Page 44

44

HOME FIRES

C atherine and Henry’s parents had left the cellar full, as they always did.

There was wine, ever-ageing cheese, and sacks of flour.

Too much flour, hoarded by their father with plans to sell it at exorbitant prices during the food shortage.

He left before he could do it, and although she was well aware they’d be prosecuted in a heartbeat if anyone discovered the amount of flour down there, it came as a huge relief to Catherine when she found it, despite the danger.

Their father had taken everything else they might have been able to sell, so that became their sole means of sustenance.

It’s a marvel what one can do with such simple ingredients when pushed.

She’d spent the week concocting strange scones, pancakes, attempts at flatbreads.

She’d have given up their position and more for some butter, and kissed Henry outright when he said he’d brought some with him, reluctant as he seemed to share it.

The property had a well on site, and both Henry and Léon put their ample muscles to good use, bringing in all the water that was needed, not that Cathrine felt filling Henry’s bathtub was strictly necessary.

At the same time, she wasn’t too pleased with the smell of either of them after their long trip, so she let him boil his pots over the fire in his bedroom while he cloistered himself away, secretly writing letters announcing his arrival in Paris.

Léon busied himself exploring the house with émile, shrinking from the ease with which the boy moved through a space that Léon had been taught since birth he did not belong in.

Souveraine felt the same and was a comfort to him.

One sitting room was bigger than his home, but did they need three?

The library was a horror all of its own, the entire existence of it feeling like it was sent to taunt Léon with its secrets.

What did all these books say?

Why did they need so many of them?

émile dragged him over to a table in the centre of the room, where he’d already spent hours working his way through some of those books.

Slowly, to be sure, not understanding what most of the words meant, but with determination.

A scary one. One that suggested to Léon, émile had an inkling that if he applied himself, this existence was something he might achieve one day.

He wondered if it was better to squash those outlandish dreams straight away.

To tell him, ‘you have a path you were assigned at birth, and hoping for more will only lead to sadness’.

Was it better to let him dream, only to watch him fall apart when he was grown and finally realised?

Léon chose the latter path, patting émile’s head and letting him read out loud in broken sentences, adoring him, so proud of him, even if he was scared for him.

It amazed Léon to learn that people had kitchens.

Just people. Just a small family of four, like Henry’s.

But judging by the eighteen seats at the table in the ‘formal’ dining room, they entertained a lot before things changed.

They usually had servants to cook for them, Catherine informed him later as she made more small and hard scones.

She’d had to learn to cook as best she could when they went on the run.

But Souveraine, who made the meals daily for the customers at her inn, had already taught her a few things.

The two of them seemed to get along well, to Léon’s great relief.

Catherine provided a gentle touch to Souveraine’s frayed nerves, anticipating needs of food or drink, shoving a pillow here, or offering a handkerchief there.

In fact, Catherine proved herself, over and over again, to be incredibly resilient, endlessly resourceful, moving about with a nervous energy but with purpose.

A kindling pride glowed in Léon’s chest when he thought of what Henry had saved her from.

The execution, yes, but before that.

The marriage she didn’t want, or the madhouse.

Léon tried to help wherever he could, bringing firewood up from the cellar, being turned away from his attempt to help with the scones, just being an ear for all three of them who’d had no other company and very little light all week.

He was a great favourite with all three, and found himself in a sort of dizzy tumult, increasingly tired from the long ride, and with voices all around talking, talking, asking questions he couldn’t answer, showing him things he’d never seen before, pulling him one way or another.

Then, the deep voice he’d become obsessed with called to him from the stairs, like a beacon in the night.

“Léon, I need you.”

émile jumped to his feet, but Catherine, with a sigh in her voice, intervened.

“émile, I think the scones are ready. I’ve saved you the biggest one. Come see.”

Happily thwarted, he diverted towards the kitchen, while Souveraine remained in the dark, watching Léon go straight to Henry.

There was a smile on Henry’s face, a light blush on Léon’s, and just before they disappeared, she could have sworn she saw their fingers touch.