Authors: D.A. Woodward
“How did you notice me, in the greatness of the cathedral?” I whispered back.
“The colour of your cloak, Madame. Unlike some, I am afraid my memory is my curse. I do not forget...anything.”
He uttered this in such a way that the true meaning was not lost. My palms grew wet, and I felt a tightening in my throat, at the thought of any boldness he might venture. To my horror, in less time than it took to ponder, he had left his seat, and assumed a position next to me.
For a few, lingering moments, all was silent. Then, fearing his precipitous behaviour, I attempted an abrupt change in conversational tone.
“Well, Monsieur, and how do you now find life in the colony, with your newfound responsibilities? Are they equal to the challenge?”
He replied in a low, measured manner, with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Indeed Madame, provided the endeavour results in the satisfaction of...conquest.” His grey eyes narrowed on me, sharply, then slowly looked away. “One’s regard for another is so often measured by such attainments, and I seek to be accorded their favour.”
“You have surely done so, Monsieur,” I acknowledged, deferentially. “It is said, your title has been well-earned. Felippe is effusive in his praise of your abilities.”
He seemed about to offer a comment, but stilled his tongue, surprising me with an innocent turn of topic. “Do you often attend worship during midweek, at this, rather than your personal chapel?” He enquired, after an incommodious lapse.
I explained the reason for my presence this particular day, and went on to say that my church was of great comfort to me.
“I do not purport to be a religious man, myself,” he said, the harshness in his voice suddenly replaced by a low mellifluousness. “Yet, I do know something of what you say.” He then drew nearer to my side; so near, in fact, that I could feel
his feathery breath against my cheek, and the enticing smell of him ignited a torrid spark of familiarity and base attraction, which was all but impossible to ignore. “Many years ago,” he whispered euphoniously, “In just such a church, I, too, underwent a powerful spiritual awakening, which, to my misfortune, has eluded me ever since.” He halted, measuring the effect of these words, the strength of his penetrating gaze attempting to spirit my intractable resolve into submission.
“I was a young ne’er-do-well of...seventeen years, I believe,” he continued. “My family had great hopes for my future in the military, which in truth meant little or nothing to me; so weightless were my concerns regarding a true vocation. “I had been visiting my uncle, the town smithy, in the village of Boissons for a fortnight, and duly attended worship on the first Sabbath. Positioned to the rear with the labourers, I found myself with an unobstructed view of the privileged to the fore. Bored with the proceedings and seemingly alone, I focused my attention on the aristocratic patriarch of one such family, his wife, and three young daughters, in the effort to maintain concentration.
“Whilst each sat or knelt, quietly poised throughout, the girl on the end moved restlessly, sometimes giggling or staring over her shoulder, to the silent
reproof of her family. I supposed she was a year or two my junior, and very like any other young girl but for her lively manner, and the beauty of her hair, which shone like polished moonstone as it fell loose upon her shoulders. Within an instant of having made my assessment, I witnessed something astonishing.
“As she knelt in angelic piety, I saw her reach along her side and loosen, almost imperceptibly, a small bag. With a quick release of the contents, she resumed her praying position. To my amusement, a small, furry rodent, suddenly appeared, leaping from imprisonment, and scurrying down the aisle. Shrieks pierced the air, proper young ladies bolted from their seats, while their confused but chivalrous men-folk leapt to their defense, searching helplessly for the invisible foe, upturning the sanctity of the proceedings.
“I watched in barely contained amusement and disbelief, as children chased one another down the aisles, and a stunned clergy was left the unenviable, and ultimately futile task, of restoring peace to a scene of utter chaos.
“Amidst the indignity of these antics, the guilty party, flush with success, rose calmly and regally, and was led by her unsuspecting family to a waiting door. Observing her at close proximity, I was stunned by her fairness of face and form,
and entranced by the mischievous spirit that so contrasted it. The sensation I experienced was unlike anything I had known, before or since, and I determined that, thereafter, nothing should prevent me from meeting her…”
A sound in the area of the altar harkened me to the presence of Father Brulette, as he shifted a small table.
“If you would excuse me, Monsieur,” I stammered, seizing the opportunity to flee.
His face darkened with disdain. “I see,” he ventured, with acerbity. “You have recalled a pressing appointment? May I, then, have the honour of escorting you?”
“Your pardon, Monsieur,” I replied, thinking how impossible it was to conceal my weakening reserve, “but I believe we shall be favoured with your presence at our table tonight, thus, there are a number of preparations to which I must attend.” To offer additional placation, I added, “Owing to the greater value of your time, I must desist any offer of accompaniment.”
His eyes sharpened sardonically. Sensing a rebound, I nodded, “Good day, Monsieur, until this evening,” stealing swiftly down the aisle, and out the door.
Chapter 4
Only upon returning to my chamber did I allow myself to fully measure the meaning of what transpired, and its dire consequences.
Foolishly, I was duped into believing that, behind his genteel comportment, lay a man of similar cast, who would never dishonour me. Yet he was plainly bold enough to seize any opportunity to disclose that reminder.
It was no longer a childlike game; wondering if he held some fragment of love, teasing myself with the notion that, if so, it could be tempered, mutely, discreetly. Clearly, there was vengefulness to his purpose and he was prodding me to surrender my charade, to which I had come exceedingly close, giving no heed to the entanglement, which might result.
Having no means to determine the extent of his purpose, I could merely surmise that he might hound me in future, with even less discretion. After all, virtually any surreptitious wanderer could have seen, or even heard, the tone of our
discourse, and allowed for their supposition. I cringed at our becoming the subject of conjecture.
Upon weighing the issue for some time, I arrived at the single solution: I must face him with the truth behind our parting, and implore him to hold me in good faith by keeping a respectful distance, owing that any shift further would endanger the affections of all.
Tonight
, I thought, scanning my wardrobe for a modest gown,
I must tell him...tonight. Or...arrange to meet with him…
Under a watchful eye, such aims would seem impossible to achieve.
…………
At a little past seven, Armand was ushered in, richly clad in a coat of burnished satin, with a darker contrasting waistcoat and breeches; chapeau bras gripped firmly beneath his arm. He greeted me with a stiff, obligatory courtesy I prayed would remain overlooked by Felippe.
Seated to a repast of roasted goose and pastries, the conversation centred mainly on local people and politics, to the subtle—though deliberate—exclusion of
myself, enlarging my discomfort. Several times, I was directed a personal remark, to which Armand barely lifted his head.
Therefore, it came as something of a shock when he, quite unexpectedly, made an enquiry.
“And you, Madame,” he asked offhandedly, between bites, “I gather your son has recently been granted the post of lieutenant of his regiment, in Montreal. Given his age, I presume you feel some measure of pride in this accomplishment.”
“On the contrary, Monsieur,” I answered, hastily finding my voice, “while I shan’t say I am displeased with his abilities, I am, foremost, a mother, and likewise share a mother’s concern for the welfare of her child. The Iroquois problem, such as I have heard it to be in regions down-river, causes me great fear for his safety—”
“My dear,” Felippe interjected, lowering his glass of claret to the table, “I have told you before, the situation has been much distorted. Nicholas has seen little danger, other than a few...minor incidents.” He daubed his mouth on a napkin, smiling paternally. “If, and when, we involve ourselves in an escalation of activity, he will doubtless defend himself unfailingly. It would seem your regard for his
youth is wholly overestimated. Might I remind you,” he laughed, “that I was not much older when I took you to marriage, and was, myself, involved in battle far afield.”
The mention of our “union” caused me some discomfiture, which I chose to overlook.
“Perhaps that God has blessed me with but one child shadows the belief in his mortality,” I quietly responded.
“I shall make it my intention to meet with your son, Madame,” Armand ventured, “during the course of my upcoming travels.”
“Oh, I was unaware of your plans.”
“Yes,” he continued prosaically, slowly shifting his chair from the table, with a casual stretch of his legs. “I need to further acquaint myself with the people of the colony...the country itself, if I am to effectively promote its best interests.”
I felt strangely disappointed, as though the fear of not seeing him irrationally outweighed the tension of his nearness.
“Are you planning an extended journey?” I heard myself say, feeling a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach.
“Should I attempt the western outposts, it will surely be lengthy.” He replied, dispassionately adjusting the lace on his cuffs.
Felippe cleared his throat. “I, myself, had entertained the possibility of joining my friend on this venture, if I might see my way to completing business here.” Noting the change in my countenance, he hastened to add, “I apologize for having been remiss in disclosing my objectives, but until today, the opportunity did not present itself.”
“Naturally,” he began, importantly, “it is my aim to ensure that Armand be accorded a proper introduction to the colony, and he is insistent that it be kept to a minimum of formality.” He fixed his dim, blue eyes upon me, in wordless debate. “Come to that,” he exclaimed, loudly, “I should consider it a great pleasure to have you accompany us, to perhaps, Montreal. There, you may stay with Governor and Madame Girald. I understand she has made some inquiries after you to Bishop Langvois, and spoke anxiously of your return this season.”
“And, of course…” he added, “Nicholas would be so pleased to see you.”
I was taken aback by the abruptness of the plan, but the difficulties involved in travelling with Armand did not lessen the appeal of a visit with my
son, nor did the chance to mingle in another society. Anything was preferable to this ceaseless brooding, and there was the chance that the relationship between Armand and Felippe could be strengthened through the journey, thus forcing Armand to seek an end to any folly concerning myself. Such a result would bring inestimable relief.
“I should be delighted,” I blurted, gaily.
Armand’s eyes widened. “I do agree that your presence would be most helpful to Monsieur…”
Over the next half hour, arrangements were discussed. Felippe appeared convinced of his ability to extricate himself from his affairs, suggesting a departure date barring any unforeseen circumstance, which was met with accord, and with that we removed ourselves to the comfort of the parlour. Conversation drifted.
Curiously, but a short time later, Felippe complained of feeling under the weather. “Foolish thing, really. I fear I may have overindulged on the pastries. Too rich...have only myself to blame...” He said weakly, his face the colour of parchment, as he lifted his frame from the chair. “If I might beg your leave for a
time...but, no,” he insisted, on seeing his guest arise. Do stay. My dear wife will attend your comfort, while I am indisposed.”
Not wishing to upset him further, Armand complied, and I conducted Felippe to the hallway—indecisively torn between the need to aid my husband, and the fortuitous opportunity that it presented…
“Go now, Madame,” Felippe whispered, in answer to my thoughts, “don’t let us spoil the evening and my friend’s enjoyment...I may rejoin you presently. In the meantime, send for Robert, will you?” Knowing it was useless to remonstrate, I roused his valet, and, as an afterthought, relieved the servants of their duties for the evening, to lessen the possibility of being overheard. Given the limitations of time, I wondered if it were not best to waylay my confession, for fear of compromise. The question hung unresolved as I re-entered the parlour.
Armand had quietly seated himself by the fire. Through the flame, his hair of deep chestnut waves, gathered at the nape, seemed to burnish with vitality, illuminating his gallant profile, with its aquiline nose and strong jaw line. I felt an inexorable spasm of longing, despite myself.