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inthewildwoodTwo days later, Fleur sat in Constance’s kitchen, hands fisting anxiously in her skirt. She had arrived directly after her class ended, having told her father that she was spending the night at Constance’s to help with the housework, and while she’d tried to help with supper, she’d been so distracted that Constance had told her to sit down after she dropped three plates in a row. She’d been too anxious to feel hungry when her food was set before her, but Constance had made her eat anyway- “you won’t enjoy yourself if all you can hear is your stomach growling.” Fleur had blushed, but obeyed; she thought that Constance must know more about these things than she did.
She’d given them the spare room- the one that had been sitting unoccupied, since d’Artagnan had moved out to the garrison. Preparing the room had been the one thing Fleur felt she could properly concentrate on, and so she’d aired out the sheets before making the bed, stocked the table with candles, and laid flowers on the pillows. The flowers were lavender- she’d thought about asking Constance if it was possible to find orchids in the city, but decided that it was a silly question. Still, she thought Luisa might like seeing purple flowers, so she picked the brightest ones she could find, and wore her violet dress to match. She wanted so badly to look nice.
With every small sound outside the door, she jumped in her chair, until finally Constance rolled her eyes and waved a hand at her. “Go stand outside, will you? You’re making me nervous, and I don’t even have any plans for the evening.”
“I’m fine,” Fleur said. There were footsteps below the window, and she tried very hard to keep from craning her neck to look. She’d almost succeeded, too, when there was a knock at the door.
“Shall I-” Constance began, but Fleur was already out of her chair like a shot. She ran to the front hall, then paused, trying to smooth her dress and hair into perfection. She had already brushed her hair when she arrived that afternoon, going over and over it until her scalp ached and Constance took the brush away, but she couldn’t help it. Her whole body felt alight with nerves, and she didn’t know how else to relieve the tension trembling in her limbs.
Was Luisa feeling the same way?
The knock came again, and Fleur took a deep breath before opening the door. Luisa was standing on the doorstep, once again in her blue dress, a plain shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She offered Fleur a small smile. “Hello.”
"Hello,” Fleur said, trying very hard to keep a tremble out of her voice. “Can I take your shawl?”
Luisa handed it to her, and Fleur automatically folded it over one arm. “Come in, please.”
Luisa stepped in, looking around to take in the house; the plain wooden walls, the small end table next to the door. Fleur wondered what her house was like, how fine everything was. Not that Luisa would be impressed with riches but-
She was worrying about everything. Even the things that didn’t matter. It kept her from fretting about what was to come.
Constance had come into the hall from the kitchen, and was smiling at Luisa. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Madame,” Luisa said politely, extending her hand for Constance to shake. The older woman took it without hesitation, then gave Fleur a sly, sidelong look. “I think Fleur can show you to your room. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
This time, Fleur couldn’t prevent the blush that spread across her face and down her neck- but looking closely, Luisa seemed to be blushing too. “This way,” she murmured, taking Luisa’s hand. The feeling of their palms pressed together settled the fluttering in her stomach somewhat; they were about to do something she had never done before, but they were still Fleur and Luisa who had sat on a bench and discussed freedom and bravery for the past several weeks. She was frightened- ashamed to say so out loud- but not of her friend. Lover. They would be lovers soon, wouldn’t they? It was a hard thing to fit into her mind.
When they reached the room, she released Luisa’s hand and went immediately to the candles, lighting several so that the room- mostly the bed- was bathed in gold. Then she turned shyly to her friend, and spread her hands out. “So.”
“So,” Luisa agreed, bending to examine the lavender on the pillow. “Did you pick these out yourself?”
Fleur nodded. “I thought you might like it.”
Luisa smiled at her then, and came over to take Fleur’s hands in hers’. “You were right.” She pressed her forehead against Fleur’s, breathing softly in her face until their chests were rising and falling in tandem. “Have you ever . . . done this before?”
Fleur’s blush, which hadn’t entirely left, grew deeper. “No. Have you?”
“No,” Luisa said, shaking her head. “I didn’t have many friends in France before I met you, and none who I would consider something like this with.” She pressed her cheek to Fleur’s, and Fleur could feel her smile. “Of course, we’re rather more than friends now, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Fleur breathed. Her heartbeat was unbearably loud in her ears. Luisa leaned back, looking her up and down. “Would you like to . . . undress first? I’m afraid I don’t really know how this is done.”
Neither did Fleur; but the idea of being bared to the skin in front of Luisa, of seeing her lover equally unclothed, made her head spin. “Yes,” she whispered, and stepped backwards, fumbling with the clasps on her bodice. Eagerness and light-headedness were making her hands clumsy, rendering a task she’d performed thousands of times before suddenly difficult. She yanked at the final clasp, and the front of her bodice finally came loose, sliding over her shoulders to the floor. It only took one twist of her fingers to undo her skirt, which joined the bodice, and then she was dressed only in a thin shift that barely concealed her from the night air. She took a deep breath, then reached around to the nape of her neck and undid the tie holding her shift up, letting it slip from her shoulders and pool around her feet. It was only then that she looked up and gasped.
Luisa had undressed herself while Fleur was fumbling with her dress, and was standing bare in the middle of the room, glowing golden-brown in the candlelight. Her hair was lying over her shoulder, so there was nothing to conceal her collarbone or breasts- low and heavy, punctuated with dark brown nipples that Fleur wanted to touch, wanted to roll between her fingers and hear what noises Luisa would make when she did. Her legs were long and lean, her stomach slightly soft- she looked so good. Fleur felt the momentary instinct to cover herself, knowing she looked skinny and pallid in comparison, but Luisa was looking at her with hunger in her eyes, and Fleur realized she wanted this just as badly.
“Come here,” Luisa said, breathless, and Fleur came willingly. When she was close enough, Luisa caught her hand and pulled her closer, sliding an arm around her bare waist and holding them flush so that their breasts pressed together. Fleur grabbed her by the shoulders and hung on, gasping when their open mouths met and Luisa’s tongue pushed past her lips. It was all so much, so fast; her head was spinning. Luisa’s knee was pushing between her legs and Fleur closed her thighs around it, a low whine rising in her throat as she pressed against it. She was throbbing and hot between her legs, and she needed- she needed-
“We should go to bed,” Luisa whispered, breaking the kiss, her voice ragged. She took a step backwards, pulling Fleur with her, until her knees hit the mattress and she fell back. Fleur climbed on top of her, a knee on either side of her hips. Luisa was breathing hard, staring up at Fleur through her eyelashes. “I think this might- it would be easier if we were both lying down.”
Fleur got off her knees immediately, rolling over until she was next to Luisa on the bed, facing her. Luisa skimmed a hand down Fleur’s side, stopping to press the palm of her hand against Fleur’s hip. It felt warm and solid and good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Fleur pressed her legs together, feeling the corresponding throb and rush of wetness, and wished she knew how to ask for more pressure. “Can you-”
Luisa silenced her with a kiss and wiggled closer, hooking her leg over Fleur’s hip. With both hands, she traced patterns on Fleur’s skin, dipping down around her breasts and just below her navel. She was teasing now, running her hands back and forth, and Fleur whined, pressing closer. Luisa chuckled, warm breath puffing against Fleur’s neck, and relented, slipping her hands down to her thighs, and then up just where Fleur wanted them. Fleur gasped, grinding down against the pressure of Luisa’s fingers where they were stroking her, and Luisa responded by pushing her thumb against a spot that nearly made Fleur scream. She slid two fingers into Fleur and crooked them up, touching a spot inside her that made white spark behind Fleur’s eyes. She made a noise that was half-yelp, half-gasp, and Luisa took the hint, pressing harder and circling with her fingertips. Fleur bucked in her arms, barely in control of her limbs, only knowing that she needed more of this, more sensation. She had never felt like this before- she’d known desire and she’d sometimes touched herself, imagining what another woman’s hands on her would feel like. But she couldn’t have imagined anything like this- not the fire coursing through her, not the heady sensation of touch, not the feeling of love that surged through her in every spot where her skin was pressed to Luisa’s. No one had told her that love felt like this. She wondered if anyone knew, if it was even possible to feel this wonderful in any circumstances other than this, with the woman she loved moving over her body and kissing her neck and breathing into her hair. Surely no one before them had felt like this. They couldn’t have.
The pressure in her belly grew stronger until finally it broke over her in waves and she cried out, thighs trembling, her face hidden in Luisa’s collarbone. Her lover guided her through it, slowing the movement of her hands so that Fleur could experience the sensation without distraction, until she finally came back to herself. She was damp all over with sweat, and she could feel the bedclothes beneath her, wet with her arousal. The sensation would have made her blush, if she wasn’t already past shame. When she was young, she’d thought of shame as a necessity; it told her when she had done wrong. After Ninon, she’d thought of it as a tool used by men to keep her from thinking for herself. Now she didn’t think of it at all.
“Fleur,” Luisa whispered, her cheeks still hot and reddened. “Fleur, can you- please, I need-” She gestured helplessly with one hand, and Fleur understood. She slid one hand around the back of Luisa’s thigh, pulling her closer, and nudged her knee in between the other girl’s legs, like Luisa had done earlier. Her right hand, she slid down to the spot on Luisa that mirrored the one she’d touched earlier; her left, she tangled in Luisa hair, pulling her forward for a deep kiss. Luisa whimpered into her mouth, rubbing down hard against her leg and fingers. Their breasts were still pressed together, nipples rubbing with the movements they were making. Fleur wanted to reach up and touch her breasts, feel the soft flesh against her hands, but there would be time for that later. They had all night. Just then, they only needed to be close.
Luisa groaned and shook against Fleur, coming apart in her arms. Fleur rocked slightly against her, murmuring phrases in Spanish Luisa had taught her- eres bella, eres preciosa. They stayed that way for a long moment, catching their breath. One of the candles had guttered out, but the rest were still burning, casting long shadows against the walls.
“Te quiero,” Luisa murmured against Fleur’s neck.
Fleur felt her breath catch in her chest. “Yo también te quiero.”
They had the whole night to themselves, and they spent it well, exploding the planes and folds of each other’s bodies with their mouths and hands. When they were finally too tired to move against each other anymore, they slid beneath the blankets and talked in low murmurs until they fell asleep, just as the sun was beginning to spill through the window.
“What are we going to do,” Luisa asked Fleur one night, “in a few years?”
They were lying in the bed in the spare room, Luisa’s head pillowed on Fleur’s collarbone. Fleur ran her fingers through Luisa’s hair. “What do you mean?”
Luisa shifted under the blankets, legs tangled with Fleur’s. “When you’re no longer taking classes and your father expects you to be married. What are you going to do? Find an agreeable old man who’ll have the good grace to die soon after and leave you enough money to live on? Or will you wed a handsome young specimen who’ll give you a passel of children and a house to run?”
Fleur shuddered. “I don’t want to wed anyone at all.” She kissed Luisa’s damp forehead, her neck. “If I do, my father will be the one to choose. My only hope is that he chooses someone agreeable.” Her forehead creased. “Preferably someone who doesn’t want a wife so much as a housekeeper.”
“Is it loyalty you’re worried about?” Luisa asked. Her chin was propped on Fleur’s shoulder, staring up at her with cloudy green eyes. “I wouldn’t be angry, if you were forced to bed your husband. We do what we must.”
Fleur propped herself up on her elbows, staring down at Luisa. “You truly wouldn’t be upset? Even if I-” A mental image came to her that made her shudder all over.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t be upset,” Luisa said, staring up at her. “I said I wouldn’t be angry. At least- not with you. Him, I’d want to run through with a butcher’s knife.” She sighed, letting her head loll back on the sheets. “But as I say, we do what we must.”
“I don’t agree.” Fleur fisted a hand in the bedsheets. “What about you? Will you remain at your aunt and uncle’s, dancing on Athénaïs’ whims until you die? You deserve a better life than that.”
Luisa’s voice sharpened slightly. “And how would I go about gaining one? I believe we’ve discussed what my prospects are in life. I won’t see freedom as long as I’m in France.”
“Constance has a friend among the musketeers like you,” Fleur said. “He told me he grew up in the Court of Miracles, and now he defends the king. There’s freedom to be found.”
“Your musketeer friend is a man,” Luisa said. “Men can find trades open to them that don’t involve washing someone else’s linens. What trades do we have? Cloth bolts or bodies, no matter which way you look at it.”
Fleur stared helplessly up at the ceiling for several long moments. As always, their conversations returned to this: their prospects were constrained by their respective lots in life. Fleur had slightly more freedom than the woman she loved, but not by much. “I wish we could run away. Find somewhere where we could build our lives without worrying about being sold into service or marriage.”
“There’s no Eden for us,” Luisa said. “There are some places better than others, some people more lucky. But we can’t find paradise on earth.”
“I don’t need paradise,” Fleur said. “Just a place to start building one.”
Luisa kissed her shoulder. “I think you could build paradise in a mud heap, if you put your mind to it. And you make me feel as though I wouldn’t mind standing knee-deep in dung building alongside you. It’s mad, what love makes us think we can do, isn’t it?”
“It’s only mad when you’re not in love,” Fleur said.
Luisa leaned up on her elbows and kissed Fleur lightly. “Then I hope we never fall out of it.”
Constance was happy to open her house to them whenever they needed it, and they took advantage of the offer often. Sometimes they went there to use the bed; sometimes they simply enjoyed the luxury of a private place where they could talk without worrying about eavesdroppers. After the first few visits, Luisa took to cleaning the bedroom and kitchen, and Fleur joined her, much to Constance’s surprise.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said to them once. “You’re guests here.”
Luisa just looked at her and shook her head. “I want to help. It makes me feel-” Her mouth quirked, without irony. “Like I have a choice in the matter.”
They still met for lessons on the street sometime, and of course they both continued to attend to their day-to-day routines. As before, Luisa couldn’t always slip away from her aunt and uncle’s house, and Fleur couldn’t always make an excuse to her father as to why she was late getting home. When they needed to get messages to each other but couldn’t meet, they passed letters through Constance’s hands. Constance accepted her new role as a courier with good grace, the way she had when Fleur first came to her and asked to use the rooms. One day, though, when Fleur came to leave a letter, she pulled her aside looking unusually serious.
“Your father came to see me yesterday,” she said in a low voice. “He wanted to know if you were seeing a boy he didn’t know about.”
Fleur felt a giggle bubble up in her throat and swallowed it. The situation was serious, but the idea was just so absurd. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him that if you had a suitor, I didn’t know about it.” Constance stared at her, holding Fleur’s gaze. “But you know he’s started to suspect something. He won’t let it pass without finding out what’s happening.”
Fleur smoothed out her skirts, trying to keep her hands from trembling. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“No!” Constance grabbed her hand. “No Fleur, I don’t mean- I don’t want you to go somewhere else. I just want you to be careful.”
“I don’t know how we can be any more careful,” Fleur said. “You’re the only other person who knows. Whenever we write letters, we take them straight to you. We don’t-” She blushed slightly. “We’re always careful how we conduct ourselves when there are other people around.”
“What about the letters?” Constance asked. “Have you been destroying them after they’re read?”
Fleur squirmed, looking down at the floor. She knew she should throw the letters on the fire as soon as she read them, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Usually they were only plans for the next meeting, but sometimes they were sweeter notes scribbled in the margins, and when Fleur pressed them to her face, she thought she could catch a phantom scent of perfume there, the smell of soap and lavender. It was a risk, keeping the letters, but she hadn’t managed to balance the risk against her desire to keep them.
“You need to burn them,” Constance said when Fleur’s silence answered her question. “Your father might find them in your room, and what then? What would he do?”
“I don’t know,” Fleur said, though she did have some idea. She’d be taken out of Madame Joubert’s classes, that was for certain. Probably he’d go to Luisa’s aunt and uncle to report her for corrupting his daughter, and then run to find a man who’d marry Fleur and repair the damage. It would be a horrible fate. And Luisa would probably suffer far worse, once her aunt and uncle found out.
“Burn them,” Constance said firmly. “Do it as soon as you get home. And if Luisa hasn’t done the same, then tell her to.” She took Fleur’s hand and squeezed it, hard. “I just want to make sure the two of you are all right.”
“I know,” Fleur said, squeezing back. “Thank you.” Luisa had been a revelation, a blessing she could never have imagined having. Constance was a blessing of a different kind- half-mother, half-sister, confidante and friend. Fleur wouldn’t repay her kindness by getting caught.
She went home from Constance’s, took the bundle of letters out from under her bed, and threw the lot of them onto the fire before she had a chance to feel the wrench. They burned quickly, blackening and curling at the edges until the words on the paper were no longer readable. Fleur sat before the fire and watched them burn until her father came in. Then she moved hastily to stir the pot over the fire, as if that had been what she was doing all along.
“Supper smells good,” her father said, setting his hat down on the table. Fleur smiled at him, keeping her eyes lowered so he didn’t see what she’d done. “What news from Madame Joubert’s?”
“Nothing new,” Fleur said truthfully. They’d spent the past week reading Eramus’ Colloquies; more interesting, at least, than Vives, but as they were still tasked with nothing more than copying it down, lessons themselves were still fairly dull. In addition, Athénaïs and her friends had been sniping at Fleur at intervals; they knew something was making her happy, and it irritated them. But Fleur’s father didn’t need to know any of that.
He came over to the fire and bent to sniff the pot. “You’ll do well feeding a family of your own, one day.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye; Fleur busied herself with stirring. “Has that scholar returned to speak to your class again?”
Fleur ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her face. “No, Father.”
He sighed. “Pity.”
Fleur held back a sigh of her own. He was only trying to help, after all.
She meant to speak with Luisa about burning the letters at the earliest opportunity- which was the next night, when they’d planned to meet at Constance’s- but all thoughts of the letters flew from her head when she walked in and saw Luisa sporting an angry red bruise across the left side of her face.
“Constance went to get a compress for it,” Luisa said before Fleur could respond. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Just swollen.”
Fleur dropped to her knees in front of Luisa and gently touched the side of her face that wasn’t bruised. “What happened?”
Luisa sighed. “Athénaïs went through my room.”
In a horrible moment, the thought of the letters came rushing back. “Surely that can’t have been a reason to hit you!”
“No,” Luisa reached up to press her fingers lightly against the bruise, hissing in pain. Fleur took her hand and pulled it away. “She found a ribbon that she insists I took from her drawer. She went to her father and complained that I was stealing from her and- well.” She gestured. “It could be far worse. He only hit once, and not very hard- it’s just that he was wearing his rings when he did it.” She grimaced. “Athénaïs threw a fit when he said it was done then. She wanted him to search the rest of my room to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything else. He told her he had more important things to do.”
Fleur clutched both of Luisa’s hands in hers’. “Don’t go back there tomorrow. You know she’ll search your room and find a million other things to accuse you of, and her father will hit you again. You can’t go back there.”
“It will be worse if I don’t,” Luisa said. Constance came back into the room and silently handed her a cold compress, which Luisa pressed between her face and shoulder. “I can’t leave yet. I’ll need somewhere to stay, money-”
“You can stay here,” Constance said. “Whenever you need to.”
“Thank you.” Luisa glanced up at her, then at Fleur. “But it won’t last. I’ll need to find some sort of paying job and somewhere I can lay low. If I go missing, they’ll look for me, and if they find me here, you’ll be arrested for harbouring a runaway servant. I can’t risk it.”
“You can’t go back,” Fleur said, pleading. She sounded selfish, even to her own ears. Luisa was right- her aunt and uncle were awful, but there was no good alternative to their house. Who, besides Constance, would run the risk of taking in a woman who’d run away from her guardians after they accused her of theft? And what defence would she have if they caught her? But for all the logical reasons to stay, there was still a stark and brutal counterargument. When Luisa shifted the compress, her bruises gleamed red and wet in the firelight. The mental image of Luisa’s uncle- who Fleur had never met, but imagined to look like an older, male version of Athénaïs- lifting a hand to strike her again flashed across the back of Fleur’s eyelids, and she pressed her forehead against Luisa’s. “It’s only-”
“I know,” Luisa said softly, holding her hands tighter. In the background, Fleur was dimly aware of Constance walking out and softly closing the door behind her. “If our positions were reversed and someone had hurt you, I would be saying the same thing. But we’ve got to be smarter than that.” She gently disentangled one of her hands and reached to her belt. “I need you to take this for me. I hid it well enough that Athénaïs didn’t find it the first time, but there’s no guarantee she won’t look again, and harder.”
Fleur took what she was holding automatically. It was a purse, coarsely woven, that jingled in her hand. “Where did you get this?”
“I’ve been slipping coins from my uncle’s strongbox.” Luisa smiled, though the bruise rendered it a half-grimace. “When it’s only one or two at a time, he doesn’t notice. At first I was only taking it in case of emergencies, but-”
“-but you need it kept safe.” Fleur’s fingers closed tightly around the neck of the purse. “I won’t let anyone find it.”
Luisa nodded against her forehead. “It’s not an emergency yet, but now I know I have a way to escape if I have to. Whenever I take more, I’ll bring them to you for safekeeping.” She smiled. “Do you know what I’m going to do, when I have enough?”
“Tell me,” Fleur whispered.
“Well, the first thing will be to buy myself a new dress.” Fleur laughed a little in spite of herself. “And then I’ll buy myself passage to Sainte-Christophe, and land in the town where I was born. I’ll find my mother- and my grandmother, if she’s still living- and buy them a proper house to live in, where they can find good work where they don’t have to answer to any sort of master. And when we’re all settled with jobs of our own and a place to live, I’ll send for you. We’ll have our own house and we can work as seamstresses or laundresses or anything you like. We’ll fill the house with books, and you can write your own. We’ll be free.”
“It sounds beautiful,” Fleur said. She was imagining Sainte-Christophe as Luisa had described, all bright colours and warm breezes. “I wish we could go now.”
“Right now,” Luisa agreed. “Without a second thought.” She sighed. “But we can’t.” With the hand she’d disentangled from Fleur’s, she reached up and adjusted the compress. “Soon, though. There’s ten livres in there so far. It won’t be long before I have enough.”
“I can help,” Fleur said. “My father takes the money I make sewing, but he gives me some to spend. I can add it to the bag.”
Luisa kissed her forehead. “We’ll make our future together.”
“And we’ll make ourselves free,” Fleur said. “Soon.”
The next day in class, Fleur let one of her hairpins fall out onto Athénaïs’ chair. She didn’t look up from her books when the other girl yelped, but fought to keep a smile from her face.
The purse, as she’d promised Luisa, was hidden in her room underneath the floorboards. If her father found it, she’d tell him she’d been saving her portion of her earnings, planning to buy herself a nice necklace or brooch. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.
They still met at Constance’s house so that Luisa could give Fleur money to put in the purse, or simply escape her aunt and uncle for a few hours at a time. But after the incident with Athénaïs and the ribbon, the visits decreased, as Luisa reasoned that she would be under closer scrutiny for a while. The unfairness of it burned in Fleur’s chest, but given the choice between seeing Luisa and making sure she was safe from further harm, she bit her tongue and contented herself with seeing her once a week. It wouldn’t be for much longer, she reasoned; the purse was growing steadily fatter every day. It wouldn’t be long until Luisa had the money for passage to Sainte-Christophe, and when she did, they could begin to take steps towards leaving France for good.
Sometimes, when she was at Constance’s helping with the housework, she caught the older woman looking at her sadly. “What is it?” she asked, when she’d noticed for the third time in a single afternoon.
Constance shrugged slightly. “Nothing, really. I’m just lost in thought.” She touched the side of Fleur’s face gently. “Are you sure about going to Sainte-Christophe? You know it won’t be anything like you’re used to.”
“I know,” Fleur said. “But I won’t be alone. And I’ve always wanted to learn, haven’t I? I’ll learn a lot there.” She’d learn things she would never have heard from Madame Joubert, or even Ninon; what the world looked like to those who hadn’t been raised in France, in the shadow of the palace. What her king had done to the world, what ugly scars he’d ripped in the face of another country. It wouldn’t be pleasant. But it was better than staying in Paris with her eyes closed and ears covered. Better to know and feel guilt than remain ignorant while others bore the pain that had been caused.
“You’ll learn how to survive without your family,” Constance said, still looking serious. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? You’ve never lived anywhere but under your father’s roof.”
Fleur chewed on her lip for a long moment before she replied. “If I was getting married- say, to a merchant who travelled across the ocean, or a man who wanted to build a life in the colonies- it would be the same, wouldn’t it? I’d be alone. This way I’m choosing where to go instead of letting my father and husband choose for me. And I’ll have Luisa by my side the whole time. Isn’t it better to start a new life with someone I love instead of with someone I don’t know?”
Constance smiled at her. “You’ve grown a lot, did you know that? You hardly seem like the same girl who arrived here last year.”
“I’m the same as I ever was,” Fleur said, but she understood what Constance meant. She felt different- not in any visible way (though she sometimes wondered why everyone couldn’t see her happiness in her face) but in her mind. She’d stretched and grown so much over the past weeks, she hardly felt like the same girl who had walked into Ninon’s parlour a year ago. She didn’t imagine that girl would recognize her, if they came face-to-face. With a pang, she wondered what Therese would think if she was still alive.
Constance hugged her tightly. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
Fleur rested her chin on Constance’s shoulder. “I’ll miss you too.”
That afternoon when she got home, she locked her bedroom door and then dumped the contents of the purse across her bedspread. With the addition of her earnings- five sous for every job, two of which went to her- and what Luisa had managed to skim from her uncle’s strongbox, there were nearly fifteen livres in the purse. Passage on a ship headed to the colonies was five livres; with the addition of what Luisa needed to get to Le Havre and find a boat, at least seven livres of the purse’s contents were as good as spent already. That left the remaining eight for when Luisa landed and had to find food and lodgings before she sought out her family. How much did those things cost in Sainte-Christophe? Fleur didn’t know, and Luisa had forgotten.
She scooped the coins up with one hand, and put them back in the purse before re-tying the string and depositing it in its hiding place under the floor. If Luisa was stranded in Sainte-Christophe without enough money, she could easily starve before she found her mother. She had no other family there; no one would recognize her on sight. She needed something more. She needed the guarantee of safe passage that money could buy her.
She needed a plan.
Fleur could make one for her.
When her father arrived home, Fleur was waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table with supper already served and waiting to be eaten. She’d timed it carefully, making sure the food would still be hot when he walked through the door. He liked being served this way; it reminded him of when her mother had been alive to put meals on the table for them. Sure enough, his eyes softened as he entered the room and saw her sitting at the table, in her usual spot. “Supper’s ready early?”
“I thought you would be hungry,” Fleur said politely. Under the table, she was wringing her hands. She didn’t know if this gamble would work- as low on surplus money as they usually were, her father wasn’t inclined to part with it without good reason- but she had to try.
Her father sat down and began to help himself to the breadbasket. “Is there some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”
Fleur watched him eat for a moment. “Well,” she said. “I have a proposition to make.”
He paused in the midst of buttering his bread and looked at her warily. “What is it?”
“It’s my lessons,” Fleur said, smiling as sweetly as she knew how. “I’ve enjoyed them very much, and I’ve learned a lot, but I don’t feel that there’s much more for me to take from them.” It was true, though it stung somewhat; she’d fought hard for the right to keep learning. But sitting at a desk every day and copying out endless sermons and morality tales wasn’t teaching her anything. And she needed her tuition money for something better.
Her father stared at her, disbelief plain on his face. “You- you want to stop taking classes?”
“I think I should focus on my work,” she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. “I haven’t got many prospects to look forward to while I spend my time attending to books. If I return to sewing full-time and use the money to build a dowry, that would be a better use of my time, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” he said. He looked slightly dazed. Fleur pressed on. “The only thing I’d ask is that I be allowed to keep my earnings. You won’t need to pay Madame Joubert anymore, and I can use them to learn how to keep household accounts properly. That way, when I marry, I’ll have experience.” That was the biggest gamble she was making: not leaving her lessons (which, though they’d made an invaluable contribution to her life, hadn’t taught her much in themselves) but doing so with the promise of looking towards a future and a husband. She had no intention whatsoever of marrying, but while Luisa was in Sainte-Christophe and she was in Paris, she knew she’d have to come up with an excuse to not wed while she waited for Luisa to send for her. Of course, she’d also have to save up for when she would run to the harbour and board a boat, but she certainly wasn’t going to include that in her proposition.
Her father, she noted with relief, was nodding at her approvingly. “I’m glad to see you thinking practically, for a change.” She winced slightly, but let the words roll off her. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t keep your earnings, if you’re using them wisely. After all, as you’ve said, I won’t be paying your teacher and longer.”
Fleur let out a long breath. “Thank you, Father.”
Her classes ended the very next day, when she politely explained to Madame Joubert that she wouldn’t be returning. The widow fixed her with her customary sour expression. “Well, I suppose it’s only natural that you’re looking towards marriage.” She pulled Fleur’s workbook from her hands. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”
Fleur watched it go with only a slight twinge of regret. She could buy books at the marketplace and write in the ledgers her father kept at home. She didn’t need Madame Joubert’s books to learn any longer.
No one else said goodbye; she wasn’t close enough to any of them for that. As she left, she caught sight of Luisa, standing across the street in the same spot she’d stood when they’d first met. She was still holding Athénaïs’ parasol. Fleur knew she couldn’t risk going across the street to speak with her- not in public, not with people watching- but she lifted one hand slightly in a wave. Across the street, Luisa tipped the parasol in her direction, smile barely visible in the shadow it cast.
The purse grew by leaps and bounds once Fleur was earning and keeping her own money; fifteen livres, then twenty, then twenty-five. Within the fortnight, the purse was bulging, thirty-five livres enclosed inside. By Fleur’s accounting, the amount was evenly split between her and Luisa; equal contributions to their life together. And so, one cool night in late April, she carried the purse back to Constance’s house.
Luisa hadn’t arrived yet when Fleur got there, so she sat in the kitchen to wait. Constance had gone out for the night- something to do with the musketeers- but she’d left a spare key with Fleur so that she could lock the door when she left. The fire in the kitchen had gone out, but Fleur didn’t bother to light it again. Instead, she only lit the candle sitting on the mantel. She was vividly aware that she’d sat in this same place several weeks ago, waiting for Luisa, but with a much different goal in mind. So much had changed. It felt odd but she didn’t think it was a bad thing.
There was a scuffling sound, and then the noise of the door opening and closing. Fleur stood and hurried downstairs, purse still clutched tightly in her hand. Luisa was standing in the front hall, a travelling cloak flung over her shoulders, cheeks pinked with exertion. Her eyes lit up when she saw Fleur. “You’ve got the purse?”
“Here,” Fleur pressed it into Luisa’s hands. “You managed to get away safely?”
Luisa puffed out a breath, pushing her hood off. “Yes, though it was a close call. One of the valets got up to double-check that all the doors were locked just as I was leaving. I had to hide in the coatroom until he left.” She looked at Fleur seriously. “If he gets up to look again and finds the door open, he’ll raise the alarm. I need to be out of Paris before dawn.”
“You’ll be long gone by the time the sun’s up,” Fleur said. She took Luisa’s hand and squeezed it, painfully aware that this would be the last time they spoke face-to-face for what could be a year or more. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in Le Havre, buying passage on a ship. They’ll never know where you went.”
“I hope so,” Luisa said fervently. She looked at Fleur, biting her lip. “I wish I had more time to wait with you. I don’t want this to be the last time we see each other.”
“It won’t be,” Fleur said. “Soon we’ll both be across the sea, in a house of our own. If I could go with you now, I would.”
“I wish you could,” Luisa said, squeezing her hands. “But if you and I go missing at the same time, they’ll put two and two together and pursue me for kidnapping. At least a servant going missing won’t be too much cause to raise the alarm. They can always find another maid.”
“I hope their next maid spits in their food,” Fleur said. She wished she could go through Paris and warn off any girls who thought that working for a wealthy family like Athénaïs’ would make for a good life. She wished she could give them all better prospects. But she didn’t know how.
“Their next maid will be better off,” Luisa said, as if she was reading Fleur’s thoughts. “She’ll have family in the city who’ll fight for her if they treat her badly. And once they’ve gone through a few maids who won’t put up with their cruelty, their reputation will spread and they won’t be able to hire anyone. You’ll see”
“I thought you didn’t think the world could be made new,” Fleur said.
“I don’t think it can be called a remaking,” Luisa said. “But a few months ago I also didn’t think I’d have you. Things change, don’t they?”
“For the better,” Fleur said.
She walked Luisa to the end of the street, where carriage drivers waited to pick up passengers. “Will you write to me?” she asked. “When you reach Sainte-Christophe?”
Luisa kissed her. Who cared, now, if anyone saw them? “I’ll write to you when I reach Le Havre,” she said. “And every day after that. You’ll be drowning in letters within weeks, and you’ll curse the day you asked to hear from me.”
Fleur smiled and said nothing. She kissed Luisa on the cheek one last time, then watched as her lover climbed into one of the carriages and handed several sous to the driver. “Le Havre, please. I’ll pay you double if you reach it by morning.”
The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage rattled to life across the cobblestone street. Fleur stood and waved until it turned a corner and disappeared.
Dear Fleur,
This will be the last letter I can mail to you until I reach Sainte-Christophe. I’m in Le Havre now, waiting for the ship to finish loading. It isn’t going to launch until tonight, so I have plenty of time. Have my aunt and uncle come knocking, demanding to know where I went? You don’t need to answer; you won’t be able to send me letters until I land and tell you where to post them. I like asking questions anyway. It makes me feel as though we’re having a proper conversation. I hope you won’t be punished for my escape.
Dear Fleur,
We left the harbour two days ago, so I won’t be able to post this until we land. No matter; I need something to occupy my time, and there’s little else here. Some of the sailors have tried to speak with me, but they seem to be doing so as a precursor to inviting me to their rooms. I’m sure you’re glad to hear that I’d rather avoid them altogether.
The wind has picked up; going out on deck means having my hair blown every which way and salt spray thrown into my eyes. I’d forgotten what it feels like to stand on the deck of a sailing ship, how it pitches and tosses. The last time I sailed, I huddled below the deck and cried. Once I managed to slip from my father’s grasp and ran for the railing, thinking I could jump overboard and swim home. The sailors caught me before I did. What a difference ten years makes.
Dear Fleur,
Another thing I’d forgotten about sea voyages is how dull they become. If you aren’t a sailor, there’s very little to do except take walks on the desk or sit below and write. I’ve taken so many walks, my legs feel as if they’re going to fall off at the knee. So writing it is. I’m not just writing letters to you- forgive me, but there’s only so much I can put in them without boring you, or myself, to tears. So I’ve also been writing about my impressions of France, to tell my mother when I find her. I don’t think she ever wanted to see France, but she’ll probably want to know how I’ve been living, what I’ve been doing. I’ve been thinking of how I’ll explain you to her. French doesn’t have a word for “woman who loves a woman” (well, no complimentary ones anyway) but neither does Spanish. We’ll have to create a new one.
I’ll tell her my father is dead, too. I think she’ll be relieved. I’m glad to be the one bringing the good news.
Dear Fleur,
I can’t be sure, but I think I can see a difference in the temperature and the colour of the ocean. I asked one of the sailors- a risky venture, but I had to ask someone- and he said that we’re probably somewhere just past the Azores Islands. I don’t know where those are, but they’re warmer than France.
The sailors mostly speak French, though there are some Dutch and Spanish among them. I’ve been practicing my Spanish privately in my cabin. Did I tell you I have a cabin of my own? It’s small and cramped, but it’s private and it’s mine. It’s where I’m sitting now, writing this letter to you. Have you been practicing your Spanish? Can you read this?
Cada noche, sueño contigo. Voy a llegar en mi patria en breve, y entonces te llamaré. Vamos a hacer nuestra casa, lejos de la gente que quiere mandar nuestras vidas. Quizás haremos el mundo nuevo en que crees. Siento que ahora, cualqier cosa es posible.
Pronto, veré tu cara. Recuerdes mi cara? Recuerdo tu cara cada vez que cierro mis ojos.
Te quiero mucho.
Luisa's letter in English:
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