Chapter thirty-five
Darcy’s stood on the edge of the dance floor, her body swaying in time with the liquid tones of the music as she watched couples spin by. Gabriel had suggested she stay and mingle with their guests while he had wandered off with a promise to find Halley, so she was taking the opportunity to sit this one out and watch the others dance while she enjoyed a short break. The doors to all of the chateau’s salons had been thrown wide open and the largest of the rooms was serving as a ballroom with music provided by a string quartet and an accompanying pianist at the far end of the room.
Her eyes scanned the crowd. Diane drifted by, looking much younger than her fifty-three years in a sleek pale-mint coloured gown. The straight across neckline and simple cut would have been considered suitable for her age and drawn no comment one way or another but Diane had taken things a step further, choosing a gown inset with skin–toned illusion panels flanking the bodice which ended in short sleeves of the same nude fabric, making the bodice appear as if either side was sheer. This, plus the hand-sewn lines of seed-pearls and sequined flowers accenting the panels transported the gown from the merely modest to subtly sexy.
Darcy thought it took someone with Diane’s savoir faire and flawless deportment to pull the look off with aplomb but from the admiring glances of the men in the room and most especially from the man she was dancing with, her style was appreciated. Darcy watched them dance by in practised unison, wondering if this was the new lover Diane had mentioned over lunch weeks before. He looked about the right age and had monopolised Diane all evening despite several approaches for dances from other men. Diane, Darcy noted with interest, did not appear to be objecting to his attention.
Diane was not the only lady looking lovely this evening; as she watched, Genevieve, Gabriel’s twin sister spun past in the arms of her husband. Five months pregnant, she looked serenely elegant in a Grecian inspired gown that accommodated her growing bump. That Gabriel had a twin sister been something of an unexpected surprise but when he’d added, quite nonchalantly, that twins ran in the family and he also had older identical twin brothers Darcy had needed time to catch her breath.
Genevieve was one of his four sisters; another circled past in the arms of her partner and wearing a vintage-inspired A-line dress in bright red, a glittering diamond necklace nestled above the décolleté neckline. Darcy tried to remember her name –Marion, she thought. She’d been introduced to so many this evening that her head had started to spin from unfamiliar names and faces.
Even Mlle PA-BA, who now had a name, which Darcy could not, for the moment remember, looked both sophisticated and elegant in an indigo-hued skirt and top ensemble that featured a pointed peplum overskirt fluttering at her narrow hips. The look would have been a little bit Miss Moneypenny except for the thigh-high side split that turned it from staid to sexpot. Darcy mused briefly on the thought that French women seemed to have a particular taste in clothing infused with their mother’s milk. From the longing looks Darcy had caught Mademoiselle casting in the direction of Gabriel earlier; she thought she may have deduced why his personal assistant had been less than cordial to her. She hoped Gabriel would not need to look for a new PA anytime soon but perhaps their engagement and marriage might put paid to any romantic daydreams Mlle had towards her boss. She certainly hoped so.
Darcy was running her eyes over the other guests, indulging in a spot of pleasurable people-watching when she caught a glimpse through the gyrating dancers of what she thought might be Rosie’s pastel pink frock on the far side of the crowd, nearest the open doors. Wondering what might have brought Rosie downstairs from playing with the new Madeleine doll set that Gabriel had given her she waited for another gap to confirm that it was her daughter and not some other guests’ dress she had peeked. It took several attempts at peering through the crowd before she was able to confirm that it was Rosie.
That second fleeting gap had also revealed that she was standing holding the hand of a man Darcy assumed was one of Gabriel’s security detail. She knew she shouldn’t be worried but some deep primordial mother-instinct told her that something was wrong with the picture. Darcy started skirting round the dancers as quickly as she was able, moving in Rosie’s direction.
Half-way round, her view of the pair cleared sufficiently that she could see that the man holding Rosie’s hand in his was not the hired security but instead, a member of the party wait-staff. The tray of drinks he was holding up near his face and the uniform black-ribboned stripes down his trouser legs told her this but something still felt decidedly off. Although socially confident, Rosie was not normally comfortable enough with strangers to hold hands.
The dark-haired man’s face was turned away but as she approached he turned. Her heart froze mid-beat as she recognised Patrick, disguised in a black wig and with darkened eyebrows. The gloating smirk upon his face, however, was all Patrick. As she opened her mouth to shout a warning, he cocked his head in Rosie’s direction and used the elbow that held the tray to push back his jacket just far enough that she could see a knife in a sheath strapped to his belt. He shook his head and pursed his lips tightly together to indicate that she should remain silent as he backed out of the room, pulling Rosie along with him.
Darcy followed, her mind blank of all else except her daughter’s safety -pushing past the last few guests who were between her and the door.
The foyer was empty of anyone that might help –guests either dancing in the large salon or sitting at candlelit tables in the dining room, chatting and drinking. Patrick had dumped the tray of drinks down on the table next to the vase of hydrangeas. Still grasping Rosie to him he used his free hand to give Darcy a ‘come-hither’ gesture before turning and heading swiftly along the hall towards the eastern turret, disappearing with Rosie through the door to the turret stairwell. Panic rising in her throat, Darcy followed without hesitation.
As she pushed through the door an arm shot out to grab her around the waist. She felt the sharp prick of the knife in her side as Patrick pulled her away from the door and towards the descending stairs. Rosie was standing on the landing watching, a troubled look on her little face, but with Patrick using Darcy as a human shield, the knife was not visible to her.
“You be going back on upstairs with you Rosie darlin’,” Patrick ordered his daughter in a tone that brooked no objection. “Mummy and Daddy are just going to have a wee walk and talk alone out in the garden for a minute or two.” The words might have been innocent on their own but his tone was sinister, leaving Darcy wondering how that ‘walk and talk’ might end.
Rosie nodded and ran off up the turret stairs in the direction of the children’s tower. Darcy let out a sigh that her precious daughter was at least safe then began to think how she might get herself out of her current predicament. Nothing useful was coming to mind.
Patrick turned his attention to Darcy, poking her with the point of the sharp knife with enough force that she was sure it had drawn blood. She tried to hold back her sharp gasp as the blade bit into the tender flesh of her waist but her response was involuntary, causing her ex-husband to laugh unpleasantly.
“You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you babe?” Patrick’s words were slurred, indicating that he wasn’t entirely sober. Not a good sign, Darcy knew from experience. He’d always been a nasty drunk and alcohol brought out the worst of his demons.
“What do you want?” the question seemed moot but she couldn’t help asking.
“Why you of course, my love,”
“But what for?” she tried to be reasonable. “The last time we spoke you were leaving me for another woman in another country.” She couldn’t be bothered to mention the baby.
“I changed my mind and decided we should stay together.” Patrick didn’t add the unnecessary detail that his girlfriend’s husband had convinced her to stay with him and raise the child as their own. Or that he’d turned out to be some Brazilian big-wig with friends in high places who could make Patrick’s life a short-live
d hell if he tried to so much as step off a plane or cross over one of Brazil’s many borders.
“Unlike you, it seems, living with your boyfriend and exposing my children to your debased behaviour, you slut. You don’t deserve to be with me.”
Talk about double standards, Darcy thought. She chose not to waste her breath attempting to explain that their stay in Gabriel’s apartment was both platonic and temporary –brought about by the need to stay safe from the man who was right now forcing her down the spiral steps and out into the dimly lit chateau grounds. As he shoved her out the door, Patrick shifted his grip and held her tightly against him. She looked down to see her own kitchen knife sitting snug between her breasts.
“Where are we going?” Darcy asked, with the hope of stalling for time for someone to notice her absence and raise the alarm.
“Out of the light,” Patrick snapped, pushing her across the southern terrace away from the outdoor lamps set in the freshly mown lawn and towards the darkness of the trees, “just far enough so you and I can finish our business.” Saying this, he grabbed her left hand and wrenched off her engagement ring, flinging it away from himself across the grass before replacing it with her old wedding band which he pulled from a pocket. “Found this upstairs. There, that’s better –at least you’ll end your life a respectable married woman. Perhaps there’ll be some sanctification in that to atone for your sins.”
Dear God-in-heaven help me, Darcy prayed, hearing the coldly matter-of-fact tone in his voice. At last she understood. He really did intend to kill her. She had never thought him capable of it. She struggled to get free but he held her now with implacably tight arms, the knife cutting into the beaded fabric of her bodice.
They were passing the last of the lanterns, shuffling through its pool of light when an enraged shout broke the silence. “You have one chance to stop right where you are and let her go before I put an arrow through you!” Gabriel’s voice roared through the darkness, all notions of chivalry forgotten in his fear for Darcy’s safety. The only reason he hadn’t shot the bastard in the back already was that he wasn’t absolutely sure if Patrick had a weapon held to Darcy or not.
Patrick turned his body sideways and used Darcy as a human shield as he half-faced towards the chateau windows. He saw Gabriel standing backlit in an open library window, bow raised in a shooting stance, with an arrow cocked and ready to let fly.
“This isn’t your business, Froggie. Bugger off,” He yelled back. “You aren’t bleedin’ Robin Hood and you won’t risk hitting her to hit me. And keep those men back,” he could see the dark outlines of Gabriel’s men in the half-light around them, hemming him in.
“Not for discussion,” roared Gabriel. “Second and last warning,” he spoke in the stentorian tone Darcy remembered from the day she’d almost become his unintentional target-practice. “Put the knife down right now or I shoot.” He had felt the bile rising in his throat when he’d spotted the light from the lamp reflecting off the weapon’s blade. The vicious threats of Patrick’s letter to Darcy came back to him, making him wish he’d put one through his heart from behind when he had the opportunity. He drew bead on his target along the length of the arrow –he’d have one try at this and couldn’t afford to miss.
The knife in Patrick’s hand was edging upwards to her throat.
Darcy pulled her head back in a fruitless attempt to get away from the blade, an action that had the opposite effect of exposing the column of her throat to the honed metal. Another inch and the tip would pierce her skin.
Time was up. He couldn’t wait any longer.
There was a whizzing sound and the solid thunk of an arrow striking its target.
Patrick screamed and dropped the knife –the carbon-alloy shaft of a precision target arrow had suddenly appeared out of the darkness, piercing the back of his hand and protruding through his palm, its bright yellow fletching looking incongruously cheerful in the lamp’s glow.
At the same moment a man appeared as if out of nowhere.
Mason leapt in a low tackle that took Patrick’s feet out from under him and threw him to the ground. The security team was close behind and made short work of binding Patrick’s hands. If they were a little rough and caused more pain to the hand impaled by the arrow, they didn’t seem bothered.
Gabriel jumped from the chateau windows to the ground, swiftly running to Darcy.
“Did he cut you? Are you hurt?” he put a hand to her waist where the fabric of her dress was torn. She gasped when his hand lightly touched the wound Patrick had inflicted at her back. He pulled the hand away to see blood on his fingertips. “You’re bleeding.” He started patting his jacket pockets looking for his mobile, “I’ll phone for an ambulance.”
“No,” Darcy pleaded, “It’s just a minor cut.” She pointed to Patrick, who was moaning and cradling his injured hand, “but you might want to get help for him.”
“The security team will take care of that –before they all start looking for new jobs,” Gabriel’s voice was grim. “It seems everyone was otherwise occupied when Patrick abducted you.” He would never forget the heart-stopping moment when Rosie had appeared downstairs in the kitchen to inform him and Mason that her Daddy had come for a visit and taken Mummy for a walk outdoors.
Now that the tension was over, Darcy could feel herself beginning to shiver. Gabriel removed his suit jacket and placed it over her trembling shoulders, holding her close. She looked down at her hand, “I lost my ring,” she wailed uncharacteristically, as she tore off the gold band and flung it as far away from her as she could.
Gabriel turned and started to lead her back to the chateau. “Don’t worry, my love, we’ll look for it in the morning, and if we can’t find it I’ll buy you another. Unlike you, ma petite rousse, the ring is easily replaceable.” He could see she was reacting to the shock of her ordeal and sought to comfort her. She managed a watery smile in return.
Gabriel could hear a siren in the distance as the local gendarmes sped to the scene and would have preferred to get her back indoors before they arrived and started questioning everyone. “Now, shall we all be terribly English and pop inside for a cup of tea to calm our nerves?” he suggested, trying for a pitifully bad Sloany English accent to lighten the air.
“Huh, hold the tea and make that a shot of Jack Daniels,” Darcy retorted saucily, sounding more her old self. “This girl’s from Tennessee and made of sterner stuff than that!”
Epilogue
The down comforter was delightfully warm and cosy and it was tempting to steal a few minutes more under the covers but she’d woken to see clumps of freshly fallen snow weighting the branches of the trees outside her window and the pristine morning was beckoning. Added to this, the thought of what the next hours would bring had her flinging the bedclothes back and tugging on her dressing gown. The prospect of a few moment’s peace before the start of what would undoubtedly be a hectic day was enough to get Darcy showered and dressed in thick pants, her down jacket, gloves and a woolly hat, ready for a brisk walk outside.
She couldn’t help herself, before she left her bedroom she walked to the door and took down the hanger, unzipping the protective bag one last time to take a peek at the dress she would wear. Holding out the skirt so she could better admire the skill of its seamstress, she thought happily, her wedding dress was gorgeous.
Gabriel had had his way this time and convinced her to choose a couture gown but Darcy had opted for vintage –preferring the look of this strapless 1949 Dior collection cocktail-length dress to more contemporary designs.
The full underskirt and close-fitting bodice were in a light eau-de-nil but it was the festoons of delicate appliqued silk wisteria-like petals in shades from the palest pink to bright lavender that covered the entire dress that had made it her absolute first choice.
The thought popped into her head that she hoped this dress would fare better than her previous formal gown but she pushed it away into the deepest recesses of her mind –there was room only for un
remitting joy today and she wouldn’t let Patrick, now deported and firmly ensconced in her Majesty’s prison system, spoil a single moment of it. She tucked the skirt back into the bag, carefully rezipping it and hanging it back on the hook.
Laughing quietly to herself at the contrast of her appearance right now to what it would be later in the day, Darcy tugged on a pair of thermal socks before padding through to the living room to check on the animals. The two had called a truce and had recently taken to sleeping on the sofa together -once Napoleon had realised that Gizmo would never be as good at climbing as he and could not make it up to the heights of Connor’s bed. The puppy’s body was curled around that of the cat, almost full-grown now but still a kitten in many respects. She smiled to see their limbs intertwined like a couple of newly-wed lovers. In the past months the two had gone through progressive phases: from Mexican stand-off to doing their best to ignore one another, then enduring each other’s company, and now, serendipitously, to the current stage of best buddies. Of all the phases, Darcy mused, this was the most tolerable. She hoped it would last.
She bent to switch the Christmas tree lights on. They twinkled prettily among the fresh fir and all their family tree decorations. In the midst of all the wedding preparations, it had seemed important to remember the season and not lose the fun of decorating their little cottage. She had placed the children’s wrapped gifts around the tree the night before so they could have one day of enjoying the sight here before everything was moved over to the chateau.
Leaving the sleeping animals, she snuck along the hall to check on the children, hesitating at Rosie’s door, not wanting to go further in case she woke them. She heard nothing from Connor’s room, so assumed he was still asleep. The light from the hall pooled on her daughter’s bright red curly mop, so much like her own. Rosie had taken to sleeping with her Madeleine doll, now most-favoured among her toys; Darcy could see the little red-head next to Rosie’s on the pillow. She had bought Rosie the books for Christmas, a special set with both the French and English translations to help her learn the language. She smiled as she pulled the door closed at the memory of Rosie announcing the week before that she would require several new little sisters so that she could ‘walk in two straight lines’ like Madeleine.
Boots on, Darcy snuck outside and squeakily scrunched her way along the snow-covered lane towards the chateau. She’d come out with no clear agenda but it seemed that her feet had decided the direction she would go in. Not that it really mattered, she thought, she just wanted a bit of time out to enjoy the morning. She walked on, past the stables and the half-tumbled down barracks then on to where the lane joined the main drive.
As she rounded the end of the trees that formed the north allée she smiled –ah, so she wasn’t the only one who had decided to venture outside and enjoy the morning quiet.
Gabriel was standing in the centre of the allée, taking a bead on a target some hundred yards away. As she watched he let the arrow fly, hitting the bullseye of the target with pinpoint accuracy.
She considered the vista, him standing with his bow in the all-white landscape with the chateau veiled in thin mist behind. Other than the contemporary clothing he wore, it could have been a scene out of any time.
Seeing him reaching into the quiver over his back for another arrow she called out a hello.
“Hey,” he called across the expanse of untrodden snow, “I hoped you might be up. I put out extra signs just in case. He waved a hand to show her.
Darcy looked around; sure enough there was a veritable forest of warning signs set in the snowy ground all around the perimeter.
“Ha ha, very funny,” she started across, “as if I wouldn’t have seen you standing out there!”
He smiled as she approached, enjoying the sight of his wife-to-be coming towards him. “I’ve made breakfast. Wanna join me?” he offered. “You should say yes, I think you’ll like it.”
“Oh –I don’t know, I’m pretty picky,” she retorted, laughter in her voice.
“If you come here and give me a kiss, I’ll tell you what I’ve got …and it might include mille feuille if I like the kiss.”
“Mille feuille for breakfast! Seriously? I’m getting married today and I have a wedding dress to fit into.”
“You look fine to me, but if you come closer I’ll check your measurements -if you’re worried you might not fit,” he proposed suggestively, waggling his eyebrows at her.
She tipped back her head and laughed at his innuendo, walking towards him, lightness in her heart and her step as she moved forward to a shared future with this man she loved.
THE END
This series will be continued with Halley’s story, Skipping Stones, to be released 2015.
To my readers:
Hello and thanks very much for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, I’d be thrilled if you’d take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer.
Thanks again.
Irene Davidson
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks Tim, for supporting a penniless author and for being my editor-in-chief on this one.
About the Author:
Growing up in the far south of New Zealand, Adrienne rapidly came to the conclusion that her native home was a long way from anywhere and unless she wanted to spend all her holidays on Stewart Island she’d need to get used to flying.
With this in mind, she jetted off to school in Tennessee, university in Palmerston North (that’s in the North Island), work in London and holidays in France, gathering material for writing as she went.
Following a degree in biology, she studied post-grad in Landscape Architecture before producing two beautiful babies; both of whom are now well on their way to being grown-ups.
Adrienne currently lives in Perth, Western Australia with Tim and assorted fostered and adopted greyhounds that lie around while she writes …the greyhounds, that is, not Tim.
Other titles by Irene Davidson
Leaf on a Breeze, (Book 2 in the White Briars series) available early, 2015
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Website: https://leafonabreeze.com
A sample of Irene’s next title: Leaf on a Breeze (Book 2 in the White Briars series)
Leaflets five,
Let them thrive!
Leaflets three,
Turn and flee!
Children’s rhyme, various
Prologue
Jack
Others slept the night away wasting the hours between dusk and dawn but not he. Sleep was something Jack neither wanted nor needed.
He found it quite convenient that this new body of his did not appear to require rest, feeling that some of his best work was done under cover of darkness while others dozed the night-time hours away.
Looking down at his hands he marvelled at his new appearance. Where once he had been flesh and blood, in outward form if not innermost attitude much like other all the other folk in the garden, since his rebirth -his second coming- he thought with malicious bad-humour, he was more plant than person. Should he cut himself now, green sap would run from his veins and in place of skin he was covered over with vines and leaves.
Still, he did not mind. He felt it set him apart as someone special, different from the others -as he’d always known he was. Better. And now, while they dozed, he got up to mischief.
Like right now, for instance.
Tonight he had a little trick that he had been perfecting for some weeks and he wanted a chance to show off his skills.
Laying a leaf-covered hand on a branch of one of the most venerable of the orchard’s roses, he concentrated all his energy on encouraging the growth of the vine, willing the poison ivy that made up much of his torso and limbs to creep along and around the rose’s stalk. As the tendrils twined round each thorny twiglet he could feel his grip on the rambler growing, slowly choking life out of the stem. He applied pressure, squeezing incrementally until the one shoot was all but seve
red from the rest of the bush.
It was an undeniably heady feeling, taking life, even at this minor level. He felt a spasm that was akin to something orgasmic as he watched the healthy green leaves of the rosebush turn to sickly yellow and the silky petals from the flowering blooms drop lifeless to the ground.
He knew he couldn’t yet kill the entire plant but his abilities were growing, slower than he’d like but nevertheless improving and he felt the day growing nearer when he could once again challenge for mastery over the garden.
Much like the serpent in Eden, he was intent on spreading his particular brand of evil and malice with whatever power he could obtain, sure that once he held sway in the stead of Liana and her cohorts that he would be able to move beyond the garden’s boundaries to bloom to his full deadly potential.
He strode away from the sickly plant. Well-pleased with his efforts, he allowed himself the remainder of the night to sneak around and spy on others as they slept before spending the day happily hidden in his favourite oak tree –a huge old behemoth that grew on the western periphery of the garden’s borders, close by a field that had once been set aside for travellers. These days it was a spot seldom visited by humans or woodland folk and since his reawakening Jack had made it his own. That the once-healthy tree was dying by degrees from his constant ministrations was of little consequence to Jack. To him it was merely a convenient place to perch and practice his sinister skills.
Venturing out the next evening, he was distraught when he returned to the moonlit orchard to gloat over his small victory and found to his displeasure that Liana must have passed by sometime during the daylight hours. The interfering sylph had apparently healed the ancient bush, putting to rights his hard-won display of prowess.
He kicked the bush with his ivy-bound foot in annoyance before he turned and stalked off into the shadows of the trees that edged the orchard. He knew that he had greater power to the margins of the garden’s domain than here in the centre so perhaps he would head on over towards the nursery on the far fringes of the woods where he could do some harm that might stand a chance of remaining beyond the morrow.
Yes, he thought to himself, that was a good plan. No point wasting his precious time working here in the heart of the garden if there was the likelihood that Liana would stumble upon his little displays. He had thought her too busy with that brat she had borne to the human to notice his handiwork but it appeared she was still maintaining some vigilance in the spaces closest to the house.
He shrugged, causing a rustling of the leaves across his shoulders. He liked the sound so much that he shook his head a few times, creating a rippling effect in the green that made up his head and torso.
Smiling meanly, he decided that this small reversal was of little import, he had plenty to keep himself occupied with. Calling his lieutenants to follow, he disappeared into the woods.
The pair of foxes that were his most constant companions slunk along in his wake.