Authors: Mary Nichols
`I know nothing
about wine-making and neither do you.'
`We could
learn. And if you don't want to do that, do something about the house, it is
falling down about our ears.'
`No, why should
I? As soon as we find what we're looking for, we'll be leaving, you know that.'
Juliette became
aware of the captain watching them from beneath his beetle brows and wondered
if he understood English, but Jean and Anne-Marie came into the room before she
could put him to the test. Jean sat down at the table and poured wine for
himself from the carafe, while Anne-Marie fetched a pan and eggs from the
cupboard to cook his breakfast.
`What were you
saying?' Jean demanded, picking up his knife and fork in readiness. 'Speak
French, why can't you?'
`I was talking
of organising a new search,' James said. `I might have overlooked something.'
`We have
already looked everywhere,' Anne-Marie said, putting a plate of fried eggs in
front of her husband and ignoring everyone else who had to make do with bread.
'If the little vixen does not come up with some ideas soon, we shall turn her
over to the town mayor, see what he makes of her.'
`I heard her
telling the Englishman she thought there was a cache buried on the upper
terrace,' Philippe said, tearing at a piece of bread and spreading it liberally
with butter from a crock on the table. 'It is why she has been working there.'
`Is that so?'
Jean mumbled, egg yolk running down his chin.
`Yes. Something
her foster parents said about a map.'
`A map!' Jean
stood up and waved a fork at Juliette. `You never said anything about a map.'
`There is no
map,' she said. 'The captain made it up.'
`Now, why
should I do that?' he queried. 'I have no reason to lie. I am simply an
onlooker. Tell them where you were digging yesterday and save us all a lot of
trouble.'
She could not
understand what he was playing at. No mention had ever been made of a map and
no one had thought of digging outside until James had taunted her with it that
morning. The captain might have imagined he understood something of what they
had been saying in English, but if he had, he was far off the mark. 'It is
nothing to do with you,' she said. 'Shouldn't you be leaving to rejoin your
regiment?'
`Oh, but I am
disposed to help in the search - for a consideration, of course.'
`You had better
get on with it then. I wash my hands of it.' She had been avoiding his eye, but
now she turned to look at him and wished she had not. He was smiling in that
lop-sided way of his, which stretched the scar on his face and pulled the side
of one eye down, but the eyes themselves were clear and bright. It was almost
as if he were saying, 'You cannot hide from me, I can read your thoughts.' He
made her feel weak when it was imperative she should appear self-assured. She
stood up and began clearing the table. 'I have better things to do with my
time.'
`I know where
she was digging,' Jean said, then turning to James, 'Come on and bring a
spade.' And to the captain, 'You keep an eye on her. She's tricky, is that one.
And tell the old man to join us when he decides to put in an appearance.'
`I never heard
of a map,' James complained irritably, as he got up to follow. 'She would have
told me...'
`You are a sly
one,' Anne-Marie said, addressing Juliette. 'Thought you could deceive us all,
did you?'
`This is a
madhouse.' Juliette took her shawl from the hook on the back of the door. 'I am
going for a walk.'
`Then I shall
accompany you,' the captain said, getting to his feet.
She turned back
to him. 'I prefer to be alone.'
`Can't allow
it. Jean said not to let you out of my sight.'
She did not
favour him with an answer but left the chateau and made for the pine-clad hills
behind it. She knew he was following her but pretended to ignore him. It was
all too silly for words and if she had not felt so homesick and miserable she
would have laughed. As if she knew the location of precious jewels! As if she
had anywhere to go if she left!
`Where are you
going?' he asked, coming alongside her.
`Nowhere.'
Determined not to let him see into her face, she continued to look straight
ahead, though she was all too aware of him beside her, matching her stride with
his own. 'Anywhere, away from those people.'
`But they are
your family, you told me so yourself not a week ago. And James will soon be
your husband. Or have you changed your mind about that?'
She did not
answer and he went on, very softly, so as not to startle her. 'Do you regret
promising yourself to him, little one?'
She turned to
look at him, wondering what had prompted the question. From beneath those heavy
brows, his eyes were probing hers, gently, inviting confidences. She opened her
mouth to answer him and then closed it again. She must be on her guard, always
on her guard. `If you were going to offer an alternative, Captain, I should
save your breath. I have no wish to become a camp follower. I assume they have
such things in the French army as well as the English.'
He laughed.
'Yes, they do, but what gave you the idea that I was about to suggest such a
thing?'
`Weren't you?'
`Supposing you
do find valuables, what then?' he prompted, ignoring her question. 'Do you
imagine Henri and Jean will allow you to keep them?'
`No doubt you
expect your share,' she snapped. 'It is why you stayed.'
`I have made no
secret of it.'
`Then why
aren't you down there, helping them to dig?'
He laughed.
'You and I both know there is nothing there, don't we?'
`Why did you
tell that silly story about a map?' she demanded. 'I never mentioned one. I
have only been working on the vines to pass the time and do something useful.'
He chuckled.
'It is one way to have the weeding done for you, isn't it?'
In spite of
everything she laughed. 'Yes, but now I suppose you are going to ask me where
the jewels really are? It was a trick to gain my confidence.'
`Of course.' He
was maddeningly self-assured.
`You have been
wasting your time. I do not know the whereabouts of any jewels. If there ever
were any.'
`Oh, I think
there must have been. The comte was a wealthy man before the Revolution; he
would have showered his wife with jewels and there would have been family
heirlooms like that pendant.'
`What do you
know of that?' she demanded.
`I have seen
the portrait.'
She was
instantly alert. 'When? Where?'
He cursed
himself for his slip, then recovered quickly. `Here, at the chateau, before the
war, where else?'
`Oh, you mean
the one of my grandmother?'
`Yes. It showed
the jewels clearly enough. If they are not here, where have they all gone?'
`I do not know.
If the pendant was broken up, it was surely done to make it more easily
concealed. The comte and comtesse would have tried to take any valuables with
them, probably hidden 'in their clothing, to help them to escape or to bribe a
gaoler. And wasn't it common practice to give something to the executioner to
ensure, a quick and merciful death? What was not used would have been found by
those disposing of the bodies. They could be anywhere by now.'
`I should keep
that notion to yourself,' he said quietly, jerking his head towards the slope
where Jean and Anne-Marie were helping James to dig. 'While they continue to
search, you are safe. But if Henri, or more particularly Jean, were to conclude
there is nothing to find, you would be in great danger.'
She turned to
look at him, wondering why she had told him what was in her mind. Had she been
won over by a soft voice? How foolish of her! He could relay their conversation
to the others whenever he felt like it. 'No doubt you are going to tell them?'
`No, why should
I? Your family squabbles are of no interest to me. I am a simple soldier.'
`Then why risk
a charge of desertion by staying here?'
`You would like
me to leave?' His steps had slowed and now he stopped and turned towards her.
'I...' She
stopped speaking, not knowing how to go on. She could hardly tell him that she
wanted him to stay and protect her. The idea that he might do so was so absurd
as to be laughable, but there was something about him, something she could not
quite pinpoint, that told her she could trust him. Or was she simply grasping at
straws? 'It is a matter of indifference to me what you do,' she said stiffly.
`Is that so?'
There was a hint of amusement in his voice. 'Now, do you know, I had thought
you might wish to escape from here, that I might be of some service...'
She stared at
him. There was an expression on his face she could not fathom. And the message
in his eyes was confusing too. There was softness there along with a steeliness
that told her he did not easily bend, warmth with a cool appraisal, as if he
would never let his feelings run away with him.
'This is my
home and the Caronnes are my family,' she said, trying not to let her agitation
show. 'Jewels or no jewels, we have to learn to live together in peace.'
`Peace,' he
said, his voice so gentle, it was almost a caress. 'Now, there's a word to
savour. It cannot come too soon for me.'
He had
surprised her once again and she did not bother to hide it. It was strange how
his moods changed so quickly. One minute he was harsh, laughing at her
discomfiture, making drunken jokes at her expense, the next he was behaving
like a real gentleman. If he came from a good family, then perhaps it was
soldiering that had coarsened him. `But you are a soldier,' she said. 'You are
paid to fight. What will you do when the war ends?'
`Go home, if I
am spared.'
`Are you
married?'
`No, mam'selle.
I could not ask anyone to share the life I lead.'
`But after the
war is over?'
`I prefer not
to think too much about the future,' he said evasively. 'It is too precarious.
I try to live each day as it comes.'
`Yes,' she
said. She had been striving to do that ever since she came to Hautvigne. 'It is
the same for me.'
They walked on
in silence, broken only by the crunching sound of the pine needles that
carpeted the ground under their feet.
`Tell me about the
man who brought you up,' he urged her, after several minutes had passed. If he
could get her to relax and talk about her feelings, then that bleak look in her
eyes would disappear and she might return to being the young innocent he had
first met only a few short months ago. But no, he told himself, she would never
be that again. Already she had matured beyond her years, but that only
increased his awareness of her as a desirable woman, the woman he loved above
life itself.
`I led a very
sheltered life as a child,' she said. 'Though I do not think I was spoiled.'
She smiled ruefully. 'Well, perhaps a little. I wanted for nothing. And
then...'
`You discovered
you were the daughter of a French nobleman and not of the man you had always
thought of as your father?'
Her cheeks
flamed. She could not tell him the whole truth, she really could not. Her
bastardy was too shameful to put into words. He watched her struggling with her
emotions and longed to help her, to tell her the real truth. But that would
mean revealing his identity, and until they were safely out of France, he could
not do that. He had to make her trust him as he was.
`He was
everything a father should be, generous and caring. I remember how he sat with
me when I had a fever, telling me I would soon be well, and of course I was.
And when one of the horses was injured in a hunting accident and had to be put
down, he explained that it had not suffered, and I believed him. I believed
everything he said, so you see the real blow when it came, was doubly difficult
to understand...'
`Perhaps he had
his reasons for withholding the truth from you,' he said. 'Did you ask him?'
Already the
resentment she had been harbouring against her father was melting away. What
had been a furious rage at what he had done to her, now seemed a fit of
childish pique because he had kept the truth from her. And it was this strange
Frenchman who was such a mixture of uncouthness and gentle understanding who
had wrought the change in her.
`No. I never spoke
to him after...' She stopped and the tears she had been valiantly holding in
check, tumbled down her cheeks.
He brought a
surprisingly clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. 'It does
not always do to keep things bottled up,' he said.. 'The English do it all the
time, but we French are more volatile, n'est-ce pas?'
She sniffed and
mopped her face. `I'm sorry.'
`Please don't
apologise. There is no shame in having feelings.'
`No, but when
the feelings are of guilt, it is a different matter. I wish I could tell Papa
how sorry I am.'