Page 77 of Ondine

There was something taking place in the morning; Ondine knew not what, but she awakened to the sounds of argument below.

She was still very tired—dazed as she came slowly to awareness.

Such was the toll of her clandestine evenings.

She recognized that someone argued, then she recognized the voices as her uncle’s and Raoul’s, but by that point a warning had come to them from somewhere that their shouts could well raise the roof and all and sundry would soon know their private business.

Ondine wondered if Berta hadn’t been the one to warn them that they should be overheard, for soon after the voices lowered, Berta came into the room.

Ondine rolled over, groaning and pressing her face to the pillow. She didn’t feel like dealing with Berta or facing another day! Yet what choice had she?

“Duchess, come, you must awake. Your uncle requests your appearance below with all haste.”

“Does he?” Ondine murmured dryly.

“Duchess—”

“I am awake, Berta. I am awake.”

She sipped her tea quickly and had little patience for assistance while she dressed. She was as anxious to see William as he was, apparently, to see her. It must be a busy and productive day; Warwick did not want her prowling about—she had to prowl about! Time was her enemy.

She sat on the edge of the chair before her dressing table as Berta worked on her hair, muttering nastily about the tangles. Ondine felt a brief humor then, for she longed to tell Berta that it was simply impossible to keep her hair totally unmatted when her husband chose to play with it all night.

Seconds later she descended the stairs. She found neither William nor Raoul seated at the table.

Instead, both of them stood stiffly, at odds across the room, ignoring the steaming platters that awaited them on the sideboards.

The stranger—the tall muscled sallow-looking man who had taken dear Jem’s place as steward and valet—waited just inside the doorway for the meal to begin, his hands behind his back, a facial expression nonexistent.

“Ah, at last, dear Niece!” William exclaimed, staring upon her with jaundiced eyes. “You’ve decided to join us.”

There wasn’t even a pretense of courtesy to his words; they were barked out in severe warning that more would come.

“Am I late?” she asked sweetly, sliding into her chair.

“Late, aye, Niece.”

In question and reproach, one delicate brow slightly arched, she stared at Raoul, sullen and terse across the room.

Raoul blushed and looked away from her. Ondine shrugged, then turned to the apelike servant in the hallway, a man surely chosen for his blind obedience to her uncle alone.

“The tea, please. Now. I do not know your name.”

The man started and looked to William. William appeared as if he were about to explode, but then he smiled with a casual and evil leer and said, “By all means, do serve the duchess her tea! His name, Ondine, is Berault, should you need anything further.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Thank you—Berault.”

“Berault, you may leave us,” William snapped.

Ondine, quaking somewhat inside, for she knew not where this was leading, or what William might have discovered, added cream to her tea with what she hoped was nonchalance and stared across the room at Raoul again. This time he met her eyes with pleading in his own. He was keyed and angry.

She finished fussing with her tea and gazed toward her uncle, expectantly. “You complain of my tardiness to a meal, yet once I appear, you spend the time staring at me. Have I grown horns, Uncle?”

“Horns, Ondine? Nay, ’tis not likely. You yet appear as sweet as honey—and pure as driven snow.”

He walked to her at last, standing over her. Then placing his hands upon the table, he stared into her eyes.

“By the saints, girl, you do look weary! Shadows beneath the eyes—pale, drawn. Are you quite sure you’ve come home with no illness?”

“I feel absolutely fine. And yet, sir,” she added, narrowing her eyes in prayer that she might cordially force him to his point, “I am ever so amazed that my health should concern you so! Truly, Uncle, there is little pretense between us! I imagine that you would be sublimely pleased to hear that I was ailing desperately—upon my death bed, at that.”

He touched her chin, lifting it, and his touch did not disturb her, for she felt such hatred then that it was easy to return his stare with loathing in her own.

“You’re very young, my dear, with too much vitality, to so conveniently leave this life!”

“That is correct, Uncle,” she retorted softly. “I’d never do anything—anything at all—to make things easy for you! And since God knows my right, I believe that I shall maintain splendid health!”

Grimly he released her. “Splendid health! We’re back to the matter at hand! You see it is precisely since you are young—betrothed to Raoul—that I needs must look to your every concern. If you will not die, you will become a part of our inner family.”

She sipped her tea, feigning a disinterest, yet growing ever more nervous.

“That has all been decided and arranged, has it not?”

“Oh, yes; it is in the offing. For Raoul’s pleasure—certainly not my own!”

“Then . . . ?” she inquired pleasantly.

He smiled at her, with such pleasure and malice, that she was certain he had made a damning discovery. Warwick! Had he been caught coming from her room? Was he injured, slain? Oh, God! Her stomach seemed to catapult within her; the room took on a hazy hue as that terror settled over her.

“Ondine, my dear—” William began.

But he was not able to continue. The door suddenly burst open; Berault had returned, and no longer did his sallow countenance bear no expression. He was highly agitated.

“I did not call for you!” William shrilled.

“But—”

“Must I repeat myself endlessly? I do not wish to be disturbed!”

“But it’s the king!” Berault managed to say hastily.

“The king?” William repeated, amazed.

“Aye, the king! Even now, his carriage comes up the drive! He has an escort of at least a dozen. We’re ill-prepared; we know not what to do!”

Ondine slid uneasily from her chair, so very grateful that Charles was near, still so terrified that it might be too late for Warwick. Oh, dear God! What had happened? Then she remembered that she should be frightened of the king before her uncle and Raoul.

“Oh!” she gasped in distress.

William cast her an absent gaze. “Don’t be a fool!

Act naturally! I’ve made no complaints against you—you’ll be fine.

Berault, go to the stables, quickly, so that all might be advised that his carriage need be taken, water offered the horses.

Then go to the kitchen and advise Jem. He will see that our best ale is tapped, and that there is food prepared to offer His Majesty. ”

Berault instantly moved to follow William’s orders.

Ondine watched him leave the room, then gasped, tears filling her eyes with sudden pain as her uncle grasped her hair at the nape, jerking it cruelly. His hold pulled her against him so that he might threaten in a hissing whisper at her ear.

“But, fair Niece, take care with your every word and motion. That you have returned, I can cover; if you should attempt to betray me with the slightest word or deed, I will instantly produce proof that you were in league with your father, plotting the king’s murder.

If I fall, girl, I swear you’ll tumble with me!

Death can be quick, as well you should know.

You watched your father die. Oh, so fine a line exists between daylight and the grave!

Force my hand and I will see that there is no choice by law but to sever your lovely neck; think to trap me, and you will die instantly, a knife within your heart. ”

He did not release her, but dragged her down the hall with him. “Leave go of me!” she commanded her uncle heatedly. “We’ve made our bargains; you do not need fear me!”

He did not release her, not until they all stood outside, awaiting the king.

It was true that the king had come with a retinue.

Five guards rode ahead, five behind. The lead man announced the king’s arrival, yet already all was in motion for his royal reception.

Men raced from the stables to take the horses as the king’s guard dismounted from them.

The footman moved with a flourish to pull the step down for the king, and then Charles alighted, looking curiously about himself, a mischievous smile upon his handsome lips.

“Your Majesty!”

Ondine came quickly to him, dipping a low and graceful curtsy, kissing his ring. Her uncle was quickly behind her, ever as gracious. Raoul, too, was quite capable of a very elegant courtesy, making the entire greeting a pretty picture of perfect etiquette.

If only her heart were not so heavy with fear for Warwick. What else could have upset her uncle so?

Then she saw him. Even as she lowered her lashes before Charles, her eyes widened again, for Warwick was there. He had come with the men from the stables and was holding one of the guard’s mounts, watching the display with the others.

“Duchess, ’tis glad I am to see your fair face!

” Charles said pleasantly, greeting her first in turn and kissing both her cheeks.

“Ah, child, I was so distressed that day you ran! You’d not have suffered without some proof of complicity, my dear.

I heard rumor of such a thing, but no proof came to light, and so glad I am to hear that you’ve returned to your home! ”

“Thank you, sire,” she murmured, trying very hard not to burst into laughter, for Charles was a fine performer, and knowing that Warwick was very much alive and free had sent her into delirious relief.

“William, Raoul, ’tis good to see you, also.”

“Your Grace,” William responded with a bow of the head. “We are most grateful that you visit us here, at this our humble home.”