The Moon and the Sun (6 page)

“Do you know what this means?” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed.

“It means the King’s approval,” Yves said, his smile wry. “And time stolen by ceremony that I’d rather use in study. But I must please the King.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

She leaned against him. “France is too cold!”

“And Martinique is too remote.”

“Are you glad His Majesty called you to Versailles?”

“Are you sorry to leave Fort-de-France?”

“No! I —”

The sea monster whispered a song.

“It sings,” Marie-Josèphe said. “The sea monster sings, just like a bird.”

“Yes.”

“Give it a fish — perhaps it’s as hungry as I am.”

He shrugged. “It won’t eat.” He scooped seaweed from the basket and flung it through the bars of the cage. He flung a fish after it. He rattled the gate to test that it was fastened.

The sea monster’s eerie melody wrapped Marie-Josèphe in the balmy breeze of the Caribbean. It stopped abruptly when the fish splashed into the water.

Marie-Josèphe shivered violently.

“Come!” Yves said suddenly. “You’ll catch the ague.”

3

The sea

monster

floated

beneath

the

surface,

hummin

g, its

voice a

low

moan.

The

edges of

the

small

water

reflected

the

sound.

A

rotting

fish fell

into the

pool.

The sea

monster

dove

away,

then

circled

back,

sniffed

at it,

scooped

it up,

and

flung it

away. It

sailed

between

the cold

black

bars and

hit the

ground

with a

dead

splat
.

The

sea

monster

sang.

oOo

Marie-Jo

sèphe

took

Yves up

the

narrow

dirty

stairs,

through

the dark

hallway

and

along

the

threadb

are

carpet,

to the

attic of

the

chateau

of

Versaill

es. Her

cold

clammy

dress

had

soaked

the fur

lining of

Lorraine

’s cloak.

She

could

not stop

shiverin

g.

“Is

this

where

we’re to

live?”

Yves

asked,

dismaye

d.

“W

e have

three

rooms!”

Marie-Jo

sèphe

exclaim

ed.

“Courtie

rs

scheme

and

bribe

and

connive

for what

we’ve

been

given

freely.”

“It’s

a filthy

attic.”

“In

His

Majesty’

s

chateau!

”

“M

y cabin

on the

galleon

was

cleaner.

”

Mar

ie-Josèp

he

opened

the door

to her

dark,

cold,

shabby

little

room.

Light

spilled

out. She

stared,

astonish

ed.

“An

d my

room at

universi

ty was

larger,”

Yves

said.

“Hello,

Odelette

.”

A

young

woman

of

extraord

inary

beauty

rose

from the

chair

where

she sat

sewing

by

candleli

ght.

“Go

od

evening,

M.

Yves,”

said

Marie-Jo

sèphe’s

Turkish

slave,

with

whom

Marie-Jo

sèphe

shared a

birthday

, and to

whom

she had

not been

allowed

to speak

for five

years.

She

smiled

at her

mistress

in a

matter-o

f-fact

way.

“Hello,

Mlle

Marie.”

“O

delette!”

Marie-Jo

sèphe

ran to

Odelette

and

flung

herself

into her

arms.

“How

—

where

— Oh,

I’m so

glad to

see

you!”

“Ml

le

Marie,

you’re

soaked!

”

Odelette

pointed

to the

dressing

-room

door.

“Go

away,

M. Yves,

so I may

get Mlle

Marie

out of

these

wet

clothes.”

Odelette

had

never,

from the

time

they

were all

children

, shown

Yves a

moment

’s

deferenc

e.

Yve

s offered

her a

mock

bow and

left to

explore

his

rooms.

“W

here did

you

come

from?

How

did you

get

here?”

“W

as it not

your

will,

Mlle

Marie?”

Odelette

unfasten

ed the

many

buttons

of

Marie-Jo

sèphe’s

grand

habit.

“It

was, but

I never

dared

hope

they’d

send

you.

Before

my ship

sailed, I

wrote to

the

Mother

Superior

, I wrote

to the

priest, I

wrote to

the

governo

r —”

The

clammy

wet silk

fell

away,

leaving

her bare

arms

exposed

to the

cold

night

air.

“And

when I

reached

Saint-Cy

r, I

asked

Mme de

Mainten

on for

help — I

even

wrote to

the

King!”

She

hugged

herself,

trying to

ward off

the chill.

“Thoug

h I don’t

suppose

he ever

saw my

letter!”

“Pe

rhaps it

was the

governo

r. I

attende

d his

daughte

r during

her

passage

to

France,

though

the

Mother

Superior

wanted

to keep

me.”

Od

elette

picked

loose

the wet

knots of

Marie-Jo

sèphe’s

stays.

Marie-Jo

sèphe

stood

naked

and

shiverin

g on the

worn

rug. Her

ruined

gown

and

silver

petticoat

lay in a

heap.

Odelette

hung

the

Chevali

er’s

cloak on

the

dress-ra

ck.

“I’ll

brush it,

and it

might

dry

unstaine

d. But

your

beautifu

l

petticoat

— !”

Odelette

fell into

their old

habits of

domesti

city as if

no time

had

passed

at all.

She

rubbed

Marie-Jo

sèphe

with a

scrap of

old

blanket

and

chafed

her

fingers

and

arms to

bring

back

some

warmth.

Hercule

s the cat

watched

from the

window

seat.

Mar

ie-Josèp

he burst

into

tears of

anger

and

relief.

“She

forbade

me to

see you

—”

“Sh

h, Mlle

Marie.

Our

fortunes

have

changed

.”

Odelette

held a

threadb

are

nightshi

rt, plain

thin

muslin,

not at all

warm.

“Into

bed

before

you

catch

your

death,

and I

have to

send for

a

surgeon.

”

Mar

ie-Josèp

he

slipped

into the

nightshi

rt. “I

don’t

need a

surgeon.

I don’t

want
a

surgeon.

I’m just

cold. It’s

a long

walk

from the

Fountai

n of

Apollo

when

your

dress is

soaking

wet.”

Od

elette

unpinne

d

Marie-Jo

sèphe’s

red-gold

hair,

letting it

fall in

tangled

curls

around

her

shoulde

rs.

Marie-Jo

sèphe

swayed,

too tired

to keep

her feet.

“Co

me,

Mlle

Marie,”

Odelette

said.

“You’re

shiverin

g. Get in

bed, and

I’ll comb

your

hair

while

you go

to

sleep.”

Mar

ie-Josèp

he

crawled

between

the

featherb

eds, still

shiverin

g.

“Co

me,

Hercule

s.”

The

tabby

cat

blinked

from the

window

seat. He

yawned,

rose,

stretche

d

hugely,

and dug

his

claws

into the

velvet

cushion.

One

leap to

the floor

and one

to the

bed

brought

him to

her side.

He

sniffed

her

fingers,

walked

on top

of her,

and

kneaded

her

belly.

The

feathers

softened

his

claws to

a soft

pressure

and a

faint

sharp

scratchi

ng

sound.

He

curled

up,

warm

and

heavy,

and

went

back to

sleep.

“Pu

t your

arms

beneath

the

covers,”

Odelette

said,

trying to

pull the

covers

higher.

“No

, it isn’t

proper

—”

“No

nsense,

you’ll

die of a

cold in

your

chest.”

Odelette

tucked

the

covers

around

her chin.

Odelette

spread

Marie-Jo

sèphe’s

hair

across

the

pillows

and

combed

out the

tangles.

“You

mustn’t

go out

anymor

e with

your

hair

poorly

dressed.

”

“I

wore a

fontange

s.”

Marie-Jo

sèphe

yawned.

“But the

sea

monster

knocked

it

loose.”

She lost

track of

what

she was

saying.

“You

should

see the

sea

monster.

You will

see it!”

I’m

still too

excited

to go to

sleep,

Marie-Jo

sèphe

thought.

Then, a

moment

later,

Odelette

laid her

heavy

braid

across

her

shoulde

r.

Marie-Jo

sèphe

had

already

dozed,

and had

not felt

Odelette

finish

her hair.

Odelette

blew

out the

candle.

The

smoke

tinged

the air

with

burned

tallow.

A

shadow

in the

darknes

s,

Odelette

moved

toward

the

window

.