The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte (17 page)

That then was the explanation for the empty house—and the reason her husband had insisted she go calling. He had taken Le Camus’s advice and left without her.

Betsy howled and sank to her knees. She cried so hard that she lost her breath, so she pressed her hands against her stomach and tried to master herself. Yet the thought that Jerome had crept away without saying good-bye smote her as sharply as a saber blow. How could he have betrayed her this way? The idea that he had deceived her just to make the departure easier for himself was unendurable, and she gave way to grief.

Betsy had no idea how long she lay on the floor sobbing, but after what felt like hours, she heard someone say her name. Strong arms pulled her into an embrace.

“Elisa, what has happened? Why are you so distraught?”

Stunned, she tried to stop crying, but all she could do was wheeze.

Jerome held her tighter and barked an order, “Fetch Dr. Garnier.” Then he began to rock her. “Please, Elisa, do not weep. Everything is all right.”

“You were gone,” she gasped.

“Of course, I was gone. You knew that I was going to the ship.”

She pulled back and wiped her wet face. “The sword—”

“Here it is.” Jerome touched the scabbard at his side, which was attached to his belt and stretched out behind him. “I wore it to give myself an air of authority when I met with Brouard.”

Hysterical laughter boiled up inside Betsy, and while she was trying to bring herself under control, Dr. Garnier entered the room.

“Doctor, my wife is distraught, and I cannot determine why. Is there anything you can give for her relief?”

Jerome rose, and Garnier took his place before Betsy. “Go pour a strong measure of brandy,” the doctor ordered and then took Betsy’s hands. “Madame Bonaparte, take deep breaths and let them out slowly. Think of nothing but the necessity to breathe.”

As Betsy complied, her turbulent emotions gradually subsided. Jerome fetched the glass and the doctor handed it to her. “Drink this, and do not speak until you have finished it.”

Betsy was accustomed to wine but nothing stronger, and the brandy burned her throat as it went down. As she forced herself to swallow the last of it, she felt very childish. Handing the empty glass to Jerome, she found it difficult to meet his eyes.

“What happened? Why were you so upset?”

“Forgive me, but when I saw that you had taken Napoleon’s sword, I thought you must be leaving today. That you had decided to sail on the
Didon
and leave me behind.”

“But I swore I would never do that.”

“I know, but I overheard your conversation with Le Camus, and I feared that you decided to take his advice and not tell me good-bye to avoid a scene.”

“You foolish little girl.” Jerome embraced her. “Do you love me so very much?”

“You know I do.” She put her arms around his neck.

“Then how can you doubt the strength of my love for you?”

As she rested wearily against Jerome’s chest, she heard Dr. Garnier say, “Do not blame her, Bonaparte. The strain of the last few weeks has been too much for her nerves. Put her to bed, feed her a light supper, and try to protect her from unnecessary agitation for a while.”

Betsy snuggled closer to Jerome and laughed feebly. “Doctor, such a treatment is not possible. Have you not heard? The emperor views us as little better than traitors.”

“Shhh, Elisa. Put that out of your mind.” Jerome rose, pulled her to her feet, and steered her toward the bedroom. “You heard Dr. Garnier. You must rest.”

XIII

B
ETSY awoke in a dim room, forced from sleep by a heavy pain in her head. She opened her eyes and saw yesterday’s gown draped over a chair instead of sitting folded in the wardrobe where it belonged. The sight brought back the memory of Jerome tenderly undressing her, helping her into bed, and holding her hand until she fell asleep. As Betsy recalled the hysteria that had prompted his solicitude, a sense of shame as oppressive as her headache settled on her. Sitting up, she discovered that her throat was dry and her stomach queasy. She reached for the carafe of water on her nightstand and filled the nearby glass.

As she sipped the water, Jerome entered the room. “How do you feel?”

“A little ill and very thirsty.”

He kissed her. “You are unaccustomed to brandy. The unsettled feeling will pass, all the more quickly if you can bring yourself to eat breakfast.”

“I may take a bit.”

“Good.” He crossed the room to open the draperies, and Betsy squinted uncomfortably as light flooded the room. Jerome said, “I would like to ask your father to join us at breakfast.”

“Has he not eaten? He is usually an early riser.”

“He breakfasted an hour ago, but he can sit with us a while. I want to talk to you both.”

Betsy rose and pulled on her wrapper, trying not to show that she felt apprehensive about Jerome’s desire for a conference. “Let me wash my face and comb my hair before I join you.”

The two men were at the table when Betsy entered the sitting room. Jerome was cracking the shell of a soft-boiled egg, while Patterson sat with a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Father.” She took her seat.

“Good morning. Are you better? I understand you had an attack of hysteria.”

Betsy selected a scone, split it, and buttered it. “I am quite well. I foolishly let my feelings run away with me yesterday.”

“Elisa, you must not blame yourself. You heard Dr. Garnier’s opinion.” Turning to his father-in-law, Jerome said, “The doctor believes that recent strains have overtaxed her nerves.”

“It might help if you would lessen your number of social engagements. It cannot be good for your constitution to be out late night after night.”

“Perhaps,” Betsy murmured, stung by the criticism.

“Well, I have devised a plan that will undoubtedly restore the roses to my Elisa’s cheeks. I mean to take her on an excursion.”

Patterson froze with his cup in mid-air. “You cannot be serious. How can you propose a pleasure trip now? You have not settled the question of whether you are sailing.”

“Yes, I have. Yesterday, I informed Captain Brouard that I will neither subject Elisa to the danger of the British blockade nor depart without her. I left Meyronnet aboard ship.”

Jerome’s nonchalance bewildered Betsy. “But you still have orders to return to France. And the frigates are bottled up in New York Harbor without any way of escape. An excursion will not resolve either of these issues.”

Scooping up the last bit of egg, Jerome said, “Listen to my plan before you judge it. Last night, I decided that we should travel to see the great falls at Niagara.”

“Niagara!” Patterson exclaimed. “This is madness. The area is a wilderness. It will take weeks of rough traveling to reach the falls. What would possess you to plan such a needless excursion now, of all times? You have more vital things to attend to.”

“I am attending to them. The trip will accomplish two purposes. First, it will get Elisa away from all this tumult and into the wholesome air of the country. Second, it will convince the British that we have decided to settle in the United States, so they will abandon New York Harbor, allowing the frigates to depart. Elisa and I can sail after our return.”

Betsy sipped her coffee, hoping that it would ease her headache. “But how do we get to Niagara if the falls are in unsettled wilderness?”

“When we were in Washington, Vice-President Burr told me about a honeymoon journey that his daughter Theodosia took there. More people are settling the area all the time, and inns are to be found almost the whole way.”

Patterson slapped the table. “Jerome, with the British seeking to capture you, you should avoid Niagara at all costs. It lies on the border with Canada.”

“We will travel under an assumed name—Monsieur and Madame d’Albert—and we will not cross to the Canadian side.”

Betsy placed her half-eaten scone on her plate. She had never considered doing anything so rugged as the proposed trip, but the enthusiasm she saw on Jerome’s face and the memory of his seeming relish for battle made her wonder if, as a virile young man, he might require a more active life than she did. “All right, Jerome. We will go to Niagara.”

Patterson pushed back his chair. “If you are determined to pursue this reckless endeavor, then I will return to Baltimore as soon as possible. I for one have serious business to attend to.”

DESPITE REASSURING HIS father-in-law that inns existed almost as far as Niagara, once William Patterson departed, Jerome told Betsy that he wanted to camp during the latter stage of their journey. “It will help preserve our secrecy.”

“Is it safe?”

“I have been told that as long as we have a fire burning all night, that should be sufficient to keep danger at bay.”

Betsy did not find Jerome’s answer reassuring, but she acceded to his obvious excitement. With a nod she said, “With you as my protector, what do I have to fear?”

Under his direction, she packed simple cotton dresses, her riding habit, leather ankle boots, and an old leghorn hat with a veil for protection. Jerome packed his oldest clothes and assembled a travel kit of two bedrolls and a knapsack that held canteens, a hunting knife, a hatchet, a tinderbox, a spyglass, and some ointments prepared by Dr. Garnier. He also bought saddles and bridles, which they would need on the final portion of their trip.

To travel from New York to Albany, they boarded a sloop on the Hudson River. The lower half of the Hudson was an estuary, so for two six-hour periods each day the incoming tides of the Atlantic Ocean pushed saltwater up the Hudson River channel past the capital, flowing at a considerable rate and reversing the river’s current. In the summer, the prevailing winds blew from the south, which gave an additional push to sailboats on their journey upstream.

The sloop had a single mast that was rigged with a jib sail forward and both a topsail and a gaff-rigged mainsail aft. Accommodations for a dozen people took up nearly the entire quarterdeck, but each cabin was tiny with only room for a bunk and a washstand.

Betsy quickly perceived that despite their incognito, Jerome was not discreet enough to keep others from guessing his identity. The first morning she steered her irritated husband away from accosting a clump of businessmen—some Federalist, others Republican—who were arguing about whether President Jefferson was a “damn fool” for his pro-French opinions.

The other passengers included the twenty-year-old son of a New York state legislator, two men who made their living poling rafts, a wizened Revolutionary War colonel, and a half-soused schoolteacher. Betsy was the only woman aboard. To keep Jerome from spilling their secret, she told him she did not want to associate with such vulgar companions.

The first day, they sailed past the Palisades, a stretch of towering reddish cliffs scored by deep vertical notches. Mounds of shrubbery grew between the cliff base and riverbank. The steep, craggy walls astonished Betsy. After lunch, she sat on a bench on the open deck sketching the landscape while Jerome sat at her side teasing her that she rivaled Gilbert Stuart.

The next day, they entered the Highlands, where rounded green mountains rose on each side of the river. “Can you believe the stark landscape of yesterday gave way to this undulating country?” Betsy asked.

She turned to Jerome, who stood beside her at the railing, admiring the scenery and sniffing the fragrant air. “I am so happy to be in hilly country again. This puts me in mind of Corsica.”

He pointed to a shallow tidal pool along a stretch of sandy beach hugged by a curving cliff. Betsy saw two young boys wading at the edge of the water. One of them poked a stick into a clump of aquatic plants and then reached in to pull out a blue crab, which he grasped at the back away from the snapping claws. After waving the crab overhead triumphantly, he carried it to a cloth-covered wooden bucket on the beach.

“My friends and I used to go crabbing when I was a boy,” Jerome murmured and then walked to a bench near the bow. Betsy followed and sat beside him.

He took her hand and gently pulled her fingers. “That scene reminded me of my boyhood. We did not always have enough money, but to me life seemed simple and easy. Finding a crab for supper felt like a victory as great as any of Napoleon’s conquests.”

“Oh, Jerome. I think you grow weary of your prolonged idleness.”

He stopped playing with her hand and enclosed it between both of his. “I begin to feel that my brother is right and that I am not acting the part of a man. I should be defending France instead of dawdling in America with you.”

Betsy yanked her hand free. “Then why did you not sail back on the
Didon?”

“It would have been foolhardy.” Jerome rubbed his upper lip. “I know your brothers think me an idle fool, but I am not so feckless as they believe. I have two duties. One is to you, Elisa, and the other is to France, and I have not yet devised a way to fulfill both with honor. Unless we can change my brother’s mind, I shall have to break faith with my family and my country, and how then will I ever achieve anything worth remembering? What is more, I miss my mama and my brothers and sisters, and I feel like an exile in this alien country of yours.”

“If you dislike the United States so much, why did you come here?”

Staring at a thick, oily rope coiled upon the deck, Jerome sighed. “While I was cruising in the West Indies, I fired a warning shot at an unidentified merchant ship that refused our signal to heave to. I sent a boat alongside, and when the crew discovered she was a British ship, I made my apologies and thought that would suffice since the Peace of Amiens was still in effect. My admiral, however, feared the incident might provoke war, so he ordered me to return to France and make my report to Napoleon. We agreed that coming to the United States to seek passage in a neutral vessel was the best plan, and once here, I called upon my friend Joshua Barney.”

Betsy felt a crack rupture the edifice of her belief in Jerome. All this time, she had assumed that he came to the United States on a mission when he had been merely fleeing the consequences of a rash mistake. For the first time, she understood why Napoleon dismissed their marriage as a youthful error best set aside and forgotten. History had taught him to expect little else from Jerome. The realization did not bolster Betsy’s hope of winning the emperor’s favor.

“Madame du Pont made a suggestion last week. She thinks you should take up a profession in this country so that we can live free of the threat of Napoleon’s vengeance.”

Jerome frowned. “I thought that your dearest desire is to leave Baltimore.”

“It is, but if we cannot enter France as man and wife, we shall have to live somewhere else. In America, at least, we have a wide acquaintance. Do you think we could contrive to be happy if we lived here?”

“Here?” He gestured at the scenery. “Do you mean for us to settle among these hills?”

She smiled. “Perhaps, or close to the shore. You can be a Corsican fisherman, and I will be a fisherman’s wife, selling your catch to passing travelers.”

“They would be so dazzled by your beauty that they would buy more than they need, and we would grow as rich as kings.” Then Jerome shrugged. “Such a life is possible, I suppose. It would be gratifying to be answerable to no one but ourselves.”

Betsy heard doubt in his voice. “But you would miss the society of Paris.”

“Not as much as I would miss you, Elisa, should Napoleon have his way.”

“Which brings us back to the question of what to do.”

Jerome put a consoling arm around her. “You should not fret. The reason I planned this excursion was to relieve your anxiety. Do not worry, my love. I will find a way to work everything out.”

Betsy leaned against his shoulder and murmured, “I hope so.”

AT THE STATE capital, they left the sloop and took seats on a stagecoach to Utica, which was a two-day journey away, heading west-northwest. As the coach drove from the river to the western edge of Albany, Betsy gazed out the window. She marveled at how different the architecture was from that of Baltimore. Several buildings had step-gable roofs that gave the skyline a saw-tooth appearance. Some houses even had upper-story doors but no stairs leading up to them. “What is the purpose of those?” she asked the Revolutionary War colonel, who was also taking the coach.

“Oh, that’s a feature often found in Dutch houses. They haul up heavy furniture using block and tackle and take it into the house through those doors rather than struggling to carry it up the inside stairs. See the pulley near the apex of the roof?”

“A very ingenious idea,” Jerome said.

By the time they left the city and were out in open country, Betsy realized this stage of the journey was going to be less comfortable than she had hoped. The coach was old and in poor repair, with threadbare upholstery and springs that no longer cushioned the shocks of bumpy roads. The colonel and the schoolteacher who accompanied them were both disagreeable men. The colonel complained of his rheumatism and swore at each jolt. The teacher started each day pleasantly enough, but he tippled constantly and by mid-morning was maudlin.

“I am meant for finer things than exile to the wilderness. Look at these hands.” He held out his pudgy, milk-white extremities. “Madam, are these the hands of a rustic buffoon?”

“No, sir, they are
very
fine,” Betsy answered, hoping her sarcastic tone would squelch further confidences.

“I am the victim of vicious gossip. It was my custom to call upon my students’ families of a Sabbath afternoon. One Sunday last spring, I awoke late, so I took no food before setting out. It was a fearsome hot day, and each family I visited pressed me to take a little wine for refreshment. By the supper hour, I was tipsy from the unaccustomed quantities of drink. This gave rise to the rumor that I was an inveterate sot, which I assure you, madam, I am not. But they sacked me without ceremony, so I must journey west.” Tears ran down his red cheeks. “I will probably die by the hand of a savage Indian.”