There were two booms in rapid succession and some shouts. Ondine wailed, and the carriage lurched into movement again.
They jolted along until they reached a large tent. Fourbier called out instructions to several other men, the Colonel de Cantière’s domestic staff, she supposed. Soon there was a smaller tent erected, and Hélène and Ondine’s few things were placed inside. Hélène carried Ondine in. She couldn’t quite stand up straight except directly in the center of the tent, and she felt around to find everything piled in one corner.
“Excusez-nous, Mademoiselle,” called a voice. “We have brought your cot.”
“Is that you, Corporal Jouvet?” She smiled in the general direction of the voice as she stepped to the opening of the tent.
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” he replied.
His form moved, so she supposed he was bowing to her. She nodded to him in reply.
He and another man carried the cot into the little tent and quickly came out, bowed again, and hurried away. She stepped inside, only to bump her shin on the cot, which took up more than half of the space. The floor was clay-like mud and patchy grass.
She let Ondine down. “Stay right in here with me, chérie. There are people running everywhere. We will wait for Monsieur Fourbier to tell us what we need to know. Let’s sing a song while we wait.”
“Co-lell?” said the little girl.
“Monsieur le Colonel? Your papa is very busy right now, fighting a war.”
“Everything all right Papa?” asked the girl in a tiny, frightened voice.
“Yes, everything is all right. He will win the battle, and we will be safe.” Hélène hoped she was telling the truth.
The bombardment eased off after an hour or two, and Monsieur Fourbier fetched them into the colonel’s larger campaign tent for supper. They sat on the rickety chairs, eating, when the colonel ducked in calling for Fourbier to help him change into more practical clothing before he ruined the lace of his blue suit. He paused in unbuttoning his coat when he saw them sitting there. She dropped her lorgnette into her pocket.
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said. “I am not used to having a lady in my quarters.”
She blushed deeply, not knowing where to look in the dim light from a few candles.
“Ondine and I will go out, Monsieur.” She started to rise.
“No, I shall change in your tent, Mademoiselle. Do not derange yourself. Finish your meal.”
He had a short conversation with Fourbier, and then a minute later Fourbier’s thin, dark form came in with a blue mass, presumably the colonel’s lovely blue coat and breeches.
“I should have made him change in Auxonne, or perhaps when we changed horses, because he has gone and gotten mud on his ribbons. And even now he has his best boots on, and they shall surely be ruined. Sacré bleu! Pardon me, Mademoiselle Hélène and Mademoiselle Ondine. I should not use strong language. He does not care at all about the state of his clothing.”
He muttered to himself for a while longer and called for warm water from the cook. Hélène could hear him brushing at the fabric, muttering.
Ondine began singing as she climbed onto Hélène’s lap and snuggled in. She was soon asleep.
“It’s the best I can do tonight,” said Fourbier with a sigh. “I shall have to soak out some spots overnight and repair the lace in the morning. Some of the silk ribbons, though, must be replaced.”
“Are we safe here, Monsieur Fourbier?” asked Hélène.
There was a short silence, and Hélène thought Fourbier didn’t mean to reply at all. “There is always a risk, Mademoiselle. Not only from cannon fire, but if the soldiers at Grey break out in this direction we would flee. There are also dangerous men in our own army—murderers, rapists, thieves, who have been released only to serve in the army. There are troublemakers and thieves among the camp followers, as well. All the troubles of a city are multiplied here, and the only protection is the thin walls of a tent.”
Hélène shuddered, her heart pounding. “Maybe we should have stayed in Auxonne. Or gone to Dijon.” She swallowed to steady her trembling voice. “We should have stayed with my uncle and aunt.”
“The Colonel de Cantière has let it be known you are caring for his daughter and you and the girl will be treated with respect. You are under his protection. And you are under mine too, and that of other guards, taking turns. By morning, the bombardment will begin again, and we hope Grey will fall even more quickly than Dole and with even less death.”
Hélène nodded, understanding he was trying to reassure her.
“And what if something happens to him? To the colonel? And if something happens to you?”
Fourbier sat in the chair next to hers. “Life is uncertain. If you had asked me a few years ago where I would be now, I would have said in my shop in Paris, outfitting the upper bourgeoisie. If anyone had told me I would be in the army, I would have laughed myself blue.”
“You were not always a valet?” she asked.
“No, I was a tailor to gentlemen and my sister the seamstress to ladies. We shared an atelier for many years, consulted each other on our work.” His voice trailed off.
“Is your sister taken care of?” asked Hélène.
Fourbier was silent for a few seconds before laughing hollowly. “Her husband will treat her as he knows best.”
Hélène wondered what he meant, but Fourbier stood suddenly. “I will make up the cot for you, Mademoiselle. It is not very nice accommodations, but we do what we can.”
She heard him speak to a man outside, presumably a guard. Hélène shifted Ondine in her arms because her hands were falling asleep.
A minute later, the tent flap opened again, and she was surprised to hear the colonel’s voice instead of Fourbier’s. “I’ll carry Ondine.”
“Thank you, Monsieur.” The bundle was lifted from her arms.
“Take my elbow.”
His soft voice, speaking so kindly, almost brought her to tears. She swallowed them, attributing her sadness to fatigue and uncertainty. “Ondine usually falls asleep quickly after supper, so I helped her change earlier.”
The colonel set Ondine on the narrow cot and Hélène noticed someone had added a rug to make the floor of her tent more hospitable.
“I shall leave you then, Mademoiselle. If you need anything, call out to the guards. They’ll send Fourbier,” he whispered.
He didn’t leave immediately. He set his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “I shall be in the Prince de Condé’s tent for most of the night, discussing plans. We will attack tomorrow if the weather is fair in the morning, or as soon as it clears up. The prince feels enough of our men have arrived from Dole.”
He stepped closer to her, and she shivered as she felt the heat coming from him. His hand slid down her arm to her elbow. Finally, he kissed her on the top of her head. “Good night, Mademoiselle.”
He was gone into the dark.
She got herself ready for bed without a candle, like she usually did, shivering in the humid draft around the tent flap.
She shivered under the blankets in spite of the warm girl next to her and the warm brick at her feet. She wondered why the colonel had kissed her head. Did he think her a little girl, too?
The next day, the bombardments woke Ondine and Hélène early, just as the sky was getting light. A thin, cold drizzle soaked the ground, turning everything to mud, then freezing it in uneven spikes. Hélène slipped on a frozen puddle when she tried to walk the few steps from their tent to the colonel’s and called out for help for fear of dropping Ondine.
Someone grabbed her elbow, apologizing because he had not realized she needed help on the slippery ground. She must not be used to mud and ice, then, hein?
She agreed with him rather than admitting that when there was ice at home she stayed inside. When she stepped into the tent, the colonel was eating breakfast at his campaign table and arguing with another man. Both men got to their feet.
“Good morning, Mademoiselle de Bon
nefoi,” said the colonel. “This is my friend Colonel Hardi.”
“Pleased to meet you, Monsieur.” She curtsied before setting Ondine down to curtsey as well.
“And my daughter, Ondine.”
Hélène could have sworn his voice got soft and fond as he said his daughter’s name.
“Come and give me a kiss, Ondine,” he ordered.
Ondine hid behind Hélène’s skirts.
Hardi’s chuckle filled the awkward silence. “I heard your daughter arrived with you last night. She has not seen much of you these past months, I would guess. My boys are always shy when I come home from a long campaign. They warm up eventually, don’t worry.”
“Please, Messieurs. We’ll come back in a little while. We do not wish to disturb your preparations,” said Hélène.
“Not at all, Mademoiselle,” said de Cantière. “Come and sit, and Darton will give you plates. We argued half the night and have started arguing again this morning. We will finish our coffee and get out of your way.”
Hélène walked carefully to the table, recalling where there was a small dip in the ground and steadying herself through it. Ondine sat on the other side of her when Hélène sat on the stool de Cantière held out for her. Ondine leaned forward several times, taking shy glances at her papa, who seemed to be watching her as he talked of more general subjects with the other colonel.
“Are you her governess, Mademoiselle?” asked Colonel Hardi.
“Non, Monsieur. I am her mother’s cousin. She calls me Aunt,” said Hélène.
“Goodness, this is not a fit place for a lady, you know. Well, not without more guards than you have. My wife came on one campaign and told me, ‘Never again.’ Sometimes, when I was stationed along the Spanish border, she would take rooms so I could see her and the children at every slow moment. I have left them all at home this time, because we expect this campaign will be quick. If not, I will settle them in Dijon.”
Hélène nodded, not knowing how much she should divulge.
“Mademoiselle Hélène is much like a mother to Ondine,” said de Cantière, surprising Hélène. “A situation arose at home, and I did not know what else to do with them. I could hardly drag Ondine away from her aunt.”
Hardi chuckled again. “And it’s no strain to have a lovely lady present to remind us of our manners. And to have something to fight for.”
Hélène blushed deeply, wondering if anyone ever had thought of her as they fought for so much as a seat at a café. She peered down at her plate. Toasted bread, sausage, and what might have been an egg, but with specks of something. She squinted harder, then reached into her pocket for her lorgnette so she could see. Ah, more sausage.
She slipped her lorgnette back into her pocket and noticed the men had gone quiet. She suddenly wasn’t hungry.
“I assure you, Mademoiselle, it is only sausage and more sausage,” said the cook, Darton.
“It is all right, I just wanted to, ah, admire the eggs. They are quite fluffy. And I do like sausage. Go ahead and eat, Ondine. It is sausage like at the inn. We had it only yesterday.”
Ondine ate nearly all of her eggs and a few bites of sausage and drank warm milk. Hélène sniffed at it carefully, but the cook assured her all the officers shared a milk cow and it was as fresh as it smelled. She supposed no one would have poisoned it in an attempt to harm Ondine.
The two colonels began to discuss their plans and were soon jabbing at a map and quarreling again.
“Messieurs, it is time,” said Fourbier behind her. “The prince is sending a man for you.”
“Merci, Fourbier,” said de Cantière as he stood up and rolled his map.
“The prince will settle this in your favor, de Cantière,” said Hardi. “He always does.”
“The prince will do as he sees fit. He is a good strategist,” said de Cantière.
“Ah, but you are better,” said Hardi.
Hélène noticed Ondine’s papa didn’t contradict.
De Cantière patted his daughter on the head. “Fourbier will find a girl to help watch Ondine today.”
And he was gone.
Chapter Three
The next two days were filled with booms, shouts, and occasional musket fire. Fourbier moved them back from the city walls into the area where the cooks, washerwomen, and oxherds mingled with officers’ families and camp followers of all sorts. He stayed with them himself as much as possible but had a rota of guards who watched over them for an hour or two at a time so he could look after the colonel’s needs.
Hélène was lonely. It was ridiculous; at her aunt’s house, she hardly spoke to anyone but Ondine and the nursery maid. Maybe she was bored because she couldn’t go anywhere, since she would have to ask for escort. She sat in front of her little tent with Ondine and Charlotte, the thin girl to whom Fourbier paid a few coins of the colonel’s money to help them. People passed in a swirl of color and conversation, but Hélène had never known how to bring attention to herself, had never wanted to. In her uncle’s house, she had been able to walk from room to room and go into the small garden with no trouble. Here she felt trapped by the unfamiliar setting and possible threats.
On the second day, a woman approached and set down what looked like a package but turned out to be a small child.
“Bonjour,” said the other woman. “They call me Catherine the Great. That’s Pierre. He’s three.”
“I am Hélène…ah, just Hélène,” she said, not wanting her identity to be spread around.
“And that’s the Colonel de Cantière’s baby girl, they say,” said the other woman, crouching down next to Hélène’s chair. “Hope you don’t mind if I rest a minute. Capitaine Morue kept me up most of the night. A good sight better than having to take care of a bunch of rough soldiers, but he always comes off the lines with a raging case of love. You understand me, I’m sure.”
Hélène froze in shock. Was this woman a whore? She cleared her throat. “Well, no, I’m sorry, but I… Well, I’m the girl’s governess and a distant cousin, not the colonel’s…um…”
“Really?” asked Catherine the Great, sounding intrigued. “We all figured you were a good lady fallen from grace.”
“No, I’m still…I hope I am, anyway…still just a poor relation, not a… There’s nothing wrong, you understand…” Her face flamed, mostly because there were about a thousand things wrong with this woman and the captain’s “raging case of love,” yet her body quickened at the thought of lying with Jean-Louis de Cantière.
“And the baby’s not yours?” asked Catherine.
“No, her mother was my cousin, and I have cared for her since her mother died.” She had been like Ondine’s mother almost from the girl’s birth.
“Well, no wonder the colonel hasn’t come to see you since you got here. We thought you must have put off your fine silks and lace to come to the front. My brother’s a cook and said the story was you and he were going in and out of each other’s tents all the time when you were up near the lines,” said the other woman.
Hélène wished she could read the other woman’s expression. Finally, she pulled out her lorgnette and looked the woman over. She was dressed better than Hélène, which wasn’t saying much, but her hair was a fright, and she was missing several teeth. Fine ladies didn’t always have better teeth, but they hid it better. In profile, at least, this was a beautiful woman, though her figure surely would have been improved by a corset and was better when she stood rather than crouching down like a peasant. Judging by her accent, she likely was a peasant. Catherine looked away from where her son was playing with Ondine, and her eyebrows went up at the sight of the lorgnette.
Hélène shoved it into her pocket. “My eyesight is terrible. I know staring at people through my glass seems terribly rude, but I can’t see you without it.” She cringed inwardly. She hated admitting to her weakness.
“Ah! Then maybe you haven’t noticed all the curious looks people give you,” said Catherine. “Everyone’s talking about you because yo
u never look them in the eye. See, we thought you thought you were too good to speak to us. Some of the other mistresses were offended, you know. I’ll tell them about your eyes.”
“Oh, please…” said Hélène, starting to ask her not to spread the word about her failings. But she didn’t want to seem like a snob. On the other hand, she didn’t want to become a close friend of whores. Maybe she was a snob. Finally, she said, “Please, tell them I am…shy. Also that I don’t see well, but I am shy. And we are leaving here as soon as the colonel can think of a place for me to take Ondine.”
Catherine stared at her for a while, and Hélène lifted up her eyeglass again. Catherine grinned, and Hélène smiled back.
“And please do come by again. Ondine is terribly bored with staying close to me so she doesn’t get lost. We don’t know anyone.”
Catherine’s smile faded. Hélène was afraid she had offended the woman.
“Could I…” Catherine glanced around. “Could I leave Pierre here for a short while? I have had no sleep, almost, and he’s been crying all morning. Charlotte knows my tent’s just over there.” She gestured vaguely at the line of tents opposite.
Hélène relaxed on her spindly stool. “I’ll have to ask Charlotte, since she will watch them both. We were about to have some lunch, and I could give him some.” She felt almost like a real mother, letting her child’s friend stay for a meal.
Charlotte agreed, and they gathered around the tiny table Fourbier had found. The young soldier who was standing guard shyly accepted some bread and cheese. Little Pierre was quiet, testing the waters. After they ate, Charlotte brought out Ondine’s ball, which quickly became the center of a mighty struggle between the two children. When the game became unresolvable, it was called off amidst screams. Ondine was put down for a nap while Charlotte dozed on some blankets with Pierre. Hélène moved her stool back into the shadows of the tent flap and took out her lorgnette and the play she was reading.
She had only read two scenes, though, when a throat cleared behind her and she jumped and swung around with her lorgnette up. She smiled to see Colonel de Cantière.
The Honorable Officer Page 4