C’est trop longtemps que nous nous déunissons.
Reviens-moi, Mon Amour, encore une fois
—Delabesse
We’ve been parted too long. Come again to me, My Love.
Septembre 1759
Marseilles
Though it was late in the afternoon, Stefano was still in bed. He lay staring at the heavy damask canopy trying, as he had so many times over the last few weeks, to put his current situation into some sort of perspective. Sabine had left him not three hours earlier and he’d gone back to sleep. The woman was nearly forty years old and yet she always exhausted him, a fact that continued to surprise him. He was proud of his sexual prowess, his unfailing ability to outperform any partner he encountered, but he had surely met his match in Sabine.
When he left Arles in February, he’d traveled to Paris, determined to see what opportunity might present itself in the glittering capital. As a child he’d heard stories, each more fantastic than the last, and he’d promised himself that someday he would see it for himself. But Stefano found Paris to be a city of the most extreme contrasts imaginable. The forced gaiety and false values of the wealthy set against the horrid squalor of the poor was hard on him. The rich directed all their attention to procuring an invitation to Versailles, the poor to procuring a crust of bread. He, himself, had spent more years than he cared to remember on the streets and canals of Venice, scrambling for crusts of his own, and did not enjoy constant reminders of a life he hoped he’d left behind forever.
In Paris he’d presented himself as a gentleman and easily slipped into the social scene by the grace of some rather interesting liaisons, but after several months he’d grown tired of the frivolity and shallowness of the people with whom he was spending his time. It was then he realized how much he missed Christina. It puzzled him. He thought perhaps it was merely her sweetness, which seemed so pure when compared to the company he was keeping. He was surely not in love with her! Stefano had never loved anyone and was quite proud of the control he exercised over his emotions.
He was still bothered by the way things had been left with Guy. He’d been quite satisfied with their arrangement, and no matter how many times he’d gone over it in his mind, he could not understand what had gone wrong. It had all seemed so perfect and he would have been content, even happy, for it to have continued.
What had really been behind Guy’s anger? It was difficult to sort out Guy’s complicated feelings toward his dead friend, Richard. Stefano doubted that Guy and Richard had been lovers. Guy’s behavior toward him, as Richard, alternated between adoration and fury. And Guy’s relationship with Christina was equally unfathomable. One minute he seemed to regard her as a prize stolen from Richard, and the next he punished her for not loving him enough. It had never made any sense to Stefano and he continued to believe he’d been wise to leave when he did. Guy had become dangerous and Stefano knew he had no other choice but to go.
Still, he found he missed them both. They had become family, certainly more of a family than the rag tag bunch he’d grown up with, all of whom had been too busy trying to stay alive to think much about being close to each other. Stefano had cared little for any of his siblings, except, of course, his baby sister Giuliana. But she had died and even now, after so many years, thoughts of her could put him into a melancholy state that might last for days.
So he’d left Paris behind at the beginning of summer and traveled south again with no particular plan. Stefano had always been adept at spending other people’s money and helping them to enjoy it while he did, so he found he rarely had to contribute much to his own support. There was always someone willing, if not anxious, to perform that service for him, and what he had to do to repay the favor was of little consequence. He still had most of the money Christina had given him, for what little he’d been forced to spend, he’d managed to win back at cards.
He met an interesting young Comte in his travels and spent a few months living in ducal splendor near Bourges, but he’d grown bored with the unimaginative company and continued south again in August. He’d turned toward Lyon then, thinking his knowledge of the silk business might enable him to meet someone he could get on with. He was beginning to believe he wanted to settle down for a while. Nothing permanent, mind you, just a comfortable situation for the winter.
Lyon had nearly proved Stefano’s undoing, for it was there he’d lost all his money. On his first night in that city, he was out walking quite late in a neighborhood he didn’t realize might be dangerous. A group of men sprang out of an alley and fell on him. Stefano was an accomplished street fighter, but there were too many of them. They had taken all his gold and given him a good beating in the process.
Just after dawn, he made his way back to the inn where the coach had dropped him and where he’d paid for a week’s lodging in advance. He slept through that entire day and then that evening, when he went down for supper, he met Sabine.
The dining room was crowded that night and she asked if she might share his table, though it was obvious she found his appearance distasteful. Her reluctance had amused Stefano, who had always been considered extremely handsome. The cuts and bruises on his face might not be considered attractive by a lady of obvious means, but he felt he looked a little dangerous and he enjoyed that.
He managed to engage Sabine in conversation, though she was hesitant until he explained his appearance. He knew she was intrigued, and before the meal ended, he’d skillfully gained her sympathy. He convinced her that he was a wealthy Italian silk merchant who’d been robbed by a group of dangerous criminals. Sabine became so concerned for his well-being that she contrived to bring a sleeping powder to his room that night and soon suggested other ministrations she thought would ease his discomfort. In practice, they seemed to ease hers as well. The next day she moved him to her suite of rooms and they’d been together ever since.
When Stefano realized Sabine enjoyed taking care of him, he tearfully confessed that the money the robbers took had been his employer’s and not his own. He assured her that when his employer learned he’d lost the money, he would be without any means of supporting himself.
As he’d hoped, this only strengthened her attachment to him, and she decided that he should accompany her on an extended tour of Italy as her secretary and interpreter. He found this quite amusing as her Italian was flawless. Nonetheless, he fancied the idea and agreed to travel with her first to Marseilles, where she had some business to conclude before leaving the country.
And so they’d been in Marseilles for nearly three weeks. Sabine set him up in a comfortable hôtel where she visited him daily. After the “few days” became two weeks, she finally admitted the “business” she’d come there to deal with was a wealthy, but apparently not very understanding, husband and she was having a little difficulty arranging their departure.
That piece of news didn’t disturb Stefano overmuch, but he was beginning to grow restless. Sabine paid all his bills at the hôtel but he had no money of his own. Desperate, he resorted to stealing a small amount from her purse each day until he finally had enough to make a decent appearance at the card table. He was a merciless player and a skilled cheat. He expected to increase his fortunes considerably before the end of the week. Depending on the measure of his success, he could then decide how much longer he would be willing to wait for Sabine to be ready to travel.
That was enough to get him out of bed. As he dressed for the evening, his thoughts turned to Christina and Guy. Her child would be born soon. His child. Perhaps even a son. And he began to think he might want to see the baby before he left the country. Things might have changed and they might even be happy to see him. That made him smile as he left the room.
Stefano did well at cards that night at an inn near the waterfront, a large and prosperous place, one that catered more to travelers and ships’ officers than to sailors and dockworkers. The clientele suited him. He knew they were just the sort of men who were apt to be rather free with their money, especially if they’d been at sea awhile and had taken an extra drink or two. He also felt safe there and wouldn’t have to worry about being robbed. One experience of that sort had been quite enough. As he played, he was careful to win often enough to make others want to challenge him, but not so often as to make anyone think he might be cheating. Buoyed by his success, he was still playing long after midnight.
Just across the room, hidden in the shadow of the stairway, Richard sat watching the man who appeared to be his beardless twin. The resemblance was quite remarkable. He asked the landlord the identity of the young man who seemed to be doing so well at cards, but the landlord didn’t know him. And so, fascinated, he continued to sit and watch.
Richard had arrived in Marseilles too late that evening to start for Arles. Since he’d chosen to travel overland, he intended to ride at night for the best cover. But the ship had been delayed and delivered him to Marseilles several hours later than anticipated, and now he would have to wait through to the next evening before leaving. The delay annoyed him, but there was little he could do about it, so he contented himself with observing the stranger.
The next afternoon Richard bought himself a good horse and made preparations to leave. When it was finally full dark, he gathered his things and settled his bill with the innkeeper. Just as he opened the door to step out into the street, he came face to face with his mysterious twin. The incredible resemblance proved even more startling at close range. For an instant their eyes met.
Richard quickly looked away. He hoped his beard would prevent the stranger from noticing what, to him, was all too obvious.
“Pardon, Monsieur,” Stefano said, as he stepped aside for the bearded man. But when their eyes met, Stefano, too, was startled. Surely this man must be his twin. He looked exactly as Stefano had when he’d worn a beard one winter.
“Signore,” Richard said, nodding.
“That explains everything,” Stefano said brightly in Italian, at the same time stepping back in front of Richard, blocking his way.
“Signore?” Richard said, still not looking directly at Stefano.
“I am also Italian, so perhaps we are long lost brothers, after all.”
Richard smiled, in spite of himself. “I think not, Signore, for I have only sisters.”
Stefano laughed. “Perhaps you are mistaken. At any rate, I think it’s time we met. I’m Stefano Ferro,” he said, with a slight bow.
“Ricardo Bonelli,” Richard said, automatically, appropriating Arabella’s name, as he had on the set of false papers he carried.
“Please, Signore, let me buy you a drink,” Stefano offered.
“I’m sorry. My ship is leaving.”
“No. I insist. This doesn’t happen every day. Just a few minutes, please?”
Richard would have preferred to refuse, but they were blocking the entrance to the inn and other patrons were trying to pass. He had no wish to do anything that might draw attention to himself and so he acquiesced.
“Very well, but only a few minutes.”
“Bravo!” Stefano exclaimed, slapping Richard on the back as they returned to the dining room. “So tell me, where are you from?”
“Venice,” Richard answered, thinking it safest to name the city he was most familiar with. Stefano’s accent, subtly colored by the argot of the canals, struck Richard as a bit odd and he never would have guessed him to be Venetian.
“You see, I was right. I, too, am from Venice, Signore. It may be that we are related in some way.”
Fascinated as he was by the man sitting across the table from him, and who looked far more like him than his own brothers did, Richard knew he was on dangerous ground. He must leave. The resemblance was too strong not to be noticed. It would take only one person to tell Stefano that he looked remarkably like the Baron’s son and Stefano would realize who he was. If that happened, the police would eventually know he’d returned. There were far too many men anxious to make an extra coin or two from the sale of such information.
“Tell me about yourself,” Richard suggested, hoping to keep Stefano from asking more questions.
As Stefano talked, Richard began to believe that his very presence might prove to be a blessing in disguise. If someone swore he’d seen the Baron’s son in Marseilles, was it not more likely that he had seen Stefano? Richard noted the hôtel where Stefano said he was staying.
“So, you said your ship is about to sail. Where are you bound?”
“Spain.”
“A pity. I know a rather interesting woman who might fancy meeting you,” Stefano said, thinking the two of them might prove a novel diversion for Sabine, indeed one he might be able to convince her was worth a reasonable sum.
“I’m sorry. I’ll have to forgo that pleasure. I really must be leaving.”
“Surely we’ll meet again? How may I contact you, Signore?”
“You can leave a message for me here. I stop at the inn whenever I’m in port.” It was a lie, of course. But any of the sailors on his ships could pick up a message for Ricardo Bonelli and get it to him with no one the wiser. He couldn’t help but be curious about Stefano, but there was no time to pursue it.
“Addio, then. I hope we will meet again—soon.”
Stefano watched his twin head for the door. He was a little taller, a bit broader through the shoulders but perhaps that was only the effect of the long, black cape he wore. There was something about him that made it hard for Stefano to believe that he was a sailor, though he couldn’t say what. Was the fabric of his clothing a bit too fine, his manners too polished?
Well, perhaps they would meet again. There was no telling how long Sabine was going to keep him in Marseilles and if his good fortune at cards continued, he would be quite content to stay. He might even be there when the man returned. As Bonelli opened the door to leave, the firelight caught the silver gleam of a spur on the heel of his boot, and Stefano was left to wonder why a sailor needed spurs.
The brilliant full moon that shimmered across the inky waters of the Rhône earlier that evening was now completely hidden behind the dark billowing clouds sweeping across the valley below Lex Baux. Rolling thunder followed the intermittent flashes of lightning and illuminated the slight rise of ground topped by the formidable tower of the Abbey of Montmajour. Undaunted by the turn in the weather, Richard pushed his mount relentlessly through the blowing rain and up the narrow road to the abbey.
He cautiously slowed his horse to a walk as he neared the wall, though the mud adequately muffled the sound of his approach. It was just after eleven and he knew the abbey would be asleep. He’d sent word to Robert that he’d be arriving that night and the weather had only cost him about an hour. Before he could dismount, the gate to the rear courtyard opened slowly, revealing a hooded figure holding a lantern. Once inside, Richard swung down, deftly removing the heavy saddlebags as he passed the reins to a waiting hand.
When the young monk recognized the bearded horseman, a smile of surprise brightened his face. He was rewarded with a companionable slap on the shoulder as Richard turned and hurried up the stone steps, throwing the leather bags over his shoulder as he reached the massive wooden door. He pressed the latch and it swung inward, admitting him to a dimly lit hallway where Robert waited.
Richard pushed back his hood and smiled at his brother. They embraced.
“Thank God you’ve come,” Robert whispered. He took another look at his bearded brother, then motioned him to pull his hood up and follow quietly.
They made their way silently through the scriptorium and the dim hallways of the chapterhouse. It would be three more hours before the abbey would wake for Matins, and so they encountered no one as they climbed the narrow stone stairs to the uppermost floor. They passed one door and stopped at the second where Robert reached out and slid the bolt.
“I think it best if you stay here tonight,” Robert said, “I’ll make other arrangements tomorrow.”
Richard glanced around the room, which was obviously intended for a well-to-do pilgrim. There was a fire in the fireplace and he went to it, warming himself as he pulled off his heavy gloves. He noticed the portraits of Christina’s family and realized the room must be hers. He removed his soaking cape and turned to face his brother.
“There’s a change of clothes,” the older man said, indicating the brown monk’s robe that lay over the back of the chair. “Not the style you’re used to, but it’s best that you remain as inconspicuous as possible.” Robert looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “We can discuss a way of explaining your presence tomorrow. I have an idea.”
Robert continued to avoid Richard’s eyes. He found himself suddenly intent on the candle on the table, and then the arranging of the wine bottle and glass. As Richard removed his shirt, Robert continued to bustle about nervously. Finally, Richard reached out and grabbed him by the arm. When Robert looked directly at Richard, he was surprised by the expression on his brother’s face.
“Christina?” That was all Richard said, but his tone made it clear he’d come a long way for an explanation of the letter that called him back to Arles, upsetting his life and his plans for a future with Arabella. He released Robert and waited.
Robert looked down, still trying to avoid the inevitable. “Oh…most of these things are hers. She sent them over after Antonio died.” Robert knew his answer was not the one Richard wanted. “She’s expected tomorrow.”
Richard sensed Robert’s reluctance and, momentarily content with that piece of information, he began to remove the rest of his wet clothes. He pulled one of the chairs closer to the fire and hung his things over it to dry.
“Is she well? How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
“Actually, I haven’t seen her since May.”
“But you’re sure she’s coming?”
“Guy asked that she stay with us while he’s in Venice on business. According to his letter, he’ll be bringing her tomorrow.” He watched as Richard slipped into the coarse brown robe.
“Richard…there’s something you must know…”
Richard jerked the robe, pulling it quickly over his head, waiting.
“Christina is…she’s not the same.”
“What does that mean?”
Robert hesitated. God in heaven, what have I done? Was it a mistake to send for Richard? And if Guy is right…if Christina is losing her mind… what then?
“Things haven’t been easy for her since you left. Her marriage has been…well, less than happy. She lost the child she was carrying earlier this year and now…I can only hope I haven’t made a mistake by sending for you, especially in light of your letter.” He searched Richard’s face for reassurance.
Richard had been blaming Robert for his decision to leave Arabella behind, but knew that was unfair. Robert had written to him before receiving the letter about his marriage plans. He realized that he’d failed to consider how difficult it must have been for Robert to write that letter.
“You haven’t told her I was coming?”
“No. I wasn’t sure that you would, and I haven’t had the opportunity to contact her since word came you were on your way.”
Richard turned back to the fire, staring into the flickering flames. “I’ve never understood why she didn’t come with me when I left.”
There was a moment of silence between them.
“Forgive me, but what of Arabella?” Robert noticed the muscles in Richard’s jaw tighten the moment he mentioned her name.
“We both agreed I should come.” Richard’s tone was curt, making it obvious that he did not wish to discuss the woman he’d left behind.
Robert nodded, too weary to pursue it. He pulled Guy’s letter from his sleeve and laid it on the table between them.
“I think you should read this. I can’t say how much truth there is to it, but at least you’ll be prepared.” He turned to go, but stopped with his hand on the door. “Richard…Christina’s not the same girl you left that summer.”
Richard smiled sadly as he reached to take the letter. “I’m afraid none of us are who we were then. Please, don’t worry.”
Robert shook his head and smiled. Richard always seemed so sure of himself, always confident of his ability to deal with any situation. Well, we’ll see how he fares this time out.
“I must go. Take your rest and I’ll come for you after Prime. We can discuss my idea of what to do with you then.”
When Robert had gone, Richard unfolded the letter.
My Lord Abbot,
It seems I will be leaving Christina with you after all.
I had so hoped that she would accompany me to Venice, but an unfortunate incident earlier this week made it plain that would be impossible. I must ask that you watch her closely.
Events have led me to believe that she may attempt to harm others or even herself.
I hate to be leaving her, but there’s no help for it. I must go.
I trust you to do all you can on her behalf. I will be bringing her to you on Monday evening.
With appreciation of the service you do us,
G. Jonvaux
Richard read it again, and then a third time. It was useless to speculate. He refolded the letter and tossed it back on the table.
Christina must be making a sizeable contribution to the abbey, he thought, as he studied the room. It was a comfortable size, rectangular except for the L-shaped alcove that held the carved bed with its heavy hangings, and beyond that a huge old armoire. The furniture looked familiar to him. Probably from her father’s house, as Robert said.
He picked up his saddlebags and went to the big wooden chest under the window. Lifting the lid, he laid the bags on the heavy comforter inside, then returned to the fireplace, pushing his muddy boots closer to the flames.
Richard recognized the chair that faced the fire. It had been in her father’s library. He ran his fingers over the petit point landscape filled with animals and birds of every description, remembering hours spent listening to a very young Christina name each and every one of them for him as she made up stories. He also remembered the night when he sat in the chair and tried to ease her sorrow at his impending departure. They had been so close then, to their marriage and a life together.
The stone mantelpiece that spanned the modest hearth held an assortment of objects and one, an old wooden doll, caught Richard’s eye. He picked it up carefully, smiling sadly as its over-large head lolled to one side. The faded satin dress was missing some of its original lace and the ribbons were faded and badly frayed. But in his mind’s eye, Richard saw it as it had been the day he’d given it to Christina.
With the help of the old stableman, eleven-year-old Richard had painstakingly carved the wooden head, hands and feet for the doll. His mother’s maid had helped him make the cloth body himself. Fortunately, she’d taken over the sewing of the beautiful dress, made from the scraps from one of his mother’s best gowns.
He remembered the delighted four-year-old Christina’s reaction—she had dragged that doll everywhere with her, from table to bed for the next five years. Now, it was here.
Replacing the doll, he picked up a small book of poetry. Pressed between the pages were some dried pink petals and a faded yellow ribbon. It had been a sun-filled summer afternoon in the lower meadow when he’d given them to her and the first time he’d kissed her, not the kiss of childhood friends, but the kiss that a man gives a woman. She was so young.
He returned the book to its place on the mantle and picked up a familar object. He removed the lid of the carved box and shook the filigree locket and silver chain out into the palm of his hand, noticing the chain was broken and that the locket was smashed. Suddenly angry, he slammed the container back down on the mantle.
If she saved these things over the years, she must have some feelings for me. Why didn’t she leave Arles with me? Why did she stay behind and marry Guy? And why did Robert ask me to return, now, after seven long years?
Richard looked at the bed. He had no intention of sleeping in her bed, without her and without her invitation. He went to the chest and pulled the comforter from under his saddlebags, picked up the pillows and furs from the pile against the chest and tossed them down in front of the little sofa that faced the hearth. He lay down, pulling the comforter over himself and stared at the portraits of Christina’s family that hung over the fireplace. Marco. But for that young man’s untimely death, so many lives might have been different.
Finally, he slept.
Robert arrived just after Prime to trim Richard’s hair in the style befitting his new vocation. He explained his plan. Richard would be introduced as Dom Genelli, a visiting monk from Bergamo.
“I’ll say you’re on retreat and under a vow of silence. You’ll be housed here, in the Pilgrims Hospice, in the room next to Christina’s. How’s your Latin?”
Richard smiled. “Will I need it if I’m under a vow of silence?”
“Only for prayers. I can’t excuse you from those. I hope your Greek is still good, as well. There are some old manuscripts that need translating. It will allow you to spend a great deal of time alone and excuse you from some of the group work.”
“Robert, it’s been a while…”
“I know, but you’ll just have to do the best you can. I want as few questions asked about you as possible.”
“I saw Denis Raud when I came in last night. He recognized me.”
“Yes, he can be trusted. I’ve explained that you had to return for family business. I’ll have him help you get used to our routine. Just don’t talk to him. Someone might overhear.”
“Is there anyone else here who knows me?”
“None have really seen you since you were a child. I think you’re safe in that respect. Let me show you something.” He led Richard to the armoire and put his shoulder to the massive piece of furniture. Together, they moved it about three feet closer to the corner of the room. Robert pushed aside the tapestry that hung on the wall. There was a door. He opened it and led Richard into the adjoining room.
There was a much less elaborate tapestry hung on that side depicting the crucifixion. The emaciated Christ’s eyes seemed to follow them around the small room. It was the only decoration. There was a narrow wooden bed, a straw mattress with a single blanket, a small prie-Dieu and a table with one chair.
Robert went to the mattress, lifted a corner and pulled out a sheaf of small pages. He handed them to Richard.
“Prayers and general instruction. When you’ve learned them, burn them. I can excuse your awkward performance of offices for a few days, no more.”
Richard realized his brother was quite serious. It had never entered his head that he’d have to become a monk in order to see Christina again, but that was how Robert had chosen to guarantee his safety. Even if Christina was willing to leave with him, it would take time to arrange a safe departure. Now, everything, including the length of this rather sudden escape into the religious life, depended on Christina.
“I’ll come each morning to wake you for Matins myself, but I will come to this room.” Robert made his meaning clear. He would not be looking for his brother in Christina’s bed.
It was nearly sunset when the coach turned off the main road and started up the hill toward the abbey. Guy had resigned himself to leaving Christina behind, but he was still angry with her for disappointing him. He’d spent a fortune on her new wardrobe, one he now doubted she’d ever wear. Taking her to Venice was out of the question and even when he returned, he could hardly escort such a drab and timid creature into the society of Arles where they had only recently been so welcome.
He’d done his best to persuade her to behave since the incident at Madame Tallandier’s, truly, he had. But Christina remained apathetic and useless. It was a good thing he was leaving. He’d run out of patience with her. At least Venice would provide him with some worthwhile entertainment.
The only chore that remained was convincing Robert she was mentally unstable and needed watching. Guy doubted she’d have the courage to try to run away, but he could no longer be sure of her. He’d lost Stefano. He had no intention of losing his wife. It was important Robert understand that any tales she might tell of being mistreated in her own home were merely figments of her imagination.
Guy reached over and took Christina’s wrist, gripping it tightly. She flinched at his touch but kept her eyes on the small bag in her lap.
“You will behave while I’m gone, won’t you Christina?”
“Yes,” she whispered, not looking at him.
“You understand that I’m doing you a favor in leaving you here with Richard’s pious brother?”
When she didn’t reply, he squeezed her wrist more tightly, and a little gasp of pain escaped her lips.
“Answer me, or by God I’ll take you with me even if I have to keep you locked up for the next six months.”
She looked at him then. “I understand.”
It wasn’t enough and he gave her wrist a cruel twist, wrenching her around. “And?”
“And I’m grateful,” she whispered. “Please…”
Guy was amused. “Well, let’s have a kiss then, to show me how grateful you are and just how much you’ll miss me.”
Christina did her best to seem enthusiastic as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and apparently she was successful. He loosened his hold on her wrist and pulled her hand into his lap so she might feel his rising excitement.
God, not now, she thought, as he reached for the buttons at his waist. She tried to pull away but he grabbed her hand again, forcing her fingers around him.
“Please,” she cried, turning her head to avoid his mouth.
Guy smiled. “That’s it, beg,” he whispered, overcome with the passion of the moment. “You’ll live like a nun for the next six months, Christina,” he breathed against her cheek. “I know you want the taste of a man one more time before I leave you.”
“No. Please Guy! Not here, not now.” It did no good. He had her pressed into the corner of the coach.
He grabbed her hair at the back of her neck, causing the pins to slip from the carefully arranged curls as he forced her head down. When she saw the look in his eyes, she knew there was no way to avoid it.
“Take me, wife! Now!”
Guy didn’t bother to rearrange his clothing until the carriage had pulled to a stop in front of the abbey and the footman opened the door for them. The man was embarrassed, but it only made Guy laugh.
“Just a simple farewell to my wife, man. You needn’t look so surprised.”
Christina’s cheeks turned scarlet as she did her best to replace the pins in her hair. Finally Guy got out and helped her down. The footman walked ahead as the driver urged the horses forward, heading for the rear of the buildings to deliver her bags and unload the things that had been sent from Arles.
Christina climbed the broad stone steps as if in a trance, Guy holding her tightly by the elbow. When they reached the massive arched doors, he lifted the heavy iron knocker and rapped once. A young monk she didn’t recognize greeted her, politely admitting them to the outer corridor. They were expected and the monk nodded and moved off in the direction of the chapel.
Vespers. Feelings of peace and serenity flooded over Christina as she stood listening to the monks singing their evening prayers. It brought back memories of her years at the Conservatorio, years of peace, security, and innocence and she fled into her recollections. She didn’t hear Robert’s footsteps as he approached.
Robert nodded to Guy. “Christina?” he said softly.
She turned to him and managed a smile as he took her hand. She dropped her eyes and curtsied.
“I’m so pleased you’ve come.” Robert always felt awkward when she behaved formally with him. “We’re going to take very good care of you while your husband’s away.”
“It’s good of you to have me,” she replied wearily.
“You did get my letter?” Guy asked, clearly wanting to know if Robert understood how carefully he wanted Christina watched.
“Yes. Perhaps we can talk for a moment before you go?”
“Of course.”
“Say goodbye to your husband, my dear, and I’ll have Dom Christophe escort you to your room.”
Guy leaned over and kissed her cheek chastely, then slowly pulled her against him, giving Robert a chance to see his anguished expression as he gave her one last hug.
“Take care of yourself, Christina,” Guy said, tenderly touching her cheek before handing her over to the monk and following Robert to his office.
“How has she been? You mentioned an ‘incident’ in your letter,” Robert asked as he closed the door behind them.
Guy sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk without being asked. “It was last week, at her dressmaker’s. Apparently she became upset and broke one of the mirrors. She even threatened some of the women with a piece of broken glass and cut herself badly in the process. It seems to be healing, but I’d be grateful if you’d have a look at it.”
“Of course. Have you any idea what upset her in the first place?”
Guy shook his head. “Something about her reflection disturbed her. They said it was as though she didn’t recognize herself. You know I was looking forward to the trip and I’d bought her a whole new wardrobe.” Guy pressed his fingers against his eyes as though suddenly overcome, hoping the gesture was not lost on Robert.
“If you care to leave me your address in Venice, I’ll be happy to write you weekly and let you know how she’s getting along. Perhaps she just needs a rest.”
“Of course.” Guy reached into the pocket of his coat and handed Robert a card with the information carefully written on it. “Please…I do hate to leave her like this.”
“Don’t concern yourself. We’ll take good care of her.”
Robert watched Guy leave. Was it possible what he said was true? If Christina was indeed as disturbed as Guy indicated, bringing Richard there to see her might well prove to be a drastic mistake.
Christina followed Dom Christophe to her room. She knew him from her previous visits and liked him, but was finding it hard to listen to his amiable conversation as they climbed the stairs. She was exhausted, and tremendously relieved to be free of Guy, free of the confines of his home, and free of all the horrors of their life together. Each step seemed a step farther away from a nightmare she wanted to forget. She looked forward to the coming months at the peaceful abbey as the condemned look forward to a reprieve.
When they reached the door, he opened it for her, but he didn’t go in.
“Just let us know if there’s anything you want,” he said gently.
“Thank you…some water for a bath, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Dom Christophe smiled. “Of course. I’ll send someone. As you know, you have only to ask for anything we’re able to provide.”
Christina entered the room, closing the door behind her. She set her bag on the table and removed her gloves. When she reached up to untie her cape, she noticed the tall monk standing at the window with his back to her.
She was startled. “Forgive me, Brother. I didn’t realize you were here.”
The hooded figure turned slowly and took a step toward her. After a long intense look at her, he removed his hood.
Christina stared unbelieving at the bearded man.
“Stefano?” she whispered, her hand moving instinctively to her chest as she stepped back. She couldn’t conceal the horror she felt to be in the same room with him.
Richard had imagined many responses to his return, but the look of shock on Christina’s face had not been one of them. Puzzled, he took a step toward her, reaching out to take her hand. Christina stepped back again, avoiding his touch.
“Chrissa, it’s Richard,” he said softly.
She looked at him closely for a moment before she realized that it couldn’t be Stefano. The eyes were all wrong. And she felt a vague sense of unease as she looked at his beard. How could it be Richard? She was sure that a very long time ago Richard had promised her that he would never grow a beard, though she couldn’t remember why. She leaned unsteadily on the small table, then sank down into the chair, staring vacantly at the floor.
“Richard is dead.”
Richard was surprised, to say the least. “Who told you that? Surely Robert would have told you it wasn’t true?”
“But he didn’t…he said nothing.” She looked up at him. He certainly seemed to be Richard. “I mentioned it to him and he said nothing.” She was in a state of shock. She could barely breathe.
“Nevertheless, I’m very much alive. It was Robert who sent for me.” It was obvious something was terribly wrong. “He felt you needed to see me.” He took another step toward her, then knelt beside her, placing one hand on the back of her chair. It was all he could do to keep from touching her.
“Chrissa…if Robert was wrong, if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I haven’t come to cause you any pain.” He studied her face, unable to understand what had put this terrible distance between them. It was obvious that far more than time separated them, now.
“No…” she said slowly. “I…”
She was interrupted by a knock at the door. Richard rose quickly, putting his finger to his lips as he pulled the cowl back up onto his head. He returned to the window and Christina opened the door.
Three monks entered the room, two of them with buckets of steaming water and the third carrying the rest of Christina’s things and a small wooden tub.
“Your speed surprises me, Brothers,” she said nervously.
One of them smiled at her as he set the tub in front of the fire. “The Abbot anticipates you, Madame. The water has been heating for some time.”
None of the monks seemed to take any notice of Richard as they deposited their burdens on the hearth and turned to go.
“Please thank him for me,” Christina said, as she closed the door behind them. She turned and stared at Richard.
He came to her, very slowly reaching out to take her trembling hand in his. She just looked at him, her expression one of utter confusion.
“I’ll leave you to your bath. Perhaps I can find us some supper and then we can talk.” As he lifted her delicate fingers to his lips, he noticed the narrow bandage around the palm of her hand. He also noticed she was wearing the heart-shaped garnet ring he’d intended for their betrothal so long ago, the ring he’d been unable to give her himself. His eyes searched hers looking for the answers to a thousand questions. If the answers were there, he couldn’t read them and so, reluctantly, he left her.
Christina stared blankly at the heavy door as it closed quietly behind him. Richard…alive? How was it possible? Had he really been in the room with her only moments ago or was the strain of the past few months playing tricks with her mind? Was she now completely out of touch with reality? She smiled sadly, wondering if that was how it would finally end—with madness.
The buckets of steaming water finally caught her attention and she stood up wearily and went to the armoire. She was comforted by the feel of the smooth, dark wood beneath her fingers as she opened one of the beautifully carved doors. A tremendous sense of relief washed over her. She was actually back at the abbey, back among her own things, back where she felt safe and protected.
She removed her nightdress, dressing gown, her brush and a towel from the cabinet and began to undress. Her thoughts were scattered. Already she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she’d only imagined one of the monks resembled Richard. He kissed my hand…didn’t he? Did I imagine that, too?
She returned to the fire. Standing there, nude, she began to take the pins from her hair. Perhaps he had been there. That thought gave her comfort, but it was all too brief, for her next thought was that it hadn’t been Richard at all, but rather Stefano, returned to play another cruel joke on her. What if it is Stefano? Did he come on his own or did Guy send him? She smiled. Surely even Guy wouldn’t dare try something that perverse within the walls of the abbey. No, it’s probably just a new monk who happens to resemble Richard, who lingered a moment to introduce himself. I must remember to ask Robert tomorrow.
Pulling one of the chairs over next to the small wooden tub, Christina laid her things over the back of it. She poured some of the hot water into the tub, tested it and then stepped in. As she began to sponge herself, her thoughts turned back to Richard. Oh, what if it is him? What if he didn’t die and he’s finally come to take me away? What if God was the kind and loving God she’d grown up with who wanted her to be happy and who had finally sent her love back to her?
A half smile crossed her lips. What if he is Richard and, even now, he’s looking for something for supper? Then he’ll return to this room…then what? What will he find? Certainly not the girl he loved all those years ago.
Christina sighed. She had no illusions about what she’d become. When Richard had last seen her she’d been pretty. She’d been young and full of the promise of their future together. She’d felt so sure of his love then and so secure in it. Though their last moments together had been difficult with the shocking news of Marco’s death, she’d felt safe. It had been a long time since Christina had felt safe outside the walls of Montmajour.
Suddenly, the door opened. Christina’s heart stopped as she grabbed frantically for her nightdress, dropping her sponge to the floor. She held the soft material against her wet body, staring at the hooded figure who entered the room.
Richard closed the door quietly, then set the tray of cheese and fruit beside the bottle of wine on the small table. He pushed back his hood and looked at Christina, seeing the fear in her eyes.
“Chrissa? Dear Heart, don’t you know me?” he said softly.
Christina just stared at him. Dear God, is it truly Richard?
He stood looking at her for a long moment before he bent down and picked up the sponge. He was conscious of her fragility, but unable to imagine what caused it. He tried to take the gown from her, but her fingers clung tightly to the thin fabric. Immediately, he let go. He noticed her trembling and was hurt by the terrified expression on her face. Surely she knew she was in no danger from him?
“Chrissa, do I frighten you?” he asked, tenderly touching her cheek. His voice was gentle, barely a whisper.
She looked into his eyes. It really was Richard. And impossible though it seemed, she longed with all her heart for it to be true. When he reached for her gown again, she let him take it.
He laid the gown back over the chair, his questioning eyes never leaving hers. Why was she so frightened? He’d imagined many responses to his return, but never fear. And why had she called him Stefano? Was it possible that she knew the man he’d met in Marseilles?
As he began to gently sponge her shoulders, Christina’s eyes started to fill with tears. Her hands moved awkwardly in an effort to cover her nakedness. It was Richard. Impossible as it seemed, he was there and she knew he must be terribly disappointed in what he saw.
Richard found her demeanor a far cry from that of the proud young woman who had stood before him that morning in the stable. You’ve been deceiving yourself, this is another man’s wife. She made a choice seven years ago and she didn’t choose you. Yet Robert had intimated that she wasn’t happy with Guy, and had asked him to return. What is wrong?
Convinced she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he began to attend to the business of bathing her. It was almost a ritual, a tender offering of his love on whatever level she might choose to accept it. Then he saw the bruises.
The discolorations on her shoulder had faded to a sallow yellow, but those on her upper arm were more recent. Richard was shocked. He looked at her, silently seeking some explanation, but Christina continued to stare blankly at the floor.
Once again, he dipped the sponge into the warm water. This time he took her hand from her breasts and gently removed the bandage. He turned her hand over and saw the cuts that ran across her fingers and the deeper cut on her palm. They seemed to be healing well with no sign of infection, but how had she gotten them? He took her wrist and she flinched. He saw the new bruises that seemed to be forming there. Tenderly, he put her hand down at her side and realized her slim fingers had covered yet another contusion across the top of her breast.
As he gently sponged her belly, a tear fell from Christina’s cheek and struck the back of his hand. He reached up and slowly lifted her chin.
Christina couldn’t bear to see his disappointment. She closed her eyes, wincing as he touched another bruise along the curve of her jaw. His hand remained there until she opened her eyes.
So many times in their years together, they’d found no need for words between them. The closeness they’d shared all their lives went beyond childhood friendship. For Richard it had been love, deep and abiding, from the first moment he laid eyes on the baby Christina. Now, when she looked at him, there was no love on her part, no trust. All he sensed was deep regret and a tremendous feeling of loss. Wordlessly his eyes questioned hers, but there were no answers for him there, only pain.
His emotions in turmoil, he moved around behind her. Her hair still fell to her waist, but the soft brown curls were dull and lifeless. He stroked it lightly, remembering how he’d loved her hair, how he’d made her take it down so he could bury his face in it that afternoon by the river. They were both so young.
He started to push her hair aside so he could wash her back, but she reached over her shoulder, touching his fingers to stop him. There was no sound in the room but the crackling of the fire.
“No…please…” she whispered, as if afraid to break the silence. Please…
Richard bent and kissed her fingers. With a sigh of resignation, Christina’s hand fell to her side.
Richard was stunned. For a moment he did nothing. He could only stare at the angry red welts across the middle of her back. While the bruises and even the cuts could be attributed to an accident of some sort, there was no doubt that these had been inflicted by someone else. Who did this?
He blamed himself. It was his fault. He never should have left Arles without her. She was too young and inexperienced to have made a sensible choice about her future. He clenched his teeth against the oath rising in his throat.
Richard was so angry he could barely think as he very carefully began to dry her back. Is it possible Guy’s responsible? For the love of Christ, why? Why didn’t Robert tell me? He could have come for her sooner. He could have spared her this.
When he finished drying her, he took her by the hand and helped her step out of the tub. Silently, he knelt down and dried her feet. Christina, overwhelmed with shame, refused to look up as he slipped her dressing gown on and led her to the pile of furs and pillows in front of the fire.
She sat down, watching him as he went to the big chest by the window, opened it and pulled out his saddlebags. He rummaged through one side and removed two small packets. At the table he dumped the fruit out of the small wooden bowl, poured in the contents of one of the packets, added water and stirred it with his finger. He added the powder from the other packet to one of the cups and then filled it full of wine.
Christina was unable to interpret the look in his eyes as he handed her the goblet. He seemed angry, and she couldn’t blame him.
“Drink it,” was all he said. He couldn’t trust himself to say more. He didn’t know where he should begin with her and was fearful that whatever he might say would hurt her even more. That he couldn’t bear.
Sitting down behind her, he carefully pulled the robe off of her shoulders. Christina continued to stare into the fire as he gently started to rub the salve into the welts on her back.
She was barely aware of the sting of the medication as her thoughts traveled backward in time, as they so often did in the refuge of that room filled with cherished and familiar things. She thought of another time, another place, another fire, but the same man and the same tender touch. She sighed and drained the goblet.
She offered no resistance as he removed her robe and helped her into her gown. He tied the pale pink ribbon above her breasts and then took her injured hand in his. He turned it palm up and brought it to his lips, before gently rubbing a bit of the salve into the cuts. When he finished, his hands moved very carefully to her shoulders, conscious of the dark bruises beneath the thin cotton. At last their eyes met, her filled with tears, his full of anguish.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, as he carefully brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry I’m not pretty anymore.”
Richard smiled sadly. He was afraid to speak. Christina, herself, had yet to do or say anything that would indicate that she wanted him back in her life.
He sat down in the big chair, pulling her into his lap. The sleeping draught had begun to work and she relaxed against him, her head on his shoulder as she sat watching the fire.
Christina was tired, unwilling to think beyond the moment. She took comfort from Richard beside her, holding her and slowly stroking her hair. It was enough.
Before long, her head began to nod. Richard scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. The covers had been turned back and he lay her down gently and pulled the bedclothes over her. As he brushed the stray strands back from her cheek, her eyes opened.
“Richard…don’t leave me…please…” There was a note of desperation in her voice, though the drug made her groggy.
He sat beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his. He smiled tenderly down at her. “I won’t leave you, Chrissa…ever.”
His words seemed to reassure her and she closed her eyes. In moments she drifted off to sleep.
Richard sat beside her for awhile before kissing her tenderly on the forehead and returning to the hearth. He added more wood to the fire and sat down in the chair, facing the flames. He leaned back and stared up at the flickering shadows on the heavy beams, thinking of Guy.
Had Guy done this to Christina? His letter, though brief, seemed filled with concern. He searched his memory for any bits of the past that might help him understand how his childhood friend could have mistreated her so cruelly. He could recall a few times that Guy had seemed mean and spiteful as a child, but Richard, who had never looked for fault in anyone, had always dismissed the incidents as a natural part of growing up. Then he remembered the night at the brothel when Guy’d had too much to drink and had beaten poor little Geneviève.
And there was also the question of Stefano. Could it be she knew his strange twin?
Richard’s thoughts turned again to Christina and their last night together.
Memories slowly slipped into dreams and once again he felt her wet body against his, exactly as it had been that night in the stable. The drops of water in her hair sparkled in the firelight as he bent to kiss her.
Christina was dreaming, too, but there was no love in Guy’s eyes as he came at her with the straps, and worst of all Stefano was there, standing beside the bed, smiling, making no effort to help her.
She cried out and it woke Richard. He listened for a moment and hearing her moan again, he went to her. When he reached out to take her in his arms, she recoiled from his touch and cried out again.
“Chrissa?”
She pulled away from him, terrified, and lashed out at him with both hands. He leaned over her, confining her while she continued to strike him.
“Chrissa!” This time he spoke louder.
This time she heard him. Her eyes opened and Richard saw the terror.
“Chrissa…it’s all right. It’s Richard. You were dreaming. You’re safe.”
She hesitated, then threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest. He sat holding her while she cried, ever mindful of her injuries as he rocked her slowly back and forth.
“Oh, Richard, why did you leave me? You promised that we’d never be separated and then you left.”
Richard could barely understand her as she sobbed out the words into the coarse brown wool of his robe.
“If only you’d come with me…why didn’t you meet me? I waited…” He had carried the pain of that cold grey morning for seven long years, and he whispered his anguish into her soft hair, his eyes closed as he held her.
Christina pushed herself back to look at him.“Meet you? I didn’t even realize you’d gone until the next morning!”
“But the note…”
“What note?” She grabbed the front of his robe, frantically seeking an explanation. “What note?”
“I left some money and a note asking you to meet me so we could leave together.” Richard smiled down at her stricken face and then pulled her close again. “It’s not important…all that matters is that we’re together now.”
At long last Christina stopped crying and he released her. She took his hand and placed hers flat against it, palm to palm. Christina waited. Does he remember?
Richard smiled. “Thou art beloved of me,” he began, as his first finger folded down beside hers.
She repeated the words and the action.
“And I of thee,” he continued.
Christina followed, echoing his words, their fingers entwining, one by one, as they stared into each other’s eyes.
“And so it will be…”
“For eternity.” They whispered the last words together as their hands were clasped.
Richard kissed her tenderly. There was no hunger, no need, only gentleness as their lips met.
“Rest, Beloved,” he said as he stood up and began to straighten the bedclothes around her.
She reached out to him. “Richard…don’t leave me…stay with me…”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I mean here…now,” she said, slowly turning the covers back.
“Chrissa, you need to rest…we have time…” he said, looking down at her.
“Richard, I need you…please…”
He looked at her, then quickly pulled his robe over his head and tossed it to the far side of the bed. As he sat down next to her, she reached up and fingered the gold chain that hung against his chest. It was her mother’s, the one she’d given him their last Christmas together.
He helped her off with her gown, his eyes never leaving hers as he lay down next to her and pulled the covers over them. He saw the trepidation in her eyes, but when he gently pulled her to him, she didn’t resist.
Christina pressed her cheek against his chest. Safe.
He was excruciatingly tender with her, touching her slowly and carefully, his lips gently brushing her skin, trying to will both the pain and the memories from the bruises. When at last he moved over her, she suddenly pushed away from him.
“Beloved? What is it?” Richard was afraid that somehow he’d hurt her.
Christina looked into his eyes, seeing the love and the pain, and longed to lose herself there. She realized there was nothing in this man that could ever hurt her.
“Just love me,” she whispered as she opened herself to him.