “Marianne, it’s—”

  Holding her dress, Marianne rushed toward Sheridan, glaring at him. “You will not take her from this house! Do you hear me? She is not your property. Take your uncivilized tactics to that cesspool of a country you came from! Leave my family in peace or I swear upon my father’s grave, I’ll–”

  “Marianne!” interrupted Maman. Sheridan smiled at her. “I think you should ask your sister what she wants.”

  Marianne stepped closer. “I know what she wants, and it’s not you! Now get out of my house!”

  Maman had never seen Marianne so enraged and could do nothing but stand there, speechless. Sheridan was tired of her defiance and ready to pounce on her when he looked up to see his chocolate bride coming down the stairs. She was again dressed in all black with her cape around her shoulders. Her hair, raven black and shiny as always, hung limply down her back in deep waves, the vibrant curls now gone.

  “That’s enough, Marianne,” Zoé said.

  Marianne frowned to see her sister coming down the stairs. “This will not happen. Where are you going? ”

  Marguerite looked confused as well.

  Zoé looked into their faces and smiled sadly. “We need to say our good-byes.”

  “Non!” Marianne shouted, rushing to the stairs.

  Zoé continued down, and Marianne threw her arms around her neck. Unable to watch, Madame left the foyer and headed to the parlor for some brandy to steady her shaking hands. Sheridan smiled triumphantly as Marguerite glared at him.

  “Marianne, listen to me,” Zoé said, cupping her sister’s face. Marianne was crying and shaking her head. “Listen. This is my choice. I want to go.”

  Marianne screamed, wrenched herself away from Zoé and went for Sheridan. Before he could protect himself, she attacked him, scratching at his face. A couple of the footmen removing Zoé’s things converged on Marianne and pulled her from him. Madame came running out of the parlor to see what the ruckus was all about. Zoé ran to her wailing sister.

  “Marianne, please, please calm down!”

  “You won’t take her! I won’t let you! He will stop you! He’s on his way!” Marianne screamed at Sheridan.

  Sheridan paled.

  Zoé saw his reaction and looked at Marianne, confused. “Who is on the way? ”

  Sheridan grabbed Zoé’s arm. “You’re making this more difficult by staying. Come.” He pulled her away as Madame watched in shock.

  Marguerite called out to Zoé. “You must listen to her. We have sent word to Comte La Roque!”

  But before Zoé could respond, Sheridan had pushed her out of the door. Marianne’s screams followed them outside. Sheridan tried to shove Zoé into the carriage.

  “Get in!” he shouted in her face.

  Zoé bit her lip and started to take the steps to the carriage, but the sounds of a struggle caused her to turn around. Marguerite had run out the door to try to stop Zoé, but Madame had grabbed her and was trying to pull her back into the house.

  Sheridan shoved Zoé into the carriage, pushed his way in behind her and screamed at the driver. “Allez! Allez vite! Maintenant!”

  Zoé barely had time to sit down before the driver cracked the whip and the carriage took off. From her window she saw Marguerite turn on Madame and attack her, hitting her across the face and forcing her to let go. Madame stumbled back, shocked, as Marguerite rushed out to see the carriage pulling away. She ran after it screaming.

  The sight broke what was left of Zoé’s heart.

  “This is for the best,” Sheridan said.

  She turned to look at him. “What did they mean? Are they speaking the truth? Will Gianelli come? ”

  Sheridan laughed. “Come, now. Julien wants nothing to do with you. When I told him that I was coming to collect you, he bade me well. As a matter of fact, he paid for our passage to America.”

  His words re-opened her barely-healed wounds. She closed her eyes, summoning her strength. No matter what happened to her, no matter how she suffered, she would not cry. Her father would be the last person to witness her tears.

  She swayed from side to side as the carriage rocked on its wheels, racing them to the docks. She felt him studying her face. He wanted her to be his. He wanted her to serve his needs and satisfy his desires. What he felt had nothing to do with love. She closed her eyes against the sight of him.

  For a long moment, there was an almost peaceful silence. But then she felt fingertips touch her hands as they rested in her lap. Her eyes popped open and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and disgust.

  “Such an expression,�
� he said. “It hurts my feelings, but I will allow it. We will have plenty of time on the ship to get acquainted, and you will see. It won’t be all bad, being with me.”

  Her large doe eyes glistened with sadness. “I won’t be your wife, will I? ”

  He leaned back and laughed. “Of course not. It’s illegal to marry niggers in the States.” He caught how she flinched.

  “Don’t like that word, do you? ”

  “No, I prefer that you use it. It shows what you think of me, and my kind. If I ever suffer a lapse in judgment and start to believe that you’re human, your crass remarks will remind me what a monster you really are.”

  He reddened with fury. “This is going to stop!”

  “What should stop? ”

  “Your defiance, the way you mock me! When we arrive home, you will learn to temper your tongue or suffer the consequences.”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  Apparently, he missed the scorn in her voice because he appeared mollified. “You will love Carolina,” he said. “Of course, you will stay in the big house with me, but you will be expected to handle your chores.”

  “And, may I ask, what else is expected of me? ”

  She could see his face become suffused with desire. His eyes raked up her and down. She wasn’t dressed in the dainty corseted gowns he’d seen her in at La Roque’s château. The black dress she wore now was buttoned all the way up to her chin, with lace around the bodice, its long sleeves puffed out at the shoulders. Still, it revealed the swell of her breasts and her tiny waistline. She could sense his desire to see more.

  “I expect you to satisfy and obey all of my wishes,” he said. “If you serve me well, then I may grant you certain privileges, but make no mistake about it. You’re a lowly nothing, and that’s what you’ll always be. The sooner you realize it and accept it, the happier you’ll be.”

  Zoé allowed a grim smile to curve her beautiful lips. “Does it make you feel powerful, monsieur? I really want to know.”

  “Does what make me powerful? ”