The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  “I would have followed her,” said Hélène. “Or I would have come to beg you to give her back to me. Or I would have begged Aurore to let me stay with them.”

  Jean-Louis would make it up to her. All those years of no one noticing as her family plundered her inheritance. Even he had been dazzled by Amandine. His father only suggested her, not forced her on him, and if he hadn’t been infatuated… He shook his head slightly. Without Amandine, he would not have Ondine. And he would not have Hélène now. His father would have found some other lively heiress if Jean-Louis hadn’t agreed to wed Amandine. And he had been young enough to be dazzled by lively and cheerful instead of sincere and beautiful and trustworthy.

  Hélène was sincere and beautiful and trustworthy. She had defended him from his mother’s nasty words the night before, and she understood him and Emmanuel. She had angered him only because she knew him too well.

  Jean-Louis sighed. He was in love.

  He was also staring at his wife with calf eyes as she was saying something that was probably important.

  The lawyer said, “It should be enough to keep you and Ondine safe and hidden until your birthday. Who will inherit if you were to die?”

  “Before I married, I made up a will leaving my things to Ondine. But now, it would be Jean-Louis, of course,” she said without hesitation.

  Jean-Louis started. Would he inherit from her? Of course he would. It was technically all his already, since they had married without any sort of contract.

  “And if something happened to you, Monsieur?” said Laurier.

  “I stand to inherit a property from my father, but if I were to die, he would give it to my next youngest brother or to a grandson. Ondine would have inherited my investments and a few worldly goods before I married, but now it would be divided with Hélène. I will need to write a new will to clarify what should go to each of them.”

  Hélène smiled at him.

  The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and he looked away.

  “What is wrong, Jean-Louis?” asked Hélène. “Are you ill?”

  “I…I really do not want all you have, Hélène. Your parents’ house. Your share of the factory.”

  She looked puzzled, then sadness crept across her face. “You can hire someone to make decisions in the manufactory while you are away with the army.”

  Monsieur Laurier shifted in his seat. “I have a feeling that when all of this trouble has been solved, the manufactory will be in worse trouble than it already is. A crisis of confidence, as it were. They will need a strong hand, Monsieur le Colonel.”

  Jean-Louis saw his military career drifting away. Even if he could retain his commission, he would have to resign it. He clenched his jaw, wondering if he would be executed as a deserter before anything was resolved. “Fourbier!” he barked. Hélène jumped slightly.

  “Oui, Monsieur?” said his soon-to-be-former valet.

  “Would you take a position in a furniture manufactory if I offered you enough? They will need a better eye for form and color than anyone there currently has.”

  “I…I will consider it, Monsieur. I would have to speak to, ah, my future employer,” said Fourbier.

  Jean-Louis turned to consider the man. Fourbier was loyal to Henri and not to him. It stung, but not as much as he thought it would. “I will need someone to do the accounts, also. I will ask your future employer if he would consider it.”

  “Your family wouldn’t turn their backs on you for going into trade? You would take it over?” asked Hélène.

  He turned back to her and saw the hope in her eyes. “I would if…” He stopped. If what? He shook his head. “It is yours, and another third will be Ondine’s at the death of her grandparents. My family won’t turn their backs—my father deliberately married me into your family. There are dozens of people who work there, people who are innocent in all this. I cannot just destroy their lives when we destroy the Ménines.”

  Hélène’s eyes shone with such hero worship that he cringed. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, she had looked away.

  “I will try to be as noble as you seem to think me,” he said. “So far, I have failed more than succeeded.”

  She touched his face.

  The lawyer cleared his throat, and they jumped apart.

  “Right. I think we should keep your marriage a secret for the next three days,” Monsieur Laurier said, “To safeguard Monsieur le Colonel’s life, too. You say your daughter is well-protected, and you will protect Hélène, but if we can keep you from becoming a target, we can breathe more easily. We will have to draw them out eventually, of course.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hélène stayed in the de la Brosse house for the next two days, invisible and safe. She sometimes took the key to her parents’ house from her pocket, wondering how it would feel to walk into her childhood home after it had been denied her for so long.

  Jean-Louis went out alone or with Emmanuel, visiting the bankers who had her funds in trust. He paid a call on his friend Colonel Hardi, one of the officers sent to the king with the news that Franche-Comté was secure. Hardi promised to carry messages to le Grand Condé, seeking reconciliation.

  Le Baron de la Brosse came up on the second day, to tell the true story of the circumstances to his friends so it could spread throughout the court and sway the king’s opinion. His arrival caused the rather hasty departure of the baronesse, who went to visit friends in the country. Emmanuel was sorry to see her go, convinced she would apologize, given more time. Hélène was fairly sure her new mother-in-law was much like her aunt and her late cousin—they would deny to the death they had done anything wrong. She tried to console Emmanuel, but he denied he needed consolation.

  When Jean-Louis was home, he also was stoic, much as he had been when they had first met. His father made a joke about the army the night he arrived. Jean-Louis stiffened and excused himself.

  The baron turned to Hélène, his face full of confusion. “What did I say?”

  Hélène said, “He is worried about his future. He faces trouble from his superiors because he helped me, as you know. He might…”

  “There are serious charges, yes,” said the baron. “But he’ll be reinstated, especially if we can arrest the people responsible.”

  Hélène looked down at her hands. “He might resign anyway, to take over the factory.” She immediately wished she hadn’t said anything, when the baron’s face fell. It couldn’t be easy having a child go into trade. Her family had been in trade her whole life, so it had never seemed a problem, but she was wiser now. “It’s not settled. Oh, I am sorry I said anything.”

  The baron sighed. “He takes everything to heart. He wants everything absolute, perfect. He has always been so sensitive.” The baron paused for a minute, lost in thought, then flashed a grin at Hélène. “He should know I would support him no matter what. I found him Amandine, supposing he would resign from the army and run the factory when her father retired. I’ve always known he would eventually be an industrialist, or at least earn his living from business. I wish I had enough so all my sons could be landed gentlemen, playing at court and earning a living from the land. But as Henri and Emmanuel will tell you, there was not really enough even for two, much less four boys. Even the property in Poitou does no more than scrape by. Everyone but my heir has to fend for himself.”

  Emmanuel shifted in his seat and glowered at the floor. Hélène wanted to squeeze his hand, but he was on the other side of the drawing room.

  “I have a portion set aside for you, Manu,” said her father-in-law. “A dowry of sorts, to get you started comfortably. The same way I bought Jean-Louis’ commission and would have donated to the monastery if Henri had taken orders. I gave him enough to buy his lodgings and pay his old valet while he got started in the Finance office. There will be more for all of you when I die, though I have to leave Cédric with enough to support the lands.”

  Emmanuel didn’t look at his father.

&nb
sp; Hélène wanted to ask Emmanuel about his love of horses, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it to his father, apparently. He grunted, “Merci, Papa,” and excused himself.

  The baron smiled at Hélène. “So much like Jean-Louis, don’t you think, ma fille?”

  ****

  That night, Hélène went to bed alone. Jean-Louis was writing letters, though he seemed to be staring out the drawing room window when Hélène saw him.

  She woke a while later, her husband silently sliding her nightdress up her legs. He had brought in a candle, so she watched his fuzzy form as he kissed her shoulders and then her breasts. He was gentle, careful to bring her to climax before entering her, but he was silent except for his own groan of completion. As she drifted near sleep, she had a vague feeling of unrest, like there was something wrong.

  Jean-Louis was already snoring, so she blew out the candle and went back to sleep, too.

  The pounding on the front door roused her only halfway, but Jean-Louis’ leap from the bed and scramble for his clothes woke her completely.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, fumbling for her eyeglasses.

  “Don’t know. No one pounds like that without a reason.” He lit a candle from the banked fire in the fireplace, then yanked his breeches on and grabbed his sheathed sword.

  Running footsteps pounded in the hall and someone knocked at their door. Jean-Louis yanked it open, and Henri stumbled in.

  “They’ve taken Ondine,” he announced, looking away quickly from Hélène.

  “Merde! What were you doing? Where was everyone?” barked Jean-Louis, roughly pulling on a waistcoat.

  Henri bowed his head. “They have Charlotte, too. They went up for a nap and never came down. There was a window open, a rope left dangling, scrapes in the paint of the windowsill. Big tree outside the room where the girls were sleeping. Signs of a struggle, but not much of one. They overpowered them quickly and quietly—Cédric’s boys and their nursemaid didn’t hear in the next room. Guard tied up. Tracks in the snow. Followed the trail to Paris, but lost it just outside the city. I sent a man with a note to Ondine’s grandparents.”

  “I trusted you.” Jean-Louis’ voice broke, his hands on his hips.

  Hélène wanted to comfort him, but she wore a thin nightdress, and Henri was in the open doorway. “Jean-Louis,” she said, her voice little more than a whimper.

  “We’ll go out so you can get up.” He strode to the bed and kissed her hard. “Hurry down.”

  She held him to her.

  “I am sorry, Jean-Louis, Hélène,” said Henri, his eyes glittering with tears in the candlelight. “I don’t know how they overpowered the guard and why no one saw anything. It was still light out when we realized they were gone.”

  Jean-Louis looked into her eyes. “We’ll get her back, mon amour.”

  He left, and Hélène leaped from the bed and hastily pulled on her heaviest robe.

  She put on house shoes and hurried down the stairs, holding her candle tightly because even with the glasses she had trouble seeing her feet. She went into the drawing room, where Monsieur Fourbier scowled fiercely at Henri, who looked even more ashamed than before.

  Hélène went to Henri and hugged him. He leaned against her before shooting an angry look at Fourbier, who turned away.

  She turned toward Jean-Louis, who surprised her by being right behind her. She put her arms around him and shuddered. “My poor baby Ondine.”

  He held her tightly. “We will get her back.”

  An hour later, after several footmen and grooms had been sent around the city to ask at the gates if two girls had been spotted, someone pounded at the front door.

  Henri rushed in with a large bundle of blankets.

  Hélène cried, “Ondine!” as she crossed the room.

  “No, I am sorry, Madame,” Henri said. He pulled back the edge of the blanket to reveal Charlotte, her eyes closed.

  “Is she all right?” asked Hélène, trying to take the girl from him. He whisked past her and set the girl on the divan.

  “She was half-frozen. I asked a soldier at the gate if he had seen anyone with two girls, and he told me a girl had been warming her hands at their fire and he gave her a blanket, and she had asked about some baron and the Château de Vincennes and then wandered off. Luckily, I caught up with her. She was stumbling along in just her stockings.”

  Hélène lifted up the edge of Charlotte’s dress and started to rub her cold, cold feet, not even trying to avoid the cuts that bled sluggishly into her woolen stockings.

  “Someone get warm water. Poke up the fire,” she said as the girl’s eyes fluttered slightly.

  “She was in a daze, but she knew me. I took her up and wrapped her as best I could and then made haste,” said Henri.

  Hélène bent close to the pale, silent girl. “Charlotte? Can you hear me?”

  The girl’s eyes opened halfway.

  “Madame,” she said. “They tossed me out. They snatched Ondine from me. Pushed me into the snow.”

  “Oh, my poor dear,” said Hélène, hugging the girl to her. “We’ll get you warmed up, ma chérie.”

  “But I couldn’t stop them, Madame! I…” The girl sobbed.

  “Did the men hurt you?” Jean-Louis barked.

  Charlotte shuddered.

  Hélène soothed the girl, rubbing her back gently. “Did they…touch you? Hit you?”

  Charlotte’s muffled voice said, “Only when they got us. They hurt my arms when they dragged me out. They hurt Ondine’s arm, too. She couldn’t move it and cried when anyone touched it. I held it as still as I could all the way to Paris, but then they put me out, and…”

  The girl sobbed again, and Hélène pulled her onto her lap. Someone pulled away the thin, ragged blanket Charlotte had been given by a guard and put a thick wool blanket over the two of them together. A maid sat down on a stool and rubbed Charlotte’s feet vigorously. As the girl’s sobs subsided, her color returned, and she struggled away to sit up next to Hélène on the couch. Hélène put the blanket around her shoulders and kept her arm around her.

  “When…when you send me away…” said Charlotte, her voice just above a whisper. “Could you send me back to my maman?”

  “We won’t send you away,” said Hélène. She looked up to see Jean-Louis sitting nearby on the edge of his chair. He shook his head.

  Hélène suspected he was seeking someone to blame. “But if you would like to go back to your mother, we will help you go. When we find Ondine, we’re going to need you still.”

  Jean-Louis paced across the room.

  “I cannot wait here while the others scout the city,” said Jean-Louis. “I must go visit the Ferands. But I don’t want to leave you here without protection, Hélène. Mon Dieu!”

  He sat down again and put his head in his hands.

  “I should come with you,” said Hélène.

  “Definitely not,” said Jean-Louis, staring at her in horror. “I will keep you safe. Henri, will you stay here? You must be tired after riding all night.”

  “If the groom who accompanied me can do it, so can I.” Henri’s chin went up with injured pride. “He has already gone out.” But under Jean-Louis’ fixed glare, Henri nodded. “But I will stay and protect your wife with my life, of course.”

  Jean-Louis bowed to him.

  Henri crossed the room and embraced him on both cheeks, then went to the window, pulling the curtain to the side just enough to peer out.

  Jean-Louis knelt in front of Hélène. “Do not leave the house for anything. Today is your birthday, and the Ménines are surely desperate. I will go to your aunt and uncle, to see if they have had a ransom demand of some sort.”

  “Take a guard with you.” Hélène wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

  “Of course,” said Jean-Louis.

  “Be careful.” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t help herself. She started to cry.

  “Stay in the house,” he said. “Stay where Henri can hear if you
call him. I’ll find our girl.”

  His voice broke, and he gripped her more tightly.

  “I love you,” said Hélène.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered.

  He jerked to his feet and left the room so quickly she wasn’t sure she had heard it.

  Hélène sat and stared at her hands, occasionally wiping her eyes. Her mind raced—Ondine dying, Jean-Louis dying, Henri or Emmanuel or Fourbier dying, the baron dying. Any of the footmen and guards and friends who were out looking…dying. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and leaned forward, sure she would vomit. She felt a hand on her back and then bony arms going around her. She turned to find Charlotte comforting her.

  “I can’t just sit here,” Hélène said out loud.

  “You are not going out,” said Henri, frowning at her.

  “No. But I cannot sit in the drawing room thinking about it. I will become hysterical. I am never hysterical.”

  Henri glanced at the maid, who had come in with water for tea. Hélène set herself to making it. Henri walked around the room, then went to a bookshelf and started going through the books.

  “What did you do?” she asked him, thinking of when Aurore had disappeared.

  “What did I do?” he asked, not understanding her.

  “When Aurore was held hostage? And when she was hiding? What did all of you do?”

  Henri sat suddenly on a chair, a book in his hands. “I prayed, Madame. I imagined every terrible thing that could happen to her. I thought she was dead sometimes. I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming because I had dreamt she was dead.”

  Hélène started to cry again, and Charlotte clung to her.

  “But my worry was nothing next to Dom’s. I kept imagining she was all right. I thought about how we fought when we were younger, how she pinches us, then rubs it away. How she calls every one of us her favorite brother. I knew she was with Michel. I knew bad things had already happened to her,” said Henri, glancing at Charlotte, who was only ten, though she had probably seen worse things already, “but Michel would keep her safe. I didn’t even know he was our half-brother then, but I had faith in him. I sent him word, by the way, before I left the la Brosse estate. He will be here with men this morning, I would bet.”