Lenormand wakes early, keen to reach her destination. Finally, after so many years, this painful episode in her life will have resolution. The Queen’s spirit is spritely today, singing as Lenormand washes in the basin. Her voice fills Lenormand with courage. She looks out of the inn window at the risen sun, the golden light enriching the landscape with majesty, the greens of its fields lusher, the rise of its mountains higher.
After a quick breakfast of oats and buttermilk, her carriage is made ready, and she sets off again. Lenormand is unable to tear her eyes away from the unfolding of the rolling hills and valleys, with lakes perfectly reflecting the blue sky and white clouds.
It is the second day of September; she feels the transition to autumn in a way she would never notice in Paris. Leaves are beginning to fall off the trees; the sheep-dotted hills are laced with purple heathers, while the air that rushes into the carriage as they trundle along the bog roads is so fresh and sweet. Alongside the carriage, the scald-crow flies. Marie Antoinette is quiet now, anticipating what will unfold today, her breath a constant beat inside Lenormand’s heart as she prepares herself.
At last, the carriage turns through two large entrance gates and travels up a curved drive. The sun has disappeared, and rain begins to fall in a soft, lazy drizzle. The brilliance of the autumnal day has vanished, and her first view of Roughty House is washed with tones of grey. A three-storeyed stone house with a porticoed front door and windows darkened by cloudy sky sits at the end of the drive, set against the dramatic outline of the Kerry mountains.
She alights from the carriage to the sound of dogs barking. Round the corner of the stable-yard come three large hounds, but although her driver is alarmed, Lenormand can see they are merely young and boisterous. They are easily appeased by her attention when she pats them with her gloved hand. Another dog is barking within the house.
She takes a breath, clutching her hands. It is hard to believe that after all this time, she will see Caterina again. It is not certain she even lives here, but then she senses the Queen by her side.
He’s here, she whispers.
Lenormand climbs up the stone steps, composing herself as she prepares to lift up the stag’s head knocker. Will Caterina be the maid to open the door, or will it be another servant? She hesitates, turns around to see her driver leading the horses into the stable-yard. A boy runs out to meet him.
It is too late now; she can’t go back.
Do not forsake me this time, Adelaide, the Queen whispers, and her presence gives Lenormand courage, while the scald-crow comes to land upon her shoulder, its talons digging into her skin beneath her mother’s cloak.
She takes a deep breath, checking again for the pistol concealed beneath her clothing. She lifts the knocker and drops it. The pitch of the barking rises, and yes, she recognises it. Hope leaps into her heart, unbidden, as the door is flung open, the scald-crow takes flight, and Gilbert charges forwards, jumping up at her in joy, planting sloppy licks upon her cheeks.
‘El! Oh, El, is it truly you?’
It is her.
But not as she imagined. Caterina is no maidservant. She is attired in a riding habit of dark green, with a crisp white shirt cravatted high at her neck. It is how she dressed during the revolutionary years they shared together. Her green eyes are filled with tears, and there is a broad smile upon her face. She runs forwards and embraces Lenormand.
The smell of her is the same, the feel of her, too; soft curls of her red hair tease the skin upon Lenormand’s face. Longing sweeps through her, and it enrages her. The hard metal of her pistol presses against her body, urging her to take it in her hands – and she will.