Read Online Bon Marche by Chet Hagan - Free Book Online Page B

MacCallum interjected, ever the tutor, “that it has a Latin root: amor, which is the Latin word for love, you may recall.”
    Katherine ignored him. “Amour,” she repeated in a husky whisper. “There’s such a lovely sound to it.”
    Charles nodded. “And there are so many ways to use it. Affaire d’amour, a love affair; s’amouracher, to fall in love; mal d’amour, lovesickness; amourette, passing fancy; amour-propre, self-love.”
    â€œI think it’s important,” MacCallum insisted, “that you recognize the Latin base in so many languages—Italian, Spanish, French.” He tried to make his point in the context of what Katherine had started. “The Romance languages, they’re called. It was the ancient Romans who said, Amor vincit omnia —love conquers all.”
    â€œDoes it, Monsieur Dewey?” Katherine asked.
    Charles gave a Gallic shrug. “Amour fait beaucoup, mais argent fait tout.”
    The young woman was perplexed. “What does that mean?”
    â€œLove does much, but money does all.” He laughed.
    â€œMr. Dewey, you’re simply horrid!”
    â€œ Monsieur Dewey,” MacCallum corrected her.
    â€œVery well … monsieur, ” Katherine pouted. “But he’s still horrid.”
    Then she smiled at Charles.
    Invitingly.

5
    C HARLES Dewey knew there was a God, even though he had never been inside a church.
    He could recall having been witness to only a single religious ceremony, when the bodies of three seamen killed in a gunnery accident off the West Indies were consigned to the waters of the Caribbean.
    What religion he knew had been assimilated into his consciousness as a result of what he had heard. But what told him there was a God, what made him a believer, was the sure knowledge that his life was directed by a guardian spirit. Who else but God could be responsible for such a spirit?
    In that somewhat narrow sense, he was a devout believer.
    The prospect, then, of going to church with the Statler family on his first Sunday at Elkwood was pleasing to him. Until he met Funston Lee.
    As Statler had announced during dinner at the beginning of the week, Lee sent his coach to take Marshall Statler, his daughters, Andrew MacCallum, and Charles to the services. But Lee himself arrived with the coach, and there was limited room inside it.
    Charles’s trouble began early, when they were just leaving the mansion. Katherine suddenly took his arm as they went down the stone steps, holding it tightly, walking closer to him than was necessary. Hurrying ahead of the others, she guided him to the coach where Lee awaited the Statler party.
    Lee was tall and slim, with smoldering, deep-set eyes. His thin lips were pressed together in disgust at that moment. He was grandly dressed; his lavishly embroidered cape was trimmed with rich fur.
    â€œFunston dear,” Katherine cooed, pressing so close to Charles that he could feel her thigh, “I wish to present Monsieur Dewey.”
    Lee glowered at him for an instant, then removed his black velvet tricorne and made a sweeping bow so exaggerated that it could only suggest contempt.
    â€œAh! The Frenchman,” he said. “Your servant, sir.”
    Imprisoned by Katherine’s determined hold, Dewey couldn’t return the bow. The others were at the coach now, with MacCallum helping Martha inside. Lee extended his hand to Katherine. Before relinquishing Charles’s arm, she patted it affectionately, a gesture that Lee was meant to see. Katherine boarded, then Statler and the tutor.
    â€œOh, dear,” Funston said, glancing inside the coach, “I fear the ladies will be most uncomfortable if we attempt to crowd a half-dozen in there.”
    He paused in feigned thought, turning finally to Charles. “Perhaps Monsieur Dewey will play the gallant Frenchman and ride on top … with the coachman.”
    The insult was obvious. A