Tempting Fate (4 page)

HAVE COURAGE!

Your loyalty is not in vain. You are not forgotten. When this disorderly rabble has been suitably rewarded for treachery, then you who have remained staunch in your trust will be acknowledged as the valued and much-loved children of our Little Father, who has lived his whole life for our benefit. Who among you would be willing to stand beside the Czar today, to face his wife and his daughters and the blessed Czarevich and give an account of himself? If you cannot say that you would do this with pride, then it is you who harbor the vile and pestilential contamination of revolution within your breast, and it is you who have joined with the conspirators to bring war, famine, and disaster to our country. Let no one excuse himself for any action he may take at this time. You have heard tales of the October Atrocities in Petrograd. Be reminded that such events can occur here as well, if we are not vigilant and faithful to our country and our cause!

LATVIANS!

Pray for strength in this time of turbulence and trial! Surely God, who has kept the Czar in His heart, will lavish blessings upon those who strive to live true to His Will! Let every one of you examine himself to be certain that his faith is firm and his heart constant in love of God and the sainted Little Father. Ignore the prating of those who seek to bring revolution and change to us, and instead search for the guidance of those who have long provided it: the clergy, the aristocracy, and the elders who attend to justice. When you appear before the Throne of God, there will be no room for the lies of the self-proclaimed heralds of the new order, there will only be the stern and triumphant judgment of Our Lord.

Scrawled across this broadsheet in red ink:

REACTIONARY SODOMIZERS OF INFECTED SWINE!

2

Monbussy stood in an elbow of the Marne, halfway between Chaumont and Langres. Its central tower dated back to the thirteenth century, but the rest of the château had been built in the sixteenth century, which resulted in an uneasy cross-breeding of architectural styles. The remnants of a moat could be seen on the north side of the structure, now ice-rimmed on this sleety day after Christmas.

Captain Timbres waited in the drawing room, staring at the pine sprays that framed the tall windows. These were the only festive indications in this elegantly-appointed chamber, but the scent of the house—a curious mixture of evergreen and incense—indicated the holiday season in spite of the restraint he saw around him. The room itself was chill, but the Captain did not pay much heed: he was cold, his clothes were damp, and he was in that remote frame of mind that comes after too many shocks. He was vaguely aware that he had tracked mud onto the fine turquoise-and-olive carpet; it was unimportant to him.

The woman who entered the room was startlingly young, dressed with elegant restraint and in woolens that were more warm than wholly fashionable. Her coffee-colored hair was shoulder-length and simply coiffured. She came across the drawing room toward him, her hand extended to him, her violet eyes meeting his frankly. “Captain; my housekeeper said you wished to speak to me?”

“You’re Madame de Montalia?” he asked, having imagined a much older woman to be mistress of this château.

“Yes, I am. And you are…” she persisted politely.

“Captain Phillippe Timbres, at your service.” There was a time, not much more than a year ago, when he would have introduced himself with polish and address, but war had rid him of his courtesy. He took her hand as if uncertain what to do with it, and after a moment, let it go.

Madelaine de Montalia studied him a moment, then indicated one of the velvet-covered sofas near the fireplace. “Won’t you sit down, Captain Timbres, and tell me what brings you to my home?”

He did not respond at once, but gestured at his damp, mud-spattered uniform. “Do you think…?”

“Pray don’t let it bother you, Captain. I am sure that these walls have witnessed far worse things than your state of dress.” She herself had taken a beautiful Louis XV chair and pulled it near the sofa. As she sat down, she motioned the Captain to do the same. “I’m sorry I have so little to offer you on this occasion, but, as you know far better than I, there is little to be had.”

“Of course,” he answered mechanically. His head ached, his eyes were sore, and he had been coughing for three days. He pulled his stained handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his mouth.

“Still, if you will allow me, I will have wine or cognac served, whichever you prefer.” She had already reached for the silver bell that stood on a table at the end of the sofa. Its single melodic note sounded on the cold air.

“It’s not necessary—” he began.

“But of course it is,” she interrupted him with such a cordial smile that he was startled. “My fields have provided some food, but there has been so little else I could do. This is a minor thing, yet it would please me if you would accept my hospitality.”

While Captain Timbres tried to think of a reason to refuse, Madelaine de Montalia turned to the elderly servant who entered the drawing room. “Claude,” she said pleasantly, “please bring a bottle of cognac from the cellar. The Captain is cold.”

Claude bowed and departed with no change of expression whatever.

“Believe me, Madame, this is not necessary.” He was nonplussed at having to deal with so young a woman. The other landowners in the area had been respectably middle-aged, not so glowingly attractive.

“But it would be churlish of you to refuse,” she reprimanded him gently. “Now, while we wait for Claude to bring the cognac, perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me what it is I am to have the pleasure of doing for you.”

He did not answer her at once. “You are aware of the current state of the war?”

“Not absolutely, no, but I have paid a great deal of attention to all the announcements and dispatches which have come through the valley.” Her self-possession was alarmingly genuine. “I realize that recent advances along the Front have been … unhappy for France. I am also aware that there is fear of further aggression. That is what you’ve come to tell me, isn’t it?”

Captain Timbres regarded Madelaine with puzzlement. From the look of her, Madame de Montalia could not be more than twenty; her face was fresh, her figure admirably deep-bosomed and sleekly curved, strangely reminiscent of the portraits he had seen of Madame de Pompadour. Yet she had the manner and confidence of a very experienced woman, and there was something about her eyes that had little to do with youth. He was suddenly aware of the silence between them. “Yes. Yes, that’s why I’ve come, Madame de Montalia. It’s about this château.”

“One of the generals has need of it?” she inquired. There was no fear or anger in her.

“In part, yes,” the Captain admitted. His clothes, very damp and far from clean, seemed to create their own presence. He looked at her as he touched the buttons of his tunic. “I apologize for my … condition. You must understand that it is not my habit to call in such—”

Madelaine interrupted him, a compassionate smile on her lips. “Captain, you are an officer fighting a war for my country. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She paused. “On the other hand, you may wish to refresh yourself, and if you do, let me have a bath drawn for you and a bed prepared. You may find that an hour or two of rest will do a great deal to restore you, and during that time my staff will do something about your uniform.”

Captain Timbres was fatigued to the point of total exhaustion, so his hostess’ suggestion seemed an invitation to Paradise. At thirty-eight he was not immune to Madelaine’s attractions, but he had no intentions beyond a certain remote appreciation. He stared down at his mud-caked boots and stained gaiters. His gray-blue trousers were filthy, he realized, and his tunic was as bad. The greatcoat he had left with the servant who had admitted him was in even poorer repair. “It would be pleasant to have a respite,” he said cautiously.

“Excellent,” Madelaine said at once, rising. “I’ll instruct my household and will return to you in a moment. I believe we have a bit of ham left in the pantry. I’m afraid I don’t concern myself overmuch with food, but when you have rested, no doubt we can scrape together some sort of a meal for you.”

This was all going much too fast for Captain Timbres. He held up his hand to stop her. “Madame de Montalia, perhaps you don’t realize that I have come with the unpleasant task of informing you that you must release this château to the use of the Army. You will not be allowed to stay here. There’s a great deal of danger, and for you, some of it would certainly come from our own soldiers. It is not a happy admission for me to make, but many of them have been at war for a long time and they have forgot … their manners. It is necessary that you leave, you and your staff, within forty-eight hours.” Having said it, he wished there were some way to soften the impact of his orders.

“I am sure we can manage to accommodate you, Captain,” Madelaine said, as unruffled as ever.

“We cannot provide you transportation or alternate housing elsewhere. If you have relatives or others you might stay with…” He had little hope of this, for few families were willing to take in those homeless in the land because of the scant supply of food and other essentials.

“I have a house in Provence which I have not visited in some time. The Army has taken my two automobiles, but we have a few horses left and a few outmoded carriages that will do very well. I can assure you that you need not fear my resistance to your request, Captain.” She had gone to the door and called out, “Félicité, prepare a bath for the Captain and see that the bed is made up in the green bedchamber.”

“I am grateful, Madame, however…” he began.

“It is little enough to do for you, Captain Timbres,” she said as she came back to her chair. “We here at Monbussy we are aware of some of the privations those in the trenches have suffered. A bath, a meal, some cognac are nothing in comparison.”

The Captain shook his head. “No. That’s not what I had intended to say, Madame de Montalia. I wished to caution you about going into Provence. I cannot promise you that there will be no fighting there. Most of the fighting in Italy has been in the northeast, but…”

Madelaine filled in the awkward silence with an easy smile. “Captain, I am convinced that Les Diables Bleus will be able to protect me.” She used the nickname for the Chasseurs Alpins deliberately and was pleased to see the slight nod Captain Timbres gave in agreement.

“I feel I should try to dissuade you from going there. Have you no one in the west of France, perhaps near Bordeaux?”

“I could perhaps hide in what’s left of the forests,” she said thoughtfully. “No, Captain, to answer your question, I cannot call upon relatives there. Those of my blood live … elsewhere.” Her jaw tightened for an instant as she said it, for it brought with it an intense longing for her first and most treasured lover. She had had no word of him for more than a year, which distressed her greatly when she allowed herself to think of it.

“It is unfortunate, Madame,” the Captain said, and looked up to see Claude enter the room carrying a silver tray and a smoke-colored dusty bottle with a faded label.

“The cognac, Madame,” Claude said, and put the tray down on the table where the bell lay. “Félicité is preparing the bath for the Captain. She asks that she be allowed thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, Claude. Tell Félicité that will be quite satisfactory.” She motioned dismissal to the butler and gave her attention once again to Captain Timbres. “These old châteaux resist the modern ways, I am afraid. There is a pump in the kitchen which we are using currently because of the fear of typhus in the district. I trust that the delay will not inconvenience you.” As she spoke, she reached over and picked up the cognac bottle, inspecting it critically. “Yes, this will do,” she said, and opened the shallow drawer in the table to take out a small penknife with which she stripped away the wax sealing the bottle.

Captain Timbres was very divided in his mind. He knew that if he interpreted his orders strictly, he should thank this woman and leave her château at once so that he could speak to the farmers and other landholders nearby. But this was the first taste he had had of a proper gentleman’s life in more than a year, and he desired the luxury of fine cognac, a hot bath, and a proper meal as ardently as he suddenly realized he desired his hostess. He put one hand to the stubble on his face and hoped he had not flushed. “This is very kind of you, Madame.”

“Nonsense.” She had the bottle open now and sniffed at the cognac before pouring it into the single crystal snifter on the silver tray.

“But you…” he said, fearing now that he was depriving her of the last of her cellar.

She held the snifter out to him. “You must excuse me, Captain Timbres. I have a curious intolerance for spirits. It gives me a great deal of pleasure to be able to offer them to those who do not have this aversion.”

The cognac was excellent; fragrant, potent, tracing his tongue with warmth. “Superb, Madame.”

Madelaine smiled. “How good of you to say so, Captain. I hope you will not be reticent if you wish more.” Again she rose. “If you don’t mind, I will leave you for a moment while I see how matters stand in the kitchen.”

He half-stood with remembered courtesy, mumbling a polite phrase he had not used in over a year. The cognac’s fire began to seep through him, heating his veins.

Claude was standing just behind the large entrance hall, his elderly face worried. “Madame?” he asked in an undervoice as Madelaine approached him.

“Yes, it is what we have been expecting, Claude, and I fear that we will have to move more quickly than we anticipated at first. We have been given forty-eight hours.”

“That is not much time, Madame.” His face relaxed as he said it, as this was longer than he had assumed they would be given.

“It is sufficient. We are to use the carriages. That means you must send David to Jacques Dandeau and buy those four Percherons. I know that the Army should have first chance at them, but if they are going to take over my château, they cannot begrudge me four horses.” She was still as self-possessed as she had been with Captain Timbres, but with a greater air of command. Clearly she expected her instructions to be carried out without delay or excuse. “I will want to leave at night, of course, for that will mean that I can ride. See that the two heavy hunters are readied for the journey. We must take feed with us, since I doubt there will be much opportunity to forage along the way. Have David attend to that, as well.”