Spring VI

. Ӝ .

Two days passed, and despite Rupert being here, I still felt alone. I was even isolated during meals. Élisabeth and Rupert would talk only to each other about insignificant things, and I would be forced to sit through their constant flirting, ignored at my place at the opposite end of the table. 
         “I heard Andre took you to see Le Centre du Ciel. It is the talk of the town,” said Rupert during one dinner as we waited for the table to be cleared and the coffee to be served.
         “It was an amazing performance,” she replied, putting a stubborn curl behind her ear. “I enjoyed it very much.”
         Rupert glanced at me briefly, with a mischievous gleam in his eye. I was quite familiar with that look. He was making sure I was going to be listening to what he was about to say. “Andre is quite fond of the opera,” he started. “I am sure he will take you to another.”
         I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, not amused. The two of them had been talking like this for the entire meal. It seemed like the more questions he asked her, the more fascinated he became, and the more sick I felt. I wanted to yell across the length of the table at him—tell him that Élisabeth was nothing extraordinary and he could stop pretending—but I knew it was senseless. My only explanation for his actions was idiocy. There must have been something toxic in that English air.
         “Are you nervous for the wedding?” asked Rupert, bringing the conversation to a place I had been dreading. “The date is crawling closer.”
         Élisabeth nodded, smiling. “Oh yes. Very,” she replied. “It is my very first wedding after all. I’m new to this.”
         “Beauty and wit!” Rupert exclaimed, chuckling.
         I massaged my temples, annoyed. “Lucky me,” I added with heavy sarcasm.
         Both of their eyes flicked to me.
         “Oh, Andre,” Rupert said sharply. “I forgot you were even here. Welcome to the conversation.”
         I glowered at him. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to interrupt your childish banter.”
          Neither Rupert nor Élisabeth had anything to respond with, and so they sat there, eyes wide in astonishment. A cup of steaming black coffee was placed in front of each of them and then at my place. Seeing how unresponsive they had become, I very calmly put two sugars in it and sipped triumphantly.
         


         In the silence and the comfort of the manor’s library, Rupert and I had started a game of chess. I was not exactly interested in the game, finding it rather tedious, but it was the most time I had spent with my friend since he had met Élisabeth. I found that he was rarely away from her now, and I was almost competing for his time. On this afternoon, I was lucky enough to have him with me, even if it was playing something as dull and dry as chess.
         As his hand held his chin in deep concentration, Rupert finally made his move. “Your father gave Élisabeth the ring,” he said as a spark of conversation.
         “He did?” I put the knight piece to my forehead, pretending to think of my next move.
         Rupert nodded. “He gave it to her yesterday afternoon,” he paused, a playful smile sneaking its way across his lips. “And she loved it.”
         My jaw dropped in shock. “She liked it? How? It was such a small stone.”
         “She isn’t a finicky girl,” he replied simply.
         “And you would know this?”
         “I do,” he went on. “She is a very fascinating person when you get to know her. Her past is so tragic.” He closed his eyes and put a hand to his heart. “And her stories… You just can’t turn an ear.”
         There was a moment’s pause. I put down the knight and Rupert took it out with his queen.
         “Maybe if you talked to her, you would know what she liked.”
         My eyes widened, my irritation increasing. “Talk to her?” I returned hotly. “You mean like you have been these past couple of days?”
         He shrugged casually. “I like to think of it as being friendly.”
         “My definition of friendly or yours?” 
         Rupert’s finger lingered on his queen’s crown. “Talk to her,” he laughed, ignoring my question, “and I won’t have to.”
         I eyed the board, finally seeing his queen’s position. He had cornered my king.
         “Checkmate,” he added, grinning.
         I rose to my feet and pushed in my chair. “Fine,” I surrendered, feeling much like the king piece at the moment. “I will talk to her.”
         “Good man.” He held out his hand for me to take out of good sportsmanship. 
         Instead of taking his offer, I flicked the king piece over. It rolled across the board and off the table, bouncing on the wood floor. “I go, and it is done,” I said firmly and left the room.          



         The evening came and brought with it a storm.
         Feeling slightly wet and cold from the weather, I decided to retire to the comfort of the parlor. There was always the silence and the warmth of the blooming fire to be expected there. It was the place always sought when one wanted to take shelter from the elements outside.
         I walked in, finding Mardi placing a steaming cup of tea into Élisabeth’s delicate hands. The room was dim. The oil lamps were yet to be turned on and the lit fireplace was throwing demonic shadows across the antique décor.
         Élisabeth and Mardi stopped their talking at once, and glanced at me. I knew instantly that their words had been about me, but I ignored it for the moment. Mardi acknowledged me, stiffly bowing, and asked if I wanted her to bring me something to warm my bones. I declined her offer, seeing the grief still in her eyes, and waited for her to leave. I would have to mend whatever had been broken between us later. I wanted to be with Élisabeth alone for the moment. I believed this time could relieve some of the distance that was keeping us at odds.
         I moved across the room to where I was sure she could see me. I paced there in front of the fire, hands behind my back, head down for the illusion of thought. I watched the shadows under my feet move with her. They told me she was bringing the china to her lips, studying me. I was hoping she would say something to ease the tension that had filled the empty space, even though it would have been proper to have started it myself.
         There was only the crackle of burning wood.
         Anxiety gripped me, made me cease my pacing. Wondering how this marriage was going to be successful if I was having a difficult time beginning a conversation, I met her eyes and noticed that they had turned a lovely soft lavender in the glowing red light.
         “Would you prefer me to leave?” Élisabeth questioned harmlessly. “I would not consider you rude if you did.”
         “No,” I replied, possibly too brusquely. “You may stay.” I meant to say that I wished for her stay and speak to me, to spend time with me like a true husband and wife-to-be, but I could not release the words from my throat. Instead, I searched for a topic a little less personal. Without so much as glancing at the window, I said, “The storm doesn’t seem to be lightening.” I was staring at her, watching her emotions lighten her young features. She took another dainty sip, and when she placed the cup on the dark wood table, I caught sight of a smile, sweet and innocently placed.
         “Storms calm me,” she said. “I am not bothered by them.”
         Normally, a lady was shaken by thunder, but Élisabeth was unchanged. The fact only added to her oddities, her uniqueness.
         It was then that my eye caught a speck of light from the couch. Curious, I stepped closer and saw that the gleam had come from a ring perfectly placed on her left finger. I couldn’t help but think that although it was small, it fit her well. Any large stone would seem too out of place on her. My decision for a ring had been the right one after all.
         Underneath her hand was a leather bound volume resting upturned and open as if marking her place in reading. Something inside me leapt. This could be the thing I had been searching for, the very thing that could bring us together. I had read much in my days in school, and even after, I had grown a habit of it.
         “I can see you have found a piece of literature to your liking,” I noted, pointing the book. “What is it that you have chosen?”
         She hesitated, startled gaze shifting to what I had brought attention to. Élisabeth did not answer my question, only offered me the novel to see myself. I took it and read the name--Macbeth, a Shakespeare classic. I had read it at least three times in my youth. It was a favorite of mine, about a man seeking power, which, when obtained, ended up destroying him.
         “Macbeth,” I said, handing it back to her. “I can see you have taken my advice.”
         “Yes…” she said hesitantly. “I have to say… you had gotten me interested.”
         “It is one of the greatest ever written. What Act are you on?” I asked, trying to pull out the conversation that was already slipping away.
         Her gaze dropped to her lap, and even in the firelight, I could see her pale cheeks darken with color.
         “Have you reached the part when Macbeth sees the floating dagger?” When she did not respond, I decided to give her a taste of the material. “Is this a dagger which I see before me? The handle toward my hand?”
         “No…I don’t think I have gotten there yet,” she said uneasily.
         I didn’t understand her sudden withdrawal. If she wanted to speak with me, here was her chance. I was offering my time to her and she was slowly turning away from it. Why was I going to put in the effort if I was getting nothing in return? “So what part are you on then?” I pushed.
         She turned the book over in her hands. As her fingers gently traced over the silver script on the cover, I could see all the hidden colors in the engagement ring’s stone. She still hadn’t answered me, and when my gaze met hers, I saw the shame she was holding.
         I realized it then—the reason for her silence and her hesitation. The reason she was not answering my questions. She hadn’t read it at all because she couldn’t read it. Élisabeth Lormé was illiterate. “You never learned how to read?” I asked, not even trying to be subtle with my words.
         She looked down again and all I could see was her dark lashes laying across her smooth cheeks. Élisabeth shook her head slowly. “No…” she whispered. “I never did.”
         This was unbelievable, and yet, it made perfect sense! In the garden, when she had said she had never heard of Shakespeare, it was because she could not read. I had just assumed she had been educated in the subject. Most children learn it at an early age, but I had been wrong! And why was she with a book now? Was she trying to play the lie even more?
         I turned around, noticing that I had been staring at her, my mouth open for some time. This was it—the ingredient I needed to stop this wedding from occurring. I was not going to be seen with an uneducated fiancée. Unfortunate, maybe, but illiterate? There was no positive aspect anyone could draw from that. I had to tell my father straight away. He must know.
         “That’s just awful,” I lied, still facing the fireplace so that the smirk on my lips could not be seen. “I couldn’t imagine.”
         Feeling suddenly like the temperature in the room had jumped, I moved closer to the door. There was silence from her again, and I concluded that this was the perfect time to leave. As much as I dreaded speaking with my father, and as much as I knew he would be angered with me for what I had done with the ring, I had to tell him about this. I had to let him know Élisabeth had been the wrong choice.
         I left Élisabeth to her solitude and went straight to find my father. His study was the first place I went to look. I knocked twice and waited. No response. I knocked again, this time a little more quickly, impatient. Still no sound from behind the door.
         “He’s not in anymore,” a tiny voice said. Mardi was standing in the middle of the hall, an empty silver tray in her hands.
         “Do you have any idea where he went?” I asked, not wanting to wait to tell this news.
         She paused, glanced at the study door and back at me. “I believe he went to dinner with Monsieur Bovie and a few other of his friends.”
         I sighed. If I knew my father, that wouldn’t be until late in the night. Jacques Bovie was one of my father’s gambling friends. Once a week they would get together, eat an expensive meal, and then gambled until one had run out of all the money he had brought to waste.
         “Thank you,” I told her, trying to smile. Her face did not lighten the slightest bit.
         She bowed her head and turned around. When she started back down the hallway, I grasped desperately for the words to make her stop and speak with me.  I couldn’t take her pouty little frown anymore. I needed to right this wrong now. Or at least try. “Mardi… please…” My voice was wavering, but I could not help myself.
         She froze in her place suddenly but did not look at me.
         “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my dignity frail. There was still no sound from her, and I felt my heart falter. “Mardi…”
         She set her shoulders and continued walking away, farther and farther down the hall. As much as I wanted to, I did not try to speak again. I knew that my plea had been in vain. What I had done to Mardi could not be erased. It had wounded her too much to fix. I had gone too far.



         The next morning, I went straight to the study again. I knocked and this time there movement from inside. “Come in,” my father said, and I obeyed.
         I was surprised to see my father up from his desk and looking out one of the study’s two tall windows. His eyes met mine and he quickly crossed the room to meet me. “Andre!” he exclaimed, his voice full of excitement. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
         I didn’t understand his cheerful mood. Especially after what I had done to him the other night, I was expecting an outburst. But I certainly was not going to mention it and ruin this rare event. “Really?” I said.
         He gestured for me to sit in the chair across from his desk. I did, sinking into the soft cushions.
         “I have splendid news!” 
         “So do I—”
         “Let me go first,” he said, cutting me short. He sat on the edge of his desk and crossed one leg over the other. “I just can’t contain this any longer.”
         I leaned back in the chair, readying myself for the news he was about to tell me. 
         “First, I wanted to say that I gave Élisabeth the engagement ring.”
         My muscles tensed. “I noticed,” was all I said in reply.
         “Even though I would have preferred that you give it to her, you did well with the choice of style. I will admit I was a little worried at first, but Élisabeth seemed very pleased with it.” I said nothing, and he took the opportunity to continue. “But that isn’t the splendid news. When I was at dinner, Jacques and I were discussing the engagement, and he mentioned seeing the two of you at the Opéra Garnier.” He paused to see if I had gotten any of his inconspicuous hints. I didn’t even blink. “He also saw Madame Dautry there eyeing Élisabeth. Now this gave me a wonderful idea.”
         I held my breath, now seeing what was coming up next.
         “Élisabeth should try to win Madame Dautry’s favor. Make her one of her Ladies of Grace.”
         He was waiting for me to approve, to make a positive comment about his supposedly brilliant idea. When I did not, he continued, “That way she can become more known in the public eye.”
         “You aren’t serious,” I choked out.
         His expression suddenly turned very stern. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I am very serious.”
         This was absurd. Madame Dautry was the most wealthy and highly honored woman in French society. She was worshiped for her strength of easily coping with her husband’s death, and for the large amount of money that followed. She had gathered many wives and widows into a group that met every Sunday in her home to discuss readings. They called themselves the Ladies of Grace in order to stay pure and golden in society’s mind. But everyone knew it was not just books the women spoke about in these gatherings. It was the latest word of mouth. But no one dared question the Madame.
         Every upper-class woman wanted to be a part of her collection, but Madame Dautry was very hard to please. She only chose the ladies that she thought were the best, and that included the best in beauty and in intellect. There was no way Élisabeth would be let in, especially with the secret that I knew.
         “Madame Dautry will not make Élisabeth one of her Ladies,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “You know what a particular woman she is.”
         “She has already shown interest in Élisabeth,” he told me ardently. “And I will not pass up an opportunity as big as this. I am planning on inviting the Madame here for an afternoon and introducing her formally to Élisabeth. If this meeting goes well for us, than she will be in, and so will we.”
         I shook my head. “It won’t work,” I said plainly.
         He crossed his arms about his chest, his brown printed tie wrinkling. “And why is that?”
         I closed my eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of my nose. When I spoke, I did so slowly so that he could grasp my every word. “Élisabeth cannot read.”
         “What?” His eyes widened.
         “She cannot read,” I repeated, and his bewildered expression did not shift.
         “How do you know this?” he asked, his voice low and tense.
         “She admitted it to me last night during a conversation. She has never been educated.”
         He began to pace in front of his desk—just another habit I had inherited from him, it seemed. I tried to hide the smile that I could feel spreading across my lips. I waited for him to speak.
         “Teach her,” he said suddenly, and my grin disappeared. He stopped pacing, went to his desk chair, and sat. “Teach her how to read and anything else she may need to impress Madame Dautry.”
         “I can’t teach her!” I exclaimed. This had not been the reaction I was hoping for. “Why not get her a tutor? There is nothing I can do!”
         He folded his hands together and pressed his forehead against them in deep concentration. “No,” he said after a few moments. “You will be her tutor. I cannot afford this secret getting out to the public. There are not many we can trust anymore.” He took a deep breath. “This can be a good thing for you as well—gives the two of you more time to spend together. Get to know each other.”
         I jumped to my feet, every bit of myself itching with rage. “I don’t want to get to know her,” I snapped, unable to hold my tongue any longer. “Why can’t you see that?”
         My father rose too, fists slamming onto the desk. “You will tutor her!” His voice shook with anger. “I will hear no more of your cheek! You are an engaged man and cannot change the fact!”
         “I refuse to live your life out for you!” I shouted, hands trembling. “This is my life. My life!” When I looked at him, his eyes were wide and bloodshot. I went for the door. I knew instantly that I had gone too far, but I did not even consider righting the wrong. I opened it, lingering only for a moment in the doorway. “Not yours,” I said one last time before leaving.
         “Andre!” my father yelled after me. “Andre, get back in here! Andre!”
         I never looked back, only let my feet take me wherever they wanted to go. “Not yours,” I repeated to myself, trudging through the deserted halls. “Not yours.”