Decision and Destiny (8 page)

John’s expression turned stern. “What of them?”

“I don’t want you annoying them.”

“Annoying them?”

“You know what I mean, distracting them from their lessons, seeking them out in the afternoon, playing nursemaid.”

“I didn’t realize you had such a sharp eye,” John replied curtly, “especially when you’re away from the house all day. So how
would
you know what’s going on? Unless, of course, you have an informant.”

“I have no informant. I see for myself what’s happening. You know Father wouldn’t approve. He doesn’t want you around them.”

“Approve?” John queried derisively. “I don’t give a damn what he wants, and I certainly don’t care if he approves. I will seek out the children whenever and wherever I like, and you can tell him that.”

“Damn it, John! When will you desist from this need to hurt him?”

“
Hurt him?
What about me? There was a time when you were sympathetic to me.” Disgusted, he added, “Just remember, Paul, he started it all.”

“And he’s paid.”

“Has he? Well, then, so have I.”

Sunday, September 10, 1837

A
N
hour before Sunday Mass, Yvette announced she was not going. “The benches are too hard, and Father Benito talks gibberish. If Johnny doesn’t go, why should I?” Charmaine had reasoned, cajoled, and threatened to take the matter to Frederic—all to no avail.

John!
She simmered.
This is all his doing!
He hadn’t set foot in the mansion’s chapel since he’d arrived. Plainly, Yvette was utilizing Paul’s absence to pit her governess’s authority against John’s.
Well,
Charmaine fumed as she headed toward Frederic’s chambers,
we’ll just see about that!

She didn’t get far. Agatha emerged from the south wing corridor, blocking her path. Few words had passed between them since Pierre’s spanking, and Charmaine wasn’t about to strike up a conversation now. With a cursory nod, she changed direction and scooted down the stairs.

As her initial fury ebbed, common sense took hold. To whom could she turn to convince the headstrong eight-year-old attending Mass was essential for her moral welfare? Rose? Possibly. John? She almost laughed aloud at the thought; he was the root of the problem.
Still, he didn’t know a thing about it. Perhaps if he did, he’d accompany them to the chapel, and Yvette would abandon her protests. Hadn’t he lent a hand before?

She found him in the dining room, alone, eating a large breakfast, even though the rest of the household observed the Church’s decree of a strict fast before Communion. She had seen less of him this week. With Paul gone, he’d assumed the reins of responsibility. Nevertheless, he had managed to spend time with the children before he left the house or directly after dinner. It was becoming less difficult to speak to him. Even so, she stepped forward gingerly.

“Excuse me, sir.”

John’s eyes left his newspaper. “Miss Ryan,” he returned, irritated by her persistent formality. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, there is,” she jumped in, mustering a radiant smile.

She was rewarded for her efforts, for he smiled in return, apparently disarmed by her ebullience, and she braced herself for a suggestive remark.

“What would that be?” he asked instead.

“I’d like to invite you to attend Mass with us this morning,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “I know the children would enjoy your company.”

His smile vanished. Still, he hadn’t refused.

She took courage and pressed on, hoping to fan his enthusiasm again. “And then there’s Pierre. He can be quite fidgety in church, but I thought if you were there—well, you’re so good with him and—”

“Really?”
he interrupted, fixing steely eyes upon her. “You know, Miss Ryan, your tactics are duplicitous, yet rather transparent. You play the helpless heroine to a fault, seeking out my aid when it suits you, then complain to my brother afterward.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Well, no matter.”

The seconds gathered into an uncomfortable silence.

“Was there something else, Miss Ryan?”

“Something else?”

“Yes. I’d like to return to my meal.”

Dumbfounded, she dropped her hands to her sides and blurted out, “Won’t you even consider accompanying us to the family service?”

“Miss Ryan,” he replied slowly, “as a boy, I heard enough of Father Benito’s fire-and-brimstone sermons to last me well into eternity. I had no choice then. I do now and have no intention of suffering through even one more. I need no pretentious priest to measure my pain. I do that well enough on my own. Does that answer your question?”

“Surely you can’t mean that!”

“Haven’t you learned by now I always mean what I say? Apparently not. So, let me spell it out for you: I will not accompany you or the children to Mass. Not today, nor next week—not ever.”

“But you must!” she objected, anger eclipsing her dismay. This man was wreaking havoc in the household with his heathen ways, and it was time someone told him so. “You may not care a farthing about your own soul, but it is unforgivable you’ve neglected the children’s!”

Bemused now, his brow arched. “What have they to do with it?”

“Everything and more! You ought to consider the effect your bad example has on them. What do you think crosses their impressionable minds when week after week, they see you reject God by refusing to partake of His son’s holy celebration? How do you propose I explain it to them?”

“So,” he scoffed, “this has nothing to do with an invitation to join you after all. And here I thought you worried over my sooted soul.”

“Have no fear about that!” she rejoined pointedly. “I’d be a fool to think I could ever sway the likes of you!”

“A very Christian attitude,” he replied mordantly.

“How dare you mock my values?”

“Your values, my dear, are not, by my estimation, worth holding.”

“Oh, you—you—”

“Scoundrel? Infidel?” he offered. “No, I think
demon
would be more to your liking.”

“Yes, demon is perfect!” she exclaimed furiously, but instantly repented the words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to call names.”

“No? A lecture in morality then?” he pressed, annoyed she felt at liberty to confront him this way. Wasn’t
she
the hired help and
he
the family? When she refused to answer, he continued. “Miss Ryan, let me clear something up right now. I don’t take kindly to people—especially righteous women—who nurture a bit of good will with me and then assume I can be manipulated into doing their bidding. For the moment, I’d like to think you and I have come to a truce of sorts; however, I guarantee I will put an end to that truce within the hour if you persist in attempting to bend me to your will.”

His deadly tone left no doubt she had pushed him too far. Even so, she felt unjustly accused. She had approached the situation from the wrong angle and had to find a way to salvage her self-respect and regain the ground of civility they had cultivated over the past fortnight. “Sir, that was not my intention.”

“Then what is this all about?”

“I’ve told you—the children, specifically Yvette. She refuses to attend Mass because, as she puts it, ‘If Johnny doesn’t go, why should I?’ I thought if you accompanied us, she would forsake this stubborn nonsense.”

He did not immediately respond, though Charmaine could tell a barrage of retorts raced through his quick mind. When he did speak, she was aghast.

“Leave her behind with me, then. The Mass is, after all, a ritual
for which the soul is supposed to yearn, is it not?” Sarcasm laced his query. “If Father Benito’s preaching leaves her empty, what is the point in forcing her?”

“
The point?
The point is we are speaking of a child’s soul, a soul that will not reach its Maker if it does not partake of the sacred ceremony you ridicule! I cannot believe you’re suggesting she is old enough to decide this for herself!”

He remained calm in the face of her resurrected rage. “And what need does an innocent eight-year-old have of that damned doctrine? Perhaps your comprehension would not be so limited, so obtuse, if you answered that question without prejudice, Miss Ryan. What terrible sin has she committed, is capable of committing, that would damn her to your godforsaken hell for all eternity? What morality need she learn that her own family cannot teach her?”

“What morality, indeed!” she rejoined contemptuously. “If her mother were still alive, I might agree with you. But even the mistress Colette did not limit her Christian example to good deeds alone. She marched the children to the chapel each and every Sunday. Can’t you see? It is what
she
wanted.”

“By God, woman!” he exploded, slamming a fist into the table.

“What makes you think I give a
damn
about what the mistress Colette wanted?”

“Because—” Charmaine stammered, wide-eyed and trembling “—because she was a kind and decent woman who lived her faith, a faith she wanted her children to embrace.” Foolishly, inexplicably, she babbled on, even though her mind screamed:
flee.
“Besides, she was your father’s wife and mother to your siblings. Surely, as such, you should respect her wishes!”

“Miss Ryan,” he snarled, “the mistress Colette was a very different woman than the one you have painted, and my feelings toward her were far from noble. She should
never
have become ‘Mrs. Frederic Duvoisin.’ In fact, I approved of her less in that role than I do the third Mrs. Duvoisin. So keep your angelic apparitions to
yourself. I cannot stomach such a large dose of piety and virtue this early in the day!”

With his last words, Charmaine did indeed flee, her dignity in tatters.

Colette, dear sweet Colette! How could the man degrade her so?
Charmaine couldn’t understand it! Paul’s assertions echoed in her ears:
Even Colette, as good and kind as she tried to be to him, suffered at his hands.
It was true! True! How could she have allowed her guard to slip these past weeks? How could she have thought there was anything more to the man than her initial impression of turpitude? What a fool she had been! Paul had warned her, and still, she had discounted his wise judgment and allowed John to ingratiate himself to the children. No wonder Paul was wary! John
was
depraved! Thank God she had seen him for what he was before it was too late!

Yvette faltered when she entered the nursery. “Did you speak with Father?”

“No, I did not. I spoke to your brother instead.”

“Johnny?”

“I’d hoped he’d reason with you, but he refused. In fact, he scorned your mother’s beliefs. What a shame you’ve chosen his bitterness over her goodness.”

Jeannette stood from her bed. “Yvette is hurting Mama by not going to Mass, isn’t she, Mademoiselle?”

“Yes, I’m afraid she is,” Charmaine whispered.

“See, Yvette, I told you so. You mustn’t hurt Mama anymore. She won’t rest in peace unless she’s pleased with everything we do.”

Rose walked in. “What is this?” she asked, taking in their somber faces. “I’ve seen happier people at a funeral.”

It was too much; Jeannette erupted into tears, and Yvette’s frown deepened.

“Whatever is the matter?” Rose clucked. “There now, child, don’t cry.”

“Yvette won’t go to Mass!” she sobbed. “She doesn’t care Mama—”

“I didn’t say that!” Yvette countered. “And I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go, Jeannette—only please stop crying!”

The night was black. An open carriage swayed as it gained momentum. The dark, dusty road was barely negotiable, treacherous to the inexperienced hand, and fear suddenly gripped the driver. She pulled back on the reins and the horse shied and whinnied, then slowed to a steady prance. Although the buggy’s lamp would help illuminate the way, it was wiser to leave it unlit. The deserted road leveled off, and a dim light appeared through the trees off to the right. The driver yanked on the reins, and the horse all but stopped. Locating the turn, the animal proceeded gingerly, and the conveyance moved toward the beacon, squeaking to a halt before a solitary structure nestled in the dark forest. Still, the real journey had yet to begin, and she steeled herself against the impending trial, descending the coupe, her black skirts cascading to her ankles as she reached the ground. Although she stepped stealthily, gravel crunched underfoot, signaling her trek. As she mounted the steps, the door cracked open.

“You are late,” a deep voice accused from within. “Six hours late.”

She crossed the threshold, and the door closed behind her. With an air of indifference, she ripped off her gloves, pushed back the hood of her cloak, and faced the enemy. “I told you I would come, and I have.”

She was angry. He could see it in her set jaw and piercing eyes, but she was worried too, her discomfiture poorly concealed beneath a mask of cool contempt.

“You seem to believe you can keep me waiting,” he stated coldly, “and I have never tolerated waiting for anyone, least of all the likes of you.”

“How dare you—”

“Mrs. Duvoisin,” he admonished, irritated by her outrage.

“Don’t play games with me. You are here for an unseemly reason, one that you hope will go away if you just ignore it, a supposition you thought to test by arriving late today. So let me spell it out for you. I never forget, and I am not a tolerant man. Next time, don’t be tardy, or my patience will reach its limit before the first hour has passed.”

“Next time? I assure you, there will be no next time,” she hissed.

“You are mad if you think this will continue!”

“On the contrary. Not only will you continue to pay me, but as of today, my silence costs twice as much.”

“You have been paid enough already!”

“If that were the case, you would not be here tonight, would you?” He paused, letting his remark sink in. “Let me decide when I have been paid enough. Even at double the price, my fee is not at all unreasonable for the wife of Frederic Duvoisin. After all, look at the heights you have scaled thus far. And isn’t that what this is all about—how you’ve benefited from plotting and planning? So why not share the wealth with someone who understands you?”

“I’ve no idea what you are talking about!”

“No? Your husband might be interested in learning of the duplicitous life you’ve been leading. And then there’s a theory I’ve been toying with. Frederic might find a visit from me most…‘revealing,’ shall I say?”

“There are ways to deal with you!”

His eyes turned evil. “Do you take me for a fool, Madame? I hope not. Because if you try to get rid of me, the truth
will
come out.”

He watched her fear deepen and nodded. “Yes, I have taken precautionary measures. Now, let me relieve you of this.”

He stepped forward and slipped the reticule from her fingers. Loosening the cinches, he fingered the cold cash within. Satisfied,
he pulled the strings closed. “Very good. Very good indeed. From today forward, we will meet every other Saturday at three o’clock sharp. I do so enjoy your visits. Goodnight, Mrs. Duvoisin.”