Tender Fury (6 page)

“You have been talking to Duvall behind my back!” he accused angrily. “What did he tell you about Amalie?” His fingers dug hurtfully into her shoulders.

“I have not spoken to Marcel,” Gabby protested. “Please stop, Philippe, you are hurting me!”

“Where did you hear about Amalie?” he persisted, gripping her even harder.

“I overheard you and Marcel talking earlier today. I could not help it. I was resting inside the cabin when you stopped near the porthole. You both spoke so loudly I could not help but overhear.”

“Mon dieu,”
he cursed, releasing his hold upon her. “I had hoped you would not learn of her so soon, but since you have, I will not lie. She was my mistress.”

“Was or is?” asked Gabby contemptuously.

“That remains to be seen,” he answered archly. “As long as you continue to satisfy me I have no need of a mistress.”

The answer did not satisfy Gabby. She had been humiliated enough already without having to live in the same house with Philippe’s mistress. “I care not what you do, Philippe,” she said carelessly, “but as long as I am your wife, I refuse to have your mistress sharing my home. You will have to set her up elsewhere.”

Philippe laughed uproariously, but his laughter held no mirth. “You are truly amazing, Gabby,” he said, pulling her roughly into his arms. “Come, demonstrate to me how you intend to distract me from my mistress.”

Later, sleep eluded Gabby as she lay listening to Philippe’s even breathing. She thought of the hollow victory she had just won be remaining passive in Philippe’s arms. With a disgusted grunt he had rolled away from her when it was over, immediately falling asleep.

When Philippe’s light snoring told her he would not awaken easily, Gabby stealthily slid out of bed, donned a shift, threw a shawl around her shoulders and let herself quietly out the door. Once on deck she drew in great lungfuls of warm, salt-laden air. The deck was deserted except for the watch and the helmsman at the wheel. She leaned against the railing, a mystical figure whose wind-whipped, silvery locks appeared as illusive as angel wings beneath the shimmering moonbeams. Her mind drifted back to her life in the convent and how safe and secure she had felt. She sighed. Oh to be that innocent and protected again.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Gabby nearly jumped out of her skin as the voice materialized from out of nowhere. “I did not mean to startle you,
cherie
,” said Marcel.

“Oh, Marcel, you gave me quite a start,” breathed Gabby with a ragged sigh. “I couldn’t sleep and the night is so lovely.”

“It is indeed a beautiful night,” agreed Marcel. “Look at the moon,
cherie.
It is a lover’s moon.”

The moon hung in the sky like a huge, golden ball, its beams dancing amid the gentle swells like cavorting sea nymphs. A smile of delight curved Gabby’s lips.

“You should always smile,
cherie
,” Marcel whispered, his breath warm upon her face. “You outshine even the brightest star in the heavens.”

Gabby flushed becomingly. His presence, though welcome, made her uncomfortable, especially in view of the growing intimacy he displayed toward her.

“Do you ever visit Bellefontaine?” she asked, hoping to break the spell the moon and the night had cast upon them.

“Long ago, I did, but I am not welcome there anymore,” he answered lightly.

“Did you know Cecily?” She watched him closely for his reaction.

Her question all but floored Marcel who was startled by the directness of her query. “What do you know of Cecily?” he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Only what Philippe has told me,” she admitted. “I know that she was his wife and that she is dead.”

“Did he tell you how she died?”

Gabby’s eyes great large and luminous in the moonlight, her answer barely audible. “He said… he said… that he killed her.” Fear nearly strangled the words in her throat.

“Mon dieu!”
Marcel exclaimed uneasily. “If that is what he told you then it must be the truth. The exact cause of her death has never been made public, but according to rumor she had been strangled.”

Gabby started violently, clutching at her throat, causing Marcel to wish he had bitten his tongue rather than add to her distress. Hoping to still her fears, he drew her into his arms, and when she did not protest, ran his hand boldly down the silken curtain of her hair, coming to rest on the curve of her waist. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch and instinctively pulled her closer, feeling her body soft and pliant against his. Suddenly a great surge of tenderness welled up in him for the vulnerable, young girl in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to protect her forever.

“Marcel,” Gabby began timidly, “Philippe intimated that you had something to do with Cecily’s death.” She knew in her heart that if Marcel was in any way connected with the death of Philippe’s wife she could never accept his friendship.

“Sacre bleu!”
cursed Marcel. “I was not even present at the time of her death. I only befriended her,
cherie,
just as I would you. When Philippe’s raging jealousy became intolerable, she came to me and I welcomed her in my home. Philippe soon came after her, forcing her to return to Bellefontaine.”

“What happened then?”

Marcel paused dramatically, gazing upward as if scanning the heavens for an answer. “He forbid her to leave Bellefontaine for any reason, forcing himself on her again and again until she conceived. He mistakenly thought a child would tame her, bind her more closely to him.”

“What happened after she became pregnant? Why did he kill her?”

“To my regret I know nothing of the circumstances surrounding her death. Because Cecily came to me when she needed protection your husband somehow held me directly responsible for the events leading to her death. Believe me,
cherie,
” he said, his face a mask of innocence, “I am guilty of nothing more than succoring the poor girl in her hour of need. Philippe St. Cyr must face
le bon dieu
on judgment day, not I.”

“
Merci,
Marcel,” Gabby said, “for telling me this. How can I live with such a monster? Your words have given me courage. When the time comes I’ll know what to do.”

“Come to me when you need me,” offered Marcel blandly. “I will help you, whatever you wish to do.”

“My wish is to leave my husband,” avowed Gabby fervently. “I am well educated and I can earn my own way. I shall leave Martinique and take a post as governess someplace where Philippe won’t find me. If you could help me find such a position I would be eternally grateful.”

Marcel’s expressive face grew thoughtful. “My sister, Celeste, lives in New Orleans with her husband and children. They have a large home on Rue Dumaine and her three little ones are just about the age to require a governess. I will write to her and when you are ready to leave I will find a way to get you on a ship without Philippe’s knowledge. I could even arrange to go to New Orleans with you,
cherie,
so you would not be alone.”

Gabby wasn’t at all sure about Marcel going with her, but she was too appreciative of his efforts on her behalf to protest. “I must go, Marcel, before Philippe awakens and finds me gone,” she insisted, suddenly realizing how long she had been out of their cabin. She shuddered violently at the thought of having to climb back in bed with a murderer.

“Oui,
perhaps it is best,
cherie
. We do not want to arouse your husband’s suspicions if we are to safeguard our little secret.” Then, before she could protest, Marcel lowered his head and softly brushed her lips with his, his touch so gentle that after he released her she was uncertain whether his hands had lingered on her breasts or if she had just imagined it. Then he was lost in the swirling mist that arose from the sea.

Gabby held her breath as she reentered the cabin, slowly letting it out when she saw Philippe still sleeping peacefully. She crept into bed and moved as far away from him as possible. But he somehow sensed her movement and reached out to draw her tight against him. “You are so cold,
ma petite
,” he murmured, still half asleep. “Don’t pull away. How can I keep you warm if you draw away from me?” Finally Gabby gave up and snuggled into the curve of his body until his warmth lulled her to sleep.

Loud knocking and urgent voices outside the door startled them from sleep. Gabby sat up and clutched the blanket to her breasts while Philippe moved swiftly to pull on his pants before lurching to the door. An agitated and distraught cabin boy stood before Philippe wringing his hands and jabbering incoherently.

“The captain, Monsieur St. Cry,” he babbled, “it’s terrible. Please come quickly. The captain…”

Then Gabby heard no more because Philippe had closed the door. Moments later he stepped back into the room, his face taut and unreadable, his emotions held tightly at check. Only after he had dressed did he speak to her.

“Lock the door after I leave and let no one in,” he ordered brusquely.

“What is wrong, Philippe?” Gabby asked with growing alarm. “Has something happened to Captain Giscard?”

“Later,” he answered curtly. “Just do as I say.” Then he was gone. Gabby locked the door just as Philippe ordered and padded back to bed, speculating on the meaning of the cabin boy’s frightened words. There was nothing for her to do but wait for Philippe to return.

Philippe reached the deck just steps behind the cabin boy and surged ahead of him to the bridge where the large circle of men milled around a still figure lying on the deck in a pool of blood. Roughly Philippe pushed his way through until he stood beside the motionless form. But even before he examined him Philippe knew Captain Giscard was dead. The first mate, an experienced seaman named Mercier, was kneeling beside the body shaking his head sadly.

“What happened, Mercier?” Philippe asked brokenly. He had loved Henri Giscard like a brother but there was time later to give in to his grief.

“An accident, Monsieur St. Cyr,” the shaken first mate replied. “A terrible accident. Evidently the captain arose early this morning and reached the bridge before I did. Perhaps if I had been there a few moments earlier the captain would still be alive.”

“Go on, Mercier,” Philippe urged gently. He knelt beside the captain’s body, first examining the fearful wound in his neck and then the jagged weapon that had caused it.

“No one saw it happen,” lamented Mercier. “There was no outcry, no warning. The broken spar you see there came hurtling down from the rigging just as the captain stepped on the bridge. The poor man probably never knew what hit him. He died instantly. As you can see, the jagged end of the spar struck him in the neck, severing the jugular vein. He bled to death before anyone was aware of what had happened.”

Philippe tore his eyes from the captain’s body to gaze upward at the place where the spar had been broken. Then he examined the piece still embedded in the captain’s neck. Gritting his teeth, he deftly removed the instrument of death and studied it from every possible angle.

Frowning darkly, he asked, “How could something like this happen on my ship?” His steely gaze moved from man to man until finally alighting on Marcel Duvall who had just joined the circle of onlookers.

“I can only guess,” Mercier said with a puzzled shrug, “that the spar splintered when we were pounded by the storm we encountered a few weeks out of Brest and has been dangling, ready to drop off at any time. It must have become dislodged when the wind freshened this morning and Captain Giscard had the misfortune to step on the bridge at that exact moment.
Mon dieu,
” he cursed, eyeing the men gathered around him, “I will have someone’s head for such negligence!”

Philippe said nothing as he continued to study the deadly missile. After much thought he said, “Looks like it came from the gaff. Send one of the men up to see if they can find where.”

Immediately a seaman detached himself from the group and started up the rigging. Then Philippe and Mercier carried the captain’s body to his cabin to be prepared for burial. All the while Philippe’s mind worked furiously. He had not only lost an excellent captain but an old and trusted friend as well. He couldn’t help but think the accident too contrived, the timing too incredible. Besides, the jagged end of the spar that had killed Henri appeared much too sharp, as if a point had been whittled by hand. He was almost positive that Henri’s death was not an accident that it had something to do with the secret document they both had memorized and promised to deliver in New Orleans. With Henri gone, Philippe knew that the life and death of an entire city, maybe entire nation, depended upon him. The responsibility was awesome.

When Philippe had first entered Henri Giscard’s cabin he had immediately sensed that something was wrong but could not put his finger on it. Suddenly it came to him; the cabin was too neat, as if everything had been put in order. It was not in Henri’s nature to be so orderly. Even maps and papers that usually lay scattered carelessly about were piled neatly in stacks. That was not at all like Henri who could reach for whatever document he wanted amid the disarray. He had often chided Henri about his sloppy habits but the good-natured captain had only laughed and said housekeeping was a woman’s job. There was no doubt in Philippe’s mind that Henri’s cabin had been thoroughly searched and each article put back into place more neatly than it had been before. Of one thing Philippe was certain; whoever had searched the cabin had not found what he was seeking. Once Henri had read the secret document and put it in the safe, Philippe had returned to the cabin, and, unbeknownst to Henri, had retrieved the papers. Being owner of the ship he naturally had the combination of the safe. The document now lay hidden at the bottom of Gabby’s trunk. Upon further thought Philippe had every reason to believe that his own life was in danger.

Later, when Philippe returned to his own cabin, Gabby’s heart immediately went out to him when she noticed the fine lines etched around his mouth and across his forehead. It was as if he had aged ten years in just a couple of hours. “Philippe, tell me what has happened!” she cried when he walked tiredly into the room. “I can hear voices and everyone seems to be in a state of shock.”