The Academie (10 page)

A lady’s gloved hand, then her entire figure still enveloped in a traveling cloak rounds the corner from the stairwell. A moment later the candle illuminates her face.

It is Hortense! I don’t want to startle her, so I wait a little longer, hoping she will pass my door and I can whisper to
her and draw her in. I cannot imagine what has made her arrive so mysteriously in the middle of the night.

I watch her approach, preparing to beckon her when she is near enough. But she pauses at a door on the other side of the corridor. I see her lift her hand to knock, then lower it, as if she cannot decide what to do. She takes a step to continue, then turns abruptly back and knocks softly.

A moment later, the door opens, and Bonaparte himself steps out, wearing a black brocade dressing gown. “Hortense!” he whispers.

“Maman sent for me,” she says, and looks down at her feet.

“And you came to me first?” he asks.

In the dim light, it is hard to see, but I detect a faint blush in her cheeks. “I trust you to tell me what is happening, whether there is some real emergency or something Maman has imagined.”

He shakes his head. “It is unfair of her to involve you. These are matters between us, alone. I advise you to go to bed and think no more of it.”

“Think no more!” Her voice rises, and Napoléon touches his finger to her lips. It seems as though she leans into that touch, very slightly.

What is happening? Can Hortense have feelings for her stepfather? Or is it the other way around? My heart pounds
with confusion and shock. I must do something to prevent an indiscretion.

I open my door wide, yawning as if I have just heard something that awakened me, hoping Hortense does not realize I have seen her. “Ah! It is you, Hortense! I heard something and thought I would see.”

“We will speak in the morning,” Napoléon says, with a slight inclination of his head. Before I can greet him he has vanished behind the closed door of his bedchamber again.

“It’s been a lovely day, Hortense. Come and sit with me a while and I’ll tell you about it. Perhaps someone will bring us tea or warm milk.”

I can see Hortense is embarrassed. I reach my hand out to her. She takes it without a backward glance and steps with me into my room.

15
Hortense

How much did Eliza see? I am so ashamed. No one knows that this is the reason I have chosen to spend so much of my time at school, when I really don’t need to continue my lessons.

“Sit a moment,” Eliza says. I see the questions in her eyes, and a little shock. Who would not be shocked? Although Bonaparte is only my stepfather, I should not be so drawn to him.

“Thank you,” I say. “But don’t let me keep you from your bed. You have had a tiring day, too.” Best to pretend nothing happened.

She smiles and goes to the bellpull by the fireplace. I hear the tinkling far away in the kitchen. No doubt someone will come soon. I’ve already awoken them with my arrival.

“I was up, writing to my mother,” Eliza says. “Why have you come in the middle of the night?”

Well might she ask. “My mother sent word asking me to hasten here immediately.” Her note had implied that something important was going to happen, and that she wanted me by her during that time.

“I think you are right,” Eliza says, slowly pacing around her room and rubbing her hands together against the cold. “I’m not certain, but there was talk at dinner among the gentlemen—”

“Who else is here?” I shouldn’t interrupt, but I must know.

“Murat, Sieyès, Captain Charles, Joseph Bonaparte, and your brother.”

I notice that Eliza casts her eyes down when she mentions Eugène. Has something happened? “Is my brother well? Tell me, please!”

“Oh! Yes, exceedingly, I believe.”

Now she is blushing. Ah, I see it. Poor Eliza! She is smitten with him. Who wouldn’t be? I think Eugène the handsomest young man in France. But Eliza is very young, and I believe he is in love with someone else. His last letter—before he was injured—hinted as much. Should I tell her? Perhaps not, since she has not yet confided in me. “What were the gentlemen saying?”

“That the Directoire is ineffective and has nearly bankrupted the country.”

“That is hardly news. But the Directoire is our foundation,
our government that is not a monarchy and that so many were sacrificed for.” Including my own father, and many of our friends.

“I don’t know, but I had the feeling that Sieyès wanted your stepfather to do something.”

“He didn’t say anything more?” I wonder if Eliza is canny enough to hide such knowledge, if she happened to over-hear something she shouldn’t.

“No, nothing. But...”

“But what?”

We are interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It is Marie, answering Eliza’s call.

“Bring us tea,” Eliza says. She’s not very kind to servants, I’ve noticed.

Once Marie has gone, I say, “You implied that there was something more.”

“Only what I saw...,” Eliza begins.

My God! She did see it? “Don’t speak of it. It’s not necessary.”

Eliza cocks her head to the side. “But I thought such things were commonplace in Paris, among the privileged.”

How can such a thing be commonplace? My heart starts to beat faster and I feel the color drain from my face. “I assure you they are not. I’m afraid my journey has tired me. I must be ready to see my mother first thing in the morning. I’m sorry to have put Marie to unnecessary trouble.”

“I did not mean to...” Eliza’s voice trails off.

“Please don’t worry. I’m just tired,” I say, turning and putting my hand on the doorknob.

“Good night, Eliza.”

She curtsies to me, her face a picture of bewildered sadness. I let go of the doorknob, take her by the shoulders, and kiss each of her cheeks. “Take care that you do not spoil your American innocence here, my dear Eliza. You have much yet to learn.”

A soft knock announces Marie’s return with the tea tray.

“We don’t want it now,” Eliza says, and waves her away. I slip a coin into Marie’s pocket for her trouble. She smiles as Eliza closes her door.

Sleep claims me almost as soon as I lay my head on my pillow but not for very long. I awaken at the first gray light of dawn.

I dress quickly and pull on my warmest shawl. The sun is trying to dispel the mist, but at this time of year—appropriately named
Brumaire
, or “season of mist,” by the Directoire—its attempts are feeble at best.

I pass Marie, whose night must have been as short as mine, carrying wood into the salon so that the fire is blazing when the others rise. She curtsies to me, but I see by her look that she is annoyed, despite the little gift I gave her last night. I shall have to make her another present.

I run out of the front door into the wooded part of the
garden, wanting to get as far away from the house as possible so that I can think.

It is not five minutes before I see the figure of a man ahead of me and start to alter my course. But then he turns around and looks straight at me, and instead of walking away I run toward him, faster and faster, until I can throw my arms around his familiar neck.

“Eugène!” I cover his face with kisses. “I am so happy to see you well.”

He picks me up off my feet and twirls me around. “I am delighted—and surprised—to see you, my dear sister! I thought you were still at school.”

“I was, but Maman sent for me. I arrived late last night.”

He holds me away from him and looks me up and down. “You’re very thin, and you have shadows under your eyes.”

I pretend to pout. “Is that anything to say to a lady?”

“You don’t need me to tell you how beautiful you are! But I do worry. Has something happened?”

“No, nothing at all is wrong, except the usual trivial matters.”

“The Bonaparte clan is still tormenting Maman, I see. Caroline hardly said a word to me yesterday,” Eugène says.

We begin to stroll along, arm in arm. I am so happy to be with Eugène that I almost forget to notice how beautiful the grounds are, and how Maman has done so much to improve them in so short a time.

“Caroline and I have a new source of competition. You met her yesterday.”

Eugène looks puzzled. Then he remembers. “You mean the little American girl?”

“Yes. Her papa is quite important, so Maman says. He got the Marquis de Lafayette released from prison during the
Terreur
.”

“And I hear that he is likely to be voted into the American government soon. There is talk of the Senate, or a governorship.”

Eugène’s knowledge surprises me. “I have not heard so much, and she is with me every day!”

“Perhaps she doesn’t yet know. Bonaparte has a way of keeping very well informed. I swear the man never sleeps.”

I can’t help shivering, wondering how much Eliza guessed at last night.

“It is chilly,” Eugène says, looking up at the sky, which has not fulfilled its promise of sun. “Let’s go have breakfast.”

We turn and walk back to the house.

“There is something I particularly wanted to talk to you about.” Eugène squeezes my arm in his elbow. “I didn’t know I’d have an opportunity so soon.”

I have a suspicion about what, but I’ll let him think he surprises me. “Have you at last been promoted because of your stellar service to our stepfather as aide-de-camp?”

“No, alas. Sometimes I wonder if he even notices I’m at
his side.... It’s more personal than that.” He stops and faces me. “I am in love.”

I can’t help feeling a little jealous. “Is she a beautiful heiress? A princess? A general’s daughter?” I ask, teasing him as is my right.

“No.” He smiles. “That is just the problem. I need you to help me.”

“How can I help? You know Maman would do anything for you. She will be delighted.”

“Perhaps not about this. Madeleine and I are so in love, but I fear...”

Madeleine?
It is quite a common, unpretentious name. I am a little afraid of knowing more. “Why would Maman not help you if you are truly in love?”

“She is having difficulties of her own right now, and will hardly welcome the fact that her son wants to marry an actress in the Comédie Française.”

16
Eliza

Although I am tired from all the excitement of yesterday, I cannot help rising early. To be a guest in Joséphine’s house—it is simply too extraordinary an occurrence to waste by sleeping.

I summon the maid to help me dress, but no one else seems to be awake yet. I decide that I may as well take a turn in the garden, and give myself some time to absorb my surroundings at the heart of everything that is happening in France. My papa described it to me as a very volatile time, and I’m beginning to understand what he meant.

At first I think only about Joséphine. How gracious, how graceful she is! Last night at supper she had a way of making everyone at her table feel as if the entire meal, the entire evening revolved around them. Except for me, of course. Although she did make an effort to draw me into
the conversation, asking questions about Virginia as though she was really interested.

But much more fascinating conversations claimed her attention, and I do not hold it against her that she paid me so little attention. No wonder Captain Charles is in love with her.

I could not help noticing the way Bonaparte, if the conversation drifted at all from matters that concerned him, gazed at Captain Charles, and then at Joséphine. He did not look happy. In those moments I also saw Caroline glance over, her attention for just a moment drawn away from Murat. Could it be that there is some strife between Napoléon and Joséphine?

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts about last evening that I almost forget to notice the garden, beautiful even at this barren time of year. And I almost fail to notice altogether that I am not alone. Ahead of me on the path is Caroline. I am about to call out to her when I see her back away as if she is trying to remain hidden. What has she seen?

I stay where I am for a moment, then see another path that leads away from the main avenue but closer to where Caroline stands. I follow it. Before long, I am aware of what has stopped her. Hortense and Eugène are also in the garden, and she is listening to their conversation.

“Oh, Eugène! You know Maman will be heartbroken.”

“We’re speaking of my heart here, not hers. And I shall no doubt rise far in our stepfather’s retinue nonetheless. She need not use me as a pawn, to dispose of in marriage
as she pleases. I can thrive without that. Perhaps Bonaparte will give me charge of a battalion soon. Surely she can have no greater hopes than that!”

Eugène! He is in love with someone, someone he thinks his mother will not approve of. My heart beats a little faster. Surely not ... But what if it is I? What if—like me—he was instantly smitten upon seeing me? I have heard that it can happen this way, love. Yet we have hardly exchanged glances, let alone any words of consequence.

And Caroline is smiling. Why would Eugène’s romances please her?

“Will you help me tell her?” Eugène pleads with Hortense. Her eyes are cast down. She doesn’t look pleased. Perhaps I am mistaken....

“I will try. But you know I cannot guarantee that Maman will accept a common actress for a daughter-in-law!”

A common actress? Of course he does not speak of me. How could he? But there is some comfort for me in the fact that Joséphine cannot be happy about his choice, if he has indeed truly chosen. And perhaps he will need comforting, a shoulder to weep upon, when his hopes for romance are dashed.

I am so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t notice that Caroline is now striding toward me. I have to decide quickly what to do. I choose to act naive, pretend I am just returning from a stroll and wish to walk with her back to the house.

“Caroline!” I call out.

She rushes forward, her finger at her lips. “Hush!” she says, grasping my arm and hurrying both of us back to the house.

“What is it?” I ask, knowing full well that she does not want to reveal her presence to Hortense and Eugène.