Duty to the Crown

by Aimie K. Runyan

  Scum. At least they’re free from you. On my account, at least. Go bother someone else, preferably one who is actually doing wrong, for once in your miserable life. She tried to push the man from her thoughts to allow some form of bridal felicity to enter them, but Duval’s mere presence had the ability to fill her spirit with rancor.

  The small assembly walked back to the Beaumont home and enjoyed a simple stew accompanied by Gilbert’s good bread and Elisabeth’s best pastries. Nicole and Emmanuelle chatted merrily, and Manon was deep in discussion with Pascal over various livestock practices. Gabrielle smiled and made small talk whenever someone engaged her, but found herself observing her nearest friends and her new husband. While Pascal and her friends visited companionably, Olivier sat in stubborn silence, seemingly uncomfortable with the number of people in the room.

  Make allowances, Gabrielle. He lives alone. This may be daunting for a man so used to his solitude. You can bring him around. Make something of him.

  Gabrielle studied the man, who was tall and proud with a thick black beard and dark eyes. He’d washed for the wedding and wore what appeared to be a new suit of clothes for the occasion. He cut a handsome figure, she realized, and his sturdy frame had been chiseled from hard labor. He would be a good provider to their family. She hoped he would be. In truth, she’d seen him three times since the marriage had been decided upon. Each occasion was at the Beaumont dinner table and in the presence of her adoptive family. They had exchanged a few dozen words at each meal, but no more. She had not seen his home or his land. She was entering blind into the marriage and battled her nerves at each moment.

  Gilbert and Pascal had contrived a reason to visit the Patenaude homestead, however, and assured Gabrielle that the house, while not luxurious, was sound and the land was cleared. Everything a girl was taught to ask for was seen to. Heaven knows the likes of me isn’t entitled to ask for more.

  As soon as his plate was cleared, Patenaude stood, indicating his desire to leave without bothering with ceremony or civility.

  “We’ve just finished eating. I think the Beaumonts . . .”

  The look on Olivier’s face silenced Gabrielle at once.

  “It’s fine, sweetheart,” Elisabeth said. “It’s a long drive for the horses, we know, and not an enjoyable one after dark. We’ve thrown together a few gifts for you. The men can see them loaded in a trice.”

  Olivier nodded curtly to Elisabeth and followed Gilbert and Pascal down the stairs. The rest of the assembly took turns embracing Gabrielle and giving her their best wishes. Elisabeth hung back for last.

  “My sweet girl, how I will miss you.” Elisabeth folded Gabrielle in her arms, gripping tight, fortifying them both for the imminent separation. “You must send letters into town as often as you can, my dear, and come in with Olivier whenever he makes the trip.”

  Gabrielle nodded and kissed Elisabeth’s damp cheeks. She doubted the trips would be frequent, but she didn’t add to Elisabeth’s suffering by pointing that out. She looked around the small house, taking in all the familiar sights one last time as a resident. The cozy kitchen, the tiny parlor that Elisabeth bemoaned as the only fault in the house, the small bedroom that was her own corner of the world. None of it was hers any longer. It never really was, but the Beaumonts never made her feel it. For Elisabeth’s sake Gabrielle kept her tears at bay, but she longed to run to her soft mattress and indulge in them one last time.

  * * *

  Pascal and Gilbert had been truthful when they said Olivier’s home was sound. They also didn’t exaggerate when they said it wasn’t the Palace of the Louvre, either. Olivier made quite the show of putting his aging stallion, Xavier, away in his barn stall. Olivier gave a derisive grunt when Gabrielle offered her help with the tack and hay, so she went to inspect the house. The walls were solid, and it would keep out the chill of winter. It was a simple, wooden one-room affair with a big stone fireplace and rough-hewn furniture that looked as if Olivier had fashioned it himself. There was a large table for eating and cooking, a pair of straight-backed chairs, and a bed in the corner. The sight of the latter caused Gabrielle’s stomach to rise to her throat. She’d tried to avoid thinking of that aspect of her marital duties, but the moment when she would have to submit was soon at hand.

  “I believe I shall be comfortable enough here,” Gabrielle said to break the silence as Patenaude returned from the barn, removing his new coat and placing it gingerly in the trunk at the end of his bed.

  “It won’t be the posh city life you’re used to, no mistaking that,” Olivier said, hefting her trunk to the end of the bed. “And I won’t abide any sniveling about it, either.”

  “Of course not,” Gabrielle said. I’m not exactly prone to sniveling, and I could tell on our first meeting you weren’t one to tolerate it.

  “So long’s we understand that.” Olivier opened her trunk and rifled about her clothes.

  “Is there anything you’re looking for?” Gabrielle was puzzled as to what might interest him among her chemises.

  “Whatever I see fit, girl.” Olivier did not look up from her trunk as he tossed her garments around.

  “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you,” Gabrielle said, picking her clothes off the filthy floor. “And please be careful with my things.”

  Olivier stood to his full, considerable height and took his hand down across her face. She’d had worse from her father—certainly it was nothing compared to the last beating she’d received at his hand—but Olivier’s slap was enough to make her stumble backward.

  “Don’t you ever give me an order, girl. Is that clear?”

  “Y-yes,” she said, looking up, bewildered by the man she’d married only three hours before.

  “While we’re on the subject, let me set down a few rules. They’ll be no backtalk from you. I won’t have it. Better yet, you’d be smart to keep your lip shut unless you’re spoken to. I expect my supper on the table at dusk, else you’ll get another taste of what you just had. Anything I ask you to do, you do without question, and you’ll hand over every last sou that crosses your palm. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.” Gabrielle took a step back and looked him up and down. He stood as tall as he could, clearly trying to intimidate her as her father had done so many times. Her sharp tongue had earned her a number of beatings, and now she was destined for more of the same.

  “Now, seeing as how you roped me into a marriage, it’s high time I took what’s owed to me. Take off that dress before I take it off you.”

  It was clear from his face that he meant his words. If she didn’t comply he’d rip it from her and there would clearly be no replacing it. She complied quickly, but covered her nakedness with an arm across her breasts and her hand shielding her sex. Do what you must, but do it quickly, bastard.

  “Don’t cover up. I want to see what I’ve bought.” Olivier grabbed her wrists so he could see her form—all of it. His eyes looked her over, just like a farmer inspecting a dairy cow or a brood mare. She felt just as much dignity as the beasts, for in that moment she knew she had even less value to the man who examined her.

  “Scrawny and redheaded. A mass of freckles to boot, but I guess a man can’t be too particular when there’s so few women about. Besides, you redheaded ones are all alike. Sluts, the lot of you. Just mind you keep yourself to my bed and no other, clear?”

  Gabrielle’s green eyes flashed with indignation at his implication, but she spoke not a word.

  “Don’t look at me so defiant-like.” He brought his hand down on her cheek, causing her to fall back on the bed. Before she could get to her feet, he was atop her, breeches down, claiming his due as her husband. Just be done with it. Have pity on me and be done.

  She stared up at the ceiling, waiting for his grunting to desist. She refused to let her tears come to the surface no matter how her cheek ached or how roughly he’d claimed her maidenhood. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed by him.

  God in heave
n, I escaped my father’s house only to find myself in a deeper circle of hell. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend, but I think it’s You who must make amends now.

  * * *

  The following morning, Gabrielle escaped from the sweaty confines of Patenaude’s bed to prepare the morning meal. Stale bread. Some salted meat. A few questionable vegetables. Little else. The worst bachelor’s larder she’d ever seen. Thankfully, Elisabeth had sent her with a hamper of groceries so she was able to make a proper breakfast. She prepared the meal in silence and set it on the table, but did not dare to eat her portion or rouse her husband from his slumber. Remembering her father’s temper, she knew either action would be certain to raise his ire. Thankfully, he stirred not long after she set the meal out, so it wasn’t cold. That wouldn’t earn her credit with him, either.

  He grunted at the sight of the meal, which Gabrielle took to be a sign of his appreciation. You’re not an eloquent one, are you? Not that I mind. I’m not sure you allow me to mind anything at all. The couple ate in silence, the porridge and toast with jam tasting as appealing as ash on her tongue. Patenaude ate ravenously, which she guessed meant he enjoyed his meal. Though the Beaumonts weren’t particularly highborn, they took table manners as the first mark of civility. Had Olivier Patenaude made such a display at their supper table, they never would have allowed yesterday’s wedding.

  “Where did the food come from?” Patenaude asked once the meal was concluded.

  “The hamper that Elisabeth sent for us,” Gabrielle said, clearing the plate from in front of him.

  “The food we can keep; the rest of the gifts that can fetch a price are to be sold.”

  “But, surely—” Gabrielle began. There was a nice length of wool from Nicole she’d planned to make a winter jacket from, good linens, and other gifts that had been chosen for her with care.

  “Are you questioning me, girl?” Olivier’s eyes flashed in Gabrielle’s direction and she was glad not to be within striking range.

  “No, I only meant to point out that some of the guests might be offended. . . .” Some of the embroidery took weeks. And they’re tokens of love from my friends. Not yours.

  “Do you think they’ll travel all the way out here to see you?” Olivier looked at Gabrielle, the disdain dripping from his voice like poison. “And if they did, do you think they’d look to see what sheets you have on your bed?”

  “I do think the Beaumonts will come from time to time. Surely Pascal will.” She took care not to sound patronizing or insolent, but in that moment she prayed any one of them would come through the door to prove him wrong.

  “Oh, the Beaumonts may come ’round once or twice, but you’re not their kin. They’ll forget about you soon enough. That brother of yours is thick with that high and mighty Lefebvre. No mistaking that; he’ll have no time for his little slut of a sister for too much longer. He’s got big ideas, and don’t forget it.”

  “I know he has,” Gabrielle agreed. It was a source of pride for her that her brother, despite his upbringing, aspired to do something with his life. To improve the lives of others. To be a credit to the colony.

  At the same time, she looked at herself and saw that, for all her hopes and hard work, she’d landed in a worse predicament than her own misguided mother.

  Patenaude stood and grabbed his hide rucksack, a filthy affair covered in bits of fur and traces of animal blood, from a dusty corner of the room.

  “What are you doing today? I thought it might be time to harvest?”

  “Harvest what, you dolt? I ain’t got time to waste farming this frozen soil. If we were down south, maybe. Not here. I just keep the land clear to shut up the deputy. Fall’s trapping season. Only reason I married you was that they wouldn’t let me hunt and trap if I didn’t get married.”

  “Oh.” Gabrielle registered his words. She was just a hunting license to him. In all fairness, to her he was only a means of sparing the Beaumonts from difficulty. Perhaps on that score, they were even. “Will you be gone long?”

  “Don’t ask questions. I’ll be gone as long as it takes. Maybe a few days. Maybe weeks. Sometimes as long as a month. Depends on the snow and the hunting. Make sure to care for Xavier while I’m out. Hay and water every day and walk him about the fields to keep him limber, but you’re not to ride him. I don’t want you out gallivanting in town for people to chat about.” You care more for the damned horse than your own wife.

  Gabrielle bit back her rebuke. “Won’t you have need of him?”

  “Not as far as we’re going. He’d be all but useless in the woods. Canoes. Snowshoes if the weather turns. Faster and more reliable. No feed to carry neither since there won’t be much in the way of grass soon.”

  “Of course,” Gabrielle said, looking down at her hands, trying to conceal her smile. Go, and go far. If there’s any mercy, there’ll be a late start to winter, and just enough creatures to keep you hunting, but not enough to satisfy your greed.

  Patenaude threw the rest of his gear in the reeking bag, along with a huge portion of the food from Elisabeth’s hamper that would keep on the hunt, and hoisted the pack onto his back. He nodded in Gabrielle’s general direction and left the cabin without a word.

  May your trap snare the real beast.

  CHAPTER 10

  Claudine

  October 1677

  Claudine threw her most personal possessions, few that they were, into her little satchel, emptying of any signs of life the small bedroom she had shared with Emmanuelle at their parents’ house. Claudine was returning to the Lefebvre house for Emmanuelle’s wedding. With any luck she’d be invited back to stay with her sister or Rose, though she didn’t expect it.

  For almost three months she fed the horses, scrubbed floors, and minded Georges without complaint. She plodded along in her Latin grammar in the evenings when her mother had the energy to polish up her rusty skills. Nicole and Emmanuelle, sympathetic to their sister’s banishment, sent letters with the news from town, but Claudine burned them after she scanned their contents for any real news. The prattle of all the social events was just a cruel reminder of all she missed. There was no mention of Victor’s wedding. At least they had the good sense to give that wound time to scab over.

  Bernadette entered the small bedroom, knocking softly, but not waiting to enter.

  “All packed, my darling?” Bernadette asked.

  “Not much to gather up, Maman, but yes. I’m ready when Papa is.” Claudine smoothed the last wrinkle out of her freshly made bed. Claudine stood a full head taller than her petite mother, but they might have been twins, but for the age difference. The same even features and mahogany hair. If nothing else, her months back on the farm without Emmanuelle had given her the chance to know her mother better.

  “I’ve never seen a girl so altered as you since the spring.” Bernadette took her daughter’s hand and violated one of her strictest rules—sitting on a tidy bed more than five minutes before someone was to crawl into it. “I’m not complaining about your hard work, but I do wish you’d talk to me about why you came back.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Maman. Let’s just say that Alexandre and I quarreled.”

  “I’m sure he will forgive you, dearest. He may be stern, but he’s a kind man.” Bernadette patted Claudine’s hand. Not just a little spat, Maman. You can think he’ll forgive me if it comforts you, but I know better. I crossed over his imaginary line of conduct and he’ll never find it within himself to look past the transgression. And I’m not sure I can forgive him.

  “Is Papa nearly ready?”

  “I imagine so. We’ll miss you while you’re gone, dear.”

  “You’ll be there on Tuesday for the wedding, Maman. I expect I’ll be coming back with you.”

  “Don’t be so downtrodden, darling. Whatever happens, you’ll make the best of it.” Bernadette embraced her daughter and escorted her to the front room, where Thomas waited. “Of all your talents, it’s the most valuable.”

  Claudine
returned the embrace with a weary smile. As usual, her mother was right, but it didn’t necessarily mean that her talent didn’t come without a healthy dose of sacrifice.

  When Papa’s wagon pulled up in front of the Lefebvre house, Emmanuelle, for once in her life, ignored the rules of decorum by racing into Claudine’s arms before she had the chance to cross the threshold. Usually the doting daughter, Emmanuelle only offered her father a hasty kiss by way of greeting before dragging Claudine up the stairs to the room they had shared, which they would share again only for a few more nights before Emmanuelle’s wedding.

  “I missed you so much, Didine!” Claudine fought for breath as her sister’s arms cinched like a blacksmith’s vice around her rib cage. “It’s been so strange here without you.”

  Claudine smiled at the nickname, shelved for years, but hoped it would not find its way back into daily use.

  “I’ve missed you, too. At least you had Manon for company.” Claudine wiped the warm tears off her sister’s cheeks. “Not to mention Nicole and the others.”

  “Manon is lovely,” Emmanuelle agreed. “But she’s not you. Why didn’t you write more often?”

  “Do you really want to hear about which cow was stubborn at milking time and how the wheat crops are faring?” Claudine held her sister close as the chortle escaped from deep within.

  “Yes. And about Maman and Papa . . . and Georges and you. You promised you would write.” Emmanuelle’s words sounded more pleading than angry.

  “I’m sorry, Emmy. I really am. I just couldn’t bear to write the truth. ‘Today I scrubbed Maman’s best pot and made pork stew for supper. I burned the bread again.’ Those tasks are endurable once, and only just, but not worth the reliving of them.”