MV02 Death Wears a Crown (11 page)

* * *

Lamplighters were making their nightly rounds by the time Victoire returned to her house. She was worn out, her back and feet were aching, but her mind was filled with a variety of notions that held her attention and doomed her to an evening of restlessness as she struggled to make sense of all she had gleaned in a day of reports and interviews.

Odette had made them a supper of thin-sliced liver cooked quickly in wine and bacon-grease with shallots and mustard. As she served it, she apologized. “It should be something grander, I know, but the cost—”

Victoire held up her hand. “I am very pleased with your economies, Odette, and you have no reason to be ashamed of this fare. I am sure my father had such food all through his youth, and my mother as well. Besides, my physician has said that liver is useful to women seeking to ... to get pregnant.” She cut a sliver for herself; since the meat had been cooked quickly it was quite tender. “I am certain I will enjoy this. And we will save the joints of beef and rolls of pork for when there are guests who expect fancier fare.”

Odette sighed. “You are kind to say so, Madame Vernet, but I cannot like having to feed us as if we were all peasants.” She looked around the kitchen. “Just as it is not fitting for us to have the meal here.”

“But it is sensible,” said Victoire, who was not nearly so displeased with the arrangement as Odette was. “We do not have to squander wood to heat the dining room, we need not bother with two sets of dishes, and we have the opportunity to converse, which is the most useful of all.”

“If only things were not so expensive,” said Odette quietly.

“I share your qualms,” Victoire admitted. “When I look at what Vernet is paid and the money I inherited, and then realize the demands made on it, I despair. I think if my mother had not enjoined her diamond earrings and tiara to be sold only to preserve the life of one of my children ... not that I have any to save as yet.” She quickly dismissed that thought. “And my father’s will left a trust to his grandchildren, as well. There is no way to break it until I have reached the grand climacteric without living children, which is many years away.”

“Madame!” said Odette, embarrassed at so personal a revelation.

“Ah, pay no mind; I am only thinking aloud. I don’t intend to impose on you.” She reached to pull out her chair. “Come. I’m tired and hungry, and this food will end one of those two.”

“I suppose that is true,” said Odette.

Victoire indicated the two other chairs in the kitchen. “Draw one of those up and let us have this excellent supper.”

Odette realized that she had been outmaneuvered. “If you insist, Madame.”

“What do you think I have been doing these last five minutes?” she asked with a laugh. “Pour some of that red wine, too, the plain, not the fancy. Save the best bottles for company. We will have the Saint-Etienne.” She took one of the good-sized rolls and broke it in half. “And tomorrow, let us have that good bean soup, with the minced ham in it. I am very fond of it.”

“If it is what you want, Madame Vernet,” said Odette carefully, for she was aware that the main attraction of the soup was that it was inexpensive and very filling.

“Soldiers’ food for soldiers’ wives,” said Victoire, cutting more liver. “Pour the wine and sit down.”

In the corner the kitchen cat gnawed on a slice of liver, purring and growling at once.

“The cat has killed two rats this week, and several mice; I have rewarded him,” said Odette as if to defend the animal.

“Every kitchen needs a cat,” said Victoire, and grinned in the direction of the large tortoise-shell tom. “I suspect he is as good a guardian as a dog could be.” She paused for just an instant, remembering whom the last dog she had seen had bitten. “Please, Odette, sit.”

This time Odette did as told. As a small token of defiance, she did not remove her apron, and was shocked when she saw that Victoire did not care. “Was it a difficult day, Madame?”

“Yes, but it was fruitful,” said Victoire, giving every sign of enjoying her supper. “I had quite a long talk with Berthier, and he has not reassured me at all. He is very nearly convinced that I have a point in my concerns, and since Egypt he has occasionally been willing to give my warnings serious consideration. I have laid it all out before him, with my reasons for my apprehension. Between the file missing from the Ministry of Public Safety and what I have learned today, I am beginning to fear that these spies have aid in very high places. And that troubles me.”

Odette stared at her. “When you say that the spies have aid, do you mean that there are men in the government who are helping them?”

“Yes, I am coming to think there must be.” She leaned back. “Consider how matters stand: these spies must have reached Paris by now, if Paris is their destination. Yet they have not struck yet, which means that they are not here to strike at random, but have certain specific plans. Which must mean that they have people in Paris who are helping them. And in order to protect their actions, at least one of those people must be high enough to—”

“To lose files, and give misleading information!” said Odette, who had caught the direction of Victoire’s notions.

“That is how it appears to me,” said Victoire. “And I am trying to sort out who in the government would seek to aid such men as these spies must be. General Moreau should be beyond question. He is one of the most honored of our generals. And now he claims to have never seen the missing file. It would mean little if they were aided by Royalists, for most of them are known and their activities watched. So it does not seem likely that any of the Royalists would be able to perform the necessary tasks to misdirect official attention.” She took a long sip of wine. “Therefore I must conclude that the spies have other supporters, men of power who have the ability to do the things the spies require in such a way that no comment is made.”

“And the missing file?” asked Odette.

“That is clumsy, if it is truly part of the scheme.” Victoire shook her head. “And it gives me to wonder if there is more than one person in the government who has made common cause with these English spies. If I knew to what end, I would be more able to assess the peril.” She gestured her frustration, flinging her napkin halfway across the kitchen. “I haven’t enough information, and if I make too many surmises, I risk overlooking pertinent clues.” She had confided as much to Berthier while she was with him, and had had the satisfaction of obtaining his promise to keep her informed of any irregular conduct of the men around him.

“Then what more can you do?” asked Odette, eating with less gusto than Victoire.

“I don’t know. I have to think about it,” Victoire answered. “Perhaps when my husband returns he and I will be able to work it out between us.” She resolutely put the matter out of her thoughts. “More to the point, however, is what we are going to do about the ball given by the Swedes at the end of next week.”

“Is it essential that you go, Madame Vernet?” asked Odette.

“Now that Bernadotte and his wife have called on me, I don’t see how I can refuse. It would be rude beyond anything to say that I cannot attend the Swedish ball when Bernadotte is their protégé. And that means doing something about one of my gowns. I cannot afford a new one, but if I purchase cloth for a new slip—a satin, perhaps—we can take one of the other robes and furbish it up somehow, can’t we?”

“I suppose so,” said Odette uncertainly, who had already helped Victoire to refashion more than four frocks to appear new.

“There may be something in my mother’s trunks. They are in the attic, aren’t they? If we look through them, we may come across something we can use.” Victoire had another bit of wine. “Those dresses of hers are more than twenty years out of fashion but if we choose carefully, we may be able to use the fabrics, at least.”

“It seems as if we are robbing the dead,” said Odette sadly.

Victoire shared her uncertainty. “I know, I know, Odette. But it is how things are. With the carpenter wanting payment for repairing the windows and the staircase, I cannot find the money to purchase new ballgowns. I have already given up the hope of anything new for the Grand Reception, which is going to annoy Vernet when he learns of it. But it was rotted window frames or new gowns. So let us plan to raid my mother’s chests.” She felt the cat butt his head against her leg, and she reached down to scratch his head.

“We will do whatever we can. If you can find satin in a color you do not usually wear, that would help,” said Odette, doing her best to make reasonable suggestions. “A rose, perhaps, or even a puce, if it—”

“Not puce,” said Victoire emphatically. “I look as if I have succumbed to sunstroke in puce. But you may be right about a rose. I have not worn that shade very often—I do not think pale hair goes well with rose; it is a color for women with dark hair and pale skin—but it may be possible to find a color that will not make me look like a country milk-maid.”

“There is a mercer at Saint-Sulpice, and occasionally he has very good fabrics for far less than you would pay for the same on the other side of the Seine.” She pursed her lips. “I will go with you tomorrow morning, if that suits you.”

“Yes, it does,” said Victoire, who disliked shopping intensely, and never more than when she had to be so frugal. “I am most grateful for your help, Odette, and I realize that you deserve more than my thanks for this service.”

Odette blushed. “If you had not employed me, Madame Vernet, I do not like to think what would have happened to me. I could not go back to my family, for they cannot provide for my brothers and sisters. My husband’s family lost everything in the Revolution; he told you that before he died. So I would have been without any means if you—” She broke off. “All my brothers save the oldest have had to leave home and seek their fortunes. Two have gone to America, and I do not think we will ever see them again. There is only land and money enough for my oldest brother at home.”

“And the others have gone to the army,” said Victoire.

“Against my father’s wishes,” said Odette. “His dislike of the First Consul grows fiercer every day. He has declared that if France is to have a king, it had better be a proper Bourbon and not a Corsican upstart.” She stared down at her hands as if her father’s opinions might have stuck to her.

“Many another shares his sentiments,” said Victoire. “I heard two men in the street today, and they were both decrying the opulence of Napoleon’s court. The two men claimed that the Revolution had done nothing but brought a new crew of luxurious pirates to the throne.” She coughed gently. “There are such complaints everywhere. I have heard that there was a small uprising in Normandy, not a month ago, of Normans seeking to restore the king to power.”

“My father was not a revolutionary, but he said that the king had forgotten the people and his fate was because of that omission. Now he says that Napoleon is worse than the kings ever were, for the kings of France kept to France and did not career all over Europe in search of glory, but were content to summon glory to them.” Odette sighed in confusion. “I have tried to reason with him, but he never listens to what women say. All he wishes to hear is that I have found another husband.”

Victoire knew enough of Odette’s past that this recitation could no longer shock her, but rather than being relieved, she felt responsibility more keenly. “If I knew of a suitable man, Odette, you may be certain that I would—”

“I know, Madame Vernet, and I thank you for your concern. There are other employers who would be at pains to keep men away from me, so that I would continue as housekeeper.” She lifted her chin. “My sister works for one such; only two weeks ago she complained of it to me when she was allowed to visit for the afternoon. I did not know how to advise her. She sees men only at church, and then with an escort of other servants. But she has her sights on advancement by marrying the chef or the butler.”

“Your sister is not very wise,” said Victoire.

“Still,” said Odette, “what else is she to do?”

For once Victoire had no answer, and so she changed the subject. “How are we to deal with the demands on officers when the costs of these functions continue to multiply.”

“We will think of something,” said Odette, deliberately echoing Victoire’s determined optimism.

* * *

In the mirror Victoire’s reflection was slightly blurred due to the age of the glass. She took a step back and surveyed the ballgown she wore, her eyes narrowing critically to detect any obvious signs of refurbishment. The slip was long, falling from the high waist in thick folds of peau de soie in a color between rose and lilac called “Whispers.” The robe over it was of heavy silver Belgian lace edged in silver and gold beading in a leaf pattern that was repeated in the silken shawl she wore over her shoulders. The silver velvet corsage was also beaded, and the lace tulip sleeves were lined in satin. Old-fashioned diamond drops hung from her ears, and a small tiara fronted the elaborate knot of fair curls on the crown of her head. She wore long white gloves and wished that she had a bracelet to clasp around one wrist, for as it was the gloves served only to indicate the scarcity of her jewels.

“It is very elegant, Madame Vernet,” said Odette, who had buttoned her into the dress. “I don’t think anyone would recognize what you have done. The lace is unusual, but I don’t suppose anyone would suspect it came from your mother’s old petticoat.”

“I hope not,” said Victoire earnestly. She reached up and adjusted the tiara, thinking to herself as she did that if there were no condition on her inheritance of it, it would be the next of her heirlooms to go, and the last of any significant value. As it was, she would be able to wear them until they were passed to her daughter.

“That ballgown of your mother’s was very useful. All that silver lace, and the velvet.” Odette had helped Victoire cut up the wide-skirted dress and the elaborate lace petticoats, and together they had pieced them into the lace robe and velvet corsage where the beading concealed much of the odd assembly they had done. “They don’t make much of that style of lace anymore, do they?”