Music for My Soul (7 page)

Garrett nodded. He knew that to be correct. He drove a hard bargain, as did his managers. His family was much better off in the years since he had been in charge of their finances.

Henri shifted in his chair. “Naturally, I would not expect you to care for the vines. I would look out for your portion of the champagne vineyards as if they were still my own. You’d simply have to transport the wine, along with my own stock, and collect the profits.”

He looked expectantly at Garrett. “Then we are in agreement?”

Something kept Garrett from rushing ahead. The proposition appeared simple on the surface. In regard to business, he was a patient man. He’d never leapt into any transaction without more information. He would not start now.

“Your proposition is intriguing, my lord,” he said as he returned to his chair. “I could be interested in entering the champagne trade. But I hesitate.”

Henri appeared startled, as if he’d assumed Garrett would immediately accept his idea without question.

Before he could speak, Garrett added, “I have never undertaken something so vast quite so suddenly. I would first have to see your vineyards.”

Henri appeared taken aback. “But why,
monsieur
? They are impeccably kept. My secret recipe for adding the cultured yeasts and sugar yield the finest champagnes in all of France! You have drunk of my champagne. You know it to be the best.”

“’Tis quite fine, de Picassaret, I’ll agree with you. I simply need more time to study the situation and learn more about champagne.”

“Impossible!” Henri sputtered. “I want an answer from you today, this minute!” His voice rose as his complexion mottled bright scarlet. “You must give me an answer now. I insist!”

Henri reached over and grasped the arms of Garrett’s chair in his hands. He leaned close, spittle flying, and demanded, “Now! I want you as my partner
now
! I want this settled before I sail for France.”

Garrett remained composed as Henri hovered inches from him. His voice was low when he responded, but his tone was deadly. “Remove your hands from this chair,
monsieur
, or they will be removed from your wrists.”

Henri stared at him blankly for a moment. Slowly, he released the chair and stepped back. He seemed uncertain of where he was. Garrett was afraid the man had gone mad before his very eyes. What else could explain such bizarre behavior?

The manservant rushed into the room. Garrett wondered how much of their conversation he’d heard.

“I am sorry, my lord,” he addressed Garrett, even as he went to Henri and put an arm about him. “My master has been under much strain lately.”

Henri looked at Garrett with clearer eyes now. “Lord Montayne, consider my offer. If you wish to come to Chateau Maraine to inspect my vineyards, you would be most welcome. I sail for France the day after tomorrow.”

He turned to his servant. “Come, Bertrand, we must go to mass again. There is much I wish to discuss with God.”

The pair left the room, leaving Garrett puzzled by such odd behavior.

Garrett retraced his steps and exited Lord Fenton’s home, reclaiming Ebony from the stable boy. As he mounted, Garrett wondered about the state of Henri de Picassaret’s mind. Had he witnessed a spell of madness? Why had de Picassaret become so unhinged when Garrett had refused to act immediately? He had noticed the Frenchman was a bit high-strung in the past, but today he had been truly unbalanced for a few minutes.

Garrett pondered over their meeting as he headed for his London home. A steady rain fell and showed no sign of letting up. Soon he was soaked to the skin, cold, and irritable. The pounding in his head began a constant beat. He couldn’t wait to arrive. A drink would do him wonders.

He spotted her a few short blocks from his destination. He could not be mistaken. She wore a simple tunic of brown cloth, but her head was uncovered. A long braid of golden hair trailed down her back. Carrying a heavy basket balanced on one hip, she trudged along the uneven street. He wondered briefly if she’d sold his cloak.

“Lady Montayne!” he called out as he leapt off Ebony. “Wait!” He rushed to her, grabbing her elbow.

The woman started and her basket fell from her grasp. Apples rolled all along the muddy street. Garrett stared into brown eyes filled with fear, not the amethyst ones that had haunted his dreams.

“’Twas my mistake,” he quickly apologized. “I thought you someone else.” He released the stranger’s arm. The woman backed away. She then looked out over all the apples spilled from her basket. Her lip quivered.

Garrett realized how precious the fruit must have been to her. He removed a few coins from his purse. “My fault entirely, madam. Will you accept payment for the damage I have done?”

He took her hand and placed the coins into her palm. Surprise flooded her face, and she looked at him in wonder.

“Thank ‘ee, milord.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

He bowed to her and remounted Ebony.

Was he going as crazy as Henri de Picassaret?
Or had he been bewitched
?

Chapter 6

Madeleine couldn’t have spent a happier two months. She genuinely liked all members in the troupe of mummers she had fallen in with, thinking of them now as family. Being with this large group gave her a taste of a life unlike she’d ever known before. She said a quick “Hail Mary” to thank her Dear Lord for sending Gwenith into her path.

The June heat was oppressive, though, and it wasn’t even noon yet as she rested from her duties in the shade of a tree. Madeleine reached around, lifting her long braid high, and used it to fan the back of her neck. The slight breeze gave her momentary relief. She dropped her hair and started to turn, but she stopped in her tracks when her braid remained aloft. For a moment, icy fear swept through her. Images of Henri crowded her head, and blinding panic pushed all else from her consciousness.

Then she slowly relaxed as a familiar laugh floated on the air behind her. Whirling, her braid now freed, she caught a glimpse of Royce, a fellow member of the mummers’ troupe, ducking behind the mature oak tree that had provided her shade for the past ten minutes. Silently, she crept toward the huge, gnarled trunk and melted into its side.

She moved quietly around the tree, stretched across the far side, then reached out and goosed him in the ribcage. He let out a yelp and wheeled around.

“You don’t play fair, Madeleine,” he said, his eyes teasing her.

“And you do, Royce? Shame on you.” She shook her finger at him comically, much as she remembered from her childhood how Cook had done when a scullery maid displeased her.

The thought of home and her youth gave her pause and she felt the smile slide from her face. She fell silent, an aching lump lodged in her throat.

Royce must have noticed the change in her, for he took her elbow in his hand and moved her quickly along.

“Come, wench, we have need of sustenance. I can smell the hot chewets floating along the breeze.”

Madeleine stopped. “Now I know you jest. There’s been no breeze all day.” He looked at her imploringly. “But I seem to have caught a whiff of those meat pies all the same. Lead the way, Master Royce,” she commanded in her most noble tones.

They strolled along a row of booths and purchased two steaming chewets, their meat savory and hot. They passed stalls filled with salt, soap, honey, and cheese, the pungent smells intermingling with the sweat of crowded human flesh.

Royce had them settled against an ancient oak at the far end of the meadow, where they ate in amiable silence.

Madeleine counted her blessings, starting first with sweet Gwenith, already as close as a sister could possibly be. They’d spent practically every waking moment together since joining up on the London docks with never a cross word between them. Madeleine loved her friend’s head of wild, red curls and her impish smile, but her outer beauty only scratched the surface. Gwenith’s sunny nature had a way of keeping Madeleine’s spirits up, no matter how much work needed to be done. These past two months had flown by in the presence of Gwenith’s optimism and good cheer.

Her second blessing was time spent with Gwenith’s boy, even if Young Master Evan was a scamp of the first degree. Madeleine often wondered how Gwenith managed to keep up with Evan’s antics. Her friend had far more energy than most to be able to stay abreast of Evan’s roguish ways. Still, she counted the boy as a treasure close to her heart.

Maybe she could turn Evan loose on Henri. With that thought, she stroked the smooth pebble in her pocket. A girlish giggle popped out at the thought of Henri running in fright from the small boy.

“And what might you be thinking on, Madeleine?” Royce asked. His voice was gentle and his eyes had lost their usual playfulness. Royce reached out and took her hand.

Madeleine was startled by the depth of emotion she found in Royce’s gaze. These past few weeks traveling with the troupe had been an escape for her before she could make her way to France. Though she enjoyed everyone’s company, she did not want any lasting attachments—especially not those of a romantic nature. She was a married woman, despite having left Henri. She would keep those vows, even after she entered the convent.

She frowned, puzzling on how to let him down gently. He’d been a good friend to her, never asking about her past. When others had done so, he’d always stepped in and helped change the subject or asked a favor from her, leading her away from prying questions.

Theirs had been an easy friendship. That was why his look of tenderness and soft words caught her by surprise. His hand held hers easily yet firmly. Madeleine slowly withdrew from his grasp. She crossed her arms and sighed.

“Oh, Royce, so ‘tis come to this,” she whispered softly.

The gleam of interest in his eye was unmistakable. Royce looked at her as a man looked at a woman for whom he had tender feelings. He moved in to kiss her.

Madeleine’s heart lurched. Fear set in, but she shrugged it off. This was just Royce. Not all men beat a woman for the slightest infraction, she told herself. Not all men forced relations. Not all men—

“Madeleine!”

She bolted to her feet as Osbert came toward them. The jovial mummer fairly galloped across the green meadow, his round face red from the exertion.

Osbert laid his hand upon her shoulder. “’Tis Gwenith, I’m afraid. She calls for you.”

Fear beating rapidly in her chest, Madeleine picked up her skirts, and without a backward glance at Royce, ran across the field to where their tents were pitched away from the stalls filled with goods. Gwenith had been sick for awhile. She couldn’t have taken a turn for the worse. She couldn’t have.

Stomach knotted, Madeleine hurried into their tent. Gwenith, her face ashen and haggard, managed a weak smile upon seeing her.

Madeleine dropped to her knees next to Gwenith’s pallet. Taking her friend’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze while pushing aside the curls that had fallen across her face.

“’Tis a real mess I’m in, Maddie, that’s fer sure,” Gwenith managed to get out before being seized by a fit of coughing. The coughs wracked through her thin body.

Madeleine held tightly onto Gwenith’s hand until the spasm passed and then poured her a cup of cool water from the pitcher nearby.

“Sip on this, Gwenith,” she said in soothing tones, helping her friend to sit up. A trickle dribbled down Gwenith’s chin, and Madeleine wiped it away with her sleeve.

“I’m fine now, Maddie. I promise.” Gwenith’s eyes were huge in her pale face, even more wan than usual. “I just wanted to visit with ye a minute, that’s all.” Another fit of coughing erupted.

Madeleine ached with every cough.

Finally, Gwenith calmed down. “Ye’ve been with Royce?” her friend asked, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

“Yes, I have,” Madeleine begin. “I’m afraid ‘tis more than friendship on Royce’s mind this day. If Osbert hadn’t come to fetch me, I fear Royce might have said something he later regretted. Or kissed me.”

Gwenith searched Madeleine’s face. “Ye just now discovered his interest in you, Maddie?” she asked in disbelief.

She stared at her in surprise. “You knew his intentions were romantic?”

Gwenith chuckled. “Only me and a dozen other mummers, my sweet.” She bit her lip to hold back her laughter. “’Twas obvious from the time I brought you back with us, Maddie. He’s smitten hard. The only wonder is it took him so long to speak his mind.”

Madeleine eased from her knees and sat on the floor. “I never saw this coming, Gwenith. And to keep the gossip straight, Royce has made no such declaration.”

Gwenith pursed her lips. “As if I’d gossip about ye, Maddie.” She stroked her friend’s hand. “But I’m sure Royce spoke with his eyes and his heart if not his lips.”

Madeleine sighed. “Yes, you are right.” She felt uncomfortable discussing it further, so she busied herself fussing with Gwenith’s pillows and adjusting the blanket.

“Ye’re so good to me,” Gwenith whispered and fell into a deep sleep.

Madeleine remained by her side for several minutes. Gwenith had become the sister she’d never had in a short amount of time. When she’d run into Gwenith and Evan after glimpsing Bertrand on the waterfront, it had been an answered prayer. Somehow Gwenith must have realized Madeleine was in trouble without having to be told.

And that day, Gwenith had returned to the mummers with her in tow. Madeleine had become an integral part of the group in a short time. When she’d first played the lute and sang for them, her fate became sealed. Now she played for audiences before the mummers performed and provided entertainment between acts, as well. Sometimes she was pressed into service by narrating the short dramas. She had even composed a few original songs. It had been a happy few weeks.

Once a month had passed and Madeleine was sure Henri was safely on his way back to Chateau Maraine, she began preparations to leave the troupe. They had been on the circuit since early April, and a few other talented people had joined in their progress. Madeleine was sure she could be replaced without much fuss.

She had gone to Farley, the head of the mummers and told him of her intentions to leave.