Read Online Napoleon Must Die by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett
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to Egypt from other countries came on Greek transport.
She pursed her lips, thinking swiftly. “You are going to have someone watching me no matter what I say, aren’t you?” she asked Berthier.
“Yes,” he said bluntly.
“So it isn’t a question of if I am watched, but who watches me,” she said. “Have I understood?”
“Well enough, Madame,” said Berthier. “What is it to be?”
Victoire sighed. “I suppose it must be the obvious one,” she answered, knowing that it was the wiser course. “I will do what I can to instruct this ... gift in French ways. And he will watch me for you.” She shook her head. “It is a very poor bargain for both of us, Berthier.”
“But one you will accept,” he said.
“If the Mameluke will accept it, who am I to dispute you?” She said it cordially enough but there was ire in her blue eyes. She turned away from Berthier and addressed Roustam-Raza directly. “Since we are being thrown together, we might as well begin at once.”
Roustam-Raza remained where he was on the floor. “It isn’t correct for a woman to tell a man what to do.”
“It had better be, if you are to learn anything from me,” said Victoire, undaunted. “I wish you would stand up.”
“Do as she says, for Napoleon,” added Berthier quietly.
Roustam-Raza got to his feet at once. “I am sworn to serve him until all his enemies are dead, or he is.”
“Very commendable, I’m certain,” said Victoire. An idea had just occurred to her—with an Egyptian to advise her, she might be able to learn more about the missing scepter, for the Mameluke could go places and speak to those Victoire was unable to reach. “Let’s strive to make the best of this very unsatisfactory situation,” she suggested to Roustam-Raza, offering him her hand to kiss.
Roustam-Raza refused to touch her. “You are a married woman.”
“And devoted to my husband,” said Victoire. “But among the French, it is correct to kiss the hands of married women. Berthier,” she went on, her hand extended, “will you be good enough to show this soldier how it’s done?”
As Berthier bent over her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips he had the oddest sensation that he had forfeited this round to Madame Vernet.
VICTOIRE WROTE TO Lucien three nights later.
So you are not to worry, my dear husband. I am determined to make the best of this lamentable coil. If Berthier seeks to check me by setting the Mameluke to guard me, why, I will not resist him. I know it is what he expects me to do, but I am not such a fool that I will fall prey to that ploy.
He has been told by several of the officers’ wives that it is not correct for him to assign an Egyptian soldier to guard a Frenchwoman, but he is not willing to listen to their objections. His defense is that we are at war and unusual measures are called for.
She turned the paper to the other side and continued, crossing her original lines with care. Her handwriting was very precise and she had trimmed the nib of her pen as fine as she could. She had little need to blot the page as she wrote, for the air was so dry that the ink often clogged the pen.
I have it in mind to attempt to bring the Mameluke to my side as an ally instead of a guard. He is loath to speak with women, but as I am supposed to instruct him in our ways, he has little choice. I confess that he frightened me at first, but now I am persuaded that he and I will deal extremely well together once we grow more accustomed to each other. But you have no reason to fear for me; this Roustam-Raza does not admire fair women. Only this morning he said I looked too much like the dead. He prefers his women dark and dusky, with large bodies soft as pillows. Not that he has said anything of the sort to me, but I have watched his eyes when the Egyptian women come to the camp and I know what I see.
She looked over the page and nodded her satisfaction. Her closing paragraph was much more personal; she felt
She pursed her lips, thinking swiftly. “You are going to have someone watching me no matter what I say, aren’t you?” she asked Berthier.
“Yes,” he said bluntly.
“So it isn’t a question of if I am watched, but who watches me,” she said. “Have I understood?”
“Well enough, Madame,” said Berthier. “What is it to be?”
Victoire sighed. “I suppose it must be the obvious one,” she answered, knowing that it was the wiser course. “I will do what I can to instruct this ... gift in French ways. And he will watch me for you.” She shook her head. “It is a very poor bargain for both of us, Berthier.”
“But one you will accept,” he said.
“If the Mameluke will accept it, who am I to dispute you?” She said it cordially enough but there was ire in her blue eyes. She turned away from Berthier and addressed Roustam-Raza directly. “Since we are being thrown together, we might as well begin at once.”
Roustam-Raza remained where he was on the floor. “It isn’t correct for a woman to tell a man what to do.”
“It had better be, if you are to learn anything from me,” said Victoire, undaunted. “I wish you would stand up.”
“Do as she says, for Napoleon,” added Berthier quietly.
Roustam-Raza got to his feet at once. “I am sworn to serve him until all his enemies are dead, or he is.”
“Very commendable, I’m certain,” said Victoire. An idea had just occurred to her—with an Egyptian to advise her, she might be able to learn more about the missing scepter, for the Mameluke could go places and speak to those Victoire was unable to reach. “Let’s strive to make the best of this very unsatisfactory situation,” she suggested to Roustam-Raza, offering him her hand to kiss.
Roustam-Raza refused to touch her. “You are a married woman.”
“And devoted to my husband,” said Victoire. “But among the French, it is correct to kiss the hands of married women. Berthier,” she went on, her hand extended, “will you be good enough to show this soldier how it’s done?”
As Berthier bent over her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips he had the oddest sensation that he had forfeited this round to Madame Vernet.
VICTOIRE WROTE TO Lucien three nights later.
So you are not to worry, my dear husband. I am determined to make the best of this lamentable coil. If Berthier seeks to check me by setting the Mameluke to guard me, why, I will not resist him. I know it is what he expects me to do, but I am not such a fool that I will fall prey to that ploy.
He has been told by several of the officers’ wives that it is not correct for him to assign an Egyptian soldier to guard a Frenchwoman, but he is not willing to listen to their objections. His defense is that we are at war and unusual measures are called for.
She turned the paper to the other side and continued, crossing her original lines with care. Her handwriting was very precise and she had trimmed the nib of her pen as fine as she could. She had little need to blot the page as she wrote, for the air was so dry that the ink often clogged the pen.
I have it in mind to attempt to bring the Mameluke to my side as an ally instead of a guard. He is loath to speak with women, but as I am supposed to instruct him in our ways, he has little choice. I confess that he frightened me at first, but now I am persuaded that he and I will deal extremely well together once we grow more accustomed to each other. But you have no reason to fear for me; this Roustam-Raza does not admire fair women. Only this morning he said I looked too much like the dead. He prefers his women dark and dusky, with large bodies soft as pillows. Not that he has said anything of the sort to me, but I have watched his eyes when the Egyptian women come to the camp and I know what I see.
She looked over the page and nodded her satisfaction. Her closing paragraph was much more personal; she felt
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