No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (22 page)

“Yes, and that I understand. But you, Father? You appear to be an educated man, and yet you look at me as if I were the devil himself.”

The round little priest bowed his equally round and bald head. “I regret it. I do not think such a thing in the least. It is only that you have a look … forgive me, monsieur.”

“Not at all.” Pascal wondered if perhaps it was his halo that was showing rather than a set of horns.

The priest cleared his throat as if to change the subject. “I once knew a Henri LaMartine many years ago, here in Saint-Simon. He was a relative of yours, perhaps?”

Pascal shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. LaMartine is a common enough name. I confess, Father, I haven’t missed your startled reaction to me. Is my surname the cause of it, or does it have to do with the events of this afternoon?”

The priest’s face relaxed into a suggestion of a smile. “It is neither. You bear no resemblance to the LaMartine I knew. I was only curious. As for this afternoon, I am grateful for what you did for Alain, but I admit I am surprised. Is it true what they say, that you have married the duke’s sister?”

“I hadn’t realized that it was news among the village, as I haven’t mentioned the fact to anyone. But yes, Elizabeth is my wife. She hasn’t been out much since we arrived. I imagine people must have recognized her today.”

“Recognized
her? You understate the case. It was an extraordinary discovery.” The priest scratched his shiny scalp in distraction. “Look here, you must understand this is all very peculiar for the people as it is. First a steward appears out of nowhere and takes charge on the duke’s command, whereas the duke has shown no interest in his land before this. Further, this steward knows a great deal about growing grapes.”

“I am a botanist by profession, Father.”

“Ah, yes? Well, that is helpful. Nevertheless, all of this is already cause for talk. Then today it transpires that the woman the new steward is married to is the duke’s sister, who was here not three months ago and, begging your pardon, behaving as if she were Marie Antoinette—not a popular personage among the peasants, as you know.”

Pascal glanced up from examining Alain. “No, not very,” he said dryly.

“Exactly. And yet today she was out in the fields helping her husband put a boy back together again without so much as the blink of an eye. This all seems preposterous, no?”

Pascal shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it does. However, Elizabeth is not the same person she was then.”

“That must certainly be true,” the priest said, scratching his head again. “On top of all of that, monsieur, I learn that this same man, this mysterious steward—you must understand that I have been away on church business in Avignon for the month—I return this very day to learn that this mysterious man, now known to be the brother-in-law of the duke, has saved Alain Lascard from death.”

“Yes, Father?” Pascal said without inflection. “What do you wish me to say? Everything you have said is true.”

“Yes … I only wonder how it happens that this has transpired. The people were naturally curious about your wife, although it was assumed she was shy—and a person like yourself, of the bourgeoisie. But the duke’s sister?” He frowned. “I have been told that you live in old Baumerd’s cottage. This is correct?”

“Yes, we do, with his grace’s permission.”

“It was not in the best of condition when you took it on,” the priest stated bluntly.

“No, Father, it was not,” Pascal replied equally bluntly. “It was falling down about our ears and still is to a degree. I don’t have the money at the moment to do much about it, and Monsieur le Due does not seem inclined.”

Father Chabot nodded rapidly, and Pascal, knowing that it could be some time before the priest gathered himself and his thoughts, turned his attention back to Alain, who appeared to be comfortable, considering his ordeal.

Pascal folded the sheets back and checked the dressing. He was pleased to see that it had remained clean, with almost no seepage. Alain’s breathing was even and his skin cool to the touch. There was no point in disturbing him further until morning—he needed sleep more than he needed anything else. Pascal pulled the sheets back up and sat down on the corner of the bed, watching the priest.

Observing him, he decided he liked the man. Father Chabot appeared honest, and he obviously cared about his charges. Pascal thought it over and decided he could be trusted.

“I’d like to speak candidly with you,” he said, “but it might be best if we went elsewhere. Alain is sleeping peacefully. There’s no need to disturb him.”

The priest nodded. “There is a room next door. Let us adjourn there.”

They lit the lamps, and the break in conversation gave Pascal time to think.

“I understand why you would be confused,” he said, turning to Father Chabot. “Yes, we live in Baumerd’s cottage, since that’s what Elizabeth’s brother offered us. It hasn’t been an easy time for her, but she has worked hard to adjust, despite her brother’s attitude.”

“I see.” Father Chabot pulled up a hard-backed chair and lowered himself into it, planting his feet firmly on the floor. “And what attitude is this?”

Pascal’s jaw tightened in sudden anger. “With the exception of one letter, Elizabeth’s brother has ignored her since our arrival, most likely because of her marriage to me.” He shrugged his shoulder. “I can only assume he considers her beneath him now. I don’t believe she has yet come to that conclusion, thank God, for I’d hate to see her spirit broken. Elizabeth’s spirit has become—ah, well…” Pascal hesitated.

“Yes, my son?” the priest said, gently prompting.

Pascal sighed. He was sorely in need of an ear to pour his troubles into, and he felt an affinity with this man. He’d explode if he didn’t talk to someone.

“To be perfectly honest, she has become important to me,” he said, groping for a way to explain the situation. “I’m not quite sure how, or even when it happened. All I know is that she has. But I—I haven’t treated her very well.”

“Do you wish to make confession?” the priest asked.

“No, thank you, Father, although I am Catholic and probably will soon be confessing for all I’m worth. No, what I need right now is someone to listen. I don’t really have anyone else to whom I can speak, and this is a little delicate. I could use some advice.”

“Anything you wish,” the priest said, putting on a properly solemn expression, as befitted a man of the cloth. He then folded his plump hands together on his lap and fixed Pascal with a firm but sympathetic eye. “What is this matter that troubles you?”

Pascal walked over to the window and looked out on the night, his hands resting on the thick sill, the stone cool under his palms. “It’s not easy to explain. You see, we were forced to marriage against our wills. We both felt acute dislike for each other.” He turned around and spread out his hands. “But now here we are.”

“Yes, my son? Here you are.” He cleared his throat. “Just where is that?”

“Well, that’s the problem. We’re not one place or the other, and for the life of me, I don’t know where it is we should be or even how to get there.” He paused, shaking his head in bafflement. “I find that with each day that goes by everything changes—I never know from one minute to the next what to expect. That’s typical of my wife, though.”

“Ah, yes. I see. You are saying that your wife has a spontaneous nature.”

“You could certainly call her spontaneous,” Pascal said with a slight smile. “That’s part of the problem, and the reason for much of my initial anger and resentment. I felt trapped by circumstances not of my making, and I was furious with Lily because she was responsible for both our predicaments.”

“How is that?”

Pascal rubbed the corner of his mouth with one finger. “You will probably find this odd, even given her spontaneous nature, but Lily practically fell on top of me from a monastery wall.”

Father Chabot’s little eyes bulged half out of his head. “A monastery?” he asked shakily.

“Yes. God only knows what she was doing crawling about on the wall to begin with, or why she was hissing at me like a deranged reptile, for she’s never bothered to say, other than that she climbed a tree to have a look inside.”

“Oh. Oh, my. Oh, dear.”

“Yes. Those were my feelings at the time. In any event, she fell off the wall, and then told the abbot that I’d assaulted her, when all I’d done was to see if she’d succeeded in killing herself. It was a physical examination, not an attempt at rape.”

A strangled sound came from Father Chabot’s throat, and he coughed vigorously to cover it. “Ah, what was it that you were doing in the monastery, my son? Were you a novice, perhaps?”

“No. I was restoring the gardens and acting as physician for the people of the area.”

Father Chabot flushed. “Oh,” he said, looking as if he’d just made off with the church plate. “Oh, dear. I see. Yes. How very difficult.”

“In any case,” Pascal continued, “Lily’s father required us to marry to avoid any scandal—or so he said. Personally, I think he decided I’d make a convenient husband for his wayward daughter, and he knew I’d given my word to the abbot that I’d obey.”

“And you did.”

“I did, Lily had no choice, and it was a miserable business all the way around.”

“And yet?” Father Chabot asked, looking hopeful.

“And yet … it’s not so miserable anymore. It’s not exactly wonderful, either. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ve come to care about Lily. I’m—I’ve grown fond of her.”

“Why, that
is
wonderful!” the priest said, a smile lighting up his face.

“No. It’s not. She still thinks I’m a black-hearted, lecherous devil who tried to ravish her, not to mention ravishing countless others before her, and nothing I do or say has disabused her of the notion.” Pascal plowed his hand through his hair in frustration. “The irony of it is that I’ve never even been with a woman—not that I’m about to tell
her
that.”

He turned back to the window. “I can’t get anywhere near her—every time I try she pulls away, or looks as if I’m about to jump on her, or starts an argument. Right after we were married I told her in anger that I’d never go near her bed, and I haven’t, which is just as she would have it. The trouble is, Lily’s bed is beginning to be the only thing I think about.”

“Oh?” Father Chabot said politely.

“Yes, and it’s been driving me to distraction. She’s my wife, for the love of God! Oh—I beg your pardon, Father. Only two months outside of a monastery and my language has gone to the dogs.”

“Never mind your language. I’d like to know what you plan to do about the situation. A marriage is not a marriage in the eyes of God—or the laws of man—unless it has been consummated. Surely you know this?”

“Yes, of course I know, but I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. Maybe if I knew better what I was doing I could do it, but I don’t.” He turned around and leaned his hip against the sill, his arms folded across his chest.

“Er … had you chosen celibacy as a gift to God, my son?”

Pascal’s cheeks could have lit up half the village. “No … not exactly,” he said, feeling as if he’d like to drop through the floor. “It’s just the way it’s been. I mean—well, it’s not as if I haven’t kissed women before, or been interested in the rest of it.”

“Yes, yes, perfectly normal. But to have remained celibate all this time, there must have been a reason.”

Oh, there was a reason, all right,
Pascal thought,
but how am I going to explain that
? He fumbled for words the priest might understand.

“It was just that I never felt … I didn’t think that God meant for me to go about mindlessly rutting for my own pleasure with no thought to the sanctity of marriage. As I never intended to marry, I didn’t pay much attention to the more subtle details—I didn’t think I’d need them. So I put the whole thing out of my mind.”

“If you are looking for advice in this quarter,” the priest said wryly, “I’m afraid this is a case of the blind leading the blind.”

Pascal’s eyebrows shot up and a corner of his mouth lifted in genuine amusement. “Yes, I realize, Father. I wasn’t asking for instruction. I imagine I can figure it out if given half a chance. It’s getting the chance that worries me.”

“Why is that? It seems a perfectly natural thing for two married people to do, especially if you are fond of your wife.”

“Yes, but she is in no way fond of me. For one, I refused to live in the chateau, and I’ve forced Lily to live a life that she finds humiliating. She hates me for it.” Pascal looked down at the floor, then back at the priest.

“Hate—that is quite a strong word. Perhaps she is only displeased with you.”

“No,” Pascal said adamantly. “She hates me. She hates me for any number of things, and I’m probably deserving of most of them.” He pulled his transgressions from the list he’d made in his head on his way to the village. “I’ve been cold to her, and rude, and I’ve said a lot of nasty things, even if some of them were true at the time. I’ve lost my temper with her on countless occasions. I’ve been too proud to correct her on a number of false assumptions she’s made about me.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Mostly because I’d rather she aim her barbs at things that aren’t true than things that are. Lily has an infuriating ability to crawl under my skin.”

“Yes, so I gather,” Father Chabot said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

“Then there’s the matter of her brother,” Pascal said, the whole thing pouring out like a dam suddenly unstopped. “Lily adores the blasted man—blindly, I assure you. He’s her mission in life, and I’m the only thing standing in the way of his happiness, the way Lily chooses to see it.”

“Hmm, yes. A difficult impediment to a marriage.”

“Yes, and it doesn’t seem to matter a bit to her that I’m doing everything I can to help him.” Pascal banged his hand on the sill. “All Lily wants is for me to hand over her fortune to him so that he can throw it all away on God only knows what and ignore his responsibilities. But I won’t touch her money and I’m certainly not giving it to Jean-Jacques. So she hates me for that, too.”

Father Chabot’s shiny head bobbed up and down. “Yes. Yes, I see. It is a bit of a problem.”