No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (14 page)

“Quite possibly. Dom Benetard did remark on my language on occasion, but how could I help myself? I learned it at Nicholas’s knee—well, perhaps at his chest, as we didn’t meet until I was half grown. Still, it was influence enough. I’m afraid the monks thought me blasphemous. Fortunately Dom Benetard was more understanding. I was only occasionally sent to my cell.”

Lily touched her finger to her mouth, curiosity burning through her. “How did the two of you actually meet?”

“Dom Benetard and I? Unlike you, I walked in through the front door.” His laugh lines showed around his eyes.

“No. I—actually, I meant Nicholas.”

Pascal’s expression abruptly sobered. “That is a long story and one for another time. Suffice it to say that I owe him my life.”

“Oh.” Lily felt as if she’d just been chastised, and her cheeks flushed with angry embarrassment. “I apologize for asking. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t pry. It’s only that there are certain things that are difficult to discuss. Maybe one day when we know each other better and there is trust between us I’ll be able to speak of it with you. But that time is not now.”

Lily’s heart gave an unfamiliar twist as she realized that she had touched a raw nerve in him. It made her even more ashamed that he didn’t bother to pretend she hadn’t—he was being completely honest with her at his own expense. Lily bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and this time she was truly contrite. “I won’t ask again.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, walking over to her and taking her chin, gently lifting her face up to his. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask anything of me. All I ask of you in return is that you accept the times when I cannot answer, or cannot give you the answer that you want. I’d far rather have honesty between us with that understanding than foolish games that lead nowhere.” He dropped his hand. “I’m going to take Bean out before bed. We have an early start in the morning if we’re to reach Saint-Simon before sundown. Good night. Sleep well.”

He left the parlor, quietly shutting the door after him. Lily sat very still. She felt as if her world had shifted yet again, but she didn’t understand how or why. For the first time since she’d been summarily handed over to Pascal LaMartine, she didn’t feel defensive or angry or afraid. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there was the faintest thread of hope that everything would be somehow all right. Lily lifted a hand to find that tears were running down her cheeks. She didn’t understand that either.

It didn’t occur to her that for the first time in her life someone had treated her with compassion.

The following morning Lily was invited up onto the driver’s box by her husband, who had never before made such a suggestion. She hesitated, surprised, then gamely climbed up. She’d always liked being up high, and besides, the countryside looked more immediate from that vantage than it did from behind a closed window. If truth be told, although she hated to admit it, she was happy for the company. Anyway, she had never sat in the driver’s box before, and it seemed an interesting thing to do.

Row after row of straight-backed poplars passed by, lining the road that wound past gently rolling hills and fertile valleys. Villages were scattered here and there, some perched on hilltops, others pocketed cozily away in their folds, the dark tiled roofs and pale stone walls of the houses forming a natural part of the landscape. They passed through a forest thick with oak and chestnut, the mossy smell of wet earth and fresh leaves richly fragrant, and then, as they emerged on the other side, the scent of sunshine surrounded them, beating down on fields ripe with newly burgeoning crops.

Lily loved the feel of the sun on her skin and the wind in her hair, the warmth of Bean’s soft little body tucked securely against her. She knew it was sinful to take pleasure in sensual things, but she didn’t care.

Pascal didn’t speak much, keeping his eyes fixed on the road and his hands loosely holding the reins, but that suited Lily well enough. She was still feeling unsure of herself after her peculiar reaction the night before. If anything, she felt shy and a bit ridiculous. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to react, even what to feel. She’d spent so much time convincing herself that he was an immoral, degenerate wretch—no,
knowing
that he was an immoral, degenerate wretch, that it was disconcerting to realize there might be another side to him, a side that laughed and teased and even … even hurt.

She stole another glance at him. His silky hair shifted lightly about the nape of his neck where the breeze caught it. He might have been a gypsy, with that dark hair and those dark eyes and bronzed skin.

Lily wondered if this was what it was like to be a gypsy, wild and free, riding down endless roads, a puppy snuggled against you, sharing a lunch on your lap, nothing between you and the sun but the sky. Nothing before you mattered but the road, nothing behind you mattered but the last camp. It was wonderful.

Pascal had bought a loaf of bread and a slab of cheese at the inn before they’d left, along with a bottle of wine. Lily’s job was to divide it up and serve it out, and suddenly the gypsy life lost its charm. Lily struggled with the bread, mutilating it even more horribly than she had the loaf at Raven’s Close, although eventually she managed two ragged chunks. As for the cheese, a mouse would have done a better job, for every time she attempted to cut it, the cheese crumbled until she had only tiny bits.

She peeked over at the wretch to see if he’d noticed, but his eyes were still on the road, so she quickly attempted to press the crumbs of cheese down on the bread with her thumbs.

He took his portion and put it on the seat next to him—safely on the other side of Bean, who immediately leaped up with attention the instant the food was produced. “Thank you,” he said.

Lily looked at him sharply. She thought she saw laughter lurking in the back of his eyes, but he returned her gaze innocently enough. “Shall I open the wine?” he asked.

Lily hesitated. “No,” she said decisively. “I’ll do it. I have the corkscrew right here.” She bent to her task. It was only when she had pushed the cork halfway into the neck for the third time that Pascal finally reached for the bottle and handed her the reins—yet another new experience. She shot him a look of panic, forgetting to be offended.

“Just hold them loosely—no, loosely, Elizabeth. You don’t want to mangle the poor horses’ mouths. That’s it.” He smiled reassuringly. “They’ll go along nicely if you don’t manhandle them. Here, hand me the corkscrew, or we’ll die of thirst. No, don’t watch me, watch the road. That’s it. Good.”

In another minute or two, the wretch had somehow managed to retrieve the errant cork and pull it out. He poured the wine into two mugs he produced from the satchel next to him and handed her one, then took back the reins.

“Have you never driven before?” he asked conversationally.

“No. I was never given the opportunity.” Lily bent to her piece of squashed bread and cheese.

Pascal suddenly took a great interest in the hay field off to the left. “I suppose your father didn’t consider it ladylike for you to drive a carriage,” he said after a moment.

“It wasn’t that so much,” Lily replied, taking a sip of wine to wash down the dry bread. “It was because he thought things like that were frivolous and unnecessary when there were more important things to be done.”

“Such as?” He fed a piece of bread and cheese to Bean, then looked at her curiously.

“Studying, reading, praying.”

“What, no embroidery?” Pascal asked dryly.

“Oh—yes, embroidery. I forgot. But only passages from the Bible. It took me four years to finish the First Epistle to the Corinthians.” The memory was enough to make her brain numb.

Pascal stared at her. “You’re
serious?”

“Yes. Of course, you must like that sort of thing excessively, having lived in a monastery.”

“What, embroidery?” he asked, tongue in cheek. “Not really. Gardening is more in my line.”

“You know what I meant,” she said, annoyed. “I was talking about praying and all of that. I realize that you just worked there, but still, surely you had to go to church fifteen times a day?”

Pascal chuckled. “Not quite fifteen. And yes, I found it enjoyable enough.”

“Enjoyable?”
Lily said, shocked. “You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”

“You’re not? What are you supposed to be doing then, if you’re not enjoying it?” Pascal asked curiously.

“You’re supposed to be enumerating all of your sins and asking forgiveness of God.”

“Really?” he asked with a straight face. “The entire time?”

“Yes—surely the monks taught you that much?” Lily said impatiently.

Pascal slowly shook his head. “No. They didn’t.”

“Well, they ought to have done, but I suppose they didn’t think it was their job. Of course, they don’t talk much, do they?” Lily got out two apples and picked up the knife, but Pascal quickly took his apple from her before she could start cutting it.

“I prefer mine just as God designed it,” he said, that hint of laughter back in his eyes. “Do you know, you have me worried now. Perhaps I ought to write to Dom Benetard and inform him that he’s been going about the thing all wrong. Can you imagine, the monks actually go to prayer in joy? They have no idea they’re meant to be miserable.”

Lily looked at him suspiciously. “You’re teasing again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m teasing, and it’s no damned wonder you don’t believe in God, not if that’s what you think He is all about. I wouldn’t believe in Him either. Who wants to be miserable the whole time? Tell me. Have you ever seen anything born?”

She shook her head.

“Have you ever seen anything die?”

Lily shuddered. “No. Oh—I once saw a frog squashed beneath the wheel of a carriage. It was revolting.”

“Yes, I can imagine, but the point is, faith isn’t something that can be explained. Either it’s there or it isn’t. It helps, though, to have seen God’s hand at immediate work. I’ve found that birth and death have a way of putting things into perspective.”

“I don’t think I would care to see either,” Lily said, wrinkling her nose. “They sound equally unattractive.”

Pascal gazed at her with fascination. “You do have an interesting way of looking at things,” he said. “I can see that we have a way to go.”

“If you think to convert me to your point of view, you are wasting your time,” Lily said tartly. “Father Mallet tried all this time and failed miserably. I won’t change my mind. I have a scientific view of life and don’t believe in anything other than clinical explanations.”

Pascal bit into his apple. “I agree with you about a scientific approach,” he said when he’d swallowed.

“You do?” She narrowed her eyes, looking for the trick.

“Yes, of course,” he said easily. “It’s important to have knowledge and skill in order to deal with various aspects of life.” He took another bite and chewed it thoughtfully. “I think … I think that where you and I differ is that I believe we’re not here on this earth merely as a result of a biological process. We’re here because of a biological process, and a brilliant one at that.” He gestured at her with the apple. “But as far as I’m concerned, all a body does is provide us with a temporary house. It is transient. We are not.” He looked back at the road.

Lily chewed on her lip. She’d never heard anyone talk like this before, and it was alarming, yet intriguing at the same time. “What about sin?” she asked, knowing she’d catch him up on that one, sinner that he was. He’d never admit to it.

“Sin? What about it? If you’re asking about human fallibility, the only answer is that we’re all fallible.”

“No,” she said impatiently. “I mean true sin, the kind that’s supposed to make you burn in hell for all eternity.”

Pascal rubbed his lower lip, then slanted a look at her. “I have a confession to make. I don’t believe in hell.”

“I knew it,” she crowed. “So how can you call yourself a Christian? Do you believe in heaven?”

“Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I believe in heaven.”

“You can’t believe in one and not the other,” she informed him. “It’s not consistent.”

“Perhaps I should explain,” he said, amused.

“Yes, I think you should,” she replied, wishing he wouldn’t look at her in that way of his that reminded her of just how masculine and dangerous he was. If anyone should worry about hell, it was the wretch.

“I believe God loves all of His creatures, no matter where they’ve gone wrong,” he said, gazing off into the distance. “So instead of sending those of us who have strayed to a burning inferno, which seems pointless, I think He gives us a chance to come back time and time again until we get it right.”

“But you can’t possibly be a Catholic,” Lily said, staring incredulously at him. “That’s not even Christian! How could they have let you into a monastery?”

Pascal chuckled. “There wasn’t much of a problem. You may think me a terrible Catholic, but I’m a very good gardener. And if you recall, I wasn’t at St. Christophe in the capacity of a monk. Besides, God is God, Elizabeth, no matter what slant you choose to put on the matter.”

“There is only one slant,” she crisply informed him.

“Oh, really? What do you suppose God did before creeds were developed? Scorned His own creations for lack of a proper theology?”

Lily’s brow farrowed. She’d never really thought of it like that. “Aren’t you supposed to believe that Christ is the Son of God and died to save us from our sins, and that’s why we have life eternal? In theory,” she hastened to add.

“Yes, and I do believe that, although not exactly the way the Church has put it down. Someday ask me about the councils of Nicaea and Constantinople. They shed an interesting light on certain theological dictums.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “325 and 381 A.D., respectively. And the council of Constantinople was formed to deal with troublesome heretics like you.”

“I know, and I’ll wager that my version of what really happened at both those councils differs greatly from the one you were spoon-fed. The Church had a way of distorting certain details for its own end. Still, I know that you’ve had enough theological dictums shoved down your throat to last you the rest of your life, so I can hardly blame you for feeling the way you do.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Lily said smugly. “The one about what happens to non-Christians, since God took the trouble to send Christ with His word.”

“I thought I had,” he said. “Heaven is heaven, Elizabeth, no matter what you believe. Do you think God would turn away any of His creatures, simply because they didn’t adhere to a particular religion? Where’s the sense in that?”

Lily had no answer. “I still think you’re a heretic,” she said.

“And you’re an atheist. We’re a fine pair, aren’t we? What do you suppose Father Mallet would make of us? He’d probably wish the Spanish Inquisition back.”

Lily couldn’t help grinning. “He
is
the Spanish Inquisition.”

“I somehow got that idea. Never mind. Father Mallet is no longer a part of your life.”

No, but you are,
Lily thought.
And I wonder just what that is going to mean.

She knew they were growing close when the cliffs appeared, towering stretches of limestone, some with houses built into their sides, others with shrines perched on their tops or deep grottoes carved into their foundation. Lily held her breath as they approached the final comer that would bring Saint-Simon into sight. For some reason she loved it more than she had ever loved Sutherby or any of her father’s other estates, including the ones that now belonged to her—or rather, unfortunately, to her husband. There was something about Saint-Simon, about its position high atop a hill, about its entire feel, that drew her to it, despite its shabbiness, despite the failing crops. She felt toward it as she imagined she might feel toward an infant. It needed protecting, it needed nurturing—as did Jean-Jacques. Perhaps that was why the two of them were linked so closely in her mind.

The small river Cère, a tributary of the much larger Dordogne, over which they’d just passed, glittered in the near distance, and Lily’s heart quickened. “Look! Look, there,” she said, touching Pascal’s arm in her excitement. She pointed up.

The Chateau de Saint-Simon stood on its hilltop like a jewel caught in the setting sun. Its square towers and steep roofs rose high over the trees that surrounded it, a brilliant display against the gold and rose of the sky.

Pascal slowly brought the horses to a halt, silently looking up. He took in the gray and yellow limestone, the crenellated ramparts, the pepperpot towers, the balustrades and turrets, and then his gaze traveled to the hills that descended around it. They were planted with vines, but the vines did not appear to be thriving. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to absorb the feel of the place. It had hit him with an unexpected impact—the beauty of the chateau itself had nearly knocked him over. But far more important was the land. To his eye it looked sickly; to his heart it felt thirsty and abandoned. It was an odd tiling. Virtually all of the land they had been traveling through had been healthy enough. Why was this one area so barren? His eyes narrowed as they swept over the hills and then down about the surrounding countryside. He saw no apparent difference in topography; perhaps there was a specialized climate, but it would be impossible to tell without a detailed examination.