Lady Scandal Read Free

spare candles and flint. Diana muttered
something to the maid, the words hesitant but the accent true.
Alexandria pressed her lips tight—why had she never paid any heed
to her governess and her French lessons?
    She found the stub of one half-burnt taper,
struggled with the flint pulled from a drawer, and finally struck a
spark. Flame trembled to life as the wick caught fire. Lifting the
candle, Alexandria bent to study the maid.
    The woman crouched under the table, her
knees pulled up to her chin. She had taken her apron away from her
face. Fear had left her skin pale and her eyes enormous. Alexandria
recognized Marie-Jeanne as one of the kitchen maids, a skinny girl
of fifteen or so. A sweet girl, but rather slow.
    "Well, why is she not coming out?"
Alexandria demanded, glancing at Diana.
    The young woman straightened, worry
darkening her blue eyes. "She is afraid the guard will return."
    "Guard? Why ever would they come in the
first place?"
    In answer to the questions
a spurt of rapid French flowed from Marie-Jeanne. Alexandria bent
to look under the table again. "You must come
out— tu viens ici ."
    Alexandria noticed Diana wincing at such
mangled French, but the maid seemed at least to recognize the voice
of authority, if not the words, for she edged from under the
table.
    Climbing to her feet, she stared about her,
clutching the white apron tied over her dark high-waisted dress and
looking rather like a rabbit who intended to bolt for her hole at
the first breath of trouble.
    Alexandria gave the candle
to her niece and said, "Now, let us have an explanation, if you
please, Marie-Jeanne. Only in English. Parle anglais, s'il vous plaît ."
    A rapid flow of French answered, and
Alexandria struggled to hold her impatience with the girl. She
recognized only a few words—something about English, and
Bonaparte's name came into it. Ruthlessly interrupting, Alexandria
said, "But where is everyone? Diana, see if you can get some
answers. I am going to make a quick tour of the house."
    Taking the candle with her, she left Diana
with the maid, who had started babbling again in French.
    In the front hall, the candle flickered in a
draft from the door and Alexandria glanced to where the footmen now
stood—Frenchmen also, for she had left her staff in charge of the
stables here. They stood one on each side of a trunk, staring about
with worried frowns.
    "Never mind the luggage. I
want you to search the house to see if anyone else is here," she
ordered. The footmen glanced at each other and Alexandria added,
" Où est —" she
broke off, struggling for the word to add with "Where is," and she
added with a wave of her hand, "everyone?"
    Understanding seemed to flicker in their
eyes, for they put down the trunk, bowed and set off to search the
downstairs rooms.
    Lifting her skirts, Alexandria went up the
stairs. Gradually, the sounds of the maid's babbling and the
footmen's heavy steps faded and the house seemed to fill with
silence. Her throat tightened. She had never been in any house so
empty—at the least, there were always servants nearby.
    Her kid boots echoed loudly on the floor.
The faint aroma of bees wax wafted up from the candle. Damp, icy
cold hung in the hall.
    She had no need to open doors—all stood
ajar. Each room she glanced into told the same story—wild disorder,
a violent search, insulting disregard for privacy or ownership.
Clothing had been pulled from wardrobes and stolen away. Anything
that could be carried, in fact, seemed to have been taken; even the
linens from the beds had been stripped and looted.
    Anger flared in her, growing stronger with
each defilement she glimpsed. Who could have done such a thing? And
why had not her servants, both those from England as well as the
Parisians she had hired, not been here to prevent it?
    At last she stopped at her own bedroom and
glanced inside.
    She had brought her jewels and her cosmetics
with her to the château, but the clothes she had left behind were
now gone.