La Flamme (Historical Romance) (11 page)

She started Prince Henry in a deep voice. "What none?"

She spoke in a high tone. "No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter."

"Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly."

Jacques startled Sabine when he moved into the ring of light, applauding. "You are a natural. You have a voice that carries, and you speak clearly and distinctly. If only you were a lad, we could easily earn enough to sail for France."

Sabine drew in an aggravated breath. "'Tis a silly rule that a female cannot act in public. Ysabel said it is not so in France."

"True, true. But France is an enlightened country. In Paris the great actresses obtain respect and fame. They are feted, admired, and lavished with jewels and fortunes that lesser mortals only dream about. The female luminary is often more loved than the royal family."

They both stared into the fire. At last Sabine spoke. "I have oft times been told that I have the appearance of a lad." She smiled mischievously and stood for his inspection. "Do you not agree?"

"What? Oh, yes—yes, you do. But—"

"Monsieur de Baillard," she bowed before him, "may I present myself to you? A son of France, my name is Antoine de Chavaniac. My profession is actor for the de Baillard Players, and I am at your service."

Jacques smiled first and then roared with laughter. "It would fool no one. You would be stoned as an imposter."

"Not when I finish with her," Marie said, joining them at the campfire. "The idea is sound, and we are desperately in need of funds. Jacques, I believe that I can make Sabine look like a lad."

He still was not convinced that Sabine could fool an audience. "I do not know. Dare we try it?"

"We dare," Marie said, moving around Sabine and eyeing her speculatively. "The worst that can happen is that they run us out of town. We have been run out of towns before." Marie turned Sabine to face her. "How did you come to choose the name de Chavaniac? Near the village where I was born, there lived the marquis de Chavaniac and his family."

Sabine hesitated only a moment before she answered. "If you were born near the mountains of Auvergne, then the marquis of whom you speak would have been my mother's father. My grandfather has but recently died, and my Uncle Joseph is now the marquis de Chavaniac."

"Then you will go to your uncle when we reach France, non?" Marie inquired.

"Although I have never met Uncle Joseph, or any of my mother's family, I shall certainly inform them that Richard and I are still alive. They must have heard what happened by now, and most probably believe that we are dead."

"Your uncle is a powerful man, and he will see that everything is put right for you," Marie said with assurance.

"I hope that is so, Madame."

Jacques had heard little of the conversation between Sabine and Marie because he was busy rifling through papers, searching for a certain play. At last he found what he wanted and nodded, shoving several pages at Sabine. "Read this. Take the part of the knight."

Sabine put all the feelings she had in the lines she spoke. When she had finished, Jacques nodded eagerly.

"If we do this, it will not be easy because the two of us will have to play all the parts. And you must know my parts as well as you know your own." He had given this speech many times, but never to a more eager listener.

"Do you think I can?" Sabine asked.

His voice was stern. "That will be for you to prove. Acting requires much study and preparation. When you perform you are not there to be entertained—you are there to entertain others. You must speak loudly and distinctly at all times—never allow your voice to falter. Even those who have not paid admission should be allowed to hear you."

Marie rolled her eyes at her husband. "The child cannot be expected to remember all that you are telling her."

"I would not want to disappoint either of you so I shall strive hard to do as you ask, Monsieur."

"You can do it," Jacques said confidently. "An actor gives his all to his audience. You shall use not only your voice, but also your body to express what you are implying."

"I understand."

"If you are performing a comedy," he continued, "you must not laugh—if you deliver your lines correctly, the audience's laughter will be your reward."

"How will I know I have done well?"

"If you're a good actor, the audience will let you know."

"If you are not," Marie sniffed, "they will also let you know by jeering and throwing unpleasant and smelly things at you."

"Do not scare the child—she will do well."

"Jacques, do not be a fool. Can't you see that you are filling her head with too much?"

Ignoring his wife, he handed Sabine several more pages. "Charge these to your memory. Tomorrow we shall see if we are applauded or run out of town."

12

Madame de Baillard was as good as her word. When she brought Sabine before Jacques the next morning, there was a look of triumph on her face. "Did I not say I would make her look like a boy? The only thing that concerns me is the stiffness in her walk. You will notice how cleverly I have disguised the splint with the long surcoat?"

Jacques inspected Sabine carefully. She wore a green tunic and low boots. Her hair had been cropped to shoulder length, and she wore a rakish black hat with a wide brim. "The disguise does not fool me; I can clearly see that she is a female."

Sabine's face fell, and Marie started to protest.

"But," Jacques continued, holding his hand up for silence, "while this disguise would never fool a Frenchman, the English will be easily duped."

Sabine happily turned to Marie. "I will make everyone believe that I am Monsieur Antoine de Chavaniac."

Later, Sabine recited her lines with Marie prompting her, until she could say them in her sleep. She practiced walking, but with the splint she could not disguise the limp. She lowered her voice so she would sound less feminine, and strutted about as she thought an arrogant young knight might.

At last, the moment came to step onto the makeshift stage. Monsieur de Baillard had chosen a small park near the more prosperous part of town, hoping to draw a generous crowd. At first Sabine was nervous even though there were only three people watching. Amazingly, as the play progressed the crowd began to swell and she became more confident.

With Jacques beside her, Sabine moved easily through the scenes. Soon they could hear uproarious laughter, and Sabine felt her spirits soar.

Marie passed among the audience, asking for donations. Her eyes gleamed as money continued to tinkle into the cup.

Sabine found that in acting a part she could forget about her own sadness. She was sorry when the play was concluded.

During the enthusiastic applause, Monsieur de Baillard held his hand over Sabine's head while she bowed to the audience. His eyes were sparkling when he whispered to her. "You made a convincing boy, and you made them laugh. Would that I'd had you with me in London."

For three weeks, Sabine and Monsieur de Baillard put on daily performances and the crowds grew larger as word of their entertainment spread to nearby villages. Jacques was delighted when the Lord Mayor of Dover invited them to entertain at the local theater.

They performed in the Dover Playhouse for two weeks. Even Marie was smiling as she counted the money each night. At last she announced that they had more than enough to sail for France.

Ysabel removed the splint from Sabine's leg. She then joined the de Baillards by the campfire while they silently waited for Sabine to emerge from the wagon. There was a tenseness on each face, and they held their breath, hoping the girl they had come to love had healed.

Unaware of the importance of the moment, Richard sat upon Ysabel's lap, blowing on the wooden whistle that Jacques had carved out of a reed.

At last, Sabine appeared on the steps, her face soft in the moonlight, her expression unreadable. She moved down the first step and then the second. Once on the ground, she closed her eyes, putting her right foot forward. She let out her pent up breath and took a faltering step and then another. At last she laughed happily and threw her arms up in the air.

"Oh, Ysabel, you did it—you did it! I can walk without pain for the first time in so long!"

Marie dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "You did good, Ysabel. I have often been unkind to you, and I am sorry for that. From this day forward, I will say no word of harm against you, nor will I allow anyone else to. And should the time ever come when I am ill, I want only you to tend me."

"I have always liked you, Marie. If I had not, I would have left with the others." Ysabel looked into Sabine's happy face. "The girl has taken her first step toward tomorrow. I know not where that step will take her, but it will take her there without a limp." Ysabel motioned to Sabine. "Walk toward me,
ma petite
. I want to know if the pain returns."

Sabine was testing her leg further, and happiness soared within her heart. "Look at me," she cried, jumping on the leg that had been injured. "I can walk!"

Richard glanced at his sister and then went back to blowing his whistle. He could not see why everyone was making such a fuss—to him Sabine had always been perfect.

Garreth heard a commotion at the door. He leaned against the mantel and watched, feigning disinterest as the Archbishop of Canterbury entered. This was the same man who, as Bishop of London, had helped arrange his marriage to Sabine.

The archbishop looked about the room with interest. It wasn't often he visited the Tower, and never on a mission of such importance. "Your Grace, pardon this intrusion, but I must talk to you."

Garreth nodded toward a chair. "Then pray be seated, Your Excellency. I would offer you refreshments, but as you can see, I have nothing to offer."

The archbishop ignored the chair, preferring to stand since Garreth was standing. His eyes were watchful. "It is his majesty's wish that we clear up this misunderstanding with all haste, since to prolong it would only serve his enemies. I have much to relate to you today."

Garreth tried to keep his anger under control. "What do you have to say that would be of interest to me, Your Excellency? Will you have me confess to crimes I didn't commit to save his majesty embarrassment? My loyalty does not go that far, and his majesty's loyalty to me is in question."

The archbishop dropped down on the chair, and was forced to crane his neck upward at the young duke. "Have a care what you say. And as for your anger, I can understand it. In this most unhappy event, I have endeavored to seek the truth, and I believe I have succeeded."

Garreth stared at him for a long and poignant moment. "Have you indeed?"

"I know quite well how difficult this had been for you and your mother."

"I care not for your sympathy unless it will translate into gaining my release."

"Your mother is a very persuasive woman, Your Grace. She would not relent until she had an audience with the king. They talked for hours. On her insistence, others were questioned, and some interrogations lasted for days."

Garreth picked up a log and tossed it onto the fire, causing sparks to fly. "Why was I not allowed to speak, since I am the accused?"

"I know only that the king has sent me to put questions to you now."

Garreth appeared uninterested. "I have questions myself, but I have doubts that you can give me the answers, Your Excellency."

"Hold your bitterness. Your Grace. In due time, you will understand what I am about. I beg you to be seated so I won't have to look up to you."

Reluctantly, Garreth sat on a frayed, velvet-covered stool, his eyes riveted on the archbishop's face. "How is my mother?"

The archbishop allowed himself to smile slightly. "Her grace is most formidable, charming, and loyal to you. In truth, I believe the king was quite intimidated by her."

Garreth could imagine his mother daring to take King Charles to task. Still, he doubted that the archbishop was here for his benefit. "Say what you will and leave me in peace. I'm certain that my fate has already been sealed."

"Not at all, Your Grace." The archbishop met his eyes. "Have you any knowledge of the identity of your

accuser?"

Garreth's lashes swept over his eyes and he stared at the man. "I've heard that the servants at Woodbridge Castle unanimously agree that it was my soldiers who attacked them. I had supposed that they were my accusers."

"Many of them were questioned, and most of them were confused. They say it happened so quickly. But there is one who spoke loudest and crows longer about your guilt."

Now Garreth's eyes flamed with smoldering anger. "Tell me who it is, and bring him before me. It is only just that he face me as he weaves his lies."

The archbishop watched Garreth carefully to gauge his reaction. "Your accuser is your cousin, Cortland Blackthorn."

There was a note of disbelief in Garreth's voice. "Cortland. But why?" He fell silent as he tried to remember what his mother had told him. "It was Cortland who first informed my mother that Woodbridge Castle had been attacked. He was most adamant that I go into hiding while he tried to clear my name."

The archbishop nodded. "That's much the same as what your mother told us."

"Did the king believe her?"

"It would appear so," he said. "On his majesty's instructions, Cortland Blackthorn was brought to London for interrogation. We also questioned many from Wood-bridge Village and the surrounding countryside. As you can see, we were most diligent in our quest for the truth."

"No doubt," Garreth said dryly.

The archbishop continued. "Some of the most damning testimony against your cousin came from the landlord of an inn near Woodbridge. It seems that Cortland Blackthorn was there one night boasting about what he intended to do to you."

"Cortland always was a fool."

"Mr. Ludlow, the landlord, told of the hatred your cousin has for you, and how he bragged about bringing you down. Apparently he hoped to see you imprisoned and eventually beheaded."

Garreth waved his hand dismissively. "Cortland isn't capable of such a plan. He has never been accused of being overly intelligent, and he's certainly not skillful enough for such an immense undertaking."

"We do not believe that he acted alone in this treachery. The innkeeper, and other witnesses, spoke of a mysterious woman who met Blackthorn at the inn. But we were unable to discover her identity, and your cousin insisted that he met no woman at the inn, but his denial was unconvincing."

Garreth was still skeptical. "While imprisoned here, I have had much time to reflect. I have lived every day under the threat of death, so it no longer holds any fear for me."

"We were fortunate in finding the guilty one."

"So you say, but I am still not convinced. What does Cortland have to say about the accusations?"

"I questioned your cousin myself, and after three hours, he began ranting about how you were responsible for the death of the woman he loved. He had for years plotted your downfall. And he almost succeeded, at least in his majesty's eyes."

Garreth was astounded. "I hardly know my cousin. And as to my knowledge, I have caused no woman's death."

The archbishop related the details of Cortland Blackthorn's plan, while Garreth listened in disbelief.

"I cannot credit that he caused the murder of innocent people out of revenge for me." Garreth was stunned by the truth. Then he asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. "Is there news of my wife and her brother?"

"There was a wide search along the stream and surrounding area," the archbishop said sadly, folding his hands in a pose of prayer. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but it is assumed that they both drowned, and the search has ended."

"I can't accept that."

The archbishop was again watchful. "His majesty has a dilemma. We need to have the boy declared dead so his great-uncle can inherit. But the king does not want your wife to be declared dead because those that support the Woodbridge family might object."

Garreth's lip curled cynically. "You keep her alive to safeguard the alliance. The boy can be proclaimed dead because another member of the Woodbridge family will take his place and reside at the castle."

"You have great insight."

"Archbishop, you know me so little. Even if you had asked me to declare my wife dead, I would not have done so. I still need positive proof before / believe that Sabine no longer lives."

"Perhaps it is too soon to speak of such matters, Your Grace. In the future, when she has been forgotten, we shall most certainly sign her death certificate. After all, you will eventually need an heir."

There was hostility in Garreth's dark eyes. "Such a practical decision."

The archbishop stood, knowing the duke's anger was justified. He felt shame for having participated in such an injustice. "You are free to leave. His majesty asks only that you go directly to your country estate and remain there until tempers cool. There will be many who will still insist that your cousin was innocent and sacrificed on your behalf. They will find a way to blame the king."

"What will happen to Cortland?"

"There will not be a public trial because he has already admitted the crime. His death will be forthcoming. The sooner this incident comes to a conclusion, the sooner people will forget."

Garreth stood, wishing it could be his hand that would strike Cortland dead for the black deed he had done and the dishonor he had brought to the Blackthorn name. "I want to see my cousin—there are questions I would put to him. Perhaps he has knowledge of my wife and her brother."

"He has been questioned repeatedly and will say only that the death of your wife is his revenge on you."

Garreth had not known that Cortland hated him—it was so unbelievable. "I must be allowed to speak to him," he insisted.