Finding Emilie (24 page)

Woman is born free and everywhere she is in corsets, she thought with a rueful smile. I’ll tell him that’s what he should have said, if I ever see him again.

Delphine had shut her eyes and her head was beginning to bob with the onset of sleep. Maman’s breathing was light and her jaw was slack. Lili felt suddenly overwhelmed with such love for both of them that she wanted to take them in her arms, to gather them up and fly right through the roof of the coach, off to someplace where—

Where what? Had she come to accept what Rousseau had written? On this grim December morning, hurtling toward a destiny she had not chosen, she thought she probably had. A perfect révérence and swing of her panniers wouldn’t bring Lili anything she really wanted, but she had succumbed to such demands anyway.

Delphine moaned in her sleep. I’m not her, Lili thought. I can’t be. She will get through this ordeal and go off into the future like Comète trailing stars. But me …?

She had still not had a chance to ask Maman any of the questions Baronne Lomont had been unwilling to address. My mother lived as lovers with Voltaire for years? How did that happen? Why did it end? And I still don’t understand why my father doesn’t care about me. I’m sixteen, and he’s had time to get over his grief. If that awful Monsieur de
Barras will remarry before too long, why can’t my father lay eyes on me? Can a general be that much of a coward?

Monsieur de Barras. A new wave of fears swept over her. Was the baroness going to try to force a marriage on her? Would Jacques-Mars Courville come to Versailles to make her pay for the embarrassment at Vaux-le-Vicomte? Lili shuddered at a vision of Anne-Mathilde’s smirking face. “It will be so much fun to have friends at Versailles,” Joséphine reported her as saying, but Lili knew about Anne-Mathilde’s idea of fun.

She rubbed her forehead, pinching the skin between her brows as if to will all her thoughts into retreat. “What am I going to do?” she whispered, leaning back and letting the hard frame of the coach seat pummel her spine. Jacques-Mars was not the only kind of man she would need to keep at arm’s length. He would come away with no fingers at all if he tried to bother her, but Baronne Lomont had a far stronger hold. Could Maman stop her from locking Lili in a cage with someone as awful as Robert de Barras, like a bird with clipped wings, mated for life?

There must be a way to fight all this. An image of her mother’s portrait formed in her mind. What would she do? She had once been in the situation Lili now faced. She must have made her révérence before the queen, flicked her train just so, smiled properly, and done everything else required by her rank.

Play your role. Go along with what you can’t change. That would be part of her mother’s answer, Lili was sure. Emilie du Châtelet had done just that—gotten married, had children, managed the household.

And then she had gone off to live with Voltaire.

Lili felt goose bumps on her arms, as if cold winter air had been let into the coach by an invisible spirit who had opened the door and was now settling in next to her. Start what you can. Follow through. Live the life you set in motion, without looking back.

An idea came into her head as clearly as if it had been whispered in her ear. Publish Meadowlark.

Everything made sense. “An author?” she could picture Monsieur de Barras saying. “No wife of mine would consider such a thing.” One problem solved, but how many others would she create? I don’t care, Lili thought, exhilarated by the feel of the road thundering under her. Perhaps someone would want her for her work, for her mind, for her learning, as Voltaire had wanted her mother.

Someone will. Have faith in yourself.

“Maman?” she whispered as softly as she could, wanting to share with Julie the news of her decision. To her disappointment, Maman did not stir. Lili leaned back, her mind whirling. She needed a pen name to protect herself. Monsieur Diderot and Maman had played with the letters in her name. What could she come up with? Stanislas-Adélaïde had far too many letters. Châtelet. Le chat. Tellechat. That’s it. “Tellechat,” she whispered.

You can do it all, she told herself. She could go to Versailles and be charming. She could get through it with enough grace and wit to win the only victory she needed, which was to go home afterward and be done with it. Go home and see what happens next.

Paris—
17 August 1734—

My dearest Voltaire,

Can you really be so cruel as to go for a week without writing? Do you not realize I live for contact with you? Your letter for my husband arrived yesterday, and nothing in the same post for me? Am I to settle for a casual remark that you send your regards? You must think that because I live so much in my mind, I have none of the feelings of a woman. You should be most ashamed if you saw how bitterly I weep, and how I comb your old letters in search of reassurances that you do love me. Yesterday at a salon I lost a frightening sum playing faro—all because fears of being displaced in your heart made me inattentive. Since I rarely lose a sou, I became the subject of the most unpleasant campaign of whispers, and had to stay far longer than I wished, simply to prove I didn’t care what they were saying. Surely you must know what kind of toll such things take on me.

My most cherished and beloved Voltaire, I want nothing more than to remain in your heart if not, for now, in your arms. There are so many women and—dare I say—men who crave your companionship, and you are so fond of adulation that I fear every minute that your head is being turned against me. I shall be waiting for a satisfactory letter from you by return post. Please do not break the heart that yearns only for you.

Your suffering but devoted,
Emilie

1765

T
HE QUEEN’S
chambers were bathed in bloodred light, casting murky shadows across the faces of the ladies-in-waiting, making their eyes hollow, black pits. “Move,” a voice behind Lili said, pushing her forward. The women’s mouths formed incomprehensible phrases that they whispered back and forth with mechanical jerks of their heads.

Beneath Lili’s feet the floor pitched and bucked, but she managed to make it to the queen’s chair. “You’ve forgotten to dress,” a woman as thin as a skeleton said. Feeling a sudden rush of cold air, Lili looked down. She was in her dressing gown, and though she clutched it to her, it kept flapping open, revealing a thin chemise and her bare legs underneath.

“Leave my sight immediately!” the queen screeched. “And turn around properly when you go, or I’ll have you thrown in prison!” Lili spun in wild, dizzying circles until all of a sudden she was yanked to a stop by a foot holding down the hem of her skirt.

“You can’t escape!” Anne-Mathilde shrieked at her with her mouth wide open, like a gargoyle looking down from the roof of Notre-Dame. Lili’s clothing tore away as she broke free, running with feet so heavy she hardly moved at all.

She sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Through the window of her quarters at Versailles, she could see the sky lightening. She got up and went to the adjoining room to see if Delphine was awake. The
bed curtains were closed, but on a table just outside was a basin from which emanated the harsh smell of vomit.

Lili peeked through the curtain at a sleeping Delphine before going back to her room. She put on a robe and sat at the desk, still trembling from her nightmare. Maybe writing will calm me down, she thought. She got out some paper and tapped the excess ink from the quill:

Meadowlark and Tom pushed open the door to a house in Uruguay. Inside a family sat, bound to chairs with ropes of gold. Over their laps were draped silver chains so heavy they could not move their legs.

“Who tied you up?” Meadowlark asked.

“We did,” the man said. “We have to stay here all day doing nothing, just to show we’re not working.”

Lili dipped her quill, shaking her head with an amused sniff before continuing.

Just then two young servants came in. “Who are you?” Meadowlark asked. “And why aren’t you tied up too?”

“We have work to do. And besides, we’re not wealthy enough to have gold rope and silver chains. You need those to be properly tied up, don’t you?”

“And if you have them, you need to show them off,” the chained woman tried to explain. “What good are chains if they’re locked in a drawer?”

A little girl with a silk bag over her head was squirming in her chair. “I want to get up and walk around,” she said. “I want to go outside.”

Lili heard footsteps and looked up. Delphine was standing in the doorway rubbing her eyes. “Is it time to get ready?” she asked. “I hope I’m through being sick to my stomach. I can’t put on my dress
if I’m going to throw up on it, but I don’t suppose I have much left anyway. I was up half the night.”

“Me too,” Lili said. “When I came in you were asleep. I saw your basin and was worried about you.”

“I’m just so terrified of ruining everything,” Delphine said. “I shouldn’t have gone on and on in my head about how wonderful everything was going to be.” She sat down on a daybed near Lili. “What are you doing?”

“Writing a story. I’ll finish it later.”

“Can you write my way out of this?” Delphine tried to smile.

“I think I’m writing my own. It’s pure foolishness what we have to do. It has nothing to do with anything even slightly important.”

Delphine took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s important because it’s the rules.” Lost in thought, she picked at tiny pieces of lint clinging to her dressing gown. “Remember those drawings we saw of the women in Africa who carried huge pots on their heads? Maybe men won’t marry women who aren’t good at it, and African girls throw up in the night worrying about their pots tumbling to the ground.”

Lili smiled. “I imagine it’s always something.” She looked down at her notebook. “Remember when Monsieur Diderot wanted to publish my stories and I said no? Well, I’ve changed my mind, but you mustn’t say anything to anyone. Except Maman, of course.”

Delphine clapped her hands in excitement. “I always thought it would be fun to see Meadowlark and Tom in the paper, and now we will—that is, if we live through today.” Her face darkened again. “I hope Meadowlark meets Anne-Mathilde someday. That little viper wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Lili thought for a moment. “Rousseau says that when society is deformed, people accept deformity in order to fit in. Not that I’m excusing Anne-Matilde, but I think some of what I feel for her—just a little—is pity.”

“We don’t have to turn out like her,” Delphine said. “She chooses to be horrid, and I don’t pity her at all.” She pulled up her
knees under her gown and patted it in place over them. “Since you’re going to publish it, can I hear your new story first?”

“I thought you’d outgrown Meadowlark.”

“I was stupid.” She pointed to the vacant space next to her. “Please?”

Lili sat down. Pulling up her own legs next to Delphine’s, she rested the foolscap sheets on her thighs. “It’s set in Uruguay,” she began.

Absentmindedly working her fingers through her tangled hair, Delphine listened with a melancholy expression. “No more Spider Kings,” she said when Lili finished. “Your stories have grown up too.”

“No more Spider Kings,” Lili repeated. “Life on earth is frightening enough.”

Delphine didn’t seem to hear. “I had this wild urge to jump out the window last night,” she said, standing up.

“You would have been killed!” Lili put her hand to her mouth. “Or was that the idea?”

“No. I just wanted to escape, like that girl in your story. I guess I thought anything else would be better than going through today. But I suppose it’s best to get on with things.” She thought for a moment before leaning down to kiss Lili on the top of the head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me ready to go meet the queen. I can’t believe after all these years, Meadowlark is still coming to the rescue.”

LILI AND DELPHINE
paused in the foyer just outside the queen’s apartment. Julie gave them one last inspection and, just for something to do, brushed a nonexistent stray hair away from each girl’s face.