Regency Belles & Beaux Page 19

  Philip was dozing when he felt a flicker of movement under his fingers as he held Celia’s hand. He jerked awake and looked at Celia. Her eyes were open and staring at him. There was a half-smile on her lips. Ever afterwards, he would swear that he heard her say, “My love…” Then her eyes closed, her hand fell away from his and she spoke no more.

  “Celia!” He jumped to his feet and leaned over her in sudden fright. “Fetch a mirror,” he barked at Agathe who had wakened at his shout and was staring at him with a frightened expression. “Anything bright will do. I must see if she still breathes.”

  She brought him a knife and he held the blade under Celia’s nose. Nothing marred the shiny surface. He touched her neck and her wrist but felt no more movement so he squeezed her chest, willing her to breathe again. Tears were running unchecked down his face and he did not realise that he was shouting. It was not until the girl’s arms seized him and tried to pull him away did he turn, his hand raised as if to strike her. Agathe reeled backwards, whimpering,

  “She’s gone, Monsieur. There is nothing more you can do. The good lady is dead. May the holy Mother of God look after her now. Let me do what is needful.”

  “No. Leave me alone.”

  He did not hear her go out. For a moment, he stood silent then his shoulders drooped.

  “What will I do now?” he murmured in a broken voice. “Whatever will I do without her?”

  Chapter Two

  “Monsieur, you must eat something,” Agathe said in a timid voice. Philip did not answer. He sat beside the bed, his head bowed onto the covers, holding Celia’s cold hand in his. With a jerk, he came out of a beautiful daydream where the two of them had been playing with their children in a meadow full of flowers. The grey dawn of reality pierced his eyes as he awoke.

  “What?”

  “Some food, Monsieur?” She held a platter with bread and cheese upon it.

  “No!” The thought revolted him.

  “Wine then?”

  “Yes, wine.” Wine might help him to forget that the dream could never come true now. He had finished the bottle when Agathe came to him again.

  “If you want more, Monsieur, then I must go out to buy some.”

  He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out some coins. “Here.”

  When she returned, she was accompanied by her mother and another, older, woman, whom she introduced as Madame Dupan. By this time, Philip’s thoughts had become muddled and he found it difficult to understand what they were telling him.

  “You must leave, Monsieur, while we get her ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Why for her burial, of course. The curé is waiting to discuss it with you. Come now.” Madame Dupan took his arm in a firm grip and led him away from the bed. In the doorway, the impact of her words hit him and he twisted around violently.

  “No! You can’t take her from me.” He tried to surge forwards but stronger arms caught him and pulled him away.

  “She must have a proper burial, mon fils. Would you deny her that? Come sit beside me and tell me about her while the women do their work. They will treat her with all respect, have no fear.” The priest led him to a seat by the newly made up fire and eased him into it. “What was her name?”

  “Celia Staunton,” Philip’s tongue stumbled over the words. “But I knew her first as Celia Blackwood.”

  “Your wife?”

  “No, only a friend, although I wished to marry her.”

  “Yet you were living with her alone?”

  “Yes, but it is not what you think, Father. I am a man and I loved Celia very much. She also cared for me, but we were not in a position to wed. She married a monster who beat her so often and so badly that he nearly killed her. I rescued her and brought her from England to France. All the time we were together, she was too ill to consummate our love.” Philip raised his eyes and looked at the priest. “I won’t lie to you, Father, had she been well enough, I doubt I would have been able to restrain myself from touching her. It was circumstances that prevented us, not desire.”

  “At least you are aware of the fault, mon fils, and acknowledge it. Nevertheless, no matter what the situation, as the Bible says ‘what God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’ You did wrong to take her away from her husband.”

  “Her last few months have been peaceful. If that is a sin, then I am happy to have committed it and I would do so again,” Philip said looking at him defiantly.

  “You are English and therefore not of my faith perhaps?”

  “I’m not sure I have any faith left, but you are right. I was raised in the Church of England although my mother is French and a Catholic.”

  “That explains your fluency in the language, but the little Agathe called you by a French name?”

  “De Vezey, from my mother’s family. When I arrived in France, Englishmen were not well liked. It was safer to use a French name than my own at the time.”

  “Then may I know to whom I am speaking?”

  “For your ear alone, Father. I was born Philip Sutherland. To the rest of the world I am Louis de Vezey.”

  “A complicated situation but you can rely on my discretion. You know your own business best. To the matter at hand. Unfortunately, it is too late for me to hear the lady’s confession. Can you confirm to the best of your knowledge that she was in a state of grace when she died?”

  “Since I am not of your faith, Father, I am uncertain what you mean by a ‘state of grace’. Celia was a kind, sweet person whom I never saw do any harm to anyone. In the last year of her life, she suffered greatly, so surely any small sins she committed would have been expiated?”

  The priest smiled. “That is a matter for Le Bon Dieu, not for mortal men who are all steeped in sin. Was she baptised?”

  “Yes, she must have been. She lived near me as a child and she attended church on Sundays with her family.”

  He nodded. “What you tell me enables me to bury her in consecrated ground. Since you are not Catholic, would you prefer one of the Protestant pastors to perform the ceremony?”

  Philip shrugged. “I have no idea what Celia would have wanted. We never discussed religion, but for my own part I don’t think it matters, as long as the ceremony is conducted with dignity.”

  “I can assure you of that. I know a pastor who is a good man and whom I will ask to officiate if you wish me to do so.”

  “Perhaps you could pray for her together?”

  “I shall ask him. Tomorrow is the day our Blessed Lord came down onto this earth, so the funeral cannot take place until the day afterwards.”

  “As you will.”

  The winter rain fell on their shoulders when Celia Staunton, née Blackwood, was lowered into alien ground. She would rest far from the land where she had been born and had grown to womanhood. It was St. Stephen’s Day, the second of the twelve days of Christmas. A time of past rejoicing but Philip had not even been aware of the feast, alone in his cold lodgings, with only bottles of coarse red wine for his nourishment. No one came near him, not even Agathe or Marco. He had made it perfectly clear to both of them that he wanted to be left alone with his love for as long as it remained possible. He spent the time in daydreams and a welcome unconsciousness, when the wine overcame his senses. It was not until early this morning that his friends returned to help him to get ready for the funeral. Other people carried the flimsy coffin down the stairs and laid it onto the handcart to take it to the cemetery. Now Agathe stood beside Philip, with Marco on his other side. Victor was there too, with Agathe’s mother and the formidable Madame Dupan. They listened to the priest and pastor praying for her, then the grave was closed and the mourners moved away.

  “A man at the Salle asked after you yesterday,” Marco told Philip as they were sipping wine in the nearest tavern. They were trying, not very successfully to thaw their frozen hands and feet.

  “Who was he?” Philip asked indifferently.

  “An Englishman. He said his name was Cha
rville and he begged the privilege of fighting a bout with you.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s not been the only one asking for you since you thrashed the English milord. You were correct that your victory over that miscreant has brought me more customers rather than less.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “When are you coming back to us? The funeral is over and it can’t be good for you to sit brooding alone. Your lady would not want you to, would she?”

  “I suppose not, but it is so hard to think of the future. My life has been entwined with hers for so long now; it’s difficult to believe she is gone.”

  “Hard but not impossible. It was after I lost Louisa that I moved to Paris and opened the Salle. I would have been happier if she was still with me but I am comfortable again, many years later with another good woman, in spite of my loss. May you be too. Now I will walk with you to your home and purchase some brandy. Then you shall say to me, ‘Marco I come to the Salle the day after tomorrow when my head is clearer and meet this so insistent Englishman’. Is that not so?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  In the end, thankfulness for Marco’s friendship, loneliness and a need for money drove Philip to fulfil his friend’s wishes.

  “You look dreadful mon ami, but I am glad you came,” Marco greeted him when he arrived. “Is your hand shaking? Shall I match you with Billy Boy for a start?”

  A wan grin spread over Philip’s face. Billy Boy was the youngest of the staff, whose duties included keeping the Salle clean, not swordplay. It was later in the morning and Philip had finished his third bout when Marco called him over. A tall slight man stood beside him, dressed ready for combat.

  “This is the gentleman who has been asking for you, Louis. Monsieur, may I present to you the Baron de Vezey.”

  “At your service, Monsieur. I am Wilfred Charville. Would you honour me by demonstrating the trick you used against Lord Worthington?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Mr. Charville proved to be an apt pupil and, by the end of the lesson, he had managed to disarm Philip twice.

  “You did well, Monsieur,” Philip told him when they had finished.

  “I enjoyed it but perhaps my younger brother will not thank you when I use it against him. By the bye, Monsieur, I am certain I have met you before. Perchance, were you in London last spring?”

  “Yes I was.” Philip felt a cold shiver run down his spine but he could not deny it. Too many people in this city knew about his former role. “I brought a copy of the Emperor’s Instrument of Abdication to your Prince Regent at the orders of my master the Duc de Vicenze.”

  “Ah, I did not think I was wrong. You vanished rather suddenly if I remember, and there was some speculation as to where you had gone.”

  “Was there? Why? There was no need. I finished my work and returned to France.”

  “And now, instead of working for the Foreign Ministry, I find you teaching fencing. An odd choice surely?”

  Philip shrugged. “Times change and men must change with them.”

  As Philip walked Charville to the entrance to the Salle, Charville murmured,

  “A friend of mine told me he was very sorry he did meet you while you were in London. He has expressed interest in coming to Paris and would be pleased to encounter you here. May I give him your direction?”

  “Who is this friend?”

  “Mr. Evelyn Staunton.”

  A wave of boiling rage swept over Philip and he felt his hands become slippery with sweat. Staunton, the man who had married Celia only to abuse her, the man he had tried to kill. With a huge effort, he controlled himself sufficiently to say,

  “Do so, if you please. Marco will keep any letters for me. I look forward to meeting Mr. Staunton whenever it is convenient to him.”

  Chapter Three

  A cold rain lashed on the library windows as Alice sat reading beside the leaping fire. The room was cosy. The warmth and quietness had almost lulled her to sleep when the noise of carriage wheels and the cries from the street disturbed her. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece and found to her surprise that the hands stood at twenty to three. Her aunt had taken her younger daughter, Lizzie, to the dressmaker and said that they would not be back until it was time to dress for dinner. Edward was at his club which made it unlikely he would use a hack for such a short distance. So, who could it be? The bustle was right outside the house. Alice heard the front door open and noises in the hall. Whoever it was had to be coming here. With a sigh, she laid her book aside, straightened her skirt and quickly glanced at her hair in the mirror. She had just risen to greet her unexpected guests, when the door was thrown wide and Reynolds, the butler, announced in a loud voice,

  “The Countess of Kirkmore, my lady, and Miss Talbot.”

  “Mama, what a charming surprise,” Alice came forward dutifully and was offered a powdered cheek to kiss. Then she turned and shook hands with Grace. “You are most welcome, but you must be perished on such a cold day. Take the seats next to the fire and Reynolds will bring some hot tea directly.”

  “Don’t fuss, Alice,” her mother said. “A little rain will not hurt us. We have been lucky in our journey so far. Only five days on the road and we would have been here sooner, if we had not become stuck in the mire, just outside Biggleswade. A dismal town with nothing at all to do while we waited.”

  “How tiresome for you, Mama, but here is the tea.”

  James, one of the footmen came in with the large silver tray on which reposed a teapot and several cups. He put it down on the small table next to his mistress.

  “I ventured to bring more cups, my lady, since Lady Mary and Miss Elizabeth have just arrived.”

  “A good idea, thank you James.”

  James opened the door and stood holding it as an imposing dowager with iron grey hair, followed by a pretty young girl came into the room.

  “Julienne, how lovely to see you,” Lady Mary was startled into unaccustomed gushing as her sister-in-law rose to accept her kiss. “This is my daughter, Elizabeth, whom you might not remember. She was quite little when you came here last.”

  “I would recognise her from her resemblance to you and to my dear husband,” the Countess said. Lizzie, dropping into a schoolgirl’s curtsy, tried hard to look gratified by such a remark.

  Tea had been drunk and more wood piled upon the fire to dispel the chill of the day, before Alice ventured to ask,

  “What brings you to London, Mama? I thought you had written to Cecily and told her that you were fixed at Kirkmore until the spring.”

  “That was my intention,” the Countess replied, “until she informed me that you were going to France to look for your brother. Kirkmore cannot be without its Earl. Whatever I might think about Philip, it is clearly his duty to return and take the matter in hand.”

  “If we found him, Mama, we would have advised him to do so. There was no need for you to undertake such an uncomfortable journey to remind me of the fact.”

  “I wonder. You were never a satisfactory child, Alice; too much in your brother’s shadow. I doubt you possess the force of mind to persuade him against his will. I, however, have always been able to do so and can do so again.”

  “You, Mama?” was the startled reply.

  “Yes, did I not say so? I am coming with you to France.”

  Alice found herself unable to respond suitably for an instant and then she murmured the first words that came into her head,

  “But it is to be our honeymoon!”

  “I understood you spent several weeks in the Lake District for your honeymoon last year.” The Countess pursed up her lips. “Never fear. Miss Talbot and I will not intrude on your pleasures, such as they are.”

  Faced with this bald statement and to buy herself time to decide on a suitable answer, Alice turned to Grace.

  “So you are going too, Miss Talbot?”

  Grace smiled. “Her ladyship has ordered it, Lady Alice, and I am
happy to travel with her. I have always wanted to see another country, but I never thought I should have the chance to do so.”

  Alice looked at her closely, catching the gleam of excitement in her eyes. She felt a sudden sympathy for this unknown lady, alone in the world and born without her own advantages.

  “I must discuss the matter with my husband,” she said at last.

  “Nothing to discuss,” the Countess replied. “I would prefer to travel with a man. Lone females have far more trouble on a journey and are likely to be fobbed off with inferior service, but it is no great concern. France is, after all, my own country. I dare say we shall be able to manage if Edward is sufficiently discourteous to refuse us his company. Please be kind enough to ring the bell, I should to rest before it is time dress for dinner.”

  Alice did as she was bid and refrained from making an audible sigh of relief when Reynolds appeared and said,

  “Certainly, my lady. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bruton, has already made suitable bedchambers ready and hot water will be sent up immediately.”

  “My companion must be near me, should I need anything in the night,” the Countess stated.

  “I understand that the blue bedchamber has been prepared for your ladyship and Miss Talbot is just across the hallway. If you will follow me, please, I’ll take you there directly.”

  As soon as her mother and Miss Talbot had followed the butler and she was alone, Alice gave vent to her feelings. A violent tug on the rope sent the bells clanging downstairs. James the footman came panting into the room, having run up the stairs.

  “Is anything wrong, my lady? Are you ill?”

  “Ill? No.” Alice looked at him and frowned. “Why would you think that? I’m perfectly well but I want you to find Sir Edward and bring him home. Inform him that my mother has arrived unexpectedly.”