Counterfeit Lady Read online

  “Could you tell the story with less detail?” Janie said, her hand on Nicole’s shoulder.

  The man held up a ceramic pot of mustard. “Dijon. It is good to see French things in this barbarian country.”

  “Who are you? How did you rescue my mother?” Nicole asked softly.

  He bit into a piece of cheese liberally spread with mustard, then smiled. “I am your stepfather, little daughter. Your mother and I are married.” He stood and took her hand. “I am Gerard Gautier, now one of the magnificent Courtalains.”

  “Courtalain? I thought that was Nicole’s maiden name.”

  “It is,” Gerard said, returning to his seat at the table. “It is one of the oldest, richest, most powerful families in Europe. You should have seen the old man, my wife’s father. I saw him once when I was a child. He was as big as a mountain and, it was said, as strong. I’ve heard he could make the king tremble from his wrath.”

  “The most common of people made the king tremble,” Nicole said bitterly. “Please tell me how you met my mother.”

  Gerard gave Janie a disdainful look. “As I was saying, my father and I went to see the guillotinings. Adele, your mother, walked out behind your father. She was so beautiful, so regal. She wore a dress of pure white, and with her black hair she looked like an angel. The whole crowd stopped talking when she walked past. Everyone could see that her husband was so proud of her. Their hands were tied behind them, and they could not touch, but their eyes met, and several people sniffed because the two handsome people obviously loved each other. My father nudged me and said that he could not stand to see such a magnificent creature put to death. I tried to stop him, but—” Gerard shrugged. “My father does what he wants.”

  “How did he save her?” Nicole urged. “How did he get her through the mob?”

  “I do not know. Every day, the crowd has a different flavor. Sometimes they cry as the heads roll; sometimes they laugh or cheer. It depends on the weather, I guess. That day, they were romantic, like my father. I watched as he pushed his way through them, then grabbed Adele’s bindings about her wrists and pulled her into the crowd.”

  “What about the guards?”

  “The crowd liked what my father was doing, and they protected him. They closed around him like water. When the guards tried to follow, the people tripped them and gave them false directions.” He stopped and smiled, finishing the last of a large glass of wine. “I was standing on top of a wall where I could see everything. It was such a sight! The people yelled every direction imaginable to the guards, yet all the while my father and Adele were walking quietly back to our shop.”

  “You saved her,” Nicole whispered, looking down at her hands in her lap. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “You can take care of us,” he said quickly. “We have come a long way.”

  “Anything,” Nicole answered. “What is mine is yours. You must be tired and want to rest.”

  “Wait a minute!” Janie said. “There’s more to this story. What happened to Nicole’s mother after your father rescued her? Why did you leave France? How did you find out Nicole was here?”

  “Who is this woman?” Gerard demanded. “I do not like servants who treat me like this. My wife is the Duchess de Levroux.”

  “The Revolution killed all titles,” Nicole said. “In America, everyone is equal, and Janie is my friend.”

  “A pity,” he said, his eyes scanning the simple room, yawning hugely before he stood. “I am quite tired. Is there a suitable bedroom in this place?”

  “I don’t know about suitable, but there’s places to sleep,” Janie said with hostility. “The attic has the twins and us three women. The mill has some spare beds.”

  “The twins?” Carefully noting the fine quality of the deep gray wool of her gown, he caught Nicole’s eyes. “Of what age?”

  “Six.”

  “They are not yours?”

  “I care for them.”

  He smiled. “Good. I believe I must make do with your mill. I would not like to be awakened by children.”

  As Nicole started toward her cape by the door, Janie stopped her. “You go to your mother and see that she’s all right. I’ll take care of him.”

  Smiling gratefully, she bid Gerard goodnight and went upstairs to where her mother lay peacefully sleeping. The storm had subsided outside, and gentle flakes of snow were silently falling. As Nicole held her mother’s warm hand in hers and watched her, she was flooded with memories—her mother lifting her and swinging her about just before she left for a court ball, her mother reading to her, pushing her in a swing. When Nicole was eight years old, Adele had had identical dresses made for them. The king said that someday the two of them would be twins, for Adele would never grow older.

  “Nicole,” Janie said when she returned. “You are not going to sit there all night. Your mother needs rest.”

  “I won’t disturb her.”

  “And you won’t help her either. If you don’t sleep tonight, you’ll be too tired tomorrow to be of any use to her.”

  Even though she knew Janie was right, Nicole sighed because she was afraid that if she closed her eyes her mother would disappear. Reluctantly, she stood and kissed her mother before turning away to get undressed.

  An hour before sunrise, everyone in the little house was awakened by hideous screams—screams of absolute terror. As the twins shot out of their beds and ran to Janie, Nicole ran to her mother’s side.

  “Mama, it’s me, Nicole. Nicole! Your daughter. Mama, be still, you’re safe.”

  The woman’s wild-eyed terror showed she obviously did not understand Nicole’s words. Even though Nicole spoke in French, the words had no effect; Adele was still afraid, still screaming, screaming as if her whole body were being torn apart.

  The twins put their hands over their ears and hid in the folds of Janie’s flannel nightgown.

  “Get Mr. Gautier,” Nicole shouted, holding her mother’s flailing hands as she fought her daughter.

  “I am here,” he said from the head of the stairs. “I thought she might wake like this. Adele!” he said sharply. Then, when she didn’t respond, he slapped her hard across the cheek. The screams stopped at once, and she blinked a few times, then collapsed, sobbing, into Gerard’s arms. He held her for a moment before quickly putting her down on the bed.

  “She’ll sleep for about three hours now,” he said, rising before turning back toward the stairs.

  “Mr. Gautier!” Nicole said. “Please, there must be something we can do. We can’t go off and just leave her.”

  He turned and smiled at Nicole. “There is nothing anyone can do. Your mother is totally insane.” Shrugging as if the matter meant very little to him, he went down the stairs.

  Pausing only long enough to grab her bedrobe from its peg, Nicole raced down the stairs after him. “You can’t just say something like that and leave,” she said. “My mother has been through some horrible experiences. Surely, after she rests and is once again sure of her surroundings, she will recover.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Janie entered the room, the twins close behind her. By silent agreement, the discussion was postponed until everyone had eaten and the twins were out of the house.

  As Janie cleared the dishes away, Nicole turned to Gerard. “Please tell me what happened to my mother after your father rescued her.”

  “She never recovered,” he said simply. “Everyone thought she was so brave when she was walking to her death, but the truth was she had long ago lost touch with reality. They had kept her in prison for a long time, and she’d seen one after another of her friends taken away to be executed. After a while, I guess her mind refused to accept that the same fate awaited her.”

  “But when she was safe,” Nicole said, “didn’t that reassure her?”

  Gerard looked with interest at his fingernails. “My father should not have rescued her. There was much danger in keeping one of the aristocracy in our house. The day he took her, the crowd was for hi