Chapter 34
XXXIV
Saint-Julien-by-the-Stream
Jacques was quiet for a few minutes after the tale was done. Our pace up the high road was slow, and we were only halfway between Saint-Julien and the chateau gates.
When previously I had recounted the story of my time with his father, I had omitted many of the more intimate details, for the sake of good taste if nothing else. But in this instance, there was really no way of obfuscating the facts, and I felt it was time that he should know.
“My father broke his word,” Jacques said finally. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
“It is—Cecile as much as said so. I believe your father betrayed his bargain with Lady Dayane, and Gévaudan’s woes—along with your condition—are the result.”
“A bargain he made under your guidance,” he accused, and then he seemed to catch on his own thoughts. “I have seen those scars on his hand, though he is almost never without gloves. Is this why he has never spoken of the Red Winter to me? Because he made this demon’s pact?”
“In part, no doubt.”
Jacques’s thoughts were sprinting now. “By the Lord. This is your remedy for my illness, isn’t it? You mean for me to make another deal with this Dayane.”
“If she is the cause, then I can think of no other way to cure you, Jacques.”
“But?”
“But, as you have correctly deduced, your father betrayed her. Dayane may be unwilling to treat with us a second time. Or she may still be waiting to claim her payment.”
“And what payment is that? Can we procure it?”
I let out a long breath. “That is the question, isn’t it? This is one of the many things I will need to ask your father,” I replied, with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
I had expected that Cecile might be able to simplify my task or offer some guidance, but Dayane’s disappearance only complicated matters further.
Why would the nymph abandon Cecile, her mortal advocate, now that danger had come again to Gévaudan?
Was she afraid? Was it some sort of reprisal for Antoine’s betrayal?
What do you make of it? I asked, daring to hope that my Guest had intuited something I could not.
I hate to agree with the hedge-witch, but she has the right of it: trouble.
Very helpful. Thank you.
Sebastian, this is your unfinished business. What do you expect me to say?
Nothing! Nothing. I am frustrated, that’s all.
I was also becoming increasingly distracted by our impending arrival at Chateau d’Ocerne.
I had not seen Antoine for twenty years.
His invitation to return had the air of a summons and I was not altogether sure what sort of welcome I should expect.
Had he finally forgiven me, or was it a reckoning he sought?
I hoped for the former, given he had offered me the bounty anew.
“Professor, I must speak to you about my father,” blurted Jacques, as though reading my thoughts.
I gave a small moan of trepidation. “More? Sir, I apologize if my account is not to your liking, but I am doing my best, and it is not always an easy tale to tell.”
“No, no. This apology is mine to make. I . . . I have not been truthful with you in one final thing.”
“By the Christ,” I muttered. “What now? Your falsehoods have nearly killed us both already, sir.”
“I know, and I can only hope you will forgive me one last time.” Jacques took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Professor, but my father did not send for you. He does not know you are coming, in fact.”
What?
“What?”
I stopped the horse in the middle of the road, earning some colorful rebukes from fellow travelers.
“Whatever do you mean, sir?” I asked, as calmly as I could.
“We had begun to despair! The Beast was claiming a new victim every night! My father refused to seek help from the other barons, or to speak to the villagers about the attacks; not even a word of reassurance. And you must understand—he would not tell us what happened during the Red Winter!”
“‘Us’? ‘We’? We who?” I felt the beginnings of some strong emotional upset. My heart was thundering, my face became very hot and my stomach seemed to be filling with simmering vinegar.
“Eloise and I,” he said. Then his brow creased. “Now that I think on it, I believe she knew. She knew something was . . . wrong with me. Perhaps that is why she refused to wait any longer.”
“And what did you do, your wife and you? Speak!”
“I knew a trick to get into my father’s study.
We sought a way to reach the others at first—the Normans and Bauterne, the heroes who vanquished .
. . the ones I knew had hunted the Beast in the past. But Papa had kept nothing, only the original contract.
” Jacques swallowed; he seemed afraid to continue. “And then I found your letters.”
“You—you read my letters? My personal letters?” I closed my eyes in chagrin. I remembered the state I had been in when I sent those letters to Antoine.
“We had no other avenues to pursue! What were we to do?” he countered, growing angry now. “Do you believe I wanted to read the sickening prose of my father’s foul—”
I seized Jacques by the front of his waistcoat. “Have a care what next comes out of your mouth, boy,” I said very quietly, biting the end of each word. “This is not an apology like any I have ever heard. If you wish to resume your journey home in my wagon, you will explain yourself properly.”
I would like to point out, offered Sarmodel, that I wanted you to kill him weeks ago.
I did not trust myself to respond. I released the young lord and stepped back from the wagon.
Jacques collected himself, simply breathing in and out for a few seconds. “I am sorry. Please. You have come this far. Please, Professor. We need you!”
“Do you expect me to believe that—My God, the money. I take it this means the new bounty is also a lie?” I could barely get the words out.
“It is. Please, Professor. Papa cannot turn you away now that you are here.”
“Oh, but he can, sir!” I snapped, clutching my head in my hands. “And what fantasy did you concoct to explain your absence?”
“I . . . I quarreled with my parents the day I left. I told them only that I was leaving Gévaudan to find help.”
Back in the mountains, I think it was. I said, “Kill him now,” right after he transformed into a—
Be silent, Sarmodel!
I stared at Jacques, trembling. “You are asking me, young sir, to arrive unannounced and unexpected to your father’s house after decades of estrangement, and there to throw myself upon his mercy.”
Jacques looked ashamed, but no less earnest. “I am. I will not let anything happen to you, I swear it.”
“Oh!” I raised my hands heavenward. “Such reassurance from the young lord who can barely wipe his own backside! Do you understand, you little idiot, that your father could have me committed to trial for heresy? Or clapped in irons and drowned in the sea—your own words, I believe. The things I told him—the things I have told you—my God!”
“One night, Professor. Stay just one night, and see.” Jacques’s hollow eyes implored me.
We remained thus, staring at each other, for a painful few moments.
Then I stepped in close to him. It was gratifying to see him flinch, but I had decided against a physical confrontation.
I elbowed Jacques aside and opened my trunk, situated beside him in the wagon.
With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, I took my courtly wig out of its case and placed it on my head, adjusting the cloth cap and powder-gray curls over my hair as best I could.
Then I fastened my sword and pistols to my belt; best to be prepared for whatever awaited.
“One night,” I said, thrusting a finger in Jacques’s face. I whistled the horse into motion again. “And I expect my expenses to be paid in full before dinner.”
It was a strange feeling, returning to the courtyard of Chateau d’Ocerne after twenty years. Even bereft of its crowds and pageantry, the parterre courtyard with its gurgling fountains had an imposing grandeur.
There were differences. It had been springtime when I first assigned myself to the hunt before the Bishop of Mende; it was close to winter now and the gardens were shedding the last of their autumn foliage.
The outbuildings were as I remembered them, though in better condition.
And everywhere were people occupied with the business of running the chateau, carrying wood or flour or baskets of linens.
It seemed the Ocerne estate had not suffered the same dilapidation as the rest of the barony—on the contrary, Antoine as lord had added conspicuous luxuries and embellishments. I did not see this as a good sign.
The chateau’s state of high alert was also much in evidence. Guards watched us as we approached the gatehouse, and the walls were bristling with armed men. We were stopped within moments of stepping inside.
“Do you have business at Chateau d’Ocerne?” asked a young guardsman.
“We do indeed.” Jacques stood with some effort, removing his hood. “Notify my mother that I have returned.”
The ensuing commotion was quite exhausting.
A short while later, I found myself in the opulent marble-floored parlor of the chateau, sharing a very uncomfortable silence with Jacques. At his request, the guards had cleared the room of staff and attendants, and closed the doors behind them.
Sebastian, I am hungry, complained Sarmodel.
I know, my love. As am I.
In truth, I was ready to jump out of my skin. My eyes flicked back and forth between Jacques and the grand doors, expecting Antoine to enter at any moment.
“Jacques—Jacques!” The doors swung open and a tall woman entered the parlor.
She was flanked by the elderly chateau butler and the housekeeper, who were both hurrying to keep up with her.
I felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up beneath my collar.
She could only be the Lady of Chateau d’Ocerne, Jacques’s mother. Antoine’s wife.