The Game of Hope

by Sandra Gulland

  I screeched.

  Mimi looked in. “Girls?”

  I covered my mouth, a giggle fit bubbling up.

  “Quiet down,” Mimi said, giving us a “look.”

  “When? What did he say?” I demanded, once the danger of a fit had passed.

  “Just now, as I was coming out of the closet downstairs. The one where the men keep their cloaks and swords.”

  She’d been down in the General’s offices? And hiding in the closet? How bizarre. “What were you doing down there?”

  “Eavesdropping. I overheard Joachim exchanging stories with Christophe, your brother and two other aides.” She laughed. “They sure were surprised when I emerged from the closet. That’s when Joachim said, That one over there would make a jolly wife. Pointing at me.”

  That was most irregular!

  “And so I said: I dare you to find out. Standing like this.” She took a saucy stance, hands on her hips. “And he said, What do you dare? And I didn’t say anything, just ran my tongue over my lips like this”—she demonstrated—“and the men all hooted.”

  “Even Eugène?”

  “No, of course not your saintly brother,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And so then I said, batting my eyelashes, My brother the General is taking his morning coffee. He’s free to discuss such a matter right now, and they all poked Joachim in the ribs and shoved his shoulder, and—all red in the face like you wouldn’t believe—he went in to talk to Napoleon.”

  I muffled a squeal. “And?”

  “And they’re still talking!”

  * * *

  —

  Poor Caroline.

  “My idiot brother won’t consent,” she wept.

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. Joachim had asked the General for Caroline’s hand in marriage, but his offer had been declined? “Why?”

  “Because he’s an innkeeper’s son! He says Joachim’s a vain rooster. He wants to marry me to someone grander.”

  “Maybe he’d prefer you to marry a prince.” The General would think something crazy like that.

  She made a blubbering sound of disgust. “That I could understand, but he intends for me to marry Christophe!”

  My heart just about stopped. For a moment my breath stuck in my throat. I couldn’t move, much less think. No doubt she meant someone else. “Colonel Christophe Duroc?” I asked, to be sure. “Joachim’s friend?”

  “Of course. Stupid Christophe—none other.”

  “Christophe is not stupid,” I protested, revealing more than was wise. I’d succeeded in keeping my feelings for Christophe secret—so far.

  “He’s as dumb as a donkey!”

  I was incensed. If anyone was stupid, it was her darling Joachim. Wisely, I kept my feelings to myself. (Self-control!) “Can your brother make you marry whomever he wants? Even if you don’t agree?” Maybe this was how it was done in Corsica. In France, marriages might be arranged by the parents, but both the boy and girl had to agree.

  “My mother would have to approve, but Napoleon can get her to go along with most anything. As for the rest, when they put up a fight, he just bribes them or something.”

  “Has the General already settled this with Christophe?” I asked fearfully.

  “He’s leaving it all up to your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes, your mother. Excuse me while I go throw myself in the river.”

  “Hold on,” I said, heading for the door.

  * * *

  —

  Maman was having her hair dressed while discussing the next day’s menu with the cook.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting,” I said, “but I need to talk to you about something crucial.”

  “What is it, dear heart?” she asked in her caressing way.

  “It’s a private matter,” I said under my breath, glancing at the maid and the cook.

  Maman paused Agathe’s hand. “May I have a moment with my daughter? We won’t be long, will we?” she added, looking over at me.

  I waited for the servants to close the door.

  “General Murat has asked for Caroline’s hand in marriage,” I said, sitting down beside her. In the bright morning light, it was easy to see all her wrinkles. She’d resorted, of late, to using an anti-baldness cream and slimming pills in an effort to look young.

  Maman didn’t exactly look surprised. “And what did Bonaparte say?”

  “He told Caroline that it’s up to you.” Well, exaggerating a bit. And not mentioning the part about Christophe.

  “That I very much doubt,” she said with a smile.

  “But he listens to you, Maman, and—”

  “Tell me: Did Bonaparte outright refuse Joachim’s offer?”

  Yes! I nodded. “And they’re so much in love.”

  “They’ve made that quite clear in public,” she said with a disapproving tone.

  “But, well, it’s more than just dancing,” I said, thinking of their trysts in hidden passages.

  “Oh?” (I knew immediately what she was thinking.) “And how far has this sentiment gone?” she inquired, as delicately as the subject permitted.

  “Caroline remains chaste,” I assured her. Sort of. More or less. “But it would be wise for them to marry.” Soon.

  “I see,” my mother said, furrowing her brow.

  “Could you persuade the General? Please? They love each other so much.”

  “There are other things to be considered, dear heart. Joachim is of lowly birth.”

  Were we not all equals now? “He’s brave in battle,” I protested. “The General often says so.” Foolishly brave. Brainlessly brave.

  “Without a doubt, but consider his background. Before becoming a soldier he was clerk to a haberdasher in a small country town.”

  “But the General promoted him.” I was losing ground.

  “Hortense, you have a good heart, and it pleases me that you care so much about Caroline’s happiness, but there is another concern as well. General Murat has a reputation for trysts with actresses.”

  I didn’t want to let on that I knew about Joachim’s mistresses. Caroline knew, too. She would reform him once they married. “But—”

  “Dear heart,” Maman said firmly, “Bonaparte really does know best.”

  “There are other considerations,” I suggested, an idea coming to me. Maman had been the one to teach me about the art of give-and-take, after all. “Caroline is moonsick in love with Joachim. If you were to persuade the General to change his mind and allow them to marry, she would be eternally grateful—to you.” I didn’t have to point out that the Bonapartes were my mother’s sworn enemies. It might help to have at least one member of the Clan on her side.

  Maman said nothing, but I could see her thinking. “I will see what I can do,” she said at last.

  * * *

  —

  “Bonaparte’s not happy about it,” Maman reported back.

  My heart sank.

  “He claims impassioned couples only consult their volcanic feelings.”

  Volcanic indeed! “But?”

  “He agreed.”

  I cheered.

  “After I sat on his lap,” she added with a sly smile.

  MORTEFONTAINE

  Caroline came into our room doing a bouncy jig. “We’re to be married day after tomorrow!”

  That was fast. “Where? Here?”

  “At Joseph’s château in the country.”

  Aïe. Mortefontaine was a long way away and Christophe was only going to be in Paris for thirteen more days. I didn’t want to miss any opportunity to see him.

  “Napoleon and your mother won’t be able to come, but Eugène will, and Christophe—”

  Christophe was coming too! I tried not to show my elation.

  “—and some of the o
ther aides as well.” She took my hands, dancing spritely, hopping steps. “I. Am. So. Happy. How will I ever thank you?”

  “I do have one request,” I began. The rule of give-and-take. Did I dare? “Who is Joachim’s best friend?” I began, hesitantly. I had a fluttery feeling in my stomach. “Other than you, of course.”

  “Christophe.” She signed herself. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, grâce à Dieu I don’t have to marry him.”

  “You have to admit he’s handsome.” And loyal, and kind, and brave.

  “Has this to do with your wish?” she asked, squinting with suspicion.

  My cheeks burned hot as embers. “Don’t tell Ém or Mouse.” It wasn’t fair that Caroline knew, and not them. “Or anyone. Promise?”

  She stopped to consider. “Actually, that’s perfect. Joachim and me, Christophe and you.”

  “There’s one big problem, however,” I said. “He hardly knows I’m alive.”

  “I’ll fix that,” she said.

  Which of course was exactly what I had in mind.

  * * *

  —

  28 Nivôse, An 8

  The Institute,

  My dearest friend,

  Really? Caroline is getting married to General Murat? Just like that? We are amazed. Be sure to write us all the details.

  Your Mouse

  Nasty: Doing needlework with a thimble with a hole in it, and not knowing until the needle runs under your nail.

  * * *

  —

  Caroline quickly settled on a gown for her wedding, a white muslin with lace trim and an abundance of pink ribbons. She gave it to her maid to freshen, and asked her to set it aside along with a pink hat, scented pink gloves and embroidered pink boots. So pretty! She also intended to wear the pearls the General had given her as a wedding present.

  “You’re going to look beautiful,” I told her, but she burst into tears.

  “I don’t know what to do!”

  “About what?” Everything had been taken care of.

  “I can’t talk to my mother about such a thing, and even my sister Pauline is hopeless. She knows all about flirting, but as for the Act, all she says is to lie there and make noises, but I know there’s more to it than that.”

  I had an idea. Maman and Mimi were in the kitchens, occupied with staff. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I told her.

  The key to Maman’s desk was not in its usual place. I pulled at the desktop and it lifted. Maman hadn’t locked it! I found the secret compartment and withdrew the slender volume.

  “This is your book?” Caroline asked when I showed her The School of Venus.

  “Not exactly.” I wasn’t going to let on that it was Maman’s.

  “Ooh la la,” she exclaimed, glancing at the illustrations. “It looks like a hog’s pudding,” she said, examining a drawing of a naked man.

  “Pudding?”

  “You know—a male’s parts.”

  She said the craziest things!

  “Read it to me?”

  We settled into the divan under a window that let in sunlight.

  “How about this chapter? A remark on the age fittest for Parents to marry their Daughters.”

  “Tiresome.”

  “Or maybe: The first appearances of young Men’s love to Maids.”

  “Isn’t there anything about playing hot cockles?”

  “Hot what?”

  “You know. Poop-noddy.”

  I couldn’t believe her language. Maybe it was a Corsican thing.

  “Copulation,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. Didn’t I know anything?

  Flushing, I glanced over the chapter titles. “How a young Man puts his—” I paused for shame. “His you-know-what into a Wench’s . . .”

  She brightened.

  * * *

  —

  The roads to Mortefontaine were either icy or clogged with snow. Fortunately our carriage didn’t topple, and fortunately we weren’t robbed. Unfortunately, I looked a fright by the time we arrived, and Christophe was already there. Fortunately (well, not really) he hardly noticed, talking about horses with my brother.

  By ten o’clock most all the family and friends were there, as well as a few aides, generals and other officials. (Well, everyone that is except my mother and the General, who weren’t able to come—and didn’t really want to, I suspected.) In spite of all the excitement, Joseph’s wife Julie made Caroline and me retire early. “Tomorrow is the big day,” she insisted. Protesting, we headed off, but stayed up for hours, nonetheless.

  In the morning, Eugène, Caroline and I toured the property, riding the grounds in Joseph’s elegant calèche pulled by a handsome pair of bays. I had no idea that the Mortefontaine grounds were so huge, fifteen hundred hectares. (I thought Malmaison was big, but it was only sixty hectares.) There were four lakes, a kennel, orchid greenhouses, several stables and a large English-style garden, which I had to admit was lovely. The château itself had twenty-two rooms plus a grand ballroom.

  On our return, Caroline immediately disappeared with Joachim. I found them in a pantry closet. They were to be married in the village that afternoon, but keeping them apart until then was not going to be easy.

  Much to my chagrin, Christophe happened by as I was trying to lock Caroline into her room.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, smiling in his adorable way.

  “Caroline keeps trying to sneak off with Joachim,” I blurted.

  “Why would she want to do that?” Teasing.

  “Oh, I don’t know!” I said, turning red as a beet.

  All that time Caroline was banging on the door!

  “I only wanted to show you something!” she insisted, emerging in her wedding ensemble.

  She looked lovely all in white and pink, but reeking of almonds. She’d discovered the little jar Maîtresse had given me and used it as perfume, used it all.

  “I’m going to be a married woman. I can wear scent if I want,” she said.

  “But—!” I didn’t know what to say. “It was a gift to me from Maîtresse.” In case I was ever poisoned. Of course I didn’t say that.

  Caroline made wide eyes of astonishment. “The Hook approves of girls using scent?”

  * * *

  —

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Caroline and Joachim were finally married. Joachim was soberly dressed (for once) in a dress coat and top hat. They shamelessly tongue-kissed in front of everyone as soon as the papers were signed. We walked the icy lane back to the château following an old fiddler, villagers gathered on all sides to watch our merry procession.

  Back at the château, the newlyweds drank from a two-handled cup and immediately disappeared into Caroline’s room. They emerged in time for the wedding supper, Caroline pressing herself against her husband at every chance. A wife was not supposed to show affection for her husband in public—and this was more than mere “affection.”

  “I can hardly walk,” Caroline whispered to me, pleased with her showy ring and exalted status.

  “Citoyen General and Citoyenne Murat,” we toasted, getting giddy on Joseph’s expensive Champagne.

  “I finished first,” Caroline crowed, displaying her empty glass.

  Joachim and the men all groaned and the ladies laughed, for that meant Caroline would rule their family. Of that I had no doubt.

  The cook made pyramids of tiny wheat cakes, which we delighted in breaking over Caroline’s head, much to her annoyance. Christophe caught one of the cakes I had hurled across the table at her, and the two of us laughed. It was a wonderfully merry evening, and I wanted it never to end.

  * * *

  —

  I rose early the next morning, shortly after dawn. I had put a piece of wheat cake under my pillow the night before, but I hadn’t dreamt of any man—much less my
future husband. I didn’t feel at my best, no doubt because of all the Champagne I’d enjoyed. I was surprised and a little embarrassed to encounter Christophe getting a coffee and rolls, fully dressed in uniform and riding boots.

  “You’re up early, Colonel Duroc,” I said. “Going for a ride?”

  “I’ve a long day ahead,” he said. “Best to take advantage of the sun.”

  I must have looked quizzical, for he added, “I’m going to Austria.”

  Now? “I didn’t think you were leaving for another ten days.” And then I winced, for I’d made it rather clear that I’d been counting the days.

  “That was my plan,” he said, “but Mortefontaine is so far north of Paris it made more sense to leave from here.”

  “Of course,” I said, crestfallen. “That makes more sense,” I added, repeating his words.

  “Would you care for a madeleine?” he asked, proffering the platter.

  “No. No, thank you,” I said, returning to my room before I burst into tears.

  * * *

  —

  I set out for Paris later that morning, sharing Maman’s carriage with Eugène and another officer, their horses tied behind. Caroline and Joachim had decided to stay at Mortefontaine for a time. When they returned, they would be setting up house in Paris. Marriage was such a big change for a girl, I wondered if Caroline and I would still be friends.

  And what of Christophe? Would I ever see him again?

  THE LIST

  The miserably cold and lonely days that followed were taken up with politics. All anyone ever talked about was the vote on the new Constitution.

  “Over three million people voted in favor,” Maman said when the final tally was in. “And fewer than two thousand voted against.”

  I nodded, sitting by the chimney studying a pile of bed curtain fabric samples. We were scheduled to move into the Palace of Kings—Palace of the Government, that is—in only ten days. Another move.