La Flamme (Historical Romance) Read online

  Garreth tried to keep his anger under control. "What do you have to say that would be of interest to me, Your Excellency? Will you have me confess to crimes I didn't commit to save his majesty embarrassment? My loyalty does not go that far, and his majesty's loyalty to me is in question."

  The archbishop dropped down on the chair, and was forced to crane his neck upward at the young duke. "Have a care what you say. And as for your anger, I can understand it. In this most unhappy event, I have endeavored to seek the truth, and I believe I have succeeded."

  Garreth stared at him for a long and poignant moment. "Have you indeed?"

  "I know quite well how difficult this had been for you and your mother."

  "I care not for your sympathy unless it will translate into gaining my release."

  "Your mother is a very persuasive woman, Your Grace. She would not relent until she had an audience with the king. They talked for hours. On her insistence, others were questioned, and some interrogations lasted for days."

  Garreth picked up a log and tossed it onto the fire, causing sparks to fly. "Why was I not allowed to speak, since I am the accused?"

  "I know only that the king has sent me to put questions to you now."

  Garreth appeared uninterested. "I have questions myself, but I have doubts that you can give me the answers, Your Excellency."

  "Hold your bitterness. Your Grace. In due time, you will understand what I am about. I beg you to be seated so I won't have to look up to you."

  Reluctantly, Garreth sat on a frayed, velvet-covered stool, his eyes riveted on the archbishop's face. "How is my mother?"

  The archbishop allowed himself to smile slightly. "Her grace is most formidable, charming, and loyal to you. In truth, I believe the king was quite intimidated by her."

  Garreth could imagine his mother daring to take King Charles to task. Still, he doubted that the archbishop was here for his benefit. "Say what you will and leave me in peace. I'm certain that my fate has already been sealed."

  "Not at all, Your Grace." The archbishop met his eyes. "Have you any knowledge of the identity of your

  accuser?"

  Garreth's lashes swept over his eyes and he stared at the man. "I've heard that the servants at Woodbridge Castle unanimously agree that it was my soldiers who attacked them. I had supposed that they were my accusers."

  "Many of them were questioned, and most of them were confused. They say it happened so quickly. But there is one who spoke loudest and crows longer about your guilt."

  Now Garreth's eyes flamed with smoldering anger. "Tell me who it is, and bring him before me. It is only just that he face me as he weaves his lies."

  The archbishop watched Garreth carefully to gauge his reaction. "Your accuser is your cousin, Cortland Blackthorn."

  There was a note of disbelief in Garreth's voice. "Cortland. But why?" He fell silent as he tried to remember what his mother had told him. "It was Cortland who first informed my mother that Woodbridge Castle had been attacked. He was most adamant that I go into hiding while he tried to clear my name."

  The archbishop nodded. "That's much the same as what your mother told us."

  "Did the king believe her?"

  "It would appear so," he said. "On his majesty's instructions, Cortland Blackthorn was brought to London for interrogation. We also questioned many from Wood-bridge Village and the surrounding countryside. As you can see, we were most diligent in our quest for the truth."

  "No doubt," Garreth said dryly.

  The archbishop continued. "Some of the most damning testimony against your cousin came from the landlord of an inn near Woodbridge. It seems that Cortland Blackthorn was there one night boasting about what he intended to do to you."

  "Cortland always was a fool."

  "Mr. Ludlow, the landlord, told of the hatred your cousin has for you, and how he bragged about bringing you down. Apparently he hoped to see you imprisoned and eventually beheaded."

  Garreth waved his hand dismissively. "Cortland isn't capable of such a plan. He has never been accused of being overly intelligent, and he's certainly not skillful enough for such an immense undertaking."

  "We do not believe that he acted alone in this treachery. The innkeeper, and other witnesses, spoke of a mysterious woman who met Blackthorn at the inn. But we were unable to discover her identity, and your cousin insisted that he met no woman at the inn, but his denial was unconvincing."

  Garreth was still skeptical. "While imprisoned here, I have had much time to reflect. I have lived every day under the threat of death, so it no longer holds any fear for me."

  "We were fortunate in finding the guilty one."

  "So you say, but I am still not convinced. What does Cortland have to say about the accusations?"

  "I questioned your cousin myself, and after three hours, he began ranting about how you were responsible for the death of the woman he loved. He had for years plotted your downfall. And he almost succeeded, at least in his majesty's eyes."

  Garreth was astounded. "I hardly know my cousin. And as to my knowledge, I have caused no woman's death."

  The archbishop related the details of Cortland Blackthorn's plan, while Garreth listened in disbelief.

  "I cannot credit that he caused the murder of innocent people out of revenge for me." Garreth was stunned by the truth. Then he asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. "Is there news of my wife and her brother?"

  "There was a wide search along the stream and surrounding area," the archbishop said sadly, folding his hands in a pose of prayer. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but it is assumed that they both drowned, and the search has ended."

  "I can't accept that."

  The archbishop was again watchful. "His majesty has a dilemma. We need to have the boy declared dead so his great-uncle can inherit. But the king does not want your wife to be declared dead because those that support the Woodbridge family might object."

  Garreth's lip curled cynically. "You keep her alive to safeguard the alliance. The boy can be proclaimed dead because another member of the Woodbridge family will take his place and reside at the castle."

  "You have great insight."

  "Archbishop, you know me so little. Even if you had asked me to declare my wife dead, I would not have done so. I still need positive proof before / believe that Sabine no longer lives."

  "Perhaps it is too soon to speak of such matters, Your Grace. In the future, when she has been forgotten, we shall most certainly sign her death certificate. After all, you will eventually need an heir."

  There was hostility in Garreth's dark eyes. "Such a practical decision."

  The archbishop stood, knowing the duke's anger was justified. He felt shame for having participated in such an injustice. "You are free to leave. His majesty asks only that you go directly to your country estate and remain there until tempers cool. There will be many who will still insist that your cousin was innocent and sacrificed on your behalf. They will find a way to blame the king."

  "What will happen to Cortland?"

  "There will not be a public trial because he has already admitted the crime. His death will be forthcoming. The sooner this incident comes to a conclusion, the sooner people will forget."

  Garreth stood, wishing it could be his hand that would strike Cortland dead for the black deed he had done and the dishonor he had brought to the Blackthorn name. "I want to see my cousin—there are questions I would put to him. Perhaps he has knowledge of my wife and her brother."

  "He has been questioned repeatedly and will say only that the death of your wife is his revenge on you."

  Garreth had not known that Cortland hated him—it was so unbelievable. "I must be allowed to speak to him," he insisted.

  "That will not be permitted. His majesty wants you to leave London tonight, drawing as little attention to yourself as possible."

  Garreth had always revered his king, but now he was disillusioned. He looked about the room that had been his prison for so many weeks. "I leave wit
h no regret. I have been imprisoned here without being allowed a voice to defend myself."

  "You are feeling embittered, and I cannot blame you."

  "May I see the king?"

  "Not at this time, I'm afraid."

  "So, I have become an embarrassment to him."

  "You must not think—"

  "Where is my mother? I am eager to leave London; there is a stench coming all the way from St. James Palace."

  The archbishop offered his hand to Garreth, but the duke ignored the gesture so he let it drop to his side. "Her grace is waiting for you in a boat outside the Tower gate."

  Garreth picked up his cape and flung it about his shoulders. "It will be a long time before I return to London."

  "I would feel much the same as you, Your Grace. These are troubled times, and one does not always know where to look for one's enemies."

  "Or one's friends. Those who have come to me under the guise of friendship have turned away when my need was the greatest. Will you give his majesty my . . . regards."

  The archbishop looked away. "Go with God and with my blessing."

  13

  Sabine stood on the rolling deck of the ship that would take them the short distance across the Strait of Dover to Calais. She glanced down at her simple blue woolen gown and reached up to adjust the peasant scarf that covered her red hair, hoping no one would recognize her in this disguise.

  Her eyes lingered on the mammoth chalk hills until they began to fade in the distance. A sudden ache of homesickness struck her, and she reached out, taking Richard from Marie. She watched England disappear in an eerie fog, wondering how long it would be before they returned.

  Marie saw Sabine's forlorn expression and wanted to cheer her. She touched Richard's curly head. "I find joy in watching this child grow. The two of you will always be welcome with us."

  "Thank you, Madame. We will try not to be a burden, and I will help in any way I can."

  Marie watched Sabine closely as she spoke. "Jacques' genius is in knowing how to make the people laugh, and what will make them cry. His burden has been that he has never had an actress who could do equity to his direction."

  "Tis a pity, Madame."

  Marie's eyes glittered. "I have seen him keep an audience enthralled for five acts, and have them pleading for more. Those little plays he staged in England did not show his true ability."

  "I found it amusing to act in his plays, although I do not know how long I could have been convincing as a lad."

  Marie leaned on the railing, watching as fog engulfed the ship. "Would you consider acting for my husband when we reach France?" she asked. "You took direction well enough and delivered in a clear voice. You speak French like one born to my country. What a great actress you will become, with Jacques and I to guide you! You will do this for us, non?"

  "I would do that gladly, Madame, as long as I am able. But once we reach France, and I inform my uncle what happened to Richard and myself, he is certain to send for us."

  Marie clasped her hands gratefully. "This is as it should be. But it will take time to exchange letters, non? Jacques has agreed to give a performance at the La Monde in Calais tomorrow night. The landlord saw a performance in Dover and was most excited when he learned that we were returning to France. He begs us to perform for him—is that not wonderful?"

  "It is indeed," Sabine replied, happy for the de Bail-lards' good fortune.

  "I go now to tell Jacques that you remain with us in Calais. Until," she said, smiling, "you go to your uncle."

  "Madame, you understand that if I do this, I must perform as a boy, lest someone recognize me."

  "Yes, that is understood."

  Sabine watched Marie hurry across the deck. She was glad to have the chance to repay the kindness to the de Baillards for all they had done for her and Richard. She looked down at her brother, who had been listening to her conversation with Marie.

  "Sabine, why do you want to act like a boy—you are only a girl."

  She smiled at him. "Only a girl, am I—well you are only a small boy."

  He nodded. "But everyone knows I am a boy. They do not always know that you are a girl."

  She had to smile at his shrewdness. "Richard, when we reach France, I am going to ask you to help me become a deceiver. I want you to speak only French. You know the language very well, so don't pretend otherwise."

  With a small boy's reasoning, Richard looked at her stubbornly. "Why do we have to speak French—we're English?"

  She could understand his confusion. "Never forget who you are, Richard. But we are going to play a game. Would you like that?"

  His eyes brightened. "I like games. What shall we play?"

  "We are going to see how long we can fool others into believing that we are French. The first one to fail forfeits the game."

  His eyes gleamed with the challenge. "I will not lose, you will, Sabine."

  "There is more to the game than just speaking French,

  Richard. We must change our names because we cannot play a French game with English names. What would you like to be called?"

  He set his chin stubbornly, reminding her of their father. "I shall not play if I must change my name."

  She relented, placing him on his feet and smiling.

  "Very well, but I shall change mine. You must help me

  keep my name a secret. When others are about, I will be

  known as Antoine de Chavaniac, and you will be my

  brother." |

  Richard shook his head and tears gathered in his eyes. "I want to go home."

  "Richard," she said, hugging him tightly, "I have told you before that we cannot go home yet a while. It is very important that you understand this and do as I ask."

  He wiped his tears with a chubby little hand. "I will, Sabine, but I won't like it."

  She led him to a protected part of the deck, away from the chilling wind. For now it was her and Richard against unknown and faceless enemies. Garreth Blackthorn was a dangerous adversary, and if he suspected they were in France, he would surely send someone after them, or come for them himself.

  Cortland Blackthorn smiled bitterly as he walked between the two guards who escorted him down a dark, narrow passage to his execution. He had no fear of death. He wished he could think clearly, but his mind was a dark, swirling wasteland. He wanted to feel emotions so he could take his hatred for Garreth with him to his death—he wanted it to be his last conscious thought. He'd prayed that Garreth would come today so he could taunt him as a last triumph. But Garreth had not even acknowledged him, and that was the final insult.

  In all this, Cortland did have one thread of satisfaction, because, no matter how his tormenters had questioned and tortured him to make him tell who had been his accomplice, he had not told them about Eugenia Meredith. She must have known terror when he had been arrested, fearing he would name her as a companion in his conspiracy. He wondered what she thought when she learned that he had gone against their agreement and implicated Garreth in the crimes.

  He gnashed his teeth. Of course, Garreth had walked free, but his name was tarnished nonetheless. Cortland's eyes gleamed. There would be many who would believe that Garreth had plotted the attack on Woodbridge and that he, Cortland, was the innocent sacrifice to save the family honor.

  As the guards led him into a secluded courtyard, he looked up at the sky, thinking it would rain later in the day, but he would not see it. His execution was to be private, with only the four guards and an executioner in attendance. In this, the last moments of his life, he was still of no consequence—it was a fitting end, he thought.

  When they reached Calais, Sabine immediately sent word to her uncle informing him that she and Richard were in France and wished to visit him. Weeks passed and still she waited for a reply. It was the day of their last performance in Calais when Sabine finally received a letter, but it was not from her uncle; instead it was from someone representing him. With sadness, she read the letter to Marie and Ysabel.
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  "Madame, on behalf of the marquis de Chavaniac, I send you a warning not to press your claims further. The marquis is very aware that his niece and nephew met a tragic end. If you persist in identifying yourself as Sabine Woodbridge Blackthorn, you will be punished severely."

  There was a long moment of silence. Then Sabine looked at Marie and Ysabel for guidance. "What shall I do?"

  "The man is a fool," Marie stated flatly. "You will stay with us, of course. We soon leave Calais and play in the Provinces until we have perfected our act. Only when we are ready, will we go to Paris. There, others besides me will acknowledge my husband's genius and your great talent."

  Sabine gripped the letter in her hand. "Since my uncle will not believe me, Richard has no one to champion his cause."

  Ysabel, always wise, commented forcefully. "One does not need a champion when one has friends. You will remain with us until you are ready to return to England. Justice will be yours in the end."

  So it was that Sabine took the name of Antoine de Chavaniac as her own. Even when not performing, she wore the attire of a young boy, to hide her identity.

  Jacques brought two more actors and an actress into the troupe as they gained in reputation. However, the new members knew Sabine only as Antoine de Chavaniac, and they thought it strange that the young Antoine was so reclusive. Sabine and Richard now had their own wagon, and when she wasn't onstage, she spent her time with her brother.

  As Marie had predicted, the de Baillard Players traveled the Provinces, acting in small towns and villages. Sometimes they stayed only one night, and other times they performed for a week or more.

  Out of concern that Richard was growing up without direction, each day Sabine would instruct him in manners and courtly etiquette. Like most small boys, he rebelled against the refinements, preferring to run wild and free. At night, by lantern light, she began to teach him to read. She found that he had a quick mind and hungered for knowledge.

  The de Baillard Players slowly began to obtain the recognition Marie felt they deserved. They received so many requests to perform that Jacques had to refuse many of them. At first, they played only the small villages, and then larger towns welcomed them as well. The crowds grew larger and a particular favorite with them was a young man of personable manner, known as Antoine de Chavaniac.