Broken Legacy (Secret Lives Series) Page 8

  During those two years, at times Eloise had been envious of her cousins. They had their own bedrooms and beds with comfortable mattresses, clothes that weren't too tight or ragged with holes, the most glorious of food that melted in her mouth, toys, especially dolls, to play with. Her Grand'Mere pointed out to her that Uncle Orville, in his goodness, extended himself to overseeing her education, allowing Eloise to attend sessions with her cousins' governess. Though she learned later, it had been her father who dictated that her education be by a governess.

  Eloise wondered why she did not live with her cousins. Nana Adele, a religious woman, gave her no answer, only she should be grateful for the care she was given.

  "Some have no roof over their head or food in their belly."

  "Oui, Nana," Eloise answered, but pondered the situation. At her uncle's, she heard the whispers behind her back. Bastard. She dare not ask what it meant. She comprehended it was not advantageous to be one.

  The governess seemed quite pleased with Eloise's progress, especially with her progress at adapting to languages with ease. Then all came to an end, sudden and swift...the day when the Marquis de Mortiere and his family came to visit. Nothing had ever been the same...

  "Eloise, did you hear what I said? Your husband has requested a meeting as you said he would. You are sure this is what you want me to do? Would it not be better to do as he wishes and you stay across the Channel?"

  Eloise stared at her uncle. She laughed to herself. He never stopped trying to maneuver her one way or the other.

  "Eloise, have you heard one word I have uttered?"

  Eloise sighed. "Yes, uncle, I have heard every word, but I have quite made up my mind."

  "Non, Eloise, you have to think of yourself and what will become of you. You know well what will happen if they discover..."

  "Uncle, for once, do as I request. I will handle everything. Have I not seen to your care? I have never stopped. Why press me now? Help my husband get to Paris. No harm will befall you for requesting leniency to English children."

  "It is you..."

  "Do not try, Uncle Orville," Eloise interrupted her uncle, "to pretend it is my welfare. You worry my help will cease. I have given instructions to Andre if I do not return. You have nothing to concern yourself with. I will leave in the morning myself."

  "As you wish," he answered.

  A sly smile formed on his face, as Eloise knew well it would once his welfare was secured. She took a sip of wine. Her stomach churned. The interaction with her uncle would pale in comparison to what she now must prepare to face. Placing her glass back down on the table, she rose and left him with his thoughts.

  * * * *

  As dusk settled over Calais, Lenister sat in a tavern echoing with laughter and chatter despite its decaying atmosphere. Although evident the Rai d’Or suffered from the Revolution, the patrons seemed quite ambivalent about the terror reigning in their country.

  The long-neglected room resembled the shambles of the country whose flag hung above the front door. Most of the contents with the dilapidated room needed repairs: Paper hung in strips from the walls. Ne’er a one of the chairs had a solid back; most broken, some stood as stools. The tables propped up with broken pieces of the chairs. None cared the condition of the tavern; they cared only if the drinks flowed. At the moment, neither did Lenister. He had more on his mind.

  The conversation with Eloise’s uncle, Orville D’Arcy, left him perplexed. Why did he get the feeling the man had expected him? Something gnawed within him about Orville D’Arcy. Mostly, his instincts told him D’Arcy was not to be trusted.

  “Are we leaving in the morn?” Seamus asked loudly with annoyance. He waited until the man left before he sat at the table. He aimed the question at Lenister’s back.

  Lenister gave no answer, but continued to look over his shoulder at Eloise’s uncle leaving the tavern.

  “I believe it will be the best course of action. Is everything set?” Lenister said to Seamus, turning back around to face his cousin.

  “I suppose,” Seamus muttered. “I do not know why but I don’t get a good feeling about this, Lenister. Granted your marriage has opened doors, but I’m unsure if I want to walk through those doors. Do you not feel the same?”

  Lenister said nothing, but nodded in agreement. Seamus was right. A part of him conceded his plan had worked to perfection, but he learned long ago nothing ever was this perfect.

  The moment he arrived, he had been warmly greeted, his needs immediately met. He was given an audience with D’Arcy without hesitation. Only weeks earlier, he had been met with one frustration after another. From Paris to Calais, he had been denied an audience with any official who had any bearing. Now it seemed all doors lay open to him.

  The dilemma weighing upon him…he had not shown the Eloise’s letters to anyone.

  “Odd,” Seamus continued, scooting his chair closer to Lenister. “Strange, really. I swear there is much more going on here.” His hand raked his dusty blond hair in the habit he had when something bothered him.

  “I can’t argue with you.” Lenister reached into his pocket and pulled out Eloise’s introduction letters. “How the hell does anyone know me without these?”

  “It is worse, cousin.” Seamus leaned over to Lenister. “When I was in the stables obtaining our horses, a man called the owner to the side. A minute later, the owner left, only to return with the two best mounts he had. I made some discreet inquiries. The man who interrupted my exchange is Andre D’Arcy, your wife’s cousin and Orville’s son. And…” He paused. His eyes quickly surveyed the room. “I swear I heard the Blanc Rose’s name uttered. What have you gotten yourself into, Lenister?”

  “The White Rose?” Lenister whispered under his breath. Confusion reigned within him.

  The White Rose was whispered to be the leader of an underground organization who helped fugitives to escape the wrath of the Revolution. He himself had tried unsuccessfully to contact the White Rose on his previous trips. He wondered if in truth the White Rose was only a fictional character to instill hope into the doomed.

  Lenister’s mind raced. If Eloise was connected to this White Rose, it would explain her actions. A certain pride surged through him on the thought of her efforts to help those in distress. Yet, his mind eased knowing she was safely across the Channel.

  It was not only the issue with the White Rose…he didn’t know what he was walking into. If indeed Eloise was connected, why had she not told him?

  Second, Orville D’Arcy. If ever he had met a man set on his self-preservation, it was Orville D’Arcy. Lenister was not deceived by D’Arcy’s words. D’Arcy offered help but only with the greatest reluctance. The man offered advice more than once in their brief conversation and always the same.

  “Perhaps you should let me send inquiries. I have heard foreigners are not welcome within Paris, for that matter in France. I assure you I will make every effort to secure your children for you,” D’Arcy said.

  Lenister was no fool. D’Arcy worried Lenister would cast a dark shadow over his name. Lenister understood the concern, but he would let nothing stand in his way to save his children. Nor, he suspected, would D’Arcy let anything compromise his position within this government—a worry not to be ignored.

  Before D’Arcy left his table, he informed Lenister of one more detail. “If you still insist upon traveling to Paris, my son Andre has volunteered to escort you. It will, of course, bode better for you to have this escort and my niece would expect nothing less.”

  “But of course,” Lenister agreed.

  Now Lenister looked over at Seamus. “Andre, you say? He has offered to escort us to Paris. I believe I will accept. It’s time to get some answers.”

  The day shone brightly on the small group of horsemen, making swift work of the miles between Calais and Paris. D’Arcy had been correct in his assessment that his son would see to their access throughout the countryside. At every checkpoint, nothing in their papers had been questioned, no delay
s in Lenister’s quest.

  The younger D’Arcy was a man of few words. Tall and slender, Andre D’Arcy carried himself with a poise that came only with a confidence in his purpose. Lenister had only to decipher the purpose.

  Reading adversaries had been an important element in surviving his early military career. During those years, some may have called his efforts in going behind the enemy lines brave and courageous; others youthful foolishness. Whatever his reasoning, he volunteered for those dangerous missions with boyish exhilaration, being all of eighteen at the time. Rushing headlong into the troublesome situation without a thought to the risk. Eighteen. A lifetime ago.

  Over the years, his self-preservation and single-mindedness qualities made him an excellent officer, but he had also succumbed to an arrogance that he sensed in this mission could be detrimental to his success. He had learned quickly his life depended upon his ability to swiftly analyze the threat and determine a solution to his dilemma. Luck or skill he never would discern, but never once was he discovered; never once did he have to face the consequence of spying on the enemy.

  Was it not what he used when he met Eloise? He sensed a strong resilience within her…empathy for others he used against her to obtain his desire…saving his children. Yet, in his hurry, he may have overlooked important details that could cost him his mission.

  Lenister pivoted his horse until its nose faced the head of Andre’s mount. With Seamus close into his side, Andre’s options were limited at best. He glanced first at Lenister and then Seamus before back to Lenister quizzically.

  “My dear friend, is there a problem?” asked Andre, leaning back on his mount. A small smile edged upon his face. “Ah…we are about to talk.” Shrugging slightly, he waved his hands in front of him in a gesture for Lenister to begin. “What is it you would like to talk about? How long is it to our destination? The weather? Or perhaps your wife’s family?”

  “You seem to have expected that I would do so. So out with it. How did you know to expect me?” Lenister demanded without any trace of emotion.

  “My father requested that I escort you,” Andre replied. “You will find that you have married into a rather close family. We take…how should I say this…special interest in each other’s activities. You, for instance. I find it quite interesting that you married my cousin so readily.”

  Lenister almost laughed. “It is not you who is seeking answers at the moment. I will repeat it once more. How did you know to expect me?”

  “I do not understand, Lord Lenister. I assume you had letters from my cousin to my father. Would you not? How else would he have known?”

  “How else.” Lenister repeated. “Except, Citizen D’Arcy, I did not give them to your father. I have given them to no one.” He patted his coat pocket. "Odd, don't you think?"

  "I did as my father requested, Lord Lenister. Nothing more. Was he wrong? Did you not marry Eloise?"

  Lenister uttered harshly and moved closer to Andre's side. "I do not have time to play games. Tell me quickly. Do you know my mission? If you do, then you will understand, I will not fail. I will do whatever I have to to succeed. I will not let anyone or anything get in my way. Do you understand? Now tell me again how you knew. If not, I will make certain..."

  Andre drew back. "Are you going to threaten me also? You will find I'm not as your wife, my lord. Empty threats will not work on me. I care not for many."

  "Threatened you as I did my wife... " Lenister's words faded. He stared at the man in disbelief. "There is only one way you would have known that. Eloise. Did she write to you....?” Then Lenister saw it in Andre’s eyes. “Oh, my God! Eloise is here! My wife is within France!"

  * * * *

  Eloise was in a foul mood after losing time trapped at the safe house. The weather had not cooperated in the least. Rain poured from the sky for the last two hours and showed no signs of lessening. She hadn’t come prepared for this delay. Not to mention that night would soon be upon her.

  She was wet and cold, shivering from being drenched when she had been caught in the downpour. She had dressed in only a light, serviceable gown and a cloak. She brought no change of clothes, thinking she would have made it to her next stop outside Paris. The network had several safe houses. This cottage served only as a brief layover to refresh horses and if necessary, a night’s stay.

  Eloise glanced around the small room. It gave none of the comfort that she had been allotted across the Channel. The house smelled musty, as if it had gone unaired for ages. A bare room for most accounts with only a couple of wooden chairs, a wobbly table, and a fireplace. Up in the loft gave a semblance of the only bed with a small lumpy mattress on the floor, but it was clean.

  She had sent her escort, one of Andre’s men, ahead to ensure that all was set. Although she did not relish the thought of being alone, she hadn’t been to Paris in weeks and had no desire to walk into it blind. She waited only for word on her husband’s arrival and the route he was taking into Paris. She hoped Andre was convincing in his mission. She couldn’t afford to run into her husband. Andre should have sent word by now, but he, too, would have had to deal with the formidable weather.

  With the dreary weather clouding the skies, darkness would descend earlier than usual. Sighing heavily, she walked to the fireplace. She hadn’t wanted to start a fire, but the reality was she would not be leaving until the morning. It would be foolish at this point. She needed to dry her clothes and it would give her time to contemplate her plan. She had a decision to make.

  Eloise hated this quiet. It served only to remind her how frighteningly alone she was. Moreover, her past haunted her with inexpressible sadness, never more than in the still and quiet within the French countryside. Reluctantly, she bent down and lit a fire. Sitting back, she watched the sparks aflame. Heat emulated through her, but not the cold void in her soul. She scooted back and sat cross-legged. Grabbing the only bottle of wine left in the cottage, she opened it and swigged down its contents, her eyes mesmerized by the blaze.

  Visions emerged within the flickering light, visions of her past. The smoke-filled glaze dissipated, leaving her standing in front of a magnificent chateau of grand blanche brick. A white gravel path led her through an impeccable landscape garden, trimmed shrubs, fragrant roses and, centered in the middle, a marble cherub spewing water into a pond filled with large goldfish. She walked in a trance-like state up the stone steps. With each stride, she cried to herself to halt. She must not go within…but even as the imposing, grand empire carved door swung open, she realized she had no control.

  She walked within the formidable entrance. The footmen seemed as statues, not acknowledging her but gave her no resistance, allowing her admittance into the vast hall. All around her, the interior of the chateau illuminated wealth and power—crystal chandeliers, gold framed landscape paintings, marble flooring, circular winding staircase. Her heart sank. Eloise knew well the whole of the house and had no desire to be within…the Chateau de Chlodio, the home of the Marquis de Mortiere. Frantically, she searched for a way to escape, but the doors slammed shut.

  Oh, non…non…non. Trepidation swelled within her.

  “You have nowhere to run, mon cher. The time has come. Vengeance is mine.”

  Frozen, Eloise couldn’t move. The voice! Her skin tingled with awareness. Poised in the shadows, a figure appeared before her…the ghastly Marquis de Mortiere, clothes ripped from him, blood covering him, dripping from him, his hands…his feet. He laughed, a horrible eerie laugh that echoed within her bones. His head began to wobble until it fell upon the floor and rolled to her feet. His eyes looked up at her and said, “He’s coming. Henri is coming for you.”

  Eloise screamed, falling back against the wall. Panic, with almost paralyzing fear, gripped her. Then before her emerged an apparition. At first too hazy to make out, the form took shape. Dressed as the last time she had seen him, the last time she held him...clutched his lifeless body to her...in sailor clothing, a loose white shirt, torn and ripped, hung over
his tan pant, Luc looked at her with a soft smile. His once handsome…so handsome face was battered and bruised; his body broken. He extended his hand to hers. Slowly, she reached out to him and took it within hers, but she could not grasp it. It was as air.

  “Don’t leave me, Luc. Please,” she pleaded. “Take me with you…”

  “Non, non, mon amour. It is not to be…not now.” His words whispered in her ear.

  In her next breath, she was outside the chateau. Luc lay motionless before her. She fell to the ground and slung herself on his lifeless body. Hands clasped around her, pulling her back. She cried and begged to stay with Luc. She couldn’t leave him. Then it was as if she watched herself being forcibly removed by Marc Pierre. She could hear Andre in the distance saying to hurry.

  “Remember, mon amour.”

  Startled, Eloise’s heart almost leaped out of her throat. Luc stood before as he once did—his yellow hair shimmered in a golden glow; his eyes gleamed upon her. He stood tall; that she could see, but little else in the filtered light within the haze surrounding him.

  “Remember, mon amour,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “Have you forgotten my dying words? Find her. Find Rosabel. Find our daughter…have you, Eloise? Have you found her?”

  “Rosabel…” Eloise whispered. “Is she not with you, Luc? Luc, is she not with you?”

  “Non,” Luc said. A wind began to blow, forcibly and hard, taking Luc back into the blackness.

  Tears ran down her face. Eloise cried, “Don’t leave me, Luc. Take me with you!”

  “Non, mon amour,” he replied as he faded from her sight. “Wake, Eloise! Wake! They are coming!”

  Immediately, she bolted upward. The fire had died down to embers. The wine bottle tilted over on its side…she had slept, but it felt so real. She stood on trembling legs, for something wasn’t right. She could feel it.

  A moment later, she heard it. Horses. A group of horses and men clamoring orders. Glancing around quickly, she was trapped. The rumblings came from the front, which covered her escape on horseback, for the stable sat to the side of the cottage in plain view of the entrance. She had only one recourse—the window and hope the forest would give her enough cover to disappear.