Promised to the Crown

The smell of yeast, flour, water, and salt transforming into the staff of life never left the timbers of the Beaumont Bakery. Elisabeth rested her swollen ankles while the last loaves of bread rose in the oven. Five months pregnant, she was already bulging and uncomfortable. Little Pierre or Adèle was expected in late summer, much to the expectant parents’ delight.

Though she tired easily, Elisabeth refused to give up her duties in the bakery. She trained Gilbert that arguing was futile, and she guessed that he went along in order to obtain a stronger position for the later months of her pregnancy, when he would have to insist that she rest.

“Thank you,” Gilbert said when he saw his wife using the chair he had placed near the oven for her.

“My pleasure.” Elisabeth offered a fatigued smile as she kneaded dough from her seat. “I think this baby of ours may turn out to be a giant.”

“Just big and strong, sweetheart,” Gilbert said as he stroked Elisabeth’s fair hair.

She returned the caress, and, since there was no one visible through the window, offered him a less-than-chaste kiss.

“I hope so, too. I love you, Gilbert.”

“Affectionate today,” he said, taking another kiss while there was peace. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Careful now,” she said, seeing the shadow of movement outside. “No need to expose ourselves to public ridicule.”

“Nothing more ridiculous than loving one’s wife.” He smeared flour on her nose with a boyish grin as he turned to the opening door.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Levoisier. What can we get for you today?”

Elisabeth smirked at her husband’s buoyant greeting from behind her hand as she wiped her nose.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur and Madame Beaumont,” Levoisier said. “Nothing today, but I have a letter for Madame Beaumont that came in on the ship last Tuesday. From France.”

Levoisier produced the letter with a self-satisfied smile. Had they not known his kindly nature, they might have thought him a tad too pompous. In truth, he was proud to spread happiness by bringing news to people separated from their families.

Gilbert thanked him with a few coins and a bun.

Elisabeth longed to be able to read the letter herself, but handed it to her husband.

To Elisabeth Martin, New France:

I am ashamed that any child of mine, raised with care and devotion, would so easily disregard my wishes. M. Delacroix told me of your departure a week after you set to sea, far too late for me to intervene. I was a fool to ever permit your association with that family. I was wrought with worry until he told me of your whereabouts, and then I find that you heartlessly abandoned me. You destroyed any chance for an alliance with the Moraud family. I am now forced to live as an impoverished dowager aunt with my brother Roland and his family. The embarrassment is too much to bear.

You are an ungrateful child, and solely responsible for my current state. I cannot believe that you are so quick to forget all I have done for you. I will never speak your name again. It is just as well a vast ocean separates us, as I no longer have a daughter.

Anne Martin, as dictated to Roland Clément

“Pay it no mind, sweetheart,” Gilbert said, handing Elisabeth the letter.

Knowing her husband as she did, Elisabeth could read the look in his eyes: I wish the post had come when she was out or asleep and I could have burned the letter before she knew it existed.

“How very much like my mother.” Elisabeth punched the ball of dough and tossed the letter into the oven, hoping its acerbic words wouldn’t sour the bread.

Gilbert took his wife in his arms and rested his chin atop her head, stroking her hair the way she liked. “She doesn’t matter.”

“No, though I’m not surprised that she feels the way she does,” Elisabeth said. “What surprises me is that she went to the trouble of dictating a letter to tell me so—and paying the post. Mother prided herself on never lowering herself to such gestures. It seems unusually petty.”

“Petty is a good word. . . .” Gilbert held Elisabeth close, then released her, lest the neighbors see and laugh at the folly of a couple in love. “Your mother would not approve of our marriage, would she?”

“No,” Elisabeth answered without hesitation. “She would not. Our marriage gains her no advantage in society. Though you are the best of husbands, she would not have permitted this union. But Papa would have loved you, Gilbert.”

“I wish I could have known him,” Gilbert said, rubbing a finger across her cheekbone. “So much I could have learned from him.”

“Maman has always been such a bitter woman.” She breathed a sigh of annoyance as she returned to her labors.

“She’s an ocean away,” Gilbert said, caressing her from behind.

Her muscles, sore from the expansion and the foreign movement inside her, as well as her day of toil, melted like pastry dough left to soften by the oven.

Gilbert smiled. “Just you worry about growing us a healthy baby and banish all her bitterness from your heart, my love.”

“I’ll do my best.” Elisabeth closed her eyes. He truly is the best man I have ever known, she thought. Papa, how I wish your marriage had been as happy.

In the following week, Elisabeth tried to take her husband’s advice, but it was not an easy task.

Questions plagued her at every moment.

Why did Mother bother writing? Why is she so embarrassed to stay with Uncle Roland, a man of such good standing in society that Mother would not take her baker husband and plain daughter to visit him? Why did Jacques Moraud break off an engagement that was advantageous to him, despite my refusing Denis?

These questions, and others, flitted through Elisabeth’s brain as she kneaded balls of dough, despite her efforts to keep her mind on her work.

“Bailiff Duval, good afternoon,” Gilbert said, causing Elisabeth to look up from the tray of dinner buns she was shaping for the ovens. The tall man with his impressive gut was charged with carrying messages from the courts, along with other clerical duties, and was very pleased with himself for the important job.

“Afternoon, Beaumont,” Duval said, not charmed as others by Gilbert’s convivial nature. “I’ve come to speak with Madame Beaumont.”

“What business could you possibly have with my wife?” Gilbert stepped around to the front of the counter.

“Just a few questions, Beaumont.” Duval stood tall, as though trying to impress Gilbert with his stature, both physical and social.

“It’s all right, Gilbert,” Elisabeth said, placing a calming hand on her husband’s bicep. “I’m happy to answer the bailiff’s questions, as long as he doesn’t mind me taking a seat.”

For a moment, Bailiff Duval considered her words as though she was serious in her request to take a seat in her own shop. “Fine, fine,” he said.

“Ask your questions then,” Gilbert said, his patience gone.

“There has been some question as to whether your documents were in order when you arrived, Madame Beaumont,” the bailiff said. “The judge sent me to look at them, if you please.”

“I’ll get them,” Gilbert said before Elisabeth could stand.

He bounded upstairs and produced her affidavit of good comportment and the copy of her baptismal records.

“Very good.” Duval examined the sheaves of parchment. “And how old are you, Madame Beaumont?”

“As you can see on my baptismal record, I just turned twenty-six, monsieur,” Elisabeth answered.

“And you were how old when you left France, madame?” asked Duval.

“I had just turned twenty-five, monsieur,” she replied.

“Good, good.” Duval leaned against the counter, examining the documents. “Judge Arnaud will want to see these. I hope you don’t mind if I take them. The utmost care will be taken.”

“Of course,” Elisabeth said, puzzled by the request. “For as long as you have need of them.”

“Very well,” the bailiff said. “The judge will send me for you in a few days, I would expect. Good day, madame, monsieur.”

Gilbert nodded Duval wordlessly out of his shop.

“Self-righteous ass. What in the world is all this about?” Gilbert muttered, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

Elisabeth expelled a breath with a sigh. “The only thing that makes sense is that Mother has complained to someone who matters.”

“Does a widow in her situation have that much influence?” asked Gilbert. For a moment, Elisabeth envied her husband’s rural upbringing. He knew nothing of politics and position. He could not, as he had told Elisabeth so many times, imagine a mother that would put her own interests before her daughter’s. When the farmers arranged for their daughters, feelings might not be the first concern, but they weren’t the last. The picture both he and Nicole painted of the Norman countryside made Elisabeth wonder if her beloved Paris actually was the haven she imagined it was.

“She was a Clément, and that still means something. Mother alone might not have much pull anymore, but Uncle Roland certainly does if she can persuade him to act.”

“Let us hope he has the sense to see her as the meddling shrew that she is and that he won’t aid her in this whole mess,” Gilbert said, kissing her brow.

“Not likely,” Elisabeth said, her expression grim. “He has no particular attachment to me, and will do anything to silence Mother. She can be—tenacious.”

“Let’s not borrow trouble just yet, sweetheart,” Gilbert said.

“Don’t you see?” Elisabeth said. “It’s already here. We must prepare ourselves. If Mother can cause trouble, she will. If the authorities here adhere to their laws as I’ve heard they do, they may very well send me back to France.”

“Not while I live and breathe,” Gilbert said, his eyes flashing. He grabbed the back of a nearby chair, his knuckles whitened by his angry clutch. “You’re mine and you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Let’s hope so, my sweet,” Elisabeth said. “For there’s nowhere else I’d rather be on this earth.”

Elisabeth let herself go limp in her husband’s embrace, taking deep breaths to slow her heart. She was happier with Gilbert than she had been in her life. She knew she had found her place and her purpose, but her mother would see her plucked from it in a moment, just for spite. She looked down at her swollen belly. Unquestionable proof that she was no longer a maid. Would Denis Moraud be persuaded to take her, despite the baby, if her marriage to Gilbert were nullified? Probably, dim-witted thing that he was, he could be persuaded by his father to do anything.

The baby. If she were expelled back to France, Anne would see the child cast aside like a bastard. She placed a hand on her abdomen as if to shield the growing child. But as Gilbert cradled her in his arms she knew the baby might well be the best defense she had to stay where she was. She was sent to the New World to make children and had shown herself equal to the task. She would have to leave Rose and Nicole behind as well. They were the dearest friends she’d ever had and she knew that finding their like in France would be miraculously lucky. I’ve sworn to protect you, my darling baby. I’ll do whatever it takes, but we need you to do your part and grow strong. We need you as much as you need us right now.

For a moment longer, Elisabeth allowed herself the indulgence of her husband’s embrace. For all his ferocity and optimism, she could not convince herself that the outcome was in any way certain. She did not mark his shirt with her tears, however, not wanting to mar with her grief what could be one of their last embraces.

“Madame Beaumont, have your prices for the twelve-pound loaves gone up?” Madame Huillier, possibly the sweetest old woman in the settlement, looked down at the coins with a furrowed brow.

“No, madame, still eighteen sous,” Elisabeth said. “As they have been for months.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m five sous short, madame.” The woman looked as though the error were somehow of her own making and turned red as a turnip. Despite the embarrassment, the elderly woman could not afford to let the mistake pass. There were few who could.

“Oh, my apologies!” Elisabeth handed the woman the missing coin without preamble. If anyone were less likely to cheat the Beaumonts, Elisabeth didn’t know who it was. “Please take two of these nice cakes to enjoy after supper.”

“Madame, it was a simple mistake,” Madame Huillier said. “It’s not necessary.”

“I insist,” Elisabeth said, wrapping up two of the buttery confections and pressing them into the woman’s hands, gnarled by long days of hard work.

“Bless you, my dear,” Madame Huillier whispered, eyes downcast as she left the shop. Only at Easter and Christmastide could the Huilliers afford the luxury of Elisabeth’s good cakes.

Flustered by her blunder, Elisabeth waited on Madame Dupré, a woman considerably less charitable than Elisabeth’s previous customer. The dark-haired, wiry woman looked over her change overlong before nodding her way from the shop.

“A rather extravagant gesture. Giving away two cakes worth six sous apiece for an error of a five-sous coin,” Gilbert said as the shop cleared.

“I know,” Elisabeth said. “I just felt so awful. I couldn’t bear the thought of that lovely woman thinking that I’d dream of cheating her of a single denier.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Gilbert said, wrapping his arm around his wife, rubbing her back, made sore from the added girth of the baby mingled with the hours she spent on her feet. “Go to the convent and see the girls for a few hours. Take some cakes with you.”

“But the supper rush—” Elisabeth protested.

“Can be managed by me. Now run along.” Gilbert pointed to the door, a comical arch to his eyebrow.

Elisabeth felt she ought to protest further. The bigger the baby grew, the more duties fell onto Gilbert’s lap. She wanted to keep up her old pace, but the pregnancy sapped more of her strength than she had ever imagined it would. For weeks, however, she had found herself longing for the carefree days after their arrival. The late-night chats with Nicole and Rose, basking in the warmth of their bedroom fire. But Elisabeth’s marriage had ended that chapter in their lives. She longed for the days before her mother’s meddling.

Elisabeth accepted Gilbert’s offer, packing her basket with a sampling of her finest pastries, and walked slowly toward the narrow street that housed the convent. Both Rose and Nicole used the time before supper for mending, needlework, knitting—whatever had to be done. Winter made for longer than usual engagements and a lack of new courtships altogether. Elisabeth was lucky to settle her marriage before Advent, and snow made weddings a challenge. It was as good a time for a chat as Elisabeth would find. She lost no time distributing her pastries and the contents of her mother’s letter.

“We both fear the judge will want to pursue the matter further,” Elisabeth said, sipping from a mug of her favorite cider. It tasted bitter in her mouth and it was all she could do not to spit it back in her cup. When the others had their eyes occupied elsewhere, she sniffed the contents of the mug. It smells just fine. Why must everything I love taste so foul to me these days?

“Can your mother do such a thing?” Nicole asked, casting aside her knitting as Elisabeth recounted the substance of her mother’s letter. “Can she really cause such a fuss?”

“Easier than you can dream,” Rose answered. Elisabeth nodded to her friend. Better than anyone, Rose knew the power of a letter written to the right people. Rose’s late-night confessions to her roommates at the convent had made an indelible mark on Elisabeth’s heart. She’d always endeavored to believe the best about people, but Rose’s tale of her uncle’s barbarism was enough to break the illusion that people were, despite their flaws, generally good. Elisabeth had clung to a young girl’s love for her mother, but she knew now it was not, and probably never had been, reciprocated.

“Gilbert thinks it wouldn’t be worth the trouble and expense to send me back,” Elisabeth said, abandoning her cup and leaning back in her chair, resting her hands on her swollen bulge. “He’s being optimistic for my sake, but you know how the authorities here are when it comes to matters of propriety. They’d sooner deport a woman than have her sully the King’s colony.”

Nicole nodded. “They ‘want the colony to be the best that France has to offer,’” she quoted in an unctuous voice. “We’ve heard the Sisters lecture us on it enough times.”

“Well the others on our ship were such a rowdy lot. So unlike us, am I right?” Elisabeth smiled despite herself.

Rose snorted, ignoring a glare from Sister Anne.

“I want to tell you they can’t do anything,” Rose said. “I wish that were true. Whatever the law states, in the end, they will do as they please.

“Were I you, I would emphasize how quickly you married, the child you carry, and the business you’re establishing—that is, the business Gilbert is establishing and in which you help tirelessly. That is what they want to hear: hardworking women who know their place and have plenty of babies for the colony.”

“Well, I’m doing my duty by God and King as I promised to do,” Elisabeth said, patting her belly. “And this little settler can’t come soon enough.”

“I worry that you’re so uncomfortable so early on,” Rose said, arching her brow with concern.

“I’m sure it’s fine. You’ll be rocking that sweet little one before you know it, and Rose and I will be mad with jealousy,” Nicole said, sampling an apple tart and going back for a second mouthful with vigor.

“So long as his father and I are together to welcome him into this world, I’ll be as patient as I can,” Elisabeth said, willing the ache in her spine to subside, even for a few blessed minutes.