Ni la main de Bon Dieu, ni la justice de l’Homme,
Ne puissent séparer l’unité de deux âmes
—Doumeret
Neither the Hand of God nor the Justice of Men,
Can separate two souls Forever One.
Février 1760
Arles
It was early evening when the coach reached Arles. As they clattered through the narrow streets Christina was still trying to imagine how she might escape her captors. Guy was asleep on the seat opposite them—he’d passed out shortly after they’d left Marseilles. Stefano had ceased trying to talk to her hours earlier when she had steadfastly refused to respond to anything he said.
She had no trouble ignoring him, for all her thoughts had been focused on one thing: Richard. How was he? Where was he? As soon as Guy passed out, Stefano had assured her that Richard was only wounded and that he would be returned to Arles to be tried for Marco’s murder. That was the only thing that had kept her from throwing herself out of the coach to take her chances along the roadside. She wanted to return to Arles to be with Richard. The question now was how to escape.
Christina’s dilemma was solved when the carriage pulled up in the courtyard in front of Guy’s house. As the footmen helped her from the coach, she looked up to see Robert standing directly in front of her. For an instant she didn’t recognized him. He was dressed formally and looked far more forbidding than usual in the heavy black robes. Robert gave her no time to think as he pushed her behind him and into Denis’s waiting arms. Denis turned her quickly toward the gate and hurried her out into the street where Robert’s coach was waiting.
Stefano said nothing when he saw Robert and he was faintly surprised at the relief he felt. He didn’t want Christina to slip away again, but she was no longer the frightened woman who’d given him money in exchange for his promise to leave Arles. Stefano’s musing was interrupted as Guy groggily stumbled out of the coach.
Despite the pounding in his head, Guy realized he’d lost Christina again the moment his eyes met Robert’s. It was the same cold look that Richard was capable of, a look that meant there was no possible alternative and that a wise man wouldn’t even question. One glance around the courtyard confirmed it. Christina was gone.
“Where is she?” Guy screamed. “What have you done with my wife?”
“I told you before,” Robert said, with just a hint of menace in his voice, “Christina has left you. Accept it.”
“She is my wife!” Guy hissed each word with a menace of his own.
“In name only,” Robert insisted quietly. “She will never live under your roof again. The sooner you understand that, the better!” On the last word, Robert turned toward the gate.
“We’ll see about that!” Guy shouted at the retreating figure.
Christina was speechless as Denis helped her into the coach and once again placed himself protectively between her and the door. She feared she might be dreaming, though if that were the case, the nightmare had turned into a dream of hope.
“Richard?” she asked of the young man who sat beside her, clutching a pistol tightly in his hand as he looked anxiously over his shoulder.
“He is alive, Madame. He was hit in the shoulder.” He turned back to her and tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I know nothing more.”
Robert joined them then and the coach took off even before he’d settled into the seat.
“My dear Christina,” he began, gently reaching for her trembling hands. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yes. But how did you know?”
“You have Denis to thank for that.”
Christina looked at Denis and the young man blushed. Robert gave him a nod of encouragement.
“I just couldn’t leave until I was sure you were safely on your way,” Denis said softly.
“You were there?”
Denis nodded.
“Richard…where is he?”
“They’ll bring him to the Hôtel de Ville,” Robert said. “I suspect he’s several hours behind you, so I’m taking you to the townhouse. Then I’ll go and see what I can find out.”
“I’ll go with you!”
“No, no. Not now. I can find out more on my own.”
The coach pulled into the courtyard of the Baron’s townhouse and Denis jumped out, prepared to help Christina down.
“Robert, please!” she begged.
“No, Christina. You must trust me. The moment I find out anything at all, I’ll get word to you.” He gave her hand one final squeeze and when she was safe on the ground, he was off again.
Denis stayed with her, and once again she felt safe in Richard’s house where many of the servants she had known as a child did their best to make her comfortable. She was doubly reassured by the presence in the courtyard of four large and heavily armed men whom she’d never seen before.
“He can’t do this!” Guy sputtered as he paced the length of the salon. “He can’t!”
“But he has,” Stefano repeated patiently.
“She is my wife! She belongs here with me!”
“Guy, be reasonable. You can’t force her to stay with us? What’s the point?”
Guy stopped and stared at Stefano.
“Having her here against her will accomplishes nothing.”
“But it’s what I want,” Guy whispered, a strange note in his voice. “Do you understand that?” he asked quietly. “It’s what I want.”
Stefano knew this game could be a dangerous one. But he also knew that if Guy forced Christina to return to them, something terrible would happen. She had changed.
He made an effort to look sincere as he put his hand on Guy’s shoulder.
“I understand. I do. And you know I want her back, too.”
Guy’s expression grew even darker.
“Oh, not in the same way you want her back. But I know it’s what you want, and I want you to be happy.” He hesitated just long enough to sound unsure of himself. “You do know that, don’t you?”
Guy looked at him, suspicious of his motives and at the same time hoping the words might be true. Stefano didn’t falter under the icy gaze and a moment later Guy’s shoulders relaxed under his hand.
“You can get her back, you know,” Stefano said. “It’s just that it’s bound to take some time. It seems hopeless to try to force her.”
Guy moved away from Stefano and threw himself into one of the chairs. He ran his hands through his loose hair, the ribbon that held it having long since disappeared. He felt terrible. He was tired and he was sick and his head pounded painfully.
“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he said with an uncharacteristic tone of defeat.
“I think what you need to do right now is get some rest.” And give me some time to think. This was going to take some careful planning, for Stefano realized that he, too, wanted Christina back and that he, too, was willing to do anything to get her.
Robert returned well after dark. When he learned that Christina had eaten nothing in his absence, he insisted that they all sit down to supper. Only then did he tell her that Richard was back in Arles and that his wound wasn’t serious.
Christina was annoyed by the delay, but she dutifully ate what was put on her plate as she questioned him.
“Then you saw him?”
“No.”
“No? But why not?”
“Well, strangely enough, they refused to let me see him.” Robert himself was puzzled by the Inspector’s insistence that he have permission from the Mayor before he could be admitted.
“But why?”
“I don’t know. The Mayor is in Carcassonne and won’t be returning until mid-week.”
“But…”
Robert interrupted her. “I know. And believe me, I’m as anxious as you are. I’ve sent someone to the Mayor and I’ll go back to the jail tonight, when the guard has changed. There will be a way, I just haven’t found it yet.” His expression was sympathetic as he watched her try to eat.
“Christina, you must think of the baby. You’ve had a very long day and even though it seems impossible, you must try to rest. I give you my word that the minute I know anything more, I’ll wake you and tell you.”
Christina knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not until she was sure Richard was safe. Not until she had seen him for herself.
It was just after midnight when Robert set off again for the Hôtel de Ville. The wind was cold and bitter and the streets were totally deserted, the foul weather forcing the usual denizens of the night to seek whatever shelter they could find. He pounded soundly on the heavy wood of the gate on the north side of the building. When there was no answer, he knocked again.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” came the disgruntled reply. Evidently the guard was none too pleased to venture out into the weather, himself.
Robert could hear footsteps on the stone as the man approached. The tread was uneven, he seemed to limp. Finally, the little iron port slid aside and Robert was suddenly looking into a pair of dark eyes, barely illuminated by the lantern the man held beside his face.
“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.
“I wish to see Monsieur Magniet.”
“What? At this hour?”
“Oh, I know it’s late. I’m sorry.”
The man stared at him a moment longer, then slammed the little metal door. The sound of his retreating footsteps were accompanied by grumbling. Robert banged the wooden panels again, this time with a great deal of force. The footsteps stopped, then turned back toward the gate. Eventually, the panel slid open again.
“No visitors at this hour! Now go on about your business!”
“But Monsieur, this is my business,” Robert said mildly.
“And what business could you have here at this time of the night and in this weather?”
“I’m a priest, you see. I’m also a doctor of sorts and I understand that your prisoner has been wounded.”
The man seemed to stand on his tiptoes in an effort to see all of Robert.
“A priest, you say?”
Opening his heavy wool cape, Robert made a point of showing his robes. In the dim light of the torch above the gate the heavy gold cross glittered on his chest. Robert could see the surprise in the man’s dark eyes—the cross, though modest compared to many, was an indication that he was no ordinary priest. The port slammed shut again, but he could hear the bolts slide free and then the gate opened.
Robert followed the limping man across the courtyard and past the small holding cells that were reserved for short term prisoners and those awaiting execution. Just inside the building, next to the stairway that led to the dungeon, was a small cubicle. The man bade Robert enter. It was a tiny space with room for the little wooden table with its one chair and the small coal heater sitting on the floor in the corner. Even so, the room was cold.
The man eased himself down into the chair as though relieved to be off the heavily bandaged foot, which seemed to be causing him considerable pain.
By the light of the single candle, Robert found it difficult to determine the man’s age. He sat slightly hunched, though it was impossible to tell if it was because of his injured leg or the weight of his years. His dark hair was streaked with grey and tied none too tidily at the back of his head. He smiled when he looked up at Robert, showing what was left of a set of bad teeth.
“So, Father, would you be so kind as to tell me why it is you want to see this prisoner, and at this hour?”
“I apologize again for disturbing you so late,” Robert began solicitously. “But I only just heard he’d been brought in, and that he was wounded.” Robert set the worn leather satchel he carried on the table in front of the guard. “I came to see if I could comfort him. Pain and suffering pay little attention to clocks…as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Aye,” the man sighed. “I’ve noticed. Now, I’ll just have a look in there, if you don’t mind,” he said, pulling the bag to him and riffling through the contents.
Robert waited patiently.
“And what’s this?” the man asked, pulling one of the shiny scalpels from their little leather case.
“Oh, please be careful. They’re very sharp.”
“I see that. You weren’t planning on slipping the prisoner a weapon, were you?”
“Oh no, of course not. But as I told you, I was given to understand that he’s been shot, and sometimes, you see, one must cut away the damaged tissue. It’s often burned and it putrefies…” Robert could see that his words were having the desired effect. Luckily for him, the man had a weak stomach.
“Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.” He returned the case to the satchel.
“I understand your concern. I’d be more than happy to have you watch if it should be necessary for me to…”
“No, no. But you see, Father, I have a little problem.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve instructions that no one is to see the prisoner without written permission from the Mayor.”
“Oh, dear. And why is that, do you think?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. Them’s me orders.”
“Well, I suppose I could call on Monsieur Maillard, but while he’s always been kind to me, I doubt he’d be pleased to see me at this hour.”
The man sneered.
“Do you believe those orders were meant for someone like me? I mean a priest, a doctor, someone who only wanted to offer comfort to someone less fortunate?”
“Don’t know, Father. They didn’t leave me no fancy explanations.”
“I hate to ask—it’s obvious that you’re a man who takes his job very seriously…”
“Yes?”
The man leaned closer and Robert knew he’d hit on the right solution.
“Well…please forgive me if I offend you but…could you see your way clear, I mean…” As he stumbled along, pretending to be quite unsure of himself, Robert pulled a gold Louis from the pouch at his waist.
“You see, I’ve always felt ‘called.’ It’s my vocation…and when I fail, I feel as though I’ve failed God.” He put the glittering coin on the table. “I’m sorry, but it’s all I have.” Robert was convincing and he knew that the coin lying on the table between them probably represented at least a year’s wages to the guard.
The guard’s dark eyes stared into his for some time. “Well, now. We can’t have you failing God, can we?”
Robert smiled as the man neatly scooped up the coin and led him back out of the room and down the dimly lit stairs to the cells beneath the building.
Arabella moved from table to oven with her loaves of bread. She was happy to have the extra warmth of the baby in this, the coldest month of the year. The icy wind flung sheets of rain against the windows, but the big kitchen was warm and dry and filled with the comforting smell of yeast.
When all the loaves were safely in the oven, she went to look in on Alfredo. He was sleeping soundly, though she heard the warning signs in his rasping breath. He’d weakened steadily after the fall and she doubted he would ever get up again. She tiptoed into the room to add more wood to the fire and prayed she would be able to spare him the terrible congestion of the lungs that often followed such an accident when the victim was elderly. She moved closer to the bed, checking his color and satisfied, she quietly closed the door.
She went on down the hall, past the morning room to Richard’s bedroom. She added wood to the fire there, too, replacing the chill of disuse with a coziness she knew Richard would appreciate.
Everything was clean, dusted, aired, oiled and in perfect order. Her fingers ran lovingly over the linen pillowcase and she was comforted, knowing he would soon be home. The fact that Christina was coming with him didn’t disturb her. He would be safe at the cottage and that was all that mattered.
Richard woke suddenly as the guard slammed the heavy ring of keys against the bars of his cell, calling out that he had a visitor. He was disoriented for a moment, but as he sat up, the searing pain in his shoulder brought the situation into sharp focus.
“Seem’s the Father here’s come to save your soul and do a little doctorin’ as well. Stand up and greet him proper.”
Richard was startled to see his brother, but caught the look of warning in Robert’s eyes and said nothing.
The guard opened the door and motioned Robert into the stinking enclosure. As soon as Robert stepped in, he abruptly locked the door again.
“Thirty minutes, no more.” He turned and limped back down the torch lit corridor.
They both watched him go and neither moved until the man disappeared up the stairs. Then Robert embraced Richard.
“Thank God you’re safe,” he said softly. But he could feel the fever in Richard’s skin. “Best let me have a look at that shoulder.”
“Where’s Christina?” Richard asked as he seated himself in the single wooden chair and allowed Robert to remove his torn, filthy shirt.
“She’s safe. I took her to the townhouse.”
“You must take her to the abbey.” Richard was relieved she wasn’t with Guy, but the townhouse was far too close.
“She won’t go. I’ve tried to convince her, but she wants to be near you.”
Richard shook his head, wincing as Robert began to clean the wound.
“You’re lucky. The ball apparently missed your collarbone, and glanced off your shoulder blade. There’s a little bone fragment here but not much.” Robert continued to push and probe, to raise Richard’s arm, in spite of the obvious pain it caused. “As I said, you’re a lucky man.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly lucky, just now,” Richard replied sarcastically.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said sincerely as he began to pack the wound with antiseptic salve.
When Richard failed to respond, he explained how Denis had followed to be sure Richard was all right and then brought the news to Robert. He couldn’t help but smile as he recounted how he’d snatched Christina away from Guy.
“Guy won’t let it go, you know. He’s obsessed with her.” Richard was helpless and he hated it. “Someone is going to get hurt.”
“You mustn’t worry. I’ve hired armed guards for the townhouse. I don’t think he’ll try anything.”
“You have to find some way to convince her to go to Montmajour!” Richard insisted, grabbing Robert’s sleeve.
“I can’t,” Robert said gently. “She wants to be here with you. And I don’t want to force her. We have to think of the baby.”
Richard released him. How has everything gone so wrong…again?
Robert bandaged his shoulder and helped him into the clean shirt he’d brought, then immobilized his arm. He mixed a packet into the water jug and bade Richard drink. Richard didn’t even question it.
“The most important thing now is for you to sleep,” he said, his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You’re going to need all your strength these next few weeks. And you’re going to have to look your best for Christina. We have to keep her from being too upset.”
“You’re not thinking of bringing her here?” Richard was appalled.
“She won’t rest until she sees you. You know that.” They both heard the guard’s uneven footsteps on the stairs. “But I’ll see what I can do to make it a little more presentable for Christina…and more comfortable for you.” He pulled off his heavy cloak and put it around Richard’s shoulders. “Wrap up tight and get some sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
While the inspector refused to let Robert in the next morning, he did allow some of the servants from the townhouse to clean the cell, to bring some food and furniture, clothing and bedding so Richard might at least enjoy some of the comforts a noble title might afford a prisoner.
When the letter of consent arrived from the Mayor, it was disappointingly limited to visitors from the “immediate family.” This meant a further delay while Robert arranged for some false papers for Christina, which proclaimed her to be Corsican and married within the past year to Richard.
They went for that first visit after midnight on the fourth day and encountered the same lame guard. He was at first happy to see Robert, smelling another “bonus,” but he became wary when he saw Christina. Robert was able to convince him that she’d just arrived from Corsica and was frantic to see, with her own eyes, that her husband was alive and well. Robert hinted that pregnant women were known to be susceptible to bouts of hysteria, and for the sake of all concerned, she should be admitted as expeditiously as possible. The guard reluctantly agreed and they followed him into the bowels of the building.
Christina clung to Robert’s arm as they passed down the corridor of cells. Most of the men were asleep, but some insomniac prisoner realized there was a woman in close proximity and he began to whisper filthy propositions as she neared his cell. When she ignored him, he started shouting, and before long, half the men were on their feet calling to her, displaying themselves with lewd suggestions, and grabbing at her clothing as she passed. Robert put his arm around her, sheltering her with his cloak as best he could, until they reached the larger cell at the end of the passage where Richard was waiting for her, the knuckles of his right hand white as he angrily clutched the bars.
The clamor continued, but Christina no longer heard it as she threw herself against Richard and felt his free arm tighten around her. She didn’t hear the door lock again or Robert’s suggestion to the guard that he might be able to offer him some relief for his painful foot. She never heard them leave, never noticed when the men finally ceased their shouting and went back to their beds. She only heard the strong, steady beating of Richard’s heart as he held her.
“We’ve tried so hard to see you, but they wouldn’t let us in,” she whispered against the soft linen of his clean shirt.
“Hush, Sweetheart. I know. Robert told me. None of that matters now.” Finally, he released her and led her to the table.
“Oh, Richard, I’ve been so worried.”
“I know, Chrissa. But as you can see, I’m all right.” He noticed her staring at his arm, which was now in a sling. “It’s fine, really. The ball passed through my shoulder and Robert’s very happy with the way it’s healing.” He moved his injured arm and his hand to show her that he could. “He just wants me to rest it for a few more days.”
She just looked at him and the expression on her face broke his heart.
“Chrissa, I want you to do something for me. I want you to go to the abbey with Robert until all this is over. You’ll be safe there.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“Sweetheart, be reasonable. We both know that Guy won’t give you up so easily. And I worry for you and the baby.”
“I won’t go.”
“Chrissa, I need to know that you’re safe.”
“And what about me? I need to know that you’re safe.”
“Robert will still come and he can tell you everything.”
“No…”
Richard wasn’t able to conceal his frustration.
“Chrissa, there’s nothing you can do!” he said a bit too loudly.
“There is something I can do. I’m going to testify at the trial.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m going to tell them that you couldn’t have killed Marco because you spent the night with me.”
He bent over her, taking her by the shoulder with his free hand, perhaps with a little more force than was necessary.
“Chrissa, you can’t do that!”
“I can, and I will.”
Richard knelt down in front of her and took her hand, placing it in the one that was in the sling, then gripping it with his free hand, as well. His eyes held her as tightly as his hands did.
“Christina, listen to me. You cannot testify. You know Guy will be furious if you announce publicly that we were lovers. It can only make things worse.”
She started to interrupt, but he gently laid his finger against her lips.
“If something goes wrong—if somehow I’m convicted—I won’t be able to protect you or our child. Chrissa, you…you and the baby are my life. I have to know you’re safe.”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, a kiss he returned with all the love he felt for her and all the fear he had for her safety.
“Chrissa, will you go to Corsica?” he asked, suddenly realizing it could be the solution to the problem. He knew that Arabella would take care of her and protect her and the baby.
“Richard, I love you. But I will only go to Corsica when the trial is over, when you are free and can go with me.”
Then they heard Robert and the guard coming back down the stairs.
By the end of the first week of Richard’s incarceration, it became obvious to Robert that there was some unidentified force at work in his brother’s case. Though he thoroughly disapproved of the conventional series of bribes and threats that allowed members of the nobility to avoid prosecution, he was not above such attempts, now. Nevertheless, inquiries, discreet and otherwise, proved unfruitful and at every turn he ran into a stone wall of resistance.
He even took Christina to speak to the Magistrate, insisting as the only remaining relative of the deceased, she should have some influence over the prosecution. Bribes or no, that should have been enough for the Magistrate to set aside the trial, but the man was adamant. There would be a trial. Despite his uncompromising position, Robert suspected the Magistrate was being pressured by his superior.
This only served to make Christina more determined than ever to testify on Richard’s behalf.
As soon as Robert sensed the chilly climate surrounding Richard’s case, he sent Grégoire to Versailles to elicit a pardon from the King, just in case they should need it. He was confident his father’s influence would make that a simple procedure and he chose to be safe rather than sorry.
Cybelle and Lauro and the children arrived at the townhouse as soon as they heard the news and reported that Raymond had also undertaken a visit to Versailles on Richard’s behalf.
Christina was grateful for the company and the presence of the children. Having Cybelle to talk to about her pregnancy helped a great deal and encouraged her to take better care of herself and the baby.
Maryse, though she was not allowed in to see Richard, wrote and offered any help she might be able to give. She even sent her lawyer to assist the aged Monsieur Autexier and his staff, who had served Richard’s family all of his life. Richard did write her and request that she help Christina as much as possible and do her best to dissuade her from testifying. But while Christina was grateful for Maryse’s company and support, she was steadfast in her determination to be the deciding factor in Richard’s case.
And so they all waited the three weeks until the trial was to begin.
Arabella was worried as the days passed without any word from Richard. Gérrard sent a brief message up to her when the ship that was to carry Richard and Christina arrived without them, but it was nearly eight more days before Robert’s letter arrived.
She sensed he was trying not to alarm her, still it was obvious that the situation was serious. She immediately wrote two letters: one to Richard, in a very housekeeperly fashion—assuming that it would be opened and read by many before it reached him—wherein she assured him of her prayers and reminded him that he should feel comfortable sending Christina along, alone. The second was to Robert, begging that he keep her informed and also suggesting to him that Christina be sent to Bonifacio.
And while she waited, she continued to care for Alfredo. He was failing. He ate less and slept more as the days passed, but at least she knew he was comfortable. And his grandson Tomas came daily to help her with the heavy work and with his grandfather. Still, she felt helpless as she waited—waited for news of Richard, waited for Alfredo to finally let go of life and waited for the arrival of the child that stirred impatiently within her body.
The trial took place in the large courtroom in the Hôtel de Ville. The Magistrate and the two other judges sat at one end of a long room filled with people, some involved with the testimony and many others who were merely curious. Normally, the trial of a member of the nobility brought out a crowd of hostile thrill seekers, but the universal respect for Richard’s father assured that most of the spectators were disposed in his favor.
Christina sat in the first row of seats behind the chair reserved for the accused. Maryse sat on one side of her, Cybelle and Lauro on the other. But she was further insulated by the guards Robert had hired, one on each end of the row in which she sat and two directly behind her. She needn’t have worried about a confrontation with Guy, for he and Stefano came a good deal later and sat on the opposite side of the room. Nonetheless, she could feel his eyes on her. She did her best to avoid looking at him, but when she cast a glance in his direction, she briefly found herself paralyzed by his stare. His hold on her was broken when the side doors to the courtroom opened and Richard was brought in by two armed guards.
Witnesses came and went. Various people from the Baron’s household staff testified, and in an effort to protect Richard, most claimed that they no longer clearly remembered what had happened. All said that Richard had always been on friendly terms with Marco and that Richard was not inclined to fits of temper, but several of the servants were forced to admit the murder weapon was the distinctive dagger Richard had been given by his father. Robert was called upon to testify as to the type of wound and cause of death. The Magistrate refused to let him speak on Richard’s behalf and at that point hastily finished the questioning.
The uneasy whispers that filled the room stopped abruptly when Richard took his place in the witness box facing the three judges.
The Magistrate began. “You are Richard René Louis Magniet, youngest son of the late Baron of Beauvu?”
“I am. And Baron in my own right since my father’s death.” Richard didn’t hesitate to remind them just who it was they were dealing with.
“Would you please give us an account of the events on the night of May 16, 1752?”
“I had been at sea. The ship returned to Arles somewhat later than expected, having been delayed by bad weather. The rain stopped briefly and I decided to try to make the ride home. It seems I rode into the storm rather than away from it, and did not arrive at Beauvu until sometime after midnight. I had no wish to wake the house and since the stableman was not there, I decided to spend the rest of the night in the stable.”
“Are we to believe that a man of your position would sleep in a stable rather than his own comfortable bed out of deference to servants?” The oldest judge obviously expected a snicker from the spectators, but the room remained silent.
“You may believe whatever you like. That is the truth. My arrival would have brought at least a dozen people from their beds. I was only interested in drying off and sleeping. Where I slept was of little importance to me.”
“Did you see Marco DiClementi that night?”
“I did. He arrived in the stable just as I unsaddled my horse.”
“Did you not find this unusual?”
“I was surprised, of course. But Monsieur DiClementi was upset. He had something to tell me.”
“Which was?” the Magistrate said sharply.
“That his father had been forced to consent to a marriage between his sister, Mademoiselle DiClementi, and his father’s business partner, Monsieur Jonvaux.”
“‘Forced,’ Monsieur?” the third judge said, with a note of suspicion.
“Monsieur Jonvaux had inherited his father’s business earlier in the year and was therefore, himself, in partnership with Monsieur DiClementi. According to Monsieur DiClementi, Monsieur Jonvaux demanded payment of certain debts, and in order to avoid financial ruin, Monsieur DiClementi agreed to the marriage.”
“It is our understanding that all of you, that is you and the victim, his sister, and Monsieur Jonvaux all grew up together. Is there any reason why the idea of Monsieur Jonvaux marrying Mademoiselle DiClementi should surprise you?”
“It was always assumed that she and I would marry.”
“Oh? So you were in love with her at the time?”
“I was.”
“So it’s understandable that you found this news upsetting?”
“I found it ridiculous.”
Christina, who was barely breathing as she hung on every one of Richard’s words, stole a quick glance at Guy. She saw him grit his teeth as the color rose in his cheeks.
“‘Ridiculous,’ Monsieur?” the old judge said sarcastically.
“I would never have allowed the marriage to take place.”
“I fail to see how you might have prevented it,” the third judge mumbled, sarcastically, just loud enough to be heard in the silent room. Richard stared at the man coldly. As he started to open his mouth to answer, the judge waved his reply aside.
“Nevertheless, please tell the court your response to Monsieur Di Clementi’s news?”
“I thanked him, assured him that we would be able to work something out in the morning, and told him goodnight. He left and I went to bed in the stableman’s room. I was unaware that anything had happened to him until the next morning when one of the servants discovered his body.”
“So you deny killing him?”
“I do.”
“But you admit that he was killed with a dagger that belonged to you?”
“Yes, I saw his body and the dagger.”
“And how do you suppose your dagger might have found its way into your friend?”
“I have no idea. I had been carrying it and when I came into the stable, and I hung the scabbard along with my other things on a hook outside the door to the stableman’s room.”
“Are you trying to convince us that someone who wished Monsieur DiClementi harm, crept into the stable well after midnight, stole your dagger, performed the deed and then disappeared into thin air?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well then, what would you have us believe?” the oldest judge asked with an air of boredom.
“Only that I am innocent.”
“Monsieur, I think you were upset by the news of Mademoiselle DiClementi’s upcoming marriage and that you killed your friend in a fit of rage.”
“If I were angry enough to kill anyone, don’t you think it would have been more logical for me to have killed Monsieur Jonvaux?” Richard answered reasonably. “And if I’d had any sense at all, would I have used a weapon so obviously associated with me?”
“I must caution you, Monsieur. We will not tolerate such impertinent behavior!” the old judge added in a feeble voice.
“Monsieur, I think it is quite obvious,” the Magistrate began, a little louder than necessary, “that you spent the night in the stable because you killed your friend and you were afraid of the consequences!”
“That’s absurd!”
Richard’s reply was followed by applause and hoots of “bravo” from the room full of people. The Magistrate banged the table before him until the room quieted.
“Then why did you spend the night in the stable?”
“I told you before…”
“That’s no answer. Why did you spend the night in the stable?”
The noise and confusion in the room brought Christina to her feet.
“He was with me!” she shouted above the sound of the crowd and instantly the room fell silent again.
The Magistrate looked at her in surprise. Guy scowled. Stefano watched, fascinated. The Magistrate looked at Richard.
“Monsieur? Is this true?”
“It is not!”
“It is true!” Christina insisted. “I beg you, let me testify!”
The three judges put their heads together, whispering as they cast occasional glances in Christina’s direction. Christina, sure that her chance had come to save the man she loved, stood still and waited.
“Very well, we will hear from Madame…?”
“Jonvaux,” Christina said, though it was a struggle to wrap her tongue around the hated name.
The minute she said it, the courtroom buzzed again, louder and louder until the Magistrate was forced, once again, to call for order. Richard reluctantly stepped aside as Christina made her way to the witness box, but the look in his eyes begged her not to speak. She just smiled at him and regarded the three officials confidently.
“You are Madame Jonvaux, sister to the deceased?”
“I am.”
“Please state your full name.”
“Christina Maria Antonia Sophia DiClementi.” She would have stopped there but she felt Guy’s eyes boring into her and she couldn’t help but look at him. “Jonvaux,” she finished softly.
Guy stood up and made his way to the desk where the secretary sat recording the proceedings. He snatched a sheet of paper and took the pen out of the man’s hand, scribbling furiously.
“And you say that you were with Richard de Magniet on the night your brother was killed? Please tell us what it is you would like us to know.”
“I’d been waiting for him to return and when I saw the light from the stable door, I went down. When I reached the doorway, Monsieur Magniet was talking to my brother. I waited until my brother left, then went in. It was raining and I was very wet and I spent the night there with him.”
The room began to buzz again. Guy finished what he was writing and handed it to one of the bailiffs who then took it to the judges as Guy returned to his seat. Christina was beginning to be nervous. The judges didn’t seem to be very impressed by what she’d told them. The Magistrate read the note and then shared it with the two other men.
“Thank you Madame. That will be all.”
Christina was confused. Why didn’t they question her? With an anxious glance at Richard, she stepped down from the box.
“We will now hear from Madame’s husband, Monsieur Jonvaux.”
Guy walked confidently to the witness box, smiling at Christina as he passed.
“Please state your name.”
“Guy Eugène Jonvaux.”
“There was something you felt it was important for this court to know, Monsieur?”
“Yes, and I beg the court’s indulgence…this is very difficult for me.”
For a moment Christina thought he might actually start to weep!
“My wife and Monsieur Magniet were very close as children, and it is true that she was a little upset when she learned that her father had given his blessing to my proposal.”
Christina started to rise but Cybelle kept her in her seat.
“But I assure you, she was happy in our marriage until she suffered a miscarriage early last year.” Guy seemed to choke up for a moment. “Since then, she has been very unstable. I hoped she would improve with this pregnancy, but she has only grown worse. She seems to be living constantly in the past…I’m sorry to say that she no longer recognizes me as her husband.”
“Are you telling us that your wife is lying, Monsieur?”
“Oh, you must forgive her,” Guy said anxiously. “She ’s not trying to deceive you. I know she believes what she says, but I assure you that when I married her, she…well, she’d never been with a man…so I can only assume that when she said that she…” Guy seemed to be terribly upset. “When she says that they…well, it’s just not true.”
Christina pulled free from Cybelle and tried to get to Guy. Two bailiffs stopped her, holding her as gently as they could since it was obvious she was pregnant.
“Liar!” she screamed at Guy. “Liar!”
“Madame, please restrain yourself!”
The courtroom erupted into shouts as the crowd rose, shaking fists and screaming objections to the entire procedure.
“I will not! He’s lying! He hates Richard! For all I know he killed my brother!”
This stirred the crowd even more.
“Remove her!” the Magistrate shouted above the confusion, banging the table again and again to no effect.
As Christina began to struggle, Richard tried to stand, but was restrained by his two guards. He watched helplessly as two baliffs came for Christina. Her own guards rose and the four men escorted her from the room. Maryse, Cybelle and Lauro fought their way through the unruly mass of people, trying to reach one of the doors so they might get to Christina, whose muffled cries could still be heard in the hallway.
The courtroom was out of control. People screamed their outrage at the judges and certainly would have done them harm had they breached the line of armed policemen at the front of the room. So great was the agitation of the crowd that few beyond the first two rows heard the sentence pronounced.
Robert was one of them. When Richard was sentenced to hang, something inside him shattered. Disbelief washed over him, leaving a hollow sensation at the pit of his stomach. It was not possible that his brother was condemned to die for a murder that he never would have committed and in fact did not commit.
After assuring himself that Christina was safe at the townhouse, Robert returned to the abbey.