Mistress of the Revolution (6 page)

I met Pierre-André again.

“I spoke with my brothers,” he said. “They are astonished at my choice of a bride.”

I easily believed it. Although he had too much delicacy to mention it, they must have represented to him that he could do much better in terms of money. I was also sure that they did not relish the prospect of dealing with my brother. Pierre-André could have married any girl of the local bourgeoisie, with a comfortable dowry, whose family would have been delighted by the match.

“Are they unhappy with your choice?” I asked.

“They say that I have set my sights too high. That may be true, but if you have the kindness not to object to it, why should they?” He reached for my hand and kissed it. “They complain that I am always begging for trouble of some kind or other. Both of them, however, find you very pretty, and they understand why I want you so. Pierre, who has seen you many times at Fontfreyde and is always my best ally, convinced Jean-Baptiste to seek your brother’s consent. According to them, it will not be enough to take you without a dowry. I should offer some financial inducement to assuage your family’s concerns as to the inequality of the match. Jean-Baptiste suggested that I settle 20,000 francs on you by marriage contract and offer an equal sum to your brother as consideration for your
disparagement
. That is what lawyers call the unequal marriage of a noble lady to a commoner, and, like everything else, it has a price.”

“I had no idea that such sums could change hands upon the occasion of my wedding.”

“You have too modest an opinion of your own claims. I would give anything for the happiness of having you as my wife.”

I was saddened by the implicit opinion that my brother’s consent to the match could be bought. It did not reflect well on either his financial circumstances, with which, as his lawyer, Jean-Baptiste Coffinhal must have been acquainted, or his avarice.

“What was I thinking?” said Pierre-André. “I have been a brute to tell you about these sordid matters. Your feelings for your brother, after all, are only natural. I should not have hurt them.”

“No, I thank you for telling me. I should know of these things since they concern me.”

“My beloved, my brothers think that I have a fair chance of success since there is no competing offer from any noble party. They will speak to the Marquis shortly. I wanted to go with them, but they refuse to take me along. They say that I would ruin all of their efforts with what they call my arrogance.”

“What if my brother refuses?”

“Do not worry. He will discover that when I want something, I get it sooner or later.”

It was the first time that serious concerns had arisen to cloud our happiness. We agreed that our assignations should remain a secret, and that he would pretend to have fallen in love at first sight while casually crossing my path in Vic.

Once at home, I went to work with the help of the maids. The pink and white fabric was sewn into one of the prettiest gowns I ever owned. When I tried it on and looked at my reflection in the mirror, I took a step backwards. I was stunned to see myself for the first time in such finery. I would have liked Pierre-André to see me too, but that was not to be. My mother told me that I had to save the dress for the pilgrimage of Our Lady of Consolation in Thiézac on the 15th of August.

“Our Lady of August,”
Nostro Damo d’Agost
, as it is called in the Roman language, is the Festival of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. On that day, my mother never missed the pilgrimage of Thiézac. During its celebration, a statue, reputed to have miraculous properties, of Our Lady of Consolation carrying in her arms the Divine Child was removed in the morning from its chapel in the mountains and carried with great ceremony to the village church for the day. This was the only opportunity during the entire year for the faithful to worship it.

I had therefore not been surprised when my mother had asked me to save my new dress for this occasion. For the first time she was paying great attention to my appearance. She harassed the maids while they did my hair. She brought her bottle of rose water and did not spare it. She even lent me, for that occasion only, as she was careful to point out, her best lace kerchief and her gold medal of the Blessed Virgin. The chain was too long for me. The jewel, cold against my skin, rested low on my throat. She arranged the white lace in a manner that uncovered as much of my flesh as decency permitted. She then adjusted a white rose between my breasts as a
babarel
. That is the name given in Auvergne to flowers arranged between a woman’s breasts. I had never worn any before and was beginning to feel uneasy but kept my suspicions to myself. We left Fontfreyde early to arrive on time to see the statue of Our Lady carried into town.

Peasants had come down from the most isolated hamlets in the mountains, some in wooden clogs and coats of coarse wool, their hair matted under their broad-brimmed hats. The parish priest, in holiday vestments of gold embroidery, was at the head of the procession, followed by the town aldermen and mounted constables with their sabres drawn. Behind them the statue of Our Lady of Consolation, carved of black wood and dressed in white and gold brocade, was carried on the shoulders of villagers in their Sunday best. All stopped in the square in front of the church.
Cabretaïres
, the high country bagpipers, started to play traditional airs. Dancers, their hands held aloft, formed the wheel patterns of the
bourrées
, the men shouting throaty cries of rejoicing I have never heard in any other country. As a child, I had gladly joined in those dances and learned the accompanying songs, some bawdy, some telling of the heartsickness of lost love. The presence of my family now forced me to stay away. My mother, without paying attention to the music or the dancers, was looking around with a worried expression. Suddenly her face softened. A stranger was walking in our direction. The crowd was parting to make way for him, the men taking off their hats and the women curtseying. He bowed to my mother. He and my brother embraced briefly, calling each other “cousin.” The man was introduced to me as the Baron de Peyre.

The Baron was about three inches taller than me, broad-chested and robustly built. He was dressed rather for hunting than for a high holiday, in a plain suit of green cloth and leather boots that came up to his thighs. His hair, straight and thick, without side curls, was longer than was fashionable even at the time, almost down to his waist, and simply tied by a ribbon of black silk behind his neck. I had thought from afar that it was powdered, but, upon closer inspection, I saw that it was naturally of a uniform grey colour that contrasted with the tan of his skin. Apart from of that sign of age, he gave an impression of health and carried himself with a great deal of assurance. His face was wide, his expression good-humoured and his features handsome in a coarse way. I noticed his smell, strong but not unpleasant, reminiscent of horse and smoked ham in winter.

He presented his compliments to my mother, who simpered back, her voice higher-pitched than usual in an attempt at sweetness. She elbowed me sharply to remind me of my manners. I had forgotten to curtsey, lost as I was in my contemplation of the gentleman. He seemed to share my curiosity and looked me over intently, staring in particular at the gold medal and white rose between my breasts. His eyes were still fixed on me when he said to my mother: “Please allow me to offer my congratulations, Madam. Your Ladyship has been blessed with a charming daughter. My little cousin is ripe for marriage.”

I felt myself blushing at the crudeness of his compliment. He then seemed to ignore me and turned to my mother to apologize for his clothing.

“I came on horseback,” he explained. “There is nothing I find quite as tedious as traveling in a carriage, especially on a fine summer day.”

The dances had ended and it was time for Mass. My mother had of course precedence over me, and the Baron should have led her into church, but my brother anticipated him. I was left behind with my cousin and had no choice but to put my hand on his when he offered it. Touching it made me cringe. The Marquis led my mother to the front pew, which was reserved for us, and took his place after her. The Baron and I followed. I had to sit between my brother and him. I arranged the skirts of my pink dress so that they would not touch him.

I had always liked the church of Thiézac, which was decorated inside in pinks, blues and greens, trimmed with gold. Painted statues of saints stood in every niche and corner. The altars were adorned with a multitude of white lilies to honour the Blessed Virgin. However, on that day, my thoughts were very little occupied by my surroundings or the pilgrimage of Our Lady of Consolation. I avoided looking at the Baron but keenly felt his presence next to me. I could not help breathing in his smell, mixed with the scent of the lilies and my own fragrance. At the end of the service, he saw us to our carriage and received from my mother a pressing invitation to call upon us, which was accepted with great cordiality.

I knew little about the Baron, beyond the fact that he was a distant cousin of both my late father and my mother, and a widower. I remembered my mother mentioning his wife’s death a few months earlier. At the time, the passing of an unknown relation had been of very little concern to me. I now regretted my lack of attention. As soon as we returned home, I hurried to the kitchen to question Joséphine.

“He’s very rich, dear,” she said. “He inherited the Cénac estate when his elder brother died. And he married a lady of great wealth. He lost her not too long ago, at the end of May, I think it was. His late wife, poor thing, passed away while giving birth, I think it was for the seventh time. Her infant son followed her the same day and they were buried together. All of the Baron’s children died in infancy. So now his heir is Monsieur de Laubrac, his first cousin.”

I knew by sight Monsieur de Laubrac, a young man, still single. All of this confirmed my fears. The Baron could afford to take a girl as penniless as I, and would be looking for a young, healthy bride to bear him a son. Joséphine smiled. “Who knows,” she said, “maybe you caught his fancy today.”

“I do not want him. He is old, for one thing.”

“Nonsense. He can’t be more than forty-five. That’s nothing when a man is in good health. I can’t think of a better match for you.”

For my part, I found the prospect of any intimacy with him unbearable. Even sitting by his side in church had been agony.

The next day, fresh from the impressions of Thiézac, I was leading Jewel to a meadow behind the château when I saw two men ride into the courtyard. I recognized Pierre-André’s elder brothers, the lawyer, Jean-Baptiste, and Pierre, the physician. My heart stopped for a minute. I hastened to take Jewel back to the stables and returned to the house. I ran to a spare bedroom that afforded a view of the courtyard and waited. After about ten minutes, I saw the brothers mount and leave. I tried in vain to read their expressions.

Then I heard an unexpected noise. A dispute had erupted between my brother and mother. Both of their voices were at their highest pitch, quivering with anger. The bedroom was right above the main drawing room, and I could feel the violence of the words they hurled at each other without understanding them. I was frozen with surprise, because I had never heard my brother raise his voice to our mother. She in turn reserved her barbs for the servants and me. Finally, one of the maids, a terrified look on her face, came to tell me that I was wanted downstairs. As I entered the drawing room, my mother and brother turned to me. Her eyes were red.

“So, Gabrielle,” said my brother, his jaw tight, “what have you been doing of late?”

“I do not know of what you are talking, Sir. I saw Messieurs Coffinhal leave a while ago, that is all.”

“And of course, you are unaware of the purpose of their visit?”

“I thought that maybe Maître Coffinhal had come here to discuss some legal matter with you, Sir, and that Mother had summoned the Doctor.”

“Are you telling me that you are ignorant of the offer of marriage that has just been made by those men?”

“I am.”

“Gabrielle, look at yourself when you lie.”

Foolishly, I obeyed and glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. My face was flushed.

“Pray tell me,” continued the Marquis, “how it is that their younger brother has the insolence to aspire to your hand? He is a country physician, a lawyer’s son, which is bad enough. But do you know what his paternal grandfather was? The lowest kind of commoner, a peasant from Pailherols, up in the mountains, a man who would not have dared address any of the Montserrats except on his knees. And now his grandson would marry my sister? How on earth did he conceive the idea?”

“I believe that he knows me by sight, Sir. I met him briefly at the cobbler’s shop.”

“So you want me to believe that a man in his right mind would seek the hand of a young lady he knows only by sight, without any encouragement from her family, as in one of your fairy tales?” The Marquis paused, his eyes narrowed. “Have
you
given him any encouragement?”

“Certainly not, Sir.”

“If you had, you would have done him no favours, for such a match is out of the question. I will never give you to a commoner. Never, do you hear me?” He glared at me. “As for you, Gabrielle, go to your room. There will be no more rides to Vic on your own. From now on, you will not stir from Fontfreyde unless accompanied by Mother or me.”

I returned upstairs, upset but not desperate. True, my brother seemed angry, but in time he might relent. I would, in the course of the next days, speak to him outside the presence of our mother. I would throw myself upon his mercy, confess everything and beg his forgiveness for lying to him. He loved me. His heart could not remain closed to me for long. I hoped that he had not been too blunt in his refusal and that the Coffinhal brothers could be convinced to renew their offer. I scrawled a note to Pierre-André to tell him not to lose hope and ask him to communicate with me through Joséphine. I went to the kitchen and begged her to have it sent to Vic.

She frowned when she read the direction. “Young Dr. Coffinhal? My goodness, is he a suitor of yours? Is that why his brothers came here today? No wonder Her Ladyship looked so upset.” She looked into the distance. “Remember, when you made me tell your fortune, the first card you drew, that Knight of Swords? You know, that man riding a black horse, his sword drawn.”

Indeed a few months earlier I had pestered and coaxed Joséphine until she had fetched her deck of tarot cards.

“Well,” she continued, “your young doctor puts me in mind of the Knight of Swords. He’s clever and resolute. He speaks well. He commands attention wherever he goes. But he can be arrogant, even cruel. Remember what I told you about the Knight: he spells doom for his enemies, and God knows he has many. And remember how he wields his sword, the sword of justice? He will show his foes no mercy, and receive none.”

“But you said yourself that the cards can be tricky, that they deceive us more often than not.” I kissed her. “Be good, dear Joséphine. Have my note delivered. Please.”

She thought for a minute and sighed. “All right,” she said. “But you’re a bad girl, and likely to cost me my place.”