No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (18 page)

He waited until the disappointed waiter had disappeared before speaking. “Monsieur, I am newly arrived in your village. My name is Pascal LaMartine, and my wife and I have taken the old cottage up on the hill after the turning.”

“Baumerd’s cottage? That is all very interesting, monsieur, but what has that to do with me?” The old man eyed him warily.

“I am to manage the Saint-Simon estate, including the vineyards, and Monsieur le Due told me that you are the man to whom I should speak regarding their history.”

Monsieur Jamard’s hand jerked in surprise and his coffee splashed over the side of the saucer. “Monsieur le Due, you say? And you his wine-maker? No—this cannot be possible.”

“I’m no wine-maker, monsieur. I’m merely a man who knows a little about the earth. This earth is sick, I believe more from benign neglect than anything else.”

“What makes you think this?” Jamard asked, regarding Pascal with deep suspicion.

“I’ve studied the way of the earth for some time. I don’t pretend to know everything, but I do have a feel for the land, and in order to make it well again, I need to know about the past. Can you tell me?”

Monsieur Jamard took a sip of cognac and considered this, muttering under his breath for a moment or two, shaking his head back and forth as if he were having a private conversation. Finally he nodded. “LaMartine. LaMartine. It is not an uncommon name in these parts, but we lost the last of them some years ago. We lost so many in the great sickness.

“I’m sorry,” Pascal said. “It must have been hard.”

Monsieur Jamard sighed. “Ah, well,” he said. “God’s will.” He peered at Pascal closely. “I do not see as well as I used to, but you have a familiar look about you. Where are your people from, boy?”

“From Paris, monsieur.”

“Ah. It must be a distant branch of the family. The LaMartines were good people, honest and hardworking, a cut above us peasants.”

“I’m happy that you held them in esteem.”

The old man nodded slowly. “Yes, those were good days before the sixth duke and his family died. He cared for the land, the people. We were prosperous then, with fine harvests—some years better than others, of course. Then the typhoid came and took him away, and his brother came.

Bah! For Saint-Simon, seven was an unlucky number.” He spat into the dirt.

“I gather you didn’t think much of the duke’s brother?” Pascal asked mildly.

“A wastrel, monsieur. He was careless, that one. Bad to his wife—English, she was, and a good friend to the dear duchess. But after, she was on her own; the duke was never here, leaving her all alone with the child. It was just as well the seventh duke was killed in that hunting accident. No, nothing has been the same since his brother died—and now we have this one, the nephew, who throws the land away.”

“Not anymore. With luck and a great deal of work the land will come back—of this I am certain.”

“Well, maybe the old story was right, then, and the heir’s return will finally make things grow. Better late than never. You have come to the right man, monsieur.” He took a long sip of his cognac, then carefully set the glass back down on the table and excused himself, going to take relief around the corner.

Pascal waited.

Monsieur Jamard ambled back. “Between you, me, and the wall, this new duke, he is a fool,” he said, sitting back down. “It surprises me that he even bothered to mention my name, for he has never listened to anything before. Why should he listen now?”

“It’s not he who is listening, monsieur. I’ve been hired to listen for him. Monsieur le Due realizes that he has no talent for this sort of thing, and he sees the sorry state that the vines have come to. So, understanding that, and also realizing that the village suffers as a result, he wishes to make things better.”

“About time too, after all these years. God be praised, but even God will have a difficult time with these blighted fields. What do you know about it, anyway, boy? What’s your training? No point wasting my time if you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pascal pulled his chair a little closer and began the delicate process of eliciting trust from one who had long ago forsaken the practice.

Lily was ready to drop from exhaustion. The windows were—well, they weren’t exactly clean, more smudged—but the floors were swept, and she had managed to eliminate most of the spiderwebs. That had been a horrific task in itself. She slumped in one of the chairs at the table, her head on her arms. She barely managed to raise it when she heard the front door open.

“Elizabeth … you look tired,” Pascal said, entering the room with a large canvas sack that he dropped on the table. “I see you’ve been working hard. I’m very impressed.”

“Go hang,” Lily said succinctly.

“Not just yet. It’s been a fruitful day. Here, we actually have dinner, and I have a decent pot in which to cook it. Where’s Bean?”

Lily raised her head. “She’s tied up in the barn. I spent a good hour trying to get her to leave some godforsaken burrow she’d found.”

“Did you try picking her up and carting her away?”

Lily dragged the back of one hand across her aching forehead. “I wish you’d stop trying to make me feel like an idiot. If I’d been able to get to her I would have done just that, but she was on the other side of the stream and there was no crossing. So I called and called and she finally came. Are you satisfied?”

“Very, and I’m sorry if you’ve had a miserable time.” He began to take all manner of things out of his sack and within minutes good smells wafted through the air.

She sat up and looked with more attention. He’d sliced bacon, carrots, onion, and garlic and thrown them all into the pot that sat simmering over the fire she’d miraculously kept going out of sheer desperation. He was now cutting up some kind of raw meat.

“What is that?” Lily asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

“Rabbit. A farmer gave it to me when I stopped to help him mend his wheel.”

“Was it dead?”

“Oh, yes.” Pascal looked up with a grin. “I wouldn’t have risked bringing it home in any other condition.” He tossed the pieces in the pot as well, and in another moment the smell of braising meat joined the other odors. Lily’s mouth began to water.

“Will it be ready soon?” she asked longingly, watching him pour wine into the pot along with some wild herbs he’d pulled from a jacket pocket.

“In about an hour and a half,” he said, putting the lid on. “I thought I’d build a fire next door and heat some bathing water. Would you like that?”

Lily nodded fervently. “Yes. Oh, yes, please.” She could have kicked herself for sounding so desperate, but in truth she was, and nothing was going to keep her from a bath and a hot meal, not even pride.

He was as good as his word. He stoked the fire until the room had a lovely glowing warmth to it. He had found a small tub somewhere and filled it with hot water. It wasn’t large enough to actually climb into, but it was large enough to be able to dip various parts of herself into one at a time, and oh, it felt so wonderful. When she finally emerged with a clean body, clean hair, and a clean dress, she almost felt like Elizabeth Bowes again, although the heat had made her so sleepy that she could have lain down in front of the fire and never opened her eyes again—if she hadn’t been so hungry. The smell coming from the hearth was incredible. The wretch definitely had a useful side.

He glanced up from a stack of writing paper as she emerged. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you. What are you doing?”

“Writing letters, although I’m about to have a thorough wash.”

“Oh. But won’t it take forever for you to heat more water? Surely the stew will be ready soon?”

“Yes, but I’ll use the extra water I left on the hearth. I won’t be long.” He pushed back his chair and started toward the other room.

Lily colored hotly. “I—I didn’t realize. I used it myself,” she finally said.

Pascal halted midstride and turned to look at her. “You used it
all
?”

“Yes. I washed my hair.”

“It didn’t occur to you that I might be in need of a wash as well?” he asked.

“N-no. It didn’t.”

Pascal sighed. “Never mind. I suppose you think that people like myself naturally gravitate outside to bathe in freezing streams, or perhaps you think we don’t bathe at all. You must be worried about when the stench is going to set in. How good of you not to have mentioned it, but I’m sure you were trying to spare my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. She thought that he was teasing again, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

“It’s all right, Elizabeth. I’ll survive.”

“I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing.” Hot tears began to slide down her cheeks and she turned away, even more mortified.

Unexpectedly, Pascal walked over to her and turned her around to face him. “I know you’re not. I realize this is difficult for you, and you’re doing a valiant job. Just look at the windows—why they’re—they’re…” Pascal fought for the right words for the smeared panes.

“They’re horrible,” Lily said, hanging her head in misery. “I don’t know what went wrong, but everything seemed to get worse instead of better.”

“Never mind. Vinegar, water, and newsprint will work wonders. I learned that trick from the monks, not that we have the necessary ingredients on hand. And look, you’ve managed to clean years of dust away.” He said nothing about the great pile of dirt he’d stumbled on when he tried to cross the threshold. “Forget about the bath water—it’s not worth upsetting yourself over. Just try to keep in mind the next time that there are two of us.”

Lily furiously brushed at her cheeks. “I will try. This is very new to me.”

Pascal gently chucked her chin. “I know. It will become easier, I promise.”

“It would have been much easier if you had let my brother help us. It would have been even easier than that if you were not so stubborn about my money.”

“Your brother didn’t offer to help. In fact, he seemed pleased to have us here rather than at the chateau. I’m sure he prizes his privacy.”

“Jean-Jacques isn’t like that,” she insisted. “He is kind, and generous, and caring. You just don’t know him, and you’re predisposed to think badly of him because he is my brother.”

“I’m not predisposed to anything but restoring the vineyards—and this place,” he said.

“I am sure that Jean-Jacques had no idea what a terrible state this cottage was in, for he would never have put me here had he known.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Pascal said, lying because he didn’t think Lily could take more disillusionment. He could only hope that with time she would see the brother she idolized in a more realistic light.

“Can’t we use a little of my money to make it better?” Lily asked hopefully.

“No. We will live on what I can afford. I don’t believe that your money would be of any help to your brother, and it certainly would be no help to us.”

“Money is always of help,” Lily said, sniffing miserably.

“That depends on whom it is helping.”

“I—I don’t know if I can survive another night here, Pascal. There are lumps in the mattress. And spiders in the walls, even though I tried to sweep their webs away.”

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten, and I think you’ll sleep so soundly that you won’t notice your bed or the lumps, or even the spiders, whom you probably put the fear of God into today. They must have felt as if a typhoon had just blown through, after years of blissfully uninterrupted peace.”

Lily gave him an uncertain smile. “Yes. I suppose so. I’m not particularly fond of spiders.”

“I doubt they’re very fond of you either. But all that aside, I’m going to wash, then we’ll have a nice dinner and some good local wine. Why don’t you fetch Bean from the barn and give her some dinner from the pot, then let her out for a few minutes? I won’t be very long. And Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re being very brave.”

“You do?” Her eyes widened, for this was an enormous compliment coming from the wretch.

“I do. It’s not easy taking on a complete change of lifestyle, and under such difficult circumstances, but you rolled up your sleeves and tackled it. You should feel proud of yourself.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, absurdly pleased.

“You earned every word. Will you set the table? I’ve cleared my papers away.”

“Yes, of course,” Lily said, forgetting her resentment. She put out two plates, two glasses, and knives and forks. Then she nervously eyed the wooden board where the baguette of bread sat on what passed for a kitchen counter. She figured that it had to be easier to slice bread on an unmoving board than on her lap in a bumping carriage, so she took the knife to it, this time careful to saw in extrawide slices. For some odd reason they came out fat on top and thin on bottom, but that was better than having holes everywhere.

Feeling pleased about that, she filled a bowl for Bean, taking the precaution of wrapping her hand in a clean rag before approaching the pot. The bulk made it a little awkward to take the lid off, but she managed.

A delectable smell burst from the pot in a cloud of mouthwatering steam. She didn’t think she’d ever smelled anything quite so wonderful before, and it made her stomach churn in painful hunger. Having to feed a dog first went entirely against her grain, and she considered eating the whole thing herself, but then she remembered that little Bean would be just as hungry as she was, and she was supposed to be a civilized person. Eating the dog’s dinner was just not done. Life in a hovel was already affecting her.

Lily sighed heavily and put the bowl on the floor, watching enviously as Bean wolfed her meal down; then she took the puppy outside and watched her play foolishly about, finally getting around to business only as an afterthought. She brought Bean back in and sat down to wait for Pascal to emerge so that she could finally eat.

He appeared only minutes later, his hair damp, his face freshly shaved, for she noticed the nick on one cheek.

“If you had a valet,” she said pointedly, “that sort of accident wouldn’t happen.”

“If I had a valet,” he said wryly, “I’d have been shaved with hot water, which generally helps prevent such things.”

“Have you ever had a valet?” Lily asked, not wanting to get back onto the subject of hot water.

“When I lived at Raven’s Close, Binkley served in all capacities. He would not have thanked any intrusion onto his terrain. In later years, I sometimes had someone who looked after things, but not in the role of a valet, for he would have had to be quite an unusual man.”

“Why?” Lily asked. “And what could possibly take the place of a valet?”

“I had a bearer, or a porter, or any of the equivalent, depending on where I happened to be. Most valets are not taken with climbing over mountain passes with one’s belongings strapped to them.”

“Really? You’ve climbed over mountain passes? I suppose I’m not surprised. Charlie said you had a way of disappearing into the back of beyond.”

“Did he?” Pascal ladled the rabbit stew out onto the plates, and Lily couldn’t help but notice the strands of damp hair that curled over the nape of his neck and the pull of the linen shirt across the muscles of his back. She blushed and looked away.

“Yes, he did. As far as I’m concerned, this is more than far enough in the back of beyond.”

Pascal straightened, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he put the plates down. “Is it? I consider this quite civilized.”

“You would,” Lily said, annoyed, for all that bravery he’d complimented her for seemed diminished by the thought that he’d experienced much worse.

Pascal uncorked the dark wine and poured it into the glasses. “Do let’s eat. I’m famished.” He pushed the lopsided bread toward her.

Lily didn’t need an invitation. She dived into her meal as if she would never eat again. “How did you do this?” she asked when her hunger was sated enough to allow her to speak.

“You watched most of it. Take whatever is available, cut it up, add some herbs and some spices if you have them, then some wine or stock or even water, and let it all cook together.” He made a stirring motion. “When the meat is tender enough to fall off the bone, it’s done. But you might be overestimating my culinary abilities. It’s said that appetite is the best sauce, and from the way you’ve been eating, I’d say you have a very healthy appetite.”

“I’ve never had anything like this,” she said, mopping up the sauce with her bread.

“How much time did you spend in the vast kitchens of Sutherby?” he asked, watching her with amusement. “I doubt you wandered in that direction at all.”

“Only to escape my tutor,” Lily admitted, “and I only went through the pantries.” She took another deep swallow of the wine, enjoying the earthy flavor and savoring the warmth it spread through her body.

“You’ve made my point. It’s a shame, because there’s an art to food.” He smiled at her over his glass.

“I suppose I’ve never thought about it before,” Lily said. “Food just appeared on the table. I didn’t wonder about how it was prepared, or from what.”

“Why should you? Your ears were probably being filled with religious tracts and opinions, if my experience with Father Mallet is anything to go by. He’s enough to make anyone lose his appetite.”

She nodded vigorously, cleaning up the very last morsel of stew. “That’s true enough. I hadn’t realized you were subjected to Father Mallet at the table.”

Pascal held out his hand for her plate. “What a load of drivel. I would have escaped to the kitchen if I’d had the chance—you would have benefited by escaping to the kitchens too.”

“We weren’t supposed to mingle with the servants,” Lily said, her eyes fixed on the ladle he was using to dole out a second helping.

“Pity,” he said, handing her plate back with more stew on it. “There’s a lot you might have learned from them.”

“I can’t think what,” Lily said, frowning. “I received a perfectly good education.”

He laughed. “A little less education and a little more attention to the realities of life would have done wonders for you. It’s useful to know how to feed oneself, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” she said, taking another piece of bread, waiting while he refilled her glass.

“One of the best places to learn is in a peasant kitchen, because the people have learned to make the best of the simplest foods.” He pointed at her plate with his fork. “Like tonight’s dinner. This was no plump and pampered rabbit kept in a cage and fed on table scraps. This rabbit was the reason for the broken wheel and his own broken neck.”