Authors: Mary Nichols
The box
contained a collection of necklaces, brooches, armlets and rings, some set with
precious stones, others not so valuable, but none resembled any in the
portrait. There was certainly no great ruby pendant. She breathed a huge sigh
of relief and began putting them all back. What a ninny she had been! How
Pierre must be laughing at her! Then, right at the bottom, she found a little
velvet bag closed with a drawstring. She loosened the neck and tipped it up.
Into her lap fell the ruby in its silver filigree heart; not the whole
necklace, but enough of it to be unmistakable. She picked it up and laid it on
her palm, twisting it to catch the light. It was so beautiful it made her catch
her breath, now the rich colour of blood, dark and a little menacing, and now
light, transparent as wine was transparent, winking up at her, telling her...
what? That Pierre had told the truth? Could there be any other explanation? She
was so engrossed she did not hear the door open and close again. `Juliette!
What are you doing?'
She looked up
to see Lady Martindale standing over her, white-faced with suppressed anger.
'I...' She swallowed hard, then found the courage to tell the truth. 'I was
looking for this.'
`Oh, I see.'
Her ladyship's voice was perfectly controlled. 'And why were you looking for
it? And what are you going to do now you have found it?'
'I... I don't
know. I thought... Oh, Mama, I knew you were angry when P- Lieutenant Veillard
painted me wearing all those jewels and I could not understand why. He said you
were afraid...'
`And when have
you seen him to speak to him about it?'
`I met him at
Mrs Golightly's. He was helping with their harvest. He asked me if you were
still angry about that portrait...'
`I had
forgotten it, as you should have done. You have disobeyed your papa's express
orders not to speak to that young man again and now you have made the situation
far worse.'
`What
situation, Mama? The lieutenant told me such a Banbury tale. I don't know what
to believe.'
`Did he, now?'
Her ladyship seemed lost in thought. Even her anger had evaporated. 'He told us
he could not remember.'
`But he has
now. He saw all those jewels on a portrait of the Comtesse de Caronne in the
Louvre. He said the whole family had been guillotined, except one. He said I
was that one.' She paused, gazing up at her mother's implacable face. 'Mama,
tell me it isn't true. I am not French, am I? I am yours and Papa's. Your daughter.'
Elizabeth sat
on the bed beside Juliette and took the ruby from her unresisting fingers. 'I
had hoped that you would never have to learn the truth, Juliette, but fate has
decreed otherwise.' She gave a little twisted smile. 'But the lieutenant is
only half right.'
Juliette
waited, hardly daring to breathe.
`You were born
in France, Juliette. And you are the daughter of the Comtesse de Caronne, as
the lieutenant suggested, though not of her husband. When the Caronne family
went to the guillotine, you were saved because...' she gulped once and then
went on '... because your father was English and he claimed you.'
Juliette looked
up at her in shocked disbelief. 'You mean Papa?'
`Yes.'
`But that
means...' She could not go on. Her heart was thumping against her ribs and her
limbs were shaking visibly.
`Yes.' The one
word was repeated firmly, without any effort to soften the blow.
`Oh, no, no! I
cannot believe it. I won't. It is even worse than I thought.'
`I had lost
three infants,' her ladyship went on in a matter-of-fact voice, while she
relocked the box. Her upright posture did not relax for a minute. 'I could not
give your father a legitimate heir. He persuaded me I should come to love you.'
Juliette was
silent; there was nothing she could say. She looked back on her childhood and
realised there had always been an aloofness in her mother that she had not
understood at the time. Always she thought it was something she had done to
displease her, some childish mischief that must be punished. And she had tried
all the harder to be good.
`I tried to
love you.' For the first time there was anguish in her ladyship's voice. 'It is
not your fault, child, and so I tell myself every day of my life. I have tried
to think of you as my daughter and, as far as the world is concerned, that is
what you are.' She paused. 'I did my duty and now you must do yours.'
`Marry James,
you mean. Is that why Papa did not oppose you over that?'
`Yes.'
`I cannot
believe he could be so cruel. It is not like him at all.'
`Juliette, it
will not be so bad. We have been over it again and again and you agreed.'
`Oh, I did not
mean about James, I meant about making you bring me up as your own. Does anyone
else know?'
`No. '
`But how did
you keep it from the servants?'
`When my last
little one was due to be born, your papa was in France on a diplomatic mission.
I was lonely and afraid and your grandmother persuaded me to visit her in
Scotland. It was thought the bracing air might be good for me.
`Only Anne came
with me and she was there at the birth of a boy. He lived only three weeks. If
I had remained at Hartlea, where it is comfortable and warm, he might have
survived.' The bitterness was there in her voice, though she tried to conceal
it.
Even in her own
misery, Juliette could feel for her. 'I am so very sorry.'
Her ladyship
did not appear to hear. 'I stayed in Scotland until your papa returned. When he
came to fetch me, he had you with him. Later we returned to Hartlea and
everyone was allowed to think...' She stopped speaking, stood up and returned
the jewel case to the drawer before turning back to Juliette, her voice once
more brisk. `Nothing has changed, nothing at all.'
`Oh, but it
has!' Juliette cried. Her whole world had been torn apart; everything was
ruined. She was a by-blow, a nobody, someone who should never be seen in polite
Society. What would everyone think when the truth came out? James? He would
reject her and demand his birthright and who could blame him? The thought of
James being put off marrying her lightened her spirits for the space of a
heartbeat, no more.
Her thoughts
flew to Philip Devonshire. If she had been harbouring a faint hope that James's
rejection of her might bring about a change of heart in that young man, it died
before it could flicker into life. He would not have her. No one would, not
when the truth became known. She would be an outcast. 'I must talk to Papa...'
`No!' her
ladyship almost shouted. 'You will not speak of this to your father at all, do
you hear? It will never be mentioned. I do believe he is ashamed of what he did
and we have been happy in our way. I have no wish to reopen old wounds. In a
few weeks you will be married and it will no longer matter.'
`Is James not
to be told?'
`No, there is
no need.'
`He would not
want me if he knew.'
`You will say
nothing, child. Think of the scandal if such a thing became public. We should
never be able to show our faces in Society again. It is one thing to have a
skeleton in the cupboard as long as you keep it there, quite another to let it
loose for every tattlemonger to rattle. I should be ostracised, you would never
marry and your papa would lose his position in the government. Think of him, if
you can think of no one else.'
She paused to
let her words sink into Juliette's benumbed brain. 'Now, please go back to your
own room and change for dinner. We have a guest.'
At Hartlea they
kept country hours; dinner was at three and supper at eight. 'James has
arrived?' He was the last person she wanted to see.
`No, James is
not due for several days, you know that. Mr Devonshire is in the area and your
papa has invited him to dine with us.' She paused to look at the young girl who
still sat on the bed as if she did not have the strength or the will to rise.
'You are looking exceedingly pale, so wear your blue jaconet, it will give you
a little colour. I shall tell Anne to put a little rouge on your cheeks too.'
Philip. Philip,
who had told her to play for time, Philip who had kissed her and whom she
loved. How could she face him? 'I cannot sit and eat and pretend nothing has
happened.'
`Yes, you will.
Even though the man is no longer acceptable in Society on account of that duel,
that seems not to count with your father, so you will act with dignity and good
manners.'
Juliette
returned to her room on leaden feet and said nothing at all while Anne helped
her dress and arranged her hair. 'I do not believe you have quite got over that
cold,' the maid said. 'You are white as a sheet.'
`Am I?' She
could not pay attention to Anne, her head was swimming. Today she had died a
little. Today she had learned that she was an imposter; not only that, but a
bastard. The dreadful word rang round and round in her brain, along with 'duty'
and 'dignity' and 'good manners'. Was that all there was to her life?
`You had best
tell me why you are having such a fit of the dismals,' Anne said, dabbing
Juliette's cheeks with safflower powder.
`You deceived
me too,' Juliette said. 'You knew...'
`Knew what?'
`That I am not
who I seem.'
`Who told you
that?'
`Mama. But she
is not my mama, is she?'
`Oh, I see.'
Wondering why her ladyship should have chosen this moment to speak, Anne put
the rouge pot down and took Juliette's hands in her own. 'Listen, my love. Her
ladyship did not give birth to you, but in all other respects she has been your
mother. She has loved you in her fashion, brought you up, guided you, taught
you how to behave. In fact she has been a better mama than many I could name
who have little time for their children and consign them permanently to the
nursery until it is time to bring them out and marry them off. You have had a
happy childhood and you cannot deny it.'
`And now I must
grow up.'
`And now you
must grow up.' She smiled reassuringly. `You are what you are, not who you are.
Can you not understand that?'
`Do you know
who I really am?'
`No, and I do
not want to know. And neither should you. There is nothing to be gained by
prying into the past.' She took a last look at her charge. 'There! You look
very charming. Off you go and see if you cannot bewitch Mr Devonshire. I have
just seen him and he is looking as handsome in country clothes as ever he did
wearing the latest fashion in town.' She had either forgotten, or chosen to
ignore, the fact that Juliette was engaged to marry James Martindale.
Not even the
thought of seeing Philip Devonshire again could bring Juliette out of her
gloom. If anything, the prospect of having his searching eyes delving into her
soul, revealing all the pain and misery there, made matters worse. She had never
been able to hide her feelings from him; he could read her like a book. And he
would turn the pages until he had found out all he wanted to know. Would it
make any difference to him? No, she decided. Although he had kissed her and
comforted her, he had never said a word about loving her. And he knew she had
accepted James.
`Nothing has
changed,' her mother had said. But Lady Martindale was not her mother. Her
mother was a French countess who had lost her head in more ways than one. And
everything had changed. No matter what her mother said, James must be relieved
of his obligation towards her. She could never marry.
She took a deep
breath and went downstairs, holding her head high and feeling for the steps
with her toes. She was almost at ground level when her parents came out of the
library accompanied by Philip Devonshire. She paused, clinging to the bannister
until she could make her trembling limbs obey her, then forced herself to
smile, and completed the descent.
`Mr Devonshire,
how nice to see you again.' Her voice, as she curtsied, was clear and brittle
as ice.
`Miss
Martindale, your obedient.' He returned her smile and bowed. 'I trust I find
you recovered.'
`Recovered?'
she queried, her head so full of the revelations of the last few hours she could
think of nothing else. He couldn't know, could he?
`I collect you
were unwell in London and that is why you curtailed your Season.'
`Yes, of
course. I had quite forgot it. I am quite recovered, thank you. The country
air, you know. There is nothing like it for effecting a cure. I have been
watching the harvest...' She was prattling now, babbling like a lunatic, and he
was looking at her with those dark penetrating eyes and even at the distance of
two paces, she could feel the warmth of him, the power in him, and it was all
she could do not to faint at his feet.
Lady Martindale
inadvertently rescued her. 'Come, let us go into the dining room,' she said and
led the way.
There was something wrong with Juliette, Philip thought,
as he picked at the bones of the fish on his plate. She not only looked ill,
but desperately unhappy. She was toying with her food and taking gulps from her
wine glass as if the answer to her problems lay in its ruby liquid.