Elysium

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “This is what I—“

  “Shhh, come and sit.” He held her hand and they sat together on the sofa. “I might be destined to perish on this island purgatory. That’s no future for you.” He must encourage her to leave the island—to rescue her from a licentious relationship.

  “We could be happy here. I’d show you how to take better care of yourself.” Her words tremulous, she stroked his shoulder. “We’d learn to deal with the English.”

  “Everything is not that simple.” He drew her confession and now must dismiss it. He’d wring her pity, a less dangerous emotion. “My health suffers here. Last night my climactic illness returned. I thought I’d never recover from it, burning stomach, icy legs. I had to hide in the dark with a headache.”

  “Did you drink the Constantia? Please stop drinking that wine. There’s something wrong with it.” Her selfless adoration tugged at him. Her eyes glistened with tears.

  Her tears moved him. She wasn’t attracted by his power or forced into his bed by a political alliance. “I should have listened to you, I see.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about it.”

  He laughed, but it came out brittle. “You’re back to thinking someone is poisoning me.”

  “Let’s...call it an experiment. You remember the wine made me sick after one glass. Can you grant me this favor?”

  “Will I have any peace if I don’t?” Who here would gain the most from poisoning him? The English, of course. Then he thought of Cipriani’s horrible death: so convenient for them, eliminating his agent. Was his compatriot murdered?

  “No peace whatsoever. Promise not to tell anyone, not even Doctor O’Meara.”

  “Eh bien, you always manage to have your way. It will be eternally our secret.” Napoleon sighed, wanting to chase his suspicions elsewhere to sort through later. He leaned back on the sofa and draped his arm over the back of it, behind her.

  “I don’t always have my way.” He heard the satisfaction in her voice.

  “Yes, you bully me terribly.” The little scamp tried to manipulate him, but for some reason, that didn’t bother him tonight. The brandy softened his resistance. He hugged his arm around her. “What shall we do on Saint Helena, bring order to chaos as I did with my empire, or will history seldom mention me because I was overthrown?”

  She nestled into his side. “You once told me that your enemies could suppress and mutilate you, but never obliterate you.”

  “Ah, yes, and no one can take away my memories. If I could but begin again.”

  “You could bring order here by telling Governor Lowe to move the new house down in the Geranium Vale. Less windy, and lovely scenery.”

  “Perhaps.” He brushed a hand through her hair. She’d never give up, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to bow to the English. He’d once been too powerful for anyone to oppose him. Of course, he’d started to lose his confidence in battle, and that’s how he’d made mistakes that led to this exile. If he had another chance, he’d change tactics, arrange his generals better, not trust Talleyrand or Fouché.

  “I’m not fooled. You’ll still be defiant.” She stared up at him, caressed a hand over his cheek. The warmth, her tenderness, unraveled him.

  “Stop seeing through me, it’s…” Her soft body against him clouded that other decision to keep her unsullied. “I have to fight Lowe, but misfortunes do have their glory. If I’d died on my throne, I’d have remained a problem to many people. Here they judge me in my nakedness.”

  He flinched at her fingers on his dressing gown, acutely aware he was naked within.

  “You should go back to your room.” He spoke without conviction. He’d give her the chance to run.

  “Why? I said I wanted to stay with you.”

  The fire, the only light in the room, continued to crackle. The orange hues reflected off her features made her look like a mythical being caressed by flame. He shook his head to clear it. “You don’t understand the consequences.”

  “Show me,” she whispered. “Don’t you have feelings for me?”

  “Amée, you’ve touched my heart in so many ways.” Napoleon kissed her cheek, his fingers stroking the back of her neck. “You’ve soothed me more than you realize.”

  “You asked me my desires, and then ignored them.” She quivered under his touch. “Am I more soothing than the countess? I saw her enter your chambers...late last night.”

  “Ahh, you’re jealous, little Amée?” Napoleon felt a satisfaction he shouldn’t have. “You have nothing to worry about. I discourage Albine at every turn. Yes, she is a calculating woman. I don’t want you to be like her.”

  “I’m a woman with desires for only you.” She tipped up her endearing face, like a flower.

  “Corruptive influences will change you.” Did he speak of what happened with Marie Louise, or did he mean himself, here, now? He massaged his hand through her luxuriant hair.

  The brandy, the situation, stripped his defenses. He wearied of holding himself back. He traced his fingers along her cheek, her neck and shoulder, so soft and clean. His hand caressed down her arm, and just aside her breast. The melting look in her eyes held a flicker of wariness, like a forest animal unused to such ministrations. He lifted her chin, gazing straight into her eyes.

  “What future do you have? This isn’t right. Oh, Amée…you try my very soul.”

  “You possess mine.” Amélie returned her hand to his cheek and stroked it.

  Napoleon leaned into her and kissed her lips. She responded and moaned when he deepened the kiss. He felt a fullness, like warm honey, ooze through his veins. Amélie slid her arms around his neck.

  Napoleon brushed his fingertips against her breast. He unfastened her dress, kissing along her neck. Her succulent flesh. His hand slipped inside, into her chemise, massaging her bare skin. Peeling down her bodice, he kissed the hollow of her throat, one hand moving along her leg. He felt her shudder and the heat of desire swelled up in him. Back on her lips, he kissed her hungrily, tasting the brandy and both their yearnings. He gathered up her skirt, pushing it higher.

  A sharp knock at the door. Amélie started. Napoleon ignored it, and kissed along her breast, her sweet bud of a nipple—how he ached for her. She shuddered again. The knocking grew louder. Now she struggled to pull away from him.

  “Who is it?” Napoleon demanded. He sat back from her with an angry groan.

  Amélie bunched together her bodice and pulled down her skirt with trembling hands.

  The door opened. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. I know you didn’t care to be disturbed, but Mademoiselle Perrault evaded me.” Montholon leered down at them. “I had to attend to a few things, then I came back to check on you.”

  “You are disturbing me, Montholon!” Napoleon shouted his fury, his thwarted lust. “I told you never to prevent Amée from seeing me, and you purposely disobeyed!”

  “Mon erreur. Forgive my intru—“

  “Remove yourself from me at once!”

  Chapter Twenty

  What is happiness?...ruling passions dominates [men] in turn and causes them to prostitute the name of happiness to the fulfillment of that passion—N.B.

  In those shadows last night, Napoleon resembled the man on his white charger as in David’s painting. Amélie sat up in bed. She’d behaved the wanton coquette, but those sensations, the burning trail to her lowest region. She sighed with pleasure. He’d harbored the same desires. How far would they have gone if the count hadn’t interrupted?

  She dressed, pulled on clammy stockings and fastened her garters. Her feet jammed into shoes, she almost tripped over her father as she bustled out of her chamber.

  “Amélie, I will have a word with you.” He sounded perturbed, but she was too full of sensual emotion to dwell on her father’s moods. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  �
�For my walk. Excuse me, Papa. I really must meet His Majesty.” She squeezed around him, avoiding his face.

  “I’m thinking of returning to France.”

  She halted in her tracks, uncertain if she heard correctly. “Return to France...you are?”

  “It’s evident it would be best for you if we left Saint Helena as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Best for me? No, I’m not leaving. You can go if you like, but I’m staying.” She struggled for calmness in her confusion, gripping the doorknob of the hall door.

  “Ma fille, when I leave you’ll definitely come with me.” Perrault spoke in a harsh timbre she’d never heard from him before. “I’m requesting that the emperor release both of us.”

  “Mais non, Napoleon will insist I stay.” She sucked in her breath and turned to face him. The doorknob prodded into her spine. “What’s the matter? Why are you so angry?”

  “Amélie, you’ve been lying to me. The Count de Montholon informed me early this morning that he caught you and His Majesty alone, in the dark, in the emperor’s study last night. His Majesty was in his dressing gown and your clothing was in disarray.” His brow a mass of wrinkles, her father shook like a wind-battered gum tree.

  Amélie gulped her fury. The count still plotted to be rid of her. “We were only talking. The count resents me. He’d say anything to pull me from the emperor’s company.” Perspiration gathered between her breasts, where Napoleon had kissed her so ardently. The scent of him still lingered. “Don’t you see that the count is trying to manipulate you?”

  “Aren’t you trying to manipulate me? I’m not completely blind. I’ve seen the way you look at the emperor, and the way he looks at you. Do you want to end up...disgraced? Is that the future you have planned?” He choked out the words past his gaunt cheeks.

  “Papa, everything can be explained.” Amélie bit at her lip. Her defense was more lies. She’d hurt her father, but she had no choice. “Why can’t you trust me rather than the count?” She turned from his castigating scowl. She didn’t deserve his trust. “Please excuse me. His Majesty is waiting. I’m taking my walk now.”

  “I want to discuss it right this minute, Amélie. C’est urgent. Don’t walk away from me!” Perrault shouted—something her dignified father never did.

  Amélie opened the door and hurried into the courtyard. She had to warn Napoleon before her father carried out his threat. The emperor would keep her beside him, especially after last night. When she told him how much she loved him, he’d admit his own feelings.

  Napoleon stood out front talking with two Chinese laborers. Her breath shivered up her throat. She sat on a bench not far from him. After nine o’clock, the mists had already cleared.

  Napoleon finally noticed her and came over. “Aren’t we having our walk? I’m fit to tackle it today.”

  “I need to speak to you first.” Amélie grew bashful under his radiant smile. She knotted her fingers together, waiting for a special touch, a look.

  Napoleon sat and gazed at her with a thoughtful expression. “Eh bien, I must apologize for Montholon’s behavior last night, but I’ve soundly chastised him.”

  Amélie touched a finger to her bodice. What about their behavior? “Napoleon, I was just talking with my father. He says he wants me to leave Saint Helena with him. Of course I can’t go, and I told him that.”

  Napoleon’s smile dissolved. He stared at her with wary eyes. “Why does your father wish to leave?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  “He believes that you and I...” Amélie gripped her fingers tighter and fumbled to verbalize their intensifying relationship. “The Count de Montholon told him we were intimate in your chamber last night.”

  Napoleon stood abruptly and strode a short distance away, hands clasped behind his back. He turned to face her, his manner rigid. “Amée...I know this will sound callous, but someday...” He cleared his throat, his knuckle pressing his upper lip. “The mature resolution...perhaps it is wiser for us both if you did leave Saint Helena.”

  “No, don’t say that. I refuse to listen.” Amélie’s head swam, her heart like a fist, pummeling. “You have some misguided notion that you’re being noble by denying you care for me.” She fidgeted on the bench, certain he’d declare his devotion now. “We can make a life together. We just need to discuss how…how dear we are to one another.”

  “Amée, please. It’s wrong for us, but especially for you. Of course your father is trying to protect you.” Napoleon looked tormented, his eyes moist with emotion. “You are too young to understand…only a child.”

  “Please don’t call me that, and don’t send me away.” She slid to the edge of the bench, snagging her dress, her fingers scraping the stone edge. She couldn’t be this mistaken about his depth of feeling toward her. “You can’t mean any of this, you’re just—”

  “Trust me, Amélie. Someday you’ll understand this was far better for you.” He didn’t come any closer, already distancing himself. “You should go with your father. I must preserve my reputation for the empress. My devotion proves to her and Europe my worth.”

  Bile churned in her empty belly. The one thing she agonized over was happening, his outright rejection! She felt stripped bare and he offered no sanctuary. Napoleon desired to rid himself of her temptation, to preserve his pretense of fidelity to his Hapsburg wife!

  “What a fool I am to think you’d lower yourself to love me. I see I’m worth nothing to you.” Amélie lurched to her feet and willed herself to stagger away. He called after her, but she didn’t look back.

  She dared not return to her quarters. Her body raging with tension, she had to keep moving, somewhere, anywhere. Amélie hurried toward the front gate. Her eyes blurred with tears, she stumbled past the gate guard and strode down the dusty road.

  She struggled for a normal breath, her feet scuffing up dust and pebbles, her world crashed in like a pile of stones on top of her. When she drew near to Hutt’s Gate, she slowed, unsure what to do now.

  A group of soldiers marched down the road from the other direction. Amélie tripped up onto the Bertrands’ creaking veranda. The front door opened and a servant peered out at her.

  “Have you come to see Madame?”

  Amélie flushed, wiped tears from her cheeks, and stepped inside the foyer.

  “Amélie, what an unexpected pleasure.” Countess Bertrand came out and escorted her to the parlor. “We were just talking the other day about how much we’d like to hear you sing again, but...your eyes are so red.”

  “Only the wind.” Amélie gave a quick smile, a painful crack. They sat together on one of the lumpy sofas. “I am sorry to intrude, Countess. I was taking a walk, and the soldiers were on the road.”

  “C’est normal. Aren’t they everywhere, following us?” the woman groused.

  “I needed to…get away from Longwood.” Amélie tightened her muscles to stop shaking but her heart banged against her breastbone. Her stomach growled, with nausea or hunger, she wasn’t sure.

  “Is something else wrong, dear?” The countess then turned her head. She picked up a blue velvet-covered stick near the sofa, stood, and swiped it at the wall. “Ugh, one of those lizard creatures.” She sat back down, cradling the stick decorated with gold-embroidered eagles, the ends closed in silver-gilt ferrules. “My husband’s marshal’s baton.” She shrugged and caressed the velvet. “Here it’s only useful to chase vermin. Forgive me.” The woman stared closer. “You do look quite upset. I’ll ring for coffee.”

  “I have...had a difficult morning, that’s all.” Amélie almost reached over to touch one of the gold eagles. “Nothing to be concerned about, Countess.”

  “Please, call me Fanny,” she said as her plump maid brought in the coffee service. The countess poured a serving for each of them into delicate cups. “I apologize for my chipped porcelain. If I’d known how impossibl
e it is to replace good dishware, I wouldn’t have tossed several at Henri’s head.” Fanny picked up her cup. “I hear Albine de Montholon has requested to leave the island. Is that true?”

  “Has she?” Amélie latched on to this surprising topic. Her rival wanted to leave Saint Helena just as Amélie was cast aside? “No, I didn’t know.” Now she’d never know what transpired in the court, but only the man at its center had mattered. “Cream and sugar, merci.” Sipping the tasteless coffee, she barely steadied the fragile cup in her hand.

  “It takes forever to obtain permission from the governor. Lowe demands total authority over who leaves, tortures us with bureaucratic garbage, then threatens to deport people, as if that were a punishment.” The countess’s brittle laugh cut like shards through the dreary chamber.

  “Everything’s a cruel game to the English, it seems...” Amélie fought fresh tears, turning briefly from the countess.

  “Cipriani managed to escape, poor man. What a dreadful death. Now a funeral to attend.”

  “A savage death.” Amélie swallowed. “That seemed unnatural.”

  “Lowe refused to allow the man to be buried at Longwood as Napoleon requested. The governor and his wife don’t seem like bad people, but Napoleon’s battling with him over every regulation has made Lowe contentious. The governor is high-strung and so inconsistent. One day he says the islanders can visit Napoleon, then the next he posts signs forbidding the inhabitants from communicating with us.” Fanny tapped the baton on her knees. “Ma foi, it’s nerve racking.”

  “His Majesty and the governor are too stubborn.” Amélie coughed, her throat raw. Napoleon’s denunciation echoed in her ears: only a child, and she’d just acted like a baby by running away from him.

  “I begged the emperor to release us for a year. We need a break, the children should be in school, and I haven’t felt at all well lately.” The woman’s shoulders slumped. Her features looked haggard, her blond hair limp as straw. “I’ve already endured Elba. It’s unjust to be tormented here.”