Page 27 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Idle flattery?Mademoiselle, do not discount my sincerity.”
“Marie-Caroline?” a voice rumbled through the cracked door of Monsieur Daubin’s office.
“I’ve found him, Papa,” she said, walking quickly away. “He will bring the report directly.”
Gilles raced for his desk. “You see, Père?” he said under his breath. “I am every bit the gentleman.” And even though he could almost hear his father’s disbelieving chuckle, neither Père’s presence in his mind nor Martel’s presence in the office could ruin this morning.
19 June 1792
Marseille
ChèreSylvie,
Émile has returned after nearly a month away, and he is as smug and apt to put on airs as ever. I do not know what sort of indoctrination he experiences at Montpellier, but it has rendered him impervious to reason. It is as though he has returned solely to argue with Papa. Classes at the university have not paused that we know of, and yet he told us he is here for the entire week.
I shall not attend mass this week, so as not to alert him. Perhaps if our fine National Assembly had not made all nonjuring priests equivalent to enemies of the state, I would not worry so. But Émile is the sort ofrévolutionnairewho would gleefully search out a clergyman for deportation just to distinguish himself as a true patriot. I can only hope that our supposed backwardness will drive him mad and he will leave before Sunday morning. I do not need another instance of practically leading a Jacobin to Père Franchicourt’s door, as you will remember from my letter Sunday last.
As to your question in your previous letter, I insist I have never sought out the company of either Étienne brother, and I wish you to never again suggest that I have. It is inevitable, with Gilles working for my father, that I will see him regularly. And while he is not so monstrous as I thought on first impression, the idea of establishing any sort of preference to his company is preposterous.
You are the only person in the world privy to the knowledge that I do know how it feels to be in love and to form an attachment. I can assure you most passionately that I have formed no attachment and never will form an attachment with a rakish pig who considers stealing kisses from unsuspecting young women a sport to place bets upon. As surprisingly civil and generous as he has been on our last few meetings, I cannot forget our first meeting. Come, Sylvie. You know me better than to assume such things.
I worry for your safety. Even with a staff so loyal to our cause, you take an enormous risk housing the clergymen you do. I don’t think Papa would ever allow us to do something so dangerous. He shuns anything that could affect the success of thesavonnerieandparfumerie. More so now than before I left for Paris, but it is to be expected. With so many aristocrats fleeing the nation and everyone else parading their humble circumstances, reality or no, who has desire for fine soaps and perfumes these days? I have begun to fear that in the twelvemonth our family’s situation will not look the same as it does now.
Moments after Gilles entered his room, freshly arrived from a workday that seemed neverending, Maxence rapped on the door. Gilles sank onto his bed and inhaled deeply before calling, “Come in.” Maxence had surely heard his footsteps on the stairs, or Gilles would have pretended not to be there. He did not want to see anyone or anything except his bed just now. Luc Hamon, one of the best workers at thesavonnerie, despite hissans-culottesallegiance, had not come to the factory that day, leaving one of the cauldrons shorthanded and sending Monsieur Daubin in a strange panic.
Gilles pulled one arm out of the sleeve of his jacket.
“Keep it on,” Maxence said, motioning with his head toward the door. “There’s a Jacobin meeting atla rue duThubaneau.”
“That isn’t my club.” Gilles paused in his undressing. “Saint-Cannat meets Saturday evenings.”
“There’s a missive from Barbaroux. They’re reading it at the meeting.”
“Barbaroux?” He was a young politician from Marseille, currently serving as a member of the National Assembly in Paris. “Who told you?”
“There are manyMontpellierainshere this week.” Maxence’s fellow university students, no doubt. Shirking their studies for a bit of revolutionary excitement.
Gilles winced. What was he thinking? That thought could have come straight from ... He cleared his throat. Aroyaliste. But of course not any specific femaleroyalistewith dark eyes and a quizzical stare.
He stuffed his arm back in his jacket sleeve.La rue duThubaneau was a street nearby. Just a little ways past Saint-Cannat and not so far as thesavonnerie.
“I will go to see what it is about,” Gilles said. “Did you tell Maman?”
Maxence smirked. “Why does she need to know? We are grown men.”
They were still her sons living in her house. “I will find her quickly, and then we may go.” Gilles rose, adjusting the collar of his jacket.
Maman said she would save their dinner, and Gilles hadn’t the heart to tell her Maxence would most likely head to a café after the meeting. When they finally left the house, the two brothers walked on in silence through the greying streets. A gull sailed lazily overhead, evidence of their proximity to the harbor. A harbor both Gilles and Maxence avoided at all costs.
“Where was Père sailing this time?” Gilles asked.
Maxence shrugged one shoulder. “Malta?”
If it were Malta, he would be back again soon. Gilles pursed his lips. He did not want to see his father’s face again for a long time. Their conversation from the night Père left continued to gnaw at him. His father had been right, but his sympathetic thoughts on women contrasted sharply with his lack of sympathy shown on their last voyage together.
When they arrived at number 11rue duThubaneau, the main room of the apartment was filled from wall to wall. The gentlemen, more young than old, wore the elegantly simplistic dress that had gained popularity among therévolutionnaires. A few wore the red liberty caps of thesans-culottes. And there was, of course, not a pair of breeches in the room. Only trousers. Breeches were a symbol of the upper class.
Émile waved them over to the back corner. He enthusiastically shook Maxence’s hand, then nodded toward the opposite side of the room. A soft white cap peeked through the shadowy doorway.
