The Orphan's Tale

by Anne Shaughnessy

  "Nonsense!" said Elise. "Any lady would be happy to marry a man like you!"

  Malet's eyes raised to her face. "Do you think so?" he asked, momentarily intent. He scanned Yves' portrait once more and then shuffled it into the pile.

  "I do think so," Elise replied. "I thought so from the first, and even more now! And it is obvious that you are gently bred. One only need look at you to know."

  "The Duc d'Ingres resembles a pimp," Malet said, "So much for appearances. And I was disowned."

  "What is wrong with you?" Elise demanded. "Talking sense to you tonight is like trying to get a bell tone from a blancmange!"

  Malet only smiled. He was eyeing a page of small drawings, mostly self‑portraits she had done to test her colors.

  Elise sighed, exasperated. "Well, there must have been a reason for them not acknowledging you," she said as she tied a knot in the thread and then snipped it. She set the mended stocking aside and took up another, shaking her head.

  Malet shrugged. "The fact that my mother killed my father probably had some bearing on the matter," he said. "And they did offer to take me fully into the family almost eight years ago. I told them to go to hell."

  Elise stared at him. "Why on earth did you do that?" she demanded.

  "Because they made me very angry," Malet replied. His frown was back and quite formidable. It faded after a moment, to be replaced by a warm smile, which he directed at Elise. "The de Colberts of Beaumesnil can go and hang themselves for all of me, so let us forget them! And Mme. Villefranche, as well!"

  "Are you saying that she should go hang herself?" Elise demanded, falling into his mood. "Shame on you! She is a charming lady!"

  Malet lifted Elise's drawing of himself and looked it over with his eyebrows raised. He was depicted beside a window, half‑turned away. Elise had captured the slightly wistful expression that she had noticed several times. "I have no doubt," he said. "You know very well what I meant, Mme. de Clichy."

  "Well then, I will introduce you," Elise said, laughing across at him.

  "No: I am too old," Malet said firmly.

  "Pooh! How old are you?"

  "Forty‑six next February," Malet replied. He was holding his portrait at arm's length and frowning at it.

  "Nonsense! Making a match for you would be an easy task! There are plenty of women who'd welcome a chance to meet you!"

  Malet snorted and got to his feet, still holding the sketches. "If you're trying to make me blush," he said, "I am sorry to inform you that it won't work. I lost the ability years ago! Let us agree to leave matchmaking aside. I was serious when I told you my heart was taken. Here are your drawings. They're very good."

  "Thank you," she said. "Do you find your portrait a good likeness?"

  "I can't say," Malet answered over his shoulder as he paced to the door and back. "I didn't recognize myself, if that's what you mean."

  "How could you not recognize yourself?" Elise demanded. The drawing had been a labor of love: she had spent a great deal of time and care over it. "I thought it was an excellent likeness!"

  He shrugged apologetically from beside the door. "I only see myself in the morning when I am an unshaven and blear‑eyed oaf," he said. "I wouldn't recognize a portrait of myself if one were thrust in my face."

  Elise stared at him as he turned and paced back toward her, trying to reconcile his usual bright‑eyed matutinal presence with the thought of an unshaven, blear‑eyed oaf. It took a moment for her to realize that he was teasing her.

  She threw the mended stocking at him. "You!" she said. "M'sieur Mischief! Now what has put you in such a truly silly mood?"

  He deftly caught the stocking and handed it to her. "I am not in a silly mood," he said. "I am sorry. I am just - happy."

  Elise smiled at him. "Then I am glad to see it," she said. "You give yourself little time for happiness, that I have seen. Sit down: would you like some brandy?"

  Malet perched on the edge of a chair. "If you please," he said.

  Elise set her darning aside and rose. "Then I will join you in a glass," she said. "Wait: I will bring the brandy here." She whisked out the door before he could protest.

  She returned to find him pacing again, up and down the room. She looked at him, puzzled by his mood, but smiling at him in spite of herself.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked as she poured the drin and then filled a small glass for herself.

  Malet took the glass from her and sat down to sniff and then sip at it. "It couldn't be better," he said. "Everything is fine, in fact! By this time tomorrow, I hope, all will be most well!"

  "I don't like the way that sounds. Is something about to happen?"

  "You could say that.". The suddenly tigerish quality of his smile made Elise pause.

  "Not - not with M. Dracquet!" she said, suddenly pale. "I don't trust the man! He is too dangerous!"

  "Bah!" said Malet. "Of the two of us, he's the one in the most danger at this moment."

  "But you could be killed!"

  "So could he," Malet said coolly. His eyes were sparkling now. He drained his glass, rose, and began pacing again. "He will be killed if all goes well!"

  "What!"

  "Executed is a better word. Tried and sentenced. I have everything very neatly laid out against him, and I will be springing the trap tomorrow. There's no escape for him, not unless he is very, very lucky, and I don't think he will be this time."

  "But will you be lucky?" Elise asked.

  Malet chuckled. "I always am," he said. He saw the concern in her eyes and softened. "Don't worry," he said more gently. "This is what I do best. I will be careful."

  "See that you are. I don't want you to be hurt."

  Malet stopped pacing. "We can't always have what we want," he said. "You know that. Never mind: I will be directing the arrest, and I don't like leaving things to chance."

  "But it might be dangerous!" Elise said.

  Malet shrugged. "Dangerous?" he said. "Paris is the most dangerous city I have ever seen, swarming with cutthroat criminals from all over the world! No one is safe!"

  "They're safe when they're with you, my darling," Elise said under her breath.

  Malet hadn't heard her. He went to the window, looked out, and went back to the fireplace to retrieve his pistols, then crossed to the chair to lift his coat and swing it round his shoulders again.

  Elise watched him. "Now what are you doing?" she demanded.

  "It's a splendid night," said Malet. "All stars and lamplight, with a fine wind blowing... It's the perfect night to be walking, and that's what I am going to do." He pulled on his gloves, set the pistols in the pockets of his coat, and started toward the door.

  Elise watched him, and then suddenly stood up. "Wait!" she said. "I will come with you!"

  "It might be dangerous," Malet said, mimicking her voice.

  "How dangerous can it be for me if I have my guns and my guardian angel for an escort?" Elise asked. "I will be doing Paris a service at any rate, just to keep an eye on you!"

  "To keep an eye on me?" Malet demanded.

  "Yes, you!" Elise said. "Who knows what mischief you might get into? Wait until I get my cloak and bonnet: I know a place that serves the most marvelous pastries and jellies, and they have windows all along one wall so you can watch the people passing on the street. That should calm you down. We'll have pastries and tea, then it's home for us both. You need your sleep, especially if you're going to be tangling with criminals again tomorrow. Does that sound all right?"

  Malet nodded.

  "Good. Wait here, then," she said.

  She went to fetch her cloak and tell Yvette where she was going. When she came back, Malet was looking at the letter again and reading its superscription. He set it down as she came into the room and smiled at her when he saw her, a warm smile full of affection.

  "Now put this on," she said, offering the hat she had taken from his room just a minute before. "I don't want you to catch cold! Are you sure you don't want to meet
Mme. Villefranche? She'd be perfect for you!"

  Malet just looked at her as he opened the door.

  She went through, chuckling, and took his arm. They walked together toward the river.

  LX

  PAST AND FUTURE:

  MORNING AT THE ROSE D'OR

  Elise awoke the next morning and lay for a few minutes gazing out her window at the bright sky. She had slept later than usual that morning. Once in a while Yvette, who usually woke her, took it into her head to let her sleep late. It generally served as a commentary on the hours Elise kept, and that is what it appeared to be this time.

  Elise had not returned to the Rose d'Or until well after midnight. She had been too happy to notice the way the hours passed. They had gone to the restaurant, enjoyed the tea and the pastries, and sat there gazing out at the passers‑by and talking of the past. She had told him of her disastrous marriage and her flight from Spain while he listened silently and poured more tea for her.

  "I knew it had all become ugly, but I was too foolish to admit it," she said. "It was a nightmare, and I kept hoping that if I ignored it, I would somehow wake up and everything would be all right. Even after I left Raoul, I tried to pretend that it hadn't been as bad as it had. I don't know what I would have done if he had come back to Paris."

  "You'd have been fine. No one, knowing you, would have believed his lies."

  "Some people delight in lies more than in truth. Some would have found excuse to believe the lies." She smiled at him and laid her hand lightly atop his. "But never you, dearest. One can strike you like a bell, and you will always ring true."

  She smiled into his eyes and then said, "Can we go walking? You have often spoken of the beautiful view of Paris from the Butte, and I am ashamed to admit that I have never been there. I'd like to see it with you."

  ** ** **

  "I positioned the guns, and I remember looking back up at the hill that towered above us and thinking how high it was. All through that day, from time to time, I would turn and see it, though I had little time even for that," Malet had said later. They had been standing at the butte of Montmartre, looking down at the city. He had been a little ahead of her, motioning southwest.

  "Marshal Moncey supervised the construction of the fortifications there at Montmartre. Everyone was thinking, This is the time - this wins or loses all!

  "The attacks started at first light, though we had heard their approach all through the night, and the firing as our guard fell back step by step.

  "The enemy kept coming as we lost more and more men. I commanded that we load the guns with shrapnel, and rubble - anything we could fit in the barrels - trying to mow them down - and still they kept coming. I knew we were doomed."

  He had turned back toward the city. "There was a lull in the fighting," he had said. "The word was that the Emperor was going to surrender. Some of my men said that if he was going to, then so would they. I took up a rifled musket, leveled it, and said that they would have to pass me first. I thought they might try, but just then the firing stopped. I posted some sentries, then commanded that everyone else turn in and get some rest. And then I climbed that hill and looked around."

  He had fallen silent for a breath, and the austere lines of his face softened in a smile. "I had never before seen anything so beautiful," he had said after a pause. "I remember thinking how lovely Paris was, even in the midst of the smoke and slaughter. It was as though I were standing at the top of Heaven with a carpet of stars spread out before my feet. I vowed to return someday, somehow, if I survived the war."

  He had raised his head and was gazing out over the city. Elise, smiling at him, could almost see him as he had been then. The image blurred in her mind and she saw him as he had been that night in the inn, when he was leaving to do battle with the monsters, and she had known that Paris would be safe.

  There are moments that come unbidden to each of us, moments when we see and understand completely. Elise had gazed upon him with the sudden feeling that one piece of a vast puzzle had just been set in its proper place. She now understood clearly who he was and all that he meant to her. She realized that she had found in him the love that made her whole and healed the pain of the past forever. She knew that he would always be there for her, her valiant comrade, her treasured friend, closer to her heart and soul than any other could ever be.

  She had turned toward him, filled with the joy of that discovery. She met his eyes and suddenly knew, without knowing how, that he loved her with every fiber of his being and without any tinge of selfishness. And, being a gentleman, he would say nothing to her until he could do so without compromising her.

  She had never been given to introspection: she had long before judged herself below him in worth. The difference in their birth, which so troubled him, meant nothing to her. She had had bitter experience with society's obsession with breeding, and she had long ago recognized it for the folly that it was.

  She had to speak. She had stretched out her hands to him. "Oh, Paul - " she said.

  His expression had altered slightly. He had taken her hands in his and smiled ruefully. "You must be tired," he had said. "I was selfish to keep you out so late, especially now that it's getting cold. I was so happy in your company, and I forgot the time. They say it's a sign of age. We'd best go back now."

  Elise had nodded and taken his arm, feeling embraced and held, even though an observer would have seen nothing unusual in the sight of a gentleman escorting a lady along the street. They had descended the butte, but he paused when they were standing in the middle of one of the old, twisting streets and turned to face her.

  "Elise," he had said, "If all goes well, I will be leaving the Rose d'Or soon after tomorrow - "

  "I will miss you terribly, my dearest angel," she said, tucking her other hand in his arm and holding him warmly.

  "And I you," said Malet. He continued with an odd note of shyness, "But - Elise - I want to return and - and speak with you on a matter that concerns you closely. Will you permit it?"

  She smiled at him with all the warmth she felt within her. "Permit it?" she repeated. "I would welcome it! Paul, I think I know what it is that you would discuss with me, and the subject would please me very much."

  "Then I am content," he said. "Come, my dear. The night is growing chilly - "

  "It is warm and soft as summer to me at this moment," she said, tightening her hold on his arm. "Can't we speak on that subject here and now? The stars are so beautiful, and we're alone together."

  "It wouldn't be proper," he began.

  "Oh, my dear!" she said on the echo of a chuckle. "What do we care for foolish propriety when we know ourselves blameless? Why can't I speak of what is in my heart toward you - "

  "Hush!" he said, at once shaken and touched by her words. "You're saying too much, while I have said nothing yet - "

  "Not with your lips," she said, laying her fingertips lightly against them. "I need only look into your eyes to read your heart. And it would take only a moment to frame what is in your heart with your lips. Can't we speak now?"

  "Elise - " he said, but he was smiling. He drew off his glove and then touched her cheek and tilted her face up to his.

  Her eyes closed as his mouth came down upon hers, and then she was in his arms, returning each kiss with eager delight. To know how completely she loved him, and to realize that his love matched hers, was joy beyond belief.

  They drew apart for a moment to smile and embrace more warmly.

  She smiled up at him. "Say it," she said.

  He tried to look away. "Elise - " he began.

  She turned his face back to hers. "How can it be wrong to voice what is in your heart for me to see?" she asked.

  He would have turned away, but her hands framed his face and kept him before her. Even then, he could not meet her eyes. "You know our friendship has been a joy to me," he said.

  "Am I only your friend, then, my darling?" she asked as he raised his hands to cover hers.

  He did
not answer her directly; she felt a light kiss against the sensitive spot where her throat joined her jaw. "I love you," he said.

  The words were a mere thread of sound; Elise could almost believe that she had imagined them. Her lips curved in a mischievous smile. "Now say it again," she commanded, smiling up into his startled eyes.

  Her smile was lost as he captured her mouth in an almost rough kiss that left her gasping for breath and straining him closer to her.

  The force of their response left them shaken. They drew apart. She looked into his eyes and saw the passion that was in her own mirrored there. She ducked her face into his shoulder, suddenly shy, and a moment later his arms settled firmly around her and held her in an embrace that had nothing of passion and everything of tenderness.

  "Let me take you home now," he said shakily against her hair. "I have said too much. It's late and the night is getting cold, and I have a criminal to catch tomorrow. We can wait until I can speak with you properly."

  She circled him with her arms and smiled against the knot of his cravat. "Then speak to me soon, Paul," she said, tightening her embrace. "I have so much to say in return."

  He smiled down at her and then gently set her from him and took her arm again.

  Her mind had been alive with its new awareness; she formed the words he would say in her imagination and framed her own response. He was right: it could wait. Waiting would make it sweeter.

  When they had returned to the Rose d'Or, she had surreptitiously tucked one of her handkerchiefs into the inside pocket of his coat, just for luck. He had the next day to live through, after all...

  ** ** **

  Elise turned her head on her pillow and looked over at the porcelain clock that sat on the mantel of her bedroom. Nine o'clock.

  She gasped and threw back the covers. Nine o'clock! And he was going to face Dracquet that day! She all but threw herself into her clothing, pinned up her hair, and hurried downstairs.

  There was no sign of Paul.

  "Where is M. l'Inspecteur?" she demanded of Marie. "Did he leave already?"

  Marie had her arms full of empty glasses. She set them on a table and said, "Yes, Mam'selle, he left at seven, as he usually does."