No Greater Love (21 page)

“No. Someone who loves him cannot be bad for him. Let me think it over, Pascal. You might be right. He is much stronger now, I think, and it might be time for Nicholas to begin living more of a normal life. But now it’s time for sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” She bent down and kissed his hair, then went back into the other room to prepare for bed.

Georgia looked up at the sky, pleased to see that the weather was holding throughout the day. They’d been spending most of their time in the garden, trying to get it into shape, and she was finally satisfied. She’d been right about the bulbs. They had poked up tips of green with the very first of the warm weather, and now that she and Cyril and Pascal had succeeded in clearing away most of the debris, they had room to breathe. Crocus, anemone, and cyclamen peeked up along the walkways and tulips pushed up at die base of the little stone boy. The willow tree was swollen with buds; the rosebushes even looked as if they had some hope. Sap was rising everywhere, new life pushing forth. Nicholas would have a garden that summer, she was certain of it.

“Madame,” Pascal whispered, nudging her a few minutes later. “Madame! Look! Look, madame, it is the monsieur! And the little Raleigh is with him!”

Georgia looked up. Binkley was leading Nicholas to the bench that sat under the willow tree. He moved like a man walking in his sleep, and in the outdoors the weight he’d lost seemed more apparent. His clothes no longer hugged his once energetic body, but hung from him. “It is indeed, Pascal,” she said quietly. “I thought today would be a nice day for him to sit outside and enjoy the sunshine. Now that the weather is fine, I think it won’t harm him to join us, and maybe it will help.”

“He looks very sad,” he said. “Even sadder than in his sleep.”

“Yes, I know, Pascal. But somewhere deep inside of him there is great happiness and laughter. You will see. One day you will see.” She got to her feet and went over to them. Binkley was just settling a warm blanket over Nicholas’ knees. “Hello, Nicholas,” she said as casually as she could manage. “I’m glad you’ve come out to enjoy the day. Look, the garden is beginning to come back, can you see? And there is Cyril up on the wall, which he has been repairing.”

“Hello, N-Nicholas,” Cyril said, although Georgia could see it was an effort for him to sound cheerful. Still, she was pleased. She’d had a long talk with Cyril concerning his cousin and had made it very clear that she would not tolerate any sort of negative attitude, or he would never be welcome at the Close again, and he hadn’t argued the point.

Georgia went back to the bed where Pascal was pretending to work. “Pascal, don’t stare,” she said. “It’s important to behave as if there is nothing unusual. If you would hand me the next plant, please?”

He obediently dragged his eyes away, but she noticed how often his eyes flew over to Nicholas.

“The monsieur is very brave,” he said after some time. “Very, very brave. I would like to do something for him.”

“I d-don’t know what you think you c-can do, Pascal,” Cyril said, coming down for more stone. “It’s c-clear that he’s touched in the head. Here, hand the rocks up to me one at a t-time.”

“You are very wrong about the monsieur, Cyril. I have had a long conversation with madame, and she has assured me that the monsieur is not mad, only far away. So because I love him, I want to do something for him.”

“How c-can you love someone you’ve never met?”

“It is not difficult. And I have met him. Twice. It is too bad, because the first time I was not awake, and the second time he was not awake. But one day soon we will both be awake at the same time, and then we will meet formally.”

“You are the s-silliest child,” Cyril said, reaching down for another rock.

“I am not silly. Look at him, Cyril. Is it not sad to see him so, a man so strong and brave? He is in very much pain, can you not see it? I think you should find it in your heart to love him. Be careful, it is heavy.”

“Why should I f-find it in my heart?” Cyril asked. “Just because he is a relative?”

“No. Because you love me and I love him, and I ask it of you.”

“That makes absolutely no s-sense, Pascal,” Cyril said, but he was smiling.

“Perhaps not to you, but it makes sense to me. And it is very important to have people to love. I have told you this before.”

“And I have told you that love is a d-dangerous thing. You should be more d-discriminating, I think.”

“If people were all as careful as you, nobody would be loved at all. Look at you. You do not love your father or your
belle-mire,
or your good cousin, or your new aunt. The only people you say you care about are your
maman,
who is dead, and me, and that is only because you saved me and looked after me, and it makes you feel important to have done so. If you had met me on the street you would not have given me a second look.”

“Pascal, I begin to b-believe that you are the one who is t-touched in the head.”

“You are very unkind. I shall not talk to you again until you can say nice things.” He left the ladder and went back to Georgia, who had been trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t listening and also to keep a straight face throughout this exchange. Conversations between Pascal and Cyril were almost always highly entertaining, and usually quite illuminating.

“I have been thinking,” Pascal said to her. “It would be permissible to give the monsieur a flower, madame?’’

“A flower? I cannot see why you shouldn’t give him a flower. Nicholas loves flowers.”

“I know there are not all that many yet, but I thought one would not hurt. Perhaps one of these new red ones over here?’’

“A tulip? Of course. What a nice thought. It’s an especially lovely flower because it’s the very earliest of the tulips, Pascal, and a special kind, so it’s one of the bravest, willing to face the difficult weather that might come. I am sure it will be a fine gift for the monsieur.”

“I understand. I will not say anything to remind the monsieur of the badness, I promise, madame.”

Pascal went to the bed and carefully plucked a single bloom, then brushed off his hands and shyly approached Nicholas. “Monsieur?” he said, holding it out, and Nicholas brought his gaze to rest on him. “You do not know me, as we have not been introduced. I am Pascal, and I live with you now. I have brought you a flower, monsieur. It is one of the first of the spring, a tulip, madame calls it. It is for you, to remind you of happy, beautiful things.” He took Nicholas’ hand and carefully placed the flower in it, looking at him with very solemn eyes. “It is strong, this flower, for it comes back year after year, despite the cold of winter. When the sun warms the ground, it stirs, and then it remembers and stretches itself up to the sun and shows us its joy. It has a fine color, has it not? It is greatly satisfying, being a gardener. Madame Daventry is teaching me much about growing things.”

Then Pascal smiled his warm, sweet smile and turned away, going back to his work.

Nicholas stared down at the flower for a long time. When he looked up, there was a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Georgia didn’t know what to make of it. Nicholas still did not speak, nor did he actively respond. Binkley brought him out to the garden day after day. He sat quite still for long hours as they worked. But there was a stirring in him that she felt as clearly as she felt the stirring of life under her fingers, and for the first time she had real hope.

They talked and laughed among themselves, Lily joining in when she wasn’t required elsewhere. Cyril even tolerated Lily, treating her almost as a friend when he wasn’t remembering that he was a lord. Their mixed laughter and conversation tumbled together, Pascal joining in his sweet high voice. Georgia began to feel as if there really was a family back in Raven’s Close, and the house and the land knew it and were answering.

As they worked together and the days went by, the garden began to truly come to life, little by little. The willow sprouted pale green leaves and violets threw a heady scent into the air. The white, starry flowers of saxifrage fell in mossy sheets over the garden wall. Lantern roses and snowbells, their little bells daintily hanging from upright stalks, danced together with the blue stars of hepatica in a riot of color. Buttercup had seeded itself in an unruly but brilliant carpet along one side of the wall, and Georgia didn’t have die heart to dig it up. It was a wild garden, but a garden nevertheless, and her heart was glad for every single blossom.

She was also fascinated by the small changes that seemed to be occurring in Cyril. He was growing up. He no longer indulged himself in bated comments or barbed insults, and he rarely sulked. He threw himself into his work with great pleasure, and although he still had his odious moments, it seemed that there was a happiness growing in him. He had even unbent toward Nicholas, maybe beginning to see that he was not the wicked man he’d been painted, but just a poor ill man damaged by events beyond his control. Pascal might have had something to do with the change in Cyril’s attitude, for he unabashedly showered Nicholas with his love and attention. He delighted in presenting him with bouquets of wildflowers that he picked, describing the contents of each one as he brought them and placed them on his lap. He received no answer, and he didn’t mind in the least, for he chattered away quite gaily. But Georgia noticed how Nicholas’ hands later moved in the flowers as he sat, and her heart sang with happiness. He was coming back. She knew it. Now it was only a matter of time.

It happened the third week in March, late at night. She was sleeping soundly on her pallet when she was startled awake by a cry and Raleigh’s barking.

“Georgia … Georgia, help me!” Nicholas’ voice was filled with terror. “Help me!”

She was with him in an instant. “Nicholas? It’s all right. It’s all right.”

His eyes were open and they were looking at her, not blankly, but with panic. “Georgia? Oh, God. You’re here. Thank God you’re here.”

She stroked his face, his hair, his face again. “Of course I’m here. Right here with you, Nicholas. Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know … I dreamt … I dreamt…”

Georgia gathered him up into her arms and held him tightly. “It’s all right, Nicholas, it’s all right,” she whispered. “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe now. You’re home, Nicholas. You’re finally home.” She rocked his shaking body in her arms, and he held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.

“Oh, God,” he said in a choked voice. “Oh, dear God … it was no dream, was it?”

“No. It was not a dream. But it’s all right now. It’s over, Nicholas. It’s finally over.”

“The boy. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried … I tried, Georgia, but I was too late, may God forgive me. The poor child.”

“Nicholas, there are things you don’t know yet, that you don’t understand.” But as she spoke, the connecting door burst open and Pascal stood there in his nightshirt. “Like this,” she finished, thinking that God worked in his own mysterious way, and Pascal and Nicholas were both firmly in his hands. And this was one shock that could only be beneficial.

“Madame?” Pascal said in alarm. “I heard crying! The monsieur, nothing has happened?’’

“Come over here, Pascal,” she said, standing. “It is time for you to meet your beloved monsieur.”

“He is awake, madame? God be thanked!”

“He is awake. And, Nicholas, it is long past time that you meet Pascal. You have much in common.” She took Pascal’s hand and drew him from the dark of the doorway into the moonlight that streamed down near the bed.

Nicholas pushed himself up and stared.

“Bonsoir,
monsieur,” Pascal said with an enormously pleased grin. “I am overjoyed to meet you.”

“It is the boy…” Nicholas said, stunned. “It … it is the boy.”

“Yes, the child you rescued.”

“But … but it is not possible. Just tonight I … he … he was dead. And now … My God, how is it possible?”

Pascal took Nicholas’ hand. “You saved me, monsieur. I did not die after all, thanks to your courage and the care of madame and Cyril.”

Nicholas gazed at Pascal as if he were a phantasm. “I am dreaming again,” he said.

“Do not be so silly, monsieur. I am very real. Pinch me and I will shout.”

Nicholas gave the ghost of a smile. “I believe it is I who should be pinching myself. Would you like to do the honors?”

Pascal considered. “I do not know if it is correct to hurt you, monsieur. But I will oblige you if you like.” He took the hand that was not holding Nicholas’ and he squeezed the flesh of his cheek.

Nicholas yelped, and Georgia laughed.

“It is good, monsieur,” said Pascal. “Even this morning you would not have made a response. Tonight you give a healthy cry. I am pleased.”

Nicholas rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You are pleased,” he said. “And I am baffled.”

“But it is simple, monsieur. I am Pascal LaMartine, the boy you took from the sea. And you are the great hero Nicholas Daventry, but now you know who you are for yourself.”

“Yes, naturally,” he said, rubbing at his eyes again. “Why would I not?”

“You have been in a deep sleep, recovering from your efforts. Do you not remember?”

Nicholas shook his head. “No … How … how long have I been sleeping, Georgia? It must have been a full twenty-four hours.” He looked down at himself. “I seem to be clean and dry, and in one piece.” And then he frowned, feeling his ribs. “That’s odd…” He threw back the sheets and looked at his leg, then up at Georgia. “How long have I been sleeping?” he demanded.

Georgia heard the alarm in his voice, and she came and took Pascal by the shoulders. “Bedtime,
cheri.
Tomorrow perhaps you can spend more time with the monsieur.”

Pascal slipped off the bed and gave her a quick kiss. “I am very happy, madame. Very, very happy. And now I leave you to the monsieur. Good night, monsieur. It is a great pleasure to finally meet you properly. I am very honored.”

Georgia waited until the door had closed behind her. And then she sat down on the bed and took Nicholas’ hand.

“How long has it been, Georgia? That child couldn’t
possibly
have recovered that quickly from drowning. And my ribs—I know I did them some damage. In fact I feel quite well,” he said, “although I do feel weak. What has happened to me? Have I been fevered?”