The Courtesan by Susan Carroll Page B

blindness—”
    “That’s not what I meant,” Gabrielle interrupted her. “I understand how you were able to summon Nostradamus. What I don’t understand is why Remy didn’t come when I called for him.”
    Cass took a long time about answering, her head ducked beneath her curtain of hair. “I am not sure,” she said at last. “Most likely because the captain didn’t want to. I tried to warn you the dead can be very unforgiving.”
    “So you think because I rejected him in life, now he rejects me in . . . death?”
    “It would seem so.” Cass lifted her head, her face shadowed with sympathy. “I am sorry, Gabrielle.”
    “That’s all right. I rather suspected as much myself,” Gabrielle said. Then why did it hurt so much to hear Cass confirm it?
    “I suppose if you wanted I could try again sometime when I am feeling better.”
    “No, what would be the point?” Gabrielle answered bleakly. “I daresay the outcome would be just the same. It was ridiculous of me to attempt it in the first place.”
    Cass gave her hands a comforting squeeze. “You should forget about Remy. He was only a soldier who passed briefly through your life, nothing to do with your destiny. If Nostradamus is right, you’re going to have a king in thrall, be mistress of all of France.”
    “Yes, France,” Gabrielle murmured, wondering why she did not feel more elated. But at this moment she would have traded away the entire kingdom, all her ambitions and dazzling prospects, for just one more of Nicolas Remy’s smiles.
    A foolish thought, she chided herself. She was tired, that was all. It had been an eventful and exhausting evening. Releasing Cass’s hands, she straightened up slowly.
    “It is getting late. I should be going. And you should get some rest.”
    Cass reached up one hand to smother a mighty yawn. “I am feeling extremely weary. These sessions are always very draining for me.”
    Gabrielle strode across the room to fetch her cloak. By the time she had fastened it around her shoulders and glanced back, Cass had already stretched out on the cot and crawled beneath the blankets.
    There was something curiously childlike about the way she hugged the pillow beneath her head. Watching her, Gabrielle was beset by a sharp pang. It seemed so callous to simply walk away and leave Cass in these melancholy circumstances, alone in this mausoleum of a house, which had to be filled with such terrible memories for her.
    “Cass, I—I hate leaving you alone like this. I wish you would let me—”
    But Cass cut her off as she always did.
    “Don’t worry about me, Gabrielle,” she said with a drowsy smile. “I have looked after myself for a long time. You just remember your promise to grant my favor whenever I ask for it.”
    “Of course,” Gabrielle murmured.
    There seemed no more to be said as Cass nestled down under the covers and closed her eyes. Finding the taper she had brought with her, Gabrielle lit it to help find her way back up the stairs. As soon as she opened the door to the hidden chamber, she all but tripped over Cerberus, who was stretched out across the threshold. The dog had been mournfully resting his head on his paws. He perked up at once and without wasting a glance on Gabrielle, he darted down into the hidden chamber in quest of his mistress.
    Looking back, Gabrielle’s last glimpse of the blind recluse of the Maison d’Esprit was Cass cuddling her dog beside her.

    Cass huddled beneath the blankets, listening intently, her sense of hearing almost as keen as her dog’s. As soon as she detected the last of Gabrielle’s footsteps on the floor above her, the distant thud of a door closing, Cass whipped back the covers and went in search of her bottle.
    She heard Cerberus’s claws skitter on the stone floor as the mastiff paced anxiously after her. Cass ignored him, groping her way along the cupboard shelves. Gabrielle had been the last one to put the brandy away and it was not in its usual spot. Cursing