Did he perhaps have a sheltered, easy life, two parents always looking out for him? Maybe so. That might make a man jumpy if he’s not known danger before. Perhaps a soft life engenders fright? Thomas certainly appeared rigid with those two pistols. Unless she is mistaken, he came close to pulling the triggers on those two highwaymen.
Or maybe it’s the reverse. Maybe Thomas did not receive the love he needed as a child and as a result is not sure exactly who he is as a man. Élisabeth exhales. It is impossible to know what really goes on in anyone else’s head.
She glances across to Fanny and her man, Thomas’s friend John Cleland. Élisabeth is not sure what to think of him. There is no doubt he is clever, but clever is not everything, not by a long shot. She prefers Thomas, someone who keeps more of his thoughts to himself. Though....
Élisabeth turns again to the man beside her on the seat. He is looking wistful. The grin of escape is gone, the escape of either being killed or having to kill. She will let him be. Work it out.
But not forever. If Élisabeth is going to let Thomas lie with her, the greatest of intimacies, it is her right to find out as much about him as she can. This is the only life she has. She will not make any more false steps than the ones she has already made.
———
Thomas rolls his eyes to hear himself sigh. Yes, it was close. But in the end he didn’t kill anyone. Had he done what he was tempted to do, he is certain the mood in the rolling coach would not be what it is. Oh, Cleland might be the same, silently beaming like he’s just won the jackpot at a hand of cards. But Élisabeth and Fanny would not be so serene. Neither would have wanted to see the rogues shot, even if it’s what was deserved. It’s one of the traits that make most women better than most men. They feel what others feel. So, for that reason alone, Thomas chose correctly. He prefers Élisabeth and Fanny bright and cheery, not downcast.
“Did you see them?” John Cleland breaks the silence with a triumphant cry. “Punching the air and kicking the dirt as we drove off?”
That brings smiles all round.
Fanny places a hand to her chest. “My heart was racing when we were creeping up on them. I could scarcely breathe, fearing they might turn.”
“It did not show.” Élisabeth taps Fanny on the knees. “Not at all.”
“Yes, you skirts, as the ill-bred louts called you, you did all right.” Cleland pretends to study the back of his hand. “Not too, too bad.”
“Not too bad?” Fanny’s face is one of disbelief.
Thomas controls his smile.
“John is right.” Élisabeth winks at Thomas. “Fanny and I might have done more.” She holds up a hand for effect.
Fanny’s blue eyes blink.
Élisabeth brings down the hand. “We might have … spanked them.”
Cleland shows a grin.
“Spanked them?” says Fanny. Then she recognizes what is going on. The usual twinkle returns to her eyes. In a voice Thomas supposes is her impersonation of a London grande dame, she says, “Because one must show ruffians discipline.” She points her nose high in the air. “Is that not right?”
Élisabeth claps, Cleland roars and Thomas shows his approval with several quick nods. He did not know that Cleland’s willowy lover had a sense of humour as well as her other more obvious charms.
“Again,” says Cleland. “Say more, my dear.”
Thomas shares a knowing look with Élisabeth. It is good to see their travelling companions so smitten with each other. He wonders, however, if Élisabeth would be so pleased to know that Cleland is creating a fictional version of Fanny in a novel he has begun to write. Thomas read the opening chapter a while back. It kept him turning the pages, but the real question is how many of the erotic adventures Cleland writes about are truthfully based on this Fanny’s real life. If only he could ask, which he knows he dare not.
Beaming at the response to her first small acting part, Fanny offers a fresh performance. This time she fixes Thomas in her gaze. “What say you there, my good man?” comes out in a deep voice.
Fanny casts a glance at Élisabeth, asking with her eyes if it’s all right to speak in this manner to her man. Élisabeth waves her on.
“Pleased at your escape? I say, dear man—old chap—I—” Fanny loses the flow of words. She covers her face with both hands.
“You are truly a lady. Lady Fanny.” Thomas offers a quarter bow from his seated position.
“A delight.” Cleland looks at each of his companions in turn. “This is a true delight.”
That brings a mix of smiles and shrugs.
“But,” says Cleland with a sudden stern look, “we should acknowledge why and how we are here.”
“Oh, the big question,” says Élisabeth, leaning forward. “Do say, John, why are we here?”
“I mean on the road to Bath, my Swiss friend, no more than that.”
“Ah, a much smaller question is that.”
“Isn’t it? In any case, my friends, I want to point out whose idea it was for us to come on this outing. Merçi, Thomas.” The words come with an outstretched arm.
Fanny gives him a quick clap, which comes with a warm smile. Élisabeth looks like she actually is feeling something akin to pride. Thomas offers a humble shrug. “Remember, Bath is still a few hours away. Should we not—”
“True enough.” Cleland purses his lips. “Let’s wait. On the way back to London we’ll know if it’s thanks or curses we owe this man.”
Thomas allows a sage shrug.
——
Thomas likes to gaze out at the stone walls, especially those topped by hawthorn hedges, as the coach rolls by. They seem the perfect boundary for the many fields of freshly turned furrows. The winged ones, birds large and small, mostly brown and black, are busy finding their food in the broken earth.
It was Jean Gallatin, Thomas’s other good friend, who initially asked Thomas to join him on a trip to Bath. Well, not just him but them. Hélène, Gallatin’s wife, would be coming too. Gallatin confided that she wanted to take the waters in the spa town in the hope that she would be able to conceive a child. “Six months,” Gallatin said with a hushed voice, “and still no result.”
“Seeking an heir for the throne?” Thomas quipped.
The grimace on Gallatin’s face said he saw no wit in the remark. “Hélène is nearing her mid-thirties. She worries it might soon be too late. Bath’s waters worked for the late Queen Anne, so she wants to give it a try.”
Thomas pretended to consider the matter. The truth, of course, was that under no condition was he going to travel any such distance with Gallatin and Hélène.
“I thought as an old friend to the both of us, you might want to come along.”
“Hmm,” Thomas had replied.
Then he listened as the bookseller went on about how Bath’s hot, sulphurous waters were once known to the Romans. Aquae Sulis they called the town, explained Gallatin, as if that were a clinching point.
“What dates?” Thomas asked.
“November. Fifth, sixth, seventh.”
“Oh,” Thomas sighed. “What a coincidence. I’ll be in Bath at the same time.”
“Really?” Gallatin’s eyes narrowed at the news.
“Yes, with John Cleland and our lady friends.”
How Gallatin’s face fell at that. He detested Cleland, which Thomas well knew. The trick then was for Thomas to propose just such an outing to the others. As he expected they would be, Cleland, Élisabeth and Fanny were eager to see the place everyone was talking about. A town with a famous spa and the renowned Assembly Rooms. And topping it off, a place that was said to be writing new rules for how polite society should behave.
Later that evening, when Thomas had reached underneath Élisabeth’s chemise as she got into bed with him, she grabbed his hand and said, “Are you sure the new rules allow that?”
Thomas took back his hand. “Pardon me.”
She laughed. “In Bath. Do they not have rules to rein in that kind of thing? Are men and women even supposed to tumble there?”
“Good one,” he said. “I doubt the rules venture into that area. But who knows?” Thomas held up his hand for Élisabeth to see. “May I, Madame?”
“If you must,” she said, but with a wry smile.
“Merci.”
“You know, Thomas, I think I’m going to like Bath. There are a lot of men in this world who could use some rules.”
“Me?”
“No, you’re not too bad.”
“High praise.”
“Enough talk.”
——
“What’s that little smile about?” Élisabeth asks in the bouncing coach.
Thomas swings back from the window to face her. “Nothing.”
She can still see the trace of a particular smile, one she is guessing has something to do with their bed.
“Pray, leave the man alone, woman.” Cleland is leaning forward. “The enigma does not wish to share what is on his mind. Surely, that’s fair.”
Élisabeth gives Cleland the compliant expression he wants.
“Imagine,” he says, “if we all knew what we were secretly thinking. What a nasty world it would be.”
“Speak for yourself,” says Élisabeth.
“That’s right,” Fanny adds.
“I assure you, ma chère,” says Thomas with a wink, “my thoughts were not nasty at all. Quite the opposite.”
“Too bad.” Élisabeth shows Thomas a fleeting pucker of the lips.
“Tell us again, what are we going to do once we get there?” Fanny’s eyes are wide. “Please, Tom.”
Élisabeth sees Thomas wince.
Cleland places a hand on Fanny’s knee. “I don’t think he likes the short version of his name.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Fanny twitches her nose. “But Tom is better than Tom-ass, is it not?” She covers her mouth.
“In French we say Tom-ah, not Tom-ass,” Élisabeth says in what she hopes is a helpful voice.
“Whatever Fanny prefers.” Thomas presents an amiable face. “Our inn is in the centre of town, on Staule Street. Comfortable and well appointed, I am told.”
Three contented listeners settle back in their seats.
“We have two rooms.”
“I should hope.” Cleland makes his eyebrows dance. “Fanny and I don’t want any impolite noises coming from your room. The Bathites will complain.”
“Is that what they are called? Bathites?” Élisabeth wants to know.
“No idea,” says Cleland.
“Shall I continue?” Thomas asks.
“If you must.” Cleland rolls his eyes.
Fanny places a quieting hand across John Cleland’s mouth. “Yes, please.”
On his fingers Thomas counts off: “We take the waters. Sips, not full drinks. It is hot and sulphuric. Second, we visit the baths. Third, we promenade in the streets. And fourth—”
“Fourth,” Cleland interrupts, “we make sport at the gaming tables. And in our beds.”
Élisabeth watches Fanny pretend to be shocked. “And the Assembly Rooms?” Élisabeth asks.
“My apologies.” Thomas turns her way. “Of course, we will go to the rooms. We have to show le tout Bath just how charming, clever, pretty, handsome, smart and witty we are.”
Expectation lights up Fanny’s face as she leans back against the seat. Élisabeth realizes she is doing the same thing, with anticipation on her face as well.
——
“From what I hear,” Thomas says, glancing away from Élisabeth to take in the other two, “the spa town is like a London shop. Everyone is on display with everyone else. “
“Sounds like dreadful fun,” intones Cleland, pretending to be glum.
“Tell me, Thomas,” says Élisabeth, “will we be meeting up with Hélène and Monsieur Gallatin?”
Thomas is sure he does not show anything other than a cheery face. While he was pleased Gallatin had granted him the favour of hiring Élisabeth to work in his bookshop, he knew it carried risks. His current lover might befriend his former, Hélène, now Gallatin’s wife. That would lead to talk, which sooner or later might be about him. Has it happened already?
“How could we not?” Thomas feigns a yawn and stretches his arms and legs. “Bath is a small town.”
“Not good form, Tyrell,” Cleland says. “To show the boredom one feels.”
“I was just—”
“If you’re not careful with your rudeness, people might start thinking—well, they’ll think you’re French.”
Fanny’s laugh is a bark. “But he is. French, I mean.” A guilty look crosses her face. “Sorry, Tom, but you have to admit it. You are French.”
“The secret’s out?” Thomas casts a dark look Fanny’s way. But then he sends a wink, which preserves the mirth in the bouncing, rolling coach.
——
Thomas hesitates to speak of it, but then decides he must. To begin he makes a show of testing the fabric of his coat’s left sleeve. “Do you— do you think my coat and pants are— well, are they too blue?”
“Ah, the fancy pants,” Cleland nearly shouts.
Élisabeth and Fanny sputter mirth.
“No, I just—”
“Oh, tell the truth, Tyrell. You’re afraid highwaymen know more about fashion than you.”
“No, I—”
“You know what I say, Tyrell?” Cleland raises his eyebrows.
Thomas does not like that all three faces are wearing grins, at his expense. “What is that?”
“Shit the cookie.”
“Shit the cookie,” Fanny and Élisabeth sing in chorus.
“You know,” says Élisabeth, wiping a tear of laughter from one eye. “If you covered your face with a mouchoir, Thomas, you could join their gang.”
Thomas decides he might as well join in the mockery being sent his way. With his right hand he covers his mouth and nose. “What do you think?”
“Mysterious,” says Élisabeth. “What women want. Or so men think.”
Thomas lowers his hand and pretends to blow her a kiss. “Remember, if I’m a thief, I answer to only myself. It will be a return to the state of nature.”
“What does that mean?” Fanny asks. “A state of nature?”
Thomas, Cleland and Élisabeth trade glances. With their eyes, the men ask Élisabeth to reply.
“What I take it to mean, Fanny, is it was the time before civilization imposed its rules. Men were like the beasts.”
“Doesn’t sound good.” Fanny looks genuinely troubled.
Cleland leans forward. “No, it likely wasn’t. But people … well some people of our time,” he shoots Thomas a knowing glance, “like to think it was. Freer. Unencumbered.”
Fanny winces.
Thomas holds up a hand. “In any case, we will soon be in Bath. Which, from all we hear, is the opposite of nature’s state. It is all rules. No base elements, no nature allowed.”
“We shall see, won’t we?” Cleland gives his chin a rub.
“What shall we see?” Thomas asks.
“Well, today is the fifth.” Cleland puts his right hand up in the air. The voice that comes out is deep.
Remember, remember
The fifth of November.
Thomas and Élisabeth exchange puzzled looks.
“Pope Day,” Cleland explains with disdain. He gestures at Fanny for support.
“It is. It’s the Fifth.” Fanny is all smiles. “But do you think they’ll have a fire in Bath, John?” Her face shifts to balancing between expectation and doubt. “It’s not the quality who come out, is it?”
“Well, shame on them.”
&
nbsp; “That’s right.” Fanny is stern.
Cleland puffs out his chest. “No popery and no foreigners in this green and fertile land!”
Fanny beams at Cleland, which causes Thomas to swing his focus round to Élisabeth. Together, they slyly raise their eyebrows.
“I see that!” Cleland calls out. He takes Élisabeth by the hand. “Fear not, Huguenot, you are all right. You, alas....” Cleland points an accusing finger at Thomas. “You are not, you half-hearted atheist.”
“Vraiment, Cleland?” Thomas shakes his head. “That is what you think?”
Cleland smiles like he has just taken the last piece of cheese. He stretches his long legs. “Of course not. But I did have you going there, did I not?”
Thomas chooses not to reply.
“The thing is, Tyrell, where I might not burn you for your beliefs, or rather the lack thereof, there’s more than a few who would.”
Thomas looks out at the hedgerow bouncing by.
“Hey,” says Cleland, calling him back. “Seriously, Tyrell, Pope Day is not to be missed. It’s always a milling, mumbling, stinking crowd. Cheers, smoke, the smell of tar, the effigy lighting up.”
“Even in Bath?” asks Élisabeth.
“We’ll see. The great thing about the Fifth is it reminds us English of who we are. Well, more accurately, of who we are not.”
“That’s right,” Fanny chimes in. “Who we are not.” She sets her eyes and chin. “Remember, remember.” Her finger ticks in the air.
Thomas and Élisabeth blink.
“Word of advice.” Cleland leans forward, eyes on Thomas. “If there is a bonfire in Bath, don’t go spouting French.”
Thomas shrugs. “I’ll be prudent.”
“Prudent?” says Fanny with a wrinkled brow. “Prudent as in you will or will not join us in burning the Pope?”
Crossings, A Thomas Pichon Novel Page 3