Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty (11 page)

The count
directed  the
two women to a small parlor. The walls were covered with a cream-colored fabric, which provided a bright backdrop for the many cheerful paintings. A mirror graced each wall, causing the light from the fireplace and candles to dance around the room in a delightful way. “What a lovely, cheerful room,” Sarah said as she entered. Glancing at Madame Duval she realized that the matron understood her relief that the building had at least one bright spot.

“This is, of course, the ladies sitting parlor. While it is not a room particularly enjoy, I thought it would be more comfortable than the men’s parlor,” the Count said. “After breakfast I will give you ladies a tour of the house and the grounds.”

“Thank you,” Madame Duval said. “We shall look forward to seeing the remainder of
your
.
. . spacious home.”

Sarah silently applauded her companion for the tactful statement. The house might be dark, damp and drafty, but it was certainly large.

The Count told a bit of his family history and answered many questions. After an hour’s pleasant chat, Sarah asked, “How long ago did your wife pass away?”

“It has been a year,”
came
the dour answer.

“May I ask how she died? Did she suffer long?”

“I will not discuss it.” the Count answered and then rose and escorted the ladies to their room. Bowing over each of their hands, he gently touched Sarah’s with his lips and bid them goodnight.

Sarah quickly brushed out her hair, washed up and prepared for bed. Then she glanced at her roommate and asked, “Do you know anything about the death of the count’s wife?”

“No. I’m afraid not. Why?”

“You do not suppose he had anything to do with her death, do you?” Sarah asked.

“Of course not,” Madame Duval responded. Then she said more thoughtfully, “At least, I hope not.”

The two stared at each other, with horrible thoughts reflected in their eyes. Finally, the elder lady laughed, “My dear, your writer’s mind is looking for mystery where there is none. I must admit I was also letting my imagination run away.”

“You are probably right,” Sarah said. “In any case, it is certainly not a thought to dwell on prior to retiring. Let us talk of more pleasant things.”

Madame Duval seemed to take forever to prepare for bed. She sat before the mirror and carefully wrapped several locks of hair in rags before putting on her nightcap. With the nightcap and the rags, her head looked like a cushion with its stuffing popping out.

“So that’s how you keep those curls framing your face.” With an effort, Sarah managed not to laugh and said, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the patience.”

“Usually my maid takes care of it for me,” Madame Duval said, “but, I learned to do it myself for occasions such as this. After all, a matchmaker must take pains with her own appearance.”

“Perhaps you would like a match for yourself?” Sarah teased. “I will keep my eyes open.”

“No. No. For me I think there was only one true love,” she answered reflectively. With a spark of mischief, “My matchmaking is
all my
husband’s fault. He made me so happy that I want to help everyone else find the same.”

Sarah smiled, “You will have to tell me about your husband. He must have been very special.”

“Indeed,” said the older lady as she began to arrange several containers in front of her. She harshly rubbed one of the strange-smelling mixtures into her skin and tried to talk at the same time.

Laughing, Sarah said, “Why don’t we wait
til
you’re done with your toilette, so I can understand you.”

Madame Duval smiled and nodded agreement as she fanned herself.

Watching in fascination, Sarah listened as her roommate explained the use of the various items she spread on her skin. Some she rubbed on with a vengeance; others she gently patted on.

Madame Duval spread the fourth and final concoction over her face and neck and turned to Sarah and said, “This is the one I told you to try on your scar. Have you used it yet?”

“No. I forgot and have not even opened the container you gave me,” Sarah said with chagrin. Then she looked at the matron, “I noticed when you opened that first mixture, it had a rather unpleasant odor. Does not
it’s
smell bother you at night?”

“Oh, no, not this mixture,” the elderly lady laughed as she walked over and put a spot of the ointment on Sarah’s nose. “You see, it smells delightful. I believe it has some lavender in it. I rinse that first mixture off before I apply the others.”

Sarah reached for a handkerchief to wipe it off with, but Madame Duval stopped her. “No, no. If you must remove it, put it to good use on your little
scar
.”

Content that her wishes were complied with, Madame Duval closed her containers and climbed heavily onto the bed. “As I get older, it takes more and more work to look acceptable.” Catching Sarah’s humor-filled glance she added with a grin, “You find my ointment covered face amusing? Well, as long as there is no emergency in the night, it hardly matters what I look like to sleep. By morning I expect these magic potions to have turned me into a beautiful young
princess.
. . perhaps I’ll give a try for the Count.” Then she tucked a linen scarf under her chin and tied it above her nightcap.

Sarah couldn’t help giggling at the older woman, who now looked like she had grown rabbit ears. “Well, if I don’t recognize you in the morning, please introduce yourself.”

They doused their candles and laid in the darkness, whispering like school girls. It wasn’t until her companion grew silent that Sarah noticed the wind blowing rain against the window. Well, at least this castle is sturdy and will stand secure against any storm, she thought as she settled into bed. Just as she began to drift toward sleep Madame Duval began emitting a soft snore, which soon grew into a bed-shaking, sleep-chasing roar.
             

Sarah tried to block out the sounds of the storm raging outside and of her bedmate’s snoring. After a long period of tossing and turning, she finally drifted off to sleep.
             

A loud noise awakened Sarah and she
laid
listening for a repeat of the sound. Over the storm’s wails, she heard a creaking sound from the hall that sent a shudder up her spine. Then she saw a faint light under the door. Perhaps someone was in the hall with a candle. Why were they pausing at her door? The worst possible thought popped into her
head.
. . perhaps the count had hastened his wife’s demise and now she haunted this castle-like home. Was she anxious to have any potential replacement leave? Did she want to protect Sarah by telling her about the count’s nefarious tendencies?

Sarah lit the candle on her bedside table and then wakened her companion. “Madame Duval,” she urgently whispered, “wake up.”

The matron sat up, looking startled. “Whatever is it, my
dear.
Are you feeling ill?”

“No; but, look, do you see the light moving back and forth in front of our door?”

“Yes. It appears someone is pacing in the hallway. What time is it?”

“One o’clock. No one should be up and about at this time of night. And, why would they be hovering about our room?”

“Oh, my.
What shall we do? Do we have anything for our defense?”

“Surely, no one would harm us,” Sarah gasped. “There is but one thing to do,” she continued resolutely. “We must find what we can for our protection and see who is there.”

The light began to slowly move away from their door. “Quickly,” Sarah urged. “You carry the candle and I will take the fireplace poker for our defense.”

Slowly, Sarah opened the door. Madame Duval huddled behind her, half pushing her into the hallway. They glanced in the direction the light had moved. A ghostly apparition, dressed in a long white gown, with a white nightcap seemed to float down the hallway, carrying a candle. Then she suddenly disappeared from view.

The two women stared at each other for a moment, both thinking,
Was
that a ghost?

Sarah whispered, “I think I’ve read too many stories. I feel a bit like Catherine
Morland
in Northanger Abbey.” She clasped the older woman’s hand. “I am so glad you are with me,” she whispered. “Shall we investigate?”

The portly woman shook ointment-covered head in the affirmative, pushing the flopping rabbit-ear ends of the linen cloth back away from her face. Together they tiptoed down the hallway, Sarah a bit ahead of the older woman. They were almost to the point where the apparition had disappeared, when a door opened. Madame Duval turned to the doorway and stood face-to-face with
an
girl they had never seen before.

The girl took one look at Madame Duval’s white-smeared, linen-wrapped face and quickly screamed and then fainted.

Sarah rushed back to the scene and together they assisted the girl back into her bedroom. “Perhaps it is best if you are not her first vision when she awakens, Madame; since the potions have not yet had time to finish their work.”

“Oh, my dear.
No wonder the poor thing was frightened,” Madame Duval said as she put her head in her hands. “To see an unknown figure looking like a ghost with
it’s
head tied
on.
. . the poor girl.”

As the girl began to open her eyes, Sarah said, “It is all right, my dear. We are sorry to have given you a fright. We are guests of Count Frontenac.” Smiling to reassure the girl she continued, “My name is Sarah Bingley. What is your name?”

“I am Miss Cassandra Frontenac.” She glanced at Madame Duval and then whispered to Sarah, “What is wrong with her? Was she injured?”

Sarah chuckled and whispered back, “No. She thinks the ointment will help make her look more beautiful and the cloth is to prevent the ointment from soiling the bedclothes.”

Cassandra looked doubtful at these two strange-looking apparitions, but managed a tentative smile as Sarah introduced her to Madame Duval.

“Did you see someone in the hallway with a candle? Is that why you were coming out?” Sarah asked.

“Yes. I thought it might be my little
sister.
. . she walks in her sleep. I was going to check on her and,” glancing at Madame Duval, “I was startled to find a stranger.”

“Very tactfully said,” Madame Duval replied with a smile. “That must have been who we saw. Perhaps we should check on her. The last place we saw her was just a little further down the hall.”

“She is most likely back in her room then,” Cassandra said. “It is at the end of the hall.”

The threesome relaxed a bit and Sarah said, “Shall we tuck you back into bed after giving you such a fright?”

“Yes, please,” Cassandra said. “Felicia was wrong. You are nice,” she continued as she settled into her bed.

Sarah smiled as she pulled the blankets around the girl. “How many sisters and brothers do you have?”

“I have four sisters. You met Felicia. Susannah is the sleepwalker, she’s the youngest. In the morning you’ll meet Nanette and Josephine. Father said we were all to look our best to be introduced after breakfast.”

“We had all better get some rest then if we are to look our best,” Sarah said. “I shall look forward to seeing you again in the morning.” She extinguished the girl’s candle and whispered, “Good night. Sleep well.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah awakened in the morning to find Madame Duval sitting at the little table in the alcove. She looked up at Sarah’s approach and said, “Good morning, my dear.”

“Good morning. I am sorry for the sleep you lost because of my foolish imagination.”

“Not to worry, my dear. I think the castle-like atmosphere of this place and unknown details of Countess Frontenac’s death made us both quite susceptible to jump to conclusions last night. Now that I look back on it, it was the most diverting experience I’ve had in some time.”

Sarah laughed, “I was so
afraid.
. .then I felt foolish when we found out it was just a little girl sleepwalking. I was almost disappointed it wasn’t a ghost.”

Soon the two ladies were dressed for the day and joined Count Frontenac in the dining room. He was having a cup of tea and reading a newspaper. Felicia sat quietly beside her father, who rose when the twosome entered. “Good morning,” he greeted, “please join us. Felicia, let the cook know that we are all assembled.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said as she scooted off to comply with her father’s directive.

As they enjoyed the delicious pastries, Sarah said, “We met Cassandra last night. She seems a delightful girl.”

The count snapped, “I had planned for you to meet the children when they looked their best this morning.” Then regaining control of his voice he said, “I hope she did not disturb you. If she did, I will take care of the. . . .”

“Not at all,” Sarah said. “It is our fault. We nearly scared the poor child to death.”

Felicia giggled as Madame Duval briefly retold the story. The count did not seem to find the adventure amusing.

The count said, “As you can see, your duties as my wife will keep you quite busy.”

“If we should decide to wed, I would be happy to assume the responsibilities of the household. However, I do hope to continue my writing career.”

“My wife found little time to keep her diary updated, but perhaps you are more organized.” In any case, “I am sure such a trivial pursuit will not distract you from your responsibilities to your family.”

“Madame Duval must not have told you that I write poetry for publication and am currently working on a novel.”

He clenched his jaw, glanced at the matronly woman for a moment and then back to Sarah, “I believe she did mention that you had a poem or two published; but, you will find it unnecessary to allow your thoughts to be displayed in such a public way when we are married. You will have no need for finances beyond what I provide and there will be little time for such foolishness.”

He does not even seem open to discussing the idea of my writing, Sarah thought. In fact, he acts as though writing for publication would be an embarrassment to him. My stories are like my children, I cannot give them up.

After breakfast, the other children were ushered in. Sarah’s heart went out to the motherless group. Little Susannah smiled shyly and said, “I am sorry if I scared you last night.”

Sarah knelt down before her. “My imagination is what caused me to be frightened. You cannot help your sleep walking.” She smiled and the little girl took her hand as she met the other girls.

Cassandra grinned at Madame Duval, “It worked! You look much nicer this morning.”

The count snarled, “How dare you talk so to an adult. You are to be on your best behavior. If you cannot do that, you may excuse yourself.”

“Yes, Papa.
I’m sorry,” the little girl said as tears welled in her eyes.

Sarah whispered in her ear, “You are right. She does look much better this morning.” Then as the count’s attention was drawn away by a servant, Sarah pulled out her handkerchief and dried the tears that threatened to overflow the girl’s wide eyes.

The count turned and announced, “Now, children. The nanny will take you for a stroll while Miss Bingley and I discuss our forthcoming wedding.”

Turning to him, Sarah said, “You assume too much sir. I have not been formally invited to be your wife.”

“The invitation to come here was the same as a proposal. The evening we met at the ball, I found you to be acceptable.”

“I was told the purpose of this trip was for me to get better acquainted with you and to meet your family and then. . . .”

“You have done so. Have you not?”

Madame Duval stood by, silently watching this exchange. She smiled a bit as she saw Sarah was not allowing herself to be bullied by the man.

“Indeed. I have met your children and learned more of your character since we came here.”

“Fine.
Then let us plan the wedding.” The count turned to Madame Duval. “I have looked at my schedule and believe the 14th would be an acceptable day for the wedding.”

Sarah stood aghast.
“Just a fortnight away!”

“Yes.
As you can see.
The children need a mother and I need someone to manage the household and act as hostess.”

“I have heard nothing about the other duties of a wife,” Sarah said.

“That is all that can be expected. I have all the children I care to. The room you slept in last night would become yours. I do not want a lover, just a wife.”

“What of the scriptural injunctions for a man to love his wife as his own body?”

“Do not bring scripture into this matter. As my wife, you may teach the children whatever nonsense you wish regarding religion. I will hear none of it.”

Sarah pressed her lips together, afraid even to begin to respond to such a statement. Does he not care anything for his children? Surely he has some sort of religious beliefs he would like to see instilled in his offspring.

“May I ask what your beliefs are?”

“I do not believe in organized religion of any sort,” he snapped. “Now, let us discuss more pleasant matters.”

Not to be so easily diverted from a topic that was so important to her, Sarah asked, “Do you believe in God?”

“Children and weak-minded people need to believe in an all-knowing deity, I do not. I have no objections, however, to a church wedding ceremony since that is what people expect.” Returning to his courtly manner, he smiled and said, “But, let us talk now of our wedding. The dressmaker will call later today to take your measurements and let you select the style of your dress. Please do not consider the cost. It is important that my bride wear the finest materials available so people know. . . .”

Sarah turned to Madame Duval, “Would you leave us alone for a moment please.” As her chaperone left the room, Sarah turned back to the now broadly smiling count. Does he not have an inkling of my feelings?
she
thought. Taking a deep breath, she began, “I am honored that a man of your stature would seek me to be his wife.”

The count nodded, pleased that she recognized he was stooping beneath his level to offer marriage to her.

Looking directly into his eyes, she said, “I have had opportunity to closely observe Sir Thomas and Lady Staley’s marriage. By being part of their household, I have come to the realization that when I wed I want the kind of relationship they have.”

“Of course, your experience in a diplomatic household is one of the reasons I selected you,” he said, taking her hand.

She pulled her hand back. “You mistake my meaning, Sir. I have learned much more from the
Staleys
than proper etiquette. They have taught me, by example, that when I wed I want a relationship like
theirs.
. . based on shared beliefs and a deep love. I am sorry; but, I cannot marry you. Madame Duval and I will be leaving as soon as we can complete our packing. Thank you for your hospitality.”

The count was stunned. He did not even ask for further explanation.

In the coach, on their way back home, Madame Duval said, “As much as I enjoy making a match, I am glad you refused him.”

Sarah glanced at the matron, “I thought you believed we would be a perfect match.”

“I knew a lot of facts about the count before our visit and those details made me think he would be good for you;” she shuddered a bit, “but, being in his home, seeing his temperament, I knew you were not destined to be together.”

“Then you are not terribly disappointed?”

“No, indeed.
I shall find some young woman who wants no love or emotion expressed, cares little about her religion, but desires security and social position.”

Sarah relaxed and laughed then. “You were right, though. I think parts of our little visit will one day be found in one of my novels.”

The remaining years in France were very quiet for Sarah, affording her time to write a novel incorporating many of the events which took place at the embassy residence. Her story included a duel over a lady’s
honor.
. . an event her critics said “so seldom occurred as to not be a legitimate activity for a novel. However, the details were so well-written, that one could almost envision such an absurd scene taking place between two hot-headed young men.” One of her stories included a gruff English baron in a haunted castle. At first Sarah was afraid the count might recognize
himself
; but, then, with a laugh she recalled his disdain for women writers and realized the count would never read such a story.
             

Many events were hosted at the English Embassy. Sir Thomas was valued for his wit and honesty and Lady Georgiana was often requested to play her harp at state dinners. The peaceful atmosphere which suffused the embassy following Georgiana’s performance provided the perfect setting for the diplomacy which followed.

One evening, several months before the Staley’s departure, Madame Duval and General
D’arbley
were present at the English Embassy for the early evening meal. Conversation flowed around the table pleasantly. Madame Duval quietly turned to Sarah and asked, “My dear, where have you been keeping yourself? I have not seen you at the balls over the past year and you have not visited me for six months or more.”

“I have been watching Anna,” and with her color heightening with embarrassment, she added, “and writing my book.”

In a friendly tone, her inquisitor continued, “Must writing a book make you live in a nunnery?”

“Not at all,” Sarah said, relieved that Madame Duval was not condemning her for striving in the unladylike field of literature, but was merely chastising her for not participating in social activities. “I have little desire to be in society at the current time.”

“For someone like
yourself
, to be seen is to be courted,” the hopeful matchmaker said.

“I have no matrimonial desires that could be fulfilled by my attendance at local balls.”

“
Tush
,
tush
, my lovely young friend,
You
do not want to become an old maid like myself?”

“I try not to think too much about my marital state.” Looking at the elder woman she asked, “Why should celibacy be so contemptible? For now, Anna, Edgar and the characters in my stories comprise my children.” Stiffening her chin she added, “They seem sufficient for me.”

Madame Duval smiled conspiratorially and said, “I dare say, if the right man appears you will be willing.”

“Indeed, you are probably right. I wonder, though, how many men would appreciate a woman with a heart and mind. As you know, the count was abhorred the thought of an authoress. . . I fear most men have the same prejudice. I surely could not marry such a man.”

“The man was a fool! There are many that would esteem a woman for such talents, and have high approbation for her.”

“I hope there is one at least,” Sarah quietly said.
             
             
             

Thomas left the room soon after Madame Duval and General
D’arbley
left. Sarah asked Lady Staley, “Why did Sir Thomas seem so ill at ease this evening?”

Quietly Georgiana explained, “The foreign office has asked Sir Thomas to misrepresent His Majesty’s intentions regarding a plan of great import in the Mediterranean.”

Sarah nodded knowingly, “And Sir Thomas is unwilling to initiate and maintain such deceit.”

“You are right. Despite his four years as ambassador, the foreign office said they will ask for his resignation if he does not follow their plan.”

“And?”

“He spent this evening purposefully avoiding the subject with General
D’Arbley
. He refuses to lie to his friend, even in the name of national duty. He realizes deceit is sometimes necessary in wartime, but France is not our enemy now and we are not at war. He is upstairs, drafting his resignation. We will soon be going home to Staley Hall.”