Tansy

by Gretchen Craig

  Tansy jolted at the figure of Estelle silhouetted in the door to the courtyard. “Maman, you gave me such a start.”

  Estelle stepped into the room, her arms crossed over her chest. “Where have you been all morning?”

  Tansy held up her shopping bag. “To the market.”

  One carefully groomed brow quirked up. “For nearly two hours? For that is how long I have waited here.”

  Tansy attempted a laugh. “Why ever would you wait so long, Maman?” She set her bag on the table. “Would you like an orange? Or I could make coffee.”

  “I’ve already had coffee. With Monsieur Valcourt.”

  Tansy hesitated perhaps a moment too long. “Oh, then he’s awake?”

  “Awake and gone.”

  Tansy busied herself with unloading her bag. “That’s too bad. I promised him a big breakfast.”

  Keeping her back to Estelle, she busied herself filling the fruit bowl, wrapping the bread in brown paper and putting it in the tin safe. The silence between them seemed to grow in size and weight like some black cloud taking monstrous shape behind her.

  “What can you be thinking? Valcourt here, and you gone?”

  Tansy touched the base of her breastbone where a knot twisted. She turned to her mother with a shrug. “Valere was sleeping soundly, and I had things to do.”

  Estelle took a step toward her, her mouth contorted into an ugly square. “You have nothing, nothing else you have to do when your protector is in your bed. You want to throw away everything? You want him to leave you simply because you had things to do?”

  Tansy leaned back at the viciousness in her mother’s face. Estelle closed the distance between them, took a pinch of flesh on Tansy’s upper arm and twisted. “Where were you!”

  She slapped her mother’s hand away, pain and anger searing through her. She straightened her spine and looked directly into her mother’s eyes. “Do not presume to touch me that way again.”

  Estelle’s head snapped back. “What did you say to me?”

  “I am not a child. You may not treat me as one.”

  “You’re not a child?” Estelle snorted. “And yet you leave Valere in your bed while you go — you have not been at the market all this time.”

  “It does not concern you where I have been. I’d like you to go now, Maman.”

  Estelle’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve taken a lover.”

  Tansy laughed. “You think I would leave Valere in my bed and go to a lover at seven in the morning?”

  Alain skipped into the room and settled himself at the table. “Bonjour, Grand-mère. I’m going to have an orange.”

  Estelle ignored him. She glowered at Tansy, the furrows around her mouth deepening. “Is it Christophe?”

  Tansy felt heat flush over her face. “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not have a lover.”

  Estelle snatched her purse off the table. “If you betray Valere, the contract is voided. You know where you’ll end up, and you needn’t come crying to me to save you from Nicolas Augustine and his brothel.” She marched out, slamming the door behind her.

  Tansy’s hands trembled. Alain’s legs swung back and forth. The little house swelled with silence.

  Always Nicolas Augustine, as if he were a red-eyed bogeyman. Such an ugly threat. Yet she’d stood up to her mother! What had come over her? She watched Alain roll an orange across the table from left hand to right hand to left. Tansy wiped her hands on her skirt. She breathed in, breathed out, calming her heart, easing her chest. You know what? she said to herself. I feel good. I feel tall.

  With a light heart, she said, “Here, Alain. Let me peel it.”

  “I can pull the segments apart by myself.”

  “I know you can. You can do many things.” Tansy dug into the rind with her thumbnail, the sharp scent of orange rind bursting out.

  “Grand-mère was mad. But not at me.”

  “No, darling. Not at you. Don’t worry about it.”

  At least Maman’s outburst had put things into perspective. Teaching at the school was nothing compared to Maman’s accusation. Why should Valere object if she were gone in the mornings? He had only come to her before noon perhaps twice in the last five years. She would simply tell him. He could still sleep in of a morning if he wanted to. When her two hours were up at school, she’d come right back. If he wanted to wait for her, she would happily climb back into bed with him.

  It was nothing. Valere truly could not care what she did in the mornings. She stole a segment of orange from Alain and savored the sweet, tart juice on her tongue.

  ~ ~ ~

  Martine rushed in. “Tansy!”

  “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Nothing is the matter! Look at this.” Martine held out a dozen red roses wrapped in green paper.

  “How truly beautiful, Martine.” She looked at her friend’s excited face. “They’re from him? Monsieur DuMaine?”

  Heedless of thorns, Martine pressed the roses to her breast. She held a card out. “Read this.”

  For my beautiful Martine. DuMaine.

  “He says ’my Martine.’ You see that?”

  Martine’s black eyes shone, her cheeks were pink. Tansy had not seen her like this since she’d been a girl in the clutch of infatuation all those years ago.

  “Has he spoken to Maman?”

  “I don’t know. But he will, won’t he?”

  “I can’t imagine that he won’t.” Tansy filled a vase from the water jug and offered it to Martine. Then she sat at the table and pulled Alain into her lap. He reached for the vase of flowers and began twisting the vase in his hands.

  Martine reclaimed them with a laugh. “Alain, mon cher, I love you, but you may not have my roses.”

  He gave Martine the smile of an imp and let her move them to her side of the table. Tansy kissed the top of his head. “Why don’t you bring your soldiers in here to play with while we talk? I see the leg of this table is actually the very tall door into a very tall castle.”

  When Alain had slid off her lap, Tansy reached across the table for Martine’s hand. “I believe you are in love, my friend.”

  A definite flush moved from Martine’s neck up through her cheeks. “Love. Fah, I am not such a green girl as that.”

  “Then what are you? In very great like?”

  Martine laughed. “Yes, I am in very great like. Who would not be? Frederick is handsome, charming, attentive. And when he holds me in his arms … ” Martine gazed over Tansy’s shoulder, a far-away look in her eyes.

  “Yes, I can see this is great like.”

  Marine turned a sober gaze back on Tansy. “I … I want him to touch me. I want him in my bed.”

  Tansy’s brows shot high on her forehead. “Martine!”

  Martine shrugged. “If you and I cannot say such things …”

  “You haven’t already —”

  Martine flipped her wrist at Tansy. “No, of course not. At least, not much.”

  “Martine?”

  “Just a kiss or two. Behind the palms.” Her eyes twinkled. “And perhaps a touch. Or two.”

  “I never thought I’d be saying this to you. Are you thinking at all?”

  “Of course I am. Have I not already engaged your mother to speak for me?”

  “Even knowing how he is? What, sixteen lovers in three years?”

  Martine laughed. “Three in five years. You know that.” Her eyes took on that dreamy cast again. “Perhaps I shall be his last.”

  Tansy shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. You, of all people. In like.”

  “He’s picking me up in his carriage tonight. To take me dancing.”

  “That means he’ll be bringing you home.” Tansy tilted her head at Martine with a suspicious look in her eye.

  Martine grinned. “Yes, it does.”

  “Martine, you cannot let him come in. Not before Maman has made arrangements.”

  Martine didn’t answer. She simply stared into the distance.

  “Martine.
”

  Martine huffed out a breath. “Of course not. I am not a fool. I know how it’s done.”

  So many times Martine had scoffed at Tansy for being emotional and sentimental, but Tansy doubted Martine’s cool-headed resolve this time. The moon glow on her gentleman and the stars in her own eyes blinded her to common sense.

  When Martine left, Tansy wrote a quick note to her mother. For all her mother’s harshness, she had protected Tansy and kept her safe until she’d agreed Tansy could have Valere. Martine had no family left, but she had Estelle. If for no other reason, Maman would not want to see Martine enter into a liaison without the proper documents, and thus the proper commission to herself. She would know exactly how to keep Martine from any foolish, rash behavior.

  She folded the letter and hesitated. It had been so long since she’d seen Martine sparkling and happy. Maman’s shrewish, caustic, pitiless tongue would lash and rip at her. She would twist Martine’s feelings into something tawdry.

  Tansy tore the letter in two. She would not see Martine scathed and humiliated. She would take care of this herself.

  At ten o’clock, she sat at her front window watching the street. An elegant black carriage rolled up in front of Martine’s cottage. DuMaine emerged looking debonair, handsome, and assured. In a moment, he returned and handed Martine into his carriage.

  Tansy gathered a book, a shawl, and a bread roll into her shopping bag. It would be hours before Martine returned, and she’d be starving long before the ball was over. Alain lay on his back, arms and legs splayed out. She took him into her arms without waking him and walked through the adjoining courtyards to Martine’s back door. She keyed it open and entered.

  The street lamp on the corner seeped in enough to show her the way to Martine’s bed. She lay Alain down, then returned to the parlor where she lit an oil lamp and settled in to read. By the time she heard carriage wheels, she’d fallen asleep on the sofa and developed a crick in her neck.

  She roused herself and ran her hands over her face. She must look a fright. No matter. She pressed her hand against her stomach in anxiety. Tansy had no experience in denying gentlemen, and DuMaine was a rich man, accustomed to doing as he pleased and having what he wanted. His response to being gainsaid might be quite unpleasant. Nevertheless, DuMaine would not enter Martine’s bedroom tonight.

  The door opened. Martine entered, leading DuMaine by the hand, her back to Tansy. The gentleman’s eyelids were heavy, his gaze ardent. He closed the door with his foot and pulled Martine into his arms, bending her back in a fevered kiss. He’d quickly pushed her gown completely off one shoulder when Tansy said, “Good evening.”

  His head jerked up, the surprise on his face comical.

  Martine twisted in his arms. “Tansy?”

  “Good evening,” she said again.

  DuMaine released Martine, his expression stern and glowering. Tansy took a fortifying breath. “Did you have a lovely time at the ball?” And in the carriage coming home, she might have added. Martine’s tignon was askew, her lips swollen and pink.

  Martine put her hands on her hips and scowled at her.

  “How kind of you to bring Martine home in your carriage, Monsieur.”

  Tansy understood the man’s appeal. He oozed power and masculinity.

  “Madame … Tansy, is it?” His raised brows asked her what the devil she was about. He knew Martine lived alone. She could almost see his mind working. Would she be persuaded to absent herself? He touched his breast pocket, and she knew he considered offering her a ... token … to leave them.

  “Madame,” DuMaine began, steel under the smooth, urbane tone. The man did not mean to be thwarted.

  Tansy held her hand up, wondering where she got the nerve. “Monsieur, perhaps you don’t realize that my friend is alone in the world. No father, brother, mother, uncle, no one to protect her.”

  “Tansy!” Martine said, that one word full of warning.

  Tansy looked Martine full in the face. “But she has me.” She turned her gaze back to DuMaine. “Perhaps, Monsieur, you might call on Madame Bouvier on Rampart St. She is experienced in these matters and will discuss the terms of your alliance with my friend.”

  DuMaine’s jaw muscle flexed. His eyes bore into hers and she swore she could see fire in their depths. She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. And as suddenly as the sun peeking through a patch of cloud, his expression brightened. A glint of humor lit his eyes and he granted her a very slight smile.

  He took Martine’s hand and kissed it with an ungentlemanly warmth, bowed to both of them, and left without another word.

  “Tansy.” Martine’s voice wavered with frustrated yearning. “You had no business —”

  “Yes, Martine. I did have business keeping you from ruining your chances with him. You need a contract.”

  “I have enough income. I don’t need a contract.”

  “Yes. You do. There is a distinct line between having a formal alliance and simply taking a man to your bed. And you know it.”

  Martine glowered, too annoyed to keep the vinegar out of her voice. “You’re so sure that if he had come to my bed, he would not have offered a contract?”

  Tansy raised her palms. “Perhaps he would have. Perhaps not. But you will not be thought of easy virtue. You will not stain your name.”

  Martine’s mouth took on that stubborn look. She was truly angry.

  “Look at you,” Tansy said. “Can you honestly say you were thinking straight tonight? If it had been I bringing home a man I was besotted with, what would you have done?”

  Martine tightened her mouth with stubbornness, but she looked aside. Tansy walked to her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll get Alain and go home.”

  Tansy was half way out of the room when Martine said, “No. Stay.” She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Have a glass of wine with me.”

  Side by side on the sofa, their feet on the coffee table, Martine tossed her tignon aside and shook out her hair. “Christophe was there, in the orchestra.”

  “That means another book or two, no doubt.”

  “Is that what he does with his money? Buy books? How unimaginative.”

  “I think it’s quite imaginative.” She shook her head. “You and Valere don’t know what you’re missing. There’s a whole world in every book you open. I could loan you one — I think you’d like Candide.”

  Martine leaned her head against the sofa back. “Maybe.” With a glint in her eye, she nudged Tansy. “He has a woman over on St. Ann. Did you know?”

  Tansy sipped her wine. She hadn’t known. Why would she?

  “Did you?” Martine asked again.

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” But she had, once or twice, wondered ... well, it was none of her business.

  “I don’t think they’re in love. Not according to Alexandra. She lives next door to this Musette Vipont. A widow. No children.”

  It was on the tip of Tansy’s tongue to ask how old the woman was, but she stopped herself.

  “Alexandra thinks they are merely comfortable — convenient — together.”

  Truly, not her business. “The sun’s up.” Tansy motioned toward the gray bands of early light at the shuttered window.

  “Poor Tansy. Alain will be waking up full of energy and you’ve been up all night.”

  “I slept a while.”

  Martine rolled her head to the side and looked at her. “You were quite fierce with Frederick. Who knew you had a tiger in you?”

  Tansy laughed. “Was I fierce? I thought I was simply firm.”

  Martine took her hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’d have done the same for me.”

  “Yes, I would have.”

  Tansy put her feet on the floor. “I hear Alain stirring. I’m taking him home and then I’m going to make a huge pot of coffee.”

  Martine opened the courtyard door for her. As Tansy passed with Alain on her shoulder, Martine said, quietly, “On St. Ann, one house below Dauphine. The one with the blue s
hutters.”

  Tansy didn’t have to ask what she meant. But really, Christophe was entitled to his own life.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tansy paused at the corner of Rue Dauphine. She had plenty of time before she and Alain had to be at school. Why shouldn’t she satisfy her curiosity? Christophe knew everything about her life.

  She turned down St. Ann and scanned the block ahead. One house down from Dauphine, Martine had said. On this side of the street were a parfumerie and a leather shop. It had to be the house on the opposite sidewalk, a typical Vieux Carré cottage with double French doors and a cypress stoop. Beside the door, a wooden plaque. Dressmaker, painted in gold script.

  The dressmaker’s door opened, and a stately woman stepped out with a shopping basket. She wore a fashionably cut green dress with a matching, intricately-tied tignon. She must be a decade older than Christophe, but this had to be her. Blue shutters, one down from Dauphine. Christophe’s lover.

  The woman locked the front door. She turned up St. Ann and strode ahead of Tansy. Tall as a man, the woman was no beauty, but Tansy admired her proud bearing, her long, purposeful strides. This was the woman Christophe bedded, the woman he had chosen. A dressmaker. A woman who made her own way in the world, who’d mastered a profession, who’d created her own life. What had Tansy ever done? Inadequacy bloomed in her chest like a poisonous flower. She depended on Valere for everything — clothing, shoes, fuel, even the food she and Alain ate. When had she ever controlled her own life?

  The woman paused at the corner to wait for a hay wagon to pass. Tansy got a better look at her in profile. No, not beautiful, her skin too dark, her face too plain to be a placée. She’d had to learn a trade. Tansy had been born with a pleasing face, a pleasing shape, and a pleasing skin. Why should she apologize for that? What woman wouldn’t take advantage of God’s gifts?

  Yet the poisonous flower shriveled her pride. Christophe had chosen a woman as different from Tansy as she could be.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tansy held her arms out and slowly turned for Martine’s appreciation of her new ball gown. She’d had Madame Odette copy the cut from the latest Paris fashion magazine with the skirt beginning a little lower than just below the bust line, as the classic Empire gowns had done. No longer quite as amorphous and soft an outline, the skirt draped in a slightly conical shape, the bottom twelve inches adorned with bands of embroidery.