Finding Emilie (5 page)

1760

T
HE ONLY
good thing about the abbey, Lili thought, was that it protected her from Baronne Lomont. Whenever Lili was at Hôtel Bercy for more than a few days, a sedan chair inevitably arrived to take her to Île Saint-Louis, for a visit at Hôtel Lomont. One fall morning shortly after Lili’s eleventh birthday, she presented herself at the baroness’s town house to make her way through the thicket of expectations attached to a simple breakfast.

“Tell me, Stanislas-Adélaïde, what did you study in catechism this week?” Seated across from Lili, Baronne Lomont set her bony chin slightly forward as if it might enable her to snap heretical thoughts out of the air before they reached the ear of God.

The baroness broke off a small piece of bread and placed it in her mouth with the deliberate manner of someone setting an example. Bread, she often reminded Lili, should never be cut at the table, but broken off just so. Only stale bread required a knife, and one should never be served anything but the freshest loaves from a host. Above all, appearing hungry by tearing off a bite with one’s teeth was the mark of a peasant.

“Works of perfect Christian virtue spring from love, and have no other objective than to arrive at love,” Lili recited, putting in her mouth a piece of bread so small it dissolved without requiring her to swallow. It’s a good thing Corinne made sure I had breakfast at home, Lili thought, since I won’t get a single real mouthful until I’m back for dinner.

Baronne Lomont leaned forward from the hips with the rigidity imposed by a tightly laced corset. Lili almost certainly was exposed to guests in a shocking state of disarray when she visited Julie de Bercy, and that was all the more reason the baroness herself needed to set an example. She had told Lili as much, pointing out with great frequency how exhausting it was for her, ailing with nearly everything that could afflict a woman in her sixties, to fulfill her duty not just to Lili, but to France itself.

And, of course, to God. “What, my dear child, do you take that to mean?” the baroness asked, putting the proper upward inflection on the last word, to convey that she expected the pleasant reply that was the mark of good conversation.

“Sister Thérèse says it means that we must show our disapproval of sinners, as a way of urging them back to the church,” Lili said. “Since that is the only way to salvation, she says we help save the souls of those we love when we reject their bad ideas and behavior, even if they don’t appreciate our efforts.”

“And what is your response to that?”

“I find it hard to argue against that logic,” Lili said, shrugging her shoulders.

“My dear girl, finding something to argue with in anything is most unattractive.” The baroness rang a small bell, and the servant appeared immediately. “You may bring us our eggs,” she said, before turning back to Lili. “A young lady is not to follow personal logic, but to accept what the church teaches, and learn it well. A proper girl is always thinking of the impression she is making. You may not be aware of it, but good families are already watching girls your age to see who might make a suitable match for their sons in a few years time.”

“Oui, madame. I only meant that I had arrived at the same conclusion as Sister Thérèse,” Lili lied. “I am sorry I phrased myself so poorly.”

“Phrasing is an essential part of gracious communication,” Baronne Lomont went on. “You must ask yourself whom your words
may offend, and take pains not to do so. Women considered charming rarely reveal their thoughts. That is because their real pleasure comes from making the men with whom they are conversing sound intelligent even when they are not. You will be most praised for your conversation when you let others speak and do not force attention on yourself.” Baronne Lomont removed the top of a soft-boiled egg with a single, almost noiseless flick of her knife. “Do you see how just one tap should suffice?”

Lili banged the egg harder than necessary, and the top broke off in a jagged tear, splattering tiny beads of yolk on her hand. A grimace flashed across the baroness’s usually expressionless face. Pursing her lips, Lili dabbed at her fingers with her napkin in a show of what she hoped was exquisite delicacy.

I’m being impossible again, Lili thought with a mixture of pride and chagrin. Maybe she’ll give up on me. She held her napkin to her lips so she could smile without being noticed. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

“
WAS YOUR VISIT
with the baroness pleasant?” Julie de Bercy asked that afternoon at dinner.

Delphine snickered.

“I hate going there,” Lili said with a ferocious shake of her head.

“Ahhh.” Julie’s ample bosom rose and fell over her loosely laced dress as she sighed. “It’s best to reserve hatred for things that are worse than merely unpleasant. And it does appear you survived.” Her voice was so sweet that the resolve with which Lili was holding in her feelings was broken, and she reached for her napkin to capture a sudden flood of tears.

“Not your napkin, ma chérie,” Julie said, pulling a lavender-scented lace handkerchief from her bodice and handing it to her. “It would make the baroness truly furious!”

“The more empty-headed I am, the more she likes me,” Lili said with a loud sniff. “She’s just awful, Maman!”

“Maybe you need stupid lessons!” Delphine broke in. “Excuse me, Monsieur Book Seller, but do you have anything on how to be completely addle-brained? Mademoiselle needs your help!”

Julie laughed with them, but her face quickly turned grave. “This kind of talk is fine when it’s just the three of us, but you cannot afford to get out of practice with your manners.”

“We know, Maman,” Lili said. “It’s just that being home with you is the only time we have any fun.”

Julie’s face sobered, and she reached over to stroke Lili’s hand. “I know it’s hard at the convent, and you have Baronne Lomont on top of that, but things will get better in time. Someday you’ll be grown women, with husbands who know better than to interfere with what you enjoy most. At least that’s my hope.”

Julie rarely spoke of her husband, Alphonse de Bercy, an officer in King Louis’s army, who died when typhoid swept through his regiment shortly after Delphine was born, but whenever there was any talk of husbands, the normal cheer of Hôtel Bercy vanished.

They stared at the crumbs on their plates, not knowing what to say. Delphine broke the silence. “Would you like me to play for you, Maman?”

Pushing back their chairs, they went into the music room. Delicate green floral wainscoting complimented the shimmering silk upholstery on the chairs; and stucco reliefs of violins on the cheery, lemon-yellow wall panels made the music room everyone’s favorite place in the house. Delphine took her place at a small piano and Maman sat at a small stool in front of a gilded harp.

Julie’s voice was beautiful, as supple and soft as firelight, and some nights the three of them would sing and play until they were all too tired to go on. Tonight, however, after several songs, Delphine put her fingers heavily on the keys. The harsh dissonance smothered the room. “I’m sad that I don’t have a papa,” Delphine said. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

A papa, Lili thought. I’m not sure who’s better off—Delphine with a father who’s dead, or I with one who’s never cared enough to visit. “I
know,” Julie said. “I could tell.” She looked at Lili. “And I think I know what’s on your mind, too. But I’ve decided what would cheer us all up. How about letting us know what Meadowlark is doing?”

“Oh, yes!” Delphine’s melancholy evaporated. “I saw you writing pages and pages, and I have to know how Meadowlark escaped from the Spider King!”

Maman brushed Lili’s hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead. “Would you, ma chérie?”

Lili jumped up, glad that some things, like snuggling over Meadowlark with Delphine and Maman, weren’t as difficult as eggs with Baronne Lomont, or as painful as reminders of how little her father cared.

1761

THE PLACE ROYALE
, home to Hôtel Bercy, was one of the few places in Paris fit for a stroll. Even the gardens of the Tuileries were thick with the stench of garbage, and haunted by beggars and thieves. On dry and pleasant afternoons, those who lived behind the harmonious, arcaded mansions ringing the four sides of the Place Royale could leave behind the sedan chairs they used for calling on their neighbors elsewhere in the city, and cross the quiet garden on foot.

One bright winter day, Lili laced her arm through Maman’s elbow as they walked back from the home of one of Julie’s friends. Delphine had woken up that morning with a sore throat, and she was spending the day in bed, with Tintin for company. Neither Lili nor Maman felt any urge to hurry back indoors, so they made every pretext to stop—to find the whereabouts of a bird chirping from a hidden perch in a chestnut tree, and to inquire about the health of a passerby’s ailing mother.

“Watch yourself, you swine!” The voice carried from the street to where Lili and Julie were standing near the statue of Louis XIV at
the center of the square. Julie clamped Lili’s arm against her side to keep her close, as they turned in the direction of the angry shouts. Beyond the trees Lili could see a man in the simple coat and hat of a merchant, who was struggling to stay on his feet while two others in aristocratic dress pounded him on his shoulders and back with their walking sticks.

“How dare you bother Madame de Martigny?” one asked, landing a blow that knocked the man to his knees.

“I only came to collect a debt,” the man cried out. “My family is starving, and she owes me more than three hundred louis for the dresses I’ve made her!”

One of them grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to a stand. “You should be glad we don’t have you thrown in the Bastille! Get out of here, and don’t come back!” Then he gave the tailor a shove so forceful it knocked him to his hands and knees, but the tailor managed to stumble down the street to one of the alleys between the mansions and was soon gone from view.

Lili’s eyes followed the two men as they continued to amble down Rue de l’Écharpe out of the Place Royale, as if such a beating was all in the course of an afternoon. “Maman, what was that about?”

Julie turned away from the scene and began walking toward Hôtel Bercy, still gripping Lili’s elbow in her own. “It’s terrible, really,” Julie said. “People run up huge bills at the shops of people like that man, not caring if they pay them what they owe.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Madame de Martigny is back in his shop next week expecting him to take a new order from her.”

“Why would he do that.?”

“He may think keeping her as a client improves his chances of getting paid in the end,” Julie said. “Madame de Martigny may be short of funds just now—perhaps gambling debts, perhaps a loan to someone who hasn’t paid her back, perhaps the loss of some other income—it could be any number of things. And she probably plans to make good on her debt, although many women I know would be
quite tempted to order new dresses from someone else rather than pay what they owe for ones they’ve already worn.”

The subject caused Julie to pick up the pace, and they were soon at the far end of the square from where the altercation had occurred. “People of noble rank usually behave honorably among ourselves when it comes to debts,” she said, turning to walk along the arcaded street toward home. “But those who do the actual work in our lives …” She nodded with her chin toward the corner where the beating had taken place. “You saw for yourself what some people think of them.”

“That’s not right.” Lili envisioned the tattered storefronts and dark alleyways she passed on the way to the abbey. Perhaps that man lived in one of them. Perhaps his children were ragged and thin, as they all seemed to be in the most frightening parts of Paris. “He said his children were starving.” Her voice trembled. “He’s going home with nothing to feed them.”

“It could be worse,” Julie said, pausing in front of Hôtel Bercy. “They could have insisted on throwing him in prison for his affront to French nobility. His family would truly suffer then.” She gestured toward the door. “These are hard truths,” she said, “and they’re best discussed inside.”

ONCE IN THE
parlor after checking on Delphine, Maman sent for tea and a few bites of cake to cheer Lili up, but Lili sat stonefaced, eating nothing. “At the convent they tell us that works of Christian virtue spring from love and have no other objective than to arrive at love,” she said. “Were those men Christians, Maman?”

Maybe they’re Musulmans, or Jews. Though Lili had never laid eyes on either, as far as she knew, she had heard from the nuns about their devious ways and their vile intentions toward any good Christian woman they encountered.

“Of course they’re Christians. At least if by that you mean that they go to mass often enough not to risk the disapproval of their
wives, and go to confession whenever something they’ve done is about to become unpleasant.”

“But don’t they know that Christians are supposed to love their neighbors?”

“I’m afraid some people’s neighborhoods are very small.”

Lili thought for a moment. “Baronne Lomont tells me that everything the church teaches comes directly from God,” she went on, “and that I must accept his will if I’m to be a good wife and mother some day.”