Duty to the Crown

by Aimie K. Runyan

  And every moment she lived in fear that Patenaude would hurt the baby . . . the scenarios played over in her mind after she awoke. Sometimes it was an act of carelessness, such as leaving a trap about on the floor. Other times, he would hit Gabrielle and cause her to fall on the baby. Occasionally he would hurt Gabrielle so badly she was unable to attend to the child and he was unwilling to help. The worst were the images that appeared when she thought of him growing impatient with her squalling. Slapping, shaking, punching . . . One time she imagined him leaving the shrieking baby in the snow and tying Gabrielle to a chair so she couldn’t save her. When he untied her, a frozen blue baby just outside their doorstep was all that remained of her precious daughter.

  The last scenario was grisly, even for Patenaude’s temper, but the rest were more than plausible. They were the reality she’d been fortunate enough to escape. Every single day, she ached for Gilbertine. Felt cheated that she never had the chance to hold her in her arms properly. Felt betrayed that she wasn’t able to give her baby a proper funeral. With René returned to France, she had nothing to keep these harrowing thoughts from coursing through her mind. Right or wrong, their brief affair had given her an escape from her grief.

  She took her pillow to her chest and bit down furiously. She imagined it was Patenaude’s bicep and dug her fingers in, thinking with satisfaction of the sensation of driving her nails into his flesh and ripping his muscle with her teeth. She stopped only when she heard the rent of fabric. She’d enough mending to do and did not want to be picking feathers from her bed for weeks to come.

  It was an hour before dawn, but as winter was upon them and the sunrise quite late, Gabrielle decided she would allow herself to wake in earnest. She pulled herself out of bed and forced herself to eat some breakfast before bothering to dress. Food didn’t really help all that much, but it did serve to bind the frayed edges of her nerves for a short while.

  As she dressed, her hands shook. The judge had summoned her for questioning. This could be her last day of freedom before she swung from the gallows. She chose her clothing carefully. Her skirt and jacket were unassuming brown wool. They were clean and tidy, well cut and well made, but had no frills or embroidery. She looked modest and respectable, but avoided anything that would lead the judge to believe that she’d ascended too far in the world since Patenaude’s death. She couldn’t have him thinking the truth—that she was better off since he died.

  She examined her reflection in her small looking glass and gave herself a grim smile. Gabrielle could at least be confident in the knowledge that she was innocent. She had not pulled the trigger that killed Patenaude, even if she’d wished she had. Even though I’d been prepared to. Even though his careless accident was the greatest kindness he ever offered me.

  A rap at the door sounded to let her know the Beaumonts had arrived to take her to the courthouse. It wasn’t a trial, just a questioning, but the result could be the same. If the judge was persuaded she’d killed her husband, he could ensure she never breathed fresh air or saw blue sky again.

  And a pox on you, Annette Savard. You’ve thoroughly complicated my life with one cruel flick of your insolent tongue, but you won’t have the satisfaction of ending it.

  Manon and Claudine, both comically large in their pregnancies, arrived with the Beaumonts. They approved her choice of clothing, restyled her hair, and held her hands until it was time for her to depart for the small building where the judge heard his cases.

  This time, they offered no false assurances. She loved them for it.

  “Whatever happens, thank you,” Gabrielle said, taking them both in her arms. “I’m so glad you’re my sister, Manon. And you might as well be yourself, Didine.”

  Claudine made quite the show of fussing with the cuff of her sleeve in an attempt to cover her tears, but Manon shed none.

  “None of this,” Manon said. “You are innocent and you must not demonstrate any doubt before the judge.”

  “Am I truly innocent, Manon?” Gabrielle asked. “In truth, I plotted to kill my husband. I coveted another woman’s legally wed spouse. How can I claim to be innocent?”

  “Gabrielle, you are accused of killing Olivier Patenaude. Did you kill him?” Manon’s tone was closer to the growl of a grizzly than her own usually melodic tones.

  “No,” Gabrielle answered.

  “That’s all that matters,” Claudine said, taking Gabrielle in her arms. “Just remember that.”

  “How often does the truth really matter in these sorts of proceedings? There is more than enough reason to cast me out of the colony forever. To hang me, even.”

  Neither Manon nor Claudine supplied a response.

  “Promise me you’ll take care of my brother, Manon,” Gabrielle said, taking Manon’s hand in hers. “I could not have asked for a better wife for him. Just be good to him and I will be happy.”

  Manon nodded, the tears spilling over her cheeks.

  “And, Claudine, if things go . . . badly, please write to René. I am sure Laurent or Alexandre can get his address from the governor’s office. He’s sure to have left his information. Let him know what his wife has done.”

  “I swear it.” Claudine nodded.

  “Then let us go to court. I could ask for nothing more than you have promised me.”

  * * *

  Gabrielle sat before Judge Arnaud, the same wizened old man with a martyred expression who presided over her trial against Patenaude. Manon and Claudine, both round with child, sat on either side of her, the picture of maternity and matrimonial duty. This was not happenstance. Elisabeth and Gilbert looked pale with fear, her hand clutching his until her knuckles gleamed white in the seats behind Gabrielle. Pascal sat behind his wife, next to the Beaumonts, his arms crossed and expression surly. The entire court looked up and began whispering as Sister Anne entered the room and sat in the row behind Gabrielle, going so far as to offer her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Your presence means more than you know, dear woman. Please God that none of the Savard woman’s friends come to negate all the benefit of your support.

  “Madame Patenaude, if you would please stand for questioning.” The judge rubbed the bridge of his nose, with a look of annoyance as if he’d already heard a dozen cases that day, though she was the first and only matter of his day.

  “I wasn’t aware that this was a trial.” Alexandre stood, his hand preventing Gabrielle from standing. “Else we would have prepared differently. You have no need to treat her as though she’s been accused of anything.” For two weeks, Gabrielle heard him curse the King’s edict that forbade attorneys in the colony. She couldn’t deny she’d feel better with experienced counsel.

  “Seigneur Lefebvre—”

  “No, Monsieur le Président. I insist Madame Patenaude remain seated,” Sister Anne demanded, standing tall next to Alexandre, her arms straight at her sides in defiance. The nun’s eyes flashed in anger and, out of the corner of her eye, Gabrielle could see the muscle flexing in Alexandre’s jaw.

  “Very well, Sister. She may remain seated, but I warn you I will not tolerate outbursts in my courtroom. Even from the pair of you.” Sister Anne and Alexandre offered the judge a curt nod of the head and took their places on the rigid bench behind Gabrielle. “Now, madame, tell me the events that transpired the day your husband died.”

  Gabrielle, in painstaking detail, recounted every event of that day from the moment she awoke until she departed the house, musket in hand, prepared to kill her husband. She’d fabricated a story about hauling in water from the river to boil for laundry. It would explain the snow on the floors of the cabin, the used snowshoes, and her breathless demeanor.

  No one could have known that the fire wasn’t stoked enough to boil water, nor that she’d done the laundry the previous day. Or so she hoped. Her voice was steady as she spoke; her hands trembled, but not excessively so. The judge’s placid face gave no hint as to whether or not he believed her story.

  “The bailiff tells me that you acknowledge
keeping a musket of your own in the cabin. Is that correct?” The judge shifted positions in his unyielding chair with a grimace. At least you’re no more comfortable than the rest of us, you pompous ass.

  “That’s not precisely accurate, Monsieur le Président. Olivier, that is, Monsieur Patenaude, had a spare musket that he left at home. I don’t believe it was in working order. I wouldn’t have known how to use it well enough to find out, I’m afraid. Had there been trouble when my husband was out hunting, I would have been left to brandish the musket and hope the robbers were foolish enough to think I could use it.”

  The judge silenced the titter of laughter in the courtroom with an acrid glare.

  “And where is the musket now, madame?” the judge all but grunted in annoyance. Gabrielle kept her face from falling. It was likely a rusted mess hidden in brambles after a year of snow and rain if it could be found at all.

  “I could not tell you, monsieur. My family sold most of Monsieur Patenaude’s belongings to help me reestablish myself, and I expect it was among the items sold. The settlement doesn’t need another penniless widow to support.” Alexandre rapped his knuckles on the wooden bench in support. Exactly what the judge wants to hear. Hard-working. Self-supporting. A woman with the desire to help the settlement.

  “Can you not remember who purchased the firearm, madame? For one with the reputation of being a fastidious businesswoman, that seems unlikely.”

  “Monsieur Beaumont and my brother saw to the sale of my late husband’s effects. I was in no condition to see to those matters myself. They kept no record of the items or who bought them, monsieur.”

  “That would be a likely story for one trying to conceal the offending weapon.”

  Dear God. The judge has found the scrap of information he needs to keep me here. A functioning musket was all he needed. The blood rushed in her ears, making her glad Alexandre had insisted she remain seated for questioning.

  “Monsieur le Président, even if we traced the musket back to the man who purchased it, how could you be certain it was the weapon that killed Patenaude?” Alexandre now stood, arms crossed.

  “It seems to me, that both the absence of the weapon and any confirmation of the story from Patenaude’s hunting companions makes Madame Patenaude’s story rather suspicious given her attempts to separate from her lawful lord and master in the past.”

  “You see here, young man.” Sister Anne stood next to Alexandre; her height wasn’t considerable, but she made the most of every inch. “Just because a woman, rightly, wanted to be freed from a cruel husband does not make her a murderess. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Sister, I really must insist—” The judge opened his mouth to speak, but a clerk entered the courtroom and crossed to the judge’s bench to whisper in his ear.

  “Very well, show him in.”

  Jacques Verger, as scruffy and fragrant as he’d been on Gabrielle’s wedding day and the day he delivered Patenaude’s body to her home, entered the courtroom and removed his hat.

  “My clerk informs me you have something to add to the proceedings, monsieur . . . ?”

  “Verger,” he said with a nod. “I was with Patenaude the day he died. My boy and I were out hunting with him when the fool took aim at a rock instead of a deer and he ended up with a ball in his chest. He was never much of a shot when he’d been in the bottle, nor could a man reason with him not to drink on a hunt.”

  “Why have you not come forth before, monsieur?”

  “I didn’t know there was reason to harass this nice lady over everything. I didn’t figure anyone other than her’d miss old Patenaude enough to take the trouble. I’m just sorry you folks decided to give her more grief before I could come and set things straight. My boy can tell you the same thing, but he’s in La Chine for another week or more.”

  “I’ll be sure to speak with him when he returns. See to it that you send him to me.” The judge wore an expression of grim determination. “Very well. I suppose there can be no grounds for further investigation for the time being. You’re free to go, madame.”

  Gabrielle held her smile until she left the courtroom. As soon as they were free of the building she fell into Elisabeth’s arms, the tears refusing to remain at bay.

  Sister Anne whisked away almost immediately with a very brief embrace and a “Go with God, my daughter. Start a new life in His name” for Gabrielle and polite nods for the rest.

  “It’s all going to be well, sweetheart.” Elisabeth kissed Gabrielle’s temple as she rocked her back and forth. “It’s all as it should be.”

  Gilbert wrapped his arms around his wife and Gabrielle, wordless with relief.

  “I meant what I said in there, madame.” Verger took several paces back, but spoke in a clear voice so the rest of the assembly could hear. “I’m awful sorry they pestered you about all this. Patenaude weren’t worth the trouble. If I’d known that you were a real lady, I wouldn’t have let you walk down the aisle without warning you off.”

  “We thank you greatly for your coming to Madame Patenaude’s aid,” Alexandre said on their behalf. “Your testimony has saved Gabrielle from a dire fate. Will you please do us the honor of joining us for luncheon?”

  “I couldn’t be a trouble, Seigneur. I do have a rusty old musket in my wagon the young lady might do well to keep track of.”

  Gabrielle looked at the old man. How much had he guessed? “Keep it,” she said. “Give it to your boy. Destroy it. Do whatever it is you like.”

  “As you wish, madame. I was asked to deliver this letter to your hands as well.” Verger extended a crisp white envelope with his dirt-crusted hands. He’d clearly taken pains to make sure the missive arrived to her in pristine condition. Gabrielle broke free of her embrace with the Beaumonts and wrapped her arms briefly around the grubby man and kissed his brown cheek.

  “Thank you, Monsieur Verger. I owe you my life.”

  “Well then, you can repay me by living it right and enjoying it as best you can,” he said. He leaned in closer to whisper, “I’m plenty glad the fool did the shooting for you.”

  * * *

  The kitchen staff bustled about the dining room, serving the impromptu luncheon with a bit less flare and style than the usual company meal at the Lefebvre house, but none of the assembly much cared about the lack of ceremony.

  “To justice.” Alexandre raised a glass of Burgundy so rich that the lush brown-red liquid looked as warm and soft as velvet in the candlelight.

  “Justice,” the rest chorused in unison.

  For the first time in weeks, Gabrielle found herself equal to eating a meal out of hunger rather than habit. The delicate quail and sautéed vegetables were far more refined than her usual fare. She might have preferred a beef stew or chicken pie, but she ate the elegant meal with pleasure.

  “You’ll finally be able to go about your life as before,” Rose said with a pat to Gabrielle’s shoulder. Can I really? Would I want to?

  “I imagine your shop will benefit from all this,” Laurent said, his hand on Claudine’s. “That will be a bit of a relief I should think. Verger’s testimony will silence a lot of tongues. Sister Anne’s support, as well.”

  Gabrielle nodded. She’d not had trouble keeping food on the table, but she hadn’t much means for any sort of luxuries or comforts.

  “And perhaps you’ll have time to meet a more—deserving—young man.” Nicole winked over her plate in Gabrielle’s direction, and she felt the meal churn in her stomach.

  Patenaude had been gone for almost a year. No one in the colony would question her for remarrying. They would likely think all the better of her for it. No one, apart from Manon and Claudine, officially knew about René. Gabrielle imagined others suspected some partiality, perhaps an innocent romance of sorts. Annette’s friends had mercifully kept their mouths closed. It seemed that once Annette was no longer there to offer favor, they were far less concerned with Gabrielle’s comings and goings. There were still glances, however, and Gabriel
le wondered if the time would come when they might decide to cause her trouble out of sheer spite.

  Forget him. Forget the very idea. You’ve a business to run and a life to rebuild.

  She picked up her fork once again and resumed the pretense of eating. Seated about the table, there were ten other adults, all happily partnered. Is there something wrong with me for not wanting a family? For enjoying my solitude?

  As she chewed and pretended to acknowledge the conversation she wondered how much she truly enjoyed being alone. Was it the privacy she appreciated, or the freedom from her wretched marriage?

  As the dessert course appeared Gabrielle found herself willing the minutes away so she could slink back home and, with luck, find some dreamless sleep before facing the world again. More pressing, the letter Verger had passed to her itched to be read, and she would only sate her curiosity in the privacy of her room. In the end it was Claudine who mercifully broke up the party by claiming fatigue. Laurent whisked her away the same moment she voiced her need for rest, his brow furrowed.

  “I believe I’ll follow her example, if you don’t mind too terribly much. It’s been a taxing day.”

  “I imagine so,” Nicole clucked. “We’ll send over a hamper with some good things for your supper late in the afternoon if you like.”

  “That would be lovely.” Gabrielle nodded with a forced smile.

  “Why don’t you come spend the night in your old bedroom?” Elisabeth offered.

  “Perhaps another time? I’d not be much company tonight.” Gabrielle grasped Elisabeth’s hand, hoping she understood the need for solitude that night.

  “We’ll depend upon it,” Gilbert said, silencing Elisabeth’s unvoiced protest with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Soon,” she promised, kissing his cheek.

  Back at home, she climbed up to her bedroom, shucked her clothes in favor of her nightgown, and prepared to climb into bed, though the sun was still high in the afternoon sky. The pristine white letter that Verger delivered to her fell to the floor with a soft whoosh as she draped her skirt over her dressing chair.