Francoeur.
His beard was bushy and his clothes filthy. Nights of poor sleep were written in the lines on his face. Behind him grinned her two best friends in the whole world, Rose and Lou.
Marthe ran towards them and threw herself into their arms.
“Thank God. Thank God in Heaven and the Blessed Virgin and all the saints. You are here. Thank God, you are here.” She did not dare ask how or why they were here, or if Francoeur had been successful in his petition against the governor.
Rose kissed her cheeks once, then twice, then all over again for luck, while Lou’s laughter filled the hallway.
“Our husbands collected us from our farms on their way back from seeing the intendant in Québec,” Rose explained, gesturing behind her at Jambon and Lajeunesse. “It was on the way.” The men crowded through the door so that the small space filled with the smell of tobacco and tired travellers. “They have the petition, and a decision. They said they were exhausted and wanted nothing more but to collapse into bed, but we said, ‘No chance, take us to Ville-Marie!’ And so we happened upon the idea of all coming together.”
“Francoeur?” Élisabeth wobbled towards the door. She stumbled, reaching for him through the crowd. Francoeur caught her by the arm and a tentative smile spread across his face.
“I’ve got you.”
He bent down to kiss her on the cheek as Élisabeth turned her face towards him. Their lips met. She put her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, pulling him closer. They didn’t break away until the widow pushed herself intothe hallway and declared, “Oh, there will be a rumpus in bed tonight if I’m not very much mistaken!”
Élisabeth pulled back and blushed. Francoeur’s ears were as pink as her cheeks. “Forgive me. I am not… myself,” she told him.
Marthe rolled her eyes at her sister. “You arefine, Lili.”
But Francoeur gave Élisabeth such a tender look that Marthe felt instantly rebuked. In the small, crowded hallway, he saw no one but his wife.
“Come in, come in,” Barbe Poulin said, ushering the group into her salon. “You were gone ever such a long time, Francoeur.” Barbe Poulin turned to the travellers to take their cloaks and hats. “I am not complaining. It has been a delight to have my chère Lili here. But what on earth kept you so long?”
“I’ll keep my hat,” Francoeur said, shaking his head at the widow. His eyes took in the bottle of brandy on the table. “Before I collect Élisabeth, I must speak with my sister-in-law. Marthe, may we talk alone?”
“Francoeur?” Élisabeth’s voice shook. “What is it?”
Marthe felt another stab of frustration with her sister. If Élisabeth had stopped wringing her hands about her own woes to listen to Marthe’s, she’d have known the truth of Francoeur’s mission. That she, Marthe, had suffered atruedemon, rather than Élisabeth’s imagined one.
“Follow me,” she said to Francoeur, aware of Élisabeth’s eyes on her back as she crossed the hallway to Verger’s workroom and shut the door.
Marthe braced herself. “How was the petition received?”
Francoeur’s expression softened.
“We accomplished what we set out to do,” he said, but when her face lit up, he held up his hand. “It is not entirely a success. Lafredièrewillbe recalled to France. He’ll be sent to Québec immediately to await the spring ships. He’ll be dispatched on the first to return to France and the colony will be rid of him. But there will be no investigation into the missing slaves. And no record of what he did to you. He will only be written up for debauchery and selling liquor to the natives.”
Marthe put a hand to her neck. No one would ever know what he had done. He would be gone, but he would never be guilty. The weight of disappointment was so heavy she thought she might slump to the floor.
“Marthe, I’m sorry. It was the best we could do. Lafred’s uncle is the Marquis de Salières. He argued for him, and it is hard to counter the commander of the regiment. Take heart that although Lafredière will not have to account for what he did to you and the Panis girls, he will be gone from the island of Montréal before the roads melt.”
“How long will that be?”
“The intendant sent his soldiers and his sleigh with us. They’ll collect Lafredière and leave as soon as the horses have rested.”
“What if he doesn’t agree to go?”
“The intendant’s men have the authority to take him by force. He can leave as a bandit in chains or as a nobleman with footmen to wait on him. It will be his choice.”
“I expect he’ll leave as a lord, which is more than he deserves,” Marthe said bitterly.
“I should say so. Now, I will speak with your husband. I will pay him for any costs he’s incurred for boarding Élisabeth, and take her with us to the inn—”
“Francoeur, wait. I must speak with you about Lili.”
Marthe hesitated, struggling to put into words what she could not understand. “Jeanne Roy came by the bakery some while back. She said that… rather, I believe how she explained it is… Élisabeth has too much black bile. She is off-balance.” When Francoeur gave her a puzzled look, Marthe blurted out the rest. “Élisabeth suffers from melancholy.”
