Louisa Rawlings (44 page)

“
Moucheron
,
I beg you…”

Hubert smiled in reassurance. “She’ll pretend to be dead, Léonard. As she did before. She likes that game. But you mustn’t worry.” He raised his pistol and aimed it at Topaze.

Léonard’s face twisted. “I don’t like this game!” he cried, and darted toward Hubert. The pistol sounded like the clap of thunder. Léonard threw up his arms, made a cry like a mewling baby, and fell to the grass.

“Oh, God,
no
!”
Hubert tossed away the smoking pistol and covered his face with his hands.

Topaze began to weep. “Leonard.
Moucheron.
” She moved to where he lay. His mouth sagged open; his large, sad eyes stared in sightless wonder and surprise. A bloody hole gaped in the middle of his chest. She sank to her knees. “Dear brother. Dear Little Gnat.”

Hubert roared in fury and leaped for Topaze. One strong hand clenched her neck from behind, the other hauled her roughly to her feet. “Damn you,” he swore. “Damn you forever and ever!” He dragged her toward the edge of the cliff. She struggled in his savage grip, but his strength overpowered her. They wrestled for a moment at the lip of the cliff. Then, with a strangled curse, he pushed her over the edge.

She waved her arms and clutched frantically at the dry earth of the precipice. Merely by chance, her hands closed on a small twig growing out of the side of the cliff, some three feet down from the top. It bent under her weight, and a clump of earth dislodged from beside its roots, but it held. She drew a quivering breath, forced her thudding heart to slow. Her feet dangled over space, and one shoe had gone clattering down to the rocks below, but she was still alive.

Hubert leaned over the edge and glared at her. “You have more lives than a cat. But your luck can’t hold forever.” He disappeared from view.

By all the Saints
, she thought.
Does he mean to leave me here until I drop?
The thin twig cut into her hands; with her arms stretched above her head, her shoulders were already beginning to ache. She tried to haul herself up, braking her feet against the sheer side of the precipice, but her feet kept slipping against the soft dirt, and the earth around the twig crumbled a bit more from the strain.

She heard a soft grunt and looked up again. Hubert had returned, carrying a stone the size of her head. “I could shoot you, of course. But I don’t know where in Hades I threw the pistol. I could simply wait for you to get tired and fall, on your own. Satisfying, but chancy.” He raised the stone. “However, if I drop this on your hands, you’ll have no choice but to let go. And then I’ll tell them that you shot Léonard while playing a game, and your despair drove you over the edge of the cliff.”

“You monster!” she cried. “He was your son. You killed him, and now you can use his death to serve your own ends?”

“Will my tears bring him back?”

She was getting desperate. The muscles of her shoulders throbbed with the strain of her weight. “What’s to be served by my death, Hubert? The money belongs to Adelaïde, whether I live or die!”

His eyes glowed with hatred. “Your death will be my renascence, dear Véronique. Adelaïde will be dead in a week, out of grief for her daughter. One more dose of poison…”

She gasped. “Poison? Not Fleur!”
Save me, God
, she thought,
or Fleur will surely die.

“She would have been dead a month ago, but for your appearance. But I swear I’ll finish it. Then I’ll marry Justine. My next son, God willing, will be healthy and strong. And born legitimately, my rightful heir. And he’ll have it all. Grismoulins, the Marcigny inheritance. Wealth and power and standing in the court. Everything I was denied for being the second son!” He laughed, his face twisted in an evil leer. “I’ll have triumphed over them all! Simon and his brat, Adelaïde, you!” He lifted the stone above his head.

“
You scurvy dog!
” As Topaze watched, Lucien’s form hurtled through the air and collided with Hubert. The stone dropped from his hands, bounced against the edge of the cliff, and fell, missing her by inches as it descended to the rocks below. She fought back tears of relief. She couldn’t see the two men, but there were sounds of a scuffle.

A head appeared at the top of the cliff. Bonnefous. “I think you need my help, Mademoiselle Véronique,” he said mildly.

She could no longer hold back her tears. “Indeed, sir. God bless you.”

He lay on the top of the cliff and reached down with one hand. His fingertips barely touched hers. “I’m afraid this won’t do. If I lean over any farther, I’ll lose my balance. Is it possible, my dear, for you to raise yourself up, even for a moment, so I can grasp one of your hands?”

She nodded. “I think so. But let me catch my breath. I’m still trembling.”

“And well you might, my dear. We heard the report of Monsieur le Comte’s pistol. It lent wings to our feet. Monsieur Renaudot was extremely agitated.”

“Léonard…”

“Yes. We saw him,” he said gently. “Now, may I help you up?”

She bent her knees, used the toe of her remaining shoe to kick small footholds in the dirt of the cliff face. She braced her feet in the indentations; at the same time she pulled against the twig and raised her body by half an arm’s length. She prayed the twig would hold.

“Now!” cried Bonnefous. “Let go with one hand and reach up to me!”

Saint Cloud, protect me now
, she thought, and raised one hand above the twig. She felt the solid grip of Bonnefous’s hand, felt herself slowly hauled to the top of the precipice. She lay for a moment, gasping, clinging to the sweet grasses; then she looked up.

Lucien and Hubert, swords drawn, were engaged in a fight to the death. Topaze had seen Lucien fight before, in La Rochelle; he was skilled and savage, his days as a pirate evident in every fierce thrust and crafty feint. But his opponent fought with the recklessness of a man who had nothing to lose. A smudge of blood on the arm of Hubert’s fine silk coat showed that Lucien had already found a weakness in Hubert’s defense. Even as Topaze watched, hand to her tremulous breast, Lucien hooked his sword around Hubert’s blade and sent it flying harmlessly through the air.

Hubert staggered backward, his eyes on the point of Lucien’s blade. “Kill me, then, nephew,” he gasped.

Lucien’s sword arm quivered, then dropped to his side. “I can’t.” His voice was soft, bewildered. “I must be a fool. But I can’t kill you. You’re my own blood, my father’s brother.”

“Has your life since you left here made you soft?” Hubert sneered. “It was I, you know, who betrayed your father.” The words were thrown at Lucien like a challenge.

“I guessed as much. Lord knows I want your death. But I’d rather see you stripped of your rank and imprisoned for murder—and attempted murder. Is it so, Monsieur Bonnefous?”

The solicitor nodded his head. “The attempted poisoning of the wife, the deadly designs on this poor child. And, of course, Léonard. Prison, certainly. Possibly even execution.”

Lucien pointed to a spot on the grass at some distance from them. “I saw the pistol over there. We’ll take him to the police at Cholet.” While Bonnefous searched for the pistol, Lucien sheathed his sword and came toward Topaze. His eyes were warm and filled with tenderness.

She returned his smile and got to her feet. She was aware for the first time that her ankle throbbed; she limped slowly toward him. She stopped, her eyes wide with terror. Hubert had pulled a knife from his waist and was lunging toward Lucien’s back, the blade poised to strike. “
Lucien!
” she cried.

Lucien whirled about, tried to evade the knife. A shot rang out. Hubert cursed, dropped the weapon, and clutched at his bloody shoulder. Bonnefous, pistol in hand, bowed. “An ungentlemanly thing to do, Monsieur de Chalotais, and unworthy of you.”

“You’re right, Bonnefous. A man should accept his fate with dignity.” He looked at Léonard, lying so still upon the grass, then he smiled. Topaze had never seen a more forlorn smile in all her life. “It would seem that God has the last laugh after all,” he said. He winced at the pain in his shoulder, but managed to bow in their direction. “Véronique. Lucien. Blaise.” He smiled again. Then, like a bird taking flight, he spread his arms, raced to the edge of the cliff, and threw himself into the void.

Topaze cried out and limped to the edge. Lucien’s strong arms held her back. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t look.”

He gathered her in his embrace. She sobbed and clung to him, all the horror of the day pouring out with her tears.

Bonnefous sighed. “An honorable close to his life, at least. Monsieur Renaudot, I think it best for me to return to Grismoulins and fetch assistance. I see that Mademoiselle Véronique has hurt her leg. I’ll have a litter brought back for her. And for the…bodies.” He sighed again. “A bad day’s business.”

“We’ll wait for you here, monsieur,” said Lucien. “Véronique needs to purge her heart before she can face the world again.” As she wept, he rocked her gently, kissed the top of her head. “Cry your tears, my darling,” he murmured.

She looked up at him through a mist of tears. “I don’t know what I would have done, if you hadn’t come.”

“It was my fault. All the way from Grismoulins I cursed myself, wondering what I’d done to make you think I could try to kill you. To make you think me a monster.”

“I was frightened. I thought you were the only one who knew of the tunnel. And your message at the mill…it seemed so pointless, when you sent for me. I thought it was a lure.”

He held her more tightly in his embrace. “It
was
pointless. I was only…sorry for our quarrel. I wanted to see you again, that’s all. A clumsy device.” He stroked the side of her face with gentle fingers. “Damn Hubert. To think how close you came…”

“Oh, Lucien, it was horrible. Poor Léonard. He took the bullet that was meant for me.” She stretched out her arm toward the twisted body that lay in the grass. “Let me smooth his hair and kiss him to sleep, like a loving sister would.”

“Of course.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. He put his arm about her waist, supporting her as she hobbled to Léonard’s side.

She knelt before the body. She closed his staring eyes, pressed his gaping lips together, straightened his skewed wig. She kissed him on the forehead, his cheeks, his sad mouth. She folded his hands across his chest, and remembered the pinwheels those hands had fashioned. What a dear playmate he’d been. Léonard the Bold.

“Oh,
Moucheron
,” she sobbed, and put her arms around his still form, trying in vain to pull his dead weight to her bosom.

Lucien touched her shoulder. “Come away, my darling. Leave him. There’s nothing we can do. And he’s at peace, the poor thing.”

She looked up at him, her eyes streaming with tears. “Do you think so?”

“No one can ever tease him again. Come away.” Reluctantly, she lowered Léonard to the ground. Her hands were warm and wet beneath him. She pulled them from under his body. She stared at them. They were deep crimson, glossy red and foul, drenched with innocent blood. Not a wrinkle, not a line, had escaped the vile stain: her fingertips, her palms, the pale blue veins that throbbed at her wrists. She stared at them, while the chill horror of death froze her marrow. So much blood. Blood. Pain. Death.

She began to scream…and scream…and scream…

Chapter Twenty-Four

Horrified, Lucien dropped to the ground beside her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Véronique!”
What is happening to her?
he thought. “
Véronique!
”

She choked on a scream and stared at him, her eyes wide with fearful bewilderment. “Véronique?” she whispered. “Véronique?”

There was something about her face. So different. As though she was a stranger. “Who are you?” he demanded.

A breathless sob. “Topaze, monsieur.”

Good Lord, then she
wasn’t
Véronique! “Of course,” he said reassuringly. “Topaze Benoîte.”

She nodded her head, a frantic gesture. “Yes, yes, yes. Madame Benoîte. She’ll help me. She’ll tell me what to do about Maman!”

He frowned. Her words made no sense. “What’s
your
name?”

“Topaze Moreau.” She jumped to her feet and looked around, her eyes darting wildly about. “Please, monsieur, tell me the way. For the love of God.”

Topaze Moreau? She
was
a stranger. And lost where he couldn’t reach her. The eyes she turned to him saw something he could only guess at. Something terrible, frightening. Something from her hidden childhood, and only now recalled. The childhood of Topaze
Moreau
.

He stood up and moved toward her, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Come away, Topaze. Let me clean your hands.”

“My hands. Oh, God.” She began to whimper again, wiping the blood on the pale linen of her skirts. It left a red smear.

Her grief and distress were breaking his heart. “Topaze.” He reached out to take her in his arms.

She shrieked—a cry of pain—and backed away from him, pressing her hands to her groin. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t touch me there. Please don’t. Maman said…oh, please don’t hurt me anymore…”

He groaned. She wasn’t merely seeing the horror, she was reliving it. “You were raped?” he asked softly.

She nodded, giving way to tears again. “They hurt me so much.”

“
They?
How many?” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. But it was difficult, when he thought of her sweet body being violated, even so long ago.