Spring VII

. Ӝ .

“Madame Dautry?” Rupert asked from his place across from me in the carriage. He had joined me for a ride around the town. After my conversation with my father, I felt like I needed to get away and leave the house just long enough to steady myself. Rupert had agreed to go with me, and for that, I was thankful. I needed to explain the event to someone, and Rupert was the only one in the household that I could still stand to talk to. I had told the driver that we had no destination in mind, so as we rode blindly, I began to inform Rupert of my father’s decision to have Élisabeth befriend the Madame.
         “Yes,” I replied, frowning. “He wants Élisabeth to become one of her Ladies.” I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees, and held my face in my hands.
         Rupert was silent for a moment, staring at me with blank eyes. Then he sighed. “Maybe this will be a positive thing?” he suggested. “If Madame Dautry chooses Élisabeth, her aristocracy will be uplifted.”
         “No,” I said, my voice muffled by my hands. “There are no positives here.”
         “Wait.” He paused. “You’ve confused me.”
         My head snapped up and my tone sharpened. “Madame Dautry will never choose her because Élisabeth does not know our ways. She hasn’t even been educated.”
         His brows lifted in disbelief. “She hasn’t? Are you sure?”
         “Of course I’m sure!” I snapped. “I did what you told me to. As much as it pained me, I attempted to hold a conversation with her. I found her reading Macbeth.”
         “Your favorite,” he added.
         “And I find out that she is just pretending to read! A façade, no doubt! An act!”
         “I’m sorry, but I’m shocked!” he replied honestly. “She’s is such a compelling girl. I assumed—”
         I raked my hand through my hair and sat back. “You assumed wrong,” I said plainly. “She can’t even read, Rupert. How will that look for me?”
         Rupert tapped his cheek with his index finger, thinking. Surely he could see my distress now. “What about a tutor?” he proposed.
         I shook my head. “I gave my father the same option, and he refused to hear it. He said he couldn’t trust anyone anymore and couldn’t risk it spreading.”
         “Right.”
         The carriage rode roughly along the path. Wherever it was that we were heading, the rain had severely affected the road. The wheels sank in the deep puddles and the rain hammered on the black top of the carriage.
         “He wants me to teach her,” I mumbled, sick with the thought of it.
         When I looked up, he was grinning, white teeth flashing. “Ah,” he began, “now I see your real trouble.”
         “Rupert, I can’t teach her,” I told him, disregarding his smile. “I don’t know how.”
         “And God knows you don’t have the patience.” He chuckled. When he saw that my mood was not shifting, he playfully hit my arm. “Come on, now, Andre. Where is that old spark you used to have about you? You seem so glum all the time.”
         I sank down in my seat and closed my eyes. “It’s gone,” I said, the words coming from my mouth before I could stop them. “Gone two years ago with my mother.”
         I could sense Rupert’s uneasiness, and see his throat working to swallow. He hadn’t expected my answer either. His hands rubbed his trousers as he searched for something to say next. “Maybe this will be a good thing,” he said finally. “You two will be able to spend time together. Perhaps you will find that there is something there that you like.”
         “You are sounding more and more like my father,” I said. “It seems like I am the only one with my head on right here.”
         He laughed, his shoulders bouncing. “Or maybe,” he went on, “you’re the only one who doesn’t.”
          “Ha!” I waved my hand at his ridiculous statement. “You aren’t serious, right?”
         He stopped laughing suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “I am very serious,” said Rupert. “You’re the only one who cannot see the type of woman Élisabeth is—refuse to see it.”
         “I see it,” I shot. “She’s a poor girl that does not deserve the new life she has been given.”
         Rupert shook his head at my words. “You know what I think? I think you do want to care for her, but you are just too stubborn to see it yourself.”
         “You are insane,” I told him.
         He ignored that, continuing. “You want to care for her, but you are just too angry with your father to try.”
         I froze, his words striking me curious. He was just trying to get into my head. It wasn’t true. I knew what I wanted, and it certainly was not her. Rupert didn’t know how I felt, or my desires. How dare he assume such a thing!
         Rupert shifted nervously in his seat, running his hands up and down his legs again. He noted my silence and cleared his throat. “If you really don’t want her, can we trade?”
         My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
         He shrugged. “Well, you don’t want to marry her,” he said bluntly.
         I sat up instantly, my body rigid. “What? No!” I exclaimed. My tone of voice surprised me. I caught myself and closed my eyes for composure. I lowered my voice back to its normal place. “No, you can’t. My father’s plans would be ruined. He wouldn’t allow it.”
         “I suppose you’re right,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Then I am just going to have to go to Dordogne and find myself a poor girl.” He glanced out the window, his playful smile soon back across his lips. “It seems we are fresh out here.”
         


         The storm followed into the next day. As I waited for Élisabeth to meet me for our lessons, I stared vacantly at the clock upon the writing desk. Lessons were to be held in the library at noon every day for an hour until I believed Élisabeth was educated enough to meet Madame Dautry’s standards. I couldn’t help but think that I would be here teaching her until my skin was wrinkled and flaking and my hair was as white as the small clock’s face.
         Ten minutes passed twelve. Élisabeth was late for her lesson with me. I sighed, picking up a still corked vial of ink and passing it from one hand to the next. Rupert had been right. I didn’t have the patience for this.
         I heard hesitant footsteps enter. I put the vial back on the desk and turned around. Élisabeth had stepped into the room, a book clutched to her chest. When her gaze lifted to me, I realized how nervous I actually was. I tried to gather myself. I didn’t know how I was going to go about teaching her. I could use some of the methods my tutors had done, but how I was going to go about surviving the hour alone with her? I had no way to solve that dilemma.
         “I have been waiting,” I said bluntly as she took small steps toward me.
         “I’m sorry,” she replied meekly. “Mardi needed my help—”
         “The first thing I will teach you,” I began curtly, “tardiness is not tolerated. No matter what the reason. You must always be on time to a meeting, or early, but never late. That shows you have no interest in who you are seeing and can be taken offensively.”
         She bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I will be on time tomorrow.”
         “See to it.”  I tried to concentrate on something else rather than her heart-shaped face and the many curls escaping from the ribbon that tried to hold them back. Or how the pale blue dress she was wearing today complimented her similar color eyes. My gaze finally fell to the book she was holding. I recognized it instantly. She was still holding Macbeth.
         She followed my attention and held out the book for me to take. “I thought you may want this back,” said Élisabeth quietly. “I hope that I will be able to read it one day and discuss it with you.”          
         I pulled one of the chairs at the desk for her to sit in. “That is a long way away.”
         She put the book on the desk and sat down. I sat in the chair next to her and scooted myself in. She was silent as I put a few pieces of blank paper, a pen, and the vial of ink in front of her. “We will begin will the alphabet,” I told her, picking up my own pen. On the top of her paper I wrote the letter A. I pronounced the sound and had her repeat it to me. I gestured for her to take her pen. “Now, write the letter fifty times after mine.”
         Her brows rose. “Fifty?”
         I nodded. “Consistency leads to success.” And I was hoping to distract her long enough so that we didn’t have to share too much conversation. She pressed her pen’s tip to the paper and wrote a wobbly but legible A. She looked at me for my comment. I just nodded for her to continue. 
         She continued on, each letter becoming less and less of a mess. I glanced at the clock. Almost half past twelve. The time wasn’t going by fast enough. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. I could always catch up on my reading while I waited for her to finish. Maybe I would read Macbeth again. It was looking rather tempting in front of us on the desk. I snatched it and opened up to a random page.
         “Rupert is very kind.”
         Her voice had startled me. When I looked at her, her attention was still down at the paper in front of her. I should have known these hours were not going to go as easily as I wanted. And now I had to engage in her meager attempt for a conversation.
         “Your friend, Rupert, he is very kind,” she repeated, dipping her pen and scribbling another letter down.
         “When he wants to be, I suppose so,” was my reply. I was hoping that was the end to it.
         “He says you two have known each other for some time,” she continued, keeping her concentration on her work still.
         I flipped through the pages, looking at the print but not reading any of it. “Since school,” I said distantly.
         “He’s told me some stories about the exciting adventures you have had,” she replied.          
         I closed the book. She had my full attention now. “Stories? Like what?”
         She finally looked up. “Nothing terrible, I assure you.”
         But my worry did not lift.
         Her brows moved closer together in thought. Then she smiled as if she had just been struck with a memory. “Like this one he told me the other day,” she started, setting the pen aside. “You two were very young and had been standing on a bridge kicking small stones into the water below. It was a contest of some sort to see who could make the largest splash.”
         The memory came to me instantly. I knew of the story she was telling. Rupert and I were about twelve when we had visited Le Bios de Vincennes in the summer. We had gone to the park’s bridge to escape the watchful eyes of the adults who were picnicking by the lake and had begun this imaginary game in order to entertain ourselves. I could see the memory as clearly as the library room in front of me. I grinned reflexively.
         “And then Rupert found this much larger stone and kicked it off.” Élisabeth’s voice drifted into the distance as my thoughts replayed the event. “The splash was massive. And you heard shouting from nearby—”
         “It was Monsieur Beaufont and his wife,” I continued automatically, remembering Donavon’s shouts as he came from under the bridge. “They had been taking an innocent stroll and were now soaked to the bone.”
         “He threatened you with every curse in the sailor’s dictionary.”
         I laughed. “And we ran. We ran and ran until our legs turned to jelly and we couldn’t go on. I thought we had outrun him. I thought we were safe. Well, until I got home.”
         “Your father found out that night—”
         “Of course he did!” I exclaimed. “Donavon lived for getting me in trouble. Oh, my father was so angry with me.” I shook my head, hearing his yells echoing in my head. “I was locked in my room for three days without meals.”
         Élisabeth’s smile faded. “Rupert didn’t tell me that part of the story,” she muttered.
         My eyes refocused as I was pulled from my past. “He wouldn’t have known,” I said simply. “I was supposed to go three days without eating, but I didn’t mind. Ruining Donavon’s day was all I needed.”
         She laughed. “You two sounded like little monsters.”
         “We were boys,” I added. “Also known as monsters.”
         We laughed in unison this time, and I noticed how different her laugh was compared to mine. My laugh was low and rumbling, while hers was sweet and pleasant.
         “But three days?” she said once our fit had died away. “How did you not get ill?”
         My gaze fell to my lap, the merry mood gone from me. “My mother,” I whispered and all the pain seemed to return with those two simple words. “She would come into my room late into the night and give me whatever scraps she could get from the kitchen. I would eat while she read me poetry or Shakespearian plays…” I paused and took a few deep breaths. “Then she would wrap me in my blankets and leave me for sleep.”
         “That is very kind,” said Élisabeth gently.
         I nodded slowly. “She was very kind.” When I brought my gaze to meet hers, I saw that she was giving me a warm smile. I felt my own lips tug at the corners. “How many letters have you written so far?” I asked to draw the conversation back to the lesson at hand.
         Élisabeth glanced back at her paper. “About thirty,” she replied.
         I looked at the clock and then back at her work. We had a little less than half an hour left in our session. “Twenty more to go.”
         She took the pen and dipped it into the ink. Once she began writing again, I opened Macbeth. Just like before, I did not read it. My mind had drifted off to the conversation we had just shared. I had gone from not wanting to speak to her at all to retelling an entire memory. And the odd thing was that I felt different now that I told it. Different in a good way though. I knew she had been listening, and the fact made me want to continue with my tale. Rupert had mention something about her telling magnificent stories, but I had never thought…
         I glanced over the top of the pages so I could see Élisabeth as she worked. I held back a small laugh when I noticed her biting her bottom lip in full concentration. It was such a sweet gesture that I found it hard to look away from her as she wrote on.
         When I glanced at the clock again, it was time to conclude the lesson. I rose from my seat.
         She looked up. “Is it time already?” she asked.
         I nodded. “Afraid so.”
         “The time went by really fast,” she said, standing as well.
         “Well, you were late,” I commented.
         Her eyes fell to the ground instantly. “I’m sorry.”
         I went to door slowly, and she followed. “Now you know,” I told her. I tried to keep the firmness to my voice, but was wavering. I gestured for her to step through the door. “I will see you at dinner.”
         “Yes,” she replied with a shy smile. “And then again tomorrow.” She left then. I watched her climb the stairs from my place at the doorway until she was out of sight.
         “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” I whispered after her and then went back to the desk. I took Macbeth and placed it back on the self. This lesson surely did not go as I had expected, but it seemed that was a common thing for someone like Élisabeth. She was surprising me more and more.
         I left the library and headed to find Rupert. When I glanced into the parlor and saw that he wasn’t there, I made my way up the stairs to his bedroom. I knocked and the door swung open. “Well, you aren’t dying,” Rupert said smiling. “Or smoking from the ears, so I am guessing the lesson went better than you expected?”
         I walked passed him and sat in a chair. I ignored his question. I was not about to admit to him that he had been right. My pride would not allow it.
         He closed the door. “I had a brandy brought up for you,” he said, pointing to a glass on a table near me. He laughed. “I thought you might need it.”
         “I do,” I replied and took the glass.
         “So…” Rupert pressed.
         “What?” I took a sip.
         “I see what you are doing,” he said accusingly.
         “You do?”
         He nodded.
         I quickly adverted my attention to the room’s only window. “I hope the rain lifts,” I said in hopes to distract him. “We will be swimming soon if it doesn’t.” I took the last sip of my brandy.
         Rupert’s eyebrow rose. “Since when have you been interested in the weather?”
         “I’ve always found the topic…” I paused, searching for the best lie, “…insightful.”
         He crossed the room and opened the topmost draw in his cherry wood dresser. He pulled out a black case. “Right,” he said sarcastically and undid the locks. “And I’m the merry Queen of England.”
         I smirked. “The Queen, you say?”
         “Andre, really. Why don’t you just stop dodging the question and tell me how the lesson went?” He lifted the case’s lid and took out his beautiful violin, cradling it gently in his arms. I watched as he took out the handkerchief from his pocket and polished the wood. 
         I sighed, knowing I could no longer avoid the matter. “As you would have guessed, it was tremendously uncomfortable.”
         “Good uncomfortable or bad?”
         “Is there such a thing as a good uncomfortable?”
         He chuckled. “I suppose never with you.” He tucked the cloth away and examined the shine of his instrument. It looked brand new.
         I glared at him. “We didn’t get as far in the lesson as I had planned,” I said, disregarding his comment.
         His eyes narrowed as if he had caught something suspicious in my words. “And why is that?” he asked roguishly.
         “No,” I replied hastily to erase the vulgar thoughts I was sure were forming in his mind. “We talked. And talked only.”
         His expression changed instantly. “Oh ho!” he exclaimed, sitting in a chair across from me and resting his violin in his lap. “That’s my boy! You finally talked to her!”
         I swirled the cup of ice in my hand so that the cubes clunked noisily against the glass. “Yes, I did. And about one of the stories you had told her.”
         Rupert smiled innocently, the indents in his cheeks appearing again.
         “I have come to find out that you have been talking about me a great deal. Is that true?”
         He shrugged. “I am putting in a good word for you,” he replied coolly. “I see nothing wrong with that.”
         “I just hope it is good things you say. And only good things.”
         The side of his lips lifted into a sly smirk. “Why, of course,” he said. “There’s nothing negative for me to say. Well, besides the fact that you now find the weather intriguing. That is rather dull.” He laughed as he put the violin on its rightful place on his shoulder and held the bow in his other hand. “But I suppose we all have our flaws.”
         “That’s right.” I lifted my glass as if to toast him. “Your majesty.”
         He winked.“God save the Queen!”
         “God save the Queen!” I repeated, laughing wholeheartedly. 
         Rupert began to play. It seemed that the instant the bow touched the strings of the violin, magic began to flow from it and fill every inch of the room. I watched Rupert’s eyes close as he became lost in the melody, and I couldn’t help but do the same. The piece was a waltz, but the name of it I honestly did not know. But it was not important. My head whirled. He still had the gift of entrancing any soul with the instrument. Power such as this should be unjust.
         Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
         The music stopped abruptly, and I ripped my eyes open, the calm feeling instantly gone from me. 
         The door opened slowly and Élisabeth peered inside. “Excuse me?” she said in a low tone.
         Rupert shot up from his seat. “Mademoiselle!” he exclaimed happily. “Come in! Come in!”
         When she stepped in completely, her eyes flickered to me and she smiled warmly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was sure I heard music coming from in here.”
         Rupert grinned and held out his violin. “You thought correct, my dear.”
         “That was you?” asked Élisabeth, bemused. “It was lovely.”
         I noticed some color coming to his dimpled cheeks. “Thank you,” he replied. “You are very kind.”
         “I have never heard anything like it,” she added. “And now I feel foolish for causing you to stop playing.”
         I looked back at my empty glass and wished it was filled again with more brandy. This conversation had already turned familiar. I was no longer in the room to the two of them.
         “I could play another.” He put the violin back on his shoulder.
         “Oh, would you? I would like that.”
         Might as well leave, I thought and got to my feet.
         Rupert paused, the bow hovering over the strings. “Actually, let’s all go into the parlor, and I’ll play something new.”
         She nodded.
         “Alright!” Rupert headed toward the door. “Andre?”
         The mention of my name took me by surprise. “Yes?”
         “Will you be joining us in the parlor?”
         “I am actually being invited?” I said, over exaggerating my shock. “Then I suppose I have to come, now don’t I?”
         Élisabeth took a step closer to me. “Please come, Monsieur DeMonté. We would really like you join us.”
         Her words made me hesitate. “You would?”
         Rupert, who had fallen behind her and out of her line of vision, smiled wickedly. “Yes we would,” he said pointing at Élisabeth at the word ‘we’.
         I shot him a look. “Alright,” I said shortly. “I’ll come.”
         In the parlor, Élisabeth sat on the couch while I stood behind it. Rupert took his place in front of the fireplace. The thriving fire almost silhouetted his face entirely, but I could still make out his pleased expression. It only made me more curious about this supposed kind gesture.
         “What shall I play for the Mademoiselle?” he asked her, bringing the violin to his shoulder once more.
         “Whatever you wish to play for me,” she returned politely.
         He thought for a moment and glanced at the piano in the corner of the room. “Andre,” Rupert said suddenly. “Why don’t we play something together?”
         My balance faltered, and I took a step back.
         Élisabeth turned from her seat to face me. “You play?” she asked.
         “Oh, yes he does!” Rupert answered before I could.
         “I did,” I corrected.
         “Andre and I would spend hours playing together,” Rupert told her and her eyes lit up. “He was a god at the piano.”
         I rolled my eyes. “You give me too much credit,” I returned hotly.
         “Nonsense! You are just too modest! Go on! Show the lady!”
         Élisabeth was looking up at me with such delight that I would feel too much guilt if I denied her. I sulkily went to the piano and sat on the bench. It felt stiff and hard underneath me—not as welcoming as it had once been. I had been given lessons as a child and had enjoyed playing between my studies. I wasn’t nearly as good at playing the piano as Rupert was with the violin, but it had been something to distract me from the tension between my mother and father.
         “I don’t know what I should play,” I admitted. There was no sheet music in front of me, just white and black keys.
         “Just play what you feel,” he said as he took position again.
         “But I don’t know any funeral songs,” I replied dryly, running my fingers over the cool, white keys, remembering their smooth texture on my skin.
         He cocked an eyebrow. “Just play.”
         I took a deep breath, searching my memory for any song that I could play for them. Had it really been that long? I tried to recreate the picture of me sitting at the piano and playing, but all I could remember was practicing and my mother sitting beside me. Sometimes she would sing along, and sometimes she would be content with just observing.
         The familiar sinking feeling tried to return, but I fought it away. Thinking of my mother now was not going to help me.
         I stopped myself suddenly. Maybe thinking of my mother could help me now. What was that song she would always sing for me? I searched my mind. Her voice floated to the surface, so light and sweet. But what was the song?
         I rested my fingertips on the cold piano keys, letting my memory take me away. I was a child again with my mother at my side. I began to play and she waited patiently. Every time I lifted my eyes, I saw that she was watching me with the most gentle smile upon her beautiful face. It told me what she was thinking without even needing to speak a word. She was proud of me, and that feeling was what made me continue to play.
         The music flowed and swirled inside me, resurrecting something exciting and restricted. What life my fingertips created! What a beautiful thing I was rebuilding! The song surged through me, taking over. The notes poured into the room, and the mansion seemed to pulse around me. As she sang, I found myself mouthing the words along with her. I felt so free and peaceful here, doing nothing more than creating music.
         Somewhere in the distance, beyond the comfort of my memory, I could hear Rupert’s violin playing with me. The vision began to fade around me, my mother’s voice along with it, but I could still hear the piano playing. I looked down at my own hands and saw that they were ruling the keys like they had use to. There was also someone beside me, watching me as I played. It was Élisabeth.
         She smiled at me, and I was overcome with the same feeling of pride.
         I glanced at Rupert. He nodded to me once, as if he understood, and then closed his eyes and continued to play. Servants hovered at the doorway, becoming the audience of our performance. I could see Mardi there among them, hiding behind her mother Angeline timidly. Élisabeth waved her hand, and the girl came to the piano side to watch with her. Mardi smiled at Élisabeth, and when her eyes met mine, this time the smile did not falter. 
         I looked back at the doorway. More and more servants had gathered to watch us. I scanned all their expressions. Each one held a smile familiar to Élisabeth’s—familiar to my mother’s.
         My eyes rested on the tallest of the group, the one with the heavy blue eyes and straight lips. My father had been added to the audience. I stopped playing suddenly, my hands falling into my lap. I had lost the song completely in that single moment. Rupert had stopped as well, staring at me with the most perplexed look.
         The servants clapped politely. Rupert bowed for them, but I did not even rise from my seat.
         My father stepped further into the room. All of the servants except for Mardi and her mother left for our privacy. “Come, ma petite,” Angeline beckoned her daughter. “We have much to do.”
         Mardi dashed to her mother’s side and took her hand. They disappeared like the rest of the servants had.
         “I was wondering where the music was coming from,” my father said, now standing between me and Rupert. “I thought there was a celebration I had not been invited to in my own home.”
         “No fête,” said Rupert with a short laugh, “just Andre and I playing for the Mademoiselle.”
         “What a wonderful idea, Rupert.” His attention turned to me. “I haven’t seen you at that old piano in years. I’m surprised you still remember how to play.”
         I looked away from him when I spoke. “I was surprised as well,” I muttered.
         “He is very good,” Élisabeth added innocently. “And he is a pleasure to watch.”
         My father gave her a kind smile. “I am glad you think so, Mademoiselle.”
         “We could play another,” Rupert said cheerfully, rising his violin.
         I stood then. “I think I’m done for the night.”
         “No dinner?” Rupert asked.
         I shook my head. “I am suddenly very tired.”
         Élisabeth’s eyes followed me as I moved around the piano. She frowned. “Oh,” she said sadly. “Well, thank you for sharing your song with me. Have a good night.”
         I nodded. “I will see you tomorrow at lessons. And try not to be late,” I made sure to add.
         She blushed. “Yes… I’ll try.”
         When I started to the door, I noticed Rupert shaking his head in frustration. I ignored it and walked silently to my room. While on the stairs, I could hear Rupert’s violin playing my mother’s song again and Élisabeth’s quiet applause. It sounded much sadder now to me for some reason.
         What's gone and what’s past help, should be past grief, I tried to remind myself.
         It should be past grief, but it wasn’t.