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The Iron Maiden Prologue Calais, France, 1794 “Find the De Maurier brat!” Pierre Chamblais bellowed, as his horse let out a long whiny. The estate of the Iron Maiden was crawling with outraged members of the revolution. Screams of terror and shouts of protestation filled the air, which was rife with the paralyzing sense of doom. Faithful De Maurier servants scrambled to protect their innocent mistress. They were completely loyal to their Duke and Duchess, and they did not agree with the barbarism that the revolution now presented. It was no longer a quest for independence and freedom, but a cruel and vindictive witch-hunt that only sought to seek and destroy innocents, along with the guilty. Lady Sandrine De Maurier, the Duchess of Calais dashed through the long corridors of the ancient castle. She clutched her daughter, Lady Arabella De Maurier to her chest, as her breath came out in short exhausted gasps. Her daughter was four years old, and small and light in weight for her age. Worried servants followed Lady Sandrine as she ran through each grandiose room, seeking the secret hideaway that had been built during the age of raids and sieges. She was under siege at this very moment, and she would not give up until her daughter was safe from those that would hurt her. Arabella would be safe, and Sandrine would be able to rest in peace when the Republicans finally led her to the dreaded guillotine. She thought fleetingly of her home land of England, and pressed a fervent kiss to Arabella’s forehead. Her child would blossom and grow into a woman, without her being there to witness it. But everything would be all right, as long as Arabella reached the safe haven of England. Sandrine was confident that her family would give Arabella the love and attention that she deserved. Sandrine had already bid adieu to her husband, as he was intent on providing a distraction, so that she would have the time to hide their only child. Sandrine had hoped to flee to England to the welcoming embrace of her Aunt and Grandmother, but that had been quickly forgotten when Jean Luc had assured her time and again that the revolution would never reach their isolated paradise. But it had! And for the first time that Sandrine could recall, her husband had made a horrible error in judgment. King Louis, and Queen Marie-Antoinette were gone. Most of the French aristocrats had been terminated, or they were awaiting their execution. Sandrine should have known better, and now she deeply regretted her decision to not believe her brother-in-law’s advice. Duncan had warned her time and time again, and she had ignored him time and time again. But she was determined to save Arabella. No one would ever hurt her. Arabella would live! Sandrine, nearly tripped over her long emerald skirts in her haste, and she let out an expletive that made Arabella tighten her hold on her. “You’re safe,” Sandrine murmured, as her mind raced. How long would she be able to tell her daughter that? “Daphne,” she said, as her young lady’s maid came forward. “You must make a solemn promise to protect Arabella once I have been taken. Make sure that she never forgets how much her father and I loved her,” Love blanketed her voice and it broke with the depth of her emotion. “I swear!” Daphne vowed. Their gazes locked for an instant. Sandrine could recognize the steely determination in Daphne’s eyes, and she was confident that Daphne would not fail her. “Once you climb inside the hiding space with Arabella, make certain that she remains quiet. No matter what happens, you mustn’t reveal yourselves.” Sandrine reflected on her relatively short life. She was twenty-two years old, and she had lived an extraordinary life. She had been the daughter of a duke, and she had made an envious match by marrying one of the wealthiest men in France. But when she compared it all to motherhood, it didn’t matter one bit. Her daughter was her world. Jewels and wealth were nothing. And she would give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant that she could see her daughter into adulthood. But the fates conspired against her. “Mama?” Arabella whispered, tracing her small chubby hand across Sandrine’s face. Sandrine kissed Arabella’s hand gently, and stared at Arabella’s cherubic face, as she mentally burned the angelic image into her mind. This would be the last thing she would see before she met her maker. “Don’t leave me,” Arabella’s fervent plea, nearly caused Sandrine’s heart to break in two. “Oh, but I must, dearest,” Sandrine murmured. Angry shouts of the furious mob drew dangerously close. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, and nearly made Sandrine jump. “Do not be afraid my love,” she soothed. She gently wiped Arabella’s hot tears away with her hand. “The bad people are coming,” Arabella murmured. Her luminescent green eyes filled with fear, and Sandrine’s heart finally broke. “Yes, they are, but I won’t let them take you,” Sandrine promised. “You will be safe. You must always remember that your Papa and I will always love you.” She darted a furtive glance behind her. Her heart fell into the pit of her stomach, and her mind raced. The mob was drawing ever closer, and time was running out! She quickly unfastened the gold ruby and diamond cross necklace that she wore around her neck, and lowered Arabella to her feet. She fastened the cross around Arabella’s small neck, and then swept Arabella back up into her arms. “Oh, my dearest heart!” Sandrine murmured softly, holding Arabella close, nearly suffocating her with her affection. “I’ll love you from now until forever. Your destiny holds great promise Bella. Never forget that, and most of all do not forget how to live.” Sandrine reluctantly handed Arabella over to Daphne, as her eyes filled with unshed tears. She rained kissed all over Arabella’s cheeks, and then forced herself to let go. “Don’t leave me, Mama!” Arabella cried, desperately reaching her arms out for her. “I must leave you, so that you will have the chance to live. Do not be afraid, and never forget that you were loved.” Sandrine closed the small door, as it blended in with the wall. She swung the tapestry back in place, and positioned it perfectly. She darted into the adjoining room, so that she would not be caught near Arabella. “Ah, Your Grace. Your English beauty still takes my breath away.” Pierre remarked, screwing up his priggish face. Sandrine straightened up to her full regal bearing, as she faced down the man that had nearly destroyed her entire family. But he would not win. He would never have victory, as long as she had life in her body. Daphne huddled in the cramp quarters, and Arabella stiffened, and widened her eyes. She had hoped that her mama would not leave, but she had. Hot tears began welling in her eyes, and she sniffled. “I’ll never see my Mama again,” Arabella lamented. She was alone now. Daphne was the only person that she could rely upon. She would stop her crying, and she would be a strong little lady. She would never let anyone see what she was feeling ever again. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, when she heard a scary voice, filled with anger. It made her want to start crying again, though she knew she mustn’t. Then her breath caught sharply in her throat, as she heard the cries of celebration from those bad men. They had won! Then their triumphant shouts of ‘Vive la France!’ filled her ears, and she knew that she would never forget what they had taken away from her. But most of all she would never forgive. Calais, France 1808 Chapter One “Oh, my little miss, you are playing with fire.” Daphne Trudeau chastised, clucking her tongue. Arabella sighed heavily. She squinted and smoothed the tendrils of hair away from her forehead. She knew that Daphne was only looking out for her best interests, but sometimes she wished the woman would just let her command her own destiny. Daphne flung open Arabella’s rosewood wardrobe, and reached for the pressed shimmering golden hued ball gown that hung inside. Genuine gold thread had been woven into the bodice and skirt of the gown, and it gave it an aura of mysticism. Daphne let out a delicious sigh while she gingerly caressed the soft, satiny material. “We do what we must!” Arabella replied bravely. She pinched her cheeks in a futile attempt to bring some semblance of color into them. “Emperor Bonaparte has promised to return The Iron Maiden to my rightful possession. Daphne, I shall not do anything to jeopardize that agreement for anything in the civilized world.” Her heart thudded against her ribcage as she began thinking longingly of her family’s ancestral castle. It was the De Maurier legacy, and she yearned to bring it back into her life. “Indulge me in this one question,” Daphne begged staring seriously into Arabella’s green eyes. “Do you actually believe our exalted Emperor shall fulfill that promise?” Arabella considered Daphne’s question as her friend assisted her into the awe-inspiring gown. It was a work of art to be sure, and she would be the envy of every woman in attendance. Slowly, a smile played at the corners of her lips. “With my renowned beauty I shall have the randy Emperor eating out of my hand,” she declared, wincing as she stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. “Men are only interested in me because of my striking appearance, and for once in my life, I have decided to use my beauty to my advantage.” Copyright©2004MarlyMathews |
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