Comme les rides sur la surface de l’eau la plus calme
S’éloignent sans cesse du centre au cercle de l’Amour.
—Petrou
Like ripples on the stillest water Love’s circle ever outward moves.
Mars 1760
Arles
Shortly after Christina left, they moved Richard to one of the small holding cells in the courtyard in front of the Hôtel de Ville. He caught a brief glimpse of the gallows beyond the gate just as the priest from St. Trophime, who had performed his wedding to Christina, came to him. He heard his confession and promised to re-enforce what Richard had written in his letter to Robert—that he did not blame him for what was about to happen.
It was cold and dark, the Mistral pushing the black clouds down from the north. The wind blew relentlessly, picking up water from the river and promising rain. It was surprising anyone had come for the spectacle, yet there was a small crowd, groups of people scattered around the square near the gallows. The mood was subdued. There was none of the usual sense of celebration that accompanied the execution of a known criminal. These people had come to witness a travesty and they knew it. While some were merely curious, most had come out of respect for the Baron and his family.
Christina and Maryse were waiting toward the back of the crowd with Denis, surrounded by six guards from the townhouse. Maryse was taking no chances that anyone would bother them. The women held each other’s hands tightly, barely daring to breathe. They were dry eyed, their tears long since spent. They both felt the numbness that came with disbelief. It was impossible for either of them to imagine that this was happening and yet right in front of them stood the gallows, the noose snapping in the wind.
Then Christina caught sight of another cloaked figure moving along the outside edge of the crowd.
“Is that her?”
Maryse followed her gaze. “Yes.”
Christina released Maryse’s hand and moved toward the woman. Maryse and the guards followed.
“Signora Cellarini?”
Arabella was startled that anyone would know her name. She turned and immediately recognized Christina. She quickly dropped into a curtsy.
“Baroness,” she said softly.
“Christina, please,” she said as she reached out to embrace her. “Come with us. We can help each other.”
Their little group returned to the center of the square.
Arabella was surprised, but grateful she was with Maryse and Christina. She was thinking of little beyond Richard as she put one arm around Christina and took her hand. Maryse did the same, thinking how pleased Richard would be if he knew.
Guy was still drunk. He’d slept only briefly, waking when the level of alcohol in his system dropped. Stefano was gone and at that moment he remembered little of what had passed between them. But the hanging—Guy had no intention if missing it. It had cost him far too dearly.
He began drinking again as he dressed warmly and, with a flask in each pocket of his heavy coat, he made his way to the square. He arrived in time to see Christina and Maryse and then to wonder who the other woman was. When he saw her swollen belly he concluded it might be Arabella, though how she’d reached Arles without him knowing, he couldn’t imagine. He would have to see about that. And then he realized that very soon Richard would be dead and the network of spies he had maintained for the past seven years would no longer be necessary.
He was disappointed by the number of guards surrounding the women. Guy had hoped to get close enough to Christina to upset her. It would have been a little additional pleasure. But this was priceless—Richard’s three whores, all here to bid him goodbye. Perfect! Guy laughed out loud in pure delight and received some hateful looks from the people nearby.
Stefano was on the other side of the square, inconspicuous against the wall of a building. He had the high collar of his coat turned up and a hat pressed firmly on his head. He had no wish to be recognized. This would not be the time to have his resemblance to the Baron remarked on. It happened often enough in the course of any given day. It also marked his association with Guy, which was not appreciated by the citizens of Arles these days.
Stefano was watching Christina. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He paid little attention when another woman joined them. It was Christina he watched, Christina he longed for. Yet, even as he stood against the cold stone wall, he knew she was lost to him. Forever. He had lost her because he was a coward.
It wasn’t long before a murmur rippled through the crowd as the gates to the courtyard swung open. First came the banner of the city of Arles followed by the Magistrate and the three judges who had presided at Richard’s trial. The judges stopped at the judgment seat, the ancient stone bench set into the wall surrounding the Hôtel de Ville. The Magistrate followed the standard bearer and stopped at the foot of the stairs to the gallows.
Richard was brought out with the hangman and two guards in front of him, two guards behind. He followed the hangman and two of the guards up the narrow wooden stairs to the platform where he knew the noose was waiting. He was mildly surprised that he felt nothing. His heart was pounding and it was almost as though his body knew it was in danger while his mind had already moved beyond what was to come. He found himself thinking how fortunate he was that he had been able to assure the safety of Christina and his child.
When he reached the platform, the hangman led him to the spot on the trapdoor, facing the crowd. The hangman dropped to his knee in front of Richard.
“Forgive me, Master. I promise you it will be quick.”
When the man looked up, Richard was surprised to see the tears in his eyes.
“I forgive you and wish you well,” Richard said softly.
The hangman rose and as he slipped the noose over Richard’s neck, a number of people fell to their knees making the sign of the cross.
“Will you have the hood?” the hangman asked.
Richard shook his head. The man knelt and pulled a strap tight around his ankles and buckled it.
The old magistrate finally made it to the top of the stairs. He unrolled the proclamation declaring Richard’s conviction and sentence, though his weak voice was swept away by the wind. If Richard could have seen his face, he would have seen the old man’s despair. He bowed his head and the wind shifted.
Richard thought he heard him say, “May God have mercy on your soul and on my own.”
There was a moment, the smallest fraction of a second when time seemed suspended and Richard found Christina in the crowd. Their eyes locked and then, in an instant, it was over.
All three of the women stood transfixed by the sight of Richard’s body hanging at the end of the rope. It was obvious that he’d died instantly. They were vaguely aware of some muffled cries from the crowd. Some of the people had fallen to their knees, praying for Richard’s soul.
“Come,” said Maryse. She tried to turn Christina back to their carriage. “They’ll be bringing him home. We need to be there.”
Arabella loosened her grip on Christina’s hand, intending to find her own way back to Maryse’s townhouse.
“No,” Christina whispered, holding on tight. “Please, come with us. You should be there, too.”
Arabella gave her a brief, grateful smile as they turned toward the waiting carriage. When the guards had handed them to their seats, two stepped up onto the footmen’s perch and the others went to retrieve the body. They were taking no chances that Richard might not have a peaceful trip home.
Guy pushed his way to the front of the dispersing crowd. A few were still on their knees at the foot of the gallows. Guy ignored them. The priest and two of the city guards stood at Richard’s feet. One of the guards shouted up to someone on the platform and motioned the Baron’s guards to step up and take the body as the rope was released. Guy watched the men catch Richard’s body and slowly lower him onto the cart. One of the guards took the strap from his legs, the other, the rope that bound his hands. The priest gently loosened the noose and and slipped it off. It was obvious from the angle of Richard’s head that his neck was broken, but when Guy saw the rope burn along the side of his throat, his hand inadvertently went to his own.
Guy was drunk—very drunk. Snippets of what had happened the night before began flashing through his mind and mixed with what he was seeing. Richard was there, not ten feet away. And he was dead. But Richard didn’t have to die! He had told Richard everything, and Richard had…Richard had…well everything was good between them now. So good.
So, why was Richard dead?
Stefano walked. Despite the weather, he ducked his head into the wind and walked. He passed along the near side of St. Trophime. With no destination in mind he cut through the old theater space, passed the two lone marble columns and then walked on beyond the ramparts of the city. He kept walking and finally found himself at the Alyscamps. He was alone. The wind whipped the tall cypresses and the bare branches of the elms, only now starting to show the halo of green that indicated spring was finally on the way. But Stefano wasn’t thinking of spring. He was thinking of Christina and the last time he’d been on that same path with her.
He sat down in the shelter of the wall at the little chapel. Christina. They had been here together on that day when he first knew he would succeed with the seduction Guy had planned for his innocent wife. She had been so trusting, so young. She’d put her life in his hands and what had he done? He’d broken her heart and thought nothing of it. She’d been an amusement, a rather pleasant step on the ladder he’d imagined himself climbing, one which would lead him to riches and his rightful place as a gentleman.
Well, he’d succeeded. But at what cost? His way of life was dependent on pleasing an unstable, sadistic man. He was constantly walking the tightrope of Guy’s emotions and it had cost him the woman he loved.
Stefano wept openly, though there was no one to see it. He had come so far, done so much to secure a place for himself in the world of the fortunate and when he’d finally accomplished his goals, he was alone and face to face with himself. And he couldn’t live with what he saw.
It began to rain.
The women worked together to prepare Richard’s body. Only Arabella had performed this deeply personal service for the dead before—for her parents, her own children and most recently for Alfredo. But Christina and Maryse were willing participants, both wanting to offer one last expression of their love to the man who was such an important part of their lives. As they worked, their tears flowed freely as they shared an occasional memory or confidence, exchanged in low tones.
Denis helped them dress him and finally he was lifted into the coffin and carried down to the entry hall where he would lie for the next two days so that the people of Arles could pay their respects.
Maryse sent to her house to bring Arabella’s things. She would be staying with them. And with Richard.
Stefano returned to Guy’s house for dry clothes. He went on to the warehouse, hoping to distract himself with work. There was no sign of Guy. No one had seen him and he didn’t come in while Stefano was there. While he was glad to avoid him, Stefano was also beginning to resent the fact that Guy seemed to expect him to run the business—no simple matter in midst of the current shipping crisis. They had yet to find a carrier for their silks.
Around four o’clock, he left. Walking home, he passed the Baron’s townhouse where a line of people was standing quietly, waiting for an opportunity to pay their respects. He turned his collar up and kept his head down to avoid attracting any attention.
The house was quiet when he got home. No sign of the servants, which suited him. He picked up the carafe of brandy from the library and took it to his room. Discarding his coat, waistcoat and shoes, he poured a glass of brandy and settled himself on the bed. He needed to think. There were decisions to be made.
He wanted to leave. Guy was growing more difficult. With the business in its current state and with Guy’s lack of interest, he wasn’t sure he could keep it going on his own. He had socked away a good amount of money, enough to last him at least two or three years. And most important, he was convinced Christina was lost to him forever. Perhaps it was time to return to Sabine.
But Stefano didn’t want Sabine, he wanted Christina. The turmoil in his mind faded and he slipped into a fitful sleep. And he dreamed. He dreamed of Christina and their baby, the three of them happy together. It was sunny and warm and light and it was everything he now knew he wanted from life.
He was awakened by the sound of Guy’s voice, shouting for André, for Agnes, for someone. It was full dark and no one seemed to be coming to Guy’s aid, if the sound of him stumbling up the stairs was any indication. He heard Guy coming down the hall. Stefano quietly slipped from the bed and stood against the wall, the armoire between him and the door.
Guy stopped and banged on Stefano’s door. When Guy got no answer, he opened it and looked in. The dim light from the candelabra he carried fell across the empty bed. There was no light in the room, no fire. Where was Stefano? With a mumbled curse, Guy slammed the door and staggered on down the hall toward his own room.
Stefano waited a long time, waited to hear sounds of the servants finally coming to help their master. But Guy must have managed to undress without assistance, for he heard no one. Finally, he quietly made his way through Christina’s room and on to Guy’s, where he stopped to listen at the connecting door. There was no sound. Very slowly, he opened the door.
The only light in the room was from a fire that had burned very low but it was enough for Stefano to read the clock on the mantle. It was nearly ten. Guy lay across the bed, on his back, naked, his clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. He appeared to have passed out. As Stefano stared, Guy suddenly became the focus of all his sorrow and rage. Guy was at the root of his misery. If it weren’t for Guy, he and Christina and their child would be together. He would be happy! And then, quite clearly, Stefano saw there was only one thing for him to do.
Picking up the candles Guy had been carrying, he lit one from Guy’s fire. Once out of the room, he lit the others. At the door to Christina’s dressing room he pulled the key from the drawer.
The clothes—Richard’s clothes—that he’d worn the night before were still there on the floor. He picked them up and quickly changed. There was a large mirror on the wall and he leaned toward it, critically examining the rope burn along his neck from the night before. Dissatisfied, he slipped back into Christina’s bedroom, rummaging through the things on her dressing table until he found what he wanted. He began to apply some of the rouge to the mark on his neck. He did it carefully until it more closely resembled the mark of the noose he imagined Guy had seen on Richard’s neck. Then he bared his shoulder, working at recreating a recently healed bullet wound. He would rely heavily on low light and Guy’s inebriation to aid him in the deception.
Stefano gathered his own clothes and returned to his room. The house was still completely silent. Pulling a fine black ribbon from one of his wigs, he tied it around his hair. He slipped into his plainest pair of shoes with simple silver buckles—quite like those Richard had worn to the gallows. There was one last thing that he pulled from the pocket of the waistcoat he’d worn that day. He slipped it into the pocket of his breeches, then took a final look at himself in his mirror. Satisfied, Stefano returned to Guy.
He came into Guy’s room soundlessly and set the candles on the table near the window. All but one, he blew out. He wanted Guy to be able to see him, but not too clearly.
“Guy?” Stefano pitched his voice a little lower than normal. More as he remembered Richard’s. Guy stirred but didn’t wake. “Guy!”
“Wha…who is it?” Guy seemed unwilling to rouse himself.
“It’s Richard.” Stefano waited.
Guy pushed himself up on his elbows, unsteady as he squinted in the direction from which the voice had come.
Stefano took a step forward though he was still a good distance from the bed.
“Stefano?”
“Not Stefano, Guy. It’s Richard.”
Guy was obviously startled. He struggled to sit up, pushing his hair out of his eyes in an effort to see.
“Are you surprised? It’s me. See?” Stefano bared the side of his neck so Guy could see the mark. “You remember the rope, don’t you?”
Guy was struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. Was it possible Richard had survived?
“Do you remember this?” Stefano asked, baring his shoulder with the false wound. “You shot me. You do remember, don’t you?”
“Rich…ard?” Suddenly it seemed to Guy that it could only be Richard standing there in his room. Richard…so close. “Is it really you?” he whispered. There was a note of wonder coupled with yearning in his voice.
“It’s me,” Stefano purred.
Guy’s heart began to pound. “What do you want?” He found he was frightened and at the same time, thrilled.
“I have something for you. Something you’ve always wanted.” Stefano took a step closer to the bed. He could see that Guy’s body was beginning to react.
Guy couldn’t move. “But you’re…I saw…”
“Shussss…” Stefano whispered. “I know…and we have so very little time. We mustn’t waste it.”
“What do you want?” Guy was burning with desire…he couldn’t help himself. And as drunk as he was, he didn’t care. All he could see was the shape of Richard, outlined by a soft nimbus of candlelight. Even if this were a dream, still, it was what he wanted.
“Tell me what you want.” Stefano took another step toward the bed.
Guy’s eyes closed. “I want you,” he said so softly that Stefano could barely make out the words.
“I want you, too.” Stefano kept his voice throaty, sounding as seductive as he could.
Guy’s head was swimming and he thought he might pass out. The blood pounded through his body. But he had to open his eyes. Would Richard still be there?
As he slowly pulled his shirt over his head, Stefano heard Guy catch his breath. He tossed his shirt aside and stood next to the bed looking first at Guy and then letting his eyes slowly travel over Guy’s body. He could see how desperate Guy was and he prolonged the moment with a smoldering appraisal of Guy’s flesh.
Guy groaned and when Stefano’s fingers lightly brushed his chest, then moved lower, fluttering over his navel, he seemed to abandon himself to the sensation. Stefano began to stroke him. Guy whimpered.
“Oh, Guy…” Stefano said, sounding as if he, too, were breathless. He waited until Guy opened his eyes again, then, with tantalizing slowness, he undid one of the buttons at his waist, and then the next, as Guy watched in stunned silence.
“Turn over,” Stefano whispered.
Guy did as he was told, barely daring to breathe. He didn’t want anything to interfere with this moment, this dream. Whatever it was—dream, ghostly visitation—the sensations were real and he wanted it to go on and on.
Stefano ran his hand slowly down Guy’s back. Guy squirmed with pleasure. Then Stefano stepped out of his shoes and got on the bed. Kneeling behind Guy, for a moment he didn’t touch him, and then, he raked his fingers down Guy’s sides, the pressure increasing as they moved lower. Guy gave an ecstatic cry as Stefano’s strong hands held his hips. But it was too soon. Stefano released him and slowly began to massage his buttocks—rubbing, pinching, spreading.
He leaned forward and whispered in Guy’s ear, “Put your hands under the pillow. Imagine I’ve tied you.”
Guy immediately did as he was told.
“Imagine the rope. Can you feel it?”
“Yes, yes…” Guy’s voice was muffled by the pillow.
“Is it tight?”
“Oh yes…”
“Like the rope this morning?” Stefano gently spread Guy’s legs wider, caressing the inside of his thighs as he did so, lifting his hips. Guy offered no resistance.
Guy sobbed, “Yes, yes.”
Suddenly, Stefano rammed into him and Guy cried out, in both pain and ecstasy.
“Remember, your hands are tied,” Stefano said sternly as he slipped the little fruit knife from his pocket.
“Yes, yes,” Guy said. “Please…”
“Please? Please, what?”
“Hurt me,” Guy begged.
“Oh, I will.” Stefano slammed him again and again. “Like this?”
“More,” Guy cried.
Stefano took a handful of Guy’s hair and pulled his head back and whispered next to his ear as he pressed him harder. “Like this?”
Guy could hardly speak, hardly breathe. He felt like he was dying and it was the most wonderful sensation he’d ever experienced.
Stefano pressed the razor sharp blade against Guy’s throat and pulled it across, immediately pressing his head back down against the pillows. Guy bucked against him, from fear or pleasure, Stefano couldn’t tell. He continued slamming into him, even as he felt the life draining from the body beneath him. But still he pressed Guy’s head down, taking out all his anger and frustration on the man who was no longer participating in his own punishment.
When it was over and when he was sure Guy was dead, Stefano climbed off him. He wiped the blood from his knife and his hand on the sheets, then straightened the covers and pulled them up so that only Guy’s hair was visible. The blood had gone into the pillows and mattress. It would be a while before anyone noticed that Guy was not merely sleeping off another binge.
Stefano gathered his shirt and shoes, returned the breeches and shirt to Christina’s dressing room and went back to his own room. He cleaned himself up, redressed in the clothes he’d worn that day, and straightened the bed. He took the brandy decanter back to the library and quietly left the house. He saw no one until he was on the next street.
It was Stefano’s turn to celebrate. He took himself to Madame Dijol’s where he was far more welcome than Guy had been of late. He asked if anyone had seen Guy but no one had. He ordered a bath, a late supper and chose a lovely young girl with long chestnut hair who smelled of bergamot.
At three in the morning Arabella was startled by the clatter of hooves in the courtyard. She had been sitting with Richard while Maryse and Christina tried to rest. Denis was with her. They both went to the door.
Robert was startled to see Arabella. “What are you doing here, my dear?” And then it struck him that something might have happened. “Is it Christina?”
“No, she’s fine.” Arabella reached for his hand, even as his head turned toward the casket and the candles. He looked from Denis to Arabella and back to where Richard lay.
His cry of anguish woke the house.