As the men filed past, one of them leered at Marthe. She was astonished when the servant cuffed him on the arm and muttered for him to mind himself. Marthe clutched her basket of bread tighter as Lafredière approached.
“Good day, pretty wife. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Marthe stared at the governor of Montréal. He was not wearing his wig, and his eye patch was askew. As he got closer she could see a cluster of puckered flesh where his eye had once been. She hesitated. Without his wig and gold-brocade coat he seemed just like any other man. She checked herself and curtseyed, remembering her purpose. He was a nobleman and she had come to advance herself.
“I have come to offer you a basket to celebrate Saint Catherine’s Day,” she said.
“How delicious.” Without looking at the bread and taffy, he handed thebasket to the servant. “Bring us some brandy.” He took Marthe by the arm and escorted her towards the chairs. The door shut with a conspicuous click.
Marthe sat in one of the stuffed chairs and noticed it was not quite as comfortable as she had imagined. She was gazing around the room when she heard the crash of pewter on the other side of the door.
“My servant is clumsy,” Lafredière said. “Lazy too.” He leaned towards her. “What do you think? Should I get rid of her?” He winked mischievously.
Marthe was taken aback. The governor of Montréal was askingheradvice? She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“Perhaps the work is too much for one person. Could you not hire someone else to help her?”
“You are clever,” he purred, although she could not think how her comment could be deemed especially intelligent. “I grant that she may have more work now, with the Panis having run away.”
“Your slaves… ran away?”
“You had not heard?” He sounded surprised.
“No, my lord. I am not one to trade in gossip like a fort’s trumpet.” She thought about Barbe Poulin—she was not inclined to call herMamanever again—blaring everyone’s business all over the Place Royale.
The governor leaned sideways on the settee, looping his long legs over one arm. His manner was so informal that Marthe felt uncomfortably prim, sitting upright in the chair opposite him.
“But you are the baker’s wife. The women of Ville-Marie like to gather in your home, I’m told. Ifyouhad not heard of their disappearance, then perhaps my subjects are not discussing me behind my back.”
“I… I had not heard anything.”
He eyed her again, then swung his legs off the arm of the settee and leaned towards her.
“Let’s talk no more of it. The slaves were only children and not good for much. Easily replaceable for a few hundred livres. Though I will have to waituntil summer when fresh ones come in with the furs. And that is tedious.” His voice dropped, forcing her to lean closer to hear what he said next.
“This country is an icy Hell from November to April. Once the rivers freeze, we are locked in, without supplies. No spices, no slaves. None of the comforts of life.”
Marthe hesitated. She could not think what to say to this man, so rich he could buy another of God’s creatures to wait on him. She realized he was no longer looking at her eyes, but at her swelling bosom. She began to doubt the wisdom of trying to tighten her stays. She leaned back in her chair and his attention shifted to her face.
“Perhaps if your woman is overwhelmed by her work, you might consider our bakehouse providing you with your daily bread?”
The governor laughed out loud. “Well played, pretty wife. I had forgotten that you are on this earth to earn your fortune. For a moment I thought you were paying me the compliments of the coming feast day.” He pouted at her, and she squirmed.
“My lord, forgive me. I do want to earn my fortune, I do. But our stores of flour are running low. I… I was thinking perhaps if the fort has any surplus grain, you might have it milled for our use.”
She eyed him warily, waiting for his reaction. He smiled and patted the settee.
“How interesting. Why don’t you come over here, so that we may negotiate the terms of your request.”
Marthe looked over her shoulder. The servant had not returned with the brandy. She wasn’t sure if it was proper for her to sit so close to the governor. In fact, even though she was married, she was not certain she should be sitting alone in a room with him at all. When she had imagined her visit, she pictured more members of the household being present. Lafredière seemed to sense her indecision. “I won’t bite,” he said.
She thought of the little bag of coins she knew her husband kept hiddenbehind the hearth and thought how it might fatten if he could only bake more bread. She rose and moved closer to the governor. Lafredière left his hand on the seat between them.
“So you want more flour so that your husband may work harder. Yet you do not realize how easy it is for you, as a woman, to earn a fortune yourself.” His lips were only inches from Marthe’s ear. She put her hand to her cap and started to smooth the rough cloth as she spoke.
“My lord, I should have thought that it is only right that my husband, being so young and strong, would be the one to earn—”
Lafredière shook his head, and she fell silent. She was close enough to see a blue vein throb in his temple and fine red lines showing from underneath the powder on his cheeks. She had not imagined a gentleman would powder his face the way that ladies did. She leaned as far back from him as she could without appearing to be rude.
