Her Ladyship's Echo

CHAPTER 6: Her Ladyship's Echo

November 1901

Philippe has been ordered to the fortress at Crécy by Émile Loubet, the lord President of France. I begged him not to go, all the while knowing full well that he would not refuse the call of his country. He set out this morning by carriage into Paris, where he will board the train to the coast. He promised that he would send a letter by express post as soon as he arrived at the fortress and received his orders. I have yet to understand why Loubet has summoned the captains of the army, but there are whispers of unrest in Austria and Prussia. I cannot bear the thought that he should go to war. I have already lost my Erik to scarlet fever and two other souls to still birth, I believe I shall die if I lose my Philippe as well.

I felt my eyes prickle with tears as I read the first entry in Lady de Chagny's journal. It was the dawning of a new century, and yet her ladyship's only thought was of her husband and the three children she had lost. She was utterly alone, shut up in the chateau built for her by her beloved husband, fighting against the sickness brought with the cold rains of winter. Her heart went out with her husband; her prayers went up to God to protect him and to bring him home to her quickly.

It is now three weeks since Philippe was summoned to Crécy, and I have heard nothing save that he arrived safely at the fortress. I have written to him perhaps half of a dozen times, but have received no response. News came from the city that much of the countryside is stricken with pneumonia, and a good number of the cities of the coast are stricken as well. I have went to the parish church to hear Mass every morning since Philippe rode out, and yet I sometimes feel as if my life has been abandoned by God. What more have I to lose if Philippe is taken from me? Shall everyone I love be caught up to heaven but me?

I have ordered the servants to remove themselves from the house and take the Christmas pleasantries with them. My maid, Rachel Howard, dissolved into tears when I bid them all go home to their families. She could not abide the thought of my being left alone in the house for Christmas. I have no stomach for the company, for the garlands and taffeta bows, and the tree bedecked with ornaments. I will be left alone with my despair, and I will do penance at Mass for the sins for which I sit under condemnation. I know that God cannot give me back my husband or my children, but perhaps my prayers will bid Him catch me up to be with them. If my Lord shall not do it, I shall take matters into my own hands and bid my friends pray me from punishment.

"My Lord, have mercy," I whispered, hastily making the sign of the cross. "The poor woman."

I cannot bear the emptiness of this house, and yet I am sickened at the thought of it filled with company if I cannot have Philippe and Erik with me. The news of my husband's death has reached the priest at the parish. He has come to call several times with prayers and food from my Christian brothers and sisters and with words of comfort that ring hollow in my ears. I have said confession each time he visits, and performed more penance than he commanded to beg forgiveness for the stain of my sins. I have taken the Holy Communion, with the blessed wine of the Savior's blood. I know of nothing more I can do.

The deed has been done. I am to leave this horridly empty house and all of her ghosts behind me. I have been haunted to the brink of insanity and I have heard the Mass more often during the past months than I have in my entire life. Rachel will come with me, though she is sore to leave her sister and prattling mother behind. She is a good, clever girl. I believe she pities me. Who would not? After all, I am a childless widow at the age of twenty-six. We leave by carriage in the morning. I am to stay with my brother, Charles, and his wife at their manor house in Orleans. And what joyous news arrives with their invitation to their poor, heartbroken sister! My sweet sister-in-law Elizabeth is with child!

I closed her ladyship's journal and put it aside. My cheeks were wet with tears as I thought over the despair of Marguerite de Chagny. I wanted to burrow beneath the blankets and weep until I was much too tired to do more than sleep.

There was a gentle knock on the door and I brushed away the tears angrily. "I am finished with the tray, Madeline," I said, struggling to keep the sadness out of my voice as I adjusted the hangings to close tighter around me.

"Mlle Leroux?" came the voice of Nicolas Lancaster. "What the devil is the matter?"

He crossed the room in all but a run and threw the hangings back as I tucked the journal away beneath my pillows. His dark eyes took in the red splotches on my face from sunburn, the puffiness of my eyes from crying, and the sorrow flooding over my entire being. "Good Lord, girl, what has become of you now?"

I saw M. Lancaster's dark eyes staring at me, a concerned look clouding their laughter, and felt as if the ground were rushing away from me and up to meet me at once. My head was swimming, and I was relieved to know that I was sitting firmly on the bed. Desperately, I searched around me for something to keep me latched firmly to consciousness but to no avail. I had no more than locked my gaze on the shadowed eyes of Ann Boleyn before I felt myself falling through the mists of unconsciousness.

What was apparently only a few minutes later, I awoke to find myself in the arms of Nicolas Lancaster. He was looking down at me with fear and worry creasing his handsome face. He held me close to his chest like a child, my head resting on his shoulder. It was a comforting thing to awake and be held so gently. I felt no surprise, embarrassment, or unease at being in his arms.

"There's our girl," he said soothingly, glancing back over his shoulder. "Fetch me some cold towels and wine, Madeline. It appears she has just fainted."

He turned back to me, relief flooding his features. His large, warm hand pushed my hair back from my forehead. "You gave me quite a scare, fainting on me like that," he muttered, a soft smile ghosting over his lips. He took the cold towel that Madeline handed to him and began dabbing at my face with it. "You'll take some wine in a moment, but let's get your bearings back first."

"Thank you, M. Lancaster," I whispered, savoring the feeling of the cold towel on my face.

"Good Lord, girl, if you're going to scare me like that, the least you can do is call me by my given name," he replied in mock indignation. He set me back against the pillows, the towel still against my face. "Here, sip this for a moment."

I did as I was bid, taking the cup of wine from him and sipping it slowly. He left the bed to go to Madeline, to whom he began whispering feverishly. They had their heads together for several moments, and I fought a strange surge of jealousy at the sight. I looked away, into the seductive eyes of Queen Anne, wishing that I possessed her cunning and wit with men.

At long last, M. Lancaster turned away from Madeline, who scurried out of the room and shut the door softly behind her. "Now let's have it," he demanded softly, perching on the bed next to me. "Say my given name and have it done and finished with."

"Nicolas," I mumbled, purposely looking anywhere but in his dark eyes. I could see him shake his head out of the corner of my eye, his perfect jaw firmly set.

"Again. Louder, if you please, madam."

"Nicolas," I chimed, a little louder.

"Again."

"Nicolas."

"Once more."

"Nicolas."

He inclined his head towards me and moved further up onto the bed. He leaned over my thighs, one hand on either side of my hips. "Good. I'd very much like it if you would not call me M. Lancaster anymore."

Copyright © 2008 The Mistress Snape