Page 13 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“A man named Guillotin oversaw its development. It is simply a blade that drops to sever the convict’s neck.” Maxence brought his hand down sharply against the side table. Glasses resting on the table sloshed at the loud smack, and Mademoiselle Poulin jumped. “No need to bribe the executioner for a clean cut. It is quick, efficient, and humane.”
“Barbaric, rather,” an even voice said.
The rustle of silk announced Mademoiselle Daubin’s arrival. She handed a cup of tea to Mademoiselle Poulin, whose face had taken on a pallid hue at the mention of executions. “Would anyone else like some tea to go with their conversation ofla guillotine?”
Maxence and Émile shook their heads, and Gilles held up his still-full glass. The young lady did not move to return to the cart for her own cup of tea.
“Have you come to reprimand our lowly Jacobinism and preachroyalistetruths?” Émile asked.
“Mais non,” his sister said, pulling over a chair and setting it in the middle of them. She sat regally and arranged the skirts of her lavender and white gown. “Maman insisted I socialize.”
“Then tell us,mademoiselle,” Maxence said, leaning forward, “how regulating executions to give no preference for birth or fortune is barbaric.” His leering expression made Gilles glance toward Mademoiselle Daubin. Maxence had met her before. Surely he remembered her sharp tongue. Did he think this would be an easy fight? Gilles had no way to warn him to back down.
“As I am the only one in this party who has seen this new machine, I can tell you it is shocking. Unless the Assembly plans to execute large numbers of people in a very short amount of time, it is unneeded. To put so much effort into the science of execution is, yes, barbaric.”
The young men exchanged knowing glances. A woman’s sensibility, and a sheltered woman’s sensibility at that. Gilles set his glass beside him on the windowsill. This conversation would only get more interesting with Émile in a fighting mood and his sister always ready to spar.
“You have seen it?” Mademoiselle Poulin squeaked. “In action? Was it very terrible?”
“I only saw it cut the cabbages used for demonstration. But my cousin’s maid saw when they executed a highwayman. She said the ease of it was horrific.”
“What do you suggest to execute enemies of the state, then?” Gilles asked, too late remembering he had committed to not engage Mademoiselle Daubin in conversation after his sound defeats in previous encounters.
“I do not think it necessary to execute enemies of the state since I do not have confidence in the Assembly’s method for determining true traitors.” She sat with her hands folded in her lap, as though they were discussing an unclear passage of Rousseau rather than a killing machine.
“I suppose you also look down on studying the science of war,” Maxence said. He leaned farther forward, his target for the evening forgotten. “Would you have us kneel before our enemies and offer France to them on a gilded platter?”
“I do not know our enemies care much for what is left of France. They only wish for stability in the region.”
“What is left of France?” Émile cried.
Maxence’s nostrils flared.
“Yes, what is left of France,” Mademoiselle Daubin said. “How do you not see it? France is in tatters. Your glorious revolution has left us no closer to stability than we were before. Have the bread riots stopped?Pas du tout. The French people are still hungry. There is constant battle in your National Assembly.” She set her attention on Gilles, as though daring him to join the mêlée. “I beg you, tell me how the country has improved since the Third Estate took control.”
Gilles was not about to get involved. Maxence’s eloquence far outweighed his own. He gripped the sill of the window, hoping Maxence had a good rebuttal. Of course things were better with the common people in charge of the country.
“France is in tatters because she still has an incompetent king,” Maxence said, nearly coming out of his chair. “The Jacobins will reweavela patrieinto a tapestry the likes of which has never been seen in Europe since the fall of Rome. But we must first dispose of a king who could not care less for the people he governs.”
“You don’t know that,” Mademoiselle Daubin said softly.
Gilles snorted. They knew very well. Louis had tried to flee the country. What king with any love for his people would run when they needed him most?
Émile’s head lolled back. “Caroline! Hold your tongue, or you could be labeled the next enemy of state.”
They called her Caroline? That was odd. Most people with names like hers went by their first, not their second name.
“Ah,oui. I forgot you Jacobins prefer your women silent.” She waved a hand dismissively, as though she’d forgotten her brother hated sugar in his tea.
Gilles flinched at the barbed jest. She had quite the cynical view of her brother and his friends. “I would not say—” he began, but Maxence overrode him.
“Why is a woman such as yourself so concerned in these matters?” He now sat back casually in his chair, a sneer on his face, and folded his hands across his smart red waistcoat. Despite his distinctly more fashionable clothing, he reminded Gilles of Père’s condescending attitude. Except for the unruly curls, Maxence was a near copy of their father in both looks and mannerisms. “This is a work for men.”
Mademoiselle Daubin lazily traced the embroidered flowers on her white skirt with a finger. “That is not what the Jacobins said after the market women stormed Versailles. In fact, I recall your precious Robespierre lauding their efforts, as no man had succeeded in bringing the king’s court to Paris yet.”
Maxence settled back into his seat, chuckling. “Monsieur Maillard led those women. If he had not been at their head, the entire campaign would have been a disaster. His name will be remembered in history for it, not any of those women’s.”
“Are you defending revolutionary women, Mademoiselle Daubin?” Gilles asked with a grin. A little teasing would dispel the intensity of the conversation.
