An Ignorance of Means Read online

  Catherine nodded. Looking at the enormous clock that dominated the south wall of her room, she commented, "It is too late for today's mail, but I still must write to Maman. I don't have time to waste with untruths. I will tell her everything and perhaps when she receives my letter she can advise me about what to do. I can't imagine she would want me to suffer anymore."

  "We have to get you ready for the evening meal, madame. There is no time—"

  "A quick note, nothing more. I must unburden myself now. I'll write more tomorrow when we know if our scheme to outwit your master has succeeded. Is there paper and quill in here?"

  Marie nodded and scurried to obtain the implements from the closet that concealed paper and a lap desk as well.

  "Thank you." Catherine grasped both of the young servant's hands in hers, saying, "I can't make up for the mother’s love you've never known, but I can give you friendship. I think we both can benefit from having that lifeline. Now, let me write a few lines, and then I'll submit to your ministrations in preparation for our meal."

  Catherine turned to the pen and paper to write to her mother. Her hand hesitated. She had spoken to her mother in dreams, but the dreams were hers. Finally, she put the quill to paper:

  My dear Maman,

  I assure you that I am physically well, but for reasons I do not have time to explain here, I have been unable to contact you or receive word from you. I have found a way to assure we can communicate freely with no fear of interruption, and so I write these words to let you know the situation I find myself in here at Lac d'Or.

  Please do not blame yourself, dear Maman, but it is now apparent that my marriage was a terrible mistake. I have found that Robert married me only to secure an heir for his fortune, and the love and companionship that you and Poppa have enjoyed is not to be my lot.

  I feared sharing this with you, but have decided that if I cannot find my way out of this situation on my own, you were the only person I could turn to. I want to beg you not to tell Poppa. I can humble myself to you, but I do not want him to know of my humiliation.

  I cherish the love I grew up on in our home and miss you both terribly. I will write again soon. Please know that I await your advice as to what course I should take.

  Your loving daughter,

  Catherine

  Finishing the letter, she folded it and poked through the closet from which the paper came, looking for wax to seal the missive against anyone's prying eyes. Failing in her mission, she lit a candle and dripped the wax onto the paper. When it was cool, she pressed her lips against the seal and then called for Marie.

  "Madame?" Marie asked breathlessly when she appeared at the door.

  "Take good care that this goes into the post bag tomorrow. With God on our side, my mother will be reading it within a few days and so will be able to reply."

  "As you wish, madame. I will keep it safe," Marie said as she tucked the letter into the low neckline of her dress, "and make sure it begins its journey tomorrow. For now, let us ready you for your appearance at the table."

  And as Marie helped Catherine dress, arrange her hair, and paint herself for dinner, they had the most intimate conversation they had ever enjoyed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Your dinner is fast approaching, Robert. Who will you be welcoming to the table?" Berdine inquired over the consommé double at the table later that evening.

  "It is not the social event I envisioned. I made the acquaintance of two of the couples on my recent trip to Marseilles. The others are all our neighbors. I thought it appropriate to invite them for the first of what I hope will be many more dinners here at Lac d'Or."

  "Such an intimate event will be lovely practice for the more elaborate dinners to come," Berdine said to Catherine.

  "I assume those most familiar with us will be more forgiving if you make any mistakes. We must be sure when we entertain those who do matter there are no errors."

  "Our old friends matter, Robert. We haven't entertained since before your father died. He was sick so long." Berdine's comment revealed a crack in the brittle facade she usually presented.

  "Entertaining will be an investment and highlight our renewed fervor for commerce here at Lac d'Or. Our King is very interested in New France, and I think we have much to offer him." Robert did not look up from his soup plate.

  "And what will be served? Chef has become quite proficient with the classics, I feel. Duck would be so appropriate in this crisp fall weather. A very warming dinner, I've always believed."

  "The food is not my concern," Robert said, patting his lips with the linen napkin. "Catherine has made all those arrangements with Heloise. What do we have to look forward to?"

  The fruity wine appeared to have pleased Robert enough that it had mellowed his attitude. His question held not the tone of sneering sarcasm that he usually addressed his wife with, but was instead an honest inquiry into her progress as hostess. Catherine tried to match his tone with her reply.

  "Heloise has advised me, after consulting with Chef Reuben, that we will enjoy a vichyssoise to begin, an entrée of poached salmon and mussels, followed by a hearty beef dish." Trying not to meet her husband's eye, Catherine continued her recital of the menu. "A salad of field greens with a light vinaigrette, and then soufflé.”

  "Chocolate, I hope," Robert said. His good humor took Catherine aback.

  "We haven't decided, but I'm sure if I let Chef know you wish it to be chocolate, it will be." Catherine tried to match his tone, even though her heart was pounding with adrenaline. Her conversation with Marie had illuminated the fate of the correspondence between Catherine and her mother. At the table, she realized Robert had hunted and returned just before dressing for dinner. As far as she knew, he hadn't had time to go to his study. The mail Pierre normally delivered was probably still arranged in whatever order he had been instructed to leave it.

  She didn't have to wait! If there was a letter from her maman, it would be lying on his desk, unscorched by the fireplace flames to which Robert had consigned her parents' other missives. If she could visit his study before he did, she could read her mother's precious words. The letter she had left in Marie's hands would be on its way tomorrow, but Catherine might have the balm of her mother's missive tonight.

  "Your preference, my dear? I asked if you would be happy with a chocolate dessert." Robert's voice had sharpened.

  "Oh, yes. Chocolate is a fine choice," Catherine murmured. Once Robert was finished with her and had waved her to her bed, he wouldn't notice if she slipped out of her room and down to the first floor where his study was. Once in the study—always unlocked, she was sure—all she had to do was study the envelopes on the desk and find the one from her mother. Really, the whole escapade was yawn-inducing, it was so easy.

  "Chocolate it is! I have talked to Luc Patrepoin over at the vineyard to make sure we have only the finest for our guests," Robert continued. The servants removed the soup plates and replaced them with a delicate sole entrée.

  "Luc's family has been our vintner for so long! I remember when the two of you were just boys and got into the grapes just before harvest one year," Berdine commented. "His father was so angry!"

  "We managed to ruin a good percentage of his profit that year. I have never worked as hard as I did in making restitution for that adventure."

  Could the wine could account for the unique lightness of Robert's mood? Now his voice was wistful with nostalgia. If it were the wine, perhaps he would be too tired to stand at stud and Catherine could go right to his study when he fell asleep, snoring, on his couch.

  The rest of the meal seemed to arrive in the slow waves of a shifting dune on an arid desert. The dishes following the vichyssoise might as well have been made of sand itself, as little taste as it had in Catherine's mouth. She ate each course mechanically as she watched her husband's eyes droop and his color heighten with each glass of wine. Soon after the almond meringue, he slammed his glass down on the table.

  "I'm sorry, ladies. I mis
judged the distance to the table." Robert stood up and saluted them. "I am off to my chamber. Catherine, you are excused. I do not think my little soldier could stand to attention tonight," he said with a laugh, stumbling out the door of the dining room and toward the stairs.

  Berdine blushed at his crude exit, but Catherine barely registered his comments, she was so excited that her plan would come to fruition with so little danger. For the first time in a very long time, she felt the freedom of someone who has become master of her own fate and the power of taking the steering into her own hands. The captain of a new yacht could not feel freer than she! Making her excuses to Berdine, she swept out of the room and up the stairs. Thinking to give Robert time enough to begin snoring, she went to the salle de bain and rang for Marie.

  "Madame rang?" Marie was beginning to droop. The emotional upheaval of the day must have been rough on her, and Catherine doubted the girl had had any time to rest. While Catherine was at table, Marie had probably busied herself with the cleaning and mending of the extensive wardrobe in the closet off the boudoir. Now, at the door where she stood, Marie's red-rimmed eyes betrayed her fatigue.

  "Marie, help me off with these things. I have had a wonderful idea!" Catherine chattered as Marie helped her disrobe and filled the tub. Her enthusiasm for her plan overshadowed any concern she felt for the girl. By the time she was settled, she had outlined her plan for Marie. "Robert has had no chance to examine the mail today. If there is a letter from my maman, it is there on his desk in his study. The master has over-imbibed tonight, and I am sure he is sound asleep by now."

  "And how may I help you, madame?" the maid asked.

  "That is the beauty of it! I don't need your help. In fact, it will be much safer if I go myself. My husband is sleeping in his own room, a victim of a taste of good wine, so all I have to do is go downstairs and into the study."

  "I am sure no one will be about at this hour. If Monsieur Picard is asleep, even his valet will be tucked away, nodding off over some little business like polishing shoes or ironing cravats."

  "Dry me off, Marie, and wrap me in that warm woolen robe. I don't want to catch a chill."

  Marie did as she was bid and gave her mistress a spontaneous hug that Catherine returned warmly. As they clung briefly to each other, Marie whispered, "Godspeed, madame. I hope what you wish for is waiting there for you."

  "Merci, Marie." With those two words, Catherine cinched the belt of the robe more tightly around her and walked out the door and down the stairs. Although candles in sconces lined the lower hallway, only about one out of every four was lit. The moon shone in the glass surrounding the front door and peeped in from the rooms along her path, but the hall itself was dark. The shadows lay on the floor like wet rocks in a shallow stream.

  Finally, she found herself at the door of the study. She had been in the room only once. Robert had called her in one day, right after her arrival, to discuss her finances.

  "No need to bother yourself with money," he told her, "Heloise has a budget for the house and will not trouble you with it. You may spend what you like on clothes. Don't overindulge, though. As soon as you are enceinte, you will have no need of such finery and when you have come out the other end of your confinement, styles will have changed. There is little else to spend your pennies on." He seemed to think his comment about fashion was a good joke, but Catherine had not even smiled. No matter her reaction to his discourse, his emotional temperature did not change.

  I am becoming jaded, she thought. After the first few days, Robert's touch neither delighted nor displeased her. She felt nothing. Only when she discovered she might be reunited with her mother, if only through the spidery ink of the words in a letter, did she feel anything. Her emotions were like a piece of elastic that had been stretched so far it would never spring back into its original shape, and even her excitement at the development was subtle and short-lived.

  She stood outside the study door, her hand coming to rest on the knob. Once she found her way into the study, did she dare make a light? If anyone was out and about, they might wonder why the light was on so late. But then, the servants knew it wasn't their place to question, only to serve. A small light would not hamper and would make it that much easier to pick out her mother's letters from among all the others. As she turned the knob and pushed the door in, she fretted about where she might find candles.

  She took her time opening the door so that it wouldn't creak and give her away. When the door was finally completely open, she stepped into the dark room. Her eyes had to adjust as there was not even the dim light of the intermittent candles of the hallway to light the room.

  As her eyes adjusted, she moved toward the desk. Letters sorted into three neat piles made a column down its center. Catherine reached for the mound closest to her.

  Then she saw the glowing ember of a cigar across the room.

  "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Robert's voice croaked.

  Catherine stood like Lot's wife, unable to speak and unable to unroot herself from the spot.

  "Were you looking for something like this?" Robert asked. Raising his right hand, he waved a letter close to the cigar's fire, illuminating the stationery dimly. When he did, she saw he held two letters. One was the billet she had given to Marie. The other she knew was the letter from Maman she had come to read.

  "How did you know?"

  "Has my betrayal not rooted out all the trust from you?" He used his cigar to light a candle in an ornate holder.

  Catherine felt ill. Had Marie gone from her embrace, an embrace that felt like that of a sister, to the arms of Catherine's own husband? She knew that Robert wanted her to believe the girl had betrayed her, but Marie's heart was not steely enough to be so duplicitous. Catherine saw Robert using his power to undermine the bond she had begun to forge with the girl. He had to have forced Marie to confess and hand over the letter, but Catherine would not let him know she believed in her innocence.

  "Now we've dug out the last root of that weed, haven't we?" Robert held the cigar close enough to scorch the letters but not close enough to catch them on fire. "Your mother sends her regards."

  She stepped toward him, her hand out for the papers she would never hold.

  "I am sorry to hear you think our union has been a mistake. Here you are without anyone to turn to for comfort besides a dim-witted slut of a maid and a woman so deluded into ill health she cannot make the effort to rescue you. Even asking your father to come to your aid seems beyond her, from the letters I have read." Robert laughed. He held the cigar closer to the letters until they caught and he tossed them in the fireplace. She saw all the love and, surely, tears that had stained the paper go up in smoke as the letters curled and blackened. Robert rose suddenly and lunged at her. He grabbed one wrist, and twisted it up behind her as he crowded her towards the fire.

  "You do not understand your place here yet. I have been too kind, it appears. I give you the run of the house and my library when I do not require you, and this is how you repay me? Sneaking into my own sanctum and looking to steal from me?" His voice was whining and clotted with drink. "You will find out what it is like to be isolated. My valet will lead you to a room you will not be allowed out of until you have learned your lesson. If you do not go easily, he will make your lesson that much harsher."

  Catherine almost went to her knees, unbalanced, as Robert thrust her toward the servant who materialized out of the shadowed hallway.

  Malcolm, his valet. The man's face was flattened like a bulldog's and he had the muscles of a stevedore straining beneath his suit. She cried out as he grabbed her from behind and walked her out the door.

  "Get along, you loathsome, plotting little witch! I'll not have you ruining my plans!" Robert's stream of invective followed her as Malcolm tossed her into a room at the end of the hall. The lock he turned echoed in the cold, windowless cell.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Curled on the hard, rocky floor of the closet-sized room, Catherine woke to d
arkness. She tried to breathe, but the moldy smell of damp earth choked her and she coughed. A deep ache permeated her muscles and her bones seemed brittle with cold, as though they would break as easily as an icicle dangling from the eave. She pressed her palms against the floor, but the cold shot through the skin of her hands, traveling up her arms almost like a bolt of static electricity. Gathering her hands beneath her, her head fell forward, hitting the floor with a thump that rattled her teeth. She moaned. What did it matter? No one could hear her, and even if they did, everyone in the house was in Robert's thrall. No one could help her except herself.

  But helping herself had gotten her into this situation. If she had not decided to riffle through Robert's study, she wouldn't be lying on the floor. She might be waking up to a warm bath, the tub filled with lavender scented water that Marie—

  Marie! That heartless girl betrayed her. After all the secrets, all the teary apologies, Marie told Robert of the plan to rescue her mother's letters and now Catherine lay on the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. She knew she should think logically about where she was and how she might find a way out, but all she wanted was sleep. She drifted off again, and in the dream she was very far away from the hard, cold floor.

  "Catherine, you will find a way out of here," her mother said gently. This time, the two of them stood together under the arch of the trellis in the back garden of her childhood home. Red roses covered the lush green vines that grew up the lattice. "I know you are smart enough to figure it out."

  The dream Catherine bowed her head, shaking it in defeat. "I can't, Maman. I can't get out of the room, and I can't get out of the marriage. I am a prisoner," she cried, "I was a prisoner before Malcolm threw me through the door."