Lady Agnes Mystery Vol.2. Andrea Japp

straightened her coat and her veil, lifted up the short train of her dress and walked with a purposeful air towards the main door leading into the hall. She entered, calling out:

      ‘Adeli—’

      He jumped up, flustered, from the crockery chest upon which he was seated.

      ‘You, Monsieur!’

      ‘Hm … Indeed, Madame. I’m afraid that I’m repeating the same oafish behaviour by coming here unannounced.’

      ‘Monsieur, you insult me. Is my lord not welcome in my home under any guise, and regardless of the … commotion his arrival might cause?’

      He smiled and lowered his eyes. Beneath the compliment lay a scarcely concealed rebuke. He had expected nothing less and would have been disappointed otherwise.

      ‘I am failing in all my duties, my lord. Have you been offered any refreshment, some fortified wine perhaps – most suitable on a cold evening such as this?’

      ‘Yes. Your young kitchen girl filled me with delicious cheese bread, the name of which escapes me, and some mulled wine with cinnamon and ginger.’

      ‘A gougère.27 She makes them very well. If you don’t mind me enquiring, Monsieur, to whom, or to what happy circumstance, do we owe this visit?’ Agnès went on in a pleasant voice.

      ‘To the town of Rémalard. I’m on my way there. Alas, I am growing too old for these long rides,’ he said, without taking his eyes off her. ‘Ogier is still fresh, but I confess that my back is aching.’

      She gave a little smile, which she then pretended to conceal quickly with her hand.

      ‘Are you laughing at me, Madame?’

      ‘Indeed no, Monsieur.’

      ‘Then why did you smile?’

      ‘I … You will think me very forward, but I am not in the slightest convinced by the story of your poor old aching back.’ He failed to notice the hidden compliment. And so it should be.

      ‘The perceptiveness of the fair sex never ceases to fascinate, or should I say unnerve, me. I admit that it was a clumsy excuse. I merely wished to enquire after your health. Moreover, Monsieur Joseph, my physician has charged me with an important mission. I am to deliver a letter to Clément, but I have seen neither hide nor hair of him since my arrival.’

      ‘Clément? Come here at once, please!’ she called out.

      The door leading to the servants’ privy opened at once, and the blushing boy appeared as if by magic.

      ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ he apologised as he bowed before the man. ‘If you had asked for me, I assure you I would have come at once.’

      ‘But you prefer to spy on me from behind that door.’

      In a polite but piqued voice, Clément declared:

      ‘I’m not in the habit of spying on my lady’s acquaintances. I was merely keeping watch.’

      ‘You little rascal! Be off with you before your insolence earns you a clip around the ear!’ the Comte threatened, half in jest.

      Clément was about to flee when Artus held him back:

      ‘Wait, I have a message for you. The next time, you two wily accomplices can find some other messenger.’

      Clément seized the small square of sealed paper and shot Agnès a knowing look before slipping out through the same door.

      A silence fell. Agnès considered that it was not up to her to break it, and so she waited. She felt a slight pang of guilt. Artus d’Authon was having great difficulty extricating himself from the awkward situation in which his arrival and, above all, his attraction to her had placed him. She had no intention of going to his aid. She had fallen for this intelligent, honourable, attractive – extremely attractive – awkward man. No doubt it was unforgivable coquetry on her part to leave him floundering in the agonies of courtship, but she was enjoying his lover’s embarrassment too much to put him out of his misery just yet. After all, she had been a widow for more than ten years. And as for the elegant, playful banter of lovers, she had always been deprived of it, her deceased husband having been a respectful and courteous man, but not one given to repartee, much less to poetry. She realised that she was feeling rather mischievous when she had thought herself sober and sensible. The playful mood this man put her in was delightfully unexpected. And so she waited.

      ‘Hm …’

      He scratched his neck, cursing himself. God’s breath! He was tongue-tied! And yet he’d spent the whole journey there practising how he would broach the matter. What had happened to all the clever, eloquent, if scarcely compromising, phrases he had recited for Ogier’s ears alone?

      ‘Did you say something, Monsieur?’

      ‘Er … The weather’s taken a turn for the worse.’

      ‘Indeed, and I fear that it will not improve for many months – it being winter.’

      A pox on his clumsiness! God’s wounds … He would end up making an utter fool of himself if this continued. Show some pluck! The worst he could receive was a severe rebuke, but then at least he would know where he stood. And once his wounded pride had healed, he’d … Well, he didn’t know what he’d do. The problem … The problem was that pride played no part in this.

      He should have sought advice from Monge de Brineux, his chief bailiff. Had he not recently wed the lovely, jovial, clever Julienne? He must have needed to seduce and cajole her, for the young woman’s father was a wealthy man and she had no need to accept the first proposal of marriage. Were there not tried and tested methods of seduction which gentlemen exchanged among themselves? The elders showed the young how to fight and hunt and even initiated them into the secrets of carnal love. What a fine ambush this was! The hunted had become the huntress and the hunter’s only wish was to become her quarry. In short, convention had been turned on its head and he was lost.

      For her part, Agnès had entered a world of coded behaviour which an hour earlier she was unaware existed, but which she appeared to find her way about in with miraculous ease. How awkward he looked. Despite how cold it was in the big hall he was perspiring. She threw him a line:

      ‘Will you stay overnight at Souarcy? I must give the order to prepare your apartments.’

      ‘I would hate to impose upon your time and your hospitality, Madame. Especially since Rémalard is near enough to Souarcy to enable me to arrive there before nightfall.’

      ‘You may take my hospitality for granted, and you would honour me by accepting, Monsieur.’

      ‘In that case, I accept,’ he replied, relieved.

      He was perfectly aware that his relief was due to the fact that he had awarded himself a stay of execution. Now that he knew he was dining at the manor and staying overnight he need not hurry matters. He was astonished by his own cowardliness. He had fought, sometimes one against three, without fear for life or limb, and yet here he was ready to turn tail and run.

      He would enjoy this stay of execution. At last he could breathe more easily, relax, engage in pleasant banter about this and that.

      Agnès was not taken in. He had retreated so as to have a better run up. Was that not what the most powerful chargers did in order to conserve their strength?

      And so they chatted over their mulled wine. She went into raptures over the love songs of Chevalier Hugues,28 Châtelain d’Arras, who upon leaving his beloved to embark upon a crusade bade her farewell with exquisite grace. In contrast, she railed against Chastie-Musard,29 an outrageously misogynistic poem that was still recited in certain circles after more than half a century.

      ‘What a hotchpotch of rhyming nonsense, a collection of platitudes! And so filled