Chapter Two
Serena sat at the kitchentable with her grandparents. For a moment, no one was speaking, and that was only because they’d already been discussing events for the past half hour. With her grand-père, Henri Renault, smoking his favorite tobacco, her grand-mère, Adèle, knitting, and Serena snapping the ends off a bowlful of green beans, they were contemplating the future.
Marshal Ney, the famed commander working for King Louis XVIII, had defected with his six thousand men the day before. When Emperor Bonaparte returned to Paris, he would bring with him an army of well-trained soldiers. What had seemed impossible a month ago was happening.
Her grandparents didn’t fear for themselves, but they had friends who’d openly supported the reinstatement of the Bourbon king. Some were leaving the city immediately, while some had already left.
“We shall finish selling Charles and Sophie’s wine and send them the money,” Henri insisted. “It will do them no good to send more barrels to the city in case Bonaparte discovers their wine was liked by the king.”
“Not merely liked,” Serena’s grand-mère added. Their friends had sent wine to Louis XVIII as a tribute when he reclaimed his throne nine months earlier, and even taken it to the Palais des Tuileries. After that, the king asked for it by name.
Others, too, needed to flee or hide for being honored with such patronage.
“It is so unreasonable, isn’t it?” Serena asked. “All this switching sides, having to pander to one or the other simply to make a living or keep one’s head.”
Adèle chuckled. “That is just the way of it, since forever.”
“Why doesn’t each new ruler recognize the people will still be the people? Wine must be drunk, bread must be eaten. Does it matter to the vintner or the baker, or the fruitseller or the cheesemaker for that matter who currently sits upon the throne?”
“You’re right, of course,” her grand-père said, “but they want to keep their heads.”
“But they are no threat,” Serena insisted, “be it to king or to emperor or to whomever comes next. Even if Charles and Sophie’s wine was adored by Louis, what does it matter?”
Her grandparents looked at one another, and she felt instantly foolish.
“Some of themareindeed threatening to the latest ruler,” Henri reminded her, “because they have pledged loyalty to one side or to a religion or to a family or even to one man. And thus, everyone is suspect.”
Their family’s allegiance was not in question, though, and Serena had never felt unsafe, even when she’d done exactly as her grand-père had asked. Like her grandparents’ friends, she had taken wine directly to the Palais des Tuileries in the first months after Bonaparte had been pushed out of France. Her task had been simply to listen for any rumblings of discontent over the restoration of the Bourbon king.
“Am I going to the Tuileries again, Pépère?”
Her grandparents glanced at one another. “Yes, if that’s where Bonaparte chooses to live,” he said. “Unless you would rather not do so.”
“I’ll help however I can.” It was as exciting as slipping down a dark path at Vauxhall or into an empty corridor at a private ball, both of which she’d done for an arranged meeting with a young man. Yet instead of for her own curiosity and enjoyment, this secretive task was for her grandparents and, thus, for France. Her heartbeat sped up, and she hoped she would glean important information.
Finishing the last of the runner beans, she rose to her feet.
