APRIL 1791
“I am sorry there isn’t a proper cake.” Maman puts the plate down in the center of the table. The best blue china gleams against the crocheted white lace of the tablecloth. “The flour prices are erratic. I never expected prices would still be so outrageous two years later. All these riots don’t seem to change anything.”
“I don’t mind. I like baked apples.”
“I know. But you’re eighteen now, and it’s a special age. You deserve a beautiful cake with cream and preserved cherries. Besides, these apples are from last fall. I asked our cook to bake them; they’re a bit soft now.”
“You said that seventeen was a special age too, and sixteen, and fifteen before that.…” I grin at her. “The apples look delicious.”
“Yes, they do,” says Léon, with enough fervency that Papa laughs.
“Let’s serve it now, and not deprive the poor boy any longer.”
“There’s rum sauce to go with them, at least,” says Maman. “To make it a little more fancy.”
“Everything is perfect, Maman. I haven’t eaten roast beef in a long time. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday supper, or better company.” I smile fondly at everyone around the table. We are a small, intimate group, only my parents and Léon.
Papa turns to Léon. “Will it affect your work, now that the guilds have been abolished?”
He shrugs. “I was a member, and it wasn’t easy to join, but a lot of people see the guilds as a remnant of feudalism. If the economy is to move forward, change has to happen. I confess, I won’t miss the guild very much. They talked of going on strike, and I don’t want to. It would lengthen my apprenticeship. Even afterward, I’d rather be working and providing for my household.” His hand brushes mine.
I smile at him. It’s hard to believe two years have passed since our first meeting. My happiness makes it feel as though he’s been part of my life forever, but our moments together still glow with excitement, too.
After supper, Léon and I excuse ourselves to go for a short walk. The full moon splashes filmy light over the street, bathing the city in gradients of silver and gray, and we pause in the fathomless shadows of quiet corners and the dark privacy under the heavy branches of trees to snatch kisses.
“I can hardly wait to be your wife,” I whisper, as his mouth leaves mine and roves down my neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses to my skin.
His fingers tighten on my waist, pressing me closer to the tree trunk at my back, and he makes a low rumble of pleasure in his throat. “I can hardly say how happy it makes me to hear that.” His lips move close to my ear, his breath tickling in an erotic way that makes me shiver. “I think about you all the time, Giselle.”
“I do too.” Resting my palm along his cheek, I bring his face closer to mine for another bone-melting kiss.
After a while, we reluctantly drift apart, but keep our hands twined together.
“We’ll have to walk a bit now,” I say, feeling the warmth of my flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips.
“We wouldn’t look innocent at all,” agrees Léon. “My heart’s still racing.”
I flatten my palm against his chest to feel its flutter, and instead become distracted by the enticing feel of his hard muscles, the angular shape of his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders.
He sucks in a breath, holding still, and then evidently gives up on self-control, because his hand grasps the back of my neck and his mouth crashes down on mine again.
“Soon we’ll walk,” I say breathlessly a moment later. “In just a bit.”
“If you say so.” The corners of his mouth quirk briefly, until I kiss his smile away.
* * *
As a month passes and May closes, I notice a marked change in Marie Antoinette.
The first sign is that she begins ordering new gowns from Rose Bertin again, instead of relying on made-over ones. The new items aren’t strategically colored, and she appears to favor green and white, as well as purple and black. She also rejects many of the tricolor items in her daily dress choices, instead gravitating to green, which brings out the near-lost glint of red in her curls, and lavender, which emphasizes the milkiness of her skin and the shadows under her eyes.
Gowns aside, her demeanor shifts as well, albeit in a less noticeable way than her drastic change in color choices. Perhaps someone who has not watched her as closely as I have would remain oblivious, but I observe the way she paces along the long row of windows, gazing outside wistfully, staring as though she imagines seeing past the rooftops of Paris and into freedom beyond. Sometimes she sits at her desk for hours at a time, writing more slowly than usual, her lips moving as she thinks of the words to write, although she never speaks loud enough for me to hear anything. Indeed, her mouth twitches in concentration only; I don’t think she’s saying words at all. Once, she asks for a list of all the contents of her closet at the Tuileries, and spends two hours poring over it alone. And she sees Count Axel von Fersen every day, murmuring to him with their heads bent close together, locked in their own private conversation.
“I thought this might look well with your cornflower-blue gown, Your Majesty,” I say to her one morning, proffering a blue sash edged in scarlet and embroidered with small white fleur-de-lis. I’ve sewn it myself, but I don’t say so to the queen. It isn’t my place.
She gives it a cursory glance. “No. I will wear purple today, and that will not suit.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Shall I put this aside for tomorrow, then?”
“No.”
I hear the finality in her voice, but since I worry about her, the words spring almost unbidden to my lips. “It’s only that it’s very fashionable at the moment.…”
Her gray eyes flare angrily, sparking with silver. “I make the fashion.”
I bow my head, averting my gaze to the floor. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
She makes me wait for a moment before releasing me, either by stalking away or giving me leave to look up, but when she does speak at last, her voice softens a little. “You are concerned for me, Giselle, and your loyalty is commendable. But our days of planning tricolor outfits together have ended, I believe. The people ceased believing it. They see me as an actress, playing the part of revolutionary and never truly caring for a moment. I would rather dress as myself, be seen as myself, than be seen to be costumed like a charlatan.”
I don’t know what to say, especially as the thought has often crossed my mind that she does not understand the need for change that drives the revolution, and wishes the whole thing would simply vanish. “I—I am sorry.”
“Do not be. None of this is your doing.” Giving me a strange smile, half-kind but still with a hard edge that thins her lips, she turns and walks away, managing to convey all the sweeping haughtiness of royalty, even while dressed simply in her nightgown and a purple wool shawl.
Madame Campan pauses at my side, her arms folded, hands clasping her elbows as if protecting herself from the cold. “It’s good of you to try, Giselle. The revolution is not easy for her.”
“She has been ordering many new dresses from Rose Bertin,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“She must amuse herself somehow,” says Madame Campan roughly. “Everything else is slowly being taken away from her.”
“I hope she doesn’t spend too much. They will revile her for that.”
I expect a reprimand for my impertinence, but Madame Campan sighs, her shoulders sagging. “I know. I have warned her that acquiring too much clothing now could be dangerous, but she doesn’t listen to me.” Her mouth twitches in a wan smile. “She has always been headstrong, and while I’m her friend, I am below her.”
“She may listen to you yet.” I pat her hand comfortingly. I don’t think I’ve ever touched Madame Campan before. The bones of her hand feel delicate and frail, like a bird’s, though she’s not elderly. “She knows you love her.” I explain my arrangement to warn Marie Antoinette of danger by means of dropping a red-and-white handkerchief.
Her eyes grow thoughtful, her thin, sculpted eyebrows dropping as her face grows more serious. “I think perhaps I haven’t given you enough credit,” she says very quietly. “Thank you, Giselle.”
“It’s the least I could do,” I say honestly. It isn’t enough, I know. It won’t atone for spying, although I like to think I’ve never reported anything that changed the course of her life, and it won’t comfort her through the threats she receives daily. But it’s something.
Late the next day, when I’m nearly ready for bed, Madame Campan pulls me aside. “Giselle, one of Her Majesty’s earrings is missing. Have you seen it?” She sounds a little sharp.
Across the room, I see Geneviève’s eyes widen in surprise, and then she glares, miming pouring a bottle of perfume over Madame Campan’s head. While I appreciate her loyalty, nervousness ripples over me, and I’m not comforted.
“I haven’t seen a lone earring.” My lips feel very dry. “Which one is it? I’ll search.”
“Are you certain you haven’t seen it?” Madame Campan grasps my arm, not tightly, but I daren’t resist her. She leads me into the antechamber of the queen’s bedroom. “Nothing with pearls?”
“No, nothing. I promise.”
“It could have been an accident,” she says. “Caught in your skirt, perhaps.” She closes the door behind us.
“I swear, Madame Campan, I would never touch Her Majesty’s jewelry.” I feel cold, certain that my face is pale with fear. Being accused of theft is the last thing I expected to happen to me here.
She pulls me across the room, farther away from the door. “I know, Giselle. I’m sorry, but I had to get you away from the others without making them believe you were receiving special treatment. That would make them pay a great deal of attention, all of it born of jealousy.”
“Special treatment?” I stare blankly.
“Of a sort.” She bends her face closer to me, peering into my eyes. “Giselle, I need to know that I can trust you.”
“You can.”
“And the queen may trust you?”
“Yes.” I meet her stare unwaveringly. “I promised to protect her as well as I could, didn’t I? I meant it, every word.”
Relief washes some of the lines from her face. “I believe you. I never thought to be in this situation with you, putting all my trust in you. You were always a good tirewoman, right from the start, but sometimes a little irreverent, and so close with Geneviève.”
“She means well,” I say, understanding that Madame Campan will not forgive nor forget Geneviève’s revolutionary proclivities.
“I’m going to tell you a secret, because I require your assistance. It’s potentially dangerous, and if you betray me, it puts more than one life at risk.”
Speechless, I scan her face for signs of jesting. She regards me calmly, but with a serious edge to her glance that tells me she watches me for signs of slyness. I think through the implications of her words before I say anything, wondering if I even want to know.
“If I help you, I may potentially help save lives?” It seems to be the logical reverse of her warning.
“Four lives, possibly eight,” she confirms. “Maybe even more.”
I think about it a moment longer but there’s only one answer I can give. Sighing slowly and gently, trying to relax even though tension floods me, I nod. “I keep secrets very well. I’ll help you.”
“Sit down,” commands Madame Campan, eyes glittering with approval and purpose. She points to the low cushioned bench along the wall. Once we’re both seated, she tells me the king and queen have been plotting, with the aid of Count Axel von Fersen and herself, to flee Paris, taking their children with them.
“They will be killed if they remain here,” she says.
“Surely not.” Even I hear the confusion in my voice, the doubt. I saw the wreckage of Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber at Versailles, after all, the glitter of mirror shards and silks ripped and torn, feathers scattered everywhere, drowning everything like the blood the rioters wanted, only white and soft instead of scarlet and sticky.
“It’s not safe for them, especially our queen.” Madame Campan sounds resolute. “They must get to Austria, where the queen’s brother may offer them protection.”
“But Austria is so far.… How can they leave France?” They are supposed to rule it, I want to say. They can’t abandon it.
“The king wanted to remain in France,” admits Madame Campan grudgingly. “But he agreed it’s not safe just now. The hope is that they’ll return when things are settled, and with the support of Austria to protect them. They are losing allies here every day. Even the army can’t be trusted.”
I can’t argue with this truth, and the plans are clearly far enough along that there’s little point anyway. “What do you need me for?”
“I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to tell anyone else, but one of the tirewomen must know,” says Madame Campan. “I need you to help pack, in secret.” She hesitates, meeting my eyes. “I also need you to distract Geneviève. I fear she suspects something is going on.”
“Of course she does. I did too. It’s because the queen is ordering so many new gowns, and in risky colors.”
Madame Campan’s mouth curls sorrowfully. “I know. I did warn her to be careful. She can acquire everything she needs when she’s safe. I think impatience has overtaken her.” She clears her throat. “I also need you to help procure common-looking clothing for them to wear to escape. They can’t wear anything they own.”
“They would certainly be recognized at once.” I want to giggle suddenly, struck with hilarity at the thought of fleeing in one of the queen’s wide skirts, and I realize it must be nerves. I dig my fingernails into my palms, using the pain to calm myself again. “Tell me everything I need to know. Leave no detail out.”
“There are tunnels in the kitchen,” says Madame Campan. “They’ll escape the palace that way, and a coach will be waiting.” She clasps her fingers together, steadily talking in a low voice until I understand what I must do.
I walk slowly to my room after Madame Campan dismisses me. My heart feels heavy under the pressure of this new secret—the greatest of them all, and the one that must be protected the most closely. There are hundreds of people who would condemn me for helping the king and queen flee Paris, and as dangerous as that is, I fear the reaction of the people closest to me instead if they find out. My uncle would not be pleased. Léon would feel betrayed. In doing this task, I am working in direct opposition to his loyalty to the revolution.
None of these fears affect my decision, though. I feel in my bones that it’s the right thing to do. Marie Antoinette and her family aren’t strangers to me, and I must help them. Even though my mind whirls under the weight of my decision, my soul feels free.
It’s late by the time I go to bed, but Geneviève sits up when I come into the room, pushing her nightcap out of her eyes. “Well? Are you in trouble?”
“For a while.” I scowl, rubbing my back. “I had to scour every inch of the floor. My back feels like a mule kicked it. I found the wretched earring, though; Madame Campan can’t complain or blame me for theft anymore.” I glower. “Cow, accusing me like that when the earring was on the floor the whole time.”
“The Citoyenne probably made her,” says Geneviève, referring to the queen. “She would’ve ordered a new one anyway and hung the cost, but she had to blame someone, didn’t she?”
“Just be glad she didn’t accuse you,” I say darkly, pulling my nightdress over my head and climbing into bed.
“She’s been dressing like a tyrant again, hasn’t she?” remarks Geneviève conversationally. “I thought the days of purple velvets were over.”
“If they ever truly were, we might not have jobs.” I’m glad she can’t see my face in the dark. She’s my friend, and I wish I didn’t have to lie to her, but she doesn’t share my sympathy for the queen. “She’s so spoiled; she can’t stand not wearing whatever expensive thing she likes.”
“True.” Geneviève rolls over, the sheets rustling audibly. “Well, five o’clock will be here far too soon, as usual. Good night, Giselle.”
The next day, Madame Campan gives me leave to go home for the night to have supper with my family, an easy thing to do now that we are living at Tuileries. My uncle is there with his family. I avoid him as much as I can, joking and talking with Eugénie, but after the plates are cleared and he holds a glass of claret, he summons me to the study.
As he closes the door behind us, I marvel at his ability to commandeer the room of a house that is not his own. My father is quite private about his study, and I wonder if he resents the intrusion. I think the time for spying has come to an end, since I’m not enjoying it anymore. I turn to my uncle with a trace of bitterness, tired of being ordered around.
“The queen hasn’t been wearing revolutionary colors,” he says without preamble. “What does it mean?”
“How do you know?” I ask instead. Does he have another spy? It never occurred to me before, but his question strikes me as oddly specific.
He waves impatiently. “She’s been seen in the Tuileries gardens a number of times this week, one day wearing green and white, another purple, another black. As I’m sure you’ve noticed too. You miss nothing, after all, Giselle.” He smiles, apparently attempting to be conciliatory.
“She grows bored with tricolor, I suppose.” I shrug, careful to remain nonchalant. “Fashion has always been her chief amusement, and she’s accustomed to setting her own trends. She dislikes having to follow the strictures of others.”
He stares at me for a moment and then nods, evidently satisfied. “I’m sure you’re right. She always has seemed quite vain. Anything else to report?”
“No. Wait—one thing. The queen received another threatening note, the first one since Versailles.”
“Indeed?” His eyes widen in curious surprise. “And? What did it say?”
I shake my head regretfully. “It was burned before I could see it. I’m told it was the same.”
“By whom?” The question fires back as quick as a musket shot.
“Madame Campan.”
His face relaxes into approval. “She trusts you, then. Well done.”
“If anything else happens, I’ll come and visit you,” I say, wanting our interview to end.
“Of course. Eugénie wanted us to invite you all for supper next week. I will see you again then.”
I make an excuse to search for a book from my father’s shelves, and stay behind while my uncle exits the room, dragging the tension away with him as if he is the magnet for it. I lean back against the corner of the bookshelf and close my eyes, praying I have lied well enough. I ought to have had enough practice by now, God knows. My pulse flutters nervously, and I think of the plot I’ve become tangled in, hoping it doesn’t turn into a terrible mess. I doubt I’ll sleep well tonight.