Page 43

43

TêTE-à-TêTE

L éon couldn’t have known that morning was the gloomiest Henry had ever seen his father’s house.

During their absence, Catherine had been busy knocking nails into every wall, barricading windows with planks from unused beds, ripping cupboards apart for supplies.

But even in that state, the place was ten thousand times brighter and more homely than Léon’s shack had ever been.

He imagined the roof never leaked, and that mice would be too embarrassed to try to sneak in.

Everything had been gathering dust for months, but Léon didn’t notice a patch of it on ascension of the remarkably wide staircase.

He arrived in a long and wide hallway.

Down the end was a beautiful oasis of gold and maroon.

There wasn’t a speck of furniture in sight from his vantage point, but the mouldings along the boarded-up windows in that room looked gorgeous to his keen eyes.

émile eagerly led him past two other doorways that peeked into more bedrooms, dark and mysterious, and then they were on their way up to the next level.

The boy, of course, hadn’t stopped talking, and it was soothing to Léon, even if he was too tired and bewildered to provide much in the way of meaningful feedback.

émile didn’t need it.

He was just happy to have his brother, and Souveraine kept up all the little ‘mmm’ and ‘aha’ sounds necessary, looking a world away herself, waiting for a moment to talk to Léon in private.

He was desperate to talk to her too, in part, but also scared to death of the conversation that might ensue.

émile broke into a run on reaching the second landing, forcing Léon into a tripping jog behind him.

Halfway down the hall, he flung a partially ajar door wide with such enthusiasm the handle banged into the wall, making Léon jump as though he were about to be marched straight to the guillotine to pay his debt for the offence of vandalising a rich man’s house.

But émile only sprinted into the middle of the huge bedroom and turned, his face so delighted it just about broke Léon’s heart.

White walls, sparkling white.

A bed as large as the one he’d shared with Henry at the inn, but just for émile.

A thick rug underfoot on perfectly polished wood, lanterns and dressers, a toy horse and carriage, balls, books, a space that was all completely his.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” émile breathed.

“It is!” Léon said, far too cheerfully.

“It’s great. You’ve got everything.”

“You should see mine,” Souveraine replied, a disparaging lilt in her voice beneath a top note of admiration.

Her tone said what Léon wouldn’t say in front of émile: it wasn’t for them; they were about to return to the struggle of Reims.

The concern on her face was real.

Her inn was much nicer than Léon’s hovel, and she pitied the boy.

Léon’s refusal to move in with her had always added a sort of insult to injury, the fact Léon would put them both through that life when her wide and warm bed was waiting for him.

If only she knew he was doing it for her as much as himself.

He looked at her then, properly, and realised the clothes she wore, of course, were not her own.

A simple skirt and blouse, not the fantastical dress-up Catherine seemed to want to play.

But how radiant she looked in every part of her person except her expression.

émile talked on about what he’d been doing the whole time Léon had been gone, dragging Léon to sit on the bed with him, his fingers curling in Léon’s hair, pulling at the threads as he chattered.

All while Souveraine leaned against the wall looking like she wanted to cry, her face so serene Léon knew it as a mask.

“Do you want to show him my room?” she eventually asked émile.

“You run in and light the lamp so he can get a good look.”

émile acquiesced and was successfully ejected from the room, leaving the two of them alone.

She waited for him to start.

But he didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t going to be what she wanted to hear.

Meanwhile, downstairs, locked in the dining room and out of earshot, Catherine’s face was the very double of Souveraine’s.

Her many questions about what exactly had happened to Henry were answered in whatever manner Henry could employ to ease her troubles while making Léon look good.

No, it wasn’t Léon’s fault that he got arrested.

Yes, he’d been recognised as the Black Baron.

Probably shouldn’t have boosted that last carriage, eh?

Yes, he was perfectly well, but only because Léon broke him out of prison.

“So what happens now?” Catherine asked.

“What are we supposed to do with him?”

“With him?” Henry replied.

“I don’t understand what you mean. He’ll stay here?—”

“I want to leave, Henry. I want to go.” She flicked her fingers open and closed as she spoke, a sign Henry knew well as building stress.

She began to pace, her voice ramping up.

“Paris isn’t what we thought. Everything’s?—”

“Calm down, Cathy.”

“I won’t calm down!”

A similar conversation had begun upstairs, only Léon was having a much harder time painting Henry as anything but a villain, with good reason.

Yes, he’d gone back for him.

Yes, he’d helped him escape.

No, he wasn’t afraid of him, or acting under any sort of duress.

“After everything he did to you?” Souveraine asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“If it was émile in Catherine’s place, I would have done the same thing,” he returned, all too flippantly.

“No, Léon.” Her head shaking, voice coming on a scared laugh, “You never would have done that.”

“Do you think I’d have let him go to his death? How is that any better than what Henry did?”

Souveraine stared at him like he’d lost his mind, and perhaps he had.

“Do you remember yourself when he took him? Do you remember how scared you were? That you came to me for help over and over, that I committed a crime to save Cathy, that he kidnapped me!”

“Souveraine, I’m sorry. I?—”

“And you left us, and it’s terrifying here!” A hand flung out in frightened anger.

“Do you have any idea what’s been happening in Paris?”

“He kept me very busy,” Henry replied to a similar question from his sister.

“He’s very needy, but in a good way.”

Running a hand across her brow in frustrated embarrassment, Catherine returned, “I’m glad you had fun. Meanwhile, we’ve been busy trying not to die.”

Henry scoffed.

“Come on. It can’t be as bad as all that.”

“It’s worse,” Souveraine advised Léon upstairs.

“They’re arresting everyone. Everyone they think might be a traitor to their cause—a monarchist in the loosest sense of the word. Journalists, priests, people standing in bread lines who complain about standing in breadlines!”

“The prisons are overflowing,” Catherine went on.

“Full to the point they can’t take anyone else.”

“Except they didn’t do anything wrong,” said Souveraine.

“They didn’t do a thing but exist and have their own thoughts. And they’re the lucky ones, those that get arrested. I’ve seen people dragged through the streets and murdered.” Léon took Souveraine into his arms as she began to cry.

“This woman, I don’t know what she did, hacked to pieces in front of me.”

“It’s mob violence,” said Catherine.

“They’ve burned people alive. Others, they drown in the river.”

“And I’m sure you heard about the incursion at the Palace,” Souveraine continued.

“Hundreds dead,” said Catherine.

“They’re still counting.”

Léon recalled his ride past the Tuileries Palace, the priest swinging.

“I’m so sorry. I wish you’d never seen any of it. It’s awful.”

While Henry railed, “Where do you get your information? There must be some mistake. That sort of thing goes against the very principles of the revolution.”

“Exactly!” Catherine hissed.

“If you go outside, and you’re not wearing a cockade, you’re likely to end up in pieces strewn across the city. All because you forgot to wear a pin!”

“I have only the clothes Catherine gives me,” said Souveraine.

“If they aren’t the right colours, if I don’t look ‘fervent’ enough…” She took a breath to avoid breaking down.

“And so we are prisoners here. We cannot leave this house for fear of treading a foot wrong. And I can see…” Souveraine wiped a tear from her cheek, then took Léon’s hand.

“Come.”

She led him down the long hallway, away from émile’s loud whining about their taking so long, to the front of the house.

A sitting room, exquisite in lavender.

Almost the entire front wall was a huge window, arched at the top, and only half boarded up because of its height and odd shape.

Souveraine pushed a chair close, stepped on, then pulled Léon up to balance with her.

“There? Do you see it?”

The aspect looked over surrounding buildings, over the Seine, and was angled such that it gave the viewer a clear look into Place de la Révolution, directly facing the glinting guillotine.

“I watch them. They make it look so clean and fast. But the dirty work, massacring French citizens en masse, they don’t do that there. Not in the light where everyone can see.”

Catherine said, “This isn’t what we were promised, Henry. This isn’t the great miracle you dreamed of. I’m sorry, but we need to leave right now.”

“No.” Henry walked away from her, making abstractedly for Léon, somewhere upstairs, only to be stopped by Catherine’s hand, pulling him back.

“What on earth are you talking about? No? You don’t just say no.”

He couldn’t fight with her—not without the ceiling falling in on them.

So he tried his own special brand of revolutionary logic.

“We knew it would be dangerous. What did you think? A revolution would just happen overnight without any violence? The whole thing is illegal. The revolution only happens if we break some laws.”

A vase fell to the floor and shattered.

“Christ, you sound just like Robespierre.”

Ignoring the vase, “This is why we came. Listen…” He placed two hands on her arms and looked into her eyes, wild and scared.

“Give it a while to settle.” She made to protest, but he talked on, calmly, soothingly.

“I’ll get in touch with some friends. We’ll be okay.”

“Henry knows people,” Léon was saying to Souveraine, helping her down from the chair.

“He has contacts who can help. Robespierre himself. We’ll be all right.”

“I don't like the way you’re talking about him,” Souveraine said. “I don't like whatever influence he’s having on you. When are we going home, Léon? I can’t stand it here.”

“I’m ready to help change things,” Henry was saying to Catherine. “I’m energised. Invigorated! Ready to write pamphlets or articles or whatever they’ll give me. Let me ask around a bit, see who’s nearby. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“And how are you going to stop it?” Catherine asked, scathingly. “You were in prison a week ago, about to be killed.”

“To be fair, so were you.”

“Be that as it may,” she doubled down, “you’re not exactly infallible. And now you bring this pretty boy in here?—”

“He is pretty, isn’t he?” Henry eyed the staircase eagerly, a blush glowing across his cheeks.

“Him being here won’t help,” she said sternly. “Souveraine’s already falling apart on me.”

“But there’s more,” said Souveraine, also glancing down the stairs. “This house… You’re going to think I’m mad, but… I think it’s haunted.”

Léon’s brow drew deep at the unexpected statement.

“I think she’s onto me,” Catherine whispered. “I’ve been doing all the things—reading, keeping quiet, exercising—but I’m very stressed.”

“I can see that,” said Henry, with a glance at the shattered pieces of the vase on the floor.

“Things move, things break,” said Souveraine. “And Catherine…”

“What?” asked Léon, with bated breath.

“She acts like it’s nothing. Like she’s… almost expecting it. But it happens so often when she’s upset…”

Catherine said, “All she talks about is ‘when Léon comes back’, and how they’ll be married soon, and it’s driving me up the wall. As though I don’t have enough to deal with. And now it’s the two of you? She’s not going to cope. You’d better keep this shit under tight wraps.”

Appropriately dampened, Henry changed direction. “And how’s émile doing?”

“émile?” Her lips crinkled into a slight smile. “He’s honestly having the time of his life. It’s all one great adventure to him. And now you’re here…” For the first time during the conversation, her expression betrayed the great love she had for Henry. “What did you do to him? He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s charming,” Henry returned. “Léon’s done an amazing job. All by himself, did you know? Took him on alone when the boy was two. He’s an admirable man.”

“Exactly how admirable?” asked Catherine, watching him close.

His voice softened. “Look, I’ve… I have…” She folded her arms, awaiting his meandering answer. “He doesn’t want to stay in Paris. But I think it would be best for all of us?—”

“Us?”

He dipped his head a little closer. “Just give me a week. Give me one week, and if things don’t improve dramatically, we’ll leave.”

“Souveraine, I just got here.” Léon said, turning a cheek to look down the stairs. “I’m so exhausted. I just… I need a few days to rest.” Rubbing a hand nervously over the back of his neck. “Maybe just one week?”

“Fine,” Catherine said. “One week only.”

“One week,” said Souveraine. “Just for the streets to calm down. Then back to Reims. And we’ll get on with our life then, won’t we?”

Léon pulled Souveraine’s head against his shoulder rather than look into her eyes. She’d been through more than enough without him crushing that one last hope. “If that’s what you want. A week from now, if you want to go, we’ll return to Reims. Together.”

He heard the crunch of Henry’s boots on the stairs and looked up just in time to see the disappointment on his face at finding Souveraine in Léon’s arms. She stepped back, embarrassed, turning to the dresser to hide her tears, while Henry looked to the floor, forcing a cool detachment over his features. “Did you find your room?”

“I think émile wanted to show you mine,” Souveraine said by way of trying to make them both leave.

Catherine, fast behind Henry, called, “émile, I need your help first. Seems Henry’s left his horses outside the stables, like an idiot. Will you help me bring them in?”

“Destroyer?” émile cried, speeding down the hall, all other occupants of the house forgotten.

Henry stuck an arm out and captured him roughly to outrageous giggles. “Another hug.”

Both legs and arms were scrunched around Henry to the point of asphyxiation. émile smacked hands onto his cheeks and pressed his nose into Henry’s just as he had Léon’s. “Can I ride Destroyer?”

“As soon as he’s had a rest. But will you brush him for me?”

“Yes!” He kicked himself down to the floor and flung down the stairs, Catherine yelling after him to slow down.

Léon and Henry felt the flash of Souveraine’s assessing eyes as she passed them to follow the others out.

Henry stuck out his pinkie finger, and Léon curled his own around it. “Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“Deal.”

Henry led him back downstairs and into a dark bedroom on the left of the landing. “This is my father’s room.” He lit a lamp on a sea of deep blue and cream. The bed, the lounges, the walls, the lot of it designed in rich and dark velvet, sat supple and soft against the backdrop of silk wallpaper, in great contrast to the portrait of Henry’s father, which hung above the fireplace.

He didn’t look a thing like Henry. His brow was too long, his face too thin, the cheeks flaccid, the lips ineffectual and passionless. And the eyes were blue and piercing, with a starkness about them that seemed to chill the whole room. Léon looked to the enormous bed, and it was luxurious, but cold looking. Even the richness of the thick blankets, the surfeit of soft-looking pillows—any warmth seemed sucked away by those holes of eyes.

“But you won’t be sleeping in here,” said Henry, a soft smile provoking pink cheeks. “That’s just what you’ll tell everyone else.” He grasped Léon’s hand with a sly glance, and pulled him along to the end of the room, opening an adjoining door on paradise.

Here were the gorgeous walls he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. Complex tapestries of honeyeaters and flowers, all gold and gold on crimson. A huge four-poster bed with curtains to pull closed around themselves. Carpet that his toes sank into. A desk rich with the deepest mahogany and golden ornamentation. A table and chairs, a chaise longue… And something else… A trough?

“What do you think?” Henry asked. “Will it do for a week?”

A week. A week of this .

Henry’s room was half the size of his father’s, but the dark furnishings made it feel warm, hedonistic… It felt like heaven. It felt like Henry. “I don’t think I ever want to leave this room again.”

“That's exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Léon was against the wall, being kissed. He stole all the passion he could, just as quickly as he could, his hand lost in Henry’s gorgeously thick hair, tingling all over at the sensation of Henry’s fingers curling into him. Breathlessly, he whispered, “Are we… Does it lock?”

“It all locks. We’ll be safe. If you can keep quiet.”

“Henri, fuck!” Léon yelped at the bite on his neck.

“Not off to a good start,” Henry goaded.

Blushing deeply, Léon shoved him away with a laugh. “So this is…” He looked around, trying to think about something other than sex with Henry. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the enormous trough.

Henry took a moment, then remembered Léon had probably never seen such a thing. “That’s a bath.”

“That’s a what?”

“You bathe in it.”

“Like… Like a washbasin?”

“Yes. But a very big one.”

“Wouldn’t you get a bad back?” Léon leant over its copper beauty. “You’re likely to fall in.”

Henry chuckled. “I’m going to fill it for you.”

“Oh.” Léon looked down at his filthy outfit, perfectly embarrassed.

“Not because you need it,” Henry said, coming closer, tilting his chin up to kiss him. “But I think you’re going to like it.”

“I’ll be fine.” Léon eyed the tub with quiet distrust. “I can just use a normal washbasin.”

Henry overruled him with, “Then I’ll get you something to wear.” He kissed Léon’s cheek. “Then I’ll take you out.”

“Out?” Léon huffed out a gasp of disbelieving laughter. “I’m pretty sure we’re boarded in for the week. Souveraine said it’s a nightmare out there. She told me?—”

“I know,” said Henry. “Catherine told me, too. No one ever said the revolution would be easy. But if a week is all I have, I’m going to have to work hard to convince you to stay.”