CHAPTER 240: THE NIGHT OF TERROR: III

Recognizing her stepmother, Valentine couldn’t suppress a shudder that vibrated through the bed.

Madame de Villefort instantly stepped back against the wall. Hidden in the shadows of the bed curtains, she silently watched for any movement from Valentine.

Valentine remembered Monte Cristo’s terrible warning. She imagined the hand not holding the bottle must be gripping a long, sharp knife.

Gathering her remaining strength, she forced herself to close her eyes completely. But this simple action, usually so easy, became almost impossible. Curiosity fought desperately to keep her eyelids open, to learn the truth.

Madame de Villefort, reassured by the silence broken only by Valentine’s regular breathing, extended her hand again. Half-hidden by the curtains, she succeeded in emptying the bottle’s contents into the glass. Then she withdrew so quietly that Valentine didn’t realize she’d left.

She only glimpsed the arm pulling away, the fair, round arm of a woman barely twenty-five years old, who spread death wherever she went.

It’s impossible to describe what Valentine felt during the minute and a half her stepmother stayed in the room.

The scratching sound at the library door pulled Valentine from her stupor, a state that had nearly become unconsciousness. She lifted her head with effort.

The silent door turned on its hinges again, and the Count of Monte Cristo reappeared.

"Well," he said, "do you still doubt?"

"Oh..." Valentine could barely speak.

"Did you see?"

"Yes..."

"Did you recognize her?"

Valentine groaned. "Oh yes. I saw, but I can’t believe it!"

"Would you rather die then, and cause Maximilian’s death too?"

"Oh," the young girl repeated, nearly bewildered. "Can’t I just leave this house? Can’t I escape?"

"Valentine, the hand that threatens you now will follow you everywhere. Your servants will be bribed with gold. Death will be offered to you disguised in every form. You’ll find it in the water you drink from the spring, in the fruit you pick from the tree."

"But didn’t you say my grandfather’s precautions neutralized the poison?"

"Yes, but not against a stronger dose. The poison will be changed, the quantity increased." He picked up the glass and raised it to his lips. "It’s already been changed. She’s no longer using brucine, but a simple narcotic. I can taste the alcohol it’s dissolved in. If you’d drunk what Madame de Villefort poured into your glass, Valentine... you would be doomed!"

"But why?" the young girl cried out. "Why is she doing this to me?"

"Why? Are you so kind, so good, so trusting that you can’t understand?"

"No. I’ve never hurt her."

"But you’re rich, Valentine. You have an income of two hundred thousand livres a year, and you’re preventing her son from enjoying that fortune."

"How? The fortune isn’t her gift, I inherited it from my relatives."

"Exactly. And that’s why Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Méran died. That’s why Monsieur Noirtier was targeted the day he made you his heir. That’s why you must die now, so your father can inherit your property, and your brother, his only son, can succeed him."

"Edward? My poor little brother? All these crimes are being committed for his sake?"

"Ah, so you finally understand."

"God help him, I hope he doesn’t suffer for this!"

"Valentine, you’re an angel."

"But why is my grandfather still alive?"

"They figured that once you’re dead, the fortune would naturally go to your brother unless he’s disinherited. Besides, since the crime would serve no purpose with you gone, it would be foolish to commit it."

"Is it possible that a woman invented this horrifying scheme?"

"Do you remember seeing a man in a brown cloak at the Hôtel des Postes in Perugia? Your stepmother was questioning him about a poison called aqua tofana. Ever since then, this diabolical plan has been growing in her mind."

"Then, sir," the sweet girl said, tears streaming down her face, "I really am condemned to die."

"No, Valentine, because I’ve foreseen all their plots. Your enemy is defeated now that we know who she is. You will live, Valentine. You’ll live to be happy yourself and to bring happiness to a noble heart. But to ensure this, you must trust me completely."

"Tell me what to do, sir."

"You must take whatever I give you without question."

"If it were only for my own sake, I’d rather die!"

"You must not confide in anyone, not even your father."

"My father isn’t part of this terrible plot, is he?" Valentine asked, clasping her hands together.

"No. But your father, a man experienced in criminal law, should have known these deaths weren’t natural. He should have been watching over you. He should have been in my place. He should have emptied that glass. He should have confronted the assassin." His voice dropped to a murmur, "Ghost against ghost."

"Sir, I’ll do everything I can to live. There are two people who love me and would die if I died, my grandfather and Maximilian."

"I’ll watch over them as I’ve watched over you."

"Then do with me as you will." She added in a low voice, "Oh God, what’s going to happen to me?"

"Whatever happens, Valentine, don’t be alarmed. You might suffer. You might lose your sight, hearing, consciousness, but don’t be afraid. Even if you wake up and don’t know where you are, don’t fear. Even if you find yourself in a burial vault or a coffin, tell yourself, ’Right now, a friend, a father who lives for my happiness and Maximilian’s, is watching over me.’"

"This is too terrifying!"

"Valentine, would you rather expose your stepmother?"

"I’d rather die a hundred times! Yes, I’d rather die!"

"No, you won’t die. But promise me that whatever happens, you won’t complain. Just hope."

"I’ll think of Maximilian."

"You’re my dear child, Valentine. I alone can save you, and I will."

In her extreme terror, Valentine clasped her hands together. She felt the moment had come to pray for courage. As she began murmuring incoherent words, she forgot that her white shoulders were covered only by her long hair, and that her racing heartbeat was visible through the lace of her nightgown.

Monte Cristo gently laid his hand on the young girl’s arm and drew the velvet coverlet up to her throat. With a paternal smile, he said, "My child, trust in my devotion to you as you trust in God’s goodness and Maximilian’s love."

Valentine gave him a grateful look and became as obedient as a child.

He drew a small emerald box from his waistcoat pocket, raised the golden lid, and took out a pastille about the size of a pea. He placed it in her hand.

She took it and looked at him intently. There was an expression on her protector’s face that commanded absolute trust. Her look seemed to question him.

"Yes," he said simply.

Valentine brought the pastille to her mouth and swallowed it.

"Now, my dear child, goodbye for now. I’ll try to get a little sleep, because you are saved."

"I promise," Valentine said, "that whatever happens, I won’t be afraid."

Monte Cristo kept his eyes fixed on the young girl as she gradually fell asleep, yielding to the effects of the narcotic he’d given her.

Then he took the glass, poured three-quarters of its contents into the fireplace so it would appear Valentine had drunk it, and placed it back on the table.

He disappeared after throwing one last protective glance at Valentine, who slept with the confidence and innocence of an angel under heaven’s protection.