Chapter Thirty-eight

To the astonishment of Lord and Lady Penworth, the vicomte de Morvan made a remarkable recovery. He was bright-eyed and alert, welcoming them with courteous ceremony when they were presented to him, and while he was not precisely vigorous, neither was he the feeble, bedridden invalid they had been expecting.

Ned, after noting the doctor’s calm acceptance of the change, was less astonished. He commented on this to Tony, who also failed to be amazed.

“Did he think we wouldn’t bother to look for the blasted thing if he’d told us what it was?” Tony shook his head in disgust.

“Well, to be fair,” Marguerite said, “we might not have looked with quite as much enthusiasm. Delphine wasn’t the only one envisioning a chest full of gold and jewels.”

They turned to look at the girl, who seemed to have recovered from the shock of disappointment, at least sufficiently to be dressed in normal fashion. She was fluttering prettily around the vicomte, who was sitting up in a throne-like chair by the fireside. He wore a dressing gown of crimson velvet and his legs were covered with a thick blanket, protecting him from any chill.

Although he smiled benignly at his relatives and other visitors, and thanked Ned most graciously for his perspicacity in unraveling the secret, his attention was focused on the ceremony that would restore the Treasure to the village. The steward, a man Ned had never even seen before, acted as second in command, noting down the vicomte’s orders and sending minions off to do his bidding.

It took almost a week for the preparations to be in order. This was in part because the vicomte wanted the presentation to take place in the hall of the chateau, the place where the priest had died. While his young relatives had made some effort toward cleaning up while they searched for a treasure, they had made only the slightest of inroads into the dust of decades. Every servant in the household was put to work dusting and scrubbing and polishing.

The Penworths would have departed but the vicomte insisted that, far from intruding, they were necessary for the celebration. After all, it was their son who had penetrated the secret that had kept the Treasure hidden all these years. In addition, he said with a smile in Marguerite’s direction, he suspected that their families might be united in the not too distant future.

While the cleaning proceeded, Delphine set about creating floral decorations—a task at which she excelled, Tony attempted to compose a speech that would meet with his great-grandfather’s approval, and Marguerite supervised the moving of the harpsichord to the hall, where she was to provide musical accompaniment for the ceremony and procession.

Although Marguerite approached her part in the coming extravaganza with tense concentration, Ned’s first reaction had been amusement. “I’m surprised the vicomte doesn’t want an entire orchestra,” he said.

She did not even seem to hear him, so intent was she on getting the three footmen who had been carrying the instrument to place it precisely where she wanted it. But she had heard. After she had dismissed the footmen, she turned to him. “He would have liked that, but there are no musicians in the village and there was not time to import an orchestra from Paris.” With that, she took a deep breath, lifted the lid of the harpsichord, and propped it open.

Although he had heard her playing for the vicomte, Ned had never seen the harpsichord before, and he was sorely tempted to laugh. Not that the instrument was not beautiful: the sides were painted a deep pink with garlands of roses and gilded swirls, all very artistic. It was the painted interior of the lid, visible only when the harpsichord was open, that prompted his reaction.

A naked goddess reclined on a couch amid lush draperies, with servants laying offerings of flowers before her and cherubs hovering above her.

Trying to keep a straight face, he asked, “Won’t the priest be a bit shocked by the instrument?”

She looked confused for a moment, then realized what he was looking at and laughed. “Do you know, I’m so accustomed to her that I no longer notice. But you need not fear that she will cause a scandal. No one will see her, because I will be playing behind a curtain. Now you must go away. I need to practice.” She made a shooing motion with her hands before sitting down at the keyboard and ignoring him completely.

Ned started to say good-bye but realized it was pointless. She had started playing and did not even notice the noise of the servants busily working in the hall. It seemed as if her entire being was concentrated in her fingers. With a smile, he left her to it. He was going to have to get used to this.

The day of the presentation dawned bright and clear. For once, the sky was blue, not gray. The wind was, if not vanished, at least subdued—a breeze, not a gale. Though the November sun rose late and hung low on the horizon, it was still strong enough to provide some warmth for the villagers who arrived at the chateau gates.

It looked as if the entire village had turned out—the male half of the village, at any rate. An acolyte, holding high a ceremonial cross, led the procession. He was followed by a priest in splendidly embroidered vestments, accompanied by two more acolytes with censers. Four more acolytes followed, carrying something that looked rather like a stretcher. Then came the schoolboys, neatly two by two, in their blue smocks. And after them came the villagers, somberly dressed in dark coats and top hats.

Ned was suddenly grateful that Marguerite had warned him to dress formally in a black dress coat and pantaloons, with a silk waistcoat and top hat. Anything less would have been an insult to the occasion. His parents, standing beside him, were naturally dressed in the proper formality. His mother wore a costume—it had too many parts to be called just a dress—in two shades of violet, bright enough to be festive, sedate enough to prevent her from becoming the center of attention.

Tony, representing the family, greeted the procession at the door and led them into the hall where the vicomte sat enthroned on a gilded chair upholstered in tapestry. No one could mistake him for a young man. He was pale and shriveled, almost insubstantial. Yet his eyes were bright and he held himself erect and looked on the procession with a benign air. Beside him, Delphine hovered like a butterfly in her bright silks. The music from the hidden harpsichord floated over them all like an otherworldly benediction.

Tony gave his speech of presentation, the priest gave his speech of acceptance, and the mayor spoke of the gratitude of the village. Then the vicomte raised his hand. His voice was thin, but did not quaver. “Many years ago, l’abbé Seznec entrusted the Treasure of Morvan to the care of my family. Now, at last, we fulfill our responsibility and restore the Treasure to its rightful place.” He gestured to the table at his side. Tony moved the Treasure to the front, and the vicomte lifted the silk cloth.

The reliquary had been carefully cleaned so that the gold shone and the gems glowed. Marguerite’s brooch now gleamed in its proper place. Whether the placement had been deliberate or not, the sunlight coming through the glass cupola bathed the Treasure in glory. A collective gasp ran through the gathering, and many of the villagers fell to their knees.

The priest held out his hands and chanted a prayer in Latin, of which Ned understood not a word but he bowed his head along with everyone else. Then two acolytes waved their censers about, and the smoke of the incense surrounded the reliquary before drifting up to the dome. The stretcher brought in by the remaining acolytes proved to be a palanquin. The reliquary was placed on it; they hoisted it to their shoulders and led the procession out while the schoolboys followed, chanting a Te Deum.

Ned found himself unable to move. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Emotional outbursts, perhaps. Sobs and cries of joy. What he had not expected was this dignified reverence. There was joy, but joy restrained by awe. He had not been able to help himself—he had bowed his head when the reliquary was carried past him and stared after the procession till it was out of sight. When he looked around, he was struck by the expression of peace and joy on the vicomte’s face. Beside him, Delphine smiled angelically and put a protective hand on the old man’s shoulder.

Those remaining in the hall stood in silence until they heard the outer doors close, shutting off the sound of the chanting. The vicomte relaxed then, leaning against the back of his chair and smiling up at Delphine, patting her hand.

At that moment, his attention was drawn back to his parents. Lady Penworth reached out a hand to her husband, who passed his handkerchief to her.

“Are you all right?” Ned asked. His mother did not go in for public displays of emotion, and it was unnerving to see her dabbing at her eyes.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” Lady Penworth whispered. “I was prepared to be polite. I know this is all superstitious nonsense. But somehow…all these people…and the music…it was really very moving.”