“Please excuse me,” the soldier with the braid said, not bothering to look at Élisabeth as he floated towards Jeanne Roy. Élisabeth gaped as he offered the witch his arm. Within a moment they started to take a turn around the room.
“I thought he did not want a wife,” Élisabeth said.
“I expect he cannot help himself,” Francoeur mused. “She is a great beauty.”
“So you say,” Élisabeth sniffed, feeling oddly slighted. “Although few are so callous as to rank one woman to another’s face.”
“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I should have saidyouare a great beauty as well. You are a true flower—”
“Stop.” Élisabeth held up her hand. “I do not seek your flattery.” This farce had gone on long enough. She had to extricate herself and find a way to speak to Jeanne Roy alone.
The witch and Grandbois had stopped by the farthest window, away from the other brides. They were deep in conversation; Grandbois seemed to hang on Jeanne Roy’s every word.Foolish woodsman.
“I meant what I said, though,” Francoeur persisted. “You are very beautiful.”
“It does you no credit to continue like this,” she said firmly, taking a step away from him. “I am not moved by overblown compliments. I meant what I said. I am not seeking a husband.”
“Is it only the overblown compliments that vex you, or would you accept more middling praise?” The soldier’s face was solemn, but his lips quivered with a hint of mischief. “What if I said you were merely passably pretty?”
Unbidden, a smile started at the corners of her mouth. She tried to fight it with a frown but failed, and had to hide her face with her hand. Why did thesandy-haired soldier make her want to laugh? She glanced over to the other side of the room. She was stunned to see that the woodsman had taken the witch by the hand.
“Excuse me,” she said to the soldier. She turned to cross the room, desperate to reach Jeanne Roy. Lou instantly blocked her passage.
“Lili! Come meet Jambon,” she said. “Bring your beau and come meet mine.”
“He’s not my beau,” Élisabeth said irritably. She glanced at the sandy-haired soldier and then quickly away. He shrugged as Élisabeth untangled herself from Lou, edging towards Jeanne and the woodsman. They were still by the window, though now Sister Gagnon had joined them. Élisabeth inched close enough to hear their argument.
“It seems superfluous to me. Why should it be necessary?” Jeanne Roy challenged the old nun.
“The intendant has his rules,” Sister Gagnon explained. “I’ve given up asking why.”
“Then you agree. We can dispense with the paperwork.”
The nun put her hands on her hips. “I did not say that. It may not make sense to my old bones, but I do need to see it before you sign the licence.”
“But youknowthat my trunk was misplaced. I have been wearing castoffs for goodness’ sake! My letter of good conduct was in my trousseau along with everything else.”
Élisabeth inched forward again and noticed the soldier Francoeur had followed her across the room.
“That may be so,” Sister Gagnon countered. “But the Sulpicians are quite insistent that all procedures are properly followed. I suppose I could appeal to them—although then I’ll need an entire afternoon to go into town and come back, and Lord knows that’s time that could be better spent on the harvest—but they might agree that a careful reading of the banns would suffice.”
Banns? Élisabeth felt a jolt inside her stomach.
Jeanne Roy sighed and turned to Grandbois. “What do you think? If we have to wait for the banns to be read, you’ll miss your chance to go on your journey. Why don’t you ask someone else to marry you?” She indicated the girls in the centre of the room. “All those others should have their letters.”
“Excuse me, Sister Gagnon?” Élisabeth interrupted. “I could not help but overhear that Jeanne Roy does not have her letter of good conduct.”
The nun turned and frowned at her. “Yes, that is correct. Every girl must present her certificate before she signs her marriage contract.”
“I can vouch for her, Sister Gagnon. Indeed, I know that a Sulpician priest has already seen it.” She snuck a sidelong glance at Jeanne, who kept her eyes fixed on the nun. “His name is Father de Sancy. Onésime Gaudin de Sancy, I believe. He was on board our ship but got off at Québec. I watched him examine it with my own eyes.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Sister, it is. It’s God’s honest truth. I will swear it, if you need me to.”
“That’s not necessary,” the nun said crossly. “No one needs to swear anything. This isn’t a bailiff’s court.” She thought for a moment more, then threw up her hands. “If a priest has already seen the letter, that’s good enough for me. I’ll send for a Sulpician, and you can sign the marriage contract later today.”
The nun bustled off towards the doorway and Francoeur approached his friend. “Did I hear correctly, Grandbois? You’ve been crowing like a cockerel for months about the repugnance of marriage, yet you crumple at the first pair of fine eyes?”
