Without Refuge

by Diane Scott Lewis

  Everett cast her a cynical glare. “Remember the dinner with your cousin Jacques? We didn’t avoid that for fear of being rude, and look what happened.”

  “I have thought of the complications…” Bettina paced across the floor and gazed distracted out the window. “If we ask Joseph for money, we can’t insult his family. General Bonaparte was the one who freed you.”

  “All right, darling, if it’s that important to you.” He walked over and slid his arms around her, his body pressed into hers. When he dipped his head to kiss her mouth, she met his lips forcefully.

  “Everett, it’s not important to me at all. Except good manners and...being grateful.” She quivered at the idea of returning to the Luxembourg, but Everett would be protective, by her side. “I will insist on the loan after this…supper.”

  Joseph’s tailor was summoned to remedy Everett’s lack of suitable clothing. The man measured him and guaranteed to have something pieced together for the following day.

  Bettina tried to reassure herself that she’d be safe. Napoleon had to be civilized at a supper party with his own wife and her presumed husband in attendance. Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake her foreboding.

  After she borrowed paper and ink from Julie, Everett bent over the small writing desk in their room. “I’m keeping a tally of all these expenses we’re incurring. Please tell your friends I’ll pay them back as soon as I reach my London bank.”

  “Julie promised me to speak to her husband. She’s cowed by him, unfortunately.” Bettina leaned against the window frame attempting to relax her features into an easy smile.

  Everett sat back and scrutinized her. “Is there anything wrong? You seem preoccupied...nervous. Is there something I should know?” He rose and pulled her over to sit with him on the bed.

  “These last few months would unnerve anyone. I’m fine, really. Adjusting to all these changes has...” Bettina lost her train of thought meeting his probing gaze. “I certainly hope that my letter to my mother arrived in Louisiana.” She fought back her longing, that ever present ache, to hold her children.

  “As do I. We need to be home, making arrangements for Chris and Genevre.” He touched her cheek. “I love you so. I wish we could marry now. Though a good British church will be better than these civil ceremonies they have here in France. I want a marriage before God.” Everett gazed at her with ardor and she caressed his face, now smooth from shaving.

  Bettina kissed him on the lips. Her desire for him sizzled. They stretched out on the bed, melded into one another and rendered the satisfying love of two people familiar with each other’s bodies, wants and needs.

  * * * *

  At breakfast Julie chattered of nothing else but this behest to dine with her esteemed brother-in-law and his wife. Julie’s anxious prattle reflected that they weren’t an overly friendly family.

  “Josephine was married to a viscount from the old regime, and—”

  “Julie, I’m sorry to interrupt, but did you happen to speak to Joseph before he left this morning? About the loan? I do hate to impose, yet it’s necessary.” Bettina picked at her food, wishing the entire fete was already behind them. She did make certain Everett ate his fill.

  “Oh, Lisbette, Joseph is so busy…I...” Julie stared at her hardly touched food and twirled a dark curl. “I will, but let’s enjoy our day. Do you know, Josephine was also in Les Carmes when all the executions were happening? Though don’t mention it to her, she likes to forget such things...then wouldn’t we all?” Julie hopped up from the table. “I have the perfect chemise à la prêtresse for you to wear tonight. It’s sleeveless, but I have detachable knitted silk sleeves. They’re very popular.”

  “Merci, for your thoughtfulness.” Bettina forced a nibble of baguette, drank from her cup of creamy chocolate, and smiled. The social niceties she’d left long ago as a girl now seemed a bore and a burden. Still, she sympathized with her friend’s predicament in a rising administration. “You’ve been very generous to us.”

  Everett cast them both anxious glances as he slowly ate.

  Upstairs, after Joseph’s tailor dropped off the rushed together suit of clothes, Everett sighed and frowned. “Darling, I regret to say this, but you’ll have to tell our hosts I’m ill. I can’t possibly attend this dinner tonight.”

  “No, no, ma cher…” Her breath hitched. “We’ve already decided, how can you tease me about it now? You agreed to go.” She fingered the rich material of an elegant navy blue frock coat on the clothes rack. “Here, try these on, that will cheer you up. You-you should have allowed the tailor to fit you.”

  He crossed his arms, leaving the garments untouched. “No, I’m quite serious. I realize I’m not a soldier, but I can’t sit down to a cordial repast with the man who’s waging war on my country. Don’t you understand how inconceivable that is?” He stepped away from her, his jaw stiff.

  “Please, Everett, one quick supper. After all, Bonaparte did free you.” Bettina felt off-balance, her pulse rumbling. “Why have you changed your mind?”

  “I’m sorry, darling. I wrestled with my conscience and I have to refuse. They’re my principles and I’m stuck with them.” He raised one hand, palm up. “Make my profound excuses to the Bonapartes.”

  Bettina wasn’t certain if she was more irritated with his stubborn reversal or the embarrassment of having to explain it to their hosts. Yet Everett had suffered at French hands for many years. She nodded in understanding, stepped close and caressed his shoulder. “Then I won’t go either.”

  She found Julie in her dressing room, flouncing around her maid and a gown to be worn that evening. As Bettina suspected, she didn’t take the news well. “Lisbette, what are you saying? You must come with us. You’ll displease Napoleon, infuriate him, if you decline. You heard Joseph.” Julie shook her springy curls, then flicked a glance at her maid. “Adele, more lace at the neckline, do you think?”

  “My husband is ill. I have to stay and care for him. I’m sure everyone will understand.” Bettina’s grin had to look sheepish in her lie.

  “Joseph told me Napoleon specifically requested you attend tonight. Remember, he granted your husband’s freedom. He can just as easily revoke it. You can’t risk insulting him.” Julie’s cheeks and mouth shriveled. “It would reflect badly on my husband, this ingratitude.”

  “Oh? Mon Dieu. I suppose...I see your point.” If they wanted the loan, Bettina would have to play along. Fingers clenched, she stalked back to her quarters. The words “specifically requested” bounced around in her head for the rest of the day. Bonaparte wasn’t letting her go so easily.

  She chose the unflattering color of yellow from among Julie’s gowns, declining the more fashionable ones, and lethargically dressed that evening. The tension hung thick between her and Everett, who’d declined a visit from Joseph’s doctor, as she performed her toilette at the vanity.

  Everett had no idea she felt like the proverbial sacrificial lamb. Bettina didn’t dare confess anything and stir up trouble, their situation was precarious enough. She understood his principles, but even so, she wouldn’t let that minor detail dampen her pique toward his refusal to accompany her.

  * * * *

  When the coach pulled up in front of the Luxembourg, Bettina’s stomach twisted in knots. She dreaded facing Napoleon, unescorted and unprotected. Alighting from the coach after Julie and Joseph, she cheered herself that propriety would force the consul to act as if nothing had happened between them. A stance she’d adopt as well.

  Shown by servants into a reception area off the west wing, Bettina thought this treatment formal for relatives and empathized with Julie’s craven demeanor.

  “Bonsoir, my dear friends.” A small, slender woman all in white floated into the room. She had short, chestnut-colored hair, styled in tiny curls. Her rouge was perfection. Her fashionable Greek chemise accentuated her figure. Sh
e extended a bejeweled hand to Joseph, then Julie. “We’re honored to have you.”

  “Madame Josephine Bonaparte, may I introduce my childhood friend, Madame Lisbette Camborne,” Julie said in a timid voice.

  “So nice to meet you, Madame Camborne.” Josephine smiled a close-lipped smile. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Enchanté, Madame. Thank you for inviting me. Do you no longer address people as citizen?” Bettina asked, more out of rattled nerves than curiosity. How quickly these nouveau rich had dispensed with the republican sentiments.

  “Follow me into the main salon, champagne is being served. You must excuse Bonaparte, he’s working on something urgent. He’ll be with us as soon as he can.” Josephine clasped Bettina’s hand, ignored the question, and drifted away from them like a wisp of smoke.

  A servant dashed before Madame Bonaparte to open a set of double doors. They entered a spacious room with ivory silk wallpaper threaded in gold. Three ivory-hued, oriental style sofas were the focal point.

  Against the walls stood two spectacular pier tables ornamented with carved sphinxes and other Egyptian motifs inspired no doubt by Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt.

  Their vision in white hostess draped herself on one of the sofas, blending in with her surroundings. “We’ve had little time to re-decorate in here, but we do plan to move to the Tuileries in a few months. This palace is so...drab. Then the Tuileries has been vacant for many years, but we’ll try to make it habitable.”

  Bettina took a glass of champagne offered by a liveried servant and sat on a sofa next to Julie. She would sip it slow to retain a clear head. Long ago she’d visited this chamber with her parents to hear a private opera performance put on by the Comte de Provence. He’d fled the country, but not so his ill-fated brother—the king.

  “I’m so pleased you could join us tonight, Julie.” Josephine touched the air above Julie’s knee. “All this talk of strategies and government rearranging can get boring. We need more pleasures.”

  “Merci, I quite agree.” Julie’s hands fluttered in the air like crazed hummingbirds. “We’ve been so busy with our houseguests. I’m so thrilled to be seeing my dear friend Lisbette...after all this time. She’s been out of the country. In England, and all the way to America.”

  Bettina felt more unsettled watching Julie’s fidgety gestures in the presence of her sister-in-law. Joseph didn’t help matters by prowling the room like a caged animal.

  “I’m so sorry your husband couldn’t be here. You must tell me all about London, Madame Camborne, so very soon.” Josephine directed her languid gaze on her. She was older than Bettina expected, though still attractive.

  “I’d be happy to, Madame.” When the woman turned back to Julie, Bettina glanced around the salon at the vulgar display from this parvenu head of state. Or was frivolous decor something she no longer appreciated? All the wood on the furniture was coated in a thick gold leaf. Gold and crystal dripped from the light fixtures. Gold leaf also trimmed the gaudy mirrors hanging on the walls. Large brass candelabra sat before each mirror, magnifying the reflected light with long white candles. Lush flower arrangements in exotic vases painted with dragons sat on faux Roman podiums. Other garish oriental, or probably Egyptian, pieces were displayed in every corner.

  A door opened and Napoleon sauntered in, exuding debonair in a uniform with gold braid and buttons, his breeches and stockings of white silk. He carried himself regally across the room. They all rose and Bettina averted her eyes from his face, suffering her own moment of intimidation.

  “Ah, how splendid to see you, Joseph, and Julie.” He walked past them with a casual nod of his head.

  He stopped in front of Bettina and reached for her hand. She couldn’t avoid looking at him. His eyes were warm, his smile charming. She shivered when he raised her hand to kiss it. “I’m especially delighted to see the lovely Madame Camborne.”

  “Bonsoir, Consul.” She caught herself before making an inappropriate curtsy and was glad she’d wrapped a fichu around her throat to conceal her gown’s low swept bodice. “I’m delighted to be here, after your extreme kindness to me.”

  “Are you? We shall see. Let us proceed into the dining hall.” Napoleon offered his arm to Bettina and she took it, giving him a frozen smile that belied her jarring pulse. Joseph escorted both Julie and Josephine into the next room. A long table set with beautiful china and crystal glistened in the light from dozens of candles on the chandeliers above.

  Napoleon sat at the head of the table, Josephine on his right, Joseph on his left. Bettina was seated next to Joseph, with Julie across from her. She was relieved to not be next to her host and hoped the evening would be tolerable after all.

  “I regret that your husband couldn’t make it this evening. I trust he’ll be feeling better soon, Madame Camborne?” Napoleon asked.

  “I hope so. He sends his profound regrets as well,” Bettina politely replied as she spread and rearranged a linen napkin across her lap.

  A light chicken soup and crisp bread were served with a bottle of sparkling white wine. An attentive staff of liveried servants hovered all around them to anticipate their every need. Napoleon was soon debating governmental matters with his brother. Bettina noticed Joseph always deferred to his younger, more formidable sibling. Josephine was comparing her own journey to Italy with Julie’s. Julie had lived there when Joseph was ambassador. Bettina concentrated on her food. The soup was lightly seasoned and delicious. When she chanced to look up, Napoleon watched her with his shrewd eyes and her hand tightened on her spoon.

  “Josephine, my dear, ask our young visitor about England. She lived there for many years,” Napoleon said in a slightly derisive tone. “She perhaps knows the finest of the London shopkeepers.”

  “Mais oui, I have, and she’s promised to do so.” Madame Bonaparte flashed another closed smile, as if ashamed to show her teeth. Yet her eyes sparkled with interest.

  After a hasty description of London and the few shops she’d visited, Bettina was thankful when the second course arrived. She picked at the poached salmon and asparagus in cream sauce, sipping wine in an effort to calm her nerves. The main course was roast chicken stuffed with rice with sides of artichoke hearts in vinaigrette and lentils. She marveled at the selection of desserts and sampled the chocolate truffles. The entire meal was extravagant and delicious but sat like bricks in her stomach.

  Before the others finished their dessert, Napoleon stood and raised his glass. “Now, my friends, a toast, to our supreme victory over England.”

  Julie shot Bettina a stricken glance, yet joined the others in the toast. Bettina didn’t stir. She visually traced the scrolled wood on the empty chair across from her beside Julie. When done she looked over at their host.

  “Do you agree, Madame?” Napoleon stared at her with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

  “I’d rather drink to no more wars between France and England.” She smiled, striving to banish her discomfort, aware he meant to provoke her.

  “Why don’t we retire upstairs to my private salon?” Josephine put a light hand on Julie’s shoulder. “Relax with a glass of Armagnac, and I also want–”

  “No, no ma chere. Let’s honor our guest with a personal tour of the palace.” Napoleon moved down to stand behind Bettina’s chair. A flush prickled along the back of her neck.

  “Thank you, but that’s unnecessary. I’ve been here a few times before.” Bettina rose, bumping against the table, and smiled at Josephine. “Your salon sounds perfect.”

  “Have you been here before? I should have known. Though that was probably years ago. You must see it as it is today, Madame Camborne.” Napoleon remained unruffled as he again offered his arm. Bettina saw the apprehensive faces of Julie and Joseph and reluctantly accepted, the wine relaxing her a bit. He now propelled her down the passage with the rest following at a distance.

 
“I only have time for a quick tour, then I must return to my husband. To check on his welfare. I’m sure you understand.” Bettina tried not to bump hips with him.

  “You must humor me, Madame.” Entering a great hall, Napoleon bragged about the paintings he had “procured” during his Italian campaign. He pointed out each one to Bettina, but his descriptions refused to stick in her brain as his touch blurred her resolve to ignore their previous intimacy.

  “They were gathering dust in those villas and castles, and hoarded away in the Vatican. Here, basking in deserved acclaim, they’ll make Paris the center of the refined, artistic world. Of course, their permanent home will be in the Louvre, but I wanted to enjoy them once again. Our museums will be the envy of Europe. Most of the masters are here; Correggio, Raphael, Titian over there, and Michelangelo.”

  “Lovely, though the Italians might miss them. I’ve heard Italy also has great museums…or at least used to.” She gave him a smug smile.

  Next he escorted her to a room full of weapons and foreign standards spread out on tables. Sabers, swords, bayonets, also from his numerous conquests.

  “In the Tuileries, I’ll have these mounted on the walls in an impressive display. This palace has been ruined by the revolution. Some of the windows still have bars on them. Those debauched Directors didn’t improve things. They were too busy parading around in their scarlet togas like Roman gods. Their incompetence almost destroyed this country.” Napoleon’s grasp on her arm was possessive, unnerving her, and he kept well ahead of the others.

  “I hope you’ll strive to do a better job, Consul, and bring a fresh prospective to France. Now, I think I’ve seen enough.” She pulled from his grasp when they entered another salon. Servants held out trays of crystal glasses filled with wine. Bettina waved the beverage aside.

  “Madame, don’t insult me by not drinking my wine. You will hurt my feelings.” Napoleon leaned close to her ear, his voice tender.