Waiting for the Queen (27 page)

“Please,” I whisper in French. “Fear not.” Estelle and Alain are at least dressed for travel. I give Estelle the bundle I've prepared. “For your journey,” I say. I try to place it in her hands. Finally she holds onto it as if it were only more clothing to wash. “Come, Estelle! We must leave now.”

John and I walk toward the forest, but the others do not follow. We go back.

“Estelle fears Rouleau too much,” Eugenie whispers. “His punishments are
très severe
. Alain is willing but not without Estelle. All night he has tried to convince her.”

My own fear deepens. They might be well hidden by now. “Please,” I say again in French. “Come with me, Estelle.” I tug on her arm, but she pulls back. “Estelle, please. It will be far better for you both. Tell them, mademoiselle.”

“I have,” Eugenie whispers.

“There!” someone shouts. “There they are!”

A torch suddenly flares orange. I again pull at Estelle's arm, but she drops to her knees and hides her face. Alain crouches alongside her. They look like two stones. Eugenie, John, and I step forward as Mr. Rouleau and Florentine du Vallier appear. The younger man has a coil of rope over his shoulder, and Mr. Rouleau, a drawn pistol. I dare not look toward Estelle and Alain in hope that they will not be seen, there in the shadow at the rim of torchlight.

Foolish hope.

Eugenie says something sharp that causes the young Frenchman to smile meanly. Mr. Rouleau gives him the pistol and strides over to the two dark shapes. Before John can stop him, he kicks one. Alain utters a cry and falls forward. Mr. Rouleau shoves John down as well. John will not fight back though he does try to rise. But Mr. Rouleau has the rope about him and binds his wrists, then Alain's, and finally Estelle's. They are all attached by the same rope. Eugenie's words are a storm I fear will only worsen all this.

Slowly I back away.

“Halt!” Mr. Rouleau shouts in French. “You, too, must pay for this, Mademoiselle Kimbrell.” When he turns to Florentine and asks for something to bind me—the rope is all used—I pick up a stone and hurl it into the forest. It clatters against a tree.

“Halt!” Mr. Rouleau shouts again, looking in that direction. “Come here at once or I fire!”

I ease myself backward, a step at a time and soon am moving swiftly away through thick forest. But then shot strikes trees all around serving to make me run faster. Branches slap my face. I slip on stones and fallen trees.

Father is outside our cabin. “Hannah! Where hast thou been? What is this shooting?”

“Oh, Father, thou weren't to know, but it has gone wrong.” My throat tightens shut.

“Hannah, quickly—tell me.”

I am shaking so, my teeth clatter. “The slaves . . . we tried to help . . . And John . . . he's . . . Mr. Rouleau has them all tied.”

“Go inside and bar the door.”

Father begins running straight across the clearing. I am running again, too, following him.

Eugenie

“So you have been spying,” I cry. “Villain! Rouleau,
gross;
you,
petit
, his shadow, his puppet. Is this how you find your entertainment? Then I am sorry for you, Florentine. You may have noble blood, but it means nothing at all. You may as well be the most ruthless of peasants. Unbind those three at once and redeem yourself.”

“Spying, mademoiselle?” Rouleau says. “We had no need of spying. We suspected from the start that you and your Americans would try something like this. As for noble blood, you yourself are the criminal here. The young man is on the side of right. You should be begging his pardon—and mine—for such insults. I shall see that you are made to pay for your villainy, mademoiselle. Aiding runaway slaves is no small offense.”

“We were urging them to do so. They, however, did not wish to leave you.”

“Ha! A fancy story! Why are they in cloaks, with food in a bundle? And a letter in English! Why are they here, outside their cabin, if they did not intend to leave? They have left already, as you can see for yourself. You were urging them? Well, that adds to the charge. You, too, must be punished, but I suppose they will not because of your so-called noble blood. Still, you shall pay. I demand my rights. I shall demand this of the vicomte.”

“And I shall tell the vicomte of your ruthlessness.”

“Of course. And he shall listen to one who disdains the law. Allow us to pass or I shall be compelled to fire my weapon again. The boats await us.”

I cannot bear to look at Estelle and Alain and John.

Rouleau leads the three toward his
maison
, while Florentine walks ahead with the torch. Then Monsieur Kimbrell and Hannah appear. In the near distance are Maman and Papa, Sylvette racing alongside.

“Eugenie!” Papa cries. “Why are you here? What has happened? We heard shooting.” Maman and Papa have thrown cloaks over their dressing gowns and hurry toward me.

“Monsieur Rouleau is going to whip his slaves—or worse. Summon Noailles, Papa. Sylvette, come!” I lift her up and run past Maman and Papa.

Glancing back, I see them turn to follow me.

“The vicomte, Papa!”

“Stay, then, in the
maison
.”

Papa hurries toward Talon's
maison
, but Maman is returning to ours.

I carry Sylvette inside and rush to the barrel nearest the wall. The cloth sack is halfway down, hidden under a crinoline. Closing the door upon Sylvette, I am again out on the avenue. Running, I pass Maman.

“Eugenie, what are you doing? Do not go back there, I beg you.”

“I must help them.”

“He is dangerous!”

But I do not stop. Pushing my way through gathering workers and rivermen, I shout, “Monsieur Rouleau! Might I speak with you a moment?”

“You already have, and in quite a charming manner.”

“This
time truly speak.”

He is still holding his pistol. Hannah stands in front of Estelle, shielding her. Workers have gathered around Monsieur Kimbrell.

“Eugenie!” Maman calls. “Come to me at once!”

“You should obey, mademoiselle,” Florentine says.

I am gratified to see that he looks frightened. But I am frightened as well.
Our Lady, help me
.

“Monsieur Rouleau,” I say. “I request that you place these prisoners in my care.” My voice quavers. I hope it sounds like indignation.

“You need slaves, mademoiselle? Well, this one, as you see, is damaged. He strikes Alain on the face. “And this one . . .” He steps toward John.

“Monsieur Rouleau. Strike anyone again and you shall lose an opportunity you will bitterly regret.” I hold the necklace up for him to see in the growing light.

“Eugenie!” Maman calls.
“Mon Dieu!”

I turn. Sylvette is running toward us. She must have pushed open the door. As she flies at Rouleau, he kicks her aside. She rolls away, yelping in pain. John looks down but cannot help her. Nor I.

“Monsieur,” I say. “Restrain yourself or . . . lose this.” Diamonds and sapphires dangle from my fingers.
“The
stones have been set by the eminent goldsmith François-Thomas Germain.”

“Eugenie!” Maman cries out again.

“Take it, monsieur. Quickly. Only you must then go to Abbé La Barre and sign your name to a statement declaring that each of the slaves is free forever and that Kimbrell is free of any charge against him.”

Rouleau extends his hand.
“Imbécile
. Idiot!”

Closing my eyes, I release hold of Grand-mère's teardrop diamonds, the pretty gold links of chain, the sea-blue sapphires.

Rouleau turns to the rivermen. “I wish to leave at once. Ready the boats.”

Not one of the rivermen moves.

“I command you!”

They stand there, staring at Rouleau.

“Vicomte de Noailles,” Rouleau calls as the vicount and Papa rush toward us. “Order these men to ready the boats for us.
This
one, I demand you punish.” He takes out a knife and slashes at the rope holding John to Estelle and Alain. Then he pushes John aside.

The vicomte's face is calm. He regards Rouleau for a long moment. “You may neither command nor order any man here,” he says finally. “The boats shall leave when I declare they shall.”

“Noailles, you're—”

“Refrain from continuing, monsieur.”

Abbé La Barre appears with a lap desk, but Maman cries,
“Non, non!
Vicomte, you must not allow this!”

The vicomte addresses me. “Mademoiselle, is that your necklace?”

“It . . . was.”

“You do not value it?”

“I do. But I also value their lives. They must be free of Monsieur Rouleau. He has done terrible things. He did not take care of them, and they became ill. When their mother and uncle died, he did not bury them, and wild animals ate the remains. He is a disgrace to this settlement. I tell the truth. Anyone here shall tell you the same.”

Monsieur Deschamps approaches the vicomte and offers a deep bow.

“You may speak,” the vicomte says.

“Your Excellency, it is true. And I have seen Monsieur Rouleau beating the young man. He had dropped a piece of firewood, and it narrowly missed monsieur's foot. Monsieur then struck the young man a number of times with a large stick.”

“And he threw Estelle's boots into the river,” I say, “because the Kimbrells made them for her. She has worn only rags on her feet all this past year.”

“Talon,” the vicomte says. “Can you verify these charges?”

“It is true about the remains. I know not about the firewood incident or the boots, but I assume that neither Monsieur Deschamps nor Mademoiselle de La Roque has any reason to lie.”

The vicomte regards the ground. When he looks up and speaks, his voice is quiet. “Why did you not tell me of all this?”

“I myself spoke to Monsieur Rouleau after the deaths. He gave me his word that the remaining two slaves would have provisions and everything necessary.”

“Oui,”
Papa says. “And that was because we all voted on what he must do.”

“But you did not tell me about any of it?” the vicomte asks Talon.

Talon says nothing, and the vicomte becomes thoughtful again. Finally he addresses Papa. “Comte de La Roque. You shall lose this necklace forever. What do you want me to do?”

Papa looks at me and then at the vicomte. “I humbly request that you honor my daughter's wish.”

“Philippe,
non!
” Maman takes hold of his arm.

The vicomte turns to Abbé La Barre. “Allow Monsieur Rouleau to sign the paper.”

The abbé holds the desk out for Rouleau. Rouleau glances at Grand-mère's necklace before scribbling his name on the sheet of foolscap. Then he throws the quill to the ground. Protecting the paper, the abbé steps away from Rouleau. Maman is crying.

“Madame,” the vicomte says. “I am sorry for your distress.” Then he turns away from her. “Put the Rouleau family on one of the boats immediately,” he says, “with all their possessions except those two, who are no longer slaves but free citizens of France. Unbind the American. As the representative of King Louis XVII, I declare it. So be it.”