“She may yet be,” Richard said quietly.
“What?”
“Christina and I are together now.” As soon as he said it, he realized it had probably been a mistake. This would certainly be difficult to explain.
“What about Guy?”
“He’s treated her very badly.”
“He’s gone bad, that one. I don’t know what he did to Antonio, but he was never the same after Marco died. Then when Christina married Guy, it destroyed him. I can’t see why he allowed it. She belonged to you.”
“I know.”
“But what can you do? You’ll be the Baron when I’m gone. You need a legal wife.”
“Robert thinks he may be able to get an annulment.” He was reaching for some explanation that would placate his father. Richard had never even thought about the possibility of an annulment.
“But after so long?”
“There’ve been no children.”
“Bah!” Louis said, waving his hand weakly in dismissal. “Challenge him! Make her a widow! You can marry a widow.” He winked at Richard—the first hint of the old Louis.
How many times have I thought the same thing
,
Richard wondered.
“I just want to know that you’ve got an heir.”
“Papa, Christina’s pregnant.”
Louis laughed—not quite the reaction Richard expected.
“Well done, boy! Maybe Guy will challenge
you
, then.”
His enthusiasm set off another fit of coughing and when Richard had calmed him, he left him to rest.
Richard returned to his room to change back into his habit. Seeing his father again had not been at all what he expected. He loved his father. And seeing him that way made him realize that, in spite of his weakened condition, he was still the same old Louis. Now he seemed trapped, somehow, in a frail, aged body.
Had the Greeks been right? Are we all just souls consigned to these bodies for a brief span of time on this earth, bound to return again to experience a different life in a different body?
Christina took advantage of the unseasonably pleasant weather and walked out to the cemetery to visit the tomb where her family now rested. Opening the iron gate, she entered the little mausoleum, the sound of her footsteps echoing off of the marble that surrounded her.
She sat down on the narrow carved bench in the center of the space and looked up at the wall of vaults before her. There were nine spaces on the side she faced, only three of which were covered with marble panels bearing the names of her beloved family. Her mother, her father, and her dear Marco now rested here, at Beauvu. Everyone she loved and cared about was dead, except Richard
.
Richard. He was all she had left in the world. And then she remembered there was someone else, the child she carried. Richard’s child.
Christina was leaving Provence. Richard would be taking her to Corsica in the very near future and so she took leave of her family. She told her father that though what he had done to her was wrong, she loved him and forgave him. And she told her wonderful brother how sorry she was that he wasn’t here to share his life with her, how she’d dreamed of having his wife for her sister and of watching their children grow up together. And she told all three of them that she was safe now, and if she was never able to visit them again, they must always remember how much she loved them.
The following morning Louis asked to see Richard again. Richard changed into his regular clothes and stepped out into the hall. There he found little Thérèse, Cybelle’s youngest who had just celebrated her first birthday, tottering toward him on unsteady legs. When she saw him, she let out a delighted squeal and started to move more quickly. As she did, each step came faster than the last in an attempt to keep from falling on her face. She reached him just as it seemed impossible that she could continue to remain upright. He scooped her up, lifting her high in the air.
“And just exactly where do you think you’re going in such a hurry, Mademoiselle
?
”
Thérese laughed with delight just as Lauro appeared in the doorway of Cybelle’s room.
“I was wondering where she’d got to,” he said as he came to meet Richard, followed by the child’s nurse. “This one’s fast, believe me. One minute she’s there, the next she’s disappeared completely.”
Richard turned the wriggling Thérèse over to her father, who passed her off to her nurse after giving her a big noisy kiss that set off a fit of giggles.
Richard motioned Lauro into his room, closing the door to allow them some privacy.
“It is good to see you,” Lauro said with feeling as they embraced, “And, I have to say, looking more like yourself in those clothes. The Church’s couture does nothing for you, my friend.”
“You look well, too, Lauro. Is it really all right for the two of you?”
“Yes. We’re very happy. I can’t believe my good fortune, and I have you to thank.”
“Nonsense. You have nothing to thank me for. When I left you with Cybelle that day, I felt as though I’d abandoned you in very hostile territory.”
Lauro laughed. “I have to admit that for the first few months I thought maybe you had. But she was hurt, Richard. Badly.”
“I know. I’m so happy you could help her. She’s really a good woman. She just needs to be loved.”
“I know, and believe me, she is.”
“How is it with Raymond?”
“I think he’s grateful that I took her off his hands. He doesn’t spend much time at home now, but there’s been no problem with him accepting the children. He treats them all the same. In fact, I think he’s quite proud of them. He treats me very decently, as well, and even manages to be kind to Cybelle. It’s all worked out much better than we could have hoped.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“I meant what I said yesterday, Richard. I owe you a tremendous debt. Feel free to collect any time.”
When Richard entered his father’s room, Louis seemed even paler than he had the day before, his breathing more labored. Robert said the fluid in his lungs was preventing him from breathing properly, but there was little that could be done beyond giving him a mild sedative to keep him from exerting himself and bringing on another fit of coughing.
“Papa?” Richard said, as he sat down by the bed. “I’m here.”
Louis opened his eyes and tried to smile. “I’m so happy you came. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of all of you. You boys have all become good men, and kind men. You are kind, aren’t you Richard?”
“I try to be.” Had his kindness hurt Arabella in the end?
“That’s what it means to be a man. You must be strong, but you must also be kind. People these days forget that, but it’s important. Kindness still means something in this world where everyone has become so greedy.” Louis stopped, seeming to ruminate on that thought for a minute.
“This family has more than enough. You and your children, theirs and their grandchildren after them, could live on what we’ve accumulated, even if we never did another thing to further our fortune. But what would happen if we gave up the business? How many families who depend on us for their living would suffer? Tremendous responsibility comes with this great wealth, my boy.”
This was an old theme. Louis had always impressed upon Richard their obligation to the people who depended on their family in one way or another for their livelihood.
“Right here at Beauvu,” Louis continued, “there are two hundred and thirty-eight people, if you count all the family members. More than enough to take care of one old man, don’t you think? But what should I do? Turn them out because I don’t need them anymore? This land supports them, just as it supports us. If they weren’t here to tend the fields and the gardens, we wouldn’t eat. And even during the grain shortages and the other hard times, we’ve had enough because our people work hard and so they’ve had enough, too.
“Always keep the land productive, Richard. Even if all else fails, it will feed your people and it will feed you.”
“Papa, you’re tiring yourself. You should rest.” Richard stood up.
“No, wait. There’s something else.” Louis directed Richard to the little hidden drawer at the very top of his tall chest of drawers. Richard returned to his bedside with a thick envelope sealed with the baronial seal.
“In 1733, your mother asked me to try to find her sister Delphine while I was in Venice. Madeleine hadn’t heard from her in nearly two years and she was quite concerned. The poor girl had run off with an artist, and when she turned up pregnant, her family disowned her. When your mother told me, I said she should bring her sister here to Beauvu, but your mother couldn’t get her to answer her letters.”
Richard waited patiently for his father to catch his breath. It was obviously important to Louis that he tell this story.
“Anyway, I finally managed to find her, poor thing. She was living in a slum, abandoned by the artist and trying her best to raise two little boys. I tried to get her to come back with me, but she refused. I think she must have been too ashamed to see your mother after what had happened.” Louis coughed and it was a few minutes before he could recover and continue.
“So, I found her a decent place to live and arranged that she have an income so they would be comfortable, and so the children could have an education when the time came. Delphine began to write to your mother again, but she still refused to come and live with us. I checked on her each time I was in Venice.” Louis paused but this time it wasn’t for breath.
“Papa, what is it?”
“I loved your mother, Richard, you must believe that.”
“I do.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen—Delphine was so grateful for my help, and she was so like your mother—only three years younger than my Madeleine.”
“Yes?”
“There was a child…a boy. Giovanni…Giovanni Scotti. She gave him the name of that horrible man who’d abandoned her.”
“Are you saying I have a brother out there somewhere?” This piece of news came as quite a shock to Richard.
“I don’t know. I’ve lost them. I don’t know what happened. I never saw her after 1740. I continued to send her money, of course, but then her letters stopped in 1752, about three months after Marcel died. Guy took over the responsibility of getting the money to her, but he said Delphine no longer came for it, said a man picked it up and insisted he didn’t know where she lived, only that he left it with someone else who gave it to her. I had someone check, of course, but she’s no longer living at the place I found for her.
“So you don’t know what happened to the boy?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since he was about three. Delphine thought it best that we didn’t see each other. Even after your mother died, she wouldn’t see me. But she wrote regularly and said the boy was doing well in his studies and that I should be proud of him.”
“Did he know you were his father?”
“No. She said she’d never tell him. She thought it best. Bastard sons of wealthy men are often unhappy. She told him instead that his father had left him a small inheritance to provide for his education. I always thought that I could see him, could tell him when he was grown. I could easily have provided him with a fortune of his own, and I would have. But I wanted to know the boy first.”
“What do you want me to do?” Richard asked. “Do you want me to try to find him?”
“No, no. What’s done is done. He could be dead, for all I know. Maybe he died and she wanted to keep the income. She might have been afraid to tell me. I just don’t know. But whatever the reason, I’ve lost touch. I want you to be sure the money continues to go to Venice. I like to believe that she’s still getting it.” Louis relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes for a few minutes.
“Papa, why have you told me this?”
“I just wanted you to know that if some day a man tries to tell you that he’s your bastard brother, you might listen to him. And if he’s a good man—if you think him worthy—give him that envelope. It acknowledges him as my son. It will insure him a fortune of his own.”
Louis began to cough then, and it was impossible for him to get his breath. For a few minutes, Richard thought he would be lost to them. Finally, it passed. When Louis opened his eyes again, he tried to smile at his son.
“You know, after all these years I realize I’m afraid to die. When you’re young you don’t really think about it, but now, now that it’s so close, I have to admit that it frightens me.”
Once again, Richard took his father’s hand in both of his. He was touched. He, too, was finding it hard to believe Louis would soon be gone.
“Papa,” Richard said gently, “I’ve been doing some translation work for Robert, some interesting ancient Greek manuscripts, religious texts from a group that called themselves Orphics and though what I’m working from are much later copies, the originals were probably written as early as 230 B.C.
“These Orphics believed that we’re all individual souls, sent from God to live out our lives on this earth, life after life, each time in a new place, in a new time and a new body until we at last achieve perfection in our soul and return to God. Between lives they say that we choose what we want to learn the next time, and are then born into a situation that will allow us to experience the lesson. It’s much like some of Plato’s stories in
The Republic
.”
Louis laughed weakly. “Those Greeks! Too much sun in those islands—confuses a man’s thinking. They begin to think that a man can serve the same purpose as a woman. But I like the part about getting a new body. I’m afraid this one’s quite worn out.” He coughed a little, not seeming to have the strength to do more.
“Rest, Papa,” Richard said softly as he leaned over to kiss his father’s waxen cheek. “I’ll be back.”
Richard returned to his room and changed back into his brown robe before seeking out Robert. They went to Louis’s study and Richard told him his father’s story about his Aunt Delphine and the child.
“Under the circumstances, I think this would be safest with you,” he said, handing Robert the envelope that acknowledged his missing brother.
“I’ll be happy to keep it for you. But what do you think has happened to Delphine?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to go to Venice myself one of these days and see if I can find out.”