“They renamed it, the Palais-´Egalité,” Patrice said, watching her with a frown.
“Everything for equality,” Bettina muttered. “They murdered my father for their damned equality.”
“Shhh!” Patrice glanced around, furtive. “Be careful what you say.”
Bettina hugged the girl’s arm and they hurried on. She recalled the courtesans who called to customers from the building’s upper floor. A few streets away she never knew that people had starved, eking out a crude existence.
The Tuileries Palace and gardens sat opposite. Bettina stared at this place where Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette had lived when in Paris. Now the walls were defaced, painted with obscene messages and revolutionary slogans.
“I understand the common peoples’ anger, their struggles. I became one of them. Though no one should have died.” She rushed past with Patrice clinging to her arm. Bettina almost tripped, her shoes pinched, the soles paper thin. Her big toe poked out of the left shoe.
The two women stepped over garbage in the streets. The elegant townhomes around them looked scarred and neglected. People strode by, heads ducked in the wind. Carts and wagons trundled through the pedestrians.
They turned north to cut through the octagonal square of the Louis-le-Grand. Bettina was sorrowed by the empty pedestal at its center. A bronze statue of Louis XIV on horseback, torn down by a mob during the revolution, had once dominated the graceful buildings here.
A boy dashed by them with an armful of papers, declaring the news of this sudden change in the power structure.
“Let me see one, boy; only a quick look, please.” Bettina slowed to wheeze in her breath. She grabbed for his arm but caught his shirt instead.
“You have to pay, no free reads.” He jerked away from her, dropping a few papers. As he bent to retrieve them, she snatched a paper and scanned the headlines of Le Moniteur.
“What does this date mean, 20 Brumaire?”
The boy ripped the paper from her hands and stomped off.
“The eleventh of November,” Patrice said, patting her heaving chest. “No wonder I’m freezing.”
“Oh, Patrice, mon Dieu, I’ve been in that prison for three months? Do you realize ...Everett? Anything could have happened to him.” Bettina choked down a sob. “We must hurry to Julie’s.”
The crooked, narrow streets they hastened through were crowded with people, discussing this change of events or rushing about their business. There were no sidewalks, as in London, and the gutters running down the center of the uneven roads overflowed with garbage. Carts rattled by, flinging mud from their wheels. Had Paris always been this squalid and stinking, or was it the fault of the revolution?
At last on the rue des Errancis, they both gasped for breath, their shoes splattered in filth. “Over there, that’s where they live.” Patrice pointed to a mansion that looked out of place on this tiny Paris street—a mammoth edifice tucked between narrow townhouses. “My father called Joseph an upstart who obtained a grand position, because his brother is a general who married into an old aristocratic family.”
“My mother told me he married the Widow Beauharnais.” The general had jilted Eugenie, Julie’s younger sister, for this more important alliance. Bettina eyed the elegant façade. Was it a place beyond her reach?
“She was the wife of the late Vicomte Alexandre, who was executed during the Terror.” Patrice coughed. “My father was furious because she married a young republican soldier, then used her influence to advance his career.”
“Your father will be inconsolable when he hears General Bonaparte is in control of the government.” Bettina strained to keep her thoughts in the present, but the vagabond Felix’s words came back to her: “the sheep are waiting for a shepherd.” She stared down at her grimy dress. “I hope Julie will receive me.” She turned to the girl and pressed her shoulder. “What about you, Patrice? What will happen to you?”
“Don’t worry, my uncle lives near, and he’s not a royalist.” The once trembling girl hugged her, a new strength in her demeanor. “Good luck to you, Citoyenne Camborne.”
“I will need it, no doubt.” Bettina kissed Patrice’s cheek and faced the mansion, hands fisted. “Though I must succeed for my husband.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bettina stood in the polished foyer fighting the urge to scratch at her itchy skin. “I’m sorry to impose like this, but thank you for inviting me in, Julie.”
“Lisbette, ma foi, what has become of you?” Julie Bonaparte frowned, her startled gaze barely contained in her thin face. “I can’t even believe this is you. My housekeeper swore you were a beggar.”
“I know I look awful. I’ve experienced some misfortune.” Bettina stared into Julie’s warm brown eyes, a contrast to her pallid complexion. “And I have a tremendous favor to ask of you.”
“You need a bath first.” Julie flinched, her dark curls quivering, when Bettina stepped closer. “Oh, my, but you are an atrocious mess.”
“A bath would be wonderful.” Bettina pulled at her frock collar, stiff with dirt and sweat. She swallowed back her anxiety. “Let me explain my situation.”
“You should hear my situation.” Julie twitched her slender hands, her words brittle. “My brother-in-law has been made provisionary consul and is rewriting our constitution.” She gestured Bettina down the hall. “My husband might be the new Foreign Minister.”
“I know, that’s why I need your help.” Bettina followed, careful not to touch anything with her grimy fingers. “My husband is in prison, here in Paris. He’s an Englishman who has committed no real crime. I’d like you to ask your husband to intercede with the authorities for his release. After that, we’ll immediately leave the country.”
“Oh, Lisbette. You married an Englishman? And one who’s been arrested, too?” Julie stared at her in disappointment, skinny shoulders hunched in her lilac gown. “What happened to you and your mother after the revolution started?”
They approached an elegant winding staircase. Two housemaids peered at Bettina from around a corner as if their mistress had let in a dangerous, stinking beast.
“Send up plenty of hot water,” Julie ordered the maids. “Quickly.”
“My mother is in Louisiana. I’ve lived in England for many years.” Bettina snaked a finger up and scratched her scalp. “Can you help me? This is extremely important. My husband was falsely arrested and he’s been in there three months.”
“So much is happening at the moment. I have much to do to prepare.”Julie fluttered her hands at her cheeks, then started up the stairs. “The entire government has been overturned and I will be playing a vital part.”
“I do understand, but time is of the utmost. I wouldn’t bother you except I have no one else, and I’m counting on our past friendship. Something terrible could happen to my husband if he’s left in that prison.” Bettina hurried up the stairs. She resisted shaking Julie, to force her to pay attention. “Please.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll do what I can.” Julie studied her with sad doe eyes when they reached the landing. “Why are you in this dreadful condition, Lisbette? You look as if you were...”
“Locked up in prison? Living like an animal for the last three months?” Bettina swayed and sucked in her breath. “I have been and I’m desperate.”
* * * *
Julie showed her to a spacious room with a skylight. To the left in an alcove, three life-sized, half-naked marble statues observed them. Ornate Italian vases sat on pedestals to either side. Bettina had gone from a prison to a museum, but welcomed the change in scenery.
“Adele, bring my special perfume, and the strongest soap,” Julie said to a hovering maid. “And a good strong cloth.”
Bettina kicked off her shoes and stripped off her ragged gown and chemise. “Please, burn these. I hope you can lend me some clothes, Julie? I
’ll need shoes, too.”
“Mais oui, you can’t meet the new Foreign Minister in...in such...disarray.” Julie stepped back from the garments as if they might crawl towards her.
Four maids rushed in and poured steaming water into a deep copper bathtub.
“Merci, I appreciate anything you can do to assist me.” Bettina smiled at Julie and stepped into the hot water. With a sigh, she submerged her body—too thin from her recent ordeal—into the soothing heat. The water caressed around her and she leaned back, allowing her muscles to relax. She clasped the sweet-smelling soap and cloth, and scrubbed away the prison filth.
Afterwards, at a vanity table, Adele combed out Bettina’s freshly washed hair. Her scalp tingled. “I haven’t experienced such pampering…since I left France the last time.” Wrapped in a sheet, Bettina studied her scoured but gaunt reflection in the mirror and hoped the Les Carmes parasites had decamped from her body.
“We’ll have you beautiful by the time Joseph returns from his duties.” Julie primped with Bettina’s long, thick locks, her expression almost approving. “Have you ever thought of cutting your hair?”
Bettina examined a sore on her gums. Her teeth were coated yellow, and she rubbed them with a cloth. “No, I’m afraid I’ve had other problems on my mind.” She trembled with the idea of Everett, still suffering. Her stomach remained in knots. “You can’t ask your husband to come home early? This is important. He will help me, won’t he?”
“Not today of all days. He’ll be conferring with his brother over important government matters. I’m sure Joseph will try to help.” Julie pursed her lips as if she wasn’t sure. Then she primped at her own brunette, glossy curls. “Short hair with curls is the current fashion. You brush them up like I have them. Adele, you must do something with her hair.”
Bettina sagged in the chair and allowed Adele to trim a few inches off her locks. Then with heated curling tongs, the maid worked magic and pinned Bettina’s hair up on her head in a classic Greek style. Along with powder and rouge, Bettina was surprised though impatient with all this fuss over her transformation.
“Now, for something to wear.” Julie stepped to a Louis XIV style walnut armoire and selected a tulle over silk chemise. A pale pink, high-waisted gown, with short, puffed sleeves, the dress was a filmy confection. “This ought to fit you.”
“Do you have a shift I can wear underneath? Although, I did wear less clothing in Louisiana.”
Adele handed her a silky white shift, then helped Bettina fasten the zona, bands of material that wound around the body to support the lower bosom since no corset was worn. Bettina reveled in the feel of clean clothes against her skin. She slipped into a pair of pink satin shoes.
“I’ll find you a matching hat later. I shop at Guérin for my hats, my sister-in-law Josephine’s favorite place. And we buy our silks from Au Granc Turc on the rue Saint Honoré, where you used to live…oh.” Julie turned toward the door.
Bettina fought off her impatience with her friend’s preoccupation with fashion. She needed Julie on her side. “The clothes are lovely, but I look like a skeleton.” She touched her ribcage, visible under her dress.
“Let’s see if cook can find you something to eat.” Julie led the way down the stairs. “I have to ask, did any of your family...did they all escape safely? I did hear of your father’s death from a heart-attack, such a sweet man.”
“As far as I know everyone has escaped the guillotine.” Bettina, feeling weak with hunger, gripped the banister of the pristine white staircase. She glanced around at crystal chandeliers and gilt-framed paintings. Julie’s husband had done well for himself. Hopefully he had influence with his now powerful brother.
“That’s fortunate. My father, who has also passed on, said your father was the most broadminded nobleman he had the pleasure of knowing. He thought nothing of befriending a merchant’s family, when many wouldn’t have. And now look at us. Remember our happy times on the coast when we were just girls?” Julie gave a shy smile. “It is good to see you. I do sympathize with your plight.”
“Those were carefree times.” Bettina wished her father had been more broadminded, it might have saved his life, but she didn’t intend to wallow in sad thoughts from her past.
“Where do you plan to stay in Paris?”
“If I could impose on you without references.” Bettina gave her most endearing smile. “Since my last address was as an honored guest of Les Carmes.”
“Oh, ma foi, yes!” Julie hugged her, now she smelled like a flower rather than dung. “Then you must stay here, we do have several extra rooms for visitors.”
The cook bustled out with a nécessaire, an elegant mahogany box decorated with palmette frieze and lyre motifs. From it she pulled dishes, utensils, and napkins.
“Joseph bought this for me for outings, but I like to use it for lunch. You see there are places for flasks, cups saucers, a teapot. A drawer in the side has a writing surface and slots for quills and inkwells.” Julie preened over the object like a child with a new toy.
Bettina sat at a long mahogany table in the parquet-floored dining room. How much had that beautiful chest cost? Weren’t such extravagances part of what angered the commoners ten years before? Julie’s frivolous nature, her lifestyle, would have endangered her to the rebels who had surged through France in those earlier years of the revolution.
The cook put out bread, meats and cheeses. She filled a chocolate pot decorated with mythological characters with chocolate.
Bettina sipped the thick beverage, sweet on her tongue. She ate the food, all delicious, yet uneasy in her beleaguered stomach. She wriggled her toes in comfortable slippers, feeling like a coat of muck had been scrubbed from her body, leaving her light and airy. Yet she ached for Everett to be sitting across from her, smiling, safe.
“When will your husband come home? Can you send him a note?”
“There’s no telling how busy he is, since this is so momentous a day.” Julie hopped to her feet. “Come into my grand salon.” Julie showed her into a huge room with blue merino covered chairs and two sofas. Several large tables with black and gray marble tops and ornamented with bronze stood against the walls. A Gobelins carpet covered the floor. “We’ll be expected to entertain more, and this is the perfect place.”
“Quite perfect.” Bettina stared around and longed for a glass of wine to steady her nerves.
“This mantel is from Italy.” Julie ran her fingers over the intricate cream-colored marble as if seeking Bettina’s approval. A fire crackled in the hearth.
“Your entire house is beautiful. You’re very fortunate.” Bettina stepped toward the flames and warmed her hands. She no longer appreciated grandeur. She’d learned long ago that people mattered more than possessions. A sad heaviness crept over her as she stared at the gold ormolu clock on the mantel piece. She had the urge to push time forward.
* * * *
In the late evening a medium built man swept in the door. He removed his hat revealing reddish-brown hair and Julie rushed forward to receive a kiss on her cheek. “So much work, Napoleon demands this, demands that. I’m the elder, you’d think he was head of the family.”
“Joseph, dear, let me bring you a glass of wine.” Julie fluttered at his side, her mien anxious which increased Bettina’s discomfort. “We have a guest. This is my old friend, Lisbette Jonquiere.”
Bettina, nerves taut, stepped forward. “I’m very happy to meet you.”
Joseph raked his somber eyes over her and his harried expression softened. He bowed. “Ah, lovely, mademoiselle, to what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I’m Madame Camborne, and my husband is the reason I’m here…”
“Ma foi, here’s the wine.” Julie plucked a glass from the tray a maid brought in and handed it to her husband. “Sip this and relax, supper is almost ready.”
J
oseph barely glanced at his wife, his gaze still on Bettina. She stiffened and pretended his scrutiny didn’t bother her. She had little time for polite conversation. “You see, my husband is incarcerated at Les Carmes and I need your assistance.” She explained the situation as he nodded thoughtfully.
He offered his arm and they walked to the dining room.
“I am sorry about your prison ordeal. Not a polite homecoming for you. A travesty, no less.” Joseph pulled out a chair at the dinner table. “I’ll go to Les Carmes in the morning and check on your husband. Please, don’t worry, we’ll work something out.”
“I would appreciate that, merci.” She wished he’d go now, right this minute, but tamped down her impatience and drank from her glass of tart wine.
“You’re so generous to offer help.” Julie smiled shyly at her husband. “Now let us enjoy our meal.”
Servants brought in fragrant platters of fish and fowl dripped in rich sauces. Breads, vegetables and cheeses, enough to feed several people. Bettina picked at her food on the delicate Sèvres porcelain, imagining Everett spending another night in wretched conditions.
“So, you have children in Louisiana? A son and a daughter?” Joseph asked. He flicked his gaze at Julie. “We did have a daughter, but she didn’t live very long.” He seemed to blame his wife for the misfortune.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Bettina pushed away her half-eaten plate. Their marriage was obviously not a love match. “My children are with my mother. I hope to join them as soon as my husband is released.”
“Lisbette’s father was a count of the old regime,” Julie gushed, her cheeks pink after her husband’s comment. “They had a chateau outside Paris and a mansion in the city.”
Without Refuge Page 23
