The news she’d been waiting months for had finally arrived. But her feelings were unexpectedly mixed — all because of Malcolm Branley.
On the other hand, since she’d vowed over her breakfast of fresh bread slathered in butter and spread with strawberry jam to avoid him, she supposed it didn’t matter if she hopped a ship for Dover that very minute.
So why did it make her heart ache to think of never again speaking to him?And particularly, the notion of never again seeing his adorable grin caused pangs of melancholy.
Pushing open the door to the Halle aux Vins later that day, she wondered if Monsieur Christoff would dare show his face, not to mention his broken nose. Already, many stalls were open and vintners were dealing with early buyers. Serena wasn’t fearful of meeting him, but she also wasn’t foolish. She’d told her Pépère an abbreviated tale of the events.
“I kept my ears open at the café,” she’d explained the night before, “and then let Monsieur Christoff walk me home.” Briefly, she’d described how surprised she’d been by his ungentlemanly behavior, leaving out any mention of Malcolm altogether. Instead, she’d indicated a stranger had come to her aid. She couldn’t remember ever lying to her grandparents before.
Her grand-père had come in her stead to open their stall, just in case there was any trouble. And he would stay with her all day.
“I will miss this so very much,” she told him after greeting him with a kiss on both cheeks. “I will never be allowed to do anything so interesting back in England. At home, it’s all needlepoint and music lessons.”
“Probably for the best,” Henri Renault said, although he looked fondly at her. “But your Mémère and I will miss you greatly.”
They settled into their usual routine, packing crates for Michel and Jacques, sending out the deliveries. There was no sign of Monsieur Christoff, and when they stopped for a midday meal, Serena had nearly forgotten about him. Yet her thoughts about Malcolm had become overwhelming, distracting her from enjoying her time with her grand-père.
“Something is bothering you?” he asked, sipping wine at the Café Procope, just north of the Palais du Luxembourg. The elegant café, open since the seventeenth century, was one of his favorite places to take her ever since they let women dine there when accompanied by a man.
Serena bit her tongue. She couldn’t tell her grand-père anything about her conflicted emotions.
“How long do you think it will be before I can travel?” she asked instead.
“Eager to see your parents,” he concluded with a nod of understanding. Leaning across the small table, making her do the same, he added quietly, “I thinkhewill be gone by August, if not sooner.”
She knew very well whom Pépère meant. How he knew so much about Bonaparte, she couldn’t fathom. Certainly, it wasn’t from the small snippets she’d overheard and passed along, which so far had not been useful as far as she could tell. And now the emperor wanted her to give him information, too.
“Will you tell me something to bringhimwhen I go again tomorrow to the palace?”
“Most assuredly,” her grand-père said. “Your being invited was a stroke of the greatest fortune. But you will have to be particularly careful when you tell him how you learned your tidbit of news. We don’t want to inadvertently point the finger and endanger anyone. Everything must be said like this, ‘I overheard two citizens at the Café Lamblin. They were playing checkers. No, I don’t recall what they looked like.’ Or ‘I eavesdropped on citizens strolling on the Quai du Louvre, but it was too dark to see their faces or even their hair color.’” He took a bite of his favorite dish at the restaurant,langue de boeuf glacée aux epinards.
When next he reached for his wine glass, he added, “In such a way, you will tell him what we want him to hear.”
“Who arewe?” she asked, not for the first time, wishing she understood if Henri Renault was a faithful royalist or more like the shifting Talleyrand.
He smiled, looking like nothing more than her kindly grand-père.
***
“MADEMOISELLE,” THEemperor greeted her, “I had hoped to see you but feared you would have nothing to share with me so soon.”
“I brought a shipment of wine,” she said, making it clear she was a vintner first.
“Yes, yes, but what else?” Bonaparte seemed sure she would have news. “Everything must happen in haste to secure what we are trying to do. After all, it has been a long nine months, watching from afar as the king fails France. No one was happy, not the aristocrats nor the regular citizens, and certainly not the merchants such as yourself. I’ve had well wishes from all sides and, of course, the revolutionaries, too. Even the clergy has given me its blessing.”
Serena was sure some members of all those groups were glad to see the emperor, but many were not. She also knew leaders of European countries and the British were making plans as swiftly as possible with the hope that Bonaparte would get comfortable in Paris and not realize how the forces were amassing against him.
Using the phrasing her grand-père had suggested, she mentioned how news via those who’d recently returned from neighboring countries was floating about the cafés.
“I’ve heard no one supports the heavy-handedness of the Russians, Prussians, and Austrians. As for the British, French people do not wish to let their old enemy decide who rules Gaul.”
“Well done, mademoiselle. It is as I suspected.” Then the emperor sighed. “After twenty-three years of war, my people don’t want any more of it, nor do I. Henceforth the happiness and the strengthening of France shall be the sole object of all my thoughts. Will you tell that to everyone with whom you speak?”
She nodded, feeling more than a little in awe of him.
“And if anyone is hiding like a mouse, you may tell those who previously turned on me that I have no interest in vengeance. I don’t even want to know who betrayed me or what was done in my absence. I shall forever remain ignorant.”
With that surprising statement of benign forgiveness, Serena was ready to pledge her support to him as well. The king had not been quite so lenient.
