The Academie

by Dunlap, Susanne

  “And there is a letter and a parcel for you, Mademoiselle Eliza,” he says, picking them up from the table inside the door and handing them to me.

  I recognize my mother’s handwriting, and suddenly I’m reminded that she has left Paris, and me, to return to Virginia. My heart sinks. “They’re from my mother,” I mutter. Tears threaten to overwhelm me, and I take a deep breath.

  I feel Hortense’s gentle hand on my shoulder. “Has something happened?”

  I draw myself up. I will not let this disappointment infect my spirits. “No, nothing at all. My mother has simply returned to Virginia to be with my father when he runs for office in the government.”

  I can feel my lip quivering just the slightest bit and do my best to control it. I don’t want them to guess how much I rely upon Mama still. I have seen the way they are so independent, and I want to be like them.

  We go upstairs to our rooms. “Remember, ask Ernestine to help us,” Caroline whispers before I close the door behind me. “I’ll enlist the help of Hélène, too.”

  “Geneviève may also be relied upon,” Hortense says. “If she has the time.”

  We kiss each other before parting. I am glad to see Hortense and Caroline showing affection. They are sisters, after all. I only hope that Caroline truly wants to help Hortense.

  As soon as I am alone in my room, I break the seal on Mama’s letter.

  My darling Eliza,

  Your papa has written to me and requests my return most urgently. I would have protested, were it not for the fact that I am feeling unwell in my present condition and long for the comfort of my own hearth.

  But his news is quite important: he is called to Washington, and there is talk of his running for governor of Virginia. I sent word to Madame Campan that I would see you, but she informed me that you had gone to stay with Caroline Bonaparte for a few days. That’s as it should be; you must take advantage of the opportunities you are presented with.

  To ensure that you do not lack for anything, I have given Madame Campan a generous bank draft, and enclose in this package some jewels and money for you. Use it as you wish, but I especially recommend purchasing gifts for your new friends.

  Until next we meet, your loving mother.

  I can no longer hold back the tears that fall on the paper that bears Mama’s handwriting. Now not only am I in school, but she is far away, and I cannot know when she will receive my letters and share my adventures with me.

  And there will be adventures. What does Caroline mean for us to do? At least there is one good thing: the money Mama sent will surely help.

  I ring the bell on my dressing table. A moment later, Ernestine appears. She is wearing her nightgown and gives a very obvious yawn. I cannot help but wonder if she would do such a thing in front of a French mistress.

  “We have need of your help, beginning early tomorrow morning,” I say.

  “Yes, Mademoiselle Eliza. But I hope not too early.” She yawns again.

  “As early as I say.” I turn to her. I watched Joséphine and Caroline with the servants at Malmaison. They were calm but insistent. They expected obedience, but didn’t order them the way we do our house slaves in Virginia. I fear I have been too informal with Ernestine, and she has taken advantage of my youth and inexperience by presuming too many liberties. That will change.

  I see her expression freeze, the usual smile playing at the corners of her mouth stopped in an awkward place. “Oui, Mademoiselle,” she says, and curtsies. If she dared, I think she’d stick her tongue out at me right now. But I have more important things to think about.

  Tomorrow we will prepare to run away dressed as men. I understand why Caroline wishes to do so—I saw her with Murat, and she glowed with triumph. He is a very dashing man and clearly Bonaparte depends upon him. How did Joséphine manage to change Napoléon’s mind so quickly?

  A little thrill of excitement stirs me. When we go upon this adventure, I will see Eugène. And not as a polite young man in his mother’s house, but as a soldier at the heart of action. I conjure up his face, thinking of all the expressions I have seen upon it in the brief time since I have met him, and I sigh.

  It is silly of me to think of him, I know. But I can still feel his arms around me, protecting and comforting me. I will go on this crazy adventure of Caroline’s not just because it will be fun to be with them, but for the sake of Eugène. I want to have another opportunity to watch him, to see him move about in the world of powerful men and hold his own, although he is but eighteen years old. He has that in common with Hortense: they both have eyes that are deep with experience. Their father was guillotined, their mother imprisoned. Their world has been upended and righted again so many times. I do not know if these were the lessons my mama wanted me to learn here, but, if nothing else, I begin to understand how small my existence has been so far.

  Morning comes too quickly even for me. “Wake up!” Caroline shakes me.

  “It’s barely light outside.”

  “Yes, but we have so much to do.” She takes hold of my arm and practically drags me from beneath my covers. “We must be well under way before Madame awakens.”

  I am alert enough that I know I will not go back to sleep, so I give in and ring for Ernestine.

  She arrives surprisingly quickly, already dressed. She helps me into my gown and ties my hair back in a queue, positioning my blue ribbons exactly. It appears my tone has worked with her.

  Caroline, Hortense, and I meet in the breakfast room.

  “We need material. Is there enough in the sewing scraps, do you think?” Caroline asks Hortense. Is this new friendliness between them genuine? I don’t believe Hortense would dissemble, but I am not so certain about Caroline. If they are truly to become friends, it pleases and disappoints me at the same time. Their friendship would rob my letters of half the content I was hoping to write to my mother.

  “It depends on what sort of clothing we want to make,” I say.

  Caroline puts her hands on her hips. “We need to be soldiers.”

  This makes all of us stop what we are doing and stare. “How can we manage it?” I ask. A soldier’s uniform is a very particular thing.

  “If we could but purchase the jackets...,” Caroline says.

  “I can help,” I say, drawing my reticule out and opening it to show half the bundle of banknotes my mother gave me. I had the good sense to hide the rest.

  “Where did you get so much?” Hortense says. I hear fear in her voice. Perhaps she thinks I have been dishonest.

  “My mama left it for me. She wanted to make sure I didn’t want for anything while she is away.”

  “Eliza, you are our savior!” Caroline leaps to her feet and throws her arms around me, then just as quickly sits back down and starts to rattle on about what we’ll need.

  Hortense looks at me with pity. I don’t want to let my feelings show, to reveal that my mother’s parting has had such a strong effect upon me, so I turn away from her.

  “Now for the breeches,” Caroline says to Hortense. “Do you think Valmont could help?” She furrows her brow and purses her lips, tapping her chin with her index finger.

  “He probably could. I shall send him a message. I expect there are students across the way who have outgrown their breeches, and they have to have white ones to wear for chapel. Many of the boys use the same ones when they join the army.”

  “But how will we get them here?” I ask.

  “Valmont is a prefect, and sometimes he has to deliver messages here. I shall say ... that the young ones need something to practice their mending on.”

  I have to admit, it could work. “And the jackets?”

  “I have an idea about that, too,” Hortense says, surprising us with how enthusiastically she is entering into the plan. “Eugène has grown so much lately,” Hortense says. “Perhaps we can send Ernestine to Malmaison on the pretext that Eliza forgot something important. Maman will not rise until afternoon, with the gentlemen all gone. I’ll write a note for t
he young maid there. I think she’ll help us.”

  I don’t know quite how, but we have concocted a scheme that has a chance of being successful. Even if it is foiled by circumstances, or we are found out, the thrill of attempting it is most diverting. Pity this is something I can never tell my mother. She would be horrified—and yet, she would probably wish she could have been with us, too.

  27

  Hortense

  I have never done anything so deceitful in my life. Not only am I agreeing to help Caroline and Eliza with their scheme, but I am planning to deceive them as well. I shall find a way to ensure they are not blamed for my folly. But after these past few days at Malmaison, I realize I must grasp at a chance for happiness, if it exists at all.

  I cannot bear the thought of the future my maman has planned for me. At least, not without knowing whether, in submitting to it, I will be turning my back on a true, genuine love.

  Monsieur Perroquet comes today for my music lesson. Will he bring Michel with him? I must find out where he stands, what he intends—what I mean to him. Perhaps he was only toying with my affections. And yet, even as I think it, I believe the opposite. I believe he loves me. His soul is full of music. Surely that is evidence enough.

  Everything I do for the next twenty-four hours depends upon whether I see any sign that Michel’s love is true. If his intentions are as I suspect—hope—then he will take me away, we will marry in secret, and no one will be able to change it.

  Caroline and Eliza have set their maids to working on the uniforms they shall wear. I cannot presume to occupy all of Geneviève’s time in my service when she has others to care for, so I try to do as much as I can myself. Having once been apprenticed to a seamstress, I find I make good time. I am able to put my work away for a few hours during lessons and know that I shall be as prepared as the others.

  I find it difficult to concentrate as Madame Campan drills us in etiquette and tests our ability to steer the conversation away from unsuitable topics, and I nearly allow a silence to elapse in our practice drawing room.

  “Hortense, are you quite well?” she asks me, coming and laying the back of her hand on my forehead. “Perhaps the excitement of traveling to Malmaison has been too great for you. Or perhaps there is some other cause for your indisposition.”

  I am startled by her words. Has she guessed what we are doing? I force a smile. “No, madame. I am quite well. Just a little tired from the traveling, is all.” I do not want her to guess that there is anything else going on inside my heart.

  She lowers her voice so that only I can hear it. “I have had a letter from your mother. I hear that, perhaps in not too long a time, we may have reason to congratulate you.”

  I wonder what else Maman wrote to her. How did she explain our sudden return to school after such a peremptory demand for my presence?

  Madame Campan returns to her instruction, and I do my best to pay attention. But my heart quickens as the hour for comportment lessons draws to a close and I hear the bell indicating that Monsieur Perroquet has arrived. I strain my ears to discern if there is one pair of footsteps or two, but hear nothing.

  A servant comes to Madame Campan and whispers in her ear. She looks around the room until her eyes alight upon Eliza. “Mademoiselle Eliza,” Madame says, “would you do me the great favor of accepting a parcel that the Marquis de Valmont has brought over from the Collège?”

  I try not to look at Eliza and see Caroline also turn away, as if she is occupied with pouring herself another cup of tea. But I can’t help noticing that she turns a shade more pink than normal. I hope she won’t give us away!

  We continue the lesson without Eliza, and soon I hear the bell again. This time I am certain it must be Monsieur Perroquet. When Madame claps twice to end the lesson, I prepare myself to take the next step in my daring plan.

  Just as I am about to enter the music room, the score for the air I have been practicing tucked beneath my arm, Madame Campan comes forward from the dining hall. “Ah, Hortense. If you would give me just a moment alone with Monsieur Perroquet.”

  Her smile is inscrutable. What business can she have alone with him?

  I wait as patiently as I can, casting my eyes over the molding that decorates the walls and converges in bouquets of plaster flowers in the corners. It is fortunate, I think, that the mobs did not consider this house important enough to ransack utterly during the revolution. One might almost imagine we are back in the time of Marie Antoinette and her court.

  My ears are alive to every sound within the music room, and I distinctly hear the door on the other side open and shut. A moment later Madame Campan’s voice approaches so that I just hear, “Thank you for your discretion, monsieur,” before she opens the door and motions that I may enter. She passes by me and closes the door softly behind her.

  Monsieur Perroquet is alone. My heart drops into my stomach. I notice that his face is flushed, though, and I see his hand tremble as he arranges the sheets on the desk of the spinet. I pretend not to see, and take my place at the music stand, looking down so that he can compose himself.

  It is then that I see the note. A small, folded scrap of paper, left so that anyone might discover it. I don’t know why I assume it is for me, but I cough and turn away so I can slip it into my bodice until later.

  My lesson progresses as usual, although I find it difficult to concentrate. At its end, I curtsy in thanks to Monsieur Perroquet and turn to leave, but he stops me.

  “It was my hope, Mademoiselle Hortense, that Madame Campan would allow you to share your gifts at a small musical event I am planning the day after tomorrow evening at my humble apartments.”

  I know he wishes to say more, but he pauses. I must act quickly. “And where, monsieur, might those apartments be? Did Madame give her permission?”

  He squeezes my hand before letting it go. “Alas, Madame insists that you are too fatigued after your recent travels to attend me in the Rue Saint-Pierre, number thirty-six.” Two round, red blotches appear on his cheeks as he says this. It is a message for me—I know it!

  “Thank you, monsieur. I, too, wish I could form part of your evening entertainment. But alas, as Madame says, I am rather tired.”

  It is all I can do to walk slowly and calmly out of the music room and up the stairs to my bedroom. Rue Saint-Pierre is an easy walk from the Rue de l’Unité, where the school is located. If I have interpreted Monsieur Perroquet’s unspoken message correctly, then the note I draw from my bodice once I close the door of my room must be from Michel.

  I unfold it slowly, wanting to savor this moment, hoping to discover a confirmation of the feelings we began to express the other night, and a justification for all that I plan to do in the coming days.

  Chère Hortense,

  Dare I hope—

  I can read no more. The door of my room bursts open to admit Caroline and Eliza, their arms full of the clothing their maids have attempted to make for them—and not quite succeeded. For the next half hour, I help them with the fitting. Both Ernestine and Hélène have made shoddy jobs of the alterations, but the damage is easy to fix.

  When we finish, we agree to meet before dawn tomorrow.

  “I can arrange for the coach,” Caroline says. I do not ask her how she will arrange for such a thing, but by the look that passes between her and Eliza, I deduce that she is practiced in these matters.

  They leave to dress for dinner. I immediately reach for the note so that I may finish drinking in the sweet sentiments it no doubt contains.

  It is gone. I look around the floor, lifting the edge of the carpets to see if it was accidentally swept beneath one of them in the confusion. I reach into my bodice. Did I think to stow it away there? No, I would have felt it.

  I open the door and look down the corridor. Eliza is gone. Quickly, I go to her door and knock. “Eliza!” I whisper as loudly as I dare.

  She opens the door. “Hortense! What’s the matter?”

  “Where are the scraps?” I ask, too fr
antic to be polite.

  “Here,” she says, pointing to a pile in the corner of the room.

  I rush over and dig through the bits of fabric, shaking each one out.

  “What’s the matter? Have you lost something?” Eliza asks.

  It’s no use. The letter is not there. “I thought I had, but it’s nothere,” I say. “It’s nothing.”

  Eliza’s perplexed expression assures me that she has no idea about the letter. So it must be Caroline. How could I ever have believed she would change?

  28

  Eliza

  I didn’t know at first why Madame Campan sent me down to meet Armand. The message to him came from Hortense, whom he knows quite well. She would have been the logical person to greet him.

  Yet I was nervous when I saw him in the entryway to the kitchens with his parcel tied up in a basket, its contents looking like a pile of odd rags rather than the garments that would soon let us three pass as young men in the world.

  “Thank you, Monsieur de Valmont,” I said, curtsying and trying not to look into his face. But he stared at me, hard. I could feel it. And so I eventually had to look up and meet his gaze.

  “Hortense was very mysterious in her note. She can keep secrets. That’s why I asked for you instead.”

  I had my hand on the basket handle and pulled it toward me. I wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Is it a theatrical entertainment? Or something else?” He wouldn’t let go of the basket. I felt awkward standing there.

  “It’s simply—sewing practice,” I said, giving a tug that almost sent me reeling backward, since he let go as soon as he felt it.

  Now I was furious. “I could have fallen!”

  “Ah, but you didn’t. And you’ve told me far more than you realize. What time do you three plan to steal away from the school?”

  My mouth dropped open before I could stop it. I approached him so I was near enough to whisper. “This is none of your affair!”