Lady Vengeance (6 page)

 The regular brushing stopped.

 ‘Now Miss Nell, I’ve known you too long to be fobbed off with such a tale,’ came the blunt reply. ‘When I saw you come in, you looked for all the world as if you had seen a ghost.’

 ‘Mayhap I
did
see one, Hannah.’

 ‘Nay, child, what sort of talk is that?’

 ‘I saw a man, Hannah. A fat Englishman named Poyntz. He did not recognize me, but I knew
him
at once –’ Her voice trembled and she took a long breath before continuing, ‘He was one of the men at – on that night –’

 The older lady’s face grew pale.

 ‘Oh no, child. Surely you are mistaken.’

 Elinor turned in her chair and caught at the frail hand that held the brush.

 ‘There was no mistake! But I want to know, Hannah, could he be – was he the one who killed my father?’

 The servant stared down into the troubled green eyes and shook her head sadly.

 ‘Miss Nell, I do not know. So long ago, I hoped you had forgotten.’

 Elinor dropped the hand as if she had been stung.

 ‘Forgotten!’ she cried, jumping up, ‘how could I forget that I was used for the pleasure of five so-called gentlemen, or that one of them murdered my father? I tell you, Hannah. Those five faces are burned into my memory, and will never be erased! But to see this man Poyntz, so – so jovial and prosperous – did
all
of them go unpunished?’

 Hannah Grisson shrugged. ‘That I do not know, for since our flight to France I have had no word from England. But why revisit your pain, my lady?’

 ‘I do not revisit it, Hannah. It has never left me. But now ….’ she paused, then glanced up at her servant, a little smile playing about her lips. ‘Whatever my late husband’s faults, he has left me in complete control of my fortune, so perhaps it is time I began to make use of the money.’ She rose. ‘I shall go to bed now, Hannah. I am sure it will please you to know that I have decided to leave off my grey gowns. Tomorrow, I shall set about replenishing my wardrobe with more cheerful colours.’

 ‘Your sainted mother would be pleased to see you wearing colours again, Miss Nell,’ said Hannah, her face brightening as she helped her mistress into bed. ‘Perhaps some good has come of this night after all is said and done. Talking can do a deal of good, and mayhap your ghost is laid to rest.’

 Elinor lay back against the soft pillows, her green eyes glinting.

 ‘Not quite,’ she said softly, ‘but I hope he soon may be.’

* * * *

 Madame de Sange rose from her bed very early the following morning and issued her orders: she would see no one but her
coiffeuse
, and the dressmakers, milliners and the most fashionable mantua-makers in Paris that passed through the Hôtel de Sange in a constant stream. When at last she emerged once more into the Paris street a few days later, gone were the grey cloak and gown, replaced with a morning robe in emerald-green lustring and a cream woollen shawl thrown over her arm as a precaution lest any chill breeze should suddenly spring up. Her hair, previously dressed in thick powdered curls, was now pinned up neatly under a wide-brimmed straw hat, with little tawny ringlets framing her face. Today, however, this transformation was not for the benefit of any society acquaintance. Madame de Sange stepped up into her waiting coach and was borne away to the outskirts of Paris, where she could indulge in her favourite past-time. It was her habit, on fine days, to take her carriage to a small wooded glade where she could alight and walk undisturbed beside a stream that meandered through the trees. There she felt at peace. On this particular morning Elinor revelled in the solitude, for the past days had been so busy that she was glad of a respite to collect her thoughts. It was with some annoyance therefore that she observed a figure before her on the path. As she drew closer, she recognized the tall figure of Viscount Davenham. He sketched a bow as she came up to him.

 ‘Good day to you, Madame de Sange.’

 ‘Sir, I come here to be alone. Pray be so good as to go on your way.’

 He raised his brows at her direct speech.

 ‘I am sorry if I interrupt you.’

 ‘You do interrupt me. Good day, sir!’

 ‘Pray, hear me, Madame,’ he cried, walking beside her. ‘I have called at your house a dozen times since the Briàre’s soirée and on each occasion you have refused to see me.’

 ‘With good reason. I have been engaged.’

 ‘Then allow me now but a few moments of your time.’

 ‘No.’

 She walked on briskly, hoping he would turn back and leave her in peace. However, she soon realized that he had fallen into step behind her. He followed her in silence for some time, then:

 ‘Faith, spirit,’ she heard him say, ‘whither wander you? Do you go, perhaps, like Shakespeare’s fairy,
over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier
to serve some fairy queen?’ receiving no answer, he continued in a conversational tone, ‘It is exceeding pleasant here, is it not? The trees provide us with their leafy shade, birds delight us with their song and a stream too, a veritable paradise. I vow I could walk on forever. Indeed, I am beginning to think I shall be obliged to do so.’

 Elinor stopped and turned to face him, trying to hide a smile.

 ‘My lord, upon first meeting you, I discovered that you liked to converse with blocks of stone – granite, was it not? Now I find you talking to yourself!’

 ‘The latter case is easily remedied, ma’am.’

 ‘Is there nothing I can say that will persuade you to go away?’

 ‘No, Madame, nothing.’

 ‘Then faith, sir, I must capitulate. You may walk back with me to my carriage.’

 ‘Would you not care to stroll on a little further?’ he asked her hopefully.

 Quelling any desire to prolong their meeting, Elinor turned her steps resolutely back the way she had come.

 ‘How did you know I would be here, Lord Davenham?’

 ‘After trying unsuccessfully to call upon you, I made a few enquiries and discovered that you walked here most mornings.’

 ‘Have you then been here, lying in wait for me?’

 ‘Oh no. As I told you, I have tried each day to gain entry to your
hôtel
and having failed to do so, I watched for your carriage.’

 ‘And did your sources fail to inform you that I detest company on my walks?’

 ‘They told me of it, but I thought I should succeed.’

 ‘Oh?’ When he did not speak, curiosity forced her to ask, ‘Why should you think you would succeed when others had failed?’

 ‘Because we are both English. I learned from my informants that you came to France as a child. Thus, we have something in common.’

 There was a pause and glancing down at the lady, my lord was somewhat surprised to see the look of annoyance upon her countenance. When at last she spoke her voice was low and taut.

 ‘You are mistaken, sir. I no longer consider myself English, nor do I have any affection for that country.’

 ‘Do you never come to England now?’

 ‘No, never.’

 ‘Then how can you be so sure you would not like it there?’

 ‘My lord, I pray you will not question me too deeply. Let is suffice that England holds for me – unpleasant memories.’

 He stopped, obliging her to halt beside him. ‘Then I would wish, Madame, that you would but take the trouble to come to London, and mayhap we could replace those memories with something a little happier.’

 She shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered. ‘I doubt you could do that.’

 ‘I would willingly take up the challenge.’

 With a tiny shake of her head Elinor resumed her walk.

 ‘No. I am sorry. It will not do.’ She spoke firmly. ‘I have given you enough of my time, sir. You may escort me back to my carriage, if you so choose, but then I must ask that you do not trouble me again.’

 ‘I must in any event return to England at the end of the month, surely there could be no harm –’

 ‘No!’ she cried, stopping once more. ‘It cannot be. I have other plans.’ She drew a deep, steadying breath and looked up at him, forcing herself to meet his puzzled eyes squarely. ‘I am sorry for it, my lord. If it were not for –’ she broke off, then tried again. ‘There are things that I must do. A course of action that I
must
follow, and it allows no room for – other interests, my lord.’

 ‘What,’ he smiled at her. ‘Are you about to take orders and enter a nunnery?’

 ‘It would be all the same for you, sir, if I were,’ she told him earnestly. ‘Pray believe me, there is no place for you here.’

 Steadily she faced him, returning look for look. At length Davenham shrugged.

 ‘Very well, Madame. I can see you are resolved, and I will trouble you no further.’ He smiled again, this time a little wryly. ‘A pity, mistress, for I believe we should deal extremely well together.’

 Elinor held out her hand but would not meet his eyes. She said softly, ‘I am sorry.’

 The viscount took the outstretched fingers and lifted them briefly to his lips.

 ‘So too am I,’ he replied, then, without another word, he turned and strode off, leaving the lady to make her way back to her carriage alone.

 Madame de Sange dressed with care for the masquerade at the noble residence of M. Charrière, choosing a gown of gold-coloured silk embellished with quantities of blond lace and clasping about her neck the magnificent de Sange diamonds which had remained in their case since her husband’s demise. She completed her costume with a voluminous cloak of dark green and an elaborate gilded head-dress. Surveying her reflection in the mirror, Elinor allowed herself a smile: no one would recognize her – faith, with nothing more than her mouth and chin visible beneath the head-dress she hardly knew herself! Elinor shivered, but it was not the anticipation of an enjoyable evening that caused her to tremble. Her sole purpose was to confront Julian Poyntz, and she foresaw little pleasure in the encounter.

 The Charrière family was one of the very few in Paris that Philibert de Sange had deigned to recognize and his widow knew the house well. She moved confidently up the wide sweeping staircase to the ballroom, her nervousness gone now that she was so close to her goal. The room was already crowded, and very hot, and Elinor was glad to take a glass of champagne from a hovering servant. There was no sign of Poyntz, but she was not unduly worried: it was early yet. The dancing commenced and at once the ballroom seemed full of swirling, laughing couples. She watched them somewhat enviously, and took a second glass of champagne. An undignified collision between several of the dancers caused her to laugh out loud and a tall figure in a black domino immediately turned to stare at her. Unaware of this scrutiny, Elinor sipped at her glass, her foot tapping in time to the music.

 ‘Your pardon, Madame, but it is against the rules of the house for any guest to merely observe the dancing,’ remarked the gentleman in the black domino, removing her half-empty glass and setting it aside. Then, without waiting for a reply he led her onto the dance-floor. They were already dancing before Elinor had realized where she had heard his voice before.

 ‘English manners, my Lord Davenham?’

 He smiled, squeezing her hand, while through the slits of his mask his blue eyes glittered, causing her heart to pound in a most alarming way.

 ‘I fear a hesitant approach would have met with a refusal.’

 Since she could not make a denial, Elinor remained silent, allowing herself to enjoy the music and the dance. The viscount was a good dancer, expertly guiding his partner through the steps of the courante, avoiding collisions that were always a danger in such a crowded room. The atmosphere was exhilarating, and Elinor found herself in such harmony with her partner that she readily agreed to remain with him for the galliard, subduing her conscience with the thought that even if Julian Poyntz had arrived, it was still too early in the evening to approach him. The orchestra was playing a very lively tune, and many of the dancers whooped and shrieked as they whirled about the room, taking advantage of their disguises to abandon formality. Elinor and the viscount danced amongst them, twirling and skipping so fast that Elinor felt her senses reeling and when at last the music came to an end, she was obliged to lean against her partner for fear of losing her balance.

 ‘Sweet heaven, my lord, I have not danced like that for many a year!’ She laughed, allowing him to lead her from the floor.

 ‘But you danced perfectly. I would have said you were used to dancing every night.’

 ‘Flatterer!’ She tapped his arm with her fan before unfurling it and vigorously fanning her glowing cheeks. Observing this, Lord Davenham led the lady towards an embrasure where the glass doors had been opened to allow a little air into the ballroom. Breaking away from her partner, Elinor stepped out onto the terrace, thankful to feel the cool night air upon her heated skin.

 ‘I cannot think when I have enjoyed myself so much,’ she remarked as the viscount came up beside her. ‘When I set out tonight I had no anticipation that the evening would be so pleasant.’ She turned to face him, smiling. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

 She saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled back at her.

 ‘I told you we should deal well together, did I not, Madame de Sange?’

 Before Elinor could reply, he had removed his mask and bent his head to kiss her, locking her into a crushing embrace. Elinor’s blood raced. For a few seconds she returned his kiss with equal fervour, pressing her body hard against him. Then reality swept back upon her and she struggled to push him away.

 ‘No!’ she freed herself and stepped back, her hands out before her to keep him away. ‘That should not have happened!’

 ‘Would you tell me you did not want me to kiss you?’

 ‘Yes, no – oh I wish you would go away!’ Elinor pressed a kerchief to her lips with a trembling hand. ‘It was the champagne and the dancing – you took advantage of me!’ His laughter made her angry and she stamped her foot at him. ‘You are no gentleman, sir, to treat me thus!’ her voice trembled as she fought to hold her tears.