The Beautiful Ones

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  A game they played.

  But when they were young they were free, and afterward they could make vows that they intended to keep. Now there were no promises to be made, nor any measure of soothing tenderness.

  Valérie kissed him nevertheless. Knowing the hopelessness of it all made her want to hold on tighter to him. She also wanted to hurt him, and she knew well enough that her caresses would wound more than any blows.

  His mouth burned her and she knew he wanted to brand her, his fingers were digging too deep in her flesh, and she relished the touch. She thought of biting his tongue, drawing blood.

  There came the loud thump of a book falling upon the floor.

  They both turned their heads.

  Antonina stood at the door. One of her books had slipped from her hands, but she still held on to the other one tight. Her lips were trembling.

  Finally, she let go of the book she had been clutching, and at the same time several volumes jumped from the shelves and fell against the carpet, as if echoing her motions. Then the girl turned around and ran out of the library.

  Hector meant to follow Antonina, but Valérie held on to his arm, forcing him to turn and look at her.

  “It’s all over,” Valérie said.

  Hector did not reply, rushing out, looking faintly ridiculous in his distress. She chuckled at this. She rubbed her fingers against her mouth and she chuckled, and then she bit her hand because tears were streaming down her face.

  Chapter 18

  IN THE SUMMER NINA LIKED to rise early, sometimes even before the dawn. She’d go to the river and take off her shoes, walking on blades of grass fresh with dew. She’d watch the fireflies and listen to the birds as they began to chirp in the trees. These things brought her joy.

  She had been anxious and brittle the day before, unable to understand what had caused Hector to part quickly from her side after they kissed in the tower. He did not come down for dinner, which only added to her woes.

  Wrapped in perfect misery, she questioned the stars for any secret answers they might give her, but they could not soothe her. The books talked about men set aflame, pursuing women, but it was she who was burning and knew not what course to take. The only thing the heroines in her books did was weep until a man rescued them. Or kidnapped them, if he was a pirate.

  That spark that burned in her, that ember lodged in her heart, pushed her forward, emboldening her.

  Close to midnight she grabbed a piece of paper and began scribbling. Her hands trembled at first, but as each word fell in place, she grew calmer. By the time she left the letter at his door, she had erased all doubts, and in the morning, when she woke and traced the margins of the river, she did so with a smile on her face. She was alive that morning, alive with hope and love. Each breath she took, each beat of her heart, every sigh, was meant for Hector. She existed for him alone and knew nothing but him.

  Surely he loved her but was afraid to say the proper words! Cousin Gaetan had expressed reservations about him when Hector first began to visit them, unsure if he was a gentleman of high enough stature to deserve the attention of the Beaulieus. Perhaps Hector felt the same, and now faltered.

  Whatever the reason for his shyness, Nina knew she’d done right and soon everything would be well. They would be together; this was clear. It was as if she could read the imminent signs in the water and the rustling of the trees. She pressed a hand against her lips and smiled.

  Nina took her time walking back to Oldhouse, and when she went past the stables, she heard the dogs barking. Luc Lémy was attempting to shoo them away, but they only barked more.

  “Here, now. Here, boys,” she said, and the dogs immediately ran toward her, wagging their tails.

  She bent down to pet them.

  “Thank you for that,” Luc told her. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time these devilish creatures see me, they try to bite a chunk out of my leg.”

  The dogs were huge; they were meant for herding sheep, but gentle with children. She chuckled. “Mr. Lémy, they wouldn’t bite you. They must simply like you.”

  “Believe me, Miss Beaulieu, they despise me.”

  “Maybe you are a cat person.”

  “Heavens, that sounds even worse. Horses, Miss Beaulieu, there’s a reliable animal. Put a bridle on it and enjoy a ride, that’s my kind of pet. Better yet, place them in front of a carriage and be done with it. Or a motorcar. That is a fine invention!”

  He shook his head. Mr. Lémy and his brother Étienne were both brilliant creatures with their blond hair and their amicable smiles. Luc in particular was the portrait of the city dandy, his clothes always impeccable, looking as if he’d just shaved and gotten a haircut no matter what time of the day it was. He smoked tiny black cigarettes, which he carried in a silver case, and had a way of flattering every woman, no matter her age. Even her old aunts, reticent creatures, thought him a charming fellow.

  “You can’t ride a motorcar here, Mr. Lémy. It would get stuck in the mud within five minutes flat.”

  “You are correct about that,” he said, as if surveying the road that led to Oldhouse. “That is precisely why Loisail is the best city in the world. Who heard of a land without motorcars?”

  “There are plenty of places without motorcars. Besides, you are going to Bosegnan.”

  “Yes,” Luc said with a roll of his eyes. “Land of shellfish.”

  “You, sir, are the worst man I’ve ever met. If you keep criticizing the countryside, I shan’t invite you back. Why, look at the sun. It shines wonderfully today. You wouldn’t deny it’s a marvelous day for a stroll. Who’d want to be stuck inside a motorcar?”

  Luc scoffed and kicked a pebble away. “A marvelous day, no thanks. Two days ago I forgot to wear my hat when I went for a ride, and now look at my face. I look like an overcooked shrimp.”

  “Nonsense,” she said.

  “It is true. We are not all as lucky as you, who seem to glow every time a stray bit of sun touches your face. No, summer in Montipouret does not suit me.”

  She almost felt like informing him that he’d have to stomach one more summer in the countryside, or at least a couple of summer days, since she believed the Lémys would be invited to her wedding the following year. The Beaulieus married in Oldhouse. Even Valérie had yielded to this custom. The civil ceremony had taken place in Loisail at the insistence of the bride, but the religious marriage had been outside, behind the house, with long tables covered with the whitest linen set for the wedding lunch. Nina recalled the excitement of that day and that she had been allowed to have a whole glass of wine for herself.

  Valérie’s dress had been a thing of wonder. White silk and satin, a bridal veil of antique lace, a bouquet of white flowers in her hands, and a diamond fringe necklace that was expensive and extravagant. The people of Montipouret spoke of it months after the wedding had concluded. How Nina wanted this, the pomp, the toasts, her picture in the papers.

  “Don’t despair, Mr. Lémy. Come now, come here,” Nina said, calling to the dogs as she went inside to ensure they would not follow him.

  She walked into the kitchen, where the cook immediately chided her for having brought the infernal pups in with her, but Nina shrugged and threw them a piece of sausage while she stole a piece of bread. Her mother insisted a proper breakfast consisted of a boiled egg a day, followed by a couple of slices of cheese, but Nina seldom complied with these instructions.

  Nina went up to her room and fell upon the bed, stretching her arms above her head. She dozed for a while, and when she woke she went around the room, looking at the reading material piled by her bed. Her horrid habit of leaving books here and there was obvious to any casual observer, and the maids often complained they could not dust properly because Nina hoarded too many volumes and she grumbled if they took them back to their shelves.

  Nina grabbed two books and decided she should return this pair to the library as a gesture of goodwill.

  Soon enough she reached her destination and opene
d the door.

  She saw Hector and Valérie standing in the middle of the library, but at first she thought it couldn’t be them. They were kissing, his arms entwined around her, and Valérie’s lips rose to meet him, like a flower turning toward the sun, and he held on to her tight.

  Nina thought she had a fever dream, such as when she was seven and had spent a whole night writhing in pain. Why, that couldn’t be Valérie. Why, that couldn’t be Hector.

  A book slipped from her hands, and when it crashed against the floor she realized, wide-eyed, this was real. This was happening.

  They both looked at her.

  She’d read about hearts breaking in books, and it had seemed a curious business to her because it was physiologically impossible for a heart to crack like a piece of porcelain. But now Nina felt pain, actual physical pain assaulting her as if someone had thrust a dagger into her flesh, and it hurt so badly, she did not know if she could remember how to breathe. This, too, was a physical impossibility. Breathe she must, and yet she stood like a woman drowning, her breath burning her throat, caught in her mouth.

  Unwittingly, she sent several atlases and volumes of poetry flying against the floor.

  Finally she was able to breathe, gulping, like a swimmer breaking through the surface of the water. Nina turned around and hurried out of the library.

  She moved with rapid, almost noiseless steps, a hand pressed against her stomach.

  “Antonina,” Hector said behind her.

  She lifted her skirts to move faster, though she did not run. She could not manage the proper functioning of her limbs. She wished she could run. She wished she could run forever.

  She saw the faces of maidens and knights painted in the colored windows of the hallway, blazing greens, reds, and yellows upon the floor.

  “Antonina, please stop.”

  Flowers and an apple tree sparkled, the sun shining bright through the glass. There was a lamb, too, in a long panel of opalescent glass. It grazed on a perfect meadow.

  “Antonina, will you stop and speak to me, please.”

  “Nina!” she shrieked, turning toward him and flinging her hand down, opening it, her fingers splayed so wide, they almost hurt.

  Panels of glass shattered. The docile sheep was turned into fine bits of crystal, the knight tumbled upon the floor, the maiden was destroyed. The glass fell and she willed it to crash again and again, wanting to grind it into the finest sand. A shard bit into her flesh, sinking into her palm, and she stopped. She felt spent, a flame that had guttered out.

  He’d avoided or repelled any damage and stood in the middle of the hallway unscathed while her hand throbbed.

  “Nina, for God’s sake, you are injured,” he said, moving toward her.

  She raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks, then shoved him back, hard, with a motion of her fingers. “Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me. Never, ever, speak to me.”

  She ran back to her room—she’d remembered how to run, could instruct her legs to do this once again—avoiding the startled servants who muttered and wondered what that infernal racket had been. The door locked, she went into her bathroom, staring at her injured hand.

  Nina willed the glass shard to move and slid it out of her skin; she made it float before her eyes, examining it. It was a thin piece of green glass, now tinted crimson with her blood.

  She opened the faucet. The cold water comforted her. She washed her hands and wrapped a towel around the wound.

  Nina went to the bed and sat in the center of it. She cried, and then she wiped her tears with the towel, and she cried again. She thought she’d never stop weeping, but eventually her sobs ceased. She lay there, an empty vessel.

  The bleeding had subsided.

  She closed her eyes.

  Then came a knock and she raised her head. Outside it was dark and the stars had come out. She’d slept for many hours, a dreamless, black sleep that did not quench her despair.

  “Open up,” Valérie said.

  Chapter 19

  VALÉRIE SHONE WHEN SHE WAS placed in a difficult situation. In a way, she relished the challenge. Even now as she stood trembling inside, she knew she would find a way out.

  Antonina had caused a ruckus, smashing windows and running through Oldhouse. No one knew what had happened, and they gathered in the salon to sit together and gossip. Hector was there, looking as livid as could be, and so were Camille and Madelena, along with several older cousins.

  “I am not sure what has occurred,” Camille said. “Mr. Auvray, you said you were with her?”

  “Antonina is upset because she was mistaken about Mr. Auvray’s interactions with her. She assumed a marriage proposal was forthcoming, but he cares for her only as a dear friend,” Valérie said quickly, priding herself on her choice of words.

  “Is that true, Mr. Auvray?” Camille asked.

  Hector nodded. Immediately came a wave of whispering.

  Madelena, sitting on a couch, looked up at Valérie. “I cannot believe my sister would behave this way, even if disappointed,” Madelena said.

  “A few years ago, did she not shove that boy off his horse? I recall he was injured,” Valérie replied.

  Everyone clearly remembered that incident. They looked around at each other, nodding.

  “That was four years ago. She was barely more than a child, and Johaness Meinard was an ill-mannered, cruel boy,” Madelena protested.

  “There was also the episode with the stones,” Valérie said. “How did that come about? I don’t recall.”

  An uncomfortable silence rested upon the room. Antonina’s follies were tolerated at Oldhouse, but it could not be denied she did not have a commendable grip on her talent.

  “I should speak to her,” Hector said.

  “Or I,” Madelena said.

  Madelena made a motion as if to rise, but Valérie spoke at once, aware she could not allow the sisters to talk at this point. Who knew what poisonous words Antonina could spill? She must ensure this snake’s venom was drained before allowing it to roam freely around the house.

  “You would only upset her more. Let her rest and dry her tears. In the morning she may have seen the senselessness of her actions,” Valérie said, and extending her arms, she clutched Madelena’s hands. “Come, dear cousin, Antonina is young, as you said. Barely more than a child.”

  “Nina can be temperamental,” Camille conceded. “Valérie is correct, it might be best to let her rest.”

  Madelena nodded. It was thus agreed that Nina would not be coaxed out of her room until the next day. Supper was a grim affair. Camille and Madelena fretted, while Hector’s eyes were glum—you would have thought he had witnessed an execution. Valérie was not in high spirits either, but she did not give in to despair. Having shed a few violent tears and lost a measure of control when they had been in the library, she now felt equipped to solve this situation with the aplomb it required.

  Once night fell, she knocked at Antonina’s door.

  “Open up,” she said, and when no reply came, Valérie spoke again. “I have your letter.”

  Antonina opened the door and stared at her with unmitigated fury in her eyes. Valérie imagined duelists gazed at each other in this manner before they pulled the trigger. But Valérie was not afraid; she almost wanted to say, “Don’t make it too easy for me.”

  “Did he truly give my letter to you?” Antonina asked.

  “Let me in and maybe you’ll learn the answer.”

  The girl agreed, as she’d expected. Antonina was likely itching for a fight and a chance to pile as many hard words as she could at Valérie’s feet.

  Valérie walked in and looked around, finding an empty chair and sitting straight. Antonina followed her every movement. She saw the girl was clutching a towel between her hands, as if it were a talisman. How young she looked, though Valérie did not feel envious of this youth. She was a half-formed being, a creature with no edges.

  “I have come because I can imagine what thoughts run
through your head at this time. You must be eager to put pen to paper and inform my husband of what you think you saw,” Valérie said.

  “I know exactly what I saw. You’ve taken Hector as your lover.”

  “Dear girl, I have not.”

  “What do you call it, then? A friendly hello?”

  “A kiss. We only ever shared kisses, even when we were in the thrall of youth.”

  Kisses and a few embraces, and one heated evening, it might have come to more but Hector was gallant and somewhat naive, a romantic with high ideals. Valérie—cautious, too—recognized that life had not given women many cards to play and one valuable one she possessed was the stamp of her virtue.

  “What do you mean?” Antonina mumbled.

  Antonina moved closer to Valérie, as if she were trying to get a better look at her. The towel she held, Valérie noticed, had red splotches upon it. Dried blood. The girl twisted the towel violently between her hands. Had she harmed herself during her fit? It could not have been too badly.

  “You can’t guess? Must I say it?” Valérie asked.

  She realized that, yes, she must say it. Antonina could not understand implications; she must be shown in stark black-and-white the meaning of words. Not that Valérie minded instructing the young woman this one time.

  “I met Mr. Auvray when I was your age. We fell in love and I promised him my hand in marriage. But he went away, to Iblevad, and I was pressured to marry your cousin Gaetan. Once Hector returned to the city, he sought me. He begged me to run away with him, saying that he still loved me and always had.”

  Antonina was trembling. Valérie watched her step back and raise her hands, digging her fingers through her hair. “He was chasing after you, wasn’t he?” she whispered. “He wasn’t after me, he wanted you all along.”

  She did understand now. Valérie leaned forward, and hearing how Antonina’s voice cracked, she almost felt sorry for her and could have attempted one kind word, except then the girl spoke again in a high voice, which cut Valérie to the bone.