Elysium

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “Attends-moi, I’ll come with you.” Clarice sprang up and followed her away from the group.

  Amélie quickened her pace hoping to discourage her, but Clarice plodded alongside. In silence they passed pale cacti, brittle Saint Helena tea plants, and the black craggy rocks that formed their citadel, cow grass poking from the cracks.

  At a patch of white bellflower, their bell-shaped blooms drooping, Amélie stopped. “Clarice, I’d prefer to—”

  “Do you think Marchand could be interested in me?”

  “I don’t know...you mustn’t rush things.” Amélie tried to be polite but craved solitude.

  “You’re such good friends with the emperor. Can’t you ask him, in a roundabout way, to ask Marchand if he might?” The petulant young woman bloomed with love, her fat cheeks glowing.

  “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate. What’s to happen, will happen, in its own time.” Did she speak for Clarice or herself?

  The plump laundress sneered and her bloom vanished. Hands on hips, Clarice tossed her head. “Oh, Miss Opera Diva, now don’t you just know everything. I ask one tiny favor and you can’t be bothered.”

  “It’s nothing to become irate about, but I won’t be dragged into any schoolgirl tactics.”

  “You’re no better than the rest of us. Just because the emperor fancies you, though who knows why. That will change...in time. His Majesty eventually throws away his play things.”

  “You’re so spiteful, how can you expect Marchand...” Amélie swallowed her retort. “I’d like to continue my walk, alone, so pardon.” She dashed off, leaving Clarice to stew on her own. Walking around a large jutting rock, Amélie lost sight of them all.

  The rock felt warm and a little sharp against her back. She must mean more to Napoleon than just a casual diversion as Clarice insisted. His actions proved he had feelings for her. Did she still intend to flout the morals of society as the Countess de Montholon? Amélie held no position of authority to protect her. Servants were bustled off in disgrace in such matters. She risked being cast aside, a victim of her first taste of passion. Passion overruling common sense, the one attribute she prided herself in.

  What exactly did she want? She slapped her palms against the stone. She wanted removal from society, as on this island, Napoleon beside her, content. Could she make him satisfied with something so simple and idyllic as that?’

  * * * *

  Napoleon rose with a groan and brushed grass from his breeches. He’d noticed Amélie’s return and understood her slipping off. He had gotten carried away with his search for the stem—her hair and skin felt so silken in his fingers. No matter what he told himself, he found it hard to resist her, but resist he must.

  “Another story, please, Sire!” The children protested, their eager faces staring up.

  “That’s enough for now. I must take a walk before my old bones seize up.” He strode off away from the group. He needed to do this alone. The others knew better than to follow.

  “Please, Sire. May I walk with you?” Amélie rushed after him, defying protocol, her pink dress swishing around her slim legs. He stifled another groan. He couldn’t allow it, but his heart warmed at her sincere expression. He’d experienced so little affection lately.

  Despite his resolve, he waited for her and offered his arm. They strolled on, he careful not to let his thigh brush against her hip.

  “This has been a very pleasant day. It is difficult to occupy one’s time on this island, though I’ve tried.” He studied the rock formations they passed. “You have played a tremendous role in preventing me from going insane.”

  “I’m such a talented little diversion.”

  Napoleon halted and glared at her. Her mockingly blithe comment hurt. He twinged with guilt because his interest had started out that way. “Don’t ever presume that. If I just wanted a diversion, I could find plenty of it elsewhere.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that.” Her brown eyes searched into his. She tightened her hand on his arm.

  “You’re special to me, always remember that.” Napoleon used his stern, no-nonsense voice, and he spoke the truth. He relied on her friendship when the others only took from him. She made him feel alive, rallying his spirit to prepare for these new plans. He cared deeply for her as he intended to leave her pure. He’d let her down gently when the time came.

  “As special as the countess?”

  “Don’t listen to rumors.” He patted her arm, the jealous minx. “Fanny Bertrand is telling everyone Albine’s child is mine. Every child born near Longwood seems to be mine. I’ve been accused of the most depraved acts, even with my own sisters.”

  “Bien sûr, I don’t believe the gossip.” Her cheeks flushed. Doubts lingered in her gaze.

  “Ah, but you blush, Amée. As I told Las Cases, it’s only the truth that hurts. The rest is lies and not to be troubled with.”

  “The countess has never been your mistress?”

  “Do you imagine I would bother with such a woman?” Napoleon spotted the cluster of rocks he sought, one shaped like a spearhead. He couldn’t chase her off, so he led her toward it. Over these jagged pinnacles lay their wavering cobalt prison, stretching to the horizon and beyond, lapping masses of land he hoped to see again, soon.

  “You need a good woman, who loves you.” Her tender voice made him shiver.

  “I’m beyond love. Too blighted by everything that’s been snatched away from me, everything I worked so hard for.” His angry words pushed her affection aside.

  “I know it’s devastating.” She caressed his sleeve, staring up at him. “Don’t think of the island as the end of your life.”

  He released her and ran a hand over the smooth rock. “My enemies couldn’t have selected a better exile...better for them.”

  “They’re terrified of you. That’s why you were sent so far away, so removed from Europe.” She stood too close in her pretty pink frock. The gown made her look younger, less dangerous, yet heat hummed around her.

  “Indeed, they are afraid of me, Amée.” Napoleon felt a crack in the rock. How could he distract her?

  “You have choices to be happy here or not. I could help you. Doesn’t it make sense to seek comfort?” She bent to pluck a pink Venus rose that straggled on this cliff of slag. Her breasts swelled in her bodice. The longing in her voice asked too much of him.

  “If I’d made a humiliating peace I might have kept my empire for the second time, but my enemies wanted me disposed of.” He traced his finger in the crack. “Ah, I’ve made many mistakes and now I’m paying for them. I overextended myself in my aspirations.”

  “Don’t lament the present like Ossian. You have a brilliant mind, put it to use.” Amélie sniffed the delicate petals, feathering them over her lips.

  “Nothing is that simple.” Napoleon stared away from her face, toward the coastline. “They should require me in Europe. I’m the natural arbiter between the past and present, between the ancient nobility and the revolutionary ideals.”

  Amélie frowned. “Could you stand such an intermediary position for long? Why don’t you try to mediate here, with Governor Lowe?”

  Napoleon laughed. He couldn’t help it. “No more books for you. Your intelligence has surpassed mine.”

  “For enjoyment I rely on simple things. My garden doing well, a day without rain, a pleasant walk with you. I used to think the singing made you happy.”

  “It does, Amée, but the kindest thing I can do is to repeat my offer to send you to Italy for professional study.” Napoleon squeezed her shoulder.

  “It’s my wish not to go. I refuse to be sent away like an insignificant lackey. I’m worth more than that.” Amélie dropped the flower and turned her back on him. He pulled her around to face him.

  “You are worth more. I’m trying to be noble and think of you
, something that’s rare for me with women.” He shook his head wearily. She stirred up so many clashes inside him—like his fascinating Josephine, when he was young and foolish. “All right, I’ll remain selfish.” She’d see reason later. He framed her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose, treating her like the child he wanted her to be. He leaned back against the spear-shaped rock that hid the orderly officer’s view, hopefully hers as well, and slid his left hand down another crack.

  Amélie stared down as he fumbled in the stone’s crevice, feeling for the paper supposedly stuffed there. He extracted it. She bent forward, eyes sharp, mouth open. Her lips dusted by petals hovered close to his. His willpower dissolved, Napoleon forgot his purpose, his reason, and pulled her against him. He tasted her breath, sweet like cherry juice, caressing his lips over hers. Her body felt warm and pliant along his and she sighed into their kiss. His foot shifted and dislodged several pebbles, which ricocheted like gunshots down the cliff side.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It takes time to make oneself loved, and even when I had nothing to do I always felt that I had no time to waste—N.B.

  “That scoundrel Lowe has the effrontery to chase the Balcombes away. Saying they’re too sympathetic towards me.” Simmering with anger, Napoleon paced in his study after Bertrand brought him the news and left. “That fiend of a governor dared to accuse Balcombe of smuggling letters to the mainland on my behalf. He removed him as purveyor, so the man has no choice but to leave Saint Helena.”

  “They never proved Mr. Balcombe smuggled anything. I’m sorry for you to lose such good friends.” Amélie stood near the open door watching his every nuance.

  “Lowe can’t stand it if I have contact with kind people. When I loaned his daughter Betsy my horse, Mameluke, to ride in the Deadwood races, and she won, the governor threatened him over accepting such a ‘gift.’” Napoleon snatched a licorice from his box. The flavor might chase away the taste of cherries that lingered since their picnic the previous day. He wallowed in ire to shore up his bastions against this girl. “He wants me in solitary confinement with no friends. Who do I have left? Bertrand is subjugated by his wife. Only Montholon stays attentive.” He wouldn’t comment on the “attentiveness” of the countess. Many months had passed since he allowed her in his bed. The idea of Albine’s jaded attractions compared to Amélie disgusted him.

  “The count isn’t the courtier you believe he is. I told you about his disloyal comments to the governor.” Amélie spoke in earnest. Napoleon stared at her mouth, the lips he’d kissed and enjoyed. He regretted his amorous slip and had made a tremendous blunder in kissing her. Her innocence charmed him, and he must keep her that way. He’d part from her so much easier. Only there she stood, expecting more.

  “You think I’m not aware that Montholon came here for his own glorification?” Napoleon continued to chew and felt the black stickiness collect on his teeth. He loathed dwelling on the idea that Montholon betrayed him, though he knew him to be a sly character.

  “Did the Count de Montholon serve with you in battle as Count Bertrand did?” Amélie walked into the room, studying him with a woman’s eyes.

  “Briefly. Actually, I had to dismiss him for disobeying my orders, but that was long ago.” Napoleon flung up a hand to dismiss this topic. Still, Amée seemed to see through his demeanor to reveal the struggling man beneath.

  “Don’t you think it odd that a man you cast aside volunteered to join you in exile?” She moved closer. Her lithe body taunted him, dragging him back to earth.

  “Balcombe can do me some good in Europe.” Napoleon turned from her. He always balked when a woman had too much influence over his feelings. He stepped to his new mahogany desk. Lowe tried to appease him with fine furniture, as if such things mattered more than freedom. The paper in the rock lifted his hopes, just as O’Sullivan promised, but what if the escape plan failed? “I’ll provide Balcombe with letters. He can tell people how he and his family suffered from this climate, to prove the unhealthiness of my detainment. To arouse sympathy in my favor. Once there, he’ll let me know what kind of board we have to play on.”

  * * * *

  When Napoleon spoke no more to her, shuffling papers on his desk, Amélie left. She’d waited in vain for a warm, intimate smile. His kiss at the picnic couldn’t have been just to distract her from seeing that paper. She’d felt his ardor, his need, as it matched her own. His pulling away was so familiar. He protected his lofty station by not falling prey to his emotions. Amélie touched her lips. Her first kiss from the man she loved. Her body simmered with provocative changes.

  She walked through the dining room and refused to be disappointed by his manner. She’d devise ways to keep him close. Napoleon needed an intelligent woman who loved him for himself—a woman such as she. What books might reveal instructions on seduction?

  First, she must find out the significance of the paper hidden in the crevice.

  Outside, a bugle blared in the distance. The soldiers marched and drilled.

  She swept across the courtyard and hated to see the Balcombes sent away. The more friends who left the more they were surrounded by the enemy, yet who was the enemy anymore? She shivered. Their world grew smaller, more fragile.

  * * * *

  The last rays of sun faded behind Diana’s Peak. Instead of wreathed in mist, her tip stirred the now familiar constellations in the southern sky. Amélie coaxed Napoleon out to the front garden to witness the rose bushes the Chinese workers planted. “The English brought over fertile topsoil. They’re trying to improve the grounds. We need the beauty here.”

  “You want to make everything beautiful, don’t you?” Napoleon still seemed in a dismissive mood. “The plants need to be separated better in even rows. Like mustering troops.”

  “Water will be a problem.” The smell of loamy earth comforted her, the air misty in the dwindling light. “The British are constructing a reservoir up on Diana’s Peak, however.”

  “More waste of time and money. You should become involved, occupy yourself.”

  So she’d leave him alone? “Didn’t you once tell me you planted a garden in school?”

  “Yes, as a schoolboy in Brienne—we were all required to do so. My hermitage where I concealed myself from the other students who jeered me as the little foreigner.” Napoleon gave a careless laugh. “I showed them what I could do.”

  “I believe you showed everyone.” Amélie wished he could be satisfied resting on his laurels. She crouched down and manipulated the rich moist soil through her fingers.

  The cannon fired from Alarm House to boorishly announce the setting of the sun.

  “C’est fini, our night begins. I should return inside.”

  “No, please, sit with me.” She brushed off her hands. “In a year or so, this whole area could be a lush garden.” She pressed on his elbow and they sat on a new stone bench.

  “In a year or so, you could be a diva on the stage in Milan.” His words even, he stared straight ahead. “I suppose it isn’t a decent career for a young lady. Marriage is still your best option. You’ll be busy having children.”

  Amélie forced a laugh, wise to his tactics. “I may never marry.”

  “Why do you say that?” Now he looked at her. The Chinese workers had drifted away.

  “I have my reasons.” She felt his eyes on her flesh. “I don’t care to be married to anyone.”

  “You must find a good French officer to marry. I can recommend a few in my Imperial Guard. I’ll provide you letters of introduction.”

  Amélie bit at her lip, but kept her tone glib. “You must promise not to request that I marry anyone. Please don’t match me with any of your old guard, or anyone else.”

  He sighed, but with a slight chuckle. “You are a stubborn creature. I must write down these promises you insist upon.”

  “I’ll keep
a list for you.” She pressed her thigh into his, tentative at first. “You’re stubborn as well. You resist what might be good for you, for the past.”

  “A woman should be married. It is the nature of things.” He stiffened but didn’t shift his leg. “I must stop giving you books. Undo the damage I’ve done. No, that progressive school in Paris is where you started your anarchy.”

  “As an enlightened leader, you should be more broad-minded where women’s education is concerned.”

  “Now you insult me. I’ll have you know I created schools to provide free education to daughters of Legionnaires killed in action.” He thrust up his hand as if pronouncing a proclamation. “The first time women were given direct educational benefits from their fathers’ military service.”

  “I knew about that school, and that was notable. I trust they weren’t just educated in feminine pursuits?” The cool breeze stirred her hair. She breathed deeply. “A woman’s brain can’t be so different than a man’s, but men are allowed any amount of learning.”

  “Rousseau said it’s a woman’s place to render herself agreeable to her husband: ‘Educate women like men and the more they resemble our sex, the less power they have over us.’” He thumped the bench, his tone irritated. “They should develop their charms, for the good of their families and that should be their influence.”

  She’d made him angry. Not the best way to use her charms for influence, but his reaction proved she wielded some power over his emotions. “Didn’t you pursue your career in the army before you had thoughts of marriage?”

  “Not exactly. I longed to be married, but hadn’t found anyone. I was quite a skinny fellow in those days, poor and gauche. Very shy around women; they intimidated me.” His voice softened. “I never knew what to say, so I came off as brusque.”

  “Then you met Josephine.” He might still be intimidated by women—or at least her since their kiss.

  “When I went to Paris to tell the Directors my plans for an Italian offensive, I became caught up in the salon society popular at the time.” His voice grew dreamy. “So many sophisticated women...and yes, I met Josephine. She was kind and gentle, a smoothness to my rough edges.”