Patterson frowned. “I hope so. I pray God you do not both end up in a French prison.”
XII
BETSY and Jerome had been in Baltimore only three days when Lieutenant Meyronnet arrived, dust covered and weary, after traveling on horseback at breakneck pace from New York. He said that two 40-gun French frigates, the Cybèle and the Didon, had arrived shortly after the Bonapartes departed the city, and their captains had orders to take Jerome back to France.
Before leaving for New York, Jerome went to Washington to ask Minister Pichon for traveling money. When he returned three days later, his face was a storm of resentment. “Pichon has been forbidden to advance me more funds. He told me to borrow from your father.”
Betsy made no answer since they both knew that petitioning William Patterson would be useless. Watching Jerome pace before the unlit fireplace in the parlor, she sensed that something more was bothering him. “What else did Pichon say?”
Jerome stopped pacing and shot her an anguished look. “Elisa, Napoleon has decreed that you must not come to France. In the dispatch Minister Dècres sent Pichon, he called you ‘the young person to whom Citizen Jerome has connected himself’ rather than my wife. If you try to land in Europe, you will be sent immediately back to the United States.”
Betsy’s stomach contracted with alarm. “Is the First Consul so powerful that he can control an entire continent?”
“Of course not. He means to frighten us with his bluster.”
“But he clearly intends to effect our separation in the hope that you will forget me.”
Jerome pounded his right fist into his other hand. “If he thinks I will meekly abandon my wife, then he little knows me. I am no longer a boy to be chastised by my brother. I am a man who must fulfill my sacred duty to you.”
Hearing that impassioned speech, Betsy could not help but question whether it expressed his true character or simply what Jerome imagined himself to be. She had lately begun to wonder if he was secretly regretting their marriage. “What do you propose?”
“We will go to New York, and I will speak to this Captain Brouard who sent Meyronnet to fetch me. I will make him understand that he must take you or I will not go.”
Betsy stared at the floor as she tried to foresee the difficult course ahead of them. “What if he forces you to leave me by holding you prisoner aboard the ship?”
“He would not dare.”
She looked up at him. “But Napoleon would. When we reach France, how do you imagine your brother will respond? Is he not likely to imprison you for your defiance?”
“I would gladly suffer a brief imprisonment to demonstrate my resolve, Elisa, but I doubt it will come to that. As I told you before, it is not Napoleon’s place to approve our marriage. All we need do is speak to my mother apart from my brother’s influence.”
Even though he had given the reassurance she sought, Betsy pushed him a little further. “So you have said many times, but why should your mother favor your wishes over Napoleon’s? He is the one who has won prestige for your family.”
Jerome smiled. “Because I am more like my father than any of my brothers, and she has always seen me as the compensation God gave her for that loss.”
Betsy shivered in repugnance at his answer. “How can you be so unfeeling as to use your mother’s sorrow against her?”
“Would you rather I allow my brother to inflict an equally bitter sorrow upon us?”
“No.” Despite her efforts to remain calm, she began to weep. “Why does Napoleon bear such a grudge against me? Am I so inferior that it is an insult to have me as a sister-in-law?”
“Elisa, it is nothing to do with you.” Jerome knelt before her to wipe away her tears. “He is angry because I did not play the good soldier but rather dared to choose my own fate.”
“And do you regret that choice?”
“No, I will never regret you as long as I live.”
WHILE JEROME MADE arrangements to give up the Baltimore house and return to New York, Betsy went to tell her parents of their plans. Her father’s response surprised her: “If you have room in your carriage, I should like to accompany you.”
“You are welcome to join us, Father, but why would you take time away from business?”
Patterson glowered at the question, yet his answer revealed a tender concern. “Jerome might be confident that his determination will carry the day, but I am not so sure. I foresee that he may be forced to sail to France without you, and I could not rest easy knowing that you might be abandoned in a strange city without a protector.”
Betsy wanted to rush across the room to hug him, but such displays of affection had never been their custom. Instead, she said, “I thank you for your consideration, sir, and welcome your companionship.”
THEY REACHED NEW York on June 12. After taking Betsy and her father to the Washington Street house, Jerome went immediately to report to the captains of the two frigates. When he returned home, he told Betsy, “You need to put on an evening gown, my love. I invited the captains to attend the theater with us tonight.”
William Patterson, who sat at the desk in the drawing room writing to his wife, looked up. “Jerome, this is no time for frivolity!”
“Father, you misjudge him. The officers have been several weeks at sea and no doubt will appreciate the entertainment. Such a gesture may help win them to our side.”
“I suppose you know best,” Patterson answered and returned to his letter.
That evening at the theater, both officers behaved gallantly toward Betsy, and neither expressed qualms about her accompanying her husband. During the interval, they gave Jerome the latest information about the naval war. Then after the play, as the four sat over supper in the private room of a tavern, Captain Brouard told them astonishing news.
After the last assassination attempt, the public had demanded that Napoleon become emperor of France with the office becoming hereditary. Ensuring that his title could pass to his heirs was seen as the only way to preserve the government from royalist plots to overthrow it. The frigates had departed from Brest before the Senate made its official proclamation, but both captains felt sure the change of government had taken place while they were at sea.
If what the officers said was true, then Betsy immediately understood why Napoleon was displeased with his youngest brother’s impetuous marriage to an unknown American. Jerome was in the imperial line of succession now.
At the end of the evening, the Bonapartes made arrangements to board the Didon the next day. Captain Brouard wanted to weigh anchor before the week was out.
Neither Betsy nor Jerome slept that night because they were so taken up with packing and discussing the prospect of becoming royalty. When Betsy expressed doubt that Napoleon would accept her in that role, Jerome said, “Do not esteem yourself so lightly. You have more charm and grace than any princess of the blood. Now that we know the reason for Napoleon’s disapprobation, I am certain we will overcome it. Once he meets you, he must see what an ornament you will be at court.”
Betsy, who had been gathering the personal items scattered about the sitting room, placed a stack of books, stationery, and loose embroidery floss on the table. Her arms, freed of their load, began to tremble, and she clasped her hands together so Jerome would not see her anxiety. “But I fear he objects for reasons of state. As an unmarried brother, you could be used to forge a political alliance. Fettered with an American wife, you have not the same utility.”
“Do you think I have any interest in marrying a fat, homely princess?” He took down the sword of Marengo and its scabbard. “Elisa, surely you know me better than that. If Napoleon could marry for love, why should I not do the same?”
Jerome carried the sword to the table where he wrapped it in a protective cloth. “Sainte Mère, that gives me an idea. We must enlist Josephine on our side. She and I have always got on very well, and if she pleads our cause, perhaps Napoleon will relent.”
“Perhaps,” Betsy said doubtfully. It
seemed to her that if Josephine were disposed to intercede on their behalf, she would have already done so.
Then Betsy went into their bedroom, brushing Jerome’s arm as she passed for the comfort of physical contact. As she checked that all her jewels were in their casket, she tried to lift her spirits by telling herself that Providence had smiled on them by making Captain Brouard amenable to her passage aboard his ship. Surely fate was still on their side. She reminded herself of Odette’s words from so long ago: “When you entered a room full of people, they bowed like you were a princess.” As a child, Betsy had wondered how a Baltimore girl could become royalty. Now she had the answer. Not only had she connected herself to the most powerful family in Europe, but her husband might soon attain the rank of prince.
PATTERSON ACCOMPANIED THEM to the harbor the next day. Because their decision to sail was so precipitous, he had agreed to remain in New York until he was certain of their safe departure and then close the house and return the keys to Monsieur Magnitot.
They stood on a dock on the Manhattan side of the East River, watching their trunks being rowed out to the Didon, a 160-foot frigate with three square-rigged masts. The ship was painted black except for the gun deck, which was mustard yellow. Jerome pointed out the windows across the broad stern. “Those belong to the captain’s quarters.” Then he shaded his eyes and walked further down the dock to watch the ship’s boat return for them.
Betsy turned to her father. “It would seem there was little need for you to take this journey, but I confess that I am grateful to have you here so I can say farewell. Give Mother my best love. I do not know when I am likely to see either of you again.”
Patterson bent down to speak in a voice only she could hear. “I hope that you have chosen well, Elizabeth. Jerome’s devotion appears unquestioned, but I fear that he will find it hard going to defy his brother.” He pressed a sealed document into her hand. “These are the names of my bankers in Europe. If you find yourself in trouble, contact one of these men. I have already sent them the authority to release funds should you need assistance to return home.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and all she could do was nod. Jerome called that it was time to leave. Impulsively, Betsy hugged her father and was gratified to feel his arms enclose her. Then she crossed to the end of the dock, where Jerome helped her into a waiting rowboat.
ONCE THEY BOARDED the ship, Captain Brouard told them that they would be given the quarters that belonged to the ship’s second-in-command. He ordered a seaman to lead them to their cabin and then turned away to speak to another officer.
The sailor went down the ship’s ladder first, followed by Jerome, who stationed himself at the base to prevent any common seamen from catching a glimpse of his wife’s limbs as she descended in her gown. When Betsy reached the bottom, she found herself in an open deck that had dozens of massive cannons pointing toward the gun ports on each side of the ship.
“Venez.” The sailor led them halfway down the central aisle to another ladder that they descended to the berth deck. This time Betsy found herself in a space filled with iron supports, which Jerome told her bore the weight of the cannons above them, and a web of hammocks strung so that they filled every available space. The smell of stale sweat was so overpowering that Betsy held a handkerchief to her nose.
They followed the sailor down a narrow path between hammocks, past a partition, and into a corridor that ran between cabins. “Voilà,” the sailor said, pointing to a door. Then, after touching his cap in a gesture of respect to Jerome and swiftly running his gaze over Betsy’s figure, he hurried away.
As Jerome opened the door, he warned Betsy that it had a raised sill. She carefully stepped into a cramped closet of a room with a single bunk, small writing desk and chair, and washstand. A whale-oil lamp was mounted to a bracket on the wall. Although her father earned much of his fortune through shipping, Betsy had never been on a vessel before and was shocked by the tight spaces and the pervasive odors of pine tar, mildew, and worse.
Jerome ducked to enter the low door. Straightening again, he laughed when he saw Betsy’s expression. “Oh, my poor Elisa. You did not expect anything so Spartan, did you?”
He took her into his arms and kissed her. “A frigate was never meant to house such a fine lady as you.”
They ate supper in the wardroom that evening, and as they dined on beef, fresh bread, fruit, and cheese, the officers teased Betsy that she was lucky they had just victualed the ship. “If we had been at sea for many weeks, we would have had to serve you ship’s biscuit riddled with weevil worms.”
At the end of the meal, when the Bonapartes rose from the table, Captain Brouard told Jerome that he was sending a pilot boat out the next day to see if the coastal waters were clear.
“An excellent precaution.” Jerome answered.
“What did the captain mean?” Betsy asked Jerome once they were alone in their cabin.
He knelt on the bunk to open their porthole and get some fresh air. “My sojourn in the United States is no secret, Elisa. For weeks the New York newspapers have been publishing accounts of our plans to sail.”
“And the British would like nothing better than to capture Napoleon’s brother,” she said with a shudder.
Her frightened tone caused him to turn and peer at her. “Sois tranquille. You are in experienced hands. If we should be attacked during our journey, I will place you in the most protected part of the ship, and if the worst happens and we are forced to surrender, you will be sent to your family. Not even the British would use a woman as political hostage.”
Betsy went into his arms. “That would be little comfort to me if you were made prisoner. I would rather share your fate.”
“I would never allow that.” He stroked her hair. “But have no fear. The Didon is our navy’s fastest frigate.”
The next afternoon as they waited for news, Jerome gave Betsy a tour of the main deck of the ship, showing her the enormous ship’s wheel, the compass, the bell, the masts, and the rigging. As he explained the various sails and their uses, he noticed the pilot boat returning from its scouting mission. They waited impatiently as the boat’s skipper made his report. Finally, the captain summoned them to his stateroom.
“The scout brought grave news,” Brouard said. “Two British warships, a corvette and a frigate, are lying off Sandy Hook just south of the place where we must enter the lower bay.”
“A corvette is not much threat. How many guns has the frigate?” Jerome asked.
“Forty-four.”
“Then taken together, the Cybèle and the Didon outgun them.”
“Yes, but our maneuverability will be limited. I take it you have not sailed the Narrows before. We will be in single file as we pass between Staten Island and Long Island, while they will have the advantage of being in open water. And our scout saw more ships on the horizon.”
The news terrified Betsy, and she bit her lip. Jerome had a glint in his eyes that made her think he relished the idea of fighting their way free, but seeing her fear, he said, “Perhaps they have nothing to do with us. Let us wait a day or two and see what action they take.”
The next day, the captain reported that the skipper of the pilot boat had sighted two more British ships, one of them a 32-gun frigate, anchored off Sandy Point. At that, Jerome shook his head. “I cannot risk my wife’s safety on such a rash attempt at escape. We shall have to find other means of transport.”
“But you are ordered to return on my ship, sir.”
Jerome frowned. “Perhaps we can decoy the British into leaving. If Madame Bonaparte and I disembark and state publicly that we will take a merchant vessel from Baltimore, our enemy might sail south. Then we can board under cover of night and slip out of the harbor.”
“I think it unlikely they will fall for such bait, but I suppose the ruse does no harm.”
“Then are we getting off the ship?” Betsy asked.
Jerome laughed at her look of relief. “Yes, but it is only a temporary f
eint to deceive our enemies. Unless I miss my guess, the British have rowed scouts ashore to keep watch on us. So we will perform a little farce for their amusement.”
After dispatching Lieutenant Meyronnet for their carriage, they had their trunks rowed to the dock. Then Jerome appeared on deck, gesticulating to Captain Brouard. “No, absolutely not. I care nothing for my brother’s orders. I cannot expose my wife to such danger!”
Brouard shouted back, “I can have you arrested, sir. I am your superior officer.”
“And I am your prince! You dare not lay hands upon my person.”
Betsy hoped that no spyglass was trained upon her face because she found it very hard not to smile at their theatrics. Once she and Jerome had been rowed ashore and were closed in their carriage, she burst into giggles. “You have an unsuspected talent for drama, Jerome.”
He made a little bow and joined in her laughter.
OVER THE NEXT few weeks, daily communications went back and forth from their Greenwich Village house to the French frigates. Although the British sent two small ships south, their main force remained stationed off Sandy Hook. Frustrated by the failure of his scheme, Jerome suggested sending the Cybèle through the Narrows alone to engage the British ships and disable as many as possible before the faster Didon tried to escape. The two captains, however, refused because they were certain the plan would result in the loss of both ships.
One morning as Betsy started downstairs, she heard Jerome and his Creole secretary Alexander Le Camus in the hallway below. “The only thing for it is to leave your wife with her family and go throw yourself on the emperor’s mercy.”
Assailed by panic, Betsy grasped the railing and held her breath until she heard Jerome answer, “How can you say such a thing? I will not desert her.”
The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte Page 17
