Betsy and the Emperor (9781439115879)

by Rabin, Staton

  The dance was over. I was amazed that I hadn’t given a thought to the balloon for the past half hour. That was a good thing indeed, for the constant worry was rough on my nerves.

  As I moved toward a chair, still breathing hard from my whirlwind dance with Carstairs, the emperor caught me by the arm and whispered in my ear. “He is too aristocratic for you, Betsy,” he said.

  I did not know what to make of his comment. Could it be possible that he, the former emperor of France, was jealous? Over Betsy Balcombe? For a brief instant I imagined the two men dueling over me. Or was it merely fatherly advice?

  Just then Gourgaud entered the room at a march. He clicked his heels together and bowed. Really, was such a fuss necessary?

  “Your Highness, Admiral Cockburn wishes to be announced.”

  “Send him in, Gourgaud,” the emperor replied.

  Admiral Cockburn acknowledged Carstairs and me with a nod. Poor Willie was ignored, as small children often are.

  Cockburn told the emperor that the new governor, Sir Hudson Lowe, would be arriving shortly—sooner than expected.

  “He will be relieving me of my duties here,” the admiral added.

  Bonaparte considered this in silence for a moment. I suppose he was wondering about his future.

  “You shall be missed, Admiral,” the emperor said at last. “As jailers go, you are la crème de la crème.”

  Cockburn smiled. “And as prisoners go, so are you,” he replied.

  The two men shook hands. It surprised me that some kind of mutual admiration had developed between them.

  “They will be having a farewell party for me on Saturday,” the admiral said to Bonaparte. “My staff will be surprising me with it, and I shall look appropriately surprised. You are invited to attend if you wish, General.”

  “The emperor,” Bonaparte replied with emphasis, and a grin, “shall stay at home, merci. But he shall be present in spirit.”

  The admiral nodded in acknowledgment. As an afterthought, he looked at me and remarked, “You are invited too, Miss Balcombe. And your family.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I shall give them the message.”

  Carstairs looked put out.

  “And you are welcome also, Ensign,” the admiral said.

  Carstairs and I exchanged a smile at this bit of unexpected good fortune.

  Cockburn turned to go. He was halfway out the door when the emperor called to him. “Oh, Admiral?”

  Cockburn spun around on his heel to face him, eyebrows raised in expectancy.

  “What sort of man is this—this Hudson Lowe?”

  The admiral paused. “A soldier, like yourself,” he said at last, measuring his words carefully. “I believe he fought at Champaubert.”

  “Champaubert?” replied the emperor. “We probably fired guns at one another. For me that is always the beginning of a very happy relationship.”

  For my part, I wasn’t so sure. But I consoled myself that as of tomorrow night, the emperor would be a free man.

  Cockburn took his leave.

  “It was…interesting conversing with you, Ensign Carstairs,” I said.

  “Likewise,” Carstairs said, bowing.

  “I suppose I shall be seeing you at the admiral’s ball?” I ventured with unaccustomed timorousness.

  “Plagues or typhoons couldn’t keep me away, Betsy,” he replied. I could not conceal my pleasure at this.

  Bonaparte winced. I suppose Carstairs’s dramatic language offended his literary sensibilities.

  “Good-bye, Boney,” I said, preparing to take my leave. I needed to start collecting straw for the balloon’s furnace.

  “Bonne chance, mademoiselle,” the emperor replied.

  Good luck? How odd—how odd—that he used that phrase on this day of all days. He’d never said more than adieu to me before.

  Chapter 12

  Providence was with us and the weather promised clear sailing. The full moon cast a strong light over the beach. Huff and I had selected this remote spot on the island because few St. Helenians lived here and, shielded by a row of jagged mountains, there was little chance we’d be seen. Any soul wandering the beach, returning from a spree in Jamestown, would attribute the ghostly apparition of our flying contraption to too much rum—and surely vow to quit drinking forever.

  The fire we’d made in the gondola was going furiously now, and the balloon slowly unfurled itself like a man stretching after a night’s sleep.

  “Hold back on the straw, Betsy,” Huff told me. “Save the rest for the flight.”

  It was a grand sight. Huff, who was artistically inclined, had even seen fit to paint some decorations on the balloon’s exterior—some lions’ heads, as a subtle reference to its celebrated passenger. The name “Napoleon,” Huff told me, means “lion of the forest.”

  Spectacular as it was, the balloon had been made so crudely—from so many different elements—that it looked more like a giant inflated quilt than any balloon the Montgolfiers would recognize. They had used linen for their balloon; Huff had insisted on silk for ours because he believed the tighter weave would hold the air better—for a far longer voyage.

  At last we were ready. Huff and I filled several bags with beach sand for ballast.

  “Ladies first,” Huff said, holding the gondola steady so I could climb aboard. The basket danced a bit in the breeze as I put my foot in it. Our balloon strained at anchor, as if anxious to fly.

  The old man joined me in the gondola. Then he cut the anchor rope, which had been tied to a stake, and fed straw to the furnace.

  “Nothing is happening,” I said.

  “Is that so, my dear?” Huff said, teasing me. “Look down.”

  To my surprise, we were already a few feet off the ground! I could see the smooth greenish carapace of a small sea turtle on the beach.

  In no time at all we were far above the beach. Exhilaration! How can I ever find words to describe the feeling? It was as if I’d left my body on the ground and my soul was now free to sail among the stars with the immortals! Was this the complete freedom I had been seeking all my life? If not, it was as close to it as any human could ever expect to come.

  The lights of Jamestown twinkled in the distance. I ducked instinctively as a booby suddenly flew by our balloon—close enough for me to have grabbed its webbed blue foot if I’d been so inclined. As we rose higher, I watched the wild pigs on the island turn from recognizable beasts into little black dots. Entire houses became nothing more than children’s toy blocks. Farmers’ green fields were empty chessboards. From up here, St. Helena could almost be called something no one had ever called it before: beautiful.

  “Well? What do you think, Betsy?” Huff asked me, holding out his arms to encompass the whole exquisite panorama below us.

  “I think—I think—” I searched for words. “I think I’d like to go with you! Please let me go with you, Huff!”

  The old man laughed. He opened the cooling vent to let out a little air. We dropped slowly by a few feet, like a leaf gently drifting on the breeze.

  “I wish I could, my dear, but the gondola is made to hold only two people. And a mutual friend of ours has a place reserved on it.”

  It may seem odd, but this was the first time that I really considered what life would be like for me without the emperor. I hadn’t permitted myself to think of this before and I was struck with a terrible sadness. What a misery it would be to have only Jane for company! Until now I hadn’t fully realized how much the emperor had brightened my days. And how unbearably dim life would seem without him.

  “You look sad, my dear,” Huff said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing,” I replied, attempting a smile. I did not want to worry him.

  The wind blew my hair in my eyes, and it was then that I realized the weather was changing. Huff didn’t like the looks of things. Approaching the mountains, a cold blast of air came from them and dark clouds gathered over us, drifting in front o
f the moon. On St. Helena we have a saying: “If you don’t like the weather, wait a few minutes; it’ll change.” The wind kicked up even more, and the fire in the furnace was in danger of going out. Huff rushed to add more straw to it.

  “Quick, Betsy! Help me!”

  We piled straw and wool scraps onto the fire as quickly as we could. At first the fire flickered only weakly, and we shielded the feeble flame from the wind with our bodies. But, at last, much to our relief, it gained strength and burned brightly again.

  Just when we thought our worries were behind us, I felt something flick my cheek.

  Rain!

  Before long the fire went out. We were sinking!

  “Huff!” I shouted through the wind. “What’ll we do?”

  Fortunately, he had had the presence of mind to bring flints along with us. He struck one furiously against a striker, trying to raise a spark.

  “Find something that will burn!” he shouted hoarsely.

  I conducted a mad search for something dry to light. The balloon was tumbling faster, drifting over the sea. Wind and rain beating against my face, I turned everything over, but there was little dry straw in the gondola. Finally, I grabbed the hem of my petticoat—thank heaven I’d chanced to wear one that day—and ripped. This was no time for modesty.

  Shielding the torn fabric from the rain, I held it next to the flint, waiting for Huff to strike a spark.

  Then, miracle of miracles, the rain stopped, a spark caught, and the cloth fragment in my hand burst into flame.

  “Ouch!” I quickly dropped the flaming cloth into the furnace. Slowly, fitfully, the dampish straw caught fire. Smoky, yes—but a fire nonetheless. The wind died down.

  We gained altitude, far less quickly than I would have hoped, but we were rising.

  Huff coughed from the smoke.

  “Are you all right?” I asked him.

  Before he could reply, we both heard a strange sound. It was a low, hissing noise, like the warning made by a snake.

  “What is it, Huff?”

  “Oh, dear.” he said. “This is bad. Very bad, indeed.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  The hissing grew louder, and I realized, to my horror, that we had reversed course. We were no longer rising—we were sinking again!

  By now I had figured out the source of our difficulty, and Huff confirmed my fears.

  “A leak,” he said, pointing to the upper part of the balloon. “The wind must have torn it!”

  “Well, can’t we fix it?” I said nervously.

  Huff shook his head. “Too late,” he replied. We were falling with increasing speed. The trees went by my vision in a blur.

  “Lean toward shore!” Huff ordered. We were drifting toward the ocean again. I joined Huff at the port side of the gondola, and we threw all our weight in that direction. But the trade winds were blowing from the southeast, and despite our best efforts, we were headed out to sea.

  I looked below us. The great blue ocean was coming up to meet us. We weren’t far off shore, but at this rate we’d land in the drink.

  “Throw off the ballast!” Huff shouted.

  We threw the sandbags over the side. That slowed our descent, but wouldn’t change the inevitable outcome.

  “Betsy, if you know any prayers, I suggest you say them now,” Huff said, kneeling down. I saw his lips moving as he mumbled piously.

  I knelt beside him. One look over the side told me I’d better pray fast. But I knew no prayers. I bowed my head and clasped my hands as I’d seen my mother do in church.

  “God! Oh, God, king of the universe, this is Betsy,” I said. “Help!”

  We hit the water like a cold slap.

  All was dark. Not only did I find myself under water, but the balloon had collapsed over us. I couldn’t breathe, and the cold water chewed through my bones like a hungry bear. Trapped!

  The balloon wrestled with me—or so it seemed. I fought and struggled to free myself, but it was useless. And then, suddenly, a strange feeling came over me. It was more than one of resignation. It was peace. I stopped fighting.

  I suppose I felt my life was not worth struggling to preserve. I had failed the emperor. And I was condemned to boredom on St. Helena, an empty future. No, this was not a life worth fighting for.

  My limbs went limp. The sound of the ocean rushed in my ears. I floated free of the gondola. And then I saw a golden light. Was this heaven? Surely God’s adjudicators had assigned me to the wrong place.

  No, not heaven—but moonlight! My head bobbed above the surface of the ocean. I was alive! And despite my momentary despair, glad to be so. Perhaps I did have a purpose in life after all. Perhaps God wanted me to live so I could try again to save the emperor!

  “Huff! Huff!” I called out. I spun around in the water, looking every which way.

  There was no sign of the old man. Though my teeth rattled with the cold, I swam out to the gondola again and again. I dived beneath the water’s surface, struggling to keep my eyes open in the briny sting. My legs grew numb from the chill.

  “Huff! Are you there?”

  I heard a rushing sound and looked up. Dear God! A great, towering wave was poised over my head. In a flash I knew it would come crashing down on top of me. There was nothing for me to do. I covered my face and screamed.

  The weight was like a thousand bricks. It dragged me toward the shore on my belly. Rough sand and broken seashells scraped my stomach raw. I was deposited facedown on the beach like a ragged bit of seaweed.

  For a time I lay motionless, breathing hard. Then, despite the pain of my wounds, I pulled myself up on my elbows and knees. I coughed endlessly, and seawater poured out of my nose and mouth. My throat felt raw, afire. Exhausted, I flipped over onto my back like a struggling sea turtle.

  “Huff!” I called out again.

  But there was no trace of him. I scanned the surface of the ocean, hoping to see his head bobbing above it like a buoy, hoping against hope to hear that familiar voice call out, I’m fine, my dear!

  But I saw nothing. The balloon and gondola had been washed far out to sea. Perhaps, I thought, Huff has washed up alive on another beach where I can’t see him. Yes, that’s it! He’s waiting for me there, and when I find him, he will tap his foot and say, Well, Betsy. Just like a woman to keep me waiting….

  Right then I saw a familiar object bobbing on the waves.

  “Huff! Thank God you’re—”

  But a second wave washed it up on the beach.

  Huff’s red fez.

  That was all.

  Chapter 13

  It was all my fault, Belle!” I said as we plodded back to the Briars. Every bounce of the saddle hurt my aching body. “If only I hadn’t urged him to test the balloon before he was ready! If only I had listened to him about the weather. Huff would be alive now!”

  Belle shook her head vigorously. I knew it was probably only a fly bothering her, but it was as if she were trying to say I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

  “Belle! Whatever shall I do? Whatever shall I tell them?” I buried my face in her mane and wept.

  It probably won’t surprise you that Belle said nothing in reply.

  “Of course, you are right,” I said with a sigh. “I can say nothing at all. If I tell them how Huff died, they’d probably blame the emperor. No one would ever believe he didn’t know of Huff’s plans. They’d have Boney shot—and all the Balcombes as well!”

  The lump of sugar I’d brought along with me for Belle had dissolved in the sea, so I could only pat her to show I appreciated her listening to my troubles.

  “Wait! What if I merely told them that Huff and I went swimming and he got carried out to sea?” I said hopefully.

  “Swimming at midnight? With the water as cold as it’s been lately? You’re right again, Belle. Half-truths would work no better. I will have to keep mum.”

  We were nearing home when I was overcome with emotion again.

  “How can I keep this awful secret to
myself? For the rest of my life? It will bury me under its weight.”

  We passed the Pavilion. Just then I got an idea.

  “Boney! Why didn’t I think of it before? I’ll tell Boney!” I said, relieved. “After all, I owe it to Huff to tell the emperor that he gave his life for him.”

  I had never needed to speak to anyone so badly in my life. Rather than wake everyone up by knocking on the front door, I galloped up to the rear of the Pavilion, where Boney’s room was located. I was so glad that I’d soon be able to talk to him that I gave no thought to the pain in my middle, the bloodstains on my dress, and my unkempt appearance.

  I dismounted, climbed a tree, and peered through the upstairs window into Boney’s room. The lamp was lit—he was still up. I raised my hand to knock on the glass.

  But before I could rap on the window, someone entered the emperor’s bedchamber. It was a woman in her nightdress! She paused for a moment in the doorway, then he smiled at her. She sat on the emperor’s bed and put her arms around him. She kissed him! Then she turned to blow out the lamp, and I saw her face. Countess Montholon!

  It was dark in the bedroom now. Still, I averted my eyes. I was sickened. Furious! After all I’d done for Boney, the one time—the one time—I needed him, he was carrying on with that trollop!

  I walked Belle to the barn and gave her a rubdown. As I worked, my thoughts returned to the emperor. Maybe I’m too harsh with him, I mused. He is entitled to some happiness, I suppose, is he not? Heaven knows he has little enough of it here.

  I resolved to forgive him. Though, of course, it would not be easy. No, not easy at all.

  As I climbed through my bedroom window, I wondered whether I should try again tomorrow to tell the emperor of poor Huff’s sacrifice. And what of my sacrifice? Yes, what of mine? If he knew he was idling away the hours with his cheap mistress while I returned battered and bruised—and half drowned, to boot!—for his sake, how would he feel? Supremely repentant, no doubt! Would the countess have risked her pretty white neck for him? Don’t make me laugh!

  Ah, but I was losing my temper again. And I had resolved to forgive him, after all.