Chapter 10
The Auberges lived in a two-story house of golden stone, which had impressed me with its size but Donata had pronounced charming. Auberge had turned farmer when he’d retired from the wars, inheriting the estate from his father and continuing to work it.
When I’d first heard about Auberge’s farm, I’d pictured a medieval structure with four wings enclosing a courtyard, with pigs and chickens sharing the interior space.
In contrast, this maison was fairly modern, bearing tall windows with blue shutters, iron railings on balconies, and a tiled roof. The outbuildings that housed the farm’s few animals lay down a hill from the house, and beyond them spread the fields where Auberge’s farmhands toiled.
Carlotta had grown up on a similar estate in England, where I’d found and fallen in love with her at a ridiculously young age. I suppose Auberge’s offer of a quiet life in this place had been familiar and more appealing than following me through army camps, a baby in tow.
Tonight, when I descended from the coach, Brewster climbing down behind me, I did not give myself time for old regrets.
I approached the front door, painted in a faded blue that matched the long shutters, and rapped upon it. A maidservant in black with a mobcap opened it, starting to find me on the doorstep.
“Father?” Before I could state my business and ask to speak to Emile, Gabriella came floating along the hall behind her, a smile of delighted welcome on her face. “I did not know you were coming. Is Lady Donata with you? Mr. Brewster, good evening.”
So greeting us, she grasped the door the maid had kept half closed and flung it wide.
“We have just finished supping,” Gabriella continued. “Dreadfully early by London hours, I know. Shall you join us for coffee? Can I bring you anything, Mr. Brewster?”
Gabriella would break my heart with her kindness, which stemmed from her natural generosity.
“Might take a stroll,” Brewster said. “Fine night, ain’t it? I’ll leave you to it, guv.”
“The path up the hill leads to a lovely view.” Gabriella pointed out the door and to the right of the house. “You can see the river and the lights of Lyon.”
“Very nice.” Brewster regarded Gabriella with unfeigned fondness. “Give us a shout when you’re done with ’im.” He jabbed a thumb at me then ambled off in the direction Gabriella had indicated.
“Never mind, Marie,” Gabriella said to the waiting maid. “I know you are busy this evening. I’ll take my father in.”
The maid curtsied with a look as indulgent as Brewster’s and scuttled into the dim recesses behind the staircase. Gabriella took me by the hand and pulled me inside.
The entrance hall, paved in cool and echoing slate, was open to the next floor, with a gallery encircling above. This hall led to the public rooms on the ground floor and ended in long windows that overlooked the garden.
“Did Lady Donata not accompany you?” Gabriella asked me with a final glance out the door to the now-empty coach. “Nothing is amiss, I hope?”
“Not at all. If you cease for one moment, I will tell you. I came to see Emile.”
Gabriella’s dark brows rose. “Emile? Ah, I see. He has been very worried about Claude. Not bad news, I hope?” Her voice quavered with worry.
“No, indeed. Claude by now should have been sent home, if Vernet is reasonable. But I must—”
I broke off as a middle-aged woman, a little plump, with faded, once-golden hair, hurried out of a chamber in the back of the house.
“Gabriella, who has come?” she asked in French.
She stopped short when she saw me, her skirts swirling with the momentum. She regarded me with blue eyes that had once ensnared me with their wilting entreaty but now held hard suspicion.
“Captain,” Carlotta said stiffly.
I had already removed my hat, and now I bowed. “Madame Auberge. Forgive me for disturbing you. I came only to speak to Emile, as he was not at home.”
“Oh.” Carlotta regarded me with a mixture of bewilderment, rancor, and disdain. This was her territory, her patch, as Brewster would say, and I was the invader.
“It is about Claude and the murder,” Gabriella said quickly. “Mama, let us go and fetch Emile. I’m certain that what the captain has to say is important.”
“You go, Gabriella.” Carlotta stood her ground. “Do, child.”
She spoke French with some defiance, as though indicating she’d left her English origins behind her forever.
Gabriella, after a hesitant glance between us, hastened off toward the dining room, where the family must have just finished their meal.
I recalled the layout of the house from the brief call we’d paid when we’d first arrived.
Donata had taken over that visit, behaving every inch the aristocrat.
The servants of the house had rushed about trying to make her comfortable, while she took in everything with her cool assessment.
Carlotta had been as caught up in the servants’ undertaking, determined to prove her home worthy of a great lady.
Donata confided to me later that she’d adopted the arrogant persona on purpose, so that Carlotta would be distracted and not try to create any sort of scene with me. I’d warmed that Donata had put aside her own discomfort with the situation to keep our visit amicable.
Now, there was no one in the hall except Carlotta—my first wife—and myself.
“Are you well?” I asked, falling back on rote politeness.
“As well as can be expected,” Carlotta answered, still firmly in French. “Why have you come? Gabriella will stay home tonight. She has been gadding about too much of late. You took her to a soiree where a man was murdered, for heaven’s sake.”
The years fell away, and my impatience with Carlotta returned full force.
“He was not murdered at the soiree,” I said angrily. “But on a bridge in the city. It had nothing to do with the gathering, or me.”
“You are always rushing into danger,” Carlotta returned. “I shudder whenever Gabriella ventures to England. She comes home with hair-raising tales of your exploits, and you surround yourself with villains. I have decided—she will stay in this house until the wedding and visit you no more.”
I’d hoped the time apart from Carlotta would have curbed my temper, but it was not to be.
I advanced on her, my stick thumping on the slates. “She is my daughter. Not to mention a grown woman, able to visit whomever she pleases. Once she is Mrs. Devere, she can go where she likes.”
“Perhaps, but until then, Gabriella will stay under our roof. Besides, the major and I believe it might be best if she postpones the wedding, what with this scandal of Claude’s arrest. Or perhaps doesn’t marry Emile at all.”
Carlotta emphasized the word major, pointing out that her new husband outranked me.
“You’d make Gabriella miserable because Claude was imprudent?” I asked in amazement, though I lowered my voice, not wishing Gabriella and Emile to overhear. “I highly doubt that Claude committed this murder, and the gendarme captain doubts it as well.”
“He was arrested. I’ll not have my daughter associating with criminals.” Carlotta’s disparaging glance told me she considered me in that category.
“If you restrict her to young men who have never been rash then she will likely never marry. In any case, it was Claude who was arrested. I doubt Emile has sowed a wild oat in his life.”
“Does it matter?” Carlotta snapped. “I won’t have her marry into an undesirable family. Perhaps you do not understand that.”
My family had been nothing to hold up one’s head about, she meant.
My father had been a martinet, bankrupting the estate and leaving it derelict.
My cousin from Canada, who might or might not have a claim on the house—the courts would decide—now occupied it while I was kept by my second wife in homes belonging to her son.
Major Auberge, on the other hand, was the epitome of respectability, other than running off with other men’s wives, of course.
I wondered abruptly if Carlotta’s fear about bringing scandal upon Gabriella was tied to her guilt over abandoning me and unlawfully marrying Major Auberge. She’d had to keep up the pretense of faultless virtue, in case someone questioned the perfect life she’d built for herself.
Carlotta drew a breath to argue further, but I held up my hand to check her words. Gabriella and Emile were hastening from the back of the house, and I prayed they hadn’t heard us discussing them.
Emile gave no sign of it, though Gabriella had lost some of her brightness.
“Sir?” Emile asked in English. “Did you convince Captain Vernet to release Claude?”
“Shall we walk outside and discuss this?” I answered. “As my man pointed out, it is a fine evening.”
“Certainly,” Emile said before Carlotta could object. “Excuse me a moment, Madame Auberge. I really have been most concerned for my cousin. Excuse me, Gabriella.”
“I will walk with you,” Gabriella announced. The stubborn light in her eyes, so like what saw in my own every day, indicated she’d not be deterred.
I did not argue. I did not want the pair to begin married life by keeping secrets from each other.
Carlotta was clearly not happy that Gabriella stuck by her soon-to-be husband, and I could have uncharitably stated that she had never learned the habit of it, herself.
Then again, Carlotta had remained with Auberge all these years, so perhaps it was me she’d felt no loyalty to, not husbands in general.
Before I could utter anything unforgivable, I strode out of the house, slapping on my hat as I stepped into the cool evening air.
The sun was just slipping behind the hills, streaking the sky and its few clouds in scarlet and gold. Fields rippled across the land to lush woods on their edge, and the fresh scent of flowers from beds around the walkway scented the air.
It was a beautiful place, full of abundance, and it was no wonder Gabriella loved it so. I was glad, in spite of my anger at Carlotta, that she’d been able to grow up in such a setting.
We strolled a little way beyond the house, taking the path Gabriella had pointed out to Brewster, which wound up a gentle hill. Of Brewster, there was no sign.
Emile, oblivious to any discomfort of my past and present colliding, regarded me in both worry and hope while he waited for me to speak.
“Vernet will no doubt release Claude,” I told Emile as we walked. “He should be home soon, if he is not already.” I wondered if Claude would return home by himself or if his contingent of uncles and his father would escort him.
Emile exhaled in relief. “Thank you, Captain. I was certain you’d talk sense into Vernet. I am forever grateful, and I am certain Claude is as well.”
“I spoke at some length with Claude,” I said.
Emile’s sunny smile began to fade. “Did you? I—I thought you’d only see Vernet.”
I watched Emile closely. “Captain Vernet allowed me into Claude’s cell, and your cousin and I had an interesting conversation. Claude admitted that he’d been in a wine tavern earlier that night. And that he’d been seen arguing with Signor Gallo himself.”
“Ah.” Emile flushed. “Yes, I knew that. But Signor Gallo departed without him.”
“He did.” I slowed my steps, both to rest my leg and to fix Emile with a stern gaze. “I ascertained the second fact directly from the tavern keeper in La Guillotière.”
Emile’s uneasiness increased. “Did you?”
“Yes, the tavern keeper was very forthcoming.” I continued to study Emile, while he grew more and more flustered.
Gabriella regarded us both in worry. “What are you saying, Father?”
Emile turned quickly to her. “Perhaps you should return to the house, Gabriella.”
Gabriella lifted her chin with a hauteur worthy of Donata. “No indeed. I would like to hear the entire story. Did Claude scuffle with Signor Gallo? Is that the difficulty?”
“No, nothing of that sort.” I debated what to reveal, then decided that Gabriella ought to know what things Emile got up to. “The proprietor said you were there, Emile. With Claude. I’d like to know why you chose not to tell me this.”