Revenant Eve (34 page)

She went on to name people in Aurélie’s life. The list of those who’d died, been wounded, or nobody had word of was depressingly long.

At the end, Anne wrote:

Aurélie read it through twice, then got up and flitted to one of the many mirrors Josephine had in her rooms. When she could see me, she said, “It appears to me she expected it to be read by others.”

“I believe so, too,” I said, thinking,
It would help if you gave me some guidance here, Nanny Hiasinte, if you are listening
.

“The part that puzzles me is Nanny—” Women’s voices echoed down the marble hall. Aurélie glanced at the windows. “Dawn is not far off. I must not be found here.”

But she had only taken a few steps in the other direction (the rooms being laid out in strings, with doors at either side) when one voice rose. It was Agatha Rible, Josephine’s chief maid. “Have you seen Mademoiselle de Mascarenhas?”

“I am here,” Aurélie called, as she stuffed the letter down the front of her gown.

In came Josephine, tears dripping down her wan cheeks. She looked back and said, “To bed—all of you. It is late. Get some sleep.” To Agatha, who stood inside the doorway, hands pressed against one another, she said in a tender tone, “Please, my dear Agatha, brew me an infusion of orange leaves. My head aches so.”

Agatha scurried away, her steps noiseless, and Josephine beckoned Aurélie into her bedchamber, an enormous room with a canopied bed.

Josephine rushed around the chamber in a frenzy, blowing out all the candles so that it was only lit by the fire, reducing the light to a dim, ruddy glow that cast gigantic shadows on the velvet canopy.

She dropped onto the bed and pressed her hands to her forehead. “Why do the Bonapartes so enjoy being cruel?” She dropped her hands. “I thought that marrying Hortense to one of them would please them—that Bonaparte would adopt darling little Napoleon-Charles—but nothing
I do is right. Nothing. Hortense once said that even if I could become pregnant, they would only spread lies about the father.”

Aurélie wisely stayed silent.

Josephine turned her head on the pillow, her dark eyes reflecting the flames as she regarded Aurélie. “I know Bonaparte is going to claim the crown of France. All the changes, the court etiquette when once we were so free. He wants to be called Napoleon, when he has been Bonaparte these ten years. I went to his chamber myself, the other night. Before we married, I could sit on his lap, and wind my fingers in his hair, and talk to him like a little girl—he liked that. He would give me anything I wanted. I asked him to give up the idea of a crown, and he only smiled, and nodded, and I knew I had lost.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Tears gathered and tracked down her cheeks. “I am so afraid, Aurélie. Madame Fortuna swore to me on her mother’s grave that my life would be long and illustrious if I followed her instructions to the letter, and I have. It is the same with Monsieur Herne, the Seer. I pay them well. They instruct me according to what the stars say. Yet I cannot but help remember what Madame Villeneuve said: that I would only wear a crown for a short time. And when I was a girl, the nanny.…” Her voice suspended. She gave a sob, then gripped Aurélie’s wrist. “You must do something for me, Aurélie. Say you will do it. I can trust so few—and I cannot send Hortense. You know how she is situated.”

“What is it, Madame? If I can, I will do anything for you,” Aurélie murmured.

“I know. You are a dear girl. And not a spy—ridiculous. I do not believe anything they say. Listen. Bonaparte will not permit me to ride down to Aix-en-Provence, where Mary Magdalene’s grotto is at Sainte-Baume. It is said that women find healing there. He says if I go, the world will know the reason, and laugh at us. But he loves me, I know he does.” She sat up. “Joseph. Caroline. The Bonapartes all press him and press him to divorce me. Divorce! It would scarcely take that. Do you know the truth about our marriage?”

Aurélie said, “No, Madame.”

Josephine smiled as she pulled a handkerchief from under the pillow and carefully blotted tears from her eyes. “I shall never forget how long he kept me waiting that night! It was a civil ceremony, of course, for in those days, you could only hear Mass in secret. It was at the Hôtel de Mondragon, which was once so very beautiful, but after the Revolution made it over into a district office, it was dismal and filthy. There was a single candle sitting in a tin sconce, throwing light on the marble fireplace and the broken chairs alike.”

Her eyes half closed, and she spoke dreamily. “I wore white muslin, of course. And a tri-color sash. My only jewel was a medallion Bonaparte gave me, inscribed ‘To Destiny.’ Barras was there. He hates me now. He blames me for 18th Brumaire, though I…but we were friends then, and he was to be witness. But Bonaparte was so late! The registrar went off to bed, leaving the ceremony to an underling who had no civil powers. The man hobbled about the room on his wooden leg,
thump-tap
,
thump-tap
. Then Bonaparte came at last, and oh, my dear, I lied about my age, and he lied about his, and even his address was false, for he listed it as the town hall, though at that time he was living in the rue des Capucines. Barras had gone by then, and all we had was his aide to witness, but he was underage. And later that night, my darling little Fortuné—the first one—bit Bonaparte, oh, so jealous, it was like an omen, I sometimes think!”

She fluttered a hand through the air. “La! I stray from my point. This marriage certificate, full of lies, issued under a government no longer existing, could be so easily set aside even if he were not First Consul. Ffft! Like blowing out a candle. And yet he doesn’t. Is that not evidence that he loves me still?”

“I believe he does, Madame,” Aurélie said. “Did he not kiss you and admire you before everybody tonight?”

“Yes.” Josephine’s smile vanished. “But
they
say it’s because he is dallying with yet a new actress. I can scarcely blame these women, he is so fascinating. Georgina is vastly younger even than you, a pretty girl, so full of life.”

She sat up restlessly. “Aurélie, what he wants is an heir. My womb was
injured beyond the repair of the best physicians. It happened when a balcony fell at Plombières that summer, in the Year Six. Did Hortense tell you what her girl said about miraculous cures?”

“I have not spoken to Madame Hortense but a handful of words this month,” Aurélie said.

“You know it is due to the grippe,” Josephine said. “It has been exceptionally virulent this winter, and she is so afraid for the child. She scarcely wants to poke her head out their door. And then she is positively surrounded by spies. Her own husband, it is said, the worst of them. Louis is so glum and so strange! But it is useless to repine. She reminded me that you speak regularly to a spirit. Please, Aurélie. Will you consult this ghost for me? We are alone. Not even Agatha is here. Dear Agatha, who is a good Catholic, does not like the consultation of spirits. I will be a good anything, as long as they can help me.”

Aurélie said to the air, “Duppy Kim, will you help Madame?”

The safest thing was to keep silent, partly because I knew what was coming, and because my own name had not come down through history as one of Josephine’s many seers. I wanted to give her something to hang onto because I didn’t want to see her suffer, but I did not dare be too specific. “Tell her…” I began.

Aurélie started across the room to the framed mirror.

Josephine got up and followed. “Is she
here?
” She looked around wildly.

Aurélie laid her hand to the mirror. “There,” she said, pointing at me with her free hand. “But so far, it seems only I can see her.”

“Kim, a very odd name,” Josephine said. “Was she a slave? I recollect they had some very odd names.”

“I do not know.”

“Give her this message,” I said, avoiding the question about my identity. “Tell her that I know this to be truth: that whatever happens, Napoleon Bonaparte will always love her, to the end of his life. Tell her that when he dies, it is her name that will be on his lips. Tell her it is true—tell her
it is written
. But that is all I will say.”

No need to add that it was written in my history books.

Aurélie related my words exactly as spoken. Josephine let out a long sigh, then said, “Will he divorce me, Kim Duppy?”

I remained silent. Let her have a few years of relative happiness before the Austrian princess is brought to Paris to replace her.

“I do not hear her,” Aurélie admitted.

Josephine sighed. “Aren’t they always like that? They speak, then they disappear most inconveniently. But Bonaparte loves me. He will always love me. That gives me hope. I can endure anything, if I have hope.”

She peered into the mirror, touched the soft lines at her chin, then turned away. “I know what
he
wants more than anything is a son. Hortense told me that her maid Marie-Alexandrine told her of a cousin who lives in a small convent in Vienna, who in secret practices magic. Marie-Alexandrine promised they care nothing for political divisions. Aurélie, will you go to them and ask? I will give them anything,
anything
, if they can tell me how to conceive a child. I am not yet too old—not if we act at once.”

Aurélie drew in a breath, and said, “I will.”

“Bless you! I knew you were as loyal as you are discreet. Oh, I hear Agatha. Say nothing! In the inner chamber, there, you will find a
rouleau
of the old
louis d’or
. Everyone accepts gold! That ought to get you there and back. But before you leave, you must request of Bonaparte the necessary papers to get you through the frontier.”

“But if he is not to know the reason for my journey? What am I to tell him?”

“That you have family, that you must see to the estate of your betrothed. Everyone witnessed your receiving a letter.” Her smile flickered, rueful and sweet, and she made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go!”

Aurélie darted into the inner chamber, picked up a little purse full of coins, then kept on going through the farther chambers.

Aurélie passed through Hortense’s bedchamber, which was dark and empty, and lifted her hand to the hall door, when the door was pushed open from the other side by an impatient hand.

Aurélie fell back and stared up at Napoleon.

H
E WAS CARRYING A TAPER.
At his side walked a man unsettlingly like Jaska, except for the dark wings curving at his shoulders, the quiet step.

Neither Napoleon nor Aurélie saw him.

Napoleon and Aurélie stared at each other for a second—Bonaparte and a pretty girl—and I had a feeling of what would come next as he said, “Mademoiselle, an unexpected encounter.”

The winged figure whispered,
He is here for diversion
.
There is no danger.
I was the only one who heard.

“Madame sent me—sends me—on an errand,” Aurélie began disjointedly. “I had a question to put to you, sir.”

She can have anything she wants,
the shadow wing said conversationally, hands open.

Napoleon gave Aurélie a top to toe scan, and smiled. “What can I offer you, Mademoiselle? Or do I mistake, and it is you who has something to offer to me?”

His tone was playful and insinuating both. She stared, aghast, her eyes enormous.

“I do not know what to say,” Aurélie said breathlessly, her pulse ticking in her throat.

Encourage her. What can be easier than shared passion?

I tried to shut out the soft whisper. This could go bad so easily. The most powerful man in France, maybe the world, was in reality a total geek. Napoleon knew what to do on the battlefield because he knew every inch of the terrain, and he’d work out in his head every possible combination of actions and reactions. Socially, unless everyone was on cue, he was hopeless.