Mademoiselle At Arms (27 page)

‘Grossly unfair, too.’

‘Have no fear. Since Mary predeceased Jarvis, Nicholas could
scarcely argue himself to be my brother’s next of kin. But his daughter might
well have a claim.’

‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald.

‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of
course.’

‘Ah.’ Gerald sighed. ‘I feared as much. Still, I suppose
Melusine can always sell the house.’

A twinkle crept into Mrs Sindlesham’s eye. ‘That will be a
matter for her future husband to decide.’

Gerald started. He had not considered this aspect of the business.
Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a
nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. But what if she were to marry? He
glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very
much in evidence. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he
cleared his throat. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as
any.

‘Before she can think of marriage, Melusine must prove her
identity. You see, the trouble is that the matter is in dispute.’

‘How can it be in dispute?’ frowned Mrs Sindlesham. ‘There is
no question of a dispute.’

‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘And it
is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well.’

The full story—or as much as Gerald knew—of Valade’s
machinations shocked the old lady so much that she was obliged to recruit her
strength with a refill from the Madeira decanter. She listened with growing
apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and
daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited
to a lady of her advanced years.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Gerald with a grin. ‘The so-called
Valade is an evil person, and should certainly be got rid of in the manner you
describe. However, he has already presented himself to the Charvills, and
passed inspection. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to
whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that
property for his wife’s.’

‘I shall stop him,’ declared the old lady furiously.

‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s
daughter, any more than I do.’

‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and
unclenching her stiff fingers.

‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine.’

‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously
echoing her great-niece. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. What sort of
proof? There are no papers at Remenham House.’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. ‘She would not tell me. But
it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. Think,
ma’am. What might it have been?’

Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. ‘I have no idea. Unless
it was a jewel or locket of some kind.’

‘No, for that would have had to be in Melusine’s possession
to start with.’

‘Very true.’

Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. ‘I dare say the
best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. Hang it, there
must be something about her that will give it away.’

Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. ‘You
said she was beautiful. What does she look like?’

‘Black hair. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. But she does not
resemble you in any other way. She has blue eyes, and her figure is more full.’

‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. She
pointed. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there.’

Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the
parlour. He opened the drawer of the writing table. It was a mass of
knick-knacks.

‘What am I looking for?’

‘A miniature. Rummage, my boy, do. You will not find it else.’

He did as she bid him, and was very soon rewarded by the
discovery of an oval miniature, encased in gold. He stared at the woman
depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. Then he looked across at
Mrs Sindlesham.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Is there a resemblance?’

‘This is Mary Remenham?’

‘That is my late niece, yes.’

Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s
chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards
the old lady.

‘Your niece, ma’am. And your great-niece. It might as well be
Melusine herself.’

Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with
a large square of damp linen. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that
was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood
with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth.

She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit
she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and
left it to dry in the kitchens. She had been obliged to wait all morning for
the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for
the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. Last night there had
been no time. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete
the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which
had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations.

But today Melusine’s new-found knowledge put Martha at a
disadvantage.

‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. ‘That’s why
I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote.’

‘But Marthe, this is
idiot
. Certainly as soon as I
have found my right place at Remenham House, I must find out everything.’

‘Who was to know if you would find your place?’ countered
Martha. ‘Odds were against it. Why open my mouth if there might not be a need
for it when all’s said?’

Melusine acknowledged the logic of this. ‘Yes, that is
reasonable. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was
Suzanne Valade.’

Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. ‘Would you have
me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one
to tell you, for your father would not have done.’

‘Certainly that is true. And Suzanne, even that she has
behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said.’

‘She?’ scoffed Martha. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a
pretence of motherhood.’

Of which Melusine was only too well aware, for her stepmother
had done nothing to save her from the convent.

‘What’s more,’ went on Martha, ‘I knew something Mr Charvill
didn’t, or he wouldn’t so readily have left it behind him.’

‘You would speak of the house?’

‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant
for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played
together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick.’

Melusine could not regard this view with anything but
scepticism. ‘You think my father would not have married Suzanne if he had known?
Me, I do not agree. He did not even care for his own inheritance at this place
in Wodeham Water.’

She paused, holding her nurse’s eyes.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. ‘Oh, dearie me,
you make me feel a traitor.’

‘Only because you did not tell me entirely the story? That is
silly. I would not think so of you, Marthe. You have been to me like a mother,
not only a wet-nurse.’

‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. ‘No,
Melusine. You’re a lady. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went
to the bad.’

‘But this is
idiot
. Have you not given your life to
God? Do you not repent?’ Coming to the bed, Melusine sat beside her old nurse
and took hold of one of her hands. ‘And I am very glad you did this bad thing,
because if not, who would take care of me?’

Martha shook her head, and Melusine spied wetness again in
her eyes, although they met hers bravely. ‘You don’t know the whole, child. I’m
ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder
of my own lost babe.’

Tears sprang to Melusine’s own eyes, and she clasped the hand
she held more tightly. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’

‘I blame myself. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by.
But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you.
Even though I knew you’d no one else to care. For that worthless father of
yours—’

Melusine let go the hand only so that she might throw her own
hands in the air. ‘Do not speak of him. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such
a father.’ A thought caught in her mind and she turned quickly to her old nurse.
‘But there is something still I do not understand. Why did he take me?’

Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so
easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’

To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a
breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze.

‘You were his daughter. He loved you.’

‘Pah! Am I a fool? Have you not this moment past said how he
did not?’

Agitation sent her to her feet. How she hated talking of the
man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. She paced
restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words
begging to be uttered. But they would not be denied.

‘This is not love, Marthe. To love in such a way, it is
excessively selfish.’

Leonardo had taught her that. Leonardo had taught her pretty
well everything she could have need to know, when they had talked long at his
bedside. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her
heart she guessed they were not entirely true. But his life, ruled by chance
and the fight to survive had appealed strongly to Melusine’s rebellious spirit.
As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of
the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the
worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than
one who had thrown them away?

‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had
learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at
Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.’ The questions that had long
haunted her came out at last. ‘Why did he make me French, Marthe? Why did he
give me this name of Melusine, and say I am born of Suzanne Valade?’

Martha looked at her, but her lips remained firmly closed.

‘
Dieu du ciel
, but answer me!’

Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. Melusine
felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. ‘I’m only a poor country wench,
child. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind.’ A grimace
crossed her face. ‘But you know. You know, Melusine.’

The familiar hollow opened up inside Melusine’s chest, and
she could not prevent the husky note that entered her voice.

‘Yes, I know.’

She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the
work-roughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow
tears were tracing down her cheek.

‘It is that he needed me for his lie, no?’ Melusine said,
striving to control the quiver in her voice. ‘That he can say he was married
only to Suzanne all the time. This way there will be not so much shame, and the
vicomte will let them remain.’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides.
‘I am not a person, Marthe. I am a thing to be used. And when there is no
longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away.’

There was no denial in Martha’s face, though Melusine longed
to hear her words contradicted. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure.

‘God loves you, even if your father didn’t.’

Melusine fought down the raw emotion that threatened to
overwhelm her and drew a steadying breath. She disengaged her hands and stood
up.

‘You are wise, Marthe. A true nun. God must love me, for he
has guided me here.’

‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a
mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. ‘What are you going to
do now, child?’

Melusine sighed away the last of her distress. ‘I must see
the lady who is my great-aunt. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. Or
perhaps my father once. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory.’

Martha frowned. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it
was. Wait, though. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was.’

‘
Exactement
. Prudence. It is she that I must see.’

‘You won’t go to the general then?’

‘There is no need.’ The one ray of light lifted Melusine’s
gloom a little and she smiled. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother.’