Love's Vengeance Read online

  “There are more than enough servants to care for your estate for the time being and we feel you would do much better if you would take some time to recuperate before dealing with the memories your home will stir. Now that the funeral is over, you will be for the most part, alone, without the diversion of guests. You are still in a state of shock—please, allow us to pamper you a bit.” He had delivered this more as a statement, than a request.

  When she had declined, trying to reason with him as to her need to return home this night, her godmother had entered the discussion, “Ma Cherie, it would serve no good purpose—only enhance your pain. You must try to see this. We ask you stay only for a time.”

  “Madeleine I can not…”she had begun firmly, but then her godmother’s eyes filling with tears had halted her, “for a night,” she had sighed heavily, “this night—that is all I will commit to. I will make it though this ordeal Madeleine. I have you both close at hand for your guidance and support but I will not leave my home, not even for a short time. Please try to understand.”

  She had laid her head back against the cushioned carriage wall at that point and in her bone weary state, she had been unable to force the issue further. She had closed her eyes then and that is where her memory of the ride home ended. She next awoke here in the dark, having no memory of getting abed. Oh but what a blur the last days had been.

  Until a few short days ago, sadness had never touched her or her life. From her earliest memories of childhood, she had enjoyed a wealth of happiness, with love abounding from family and friends. Her years had been filled with lighthearted pleasures—not a care, nor a worry. Now all this had changed. Just days ago she had been a child, depending upon her parents for everything. Unconcerned with matters more pressing than what she would wear for the day or what form of entertainment would occupy her hours. She was now the only heir to her father's fortune and the responsibility that accompanied that legacy dictated it was time to grow up. She had to learn to depend upon herself now and take her destiny within her own hands.

  Desiree's mind came back to the present, to the darkness of the quiet room about her and in the quiet, she made a silent pact with herself. She would begin to be an adult now—no longer a burden to the Roche's or her friends such as Rene'; who so worried on her state, that he had offered marriage to ease her pain. She must go on now. Her parents would want her to go on. More than anything in their lives, they had always wanted her happiness first and foremost. She lay back upon her pillows and with a deep breath in and then out, she closed her eyes. With her new resolve filling her mind, she soon slipped into a gentle sleep and mercifully, no ghosts waited to haunt her there.

  Chapter Four

  Sunlight filtered through the sheers and upon Desiree as she slept. Gently the sun eased her from her slumber and she awoke to find herself, once more disoriented—expecting to be in her own bed, in her own room. The voices she could hear from below in the dining room she mistook for her parents; her mother’s, light and gay and her father’s, deep and rich. But now reality and memory washed over her like a huge and terrible wave. Her parents were gone and the pain of the past days came anew until from somewhere deep within, came her resolve of last night and aloud she said, “It’s time to grow up Desiree!” while swinging her trim legs off the edge of the bed.

  It was the Roche’s voices she heard below and Bridgett’s. The clatter of dishes told her the morning fare was being served and the smell of ham and eggs brought her stomach to life and she realized then, just how famished she was. She hadn’t been able to eat for days and as she rose now, her only thought was to get downstairs to breakfast. She reached for the frogs at the front of her nightgown and then with puzzlement, looked down. She still wore the black dress from the funeral. Strange that she hadn’t noticed this when she awoke in the night, she mused. It was not like her to sleep in her clothes and it dawned on her now, that she could not, for the life of her, recall actually getting abed last night at all. Her last recollection was of the carriage ride home from the cemetery.

  She considered what she should do, as she had no other apparel with her and the dress looked slept in, rumpled and creased. She smoothed the dark material over her midriff and hips, feeling the odd sensation of her own form beneath the plain and unadorned skirt, lacking pantaloons or hoops. With a passing glance in the mirrored dressing table, she paused, surveying her disheveled appearance. She picked up a brush, attempting to put her tangled mane of hair into some semblance of order and then twisting a bun at the nape of her neck, she dug through a drawer and found a tortoise shell comb, borrowing it to hold her hair in place. She bit a blush into her lips with her teeth, pinched some color into her pale cheeks, slipped on her shoes and dashed out of the room.

  ***

  “Desiree my dear!”, Francois Roche’ exclaimed, rising from his seat with a warm smile and all eyes turned to her standing, ill at ease, at the threshold.

  “I am afraid I was so famished—I must look a fright.” She apologized, touching her mussed skirt self-consciously, while looking to Bridgett. Always a stickler for flawless appearance, Bridgett for once showed no sign of annoyance.

  “Come sit down child. It doesn’t matter.” She said gently.

  Monsieur Roche’ held the chair to his left invitingly, as he inquired, “How are you feeling today sweet? I hope the night’s rest has helped you. You were in desperate need.” He settled Desiree’s chair beneath her and returned to his place at the head of the table.

  “Oui, it did me wonders. I feel as though I could devour a horse at this point. I fear my appetite has regained its former pitch.” She said with a teasing smile directed at her nurse, “Much to your ire I suppose.”

  Bridgett was constantly harping on the amount of food she consumed as though afraid she would, at once, plump up, losing her figure and womanly charms. But Desiree had never concerned herself much with that possibility. She had always been thin and now in womanhood remained slim.

  With this remark, Bridgett and Madeleine Roche’ exchanged glances and smiles, for until this moment, they had feared today would be another day of constant mourning for Desiree. It seemed with the night’s rest she had regained some of her humor and it looked as though the worst were indeed behind her, Bridgett dared to fervently hope.

  An attentive servant placed a full plate before Desiree and upon gratefully accepting this offering she set at once to emptying her fare. It seemed but moments later she requested another helping of ham and this brought chuckles from everyone at the table. The air lightened at last, when for the past days it had been as heavy as lead.

  “How did I happen to get abed last night? And still clothed? I don't remember coming in at all.” Desiree confessed, as she sampled then savored a sip of rich herbal tea.

  “You went out like a light on the ride home. I don’t believe you would have heard a cannon sound my dear.” Madeleine offered, inclining her head to her husband, “Francois carried you to your room and we simply removed your shoes and tucked you in, clothes and all. We didn’t want to wake you.”

  Desiree laughed lightly, “I must have been even more exhausted than I knew.”

  She turned her gaze to the veranda doors to her left, looking to the lake and beyond, where her home on the opposite shore was visible even from this distance.

  “Francois, I believe this morn I should go home and begin to get some things in order. If you have no objections, I believe I shall bath and then see to it.” Desiree announced in a sure and decisive voice.

  With this, the room fell into a hush. Monsieur Roche’ studied her face intently, once more amazed at how this tragedy had transformed her overnight from a carefree and willful child, to a responsible and clear-minded woman. Desiree had never been even aware of the fact that she would one day become heir to a sizable fortune and now, in at least small ways, was becoming mistress of all that she possessed. Her parents would be proud of her, he thought, smiling broadly, “I think that is a wise decision, my sweet.” He
said aloud, rising to hold his wife’s chair.

  Madeleine Roche’ rounded the table, placing a light kiss upon Desiree’s cheek, “I shall see about having a bath drawn for you while you finish your breakfast my sweet.” and with a quick squeeze of her shoulders, she hurried from the room.

  “Merci.” Desiree called after her, “And Bridgett I would be grateful if you would assist me today.”

  “Of course I will dear.” Bridgett affirmed happily.

  “Francois—have the stable hands given you any insight as to what happened? Why the accident occurred?”

  “Little new information Desiree.” He replied reluctantly. This was the first she had broached the subject of the accident and he knitted his brow with concern, fearful her mood might again swing to despair, “Only the original findings, that the axle was faulty and the sharp turn caused it to give.”

  “I see—well I suppose that is the only conclusion.” Desiree agreed in a small voice, allowing the painful subject to drop as she fought, again, against her tears. The pain of mourning seemed, literally, to come in waves. She felt strong and sure of herself, then weak and forlorn. What a very odd sensation, she thought in passing.

  Within a few minutes, Madeleine Roche’ appeared at the door of the dining room, “Child, the maid has drawn your water. You best hurry before it cools.”

  Excusing herself from the table, Desiree started up the Roche’s long winding grand staircase, which she had always admired. She had, many times as a child, traced the ornate scrolls and flowers that decorated the fine banisters, with her fingers, until she could duplicate the pattern on parchment. She often wrote silly notes to her father, after mastering the art of writing and the flowers always embellished the edge of the missives.

  As she reached the top of the flight, she realized that she had allowed another painful memory to slip into her head, putting a damper on her already precarious mood. It seemed everything she thought or saw, somehow intertwined with her parents. She had been unaware what a huge part they played in her life, until now and her tears flowed again, unbidden.

  Mounting the stairs behind Desiree, Bridgett noticed the slowing of her gait and the slight droop of her delicate shoulders and surmised that her parents must be once more upon her mind. Determined to restore Desiree’s good mood, she took her hand, “I had a few of your things sent over, just in the event we stayed on. Let's pick out something for you to wear today, shall we?” she asked brightly.

  ***

  With clips protruding from her mouth, Bridgett studied the lovely girl reflected in the mirror before her. Desiree was gazing at her own image, with her hand resting casually beneath her chin. Bridgett mused how completely unaware of her own beauty Desiree seemed to be. She was void of vain pride, though she could easily have been ruled by it were she another type of person. Bridgett knew of women with much less beauty than Desiree possessed, completely taken with themselves and their great gifts, but Desiree exhibited none of those nasty traits.

  Her hair was as black as night and hung in glistening waves to her waist. Her eyes, the most beautiful shade of blue, were accented by black finely arched brows and thick sooty lashes. High cheekbones, a delicately shaped classic nose, full lips, a creamy complexion—all any woman could wish for. Yet this all went completely unknown to Desiree. She had even confessed to Bridgett once that she had never considered herself exceptionally pretty. She failed to see what the rest of the world could not miss.

  Bridgett had watched young men fall all over themselves to catch a glimpse of her. At church services or other gatherings, a throng of young men were always in attendance at Desiree’s side, which left many of the less comely maidens of Rouen, glaring heatedly at her and her entourage of admirers. To Desiree it was simply what she had become accustomed to and she didn't contribute the occurrence to herself at all.

  An impatient sigh from Desiree brought Bridgett’s mind back to the task at hand and she quickly finished, releasing her charge to be about her bath. Desiree rose, crossing to the brass tub and after testing the temperature with her hand, disrobed, leaving her clothes in a heap. She slid into the warm fragrant liquid and the scent of wild flowers engulfed her. For a time, she simply laid back, relaxing her tense muscles.

  Bridgett appeared beside the tub, picking up the discarded articles of clothing and then shot a meaningful frown at Desiree. A look she was very familiar with.

  “I’m sorry Bridgett, I forgot. I know I am not the neatest person in the world.” Desiree sighed, smiling sweetly.

  Bridgett could never actually become angry with her young mistress and allowed the sour look to leave her face, replaced by a smile as she turned to put the garments in their proper place. Laying a silk chemise and dressing gown upon a chair next to the tub, she started for the door.

  “I will be back to help you dress. Now don’t dawdle all day in there or your skin will look like an old prune and we have nearly an hour drive to the house.” She called over her shoulder.

  “Oui Bridgett, I won’t be long.” She assured, as the door closed softly.

  Desiree reached for a bar of soap, inhaling the wonderful fragrance, while it enveloped her. She lathered her body and rinsed then lay back and could have fallen to sleep but Bridgett’s final words roused her grudgingly. She rose, stepping from the tub and took up a towel, drying herself quickly then slipped the delicate underclothes on. After belting the dressing gown about her, she took a seat at the mirrored table, to await Bridgett’s return.

  Her mind turned to thoughts of her nurse and she felt very grateful to have her steady, familiar presence. She knew Bridgett almost as well as her own mother, in fact, she had been with the family since shortly after Desiree’s birth. Her mother had had a difficult delivery and hadn’t been able to care for an infant for some time. Bridgett had been in France but a few months, working as a tutor for a family who were acquaintances of the Roche’s and when the need arose for a nurse, Bridgett had taken the position and had been with her ever since.

  Bridgett was close in years to her own mother, which sometimes caused Desiree to wonder why she would devote her entire life to caring for someone else’s child. Why she had never married and had a family of her own? It was a mystery to Desiree. Bridgett was a pretty woman, with mild features, soft blue eyes, light tawny hair and a handsome figure. She was tender and gentle, a loving and giving person. Desiree had asked the question before, but Bridgett had laughed, exclaiming she had too much to do keeping up with her to even think of marriage. Desiree had sometimes wondered if it was somehow true but in her heart, she knew it couldn’t be. Whatever the reason, she was very happy Bridgett was with her now. The door opening interrupted her thoughts and Bridgett stared at her in surprise.

  “Well I don’t believe it. You are actually dressed and waiting for me. Desiree I never know what to expect from you lately. I assumed I would have to come in here and drag you, bodily, out of that tub but here you sit. I do believe you are growing up right before my eyes.”

  Bridgett smiled broadly and patted Desiree on the cheek and then set about brushing out her hair. With nimble fingers, she quickly braided the tresses into a long complicated braid with yellow and black ribbons, entwined amid the ebony. Then after helping Desiree dress, in a subdued gown of black water silk moiré with tiny yellow blossoms, and gathering all Desiree’s items into a satchel for the ride home, she hurried downstairs to see about the carriage and Desiree followed a few minutes later.

  ***

  Francois Roche’ waved from the front veranda, until the carriage rounded the curve in the drive, disappearing from view and was turning to enter the house when the Chandelle’s driver, Georges’ approached.

  “Monsieur, Philippe and I would ask that you come to the carriage house for a moment.”, Georges’ wiped dark axle grease from his hands onto a scrap of linen as he spoke, “I had come to see about salvaging what I could from the carriage and we discovered something very distressing. Could you come for a moment?”

&
nbsp; “Of course.” Francois nodded, the driver’s serious tone and concerned expression telling of the urgency. Together the two walked the short distance around the side of the manor and across the back lawn, toward the carriage house.

  “You see there—and there?” Georges’ questioned, pointing with a greasy finger at the underside of the over-turned carriage. It lay like a dead and bloated beast, broken wheels at odd angles from the force of the fall down the embankment.

  “File marks?” Francois asked, looking to the two beside him.

  Philippe nodded solemnly, “And look here…” he walked around to the front axle still intact, “Here also—almost in two it is but being filed from the bottom, near the floor of the carriage, it is undetectable, unless as it is here, turned on its top. It’s no wonder we were unable to detect anything amiss at the time of the accident.” He wiped his hands on his soiled breeches, looking into the eyes of his employer.

  “Someone meant for them to meet with an accident!” Georges’ stated, slamming his fist down upon the carriage in rage.

  “Mon Dieu! Who could have done such a thing and for what purpose?” Francois demanded angrily. The two servants shook their heads, totally perplexed by their findings.

  ***

  “You may return to the Roche’s.” Desiree stated with a weak smile directed at the young driver. He placed her bag upon the ground before her, nodded politely and mounted his perch. She watched the carriage lurch forward and out the crescent shaped drive at the front of the Château, lumbering toward the road, then with a quivering draw of breath, she picked up her satchel and turned to face her home. The flood of emotions that assailed her was staggering.