Mademoiselle At Arms (29 page)

‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. ‘The
outcome, I think, is in very little doubt.’

Again, Melusine did not waste words. She lunged without
warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to
retreat backwards up the little stair. She advanced, stabbing at him. He could
not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back
himself into the chapel as fast as he could.

Melusine ran up the stairway after him, her point flailing to
frighten him into allowing her access to the chapel.

Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a
use of the foil. In seconds, they faced each other before the altar. If he had
imagined Melusine would be hampered by her petticoats, he was disappointed. She
had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. The
slack of her riding-habit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left
hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her
way.

Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could
easily break loose and cause her to fall. She had no intention of fighting fair.
Leonardo had not taught her to do so. She was naturally weaker, she would tire
quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of
honour obtaining amongst gentlemen. Play foul, and win. That was Leonardo’s
motto.

Melusine circled her adversary only far enough to give
herself the aisle between the pews behind. Gosse must now fight with his back
to the altar, and a dais at his heels.

‘
Alors
, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte.

He parried without apparent effort. ‘
Eh bien
?’

She thrust again, from the same place. ‘Take this.’

‘With ease, mademoiselle,’ he countered, catching her blade.

Bon
. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one
stroke. Melusine feigned a displeased frown. And lunged once more.

‘Again?’ Another simple parry. Gosse sneered. ‘You do not
try.’

‘Ah, no?’ She saw his guard relax and lunged again.

This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her
own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. Panic leapt into his
eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade.

‘
Sapristi
,’ he gasped.

Melusine made no reply. She ought to have leapt back on guard.
Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and
banged, flat-bladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade
dropped from his grasp. In a flash, Melusine had jumped forward and clamped it
to the floor with one booted foot.

Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s
chest. ‘That is better, no?’

‘
Dieu
.’ He stared at the point, glanced at the fallen
sword imprisoned by her foot, and only just looked back at her weapon in time
to see it thrust at him again.

He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily
before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Melusine did not pause, but
reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. Swinging her arm in an
arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main
door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor.

‘
Eh bien
, pig. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring
her teeth.

‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get
himself up from the floor.

For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging
so that he backed up onto the dais. She thrust at him, following, almost
spitting him as he crashed against the altar, rocking the huge candlesticks and
the vessels that stood on it. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust,
and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling
with a thud to the floor.

‘How is your plan now,
mon brave
?’ Melusine taunted. ‘Who
kills who?’

‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push
himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle
by the wall.

Melusine flew after him, the sword held out before her and pointing
directly at his retreating back.

‘Pig! Pig, a thousand times!’

Running footsteps could be heard now, and she knew that the
commotion was bringing the nuns, just as she had hoped. But she must stop him
getting away.

Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. He
was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at
the back. Before she knew what had happened, Gosse turned suddenly, and vaulted
one of the pews into the gap behind.

Balked, Melusine halted.

‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword.

‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next
pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword.

Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the
aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. She saw it, and checked without
thinking.

Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright
gleam on the floor.

‘
Alors
, I see it.’

Baring his teeth in a smile of triumph that was every bit an
animal snarl, and leaping up onto the seat of the pew he was in, he jumped
hazardously to the next.

In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in
the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. Melusine, intent upon preventing
Gosse from securing the fallen weapon, paid no attention. Vaguely she heard the
distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew.

‘You will not, pig,’ cried Melusine.

She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first,
while desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword
arm wavered.

‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of
the final pew.

Melusine tried to squash down, still trying to maintain her
guard. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of
the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. She could not move.

‘
Peste
,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor,
ducking down.

With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his
fingers, the point swishing up towards her.

A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely.

‘
Melusine
!’

Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from
Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way
of his blade. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart
as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target.

Next instant, Melusine’s blade sank into Gosse’s flesh. His
sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. He glanced at it,
and saw the bloodied blade. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath.

Melusine, her breath coming in short bursts, heard a sudden
flurry of several heavy footsteps and harsh commands exchanged.

‘Get the swords!’

‘I’ll see to him. You deal with her.’

She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped
to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood
on his arm. Then he was surrounded by black-clad nuns, and Melusine felt an
unknown hand grab away her own sword.

She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she
leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping
out automatically for support. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar
voice spoke.

‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’

Her eyes flew open. ‘Gérard!’

‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Can I not leave you for
a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’

‘
Imbecile
,’ she uttered faintly. ‘
Grace à vous,
I am compelled to rescue myself.’

‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may
rail at me presently as much as you please.’

 Melusine began to sag, and felt his strong arms catch her up
and lift her bodily into a comforting embrace.

‘But for now, I’m taking you home.’

Melusine’s arm crept up around his neck. ‘Home?’

‘To your family.’

‘
Merci
,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his
oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. ‘I am done, Gérard.
Me, you may have.’

There was a chuckle in his voice. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take
you up on that.’

In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat
disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. She was quite tired of
the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound
great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler.

‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of
exhaustion. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. Deny me, if you
please.’

‘Very good, ma’am.’

‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from
the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace.

‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the
butler. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’

‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. ‘I left a message at home that
he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent.’

Saling coughed. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

‘Yes, yes. Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham,
and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his
stately way to the door.

To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s
attention and she threw out a hand. ‘Stay, Saling!’

The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. Melusine
glanced towards the elderly dame and found that sharp gaze directed upon her. But
her words were not addressed to Melusine.

‘If Major Alderley should happen to call, you may admit him
also.’

A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. ‘Pray
do not trouble yourself, Saling. The major will not call.’

She turned quickly away that her feelings might not be
obvious to Lucy and her great-aunt. She had reason enough to be grateful to
Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of
loneliness should be made known to her. Also Lucy, who had been so much her
friend. Melusine could not wish either to know how their kindness served only
to emphasise the lack in her life ensuing from Gerald’s continued absence.

The events that had initially followed in the wake of her
triumph over Emile Gosse had quite confused and dazed her. That day Gerald had
brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much
alone and very unlike herself. The arrival of
la tante
Prudence late
next day had changed all this, it is true. For she and this old lady became at
once friends. Gerald had himself told her that this Prudence will present her
to society as Melusine Charvill. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his
eyes which made a flutter in her chest—that Prudence will find an Englishman to
marry her.

It would be the culmination of her plan. But why this part of
the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care
to examine too closely. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were
working to give her Remenham House. This was good. She was very satisfied about
this. But about the unknown Englishman she was not so satisfied.

She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if
she must judge of one in particular. Had he come to see her to find if she
needed something? No. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back
to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch
her meagre belongings. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not
in prison.

To be no longer with Martha was strange. They had cried a
little, both. But it was not
adieu
, so she promised her old nurse. Only
au
revoir
. All her life Martha had been there. Without her, it was lonely. Melusine
was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. He
had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more
than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday
came again. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use
for a cavalier.

Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the
hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. But did Gerald
trouble himself about her? No. He says only that he must tie up all the loose
ends. But days had now passed. How many ends had he?

Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this
imbecile
,
whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. And she had not dressed
herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no
matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. It was a
habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the
colour which must draw attention. She had thought to wear it now, since she
must look more the
demoiselle
. But of what use to wear it when there was
no one of importance to see and admire?