Distant Fires (17 page)

She often thought back to that long ago day, when Louise had come to visit...their laughter in the garden ... Helene had thought that there had been a reason for her joie de vivre and she was right.  
 

Louise, she now knew, was indeed involved in an intrigue; an affair of the heart. And although she had not been aware of the identity of the gentleman, it was not long before she did. It happened innocently enough, when she and her daughter Sophie went to the former Intendants’ residence to offer their services to Louise in readying items for auction, and witnessed through an open door, her reading of a love poem, whilst clutching a small portrait of the man, tears streaming down her face. In an instant, it became clear. These were not the tears of an acquaintance for another, but that of a bereft lover, in deep and inconsolable pain.    
 

Helene wanted to extend her understanding, relieve Louise in some way, but she liked her far too much, to further her fear of discovery. Instead, she swore her daughter to secrecy, and began an intermittent correspondence with Louise which lasted these many years, and nary a reference to this knowledge.
 

Nicholas had grown into quite a handsome man, much taller than his father, though not altogether, different. His face was, in fact, a blend of both parents; light skinned, with a small expressive mouth, a straight, slightly large nose, and deep blue eyes with hooded lids that lent him a dreamy, pensive aspect. Being in the military and a member of the aristocracy, his bearing was correct and manners impeccable, though free of the airs and the supercilious posturing of his peers.  
 

He had spent so much time with the Giralds that, over the years, he had virtually become a member of the family. Unfortunately, since Alexandre’s marriage, he was seen at their table less and less. She had held a secret hope that he might seek to marry her eldest daughter, Sophie, but she could plainly see that there was no attraction, and certainly such a union would bring no financial benefit, if indeed, it were a consideration.
 

He kissed her hand. “Have a good rest; I may see you on the morrow,” he said, as she passed through the door into the corridor, lifting her heavy skirts.
 

Stepping out the rear door terrace, he looked up into the starry sky and drank in the warm night air, feeling the effects of the brandy. There was a full moon—a time for mischief and madness. Perhaps he was in for a little of both.
 

The summer house was mainly used as an indoor centre for cultivating plants early in the season, and for gardening tools and supplies, but had a small table and chairs with a cot in the back corner, once used by the old gardener—the new one resided in town.
 

He rapped quietly on the rickety door, until a tearful voice replied,
 

 “Come in.”  
 

Seated on a chair by the table was Sophie, wringing a crumpled handkerchief between her fingers. Her face, while not pretty, was capable of turning some heads, and was now clean of rouge and powder, glowing in the light of a single candle.
 

He was tempted to leave.  
 

 “Please, sit by me here,” she said, sensing his instincts as she gestured to the chair.  “You must understand,” she began, trailing off. “I did not know where to turn... You see, it concerns my brother...”  
 

She paused for a moment. “Would you like a drink?” she asked, pouring a goblet of claret placed on the table in front of him.  
 

He did not want another drink, but accepted because it had been offered.  
 

“You see,” she went on, as he tossed it back, “I am aware of the value you place upon my brother’s friendship, and it is for this reason I am wont to tell you of his dealings.”
 

Fortunately the claret seemed to be going down smoothly, and she quickly refilled his goblet. Pausing to wipe her nose, she continued, the words spilling forth like a well-rehearsed monologue.  
 

“You see, although I cannot reveal my sources, it appears that Alexandre has been involved in a serious affair...a kind of conspiracy of thieves, which involves stealing from our friends and other prominent members of our society, then selling or trading the items to English traders, at great profit. Is it not horrifying?” she stated, shrilly. “My own dear brother involved in such a scheme? Of course, no one in the family must know. Should the conspirators turn against him, or the authorities suspect, he will certainly have to answer for the consequences.”
 

Had he not been fortified with Spirits, this ugly revelation would have toppled him. No, there must be some mistake; his friend Alexandre was not capable of such acts of treachery.  He was an honest, law-abiding young man, who, other than showing a penchant for the ladies prior to his marriage, could not be considered anything but honourable.  
 

How could he, Nicholas, be so poor a judge of character that he fails to see these traits? To involve oneself in theft was a serious enough charge, but to trade with the English...the penalty was hanging...
 

“Sophie, you must tell me where you received this information,” he slurred, as frantically as his drunken state allowed. “I cannot help you, unless I am certain of its truth.”
 

She looked at him and burst into hysterical sobs, causing him to kneel rather unsteadily with his arms about her, in an attempt to console. His head began to spin, and it was all he could do to keep his balance. “I have been sworn not to reveal his identity, he promised to...to kill me...”
 

None of this seemed to make sense, and moreover, he was given to ever-increasing dizziness.  
 

He heard her vaguely state: “Is there something wrong with you, Nicholas? I am very sorry to have troubled you... Perhaps the libation was too strong...” He had risen, and she was assisting him to walk, “Here, I will help you to lay down...no, you must not do that! Stop that!...”  He heard her yell as she pushed and pulled at his body, but he was not aware of what he was doing wrong, and soon, words and thoughts trailed into nothingness…
 

Chapter 12
 

He awoke to the sound of songbirds scolding each other loudly on the rooftop, just as the sun was beginning to lighten the shadows.
 

His head was pounding. But a movement, a little moan at his back, caused him to turn and nearly fall out of bed.
 

There beside him, lay Sophie, the bodice of her gown, torn slightly, while the skirts were lifted above her bare thighs, and on it, traces of blood.  
 

When he jerked back in shock, her eyes came awake and, within an instant, fixated in horror, welling up with tears.
 

“Why?!” She hissed, in anger and despair, “Why did you do it?  I... I thought you were my friend...a...a gentleman!” She sat up slightly, rubbing her forehead with her hand in tremendous anguish, and broke down.
 

“I struggled with you,” she finally managed to say through heaving sobs, “...pleaded with you, and still you forced your drunken way upon me... How could you...?
 

He looked at himself and saw that he had scratches on his chest, where his uniform opened, and his pants were undone.  He swiftly covered himself, attempting to sit up, racking his brain to make some sense of the situation.
 

Had he, in fact, taken advantage of this woman, thrown himself on her in this base and disgusting manner, when he had never felt any attraction for her before? True, he had been drinking... He remembered now... They were talking about...whom? ...Ah, yes, Armand... Conspiracy of thieves... And then she began to cry, almost hysterically, and he put his arms abound her and tried to console her...and ...Yes, there was a struggle, and he recalled her saying, “Stop?”... And then he lay down, and there was movement and confusion...
 

Had he truly committed such an act… could he, when he was totally unaware? He had only her word for it, and the physical evidence on each of them. She certainly appeared injured and shaken.
 

The recriminations continued: “...You, who have always known how to treat a lady...have stooped to this?! If you wanted me, why did you not proceed with a proper courtship? Had I only
known of your desires... I might have given you my consideration, but...To take my virtue...In such a manner!” she began to cry more loudly.
 

The weeping and terrible guilt caused his head to throb, culminating in a need to escape at that very moment.  
 

“I cannot express my feelings adequately... You must try to forgive me.  I... if I have committed this grievous act, I will bear the consequences, and do right by you, of that, you need not fear.”            
 

He shook his head, “Please,” we must go now, the sun is almost risen and soon the entire household will be about ... “ He helped her gather her things. “Do not tell anyone about ... This,” he whispered, fearfully,
 

 “I will contact you again, very soon, and we shall discuss it further.”  
 

He opened the door a crack. He was lucky. All was quiet, save the chirping of the birds.
 

 “I shall leave first,” he said, straightening his uniform, “give me five minutes, then you follow...”
 

With that, he stepped out onto the dewy grass, as the sun was beginning to rise, with a monumental headache, an aching body, and a mind full of confused thoughts, not knowing how surely he had sealed his fate.
 

A little over five weeks elapsed, and in that time he had sent several messages in an effort to arrange a meeting, but had met with no success.  
 

She was either out or “indisposed”, and he prayed that it signalled her recovery from the ordeal, and was willing to forgive and forget. He was just at the point of accepting the latter when a missive arrived, which carried the alarming news. She had recently learned that she was indeed pregnant.  Although she forgave him, she was beside herself with fear and anguish. What did he wish her to do?  
 

The answer was clear. He was a gentleman. He had no choice but to follow through on his promise.  
 

After mulling over his dilemma for several days, he realized he had no option, but to formally ask Monsieur Girald for his daughter’s hand, and the need for an early date. Wedding plans were set in motion.  
 

His second concern related her brother, and though he broached it several times, the question of Alexandre’s involvement in illicit activity was never satisfactorily explained, other than to say that her unnamed source later claimed to have fabricated the story. He realized that she might have purposely set the scene for what had happened, but the physical evidence could not refute the fact.
 

She made him promise that, in order to begin their marriage on solid ground, neither issue was ever to be mentioned. He reluctantly gave his word. He was not in love with her, but she was pleasant enough, during the course of their brief engagement, to lead him to suppose that she might be an amiable companion, there were no displays of temper or domination; she seemed merely content to plan her trousseau and share with him the exciting event.  
 

The wedding was elaborate, but strangely surreal.  He felt more like a spectator watching himself in a play; reciting the words of another character.
 

The first few days of wedded bliss were pleasant enough, but by the end of the second week, her true spirit came to light.
 

Now that she had been made the new “Duchesse de Belaise”, she demanded a large abode in upper town, replete with servants, stables and all the accoutrements of privilege.  
 

When the ship arrived from France, a week after the wedding, she embarked on a spending spree, buying the finest materials for draperies and clothing, employing the most skilled craftsmen to design furniture and nursery items.  
 

Not only did she set out to exhaust his personal resources, but also she expected him to attend her needs; even while commanding his post at the garrison, setting out a social agenda, impossible to meet.
 

He believed she was pregnant; he had seen her body, noticed the changes.  
 

Although hopeful that the incident before marriage would cause her to shy away from physical relations, she appeared much the opposite, predatory, almost voracious, in her needs.  Being a man of normal appetites, he succumbed to her overtures in the early weeks, but before long, her heavy handed demands and cloying nature, began to take its toll.  He felt it not worth the temporary release, and, to her evident displeasure, excused himself from contact, for the sake of the child.
 

Not a day past, that he did not curse his stupidity, long to exchange the years spent as a carefree bachelor, with the discreet few whom had claimed his bed for brief, unobtrusive periods, for this a quagmire of financial and emotional servitude. It pained him to think of what lay ahead, charting an unsatisfying course, over an act of his own making.   
 

Several days before the expedition, a few ill chosen words of mild reproach over her extravagances, blew into a maelstrom, that re-emphasized his discontent and alienation.  
 

 “Might I not have something to amuse myself, during the time I am alone.  Would you deny me even the smallest pleasure?”  She bemoaned, tearfully, “it is fine for you... You may do as you please... But, what am I to do in this state...?”  Wielding the requisite accusatory tone
designed to incite his guilt, she gestured, dramatically, to her swollen waistline. “Was this my doing?”