Time for Eternity (39 page)

Now the sun was setting, washing the countryside in a golden light.

The morphine must be wearing off. Henri rolled his head and groaned from time to time. How she hated that he had to be in pain before he could heal.

He’s healing too slowly. After all he’s been through, his Companion is exhausted.

Françoise knew what she meant. Henri needed blood. She swallowed around a lump in her throat as he opened his eyes. They clouded in pain. His breathing grew labored.

“How … how are you?” she asked.

Now that’s a stupid question if I ever heard one.

“You came back for me?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “You shouldn’t have taken the chance.” He glanced over at Madame Vercheroux.

“She came for you too. We’re in her carriage on the way to Le Havre.”

He blinked against the pain and shook his head ever so slightly. “The
Maiden Voyage
will have lifted anchor by the time you get there.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Of course they would be away as soon as Jennings arrived with his charges. Jennings thought Henri was dead.

“I’m a liability. Leave me at Versailles. Book passage on the first vessel crossing the Channel at Le Havre.”

Versailles. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. No one would think of looking for him there, whereas Robespierre would send straightaway to Le Havre. If he was still alive after she had run him down. Had she killed the little lawyer? Is that what killing felt like?

I don’t feel guilty at all about that one.

No. Françoise wasn’t even sure he was dead. She resolved not to feel guilty. It had been Robespierre or Henri. She’d choose Henri every time.

And I have unfinished business at Versailles, one way or another. Do it.

Françoise leaned forward, pulled open the window shade a hair. “Jean! Jean, pull in at Versailles. The palace.”

“What? What?” Madame Vercheroux snorted, coming to herself.

“Jean will take you on to Le Havre. Henri needs time to recover.”

“Henri! Henri, you are alive.” Madame Vercheroux leaned forward. “I cannot see you in this dark coach. Let me raise the window shades.”

“No!” Françoise and Henri said together.

“The light is what burned him so badly,” Françoise said. “He has a … condition.”

“I won’t leave you like this,” Madame Vercheroux insisted.

But in the end she did. Henri gathered himself and said no captain would take on an injured man obviously running from the authorities. He promised to follow them to England. Françoise let him believe she ’d be going with Madame. It was easier than arguing.

They bribed the old caretaker, Brendal, who remembered them from their previous visit, and he and Jean carried Henri up to the king’s bedroom. They unloaded one of the trunks from the carriage. When he was tucked in Françoise went down to see Madame off.

“You stay with him?” Madame asked. She didn’t seem surprised.

Françoise nodded. “As long as he’ll let me.”

“I told you not to give your heart.” Madame shook her head.

Double standard. She gave him hers.

Françoise said, “One cannot choose where to give one’s heart. If it is broken, so be it.”

Madame sighed. “I was once as young as you.”

Françoise smiled. “You have no idea how old I am. Or how old I feel. Be careful.”

“They won’t stop us. They are glad to be rid of my kind.”

“They would love to take your five thousand francs and the carriage,” Françoise warned.

Madame pulled on her gloves. “I will have given the carriage in trade for passage before morning. Do you think I will like England? One hates to think of ending in Austria.”

“You will be the center of attention wherever you go, madame. ” She leaned in to kiss the older woman. “Thank you for everything.”

“Fau,” Madame said, giving Françoise brisk kisses on both cheeks. “I was tired of France.” Her eyes grew soft. “Take care of him.” And with a wave of her hand she was gone.

Henri opened his eyes on darkness as the pain crashed over him. Why was it taking him so long to heal? Someone was in the darkness with him. He turned his head.

Françoise sat in a chair beside the great bed. Where was he? Ahhh. Versailles. He recognized the brocade on poor dead Louis’s bed. He and Françoise had made love in this bed.

“Why aren’t you on your way to Le Havre?” It was night. He could feel it.

“I couldn’t leave you to Brendal and his wife. They’d know how badly you were hurt, and see the healing.”

They’d know him for a monster, as she did.

“The healing doesn’t seem to be going that well,” she continued as she stood and adjusted the sheets that covered him.

“Just … slow. I’m weak.”

She chewed her lip. “I know what you need.”

The pain made it hard to think. She … she was opening the throat on her white nightdress. His Companion stirred sluggishly in his veins as it felt the blood beating in the artery in her throat. “Leave me,” he rasped. Who knew what he might do in his current state?

She shook her head slowly, and smiled. He could see her pulse in the hollow of her neck. “It’s safest if you do it. But if you can’t raise your Companion, I’ll cut my wrist.”

How did she know about the Companion? It throbbed at him, needing. It had just enough power to run out his canines. He ripped his gaze from her throat and turned his head away. He couldn’t take her blood. She pushed herself up to sit beside him on the bed. He could smell the soft scent of lavender soap. She turned his head toward her. Down the neck of her nightdress her breasts swung free. She smiled so tenderly at him, and bent to kiss him.

His Companion growled. He could feel his canines slide out. She kissed his lips, running her tongue along his canines then baring her neck. Damn her! And he was weak and in pain and he couldn’t think. Her throat was white. Her pulse throbbed until it was all he could hear.

“Go on,” she said. “I won’t let you take too much.”

How would she know what was too much? How did she know any of this?

In the end the decision wasn’t his. His Companion took her up on the offer. One minute he was kissing her neck, feeling the warmth of her flesh on his lips, and the next moment he had sunk his canines into her carotid artery and was sucking rhythmically.

The first taste of her pure, young blood in his mouth and he forgot everything but the pull against her flesh and the warm liquid sustenance that tasted of copper, tangy and sweet at once. She lay beside him and held his head to her throat, making soothing sounds that turned to little moans of satisfaction.

It was he who pulled away in spite of her promises. “Enough,” he gasped, licking his lips as his canines retracted.

She laid him back down. “That will make a difference soon.”

Already he felt himself swooning back into the darkness. How did she
know
that?

Twenty-Three

Françoise eased Henri into the brocade dressing gown. He was naked, his marvelous body pristine. All trace of Madame Croûte’s desecration was gone, though he still had some stiffness in shoulder and hip. Frankie might have seen herself heal many times over the centuries, but it had never been wounds like this, and the whole was wondrous to Françoise. Being this close to him she could feel the slow throb of his vibrations. He was still weaker than was his wont. But his body had the same effect on her it always had. She glanced to the bed where they had made such ecstatic love. Had that been only a week ago? It now seemed like another life, one she could never recapture.

Françoise pulled a chair up to the window that looked out onto the night. “Would you like to sit up for a while? Brendal brought us some wine and a nice Camembert from the village.”

“I’m to be let out of bed? Hallelujah. My gaoler relents.” He sat carefully in the chair as she hovered over him. He looked up at her with a softness in his eyes that startled her. “I don’t mean that. I don’t deserve the kindness you have shown me.”

He … he never looked at me like that.
Frankie sounded a little stunned.
When we were here a week ago … I saw that
expression, but I didn’t recognize it for what it was …

“What did I do? I read to you, fed you a couple of times, and watched you sleep.”

He blinked slowly, considering her. “You know very well it was more than that.”

Françoise felt herself blush remembering how … sensual giving him her blood had been. “I did what I could.” She poured herself wine. She had to redirect this conversation. “Brendel says the Revolutionary Council sent Robespierre to the guillotine without even a trial this morning. They blamed him for the mass escape from the Conciergerie. Croûte fell to the mob.”

“The Revolution is cannibalizing itself.” He sounded sad.

Ding, dong, the witch is dead. Both of them.

“You fought the Revolution. I wouldn’t think you’d be sorry it’s disintegrating.”

“Man at his worst is always a sorry sight. You might be surprised to know I voted to establish the National Assembly.

Something had to be done about the priesthood and the aristocracy. Just not this. Our country may be torn apart for good.”

She was surprised in one way and in another not surprised at all. She wanted to comfort him. On impulse she said, “It will rise from the ashes with the help of a little soldier who becomes emperor.”

He looked at her strangely. He almost said something, but thought better of it.

They looked out the windows, a gulf between them that made it hard for Françoise to breathe. Night spread out over the gardens. The rabble was gone again, the detritus from their picnics blown across the grass and into the hedges by a summer wind.

Beyond the formal gardens the water rushed, silent from this distance, at the Fountain of Apollo. Françoise and Frankie stared out at it, standing beside his chair while Henri sipped his wine.

There’s a grotto in a grove somewhere out there. Leonardo’s machine is there, if it hasn’t already returned to the
twenty-first century.

“Françoise,” Henri began. She wasn’t used to hear him sound anything but masterful or indolent, though that indolence she now knew was a pose. She looked down to see him toying with his glass. “I hardly know how to say this to you. I have no right.”

She made her tone light. “What right don’t you have after saving me from the mob and the tender mercies of Robespierre?”

He looked up and searched her face as though his life depended on it. She saw his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he swallowed. Dear Lord, but he made her throb. But now that she knew the man beneath that beautiful face, the face was more than beautiful. It was … dear to her.
You should be reminding me of what Madame Vercheroux said about him,
she thought to Frankie.
He never engages his heart and he will break mine.

But Frankie was suddenly silent.

He looked down at his wine again. “It has occurred to me that there is one way that you could look so young and yet display that … world-weary experience I’ve seen. Yet I can hardly credit it …” Again he raised his face to hers. “How do you know about the Companion? How did you know to give me blood and what it could do for me?”

She couldn’t tell him that! She managed a laugh. “What vampire doesn’t need blood?”

He clenched his lips, his eyes challenging her.

Tell him.

He’ll think I’m mad.
Françoise chewed her lip, frowning.

Trust me. Tell him.

“If I was vampire you’d feel my electric energy and I’d smell of cinnamon and ambergris as you do,” she said to buy time. Of course she had also just demonstrated once again that she knew more than any human should about vampires.

If you want to continue any kind of a relationship with him, he needs to know the truth about you. About us. Show him
the machine, if it’s still there. That will make him believe you.

Still, he looked his question.

Frankie was right. She took a breath. “Are you up to a walk? I’ll show you the truth.”

He examined her face, then put away his questions. He nodded and rose. She took his hand as they went down the stairs. It might be the last time she touched him. No words passed between them. She lit the lamp sitting on the table in the grand foyer.

Through the front doors and down the steps into the gravel drive, she drew him across the gardens and the vast lawns toward the Grotto of Apollo. It was up a little rise, surrounded by trees. The two statues of Apollo’s horses were placed strategically on the hillside. The central piece of Apollo himself and his six nymphs sat in the mouth of the man -made cave above them. They struggled up the rise and Françoise realized how weak Henri still was. Frankie trembled in excitement within her. She paused in front of the gleaming marble and looked back at Henri. “Suspend some disbelief here.”

He stood beside her, peering into the cave behind the statue. “I’ll try.”

She squeezed around behind the statues and started into the cave. The lantern flickered and steadied. She held it high.

A gleam of bronze answered her light.

It’s still here.

Françoise walked forward as she heard Henri gasp. Leonardo’s wonderful machine loomed over her. Françoise stood in awe, no matter that she had seen it in her vision of Frankie’s experience. Huge jewels winked in the light from the lantern.

“My God,” Henri said “What is it?”

Françoise turned. “It is a time machine built by Leonardo da Vinci, for a friend of his named Donna di Poliziano. Do you know of him?”

“Of course.” He paused. “But I know Donnatella well. She never mentioned …”

“She doesn’t find it until 1821. She used it to go back and make Jergan vampire.”

“But she and Jergan have been together since the death of Caligula in Rome.”

“In one possible version of events they were not. She regretted it.” She took a breath. “And in one possible version of events you made me vampire at the moment you broke that glass in the library. I was infected through a scrape. ” She raised her hand where a scab still graced the pad of her palm under her thumb. He paled. “You abandoned me after three days, or so I thought, and I lived the best I could, thinking I was a monster—”