The Unfortunate Son (25 page)

“
Father
was innocent, too.”

“That’s not my point. Don’t you remember how unfair and how terrible it was to be tainted by the supposed crimes of someone else?”

As they walked on without talking, Beatrice kicked a pebble. Cadeau rushed forward and pounced on the pebble. But when the dog found it was just a stone, he dropped it and turned to Beatrice, wagging his tail and waiting for a new game.

Bertrand smiled. “He’s a great dog.”

Beatrice nodded.

“You know, there were three puppies in the litter when Louis’s dog and Cadeau were born,” said Bertrand.

“Three? Who has the other dog?” she asked.

“Louis’s father killed it.”

Beatrice stopped and frowned at her uncle.

He nodded and continued, “Louis was home for Christmas when the litter was born. I was visiting. I’ll never forget it. The third puppy was a lovely female, perfect in every way, except she had a pink nose.
She
was the puppy Louis wanted. But the old count took one look at that nose, and he wrung the little creature’s neck.”

“How horrible!” gasped Beatrice. “What’s wrong with a pink nose?”

“Nothing. But it should have been black. The old count hated anything imperfect. Like his tiny thumbs? He would have cut them off if he could have attached normal ones.”

Beatrice covered her mouth. She said nothing, but she thought of Luc.

Bertrand shook his head and stopped. “Louis knows all too well the pain his father caused. Can you imagine what his childhood was like?”

“You were pages together, right?” asked Beatrice, thinking about Louis for the first time.

“Since we were seven. Louis was lucky that he spent at least part of his youth in a distant castle as a page to a good
man. And away from his father. You won’t find a better person than Louis anywhere. Besides, Beatrice, if you believe Luc is his brother, then the old count was Luc’s father too. Can you forgive one son and not the other?”

Beatrice sighed.

Bertrand took her hands and stood back, looking at her.

“You are as loyal as you are beautiful. Almost perfect,” he said.

“Almost?” asked Mattie, who had caught up to Bertrand and Beatrice in the garden.

“Yes. She is a rather stubborn creature,” he said, still holding her hands.

Beatrice pulled back her hands and walked a few steps away to talk to the gardener about where to transplant some bluebells. Then she turned and linked her arm in Bertrand’s, and they walked on.

“You are a very good man, Uncle, and a good friend.”

“It is time we start looking for a suitor for you, Beatrice,” said Bertrand.

“Amen to that,” added Mattie, walking a few steps behind.

“Are you both trying to get rid of me?” Beatrice asked.

“No, anything but,” said Bertrand. “But maybe then you will give up this hopeless search for Luc. First, let’s get rid of that old gray dress. We’ll have a beautiful new dress made for you.”

“Of blue silk?” laughed Beatrice.

Bertrand nodded, and the three ambled back to the house, where they found Louis waiting in the hall, looking somber. He was sitting on the edge of a bench with his dog at his feet. The dog wagged its tail and began to play with Cadeau.

“Hello, Beatrice, Bertrand. Hello, Mattie,” said Louis, standing.

“Hello, Louis. Is something wrong?” asked Bertrand.

“Beatrice. I have news.” His face was pale, and his lips were pursed.

“News? News of Luc?” asked Beatrice, stopping.

“Yes, there was a rumor of a slave with one ear in a port near the city of Tunis.”

Beatrice clapped her hands.

“Where is Tunis?” asked Mattie.

“In Africa. But wait,” cautioned Louis. “Despite a large reward, no one has come up with the boy.”

“But they will. They must,” said Beatrice.

“No, Beatrice. My agents have heard that that boy is dead.”

“No, no, no,” said Beatrice, covering her mouth with a hand and shaking her head. Then she looked up. “But that’s just a rumor, isn’t it? They don’t know that for certain?”

“I believe it is a report. I do not know that it is confirmed.”

“So we don’t know that he is
not
alive. And now we know better where to look,” said Beatrice.

Louis shook his head. “My agents say it is time to give up.”

Beatrice began to cry. Mattie took the girl into her arms and held her tightly. When she could speak again, Beatrice wiped her eyes and turned to Louis.

“Would you quit now if you were searching for a brother? Because of a rumor?” she asked.

Bertrand frowned at his niece. “Beatrice, be reasonable. Louis has committed a fortune to this hunt. You must accept that the boy is not alive.”

Beatrice pulled away from Mattie and stepped back from everyone. Her face was streaked and red, and she glared at Louis.

“The count did not answer my question.”

Louis pressed his knuckles to his lips and looked hard at Beatrice. “Luc isn’t my brother. I have looked for him because it was right. I am sorry that the news is not better, but Luc is lost, forever.”

“If you believed he was your brother, would you abandon him?” demanded Beatrice.

Louis sighed, “He is not my brother.”

“You are wrong, my lord,” snapped Beatrice.

“Beatrice, hold your tongue,” said Bertrand.

Louis continued, “My baby brother, Francis, is buried in the family tomb in our chapel. I don’t know who Luc was, but he wasn’t my brother. I agree that he had some connection to my father’s household. Perhaps he was Sir Guy’s bastard.”

“You never questioned Blanche, did you?”

“Blanche?”

“The woman who raised Luc.”

“Alain questioned her husband.”

“Pascal had everything to lose by admitting the truth.”

“Alain assured the man that he would lose nothing.”

“Alain gave him your word?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice smiled. “
Your
word? The word of Count de Muguet?”

“
My
word, yes.”

“Those people would never trust your word. They know nothing of you, and they knew the worst of your father. Would they confess that they had lost the count’s son? How terrified they must be to hear your dreaded name, Muguet!”

“Beatrice, you go too far!” said Bertrand, stepping between Beatrice and Louis.

“I know. But I also know what it is to be abandoned, my lord,” said Beatrice, turning away from everyone.

“Can’t you call me by my Christian name?” asked Louis quietly.

“Yes,” said Beatrice, but she did not.

“Do you know why I have searched for the boy?” asked Louis, standing right behind her.

Beatrice turned and looked at Louis. “You said you searched because it was right.”

“Yes. And to secure your forgiveness.”

“Mine?”

“Is it too much to hope that you will forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?”

“Forgive me for being a Muguet. For what my father did to your father. And for what that did to you.”

Beatrice said nothing. She hid her tear-streaked face in her hands.

“I am so sorry, Louis,” said Bertrand, putting an arm around Beatrice’s shoulders. “She’s very emotional about the boy. About everything. Forgive her. Forgive me.”

Louis looked at Beatrice for a moment, blinking very slowly.

“I’m sorry,” said Louis, holding up his hand and looking down. “Good-bye.”

He turned and left.

SALAH SIPPED FROM a cup that Bes held to his lips. He brushed away the little man and whispered for Luc. Salah was a husk, winnowed to bone and skin. Luc was astonished to find Cat sitting in the old man’s lap, purring. Salah stroked the cat with his good hand. Luc shielded the parrot on his shoulder as he leaned in to hear Salah.

“I must tell you about ransom.”

“I know, Salah. Tariq told me.”

“Forgive me?”

The old man coughed.

Luc nodded and covered Salah’s hand with his. “I owe you everything.”

The parrot hopped from Luc’s shoulder to his head. Cat
didn’t move, but he followed the bird with his eyes. The boy rose and put the bird on its perch as Salah turned to Bes.

“Box.”

Bes went to a shelf and, standing on his toes, stretched for a thick leather book and tipped it out. The old man nodded, and Bes opened the book: inside, the pages had been carved out so that the middle of the book was hollow. Bes removed a fitted leather box that held a leather pouch and a folded sheet of paper.

“Cup your hands, Luc,” whispered Salah.

Bes poured the sack’s contents into Luc’s palms: five huge pearls, a handful of large diamonds and rubies, and more than two dozen heavy gold coins.

“This is yours, Luc,” said Bes. “The master has given the same to me. Here is the paper setting you free.”

Salah closed his eyes. His breathing was ragged, and he dozed. Luc poured the treasure back into the sack and tied it inside a larger pouch that hung from his belt. Then he sat on the floor across from Bes and next to Salah.

He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “This is more than I thought to earn in a lifetime. In several lifetimes.”

“And Tariq has offered to make you far richer,” said Bes. “I heard him.”

“Yes. I thought I had lost everything, but now?” Luc took Salah’s hand and covered it with his other hand. “This is enough for anything.” Luc shook his head. “Maybe it’s enough even for Beatrice.”

“Beatrice? Is that a place?” asked Bes.

“No, Beatrice is the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“And she lives where you came from?”

“Yes.”

“Is her father as rich as Tariq?”

Luc laughed.

“Richer?” asked Bes, wide-eyed.

“She has no fortune.”

“Stupid man. Will you marry her?” asked Bes.

Luc shrugged. “I never thought I was good enough.”

“Now that you are rich, you are?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know, Bes. She may have married someone else. What do I want?” Luc looked around at Salah’s room; then he turned to Bes and said, “I used to want my old life back. But not now. I no longer know what I want. I don’t even know who I am. After Salah is gone, I must go back and find out.”

“Take me. I will serve you.”

“You are as rich as I am. Why would you serve me?”

“I will lose all that Salah gave me, and then I will be on the street.”

“You do not have to lose it,” said Luc.

“I will, though.”

“I thought you were a god.”

“I am Bes,” said the little man. He held a pearl between
his thumb and his forefinger. He rolled it in the sunlight, catching the nacreous sheen. “Pearls are wondrous, Luc. Had you ever seen one before?”

“Not before I came to this house.”

“They are formed when an oyster swallows a moonlit dewdrop. Pearls are scarce, but one this large and perfect is as rare as a man with one ear,” said the little man with a half smile. “Take my treasure, Luc. And me.”

“Bes—”

Bes put his finger to his lips and handed Luc the pearl.

Then Bes held out his fist to Luc. He turned and opened his hand, and offered Luc the wooden ear. Luc took the ear and looked at Bes.

Neither noticed that Salah had awakened and was listening, watching.

“Luc,” he whispered.

“Yes, master,” said Luc, leaning in.

“Forgive.”

The old man closed his eyes and coughed softly. Then his breathing sputtered, slowed, and stopped, until the only sound was the purr of Cat. The old man died with Bes and Luc each holding one of his hands.

IT WAS AUGUST, and the fields were a patchwork of color: gold wheat, green barley, and purple lavender. Beatrice joined her uncle and his servants to bring wine, cheese, bread, and onions to a wheat-field where the harvesters were binding armfuls of straw into toast-smelling bundles. She wore a new blue silk dress with a rose linen underdress that was trimmed with crimson ribbon along her collarbone and wrists. Her hair was braided, weaving in twists of the same red ribbon, and the braid was pinned up in back so that her long neck was bare. The sun was hot, and, for once, Beatrice wished she had worn a hat.

“Louis never visits anymore,” said Beatrice, taking Bertrand’s arm as they strolled back toward the manor.

“No,” said Bertrand. “He refuses my invitations. When I attempt to visit him at the castle, he’s always away or too occupied to see me.”

“It’s my fault, isn’t it, Uncle?”

“That business about Luc was very painful.”

Beatrice knelt in front of Cadeau, who was walking at her side. She laid her head on the dog’s neck and stroked his head.

“I’ve been very selfish. I never considered Louis in all this. Or you, Uncle. Louis is your dearest friend.”

“Yes, he is.”

Bertrand patted his niece’s shoulder. He was dressed in a tunic of the same blue silk, and he wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with a golden feather.

“And you were right, he has nothing of his father in him,” she said, looking up at her uncle.

“Just the burden of his father’s bad deeds.”

Beatrice stood up and asked, “Shall I write to him? To tell him how sorry I am? How unfair I was?”

“That would be very good, I think,” he said, offering her his arm. “That new dress suits you. You look especially beautiful today, Niece. Now let’s see your pretty garden. I love all the yellows and blues.”

Beatrice cocked her head and glanced at him. “The colors, eh, Uncle?”

Before they reached the garden gate, Beatrice heard hurried steps on the pebbled path, and Cadeau barked. When
she and Bertrand turned, they found Louis, walking quickly to catch up with them.

“Hello, my friend,” said Bertrand, clapping Louis on the back. “We were just talking about you. I’ve missed you.”

Louis nodded, but said nothing. He fell in next to Bertrand.

“
We
have,” said Beatrice softly.

“We’re going to see my niece’s garden. Will you join us?” asked Bertrand.

Louis nodded. He was dressed in a muslin tunic and ragged hose. His straight dark hair was damp, and he brushed it back from his forehead. He looked more like a field-worker than the lord of a great castle.