Читать книгу Lady Agnes Mystery Vol.2 - Андреа Жапп - Страница 20

An eerie stillness awaited her when she entered the quadrangle. No dogs, no busy farm hands. She felt as if she were stepping into a fairy tale where a spell has been cast turning the inhabitants of a house to stone.

She glanced around and called out: ‘Hello. Is anybody there?’

Gilbert the Simpleton shot out of one of the barns and came running over to her with surprising agility for someone so massive.

‘He’s here, my lady. Oh, dear Lord Jesus … What a to-do! He arrived this afternoon without warning! He appeared out of nowhere!’

‘Who did, Gilbert?’

‘Why, he did of course,’ he replied, flushed with excitement, flailing his arms like an angry goose.

‘Calm down, Gilbert dear, and tell me who.’

Églantine did not bridle when he rushed to help Agnès dismount, seizing her by the waist and lifting her up as if she were as light as a feather before gently setting her down on the ground. It occurred to her that this giant, who had the mind of a child, was strong enough to wring a bull’s neck with his bare hands.

‘Thank you, dear Gilbert. Try to calm down and think. Who arrived?’

‘Our lord, my good fairy. “Our lord”, that’s what Clément said.’

She felt cold with rage as she spoke the man’s name through gritted teeth:

‘Eudes?’

‘No, not the evil dwarf. I’ll crush that pest under my boot if he shows his ugly face here again. Our noble lord, from over there on the other side of Authon Forest.’

Agnès trembled.

Ah, dear God … Lord Artus. But how, why, when? Why had he not warned them? She looked despairingly down at her dress, which had been dragging in the dirty snow, and at her nails, which were stained green from the cheap dye in her riding gloves. She must look dishevelled and dirty – in short, a fright, and Gilbert’s admiring gaze would not convince her otherwise. She regained her composure and ordered calmly:

‘Take Églantine back to the stable, please.’

Gilbert walked off slowly, whispering in the mare’s ear. It was odd how all the animals, even the bees, liked Gilbert. Some invisible bond seemed to connect him to them.

Quick. What must she do? Go to her chambers and clean herself up? No. The Comte must have heard her calling out to the servants. She ought to have been annoyed and resented his unannounced intrusion. She suppressed a smile. He had done it intentionally. Nonetheless, she felt sure he would give her one of those clumsy excuses, which even the most intelligent men were prone to. Was it not endearing how they imagined they could trounce women at their own game? Agnès chortled. Come now, gentlemen, we are so familiar with these ruses that we can spot them a mile off! She would feign surprise and embarrassment, although her embarrassment was real enough …

She straightened her coat and her veil, lifted up the short train of her dress and walked with a purposeful air towards the main door leading into the hall. She entered, calling out:

‘Adeli—’

He jumped up, flustered, from the crockery chest upon which he was seated.

‘You, Monsieur!’

‘Hm … Indeed, Madame. I’m afraid that I’m repeating the same oafish behaviour by coming here unannounced.’

‘Monsieur, you insult me. Is my lord not welcome in my home under any guise, and regardless of the … commotion his arrival might cause?’

He smiled and lowered his eyes. Beneath the compliment lay a scarcely concealed rebuke. He had expected nothing less and would have been disappointed otherwise.

‘I am failing in all my duties, my lord. Have you been offered any refreshment, some fortified wine perhaps – most suitable on a cold evening such as this?’

‘Yes. Your young kitchen girl filled me with delicious cheese bread, the name of which escapes me, and some mulled wine with cinnamon and ginger.’

‘A gougère.27 She makes them very well. If you don’t mind me enquiring, Monsieur, to whom, or to what happy circumstance, do we owe this visit?’ Agnès went on in a pleasant voice.

‘To the town of Rémalard. I’m on my way there. Alas, I am growing too old for these long rides,’ he said, without taking his eyes off her. ‘Ogier is still fresh, but I confess that my back is aching.’

She gave a little smile, which she then pretended to conceal quickly with her hand.

‘Are you laughing at me, Madame?’

‘Indeed no, Monsieur.’

‘Then why did you smile?’

‘I … You will think me very forward, but I am not in the slightest convinced by the story of your poor old aching back.’ He failed to notice the hidden compliment. And so it should be.

‘The perceptiveness of the fair sex never ceases to fascinate, or should I say unnerve, me. I admit that it was a clumsy excuse. I merely wished to enquire after your health. Moreover, Monsieur Joseph, my physician has charged me with an important mission. I am to deliver a letter to Clément, but I have seen neither hide nor hair of him since my arrival.’

‘Clément? Come here at once, please!’ she called out.

The door leading to the servants’ privy opened at once, and the blushing boy appeared as if by magic.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ he apologised as he bowed before the man. ‘If you had asked for me, I assure you I would have come at once.’

‘But you prefer to spy on me from behind that door.’

In a polite but piqued voice, Clément declared:

‘I’m not in the habit of spying on my lady’s acquaintances. I was merely keeping watch.’

‘You little rascal! Be off with you before your insolence earns you a clip around the ear!’ the Comte threatened, half in jest.

Clément was about to flee when Artus held him back:

‘Wait, I have a message for you. The next time, you two wily accomplices can find some other messenger.’

Clément seized the small square of sealed paper and shot Agnès a knowing look before slipping out through the same door.

A silence fell. Agnès considered that it was not up to her to break it, and so she waited. She felt a slight pang of guilt. Artus d’Authon was having great difficulty extricating himself from the awkward situation in which his arrival and, above all, his attraction to her had placed him. She had no intention of going to his aid. She had fallen for this intelligent, honourable, attractive – extremely attractive – awkward man. No doubt it was unforgivable coquetry on her part to leave him floundering in the agonies of courtship, but she was enjoying his lover’s embarrassment too much to put him out of his misery just yet. After all, she had been a widow for more than ten years. And as for the elegant, playful banter of lovers, she had always been deprived of it, her deceased husband having been a respectful and courteous man, but not one given to repartee, much less to poetry. She realised that she was feeling rather mischievous when she had thought herself sober and sensible. The playful mood this man put her in was delightfully unexpected. And so she waited.

‘Hm …’

He scratched his neck, cursing himself. God’s breath! He was tongue-tied! And yet he’d spent the whole journey there practising how he would broach the matter. What had happened to all the clever, eloquent, if scarcely compromising, phrases he had recited for Ogier’s ears alone?

‘Did you say something, Monsieur?’

‘Er … The weather’s taken a turn for the worse.’

‘Indeed, and I fear that it will not improve for many months – it being winter.’

A pox on his clumsiness! God’s wounds … He would end up making an utter fool of himself if this continued. Show some pluck! The worst he could receive was a severe rebuke, but then at least he would know where he stood. And once his wounded pride had healed, he’d … Well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The problem … The problem was that pride played no part in this.

He should have sought advice from Monge de Brineux, his chief bailiff. Had he not recently wed the lovely, jovial, clever Julienne? He must have needed to seduce and cajole her, for the young woman’s father was a wealthy man and she had no need to accept the first proposal of marriage. Were there not tried and tested methods of seduction which gentlemen exchanged among themselves? The elders showed the young how to fight and hunt and even initiated them into the secrets of carnal love. What a fine ambush this was! The hunted had become the huntress and the hunter’s only wish was to become her quarry. In short, convention had been turned on its head and he was lost.

For her part, Agnès had entered a world of coded behaviour which an hour earlier she was unaware existed, but which she appeared to find her way about in with miraculous ease. How awkward he looked. Despite how cold it was in the big hall he was perspiring. She threw him a line:

‘Will you stay overnight at Souarcy? I must give the order to prepare your apartments.’

‘I would hate to impose upon your time and your hospitality, Madame. Especially since Rémalard is near enough to Souarcy to enable me to arrive there before nightfall.’

‘You may take my hospitality for granted, and you would honour me by accepting, Monsieur.’

‘In that case, I accept,’ he replied, relieved.

He was perfectly aware that his relief was due to the fact that he had awarded himself a stay of execution. Now that he knew he was dining at the manor and staying overnight he need not hurry matters. He was astonished by his own cowardliness. He had fought, sometimes one against three, without fear for life or limb, and yet here he was ready to turn tail and run.

He would enjoy this stay of execution. At last he could breathe more easily, relax, engage in pleasant banter about this and that.

Agnès was not taken in. He had retreated so as to have a better run up. Was that not what the most powerful chargers did in order to conserve their strength?

And so they chatted over their mulled wine. She went into raptures over the love songs of Chevalier Hugues,28 Châtelain d’Arras, who upon leaving his beloved to embark upon a crusade bade her farewell with exquisite grace. In contrast, she railed against Chastie-Musard,29 an outrageously misogynistic poem that was still recited in certain circles after more than half a century.

‘What a hotchpotch of rhyming nonsense, a collection of platitudes! And so filled with loathing towards womankind! I feel ashamed for the author, who was clever or cowardly enough to remain anonymous. What coarseness!’

He smiled, charmed beyond words, only half registering her vexation. How he had missed her, how he had tired of being without her. Life lost its meaning, its beauty, its interest. How could he have come to depend so much on this woman whose existence he had been unaware of up until a few months ago? Did it matter? No.

‘I trust I’m not boring you, Monsieur? Forgive me, I get carried away sometimes. It is so rare for me to meet people with whom I can hold a meaningful conversation. No doubt I am trying your patience.’

He was taken off guard, embarrassed.

‘Not at all, Madame. On the contrary you delight me. And yet …’

‘And yet?’ she insisted.

‘This loathing of the fair sex is so widespread that it must conceal something else.’

‘What?’

‘Fear, of course.’

‘Fear? Who are we to instil fear?’

‘You are different. Indispensable. And men always wish to control what is indispensable to them so that they might never suffer need. Moreover … but these are not appropriate words for a lady’s ears.’

‘You forget that I’ve been married and given birth.’

At that precise moment, Artus’s vague fear of taking another step, of exposing himself, dissolved. He studied her at length with his big dark eyes, so inscrutable, so serious that they unsettled her, threw her off balance.

‘Forgive me if I dare to make a boorish observation.’

She was burning with impatience and with curiosity too, though she would never admit it:

‘I can at least listen to you dispassionately.’

‘Only briefly.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You said that you’d been married, and I replied: “only briefly”.’

Suddenly plunged into the dizzying world of innuendo, she felt a lump in her throat. Unable to come up with a worthy riposte, she quipped, feebly:

‘Can one be more or less married?’

‘Do you doubt it, Madame?’

She had not counted on their polite banter taking such a dangerous turn. She stood up gracefully and announced:

‘Forgive me, but I must go and see how Adeline is getting on in the kitchens if we wish to dine soon.’

‘Ah … meals, bed or baths, a woman’s usual parry.’

‘I don’t under—’

‘You understand only too well,’ he cut her short. ‘I’ll wager Adeline can manage her pots and pans perfectly well without any help from you. Please sit down.’

Agnès reluctantly did as he asked. Her initial amusement had given way to a feeling of panic. In reality she was ignorant of the world of courtly love and seduction. Contrary to what she had wished to believe, being a woman was no guarantee of finding her bearings in these matters. After all, what was she but a noblewoman and a peasant farmer? He knew that world. He must have been at court, and had doubtless known many courtesans whose vocation it was to captivate, to please and above all to endure.

‘Am I embarrassing you, Madame? It would grieve me.’ She shook her head, forcing a smile. He went on:

‘You must acknowledge … Be so good as to acknowledge that this conversation which is intent upon avoiding the heart of the matter has gone too far and deserves at least a conclusion.’

‘We were discussing poetry …’

‘Come, Madame! We were discussing true love – although, granted, the word was never mentioned …’

She tried hard to stifle the emotion that was making her gasp for breath, fearing, longing to hear what he would say next.

‘… I cannot summon the words, those words. I have used them rarely and then only a very long time ago. I feel like a simpleton before you. I am … nearly old enough to be your father …’

She raised her hand and shook her head once again. He pre-empted her:

‘Do not underestimate the importance of such differences. On the other hand, I have an excellent reputation, a noble title and a large fortune. I am Comte d’Authon and Lord of Masle, Béthonvilliers, Luigny, Thiron, Bonnetable and Larnay …’

‘Are you drawing up a contract, Monsieur?’ she interrupted him.

‘If I’m not mistaken, your own marriage was a contract.’

She stood up abruptly and said in a stinging voice:

‘Is this the boorish remark you warned me about? For your information, I had no other choice.’

‘Please forgive my rudeness. And do you have a choice now?’

‘Indeed I do.’ She studied him, her lips pursed, and added: ‘Very well! Since we are engaged in drafting clauses, I wouldn’t wish to be outdone. What is it you are trying to tell me by listing the advantages of your social position? Did you think that I was unaware of them? Could I have forgotten that you are my overlord, and that Authon, albeit small, is one of the richest counties in France? What more can you add? Your friendship with the King? Your servants? Your tableware, your stables? Your hunting grounds? Your furniture and property?’

Taken aback, he stammered: ‘What am I to say …’

‘Tell me the truth, now. The truth that is in your heart!’

‘The truth …? What an abyss!’

She stamped her foot and cried out:

‘For pity’s sake, Monsieur! It is too late to back down now, you said so yourself. Is this not the real reason you came to Souarcy?’

‘The truth … The … passion I feel for you has long since exceeded the protection an overlord owes his vassal.’ He raised his eyes to heaven and declared: ‘God’s wounds … I am not gifted with eloquence, Madame. A pox on words! Women are so fond of words!’30

‘Three words, Monsieur. That is all. Three simple words and I will give in – I, whom the Inquisition could not force to surrender. Three simple words.’

‘And what if … what if you yourself are incapable of uttering them! What if … they stick in your throat because you do not mean them? Words, words and more words! Tell one of your farm hands to saddle my horse at once! I am expected at Rémalard. Do not see me out. I wish to choke on the cold air, alone.’

The sound of Ogier’s thundering hooves echoed in the courtyard before disappearing, muffled by the snow. Agnès stood still, unsure if she was about to break down and cry, or burst into hysterical laughter. She bent over, gasping, waiting for the tears to come.

The three words had hung in the air throughout his visit. Had she been able, she would have said them for him, but it was not the custom for a woman to do so.

Her attack of nerves subsided as quickly as it had come. What an unbelievable adventure – to be in love. It had taken her a while to define this dryness in her throat, this knot in her stomach whenever he was near, this erratic breathing, this delicious apprehension. How blind she’d been. And yet, never having experienced such overpowering emotion before, how could she be blamed for not having recognised it?

What an extraordinary and marvellous thing.

He would say those words. He must.