Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE part 2

With those words his lordship turned abruptly on his heels and headed back to the landau which was waiting for them, out of their sight and out of sight of the driver, and hidden by a thick copse of trees. Madame d’Esprit, shivering, for the air was decidedly chilly, pulled her cape closer over her shoulders, the feather in her hat bobbing up and down as she made to follow His Lordship’s retreating footsteps.

Like bodyguards, Hinches and Jarvis walked either side of her, leaving her as they approached the trees to search out their own tethered mounts. They had it in mind to escort the landau - at a reasonable distance - back to the sturdy piece of architecture known as ‘La Farouche’. 

Madame’s feet crunched over the last few icy feet of ground and, with an impatient gesture, Lord Rispian all but hauled her into the carriage. He settled himself against the cushions, pulling a blanket about his knees. “Proceed to ‘La Farouche’, Cardine.” Madame’s voice was slightly husky, as though she were in the earliest stages of catching a cold. “Very well Madame.” The whip cracked and the vehicle was on its way. “Get him to make it a snappy ride, will you, Natalie?”

Lord Rispian’s eyes were closed, though obviously his senses were working at rapier speed. She did as he commanded. She did not want to give him the chance to become further annoyed with her. Since the return and reunion with his mercenaries he had once again exhibited that former high-handedness he had shown on the fateful night at the now demolished Château. Madame d’Esprit felt a lump in her throat and a tear slid quietly and unquenchably from her eye.

All the work she had put in, all the riches which had gone up in smoke and flame, not to mention her stock - those lovely, lovely girls. How many of them had perished in the fire? Dear Minette and Claude-Marie and Justine: what would she give to hold one or the other in her arms just for a few seconds again? Still, she pursed her lips together, she still had the house, ‘La Farouche’ and some valuables - though if what had happened to her recently (not forgetting many of her high-placed friends) was anything to go by, she would be wise to shift a passage out of France. The winds of change were blowing and soon the whole country would be ablaze. She gave an involuntary shudder.

Best in that case to quit the country as soon as possible. Even if it meant risking her skin after another fashion, by returning to England with Lord Fitzroy Rispian. Could she - she glanced at his recumbent, portly figure reclining in the fast moving vehicle - trust him? It was doubtful: therefore, she would bear other plans in mind. Best that she should keep them to herself. She reached and pulled the plumed green hat tighter to her head. How Fate could have been so very good to her and then to have turned so darkly and dismally, she could not fathom. 

Why, there had been no really evil omens the last time she had consulted her cards and her ball. Perhaps - she considered with shocked agitation - she was losing her powers? She did not like thinking upon the possibility. But consider the case of Fitzroy: had he not been once like a puppy-dog to her? Now look at him, acting the high and mighty overlord, what with his demands for this and for that. Just examine the way in which he used her property to do as what he liked in and with! Why, he had even had his men scouring the local villages for nubile wenches whom he could stuff at leisure into the pockets of his cavernous sexual appetites. How coarse some of these girls were, like swine-hands - which some of them probably were, she construed further.

She had thought to tell him that she thought he was behaving with idiotic carelessness: for these girls were just the sort to betray them - and - who might know how far the underworld network may have spread? He had laughed scornfully at her suggestions, pointing out that the wenches were only too happy to receive the francs he plied them with. Madame she may have been in the Château, but she had cast her eyes to the floor, wished she were deaf, on more than a few occasions, as the scenes of his debaucheries convulsed her senses.

However, she continued in this train of thought as the landau approached her farmhouse: the more money he wasted the more she should have the edge over him when possible bribes might be needed to obtain a safe passage. Portugal? Would not that be a sunny clime to retire to? Or Spain? Or even the New World. There were opportunities aplenty for someone with Madame d’Esprit’s experience, resourcefulness - of charm and wit and beauty, if nothing else. The more she brooded upon it, the sooner she was away from this present dilemma and its unsavoury undertones, the better she would like it!

She stared hard at Lord Rispian’s composed and slumbering visage. How could she ever have felt any genuine affection for the man? Why, look at him now, he was bloated, coarsened, red about the gills. He was no longer an aristocrat in Natalie d’Esprit’s eyes. She had known too many since her initial friendship with Fitzroy Rispian. He came well below the whittling stick of her assessments.