Page 20 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Are you certain?” Gilles asked, pulling his hand back. “Your ankle is not twisted? You have no pain in your wrists?” She’d disappeared so quickly, she must have fallen hard.
Mademoiselle Daubin cocked her head. “No, Doctor, my ankles and wrists are well, as are my knees and elbows and most of the rest of me, though I have had the slightest case of sniffles the last week. Perhaps you might prescribe a tisane?”
Gilles ducked his head. “My apologies. I was simply concerned.”
“Yes, concerned about everyone else’s affairs, as a good Jacobin should be.” She switched the basket to her other arm and held it away from him as she squeezed between him and the altar. The sleeve of her redingote brushed against his arm. His breath stuttered for the briefest moment as he caught a whiff of her deep perfume. It was gone before he could deduce the scent.
“We are not so heartless as you think,mademoiselle.”
She met his gaze, fire snapping in her umber eyes. “And we are not so obtuse as you believe,monsieur.”
Many of the devoutroyalisteshe had met were idiotically set in their archaic ways. But here stood oneroyalistewho did not fit that description. She had applauded the efforts of the women’s march on Versailles, hadn’t she? Even though she disagreed with their actions. Could he bring himself to admit that some supporters of the monarchy were not complete imbeciles? He asked her to delay judgment on his fellows; surely he could offer her the same.
Mademoiselle Daubin rearranged the basket against her hip. “Thank you for allowing me a glimpse at my old sanctuary. I must deliver these purchases to my mother.”
“I thought you bought vinegar on Tuesday,” he said quickly as she turned away.
She scowled. “Tuesday?”
“Yes, my mother said she saw you and Madame Daubin buying vinegar on Tuesday.”
“Ah,oui.” Her grip tightened on the handle of the basket, her knuckles turning white. “We did meet your mother.C’est vrai. She is a very lovely person.” A waver crept into her voice. “I would not have guessed she was related to you.”
Gilles raised his eyebrows. He’d caught her at something. “You bought vinegar Tuesday, but you needed more on Saturday.”
“Our cook dropped the bottles.”
“What a mess, I am sure,” he said, shaking his head. What was she up to? “Might I escort you home? It is getting late.”
“Non, c’est gentil. My manservant is waiting at the carriage. I have stayed too long. Good evening,monsieur.” She hastened away from him, as though he’d told her thesans-culotteswere coming. The still-open door lit her flight, and sunset’s dying glow cast her shadow long and slender across the floor of the nave. At the threshold she paused, then darted into the darkening dusk.
Gilles turned slowly and wandered over to the candlesticks at the altar. Every encounter he’d had with that lady ended rather strangely. He blew out the first candle, then moved to the next. How odd she’d acted after falling, like a cabin boy trying to cover the fact that he’d upended the captain’s coffee pot.
He went down on one knee to examine the floor in the light of the remaining candle. Feeling along the floor with his hand, he found nothing protruding that would have caught her foot. Unless she’d tripped over the corner of the altar, but she’d been too far from that. Gilles rested his chin in his hand and scanned the area once more. Perhaps she had just misstepped.
Time to close the church and return for dinner. He grasped the edge of the altar to pull himself up and glanced once more at the corner where he’d hidden the book.
It was gone.
Gilles bent and felt for the book. Nothing. He could have sworn ... A grin split across his face as understanding dawned. That little thief! She’d snatched up the book under the guise of an overly dramatic fall. He righted himself and planted his hands on the altar. Quiet laughter bubbled up within him.
He should report her. Theft from the state was nothing amusing. He watched the door, wishing for a moment she would reenter so he could tease her. Had she come here to take something in an act of defiance againstla patrie?
With a puff of air intensified by his laugh, he blew out the remaining candle on the altar and made his way to snuff out the others scattered around the church. He would not report Mademoiselle Daubin. Plenty ofrévolutionnaireshad pillaged this and other churches with more malicious intent. But he would not miss the next opportunity to take the upper hand in his dealings with that frustratingly obstinatemademoiselle.
2 June 1792
Marseille
Ma cousine,
I have done it! And under the nose of none other than Gilles Étienne. That in and of itself makes this victory all the sweeter nicer. (Also, I shall never use the wordsweetagain.) But heavens above, I have lied once more. If Père Franchicourt is ever found and chased from the country, my soul shall be in grave danger.
Most of the furniture has been taken from Saint-Cannat, and all images and statues of holy saints desecrated. But heaven smiled on my efforts. As I searched the altar, I found a shelf at the back of it with a little missal someone had overlooked. I feigned tripping and scooped it hurriedly into my basket. As I sought to escape without calling Monsieur Étienne’s attention to the book, he pointed out that the bottles I carried had been purchased earlier in the week. I had to run from the church to keep my secret.
But Sylvie, he did not discover my mission, and as I write, the book is sitting on my desk ready to take to Père Franchicourt. I should feel remorse for lying to Gilles about Cook breaking the previous bottles; however, I feel only satisfied pride. I’m sure I will regret it later, but for this moment I thoroughly enjoy the sentiment.
Father has been silent over the course of the week. More so than usual. It cannot stem from politics, since the only recent change has been the call for deportation of the clergy, which he cares little about. He and Émile parted on calm—if not speaking—terms last week, which is decidedly better than how they parted the week before. We do not expect to see my brother in the next month as he continues his studies, which will allow the embers to further cool. I can only conclude something has happened with thesavonnerieorparfumerie. Maman does not see anything amiss, but then she rarely inquires. She would rather continue in ignorance than suffer the nervousness.
