Becoming Josephine: A Novel Page 13

  My hand hovered over the handle.

  The farmer was bigger than the nun and me together. It would risk the children’s safety and Marie-Françoise’s. The broom slid from my hands. I couldn’t put my babies at risk. I wouldn’t. Defeated, I turned back to the window.

  The corpulent farmer caught the nun’s habit and threw her into a crimson puddle in the street.

  “No!” I gripped the windowsill. A sob escaped my throat. She screamed and thrashed as the man twisted her garment over her head and ripped at her underclothes.

  “Kick him! Hit him!” I said, my voice hoarse.

  He pushed himself on top of her and bludgeoned her with his hammer when she resisted. Blood oozed from her skull.

  My stomach lurched. I bent to vomit.

  Marie-Françoise dashed across the room to my side. “Rose! Are you all right?” She dabbed at my face with a napkin and used it to cover the pile on the floor. “I came to see what was taking so long.”

  I pointed at the window. “The nun . . .”

  She glanced through the window, then winced and pulled back, aghast. “A nun!” I nodded, too stunned to speak. She swept me into her arms.

  Another terrorized scream split the silence. Our eyes locked.

  “It’s at Les Carmes. The mob is murdering them,” I said in a strangled voice. “We’re probably safe, but I’m not sure we should risk a light in our windows tonight. A few more hours in the cellar. We can come upstairs in the dark for food. No lanterns. For now, we wait.”

  The next two days, we ventured from the cellar only out of necessity. By the third day, the streets had stilled. I prepared a letter for Alexandre, but he appeared on the doorstep before I finished it.

  “Alexandre!” I leapt from my desk as he entered.

  He kissed my cheeks and embraced me tightly. “I’m glad you are safe! How are my children? I came as soon as I could.”

  “We are well, but frightened. We couldn’t leave the house. The nuns . . . I saw a mob. . . .” The words tumbled from my lips.

  “I’m glad you had the sense to stay put.” He gave me a newspaper, damp with sweat.

  According to its date, the Moniteur had printed the leaflet the day before the violence began. The headlines blasted in bold print: PRISONERS PLOT AGAINST PATRIOTS, COLLAPSE OF REPUBLICAN GOVERNMENT, CLERGY UNITES WITH FOREIGN ARMIES.

  “Rumors sparked that madness? Innocent people died!” I threw down the newspaper in disgust. “The King is arrested. Criminals rule the streets.” I waved my hand at his trousers. “We dress like commoners and hide our views.”

  Beads of sweat pearled on Alexandre’s upper lip and temples from the swampy heat. “Titles have been abolished. Citoyen or citoyenne is how we will all be addressed.”

  “Citizens?” I asked, incredulous. “There is no distinction among us? My friends of noble blood will not agree. More strife will follow.”

  “Titles divide us. They create boundaries to our freedom. And whether you like the new laws or not, you will follow them or be deemed a traitor.” He ran a hand nervously through his damp hair.

  “And what of the madness? I saw a nun murdered.” I covered my eyes to block the hideous image.

  “It’s over now.” Alexandre embraced me again. “The religious lorded their power over us. It’s just as well they were reminded of their new place in our government.”

  I stared at him, flabbergasted. He would have them die to champion his cause? I pushed his hands away. I no longer cared for his beloved Revolution.

  “They didn’t need to die!”

  His eyes flashed. “There are always casualties in war.” He noted my grimace. “Do you think I haven’t suffered? My father and brother mock me! My friends speak out against me, yet I continue in the name of what is right. I don’t wish to see French blood spilled, but some must die. Without death to mark its value, our Revolution has no meaning. Examples must be made.”

  “Would you say the same if your children’s lives were at stake? Or your own?”

  He paused. “Yes, if it were my own.”

  An exasperated sound escaped my lips. “You would leave your children fatherless!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Rose.”

  “I am dramatic? You’re a fine one to talk.”

  We stared at each other in silence.

  At last he said, “I have important news. I’ve been promoted to lieutenant general of the Army of the Rhine. It’s an honor I’ve wished for my entire life. I will have the chance to lead against our enemies.”

  “Congratulations. I hope you can discern who your enemies are.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  Eugène and Hortense walked quietly into the room. I knew they had been listening, by the expression on Hortense’s face.

  “Papa, you will lead an army?” Eugène’s voice belied his excitement.

  “Children! I have missed you. Give your father a hug.”

  “Is it safe to leave the house, Papa?” Hortense asked, stepping from the circle of Alexandre’s arms.

  “We’ve felt like animals in a cage,” I said.

  Alexandre pressed his lips together. “Wait another two days before you leave. The turmoil seems to be settling, but there’s carnage in the street. They’re loading the dead into carts to be buried. There’s no reason to witness it, doucette.” He stroked Hortense’s hair. “Now, shall we have coffee and play a game?”

  “Only a little wine and cheese are left,” I said.

  “Wine it is.” Alexandre slung one arm around each of our children and escorted them to the table.

  The fall and winter passed in a whirlwind of upheaval. I avoided traveling near the river, where citizens ransacked barges carrying grain and coal and insurrections raged. The poor froze or starved to death under city bridges. Endless lines spiraled from bakery doorways as citizens awaited their rations.

  “It’s the laundresses.” Mimi returned from a long day of gathering items. Her eyes watered from the cold. “Can’t afford soap anymore.” She set her shopping bags on the floor and rubbed her gloved hands together. “Going to have to make do with vinegar.”

  I folded the newspaper in my hands. “We can’t go without soap. I’ll ask a few friends for favors. How much wood did they give you?”

  Mimi pulled two small logs from her bag. “Not enough for one night in this cold.”

  I pulled my wool cloak closer to my body. The most frigid winter in one hundred years, the farmers had said, and it felt like it. Cold seized moving water, snapped branches, and blasted against our windows and doors.

  “Tonight we’ll burn one of the chairs in the attic.”

  I bartered and borrowed to fill the pantry. Thank God for my many friends who shared their bread. We detested the national loaf, made with gritty chestnut flour. Eugène and Hortense fed their shares to Fortuné, who sniffed it with disdain and buried it in the yard.

  Soldiers detained the horses. Foreign guards patrolled the boulevards. No one could leave. A sinister hush enveloped the city without the clopping of horses’ hooves and the whizzing of carriage wheels. Street lamps ran dry from lack of oil, plunging the streets into darkness. Thieves multiplied. I left the house as little as possible, though I despaired at our seclusion.

  In late winter, the National Assembly executed our King.

  I did not attend his slaying in the Place de la Révolution.

  “Such a waste,” Claire said, peering into a tiny mirror in her gilded patch box. She prepared to return home before curfew. “Those buffoons in the assembly don’t know what they’re doing.”

  “Alexandre is among them.”

  “Like I said, buffoons.” Claire detested Alexandre, her loyalty to me fierce as ever.

  “How despicable to watch anyone march to their death,” I said, “in front of a jeering crowd, no less. Such a frightful end.
And a king! The Queen and her children must be terrified.”

  Claire snapped her patch box closed. “Truly horrid. People shouted obscenities and threw garbage. One man dropped his trousers! My dear grand-père is stirring in his grave.” She whirled her cloak around her shoulders. “But the same traitors that booed him slithered under feet to dip their handkerchiefs in the King’s blood.”

  I shuddered. “Whatever for?”

  “A king’s blood is sacred.” She fastened the buttons of her cloak. “His execution endangers anyone with noble blood a great deal.” She looked down at her hands. “You should know,” she continued, a grim expression crossing her pretty features, “I am preparing my travel papers. I’ll leave for Guadeloupe the moment I receive them.”

  “You’re leaving?” I threw my arms around her neck. “You can’t go!”

  “I know, dear friend.” She embraced me. “But it isn’t safe. You should consider leaving as well. If not for yourself, for the children.”

  Thousands fled to Italy, England, the Swiss cantons, or the low country in the north—anywhere seemed safer than France. Even my bold sister-in-law made plans.

  “It’s not safe in this godforsaken Republic, Rose,” Fanny warned. “You must be careful.” Her face glowed orange in the firelight. “You have become known for your letters to the assembly. Take heed. You shouldn’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

  Brothers, cousins, and daughters, former nobility and merchants had been imprisoned based on a whiff of doubt regarding their loyalty to the Republic. Complete nonsense.

  “Alexandre is well connected, as am I. And those I help provide us with food. I fear we wouldn’t get on without their return favors.” I refilled my wineglass. “Besides, I cannot abandon a friend, Fanny. I would do the same for you, regardless of the risks.”

  “Of course,” she said softly. We watched the fire dance over blackening logs. “I’m leaving next week for Italy. You are welcome to come with the children. Italy is warmer, you know, and we have plenty of room to spare.”

  The fearless Fanny was leaving? One by one, my friends and family were escaping to safety. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders into a cocoon of warmth. I hid the fear uncurling like ribbons in my belly. There would be no one left.

  “Eugène is in school and I can’t leave him. Besides, I have connections.”

  “Are you certain you should stay? Eugène can continue his schooling later.”

  “How will I get along in Italy not knowing anyone? I can’t rely on you to pay my expenses. But thank you.” I kissed her cheek. “I will miss you!”

  “If you change your mind, send a letter that says, ‘I am in search of a painting for my salon.’ That will be our code that means you’re coming.”

  I laughed. “As if we were spies.”

  “Everyone watches you, Rose. Be careful, mon amie.”

  Robespierre gained influence as Alexandre’s power waned. I reread a letter from my husband one afternoon.

  “He says he’ll return to Paris soon.” I stood and closed the door. Hortense and Désirée need not hear. “He said he was ill and had to leave his army.”

  “I heard he has been recalled to Paris.” Marie-Françoise fiddled with a thread dangling from her needle. “Rumors say he deserted his army.”

  “If I know Alexandre, they aren’t rumors.”

  She smirked. “Too busy with his women to obey the assembly’s orders?”

  “He may find himself in trouble if he isn’t careful.” I sat on the sofa across from her and opened my fan.

  Marie-Françoise held up the pillow cover. “Do you like the mauve or should I use blue?”

  “The blue.”

  She unraveled a measure of thread. “You have adapted well to the times, dear friend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve adopted the sansculotte speech and befriended everyone, regardless of their sympathies. You shed your title without issue. It amazes me. I’ll never be more than Creole nobility pretending in a horrible linen dress.”

  “It matters little if I am called Vicomtesse or Citoyenne. I’m still Rose underneath it all. For now, I’m a Patriot. I prefer not to bring the Committee of Safety to our doorstep.” I fanned my face to dispel the odor of rotting flesh. City guards were dumping bodies in open graves and in the sewers. Our lives meant nothing to the great men of our Revolution.

  A howl sounded in the distance. Wolves cried outside the city gates, hungry for the dead. Fortuné jumped from his place on the sofa, ears perked. A series of howls bawled in the silence. He crooned along with them.

  “Fortuné! Stop that.” He looked at me with a mournful expression, then recommenced his howling. “If things worsen we must flee.”

  I made my decision. Flight from Paris would keep the children safe and free us from the oppression there. Our opportunity arrived when the former Prince de Salm and his sister, Princess Amélie, invited us to their country home. From there, we would escape to England. I gathered the necessary documents in secrecy and packed our things.

  If we were discovered trying to escape . . . I shook my head. We must not be caught. I placed Hortense’s combs and hairpins in her valise.

  “Marie-Françoise?” I called. “We are going.”

  She whisked into the room. “Please reconsider, friend. You could face arrest, and arrest . . .” She cast her eyes to the floor. “Well, we both know it is death. Are you certain no one suspects you?”

  “If something happens to me, you must lie. You don’t know anything. There’s no sense in putting you at risk.” I embraced her and thrust my head into Hortense’s bedroom. She didn’t know we were leaving indefinitely. I found it difficult to tell my ten-year-old such a thing. “It’s time to go, chérie. We need to pick up your brother.”

  “I’m ready.” She gathered her favorite dolls in her arms.

  We hustled to the front door. I paused and looked back at Mimi. She nodded, eyes watering. I would send for her. And when we returned, things would be different.

  “A fine day to travel,” the Prince said once Hortense and I were seated. Princess Amélie had left a week before and awaited our arrival in the country.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” A lump formed in my throat. He was rescuing us from danger—more than I could say about their own father. This man endangered his life on our behalf.

  “You would do the same for me,” he said.

  “I would.” I squeezed his hand.

  As the carriage moved through the city, euphoria tingled in my veins. To be free of fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, to laugh again, seemed like a dream.

  We passed shops with boarded windows and fortresses made of rubble and broken furniture. I did not recognize the Hôtel de Ville with its littered lawn. When we returned, everything would be normal again.

  I sighed in relief at the sight of Eugène’s handsome face.

  “I’m looking forward to our trip!” He smiled as he bounded into the coach.

  “We all are, darling,” I said. “It’ll be nice to get away.”

  We made good time until we approached the city gates. Our coach stopped behind the others that formed a long line. A pack of soldiers checked documents and luggage racks, their tricorn hats filling with fallen snow. It was a cold day and an odd time to go on vacation. I hoped they wouldn’t notice. I watched the flurries coat the filthy boulevard in dazzling white. A measure of beauty in the bleakness.

  Time moved as if through mud.

  Some carriages made their way to freedom; others were denied. Our carriage advanced, little by little. When at last we reached the exit, a guard beat on our window. Hortense yelped at the sudden noise.

  I laughed. “A bit on edge, aren’t we?”

  “I’d say so,” the Prince said as the door opened.

  “Travel papers!” a sol
dier barked in a thick accent.

  A German guard to monitor our papers? I gritted my teeth as he snatched them from our hands.

  “What would you like to do first in the country?” I forced a smile. “There are horses and walking paths. It’s a bit cold, but we may still find ducks on the pond.”

  “Horseback ride, absolutely!” Eugène chirped.

  “I’d be happy to show you the trails, son,” the Prince answered.

  The guard studied our faces and then slammed the carriage door. He stalked toward the other soldiers.

  “What is he doing with our papers?” Eugène whispered as if the guard could hear him.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Hortense slipped her hand into mine. I had to be strong for them, though my insides quivered.

  “He’s showing them to another guard.” The Prince sneaked a glance through the window. “Here they come.”

  The door flew open again.

  “Citizeness de Beauharnais?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your husband, Citizen Alexandre de Beauharnais, requests that you and the children return home at once. He has left a standing order and forbids your release, holiday or no.”

  “Excuse me?” My tone grew clipped. “My husband has no authority over my actions. We’ve been separated for years. And I have the proper travel documents.”

  “Your husband does have authority, citoyenne. He has a seat in the National Assembly. He may dictate who comes and goes, at least in his own family. I’m sorry, but your exit is denied.”

  “And the Prince? Can he not go?”

  “I will escort you home, Rose, and go another day soon.”

  Our eyes locked. It was not that simple to obtain papers.

  “That won’t be necessary. I—”

  “I will escort you home,” he said in a firm tone. “Thank you. We’ll go now.”

  The soldier closed the door and rapped the top of the carriage. We lurched forward.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked.

  “They kept my certificate of citizenship.” A frown creased his brow. “I saw the other guard pocket it. It’s impossible to travel without it. I would have been denied entry anywhere, including . . . our destination.” He didn’t want to alert the children to our planned escape to England.