It wasn't like him to use language like that off the field. He was usually very careful. "Hephaistion's wife," I said precisely. "The sister of Alexander's wife. So they would be related, you see."
"I don't," he said.
I looked away. "Michel, are you being stupid on purpose? Don't you see the political implications of marrying Bonaparte's goddaughter? Don't you see the pattern?"
He put his knife and fork down with a clatter. "Of course I see the political implications! Aren't you the one telling me to pay attention to Bonaparte? Aren't you the one who was saying that I needed to make a better impression? Now I'm trying to make a better impression, and you're complaining."
"I'm not complaining," I said. "I have absolutely no complaints that you're courting Bonaparte's goddaughter. As far as your career goes, it's a terribly smart move. Nothing could help you succeed in your ambitions more." My voice choked a moment before I went on. "I see you found your next goal, the one you were looking for. Hephaistion to Bonaparte's Alexander is a fine ambition. I don't imagine you could look much higher."
I couldn't speak without crying, so I got up and rushed from the table, out to the women's dressing room.
It was hung in pink silk, and there were Chinese screens around three or four necessary pots and basins. There was no one else in there, so I went in and stood behind a screen, trying to master myself. I don't know how long I stood there, my forehead against the lacquer.
When I came out, Michel was standing beside the door with his hat in his hand, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot as though he were considering barging in. "I've paid the check," he said. "Elza, let me take you home." He put my shawl around me, the nice new dark blue one that he had gotten me when we had come to Paris in the spring. I had hardly worn it.
"Yes," I said.
We walked. It wasn't really cold yet, and while we could have hired a carriage it just didn't seem worthwhile. We walked side by side, not touching. Overhead, there were stars. Orion was rising.
"Elza, I'm not going to do it," he said. "I'm not. It was just a thought. It was flattering."
"I know," I said, and took his arm. He tucked my hand against his side. "You are worthy of a princess."
He ducked his head.
"You are," I said, looking at his profile silhouetted against the distant lights nearer the river. He looked so different with his hair short. His strong jawline was clearer, jutting a bit too much for beauty, a good face but not a beautiful one, except to the eyes of love. "And I am no princess."
He sighed. "What do I really need a princess for? It's a fantasy, as you said. The kind of girl who would never have looked at me in Saar Louis, the kind of girl who rides past in a fine carriage and guardsmen salute her. They protect her or die for her but never even have names."
"And now she needs you," I said. "An impoverished princess, rescued by a kindly godmother."
"Hardly impoverished," Michel said. "Napoleon said he would dower her with 100,000 francs."
I looked at him sharply. "I see. Well, then. Not double Moreau's bid. Ten times Moreau's bid. And the girl too, of course."
He stopped, turned half away from me. I heard his breath quicken. "I already told you, I'm not going to do it. Even though he offered me Inspector General of Cavalry, command of all the cavalry in France."
"Oh my God." I put my hands to my face. "Oh Michel."
"I don't know if that's contingent on marrying Aglae. It may not be," he said.
"He wants you that much?"
"Does that surprise you?" His voice was a little hard, but I couldn't see his face.
"No," I said. "It doesn't surprise me at all." It didn't. It clicked into place like something that had always fit there. "I asked him in Milan what the price of a general was. He said it was about the same as a companion."
"In Milan? I thought you met him at some Directory party in Paris." Michel sounded confused, not accusatory.
"No," I said. "It was in Milan after Marengo. I spent the night with him." I didn't know if lies or truth would hurt worse, or whether I wanted to hurt or not.
"You didn't tell me that," he said.
"You didn't ask," I replied.
His fingers tightened on my hand, almost bruising me through the gloves. "Was he good?" he asked harshly.
"He was very good," I said. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, his hand crushing mine. "He was amazingly good."
"Better than me?"
Only the most absolute naïf would ask a question like that. The streets were silent around us, Orion's belt lifting over the city. "No, Michel. Not even close to better."
His hand loosened, then his arm went around my waist. I heard him exhale. "Well, that's something."
I let myself lean into his arm a little. "I'm sure you would enjoy buggering him, if that's what you mean."
"Elza! For God's sake!" He dropped his arm and stepped back, almost losing his hat. "Where do you get these things?"
"I'm going to buy you a copy of Arrian and make you eat it," I said. "And I can guess from Charles that you might like it a great deal."
"Charles. Now that's my twist, not yours?" His voice was dry. I wished I could see his face, but it was too dark.
"It's mine too," I said. "But I'm not the one who's troubled by you liking to pretend I'm a man."
He took three steps toward me, his hand coming up. It closed on air. His teeth were set, eyes blazing. "Elza, that is not fair. It's not fair to use that...."
"It's not fair to use that to hurt you because you're going to marry someone else? If I'm going to be out on the street again, at least I want to get a few licks of my own in first," I snapped. "I promise you, I will hurt you every bit as much as you hurt me."
"You're a bitch." He stood looking at me as if he'd never seen me before. I was sure his dewy eyed princess never acted like this.
"That's right. I am." I met his eyes. "I'm every bit as cruel as you are."
"I know," he said. "That's the thing I love."
I closed my eyes. "Michel, no." I took a step back, the cobblestones uneven under my feet. "Don't say you love me."
"But I do," he said, and his voice was choked too. "We're both cruel and proud and selfish, and we deserve each other."
I stepped forward into his arms. I knew they would be there, and they were. "We probably do deserve each other. You like to be kicked, and I like to kick you. And I don't have enough pride to walk away from you. You're going to marry some sweet weeping virgin, and I'm going to wish you well." I put my forehead against his shoulder, turned my head and brushed my closed eyes against his chin, letting him feel the prickle of tears on my lashes.
"I'm not going to," he said. "I'll do something else. I could join the expedition to Santo Domingo instead. I wrote you about that, remember?"
"Instead of being Inspector General of Cavalry? Michel, that's madness."
"Well, yes," he said. "Now let's go home."
"Yes," I said.
It would not resolve anything, the ballet of our bodies, the graceful, violent dance of joining. But there was nothing really to resolve.
Michel wrote to the First Consul requesting his official permission to join the expedition to Santo Domingo. There was no immediate reply.
The invitations to Malmaison ceased. Perhaps it was because the weather turned bad, cold and rainy, sometimes icing the trees in the morning, and the lawn parties ended. Perhaps it was because the First Consul took it as spurning friendship and patronage both. If it were so, he did nothing in retaliation. The invitations ceased, and the letter was unanswered.
Michel continued in Paris, on full pay, with no appointment whatsoever and time on his hands.
“I’ll get Santo Domingo,” he said over breakfast on the sixth day. “I’m sure I will. There may be a lot of generals clamoring to go deal with slave revolts and malaria, but it would be out of the way. Very, very far out of the way.”
Leave on full pay is nice. After a little more than six months of i
t he was starting to get testy.
Michel poured himself another cup of coffee with three spoons of sugar. “The problem is that everyone wants it. Because there’s peace. Nobody is going to see any action here anytime soon. It will all be better as soon as we’re back in the field.”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow.
Michel grinned and leaned back in his chair. “We. You’re coming to Santo Domingo with me. So you’d better go order some tropical clothes for you and Charles. If I’m going to go off into a snaky jungle chasing Spaniards, pirates and runaway slaves, you’re going to come get malaria with me. It might be fun.”
"Palm trees,” I said. “Warm white sand.” I leaned forward on my elbows. “Tropical breezes whispering through the veranda.”
"Alligators as big as a man. Yellow fever. Snipers. Oh, and the British navy to get past on the way.” He didn’t stop smiling.
"We’re at peace with the British,” I said. “So there’s one off your list. And I see why everyone wants to go.”
"I’ll get Santo Domingo,” he said confidently. “You’ll see.”
I was less certain, but I went and ordered some summer weight clothes for Charles just in case. The expedition was due to sail in a few weeks, and if Michel was appointed at the last moment there would be no time for shopping. I got him things too. He would never remember to have thin cotton shirts made up.
To my surprise, Christmas decorations began to appear in the capital. Bakeries began to stock Christmas cakes, and there were plans for a Christmas Eve ball at the Tuileries. Very secular, of course, with more gold and silver ribbon than Virgin and Child, but it was something I had never seen in Paris before.
The First Consul had let it be known that Christmas was back.
There was some grumbling to the left, but for the most part everyone embraced gaiety. There was peace and plenty, the end of a good year, and the economy was rebounding from the disasters of the last days of the Directory. Decked with a thousand candles, Paris seemed indeed the City of Light.
The week before Christmas Michel was invited to escort Madame Bonaparte to the Opera. He opened the note from Joséphine soundlessly and handed it to me.
I read it and put it down on the table, lifted my hands to my mouth and breathed into them.
"Elza?”
"Of course you have to accept,” I said. “If you don’t, it will be a deadly insult. It will demonstrate that you are not of Bonaparte’s party. And I don’t think that’s what you want to do.”
“I’m happy to be of his party,” Michel said. “I’m just trying not to marry his goddaughter.”
“Mademoiselle Auguié will be there,” I said. “There will be the three of you or maybe Hortense, and then at the first interval Joséphine and Hortense will run into an old dear friend like Fortuneé Hamelin, and go join her, leaving you and Mademoiselle Auguié in the Consular box.”
“Why do you think that?” Michel sounded vaguely defensive.
I put my hands over my eyes. “Because it’s exactly what I would do.”
Michel sat down heavily. “I can’t do this. He should know that I’m happy to be in his party, that I would consider myself a true friend. He doesn’t need to buy my loyalty. All he had to do was earn it. With or without Aglae or her dowry, if I give him my sword I will mean it. He should know that, Elza. I’d rather talk to him than Aglae.”
I paced across the room, kicking my skirts out of the way. Outside the window it was raining again, a slow gray drizzle that resisted turning into snow. I pulled the curtain back and stood inside it, dark blue velvet sheltering me. I refrained from saying anything about the rival attractions of Mademoiselle Auguié and Napoleon. I knew which one I could fight and which one I couldn’t.
Michel came up behind me and ducked under the curtain too, putting his arms around me from behind. I laced my fingers through his and leaned my head back against his shoulder.
“You have to go, Michel,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
If only it would snow, I thought. The rain was depressing. Through the rain-streaked glass I could see the roofs of Paris. “You’re going to marry someone,” I said. “It should be someone who will do you good. I have to get used to that. I don’t really want you to throw your career away for me. And you’re not going to do it.”
“No,” he said, bending his face against my hair. “I’m not.”
“We’re not going to Santo Domingo,” I said.
“The expedition has sailed from Brest,” he said. “With Leclerc in command.”
I nodded. “Go to the Opera, Michel. Do what you’re going to do.”
His face was against my hair. “I could confide in Joséphine that an old wound has left me impotent.”
I started laughing, as he knew I would. I turned in his arms. “And what am I then?”
“A trophy?” He smiled back at me, but the wistful look never left his eyes. “Elza, I want to do the right thing.”
“And you want to be a hero of France, to go as far as your abilities will let you. I can’t resolve this for you, Michel. Your conscience and your ambition are going to have to fight it out.” I put my hand along the side of his face, warm and freshly shaven. The one thing he had resolved was that he was not marrying me. And I could live with that. I had not expected any different. “I will love you even if I hate you,” I said.
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I will love you. Even if you hate me.”
“Then go court your virgin bride,” I said, pushing away from him gently. “Go do the thing you’re going to do. Just don’t talk to me about it. I don’t want to know her virtues.”
“You won’t hurt her, will you?” he asked. “No matter how much reason I give you to hate her?”
I blinked back tears. “Michel, why would I hate a young girl sold into marriage with a man she hardly knows and can’t possibly understand? I was that girl once. It’s your fault, or mine, or Napoleon’s or Joséphine’s, but it’s not Mademoiselle Auguié’s. Out of all the twisted lot of us, it’s not hers.”
“I know,” he said, and I pretended not to see the expression in his eyes.
He went to the Opera, and I stayed home. I wished I had more self-respect than to lie crying on our bed, his pillow stuffed under me, having a good wail. I beat the pillow a bit for good measure too.
This took only three quarters of an hour, leaving me the entire rest of the evening to fill. We didn’t even have separate rooms. When he came in I would wake up and have to hear all about his evening. Even if I pretended to be asleep I would really be awake and that would be almost as bad.
In the end, I decided not to pretend I wasn’t sitting up. Yes, it would be more awkward for him, coming in from courting one woman to go to bed with the other, and I would look like more of a desperate fool, but sitting up I could read, rather than lie in the dark listening for his steps.
He came in at a quarter till one. I put the novel I was reading down on the side table beside my brandy glass and went to take his coat. He didn’t say anything.
I hung his coat and put his hat on the peg. He laid his gloves on the table by the door. His face was flushed from the cold. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“I haven’t decided,” he said.
I found my glass and took a long drink of brandy. He went and poured some for himself, came and sat beside the fireplace.
“It’s snowing,” Michel said.
“Is it?” I went to the window and looked out. A few thick white flakes were falling.
“Do you remember last year?” he said.
“How could I forget?” I said. Tears prickled at my eyes again. I kept them on the window.
“Do you want me to tell you or do you want to imagine?” he asked.
I looked down at the glass in my hand. The fumes rose from the bowl where my hands warmed it. “I want you to tell me,” I said. I had laid out the cards. You can never read for yourself accurately, but I thought he was going to marry her. It really didn’t
take cards to tell me that.
“You were right that Aglae was there,” he said. “And Joséphine left us at the first interval. No Hortense. We talked about the opera. And horses.”
“You talked about horses and she listened,” I said, smiling even though I was crying.
“Something like that,” he admitted. “She rides a little. At least she’s not afraid of horses.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“She seems so young. So vulnerable.” There was a note in his voice that I knew. I closed my eyes. “She’s fragile. When I think about the things that happened to her when she was a child, the Terror, her mother’s suicide….”
“It excites you,” I said quietly. “I understand that. Like the girls in Franconia. Fragile, crumpled flowers. You wonder how she’ll bleed.”
I heard him take a ragged breath and waited for a retort. When he said nothing, I turned around.
Michel was leaning forward, the almost empty glass between his hands, staring into the fire. The expression on his face was desolation itself.
I came around the chair and knelt down on the hearthrug beside him.
“I would never hurt her,” he said. “I wouldn’t.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. But you would think about it.”
He took my glass out of my hand and drained it. He already smelled like brandy, but his hands were steady. I passed him the decanter. He filled the glass again.
“You will think about it,” I said. “And you’ll never do it. You’ll imagine hurting her, all the while touching her as gently as a lover can. You will treat her like something precious, imagining how you would hold her wrists, how you would bruise her if you could. And she will never know.”
He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders moving with his sobs.
I put my arms around him, gathering him against me like a child. “My darling. My Michel. I know you won’t hurt her. I know you well enough to know that.”
“And you know me well enough to know I want to,” he said.
“I do,” I said. “And when it’s more than you can take, you’ll bring it to me. I can hold it. I can bear anything you need. I need you like fire needs fire.”
Jo Graham - [Numinous World 05] Page 16
