CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Like the deep waters of the ocean, currents of electricity flowed through the castle. Each of the two older people took pains to avoid getting caught in them. Julien and Marie no longer took meals together in the dining room. When their trays arrived, carried through the servants’ stairway by one of the nuns, Julien would take his to his office. Marie took hers to the dining room. They were careful to avoid going into the kitchen at the same time. Neither one of them ate much.
Adrienne was no longer asked to perform any of the duties of a maid. Julien and Marie seemed to forget that she existed at all. Marie did not come up the stairs in the evening; she no longer locked Adrienne in her attic room. They did not gather in the parlor. Julien did not play the piano. Marie did not stitch. No one drank wine. No one said prayers together.
Julien spent his time sitting at the desk in his office, his fingers pressed together at the tips, going back over his childhood. He wondered what secrets Marie had hidden from him, wondered what atrocities the woman was actually capable of. Anyone who could manage the torture she had inflicted on Adrienne could be capable of a great deal. And perhaps that explained why she had taken such pains to keep Adrienne isolated, unable to spread stories to the family or servants.
Marie spent her time wondering what Julien had done, wondering what Adrienne knew. There were whole days that she stayed in bed, coughing, too tired to get up.
For Adrienne, the whole world had turned gray, had lost every small stroke of color. For the first time since arriving at the castle, no one watched her; no one locked her up at night. She could have wandered the rooms. She could have stepped outside and inhaled the cold, crisp air of winter. She could have walked away. But she did none of those things. She went down to the kitchen each morning, drank the tea left by the nuns, knowing that Marie had begun to put the laudanum there, since the family no longer drank wine in the parlor at night.
She was dreaming of Gerard. It had happened several times now, always the same dream. She was on a ship, in the middle of the ocean. Night had turned everything to gray and black. Pale moonlight washed the water, making it a slightly lighter gray than the sky above it. She stood at the railing, felt the salt breeze on her face and her hair. She closed her eyes. It was a feeling she had not had before, a feeling of freedom. In the dream, she smiled, just slightly, and tipped her head to the side.
And there he was, coming up out of the water, as if he had been somewhere in its depths. He appeared magically on the horizon, moving toward the ship. Walking on water. Like the sea and sky around her, he was gray. Shades of gray, his face paler than the rest of him. He smiled when he saw her. She smiled back.
And then she woke. The first time the dream had come to her, she cried when she realized where she was—that she was still in her dim attic room. But lately, she woke with a smile on her face. She could feel him, close to her. Feel him, as if he were just outside the door and would be here any moment. As if he were, indeed, coming to rescue her.
Adrienne sat in the kitchen. Morning light, the weak, watered-down sunlight of winter, streamed across the floor. She lifted the cover from her breakfast tray and stared at the eggs on the plate. Her head hurt. She was tired. The eggs stared up at her, greasy orbs that made her retch. She dropped the cover on the table and rushed to the sink, trying not to be sick on the floor.
The clatter of the dishes brought Julien to the door of the room. He looked at the spattered eggs on the table and turned to hear Adrienne retching in the sink. “Adrienne?”
She leaned over the sink, spitting. She was clammy with sweat, so nauseated she could barely stand. She turned on the cold water, rinsed the sink, and cupped water to her face. She cupped another handful, carried it around to the back of her neck. It dripped onto her dress, wet the curls that had escaped from the knot of hair at her neck.
She turned. Julien stood in the doorway. She felt her legs grow weak and she swayed, slowly, like a dancer. Then she dropped to the floor.
Julien gasped, horror filling his bloodstream. “Adrienne?” He moved to her crumpled form, patted her face. “Adrienne?”
Marie appeared in the kitchen door. “What’s wrong?”
Julien turned to look at her. “You’ve given her too much,” he spat.
Marie glared back at him. “I didn’t do this,” she hissed.
Julien shot her a piercing stare. He turned back to Adrienne. Her eyes were rolled back; her breathing was shallow; her face and hands were a pale yellow color. “I’ll lay her in the chapel. Bring some tea.”
Despite Adrienne’s slender frame, he struggled with her weight. His chest heaved, and he coughed as he carried her across the hall and into the small room that he sometimes used for prayer. He laid her on a narrow couch, straightened her limbs and her head.
Marie came behind him. She had poured a cup of tea from the teapot Adrienne had left on the table. Julien looked at the cup and then raised his eyes to his mother. “Is this clean? No poison?”
Marie glowered at him. “Only tea.”
Julien held Adrienne’s head, and Marie attempted to pour liquid into her mouth. Adrienne sputtered. Tea poured from the sides of her mouth, darkening the collar of her dress and the silk upholstery of the couch. Julien laid her head back again. She did not open her eyes.
He stood. He knew now that he could not just stand by and watch the girl die. “I’ll go find Doctor Creighton.” He turned and faced his mother. “Don’t touch her.”
“Julien, I—”
“I said don’t touch her.” He watched as his mother sank down onto a chair, her eyes glued to Adrienne’s pale, limp form. He pushed past his mother. The front door slammed.
It was half an hour before the voices of Julien and Dr. Creighton carried in the cool air. Their boots thudded on the steps as they hurried up. Dr. Creighton moved into the room. He nodded to Marie and knelt beside the couch. He opened his bag, took out his stethoscope, held it to Adrienne’s chest. He raised her eyelids, examined her eyes.
He turned back toward Julien and Marie. “Leave us,” he ordered.
Marie stood and trailed Julien out of the room. Julien closed the door. Marie found a chair in the great hallway, ran her hand on the cushion, and sank into it, as if she could not see, as if she were blind and feeling her way into a chair. Julien did not look at her. He paced up and down the hall, his hands held behind his back.
Ages passed before the door opened, and Dr. Creighton stood, leaning against the doorframe. His stethoscope hung around his neck; his shirt collar was unbuttoned, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. Julien stopped pacing.
Dr. Creighton began unrolling his sleeves, fastening the cuffs. “Has she been eating?” he demanded. He looked from Julien to Marie, and back again.
“I . . . I don’t really know,” Julien answered. “We don’t . . . She doesn’t take her meals with us.” He looked nervous. He turned to Marie, asked the question in French.
Marie shook her head, held her hands to the sides. “I do not know if she has been eating,” she answered in French.
The doctor turned from Marie to Julien. Julien translated Marie’s answer.
The doctor stared at Julien. “Well, she needs to. The girl is pregnant.”
Julien’s eyes grew wide. He swallowed. His eyes flickered back to his mother’s face.
Marie looked at him, puzzled.
“Baby . . . bébé,” Dr. Creighton said to her. He held his hands in front of his stomach, illustrating.
Marie’s hand flew to her mouth. “No.” She shook her head. “No. That’s not possible . . . How could she possibly be . . .” She stopped, and her eyes found Julien’s. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t have. Her eyes went back to Dr. Creighton, down to the floor, traveled to the partially opened door that hid Adrienne behind it. She looked back at Julien. The dart of his eyes, the twitch of his mouth, told her that it was, indeed, possible.
Dr. Creighton took the stethoscope from his neck and put it back in his bag. He raised his eyes to Julien. “She needs rest. She needs to eat. Make sure it happens. I’ll be back to check her in a day or two.” His jaw clenched. Dr. Creighton grabbed his bag and strode down the stairs, anger pounding through his heels, bouncing and echoing on the walls.