The English Heiress Read Online Free PDF Page A

Saulieu.
    All the family had come with Papa to be at the meeting. They were all so proud of him and of the new hope for France. Instead of joy, violence had resulted. Instead of freedom, the despotism of mob rule was created. Jean-Paul had planned it well. With all the responsible citizens in one place, his mob had only to storm the hall. Jean-Paul and his mob had seized power. Even then Papa had not recognized him. It was only when the monster had reminded him…
    Leonie shuddered and buried her face in her bands for a moment, struggling to block out the memory of that night, of herself and her mother spread-eagled on the floor, violated by man after man while her father, bound and gagged, was forced to watch. Jean-Paul had taken her first, not even looking at her, laughing in her father’s face and reminding him of the “injury” Papa had done him. Papa had saved his life! Leonie lifted her head, her eyes brilliant with hate again. Jean-Paul had intended to destroy her, but he had failed!
    Then the flame died out of Leonie’s eyes and her expression grew thoughtful. It was strange but that horror had not been all bad. The thing itself, yes, but the results… She considered what she had been before that night, a person insulated from life. Nothing unpleasant had ever touched her. Even the bloody violence she had seen in Paris had seemed like scenes in a painting—dreadful, but nothing to do with her. What she had not realized was that nothing good had really touched her either. She had accepted the love of her parents, her physical comforts, the courtesy of everyone around her with mild pleasure. She had known neither love nor hate.
    Now she knew both. Strangely, love had come first in a burning uprush that had seared out the pain and shame of rape. As soon as Jean-Paul and his mangy dogs had left them, Mama—battered and bleeding as she was—had crawled to wrap her daughter in her arms, to comfort her, to assure her it was a passing thing, that she would be better in a very little while. It was true too, Leonie remembered. Perhaps because she had not been alone, because Mama had undergone the same horror and made light of it perhaps because the eruption of violence, the sudden seizure, had shocked her so much already that she could feel nothing strongly. She remembered what had happened, but the memory of horror was less important than Mama’s tenderness and Papa’s wild grief. How she loved them for what they had given her! For the first time in her life, she had really loved.
    Hate had come later, after her stunned mind had taken in what had happened, after Leonie realized that they would not be killed as those others in Paris had been killed and their heads paraded through the streets on poles. Perhaps that was the strangest of all, the way a love for life had grown up side by side with the hate.
    Jean-Paul had come again to the cellar the next day, and after his men had subdued Papa, he had laughed at them again and told them that they would not be killed—that was too good for them. They would learn what he had learned in the prison at Dijon—how to die by inches.
    There could be no doubt Jean-Paul had done his best to fulfill his threat, but instead Leonie had learned what joy was. All the things she had taken so much for granted that she had not even noticed them became a source of infinite pleasure. A breath of fresh air or taste of wholesome cheese was more wonderful than the most elaborate dinner.
    Unfortunately, the things that bred strength in Leonie had worked as Jean-Paul planned on the others. The dark and filth, the slimy cold in the cellar, even though it was summer now, had sapped strength from Mama and François. The child had sickened first. Tears dimmed the glow of Leonie’s eyes, and she began to pace once more. She had done her best to save him, inventing stories and games, trying to make him laugh and want to live, but she had not been able to save François or Mama.
    Leonie stopped again