Revenant Eve (32 page)

A
URÉLIE HAD TAKEN A GREAT DEAL
of time over her letter to her mother, writing and then destroying half a quire of expensive paper until she finally settled on short and general. She talked out loud to me the entire time she was writing, finally deciding that until she had an address, and a reasonably safe way to send the letter, generalities were best, save a single line that she had never seen any of her mother’s letters. She did not know how many eyes would be seeing what she wrote before it reached Jamaica, so she gave no details beyond that.

It took her several days to meet Talleyrand. I suspect it worked only because he was curious about the pretty girl and he knew whose dog she walked. When she saw his carriage, she started toward it, her manner determined. His face was visible behind the glass as he glanced out, saw her, and rapped on the roof of his carriage, which pulled up near where Aurélie stood.

She peered in at the window, saw the weary, lined face, and her lips parted.

“Did you wish to speak, Mademoiselle?”

“Sir, Madame Hortense tells me that you are the one to ask: Could you get a letter to my mother? I left her in Jamaica nearly seven years ago.”

Talleyrand lifted his brows. “Jamaica? Why have you not addressed your concern to the English legation?”

Aurélie blushed. “I do not know anyone there. And Madame Hortense said that you can do anything.”

He laughed softly. “Ah, if only that were true! But my abilities, such as they are, can probably compass a letter to your mother. I will be speaking later today to the English concerning the arrival of their ambassador. Surely one of the secretaries can be obliged to include your letter in the diplomatic pouch.” And he held out his hand.

Aurélie surrendered the now-wrinkled, sealed paper that she had been carrying for days. On the outside she had written
Anne Kittredge, daughter of James Kittredge, deceased, at Kittredge Plantation, Jamaica
. She had been afraid to put anything about ‘Mascarenhas’ on it after the way Aunt Kittredge had reacted.

“And that is that,” she said to me as she hurried away to Josephine’s suite. “He was very nice, but oh, very daunting!”

But she was not done with Talleyrand. A few days later, Napoleon held a select dinner and a private ball at the Tuileries, at which he told everyone how pleased France would be that he had given orders to commence building a new theater, smaller than the Théâtre des Arts, which still had revolutionary connotations. He was thinking of changing its name.

The assembly cheered, of course, and then he signaled for the dancing to begin.

Talleyrand sat at one end of the long table in the Gallery of Diana, Aurélie at the far end, seated next to a young general whose fate I was glad I couldn’t remember. When they weren’t playing music, Josephine’s lesser ladies were expected to smile, look pretty, and dance with all the military men.

There was no conversation between the greats and those at the far end, but Talleyrand must have spotted her, because late in the evening, after Aurélie was dismissed to the salon to perform, a messenger appeared and discreetly whispered to Aurélie that she was summoned.
With him he brought another musician, who slid onto the bench in Aurélie’s place.

She looked nonplussed and a little frightened as lightning flared in the long windows.

Aurélie found herself before Talleyrand, who was ensconced deep in an armchair beside a fire, wine glinting with ruby highlights in a crystal glass at his side.

On the other side of the room, in a shadowy corner, a tall, severe-faced man played piquet with a burly fellow in a plain coat, watched by a third.

“Come hither,” Talleyrand said, beckoning to Aurélie. “Do sit down. You needn’t stand. I have no royal aspirations.” He pointed to a footstool beside his chair.

Aurélie perched somewhat nervously and rubbed her hands up her arms. They were covered with goose flesh, though she was scarcely five paces from a roaring fire.

“One of my aides who is more sensitive than most finds you interesting,” he said in English.

Aurélie’s hand stole toward her collarbones, where the necklace lay under the neck of her gown. Then she jerked her hands down to her lap.

Talleyrand appeared to notice nothing amiss, though his gaze was steady and acute. “Mine own interest is inspired by the appearance of so young a lady coupled with mention of Jamaica, I must confess. What is your story, Mademoiselle?”

“It is very boring, sir,” she replied. “There was much fighting there, and so my mother sent me to relations in England. They came over to France because of the Peace, and…here I am.”

“And here you are. Yet you did not apply to Lord Whitworth’s office. He will be officially introduced as ambassador very soon, did you know that? Nor did these relations, on your behalf. A Mister Kittredge and his family, I apprehend? They departed Paris five days ago. Perhaps they are now arriving at Calais. Yet, as we established, here you are.”

“I am also related to Madame Bonaparte, though more distantly,” Aurélie said, as I looked beyond her into the gloom. The chill deepened.

“And so you chose to seek your fortune through Madame? It was a shrewd move for one so young. Especially if one considers your having calculated this move from the relative distance of England, where news about our French progress makes, ah, none-too-savory reading in the daily newspapers, I collect.”

Aurélie blushed. “In truth, my aunt did not want me,” she said in a low voice.

“And why should a blood relation take against so very beautiful and engaging a young lady?”

I touched Aurélie’s hand. “Tell him as little as possible,” I whispered, though even the great Talleyrand could not hear me.

Aurélie sighed. “I think, perhaps, in part, my dark skin, and, well, she did not like my French relations.”

“I see I tread upon delicate ground here. My apologies,” Talleyrand said, as the shadows shifted in that far corner where the men played piquet. “My questions are prompted by the most idle curiosity on my part, merely to pass the time. In truth, the current topic of conversation among those who, like me, choose not to dance, interests me little. I care not whether the dragoons’ green uniforms ought to be sky-blue or stay green though it conflicts with the dark of the
chasseurs à cheval
. I understand that clothes make the man to a certain extent—I sympathize, I really do, and I am convinced that a well-uniformed squadron is intimidating as well as full of pride—but I wonder if our friends understand that the most gallant uniform will not stop a bullet? Ah, do not heed the ruminations of an old man. Instead, in payment for my intrusive nature, and because we converse to pass an hour, I will grant you leave to ask me any question you wish.”

Aurélie pursed her lips, then said softly, “Can you tell me the importance of Praga?”

Talleyrand sat up a little and regarded her with his head slightly tipped, as though to bring her into focus. He flicked a look at his waiting manservant, who went away, closing the door soundlessly. Then he said, “A very unexpected question. And yet it comes, ah, shall we say, not as a complete surprise.”

“Why is that?” she asked. The shadows had stilled, and I could make out the edges of those figures, tall, slender, the outline of wings. Were there really three on a side, or were those shadows? The whole was indistinct, as if seen through smoke.

“You will tell me,” Talleyrand drawled, “but after I elucidate. Praga is a section of Warsaw, which sustained a particularly sanguinary battle in seventeen ninety-four—three years, you must understand, after Poland’s remarkable and entirely bloodless revolution. So far, Poland is the only polity of significance to achieve such a thing, but alas, not all its nobles accepted the new constitution, benign as it was. The disaffected invited Catherine of Russia to send a force in, ostensibly to restore the ancient rights of the noble class. The result is that the state of Poland has effectively vanished, divided between Russia, Austria, and Prussia.”

The door opened, and the servant reappeared with Jaska.

Once again Jaska was beautifully dressed, his face inscrutable when he saw the two by the fireside. He never glanced at the card players or the numerous shadows gathered around them.

At first, Aurélie didn’t see him, and I dared not distract her. I had the weirdest feeling that Talleyrand might see me or sense me, though from anything I’d ever read he had no interest in magic or the occult. He had thrown off his priestly vows as soon as he could, during the Revolution. But he, unlike Fouché, had never advocated the destruction of churches or the wholesale slaughter of nuns and priests.

“Ah, now I understand, I think,” Aurélie exclaimed in French.

“Understand what, child?” Talleyrand asked, switching back to that language.

“Why the mention of Praga should be so hurtful to some people,” she said.

The corner behind the card players had become so dark the walls seemed to vanish and the room to open into a vast, cold space. The result left me with a weirdly vertiginous sense.

“That would depend upon the people, do you not think?” Talleyrand responded. “The Russians, I am certain, consider it a glorious triumph.
But is that not the nature of glory, that it is seen so only by the victor? Do we see glory in loss? Ah, you will no doubt retort on me with Thermopylae. Perhaps Praga will serve as a rallying cry for the Poles, as Thermopylae did for the Spartans. What say you?” He lifted his head and addressed Jaska.

“I say that the Poles only seek to reestablish their borders and their constitution,” Jaska said. “But the First Consul is well aware of our wishes, as we make known when he honors us with an audience. There is no secret about that. Mademoiselle. We meet again, it seems, not by accident.” He bowed, his glance toward Talleyrand wary.

Aurélie shot to her feet, curtseyed belatedly, and said, “I do not know if I should be glad to see you again or not.”

“Monsieur Dsaret, I gather, is ‘some people’?” Talleyrand asked.

Aurélie blushed, but said steadily, “We met on the road to Paris. We three played music together.”

“Three? You two and…the mysterious courier who was last seen riding to Berville to visit General Kosciusko?”

“Mord is the finest violinist I have ever heard,” Aurélie exclaimed with fervor.

“Mord? Is this his name? How refreshingly brief. I trust Monsieur Mord will favor us with a concerto on his return to Paris.” Talleyrand looked pointedly at Jaska. “Thank you, Monsieur. We will not keep you from enjoying the festivities.”

Jaska said with a slight lift to his voice, almost a challenge, “I will escort Mademoiselle back to the salon, where I believe she is expected to play to us.”

Talleyrand smiled and lifted his hand in benediction. “I trust we shall meet again, Mademoiselle.”

Aurélie glanced from one to the other, curtseyed to Talleyrand, then went to the door. It was not quite shut when Talleyrand said, “Do you see, Fouché? A light hand is always best in these matters…”

Click. The door closed.

Fouché! The Butcher of Lyon, who had more than 1,900 citizens slaughtered, probably the most sinister figure of the past fifteen years of
violence. There were parts of history that I wish I could scrub from my brain, and he lay behind several of them.

Jaska looked down at Aurélie and murmured,
“Putat sunt exploratores.”

She translated softly as they walked away, “‘He thinks we are…’”

“Spies.” He regarded her with cool politesse. “You would be wise to be circumspect for a time.”

He was silent until they reached the salon. Voices rose and fell above the clarinet and flute playing a Haydn duet. She put her hand out, and he stilled. “I am so very sorry.”

“I was already being watched,” he said, with a brief, rueful smile. “I believe that the gentleman was honoring me with a warning.”

“I am sorry about Praga,” she said. “I think I understand a little, what you were trying to tell me that day.”

He passed a hand over his face, then dropped it. “I was luckier than most. I lived and only came away with a shattered knee.” He brushed his hand against the stiff leg.

“No one is lucky with such memories,” she whispered, “or dreams. I know one is grateful to be alive, but gratitude can be a burden, too.” She curtseyed again and slipped inside before he could respond.

Alone later in her room, she touched the mirror so she could see me before exclaiming in a choked whisper, “He thinks I am a spy! Monsieur Talleyrand was so very nice to me, yet he thinks I am a
spy
.”

“He thought you were a spy,” I said. “I don’t think he still does, or he would have had the Kittredges arrested. I agree with Jaska, that he was issuing a warning.”

“How?” she asked. “To whom?”

“To you both. Talleyrand mentioned the Kittredges to let you know that they were not arrested. That means either he doesn’t suspect you, or he does, but there are
mouchards
watching you. He was also warning Jaska because he was watching how the two of you interacted when Jaska was brought by the messenger.”

Aurélie said, “But he did not have him arrested.”

“That’s because he might not believe that Jaska is an enemy spy. There are all kinds of spies. As for the
mouchards
, they not only listen to French people, but they also spy on all the foreigners touring through France right now.”

“Oh, Duppy Kim, I would feel terrible if by my actions I got Mord arrested.”

“If Jaska isn’t sending a message to him right now—or going himself—then I’m a…well, never mind, but that reminds me. Aurélie, I saw more of those winged beings in that room. There were so many of them I couldn’t see faces, just shifting shadows. I got the feeling there were hundreds of them.”

“But that room was so small.” She ran her hands up her arms. “And so very cold. I could not feel the fire at all, yet there it was, almost in reach.”

“I think the cold was from those winged people.”

“I thought angels were made of fire and light,” she said.

“I doubt that they’re angels,” I said and then shrugged. “But then I don’t know anything about angels.”