Louisa Rawlings (49 page)

“You should tell her I’m a willful daughter, who wouldn’t listen to you.” She pointed to a small carriage where another servant in livery sat perched on the coachman’s box. “Besides, Antoine hasn’t taken his eyes off me for a second. Now—tell me your news, for the love of God.”

“Monsieur Renaudot is here.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Thanks be to all the Saints. Where?”

“He arranged passage only this morning. On the
Reine de France
, departing on the tide at sundown.”

“And where is he staying, here in Bordeaux?”

“He didn’t say. He had his boxes put aboard this morning, but said that he didn’t plan to embark until just before the ship sails.”

“Ah, yes.” She’d nearly forgotten. His customary caution in a seaport, though it was probably more habit than a real danger that prompted him at this point. “Have you paid for my passage, then?”

Jean-Jacques nodded. “The largest cabin, next to the captain’s. On the starboard, to avoid the summer sun and catch the breezes.”

‘‘Good.’’

“Shall I have your trunks put aboard now?”

“Yes.”

“And then shall we find an inn where you can rest until you yourself board? We’re not to leave you until you’re safely on the ship. Madame de Chalotais charged us with your care, you know.”

“I know. But no inn. There’s a family here in Bordeaux I want to find.”

“But what about your dinner, mademoiselle? You haven’t eaten since we left our lodgings this morning. And scarcely anything yesterday or the day before, on the road.”

“Let me find my people first. I might want to bring them some food, so we can dine together.” The Givets should be managing quite nicely on the money that she’d sent. Still, one never knew…

She hoped that they’d returned to their old cottage.

If they’d gone elsewhere, it might be difficult, in this large city, to find them before she sailed. She waited while Jean-Jacques and Antoine had her boxes and trunks brought aboard the
Reine de France
, then she directed them through the alleys and streets to the cottage that the family had rented, before Monsieur Givet had been lost at sea. Crowded together with half a dozen other buildings, it stood on a little side street near the Place Royale, fronting a public square and fountain where the children had played on many a hot summer eve.

The carriage stopped. Jean-Jacques peered at Topaze through the opening in the top of the coach. “Is this the place, mademoiselle?”

She nodded uneasily, waiting for him to jump down and open the carriage door for her. Certainly it was the place. But it could scarcely be the Givets’ cottage anymore. The façade was completely changed. Where there had been a small door, and a single window with geraniums before it, there was now a shop front of small glass panes, and what appeared to be a tavern within. A little maid in a cap, her chemise sleeves rolled back over plump pink arms, was carefully polishing the glass. Leaning against the front of the shop was a tall ladder upon which perched a chubby boy; even as Topaze descended from the coach, he lifted a shop sign and hung it on the decorative wrought iron hook above the door.

Topaze laughed for joy. The sign read:
THE GOLDEN FISH, D. GIVET, PROP
.

“Michel!” she called, incredulous. “Is that you?”

The boy on the ladder looked down. “Hellfire and damnation! Topaze!” He scrambled down as fast as he could, raced to her, and threw his arms about her waist.

She held him away. “By all the Saints, let me look at you. Fat as a Strasbourg goose!”

He laughed. “When we got your gift, Maman thought there would be nothing better than to open a tavern with it. That way, even when times are hard, the little ones can eat.”

She hesitated. “And Papa?”

His sunny face darkened. “They found a sailor in Miquelon who claimed to be a survivor. A storm at sea. Papa and the others were lost.”

She crossed herself. “God have mercy on him. Is Maman well?”

“Yes. And all the little ones.” He took her by the hand. “But come and see!”

Topaze beckoned to Antoine and Jean-Jacques. “Come inside. I think we’ve found our dinner. And please carry in the gifts I’ve brought.” She’d brought toys. Drums and “babies” and woolly stuffed animals. She was glad, now, that she hadn’t brought food—the little ones who crowded around as she entered the shop were rounder and more well fed even than Michel! The pink little maid, in a starched cap too big for her dainty face, turned out to be Anne-Marie.

Topaze hugged them all, exclaiming in delight to see them so well and happy. She felt a momentary tug at her heart: She saw forgetfulness in the faces before her, particularly the littlest ones. Five months was a long time. They’d begun again, a new joyous life. And Topaze the street urchin belonged in that cold, miserable past that was best forgotten. She sighed. Well, perhaps it was just as well. It would have been too wrenching to leave again if they still remembered her with longing.

She heard the clap of hands. “What is going on here? And supper still to be cooked? Anne-Marie, haven’t you finished that window?” Topaze turned about. Madame Givet had just bustled into the tavern room. She was dressed in a sack-back jacket with a striped skirt, a large white apron, and a well-starched cap and neckerchief. The perfect picture of bourgeoise respectability. She bobbed in Topaze’s direction. “Can I help you, madame?”

“Is it too late for dinner?”

Madame Givet pointed to a comfortable table in a sunny corner. “Not at all, madame. If you will…” She gasped, murmured a prayer. “Topaze? Be it you?”

Topaze giggled and held out her arms. “Maman, is it you?” They embraced warmly, while the children jumped up and down and chattered all together, each one trying to catch Topaze’s attention again.

At last the excitement subsided. Madame Givet brought food from the kitchen, poured tankards of sweet cider. Jean-Jacques and Antoine thoughtfully retired to another table to leave the family alone with Topaze.

Madame Givet frowned. “Why do they call you Mademoiselle Véronique, Topaze?”

“It’s the name my husband’s family likes to call me.”

“Will we see Monsieur Renaudot soon?”

“No, alas, Maman. We leave together this evening for Guadeloupe. That’s where Lucien lives.”

Madame Givet smiled. “And you’re happy. I can see it in your face.”

“And
you’re
happy, thanks be to the Holy Mother.”

Madame Givet brushed away a tear. “I don’t know how to thank you for all the money you sent. Not for me. But the children…”

“They’re as plump as partridges, Maman. It warms my heart.”

“But so much money…your husband must be richer than he appeared.”

She laughed softly. “He’s richer than he knows. Now tell me how all the children are doing.”

While she ate they gathered around, bubbling with their news, their accomplishments. Michel bragged of how much he’d learned with Guillaume the carpenter, though he thought he might give it up and learn to keep the tavern with Maman. “It needs a man,” he said grandly. And indeed Topaze had to admit that he’d grown by several inches since last she’d seen him. Anne-Marie gave Topaze a handkerchief she’d embroidered, and Baptiste read from the Bible to show her how much he’d learned. The littlest ones sat on her lap and stared in wonder at the beautiful lady—and the stranger—she’d become.

At last it was time to leave. The shadows were growing long, and her love awaited. They said their farewells with many tears, and many thanks for the gifts she’d brought. At the last, she begged Madame Givet to give her the copy of her marriage contract.

At the gangway of the ship she said goodbye to Jean-Jacques and Antoine, wishing them a safe journey back to Grismoulins, and went aboard. She was met by the captain, who was only too eager to serve a great lady who had paid—and so handsomely!—for the finest cabin on the ship. His nose twitched as he bowed to her; she fancied
he was sniffing the aroma of money.

“Captain Ranson at your service, Mademoiselle de Chalotais. I trust you’ll find your accommodations to your liking. We’ll sup in my cabin as soon as we’re underway. I’ll send the mate to inform you.”

“Thank you. Is Monsieur Renaudot aboard?”

“Not as yet.”

She smiled. How surprised Lucien would be! “May I tell you a secret, Captain Ranson? Monsieur Renaudot is my husband.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, as though it was perfectly ordinary for an aristocratic lady to be wed to an untitled man. As though he believed her.

She made no attempt to chide him for his insinuation. She rather liked feeling a bit wicked. It heightened the excitement of waiting to see Lucien again. “Since we’ll be traveling together, will you have Monsieur Renaudot’s portmanteaus brought to my cabin?” She held up her hand to forestall his protests. “Though Monsieur Renaudot’s cabin is already paid for, I’m sure he doesn’t expect to be reimbursed. But you’ll find other means to fill it, I hope. More cargo, perhaps?”

He rubbed his hands together at the prospect of taking in extra money. “I’ll have Monsieur Renaudot’s boxes moved at once, madame.”

When everything had been stowed to her satisfaction, she thanked the seamen and closed herself in her cabin to wait for Lucien. She didn’t have long to wait. A roar of outrage came from somewhere outside the door. “Where the devil are my boxes?”

She heard the voice of the mate. He’d favored her with sly smiles all the while Lucien’s things were being transferred.
Husband, indeed!
his face seemed to say. “Moved, monsieur,” he said. “To the starboard cabin.”

“
Merde!
I didn’t ask for the starboard cabin!”

“But it’s a better cabin, monsieur.”

“At a better price? And without my say-so? I ought to run you through!”

Listening, Topaze giggled to herself. Was he playing the pirate again?

“But the lady insisted on it,
monsieur.”

“Lady? What lady? Damn it, is there a reason you’re grinning like a thickskull?” Lucien’s angry voice sounded nearer.

The mate snickered. “A fine lady.”

Lucien muttered a string of oaths. “Some trollop who wants to be amused on the long voyage? And thinks I’d care to oblige? By Satan’s horn, I’ll not play the willing gallant!” The door crashed open and slammed against the bulkhead. “Madame,” growled Lucien. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Topaze turned. “Such a deal of swearing! Where
could
you have learned such language?”

“
Merde!
”
He closed the door on the mate’s inquisitive face. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“I’m sailing to Guadeloupe with you.”

He scowled. “Why do you want to do that?”

“Well, you have a certain superficial charm that I find amusing. By Saint Guillaume, it’s hot.” She untied her silk hood and set it aside, then took off her long mantle. She crossed to the cabin window. “Does this open?”

“Ah-h-h!” He grumbled and brushed past her, unlatching a small pane in the middle of the window. Despite the heat, a soft breeze blew into the cabin. He turned and glared at her. “Lord, am I losing my mind? I’ll get them to put you ashore.”

“You can’t. I’ve already paid. And Captain Ranson is eating out of my hand. He seems to think I’ll give him a rather large gratuity at the end of the voyage.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What gave him that idea?”

She grinned. “Perhaps
I
did.”

“The rewards of great wealth,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“Well, it’s better than picking purses.”

“Damn it. I won’t have it! The life in Guadeloupe isn’t easy, compared to France. Everything must be brought in. You’ll wait months for tea and chocolate. And silk for a new gown. And the climate is hard on a woman. It’s hot, uncomfortable.”

She shrugged. “Life is an adventure. I shall learn to love it.’’

“No! Go back to Grismoulins where you belong. Where you can be happy.”

“Do you care about my happiness?” She threw it out like a challenge.

He squirmed. She almost thought he was blushing beneath his tan. “Certainly,” he muttered.

She laughed softly. “What’s happening to you? I remember once you told me that softness was the ruin of an unprincipled life. What
is
happening to Lucien le Bâtard?”

His eyes glowed like blue fire. “You always were a saucy chit. And stubborn. But this time”—he grabbed her by the arm and began to propel her toward the door—“you’ll not have your way.”

She pulled her arm free and tossed her curls at him. “You can’t stop me.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “What must I do or say? I’m going back to Adriane de Ronceray. Do you understand? You might as well return to Grismoulins and marry Denis de Rocher.”

“I don’t want to. Besides, I’m already married.”

“A secret compact. I released you.”

“And if I don’t want to be released?”

“Don’t be a fool. Go ashore.”

She shook her head. “I intend to go to Guadeloupe with you. And to hell with Adriane de Ronceray. Let the hussy dare to try and steal another woman’s husband!”