respectable girl ought to attend. Angelique sang in the chorus at the theatre; she was not at all respectable. Worse, she had chosen to live as a “free woman” and that was a goad to the gossips. Papa did not say Angelique was a bad girl—he seldom said anything unkind about anyone—but he was always worried about his daughter's reputation.
My reputation. Zoe met the eyes of her reflection in the small mirror on the cupboard door, dark grey eyes in a white face, framed by sleek black hair confined by a cap. “ Yes, that is so very important!" her mirror-twin mocked. "You will have a headstone like Monique's, a pure white stone that says ‘Here lies Zoe Colbert, who never did anything wrong in her life'. And everyone will be so proud of you!"
She felt tears of frustration begin to well, and turned away from the mirror. No, that would be too much work for the stonecutter! My headstone will say, “Here lies Zoe Colbert, who had no life!"
* * * *
Kit decided he did not care for the New France.
A sense of oppression hung over the people in the port of Le Havre, a sense of fear, except for those bravos enforcing the new Republic's rules, and they assumed the unappetizing role of bullies. The only smiles Kit saw were bitter or cynical. When he and Philip went to the hostler Phil remembered, the man said in disbelief, “You want to go to Paris?"
Kit had to keep reminding himself that his previous visit to France—his only visit ever—had been in the springtime. It was December now, and the bare trees and brown, sere meadows were only natural. But the mood of the folk they passed was not merely a reflection of the season. The looks of resentment and envy were enough to make him wish he had put his foot down and stayed at home. He could do nothing to help these people, and his presence only made everyone, especially himself, extremely uncomfortable.
The line at the city gates went on forever. In the past, their carriage and its aristocratic passengers would have been allowed to pass ahead of the drays and waggons bringing in goods to the city-dwellers. Now they had to wait in line with everyone else and hope that the guards atop the vehicle would be able to protect their luggage from the ragged pedestrians that swarmed about the road. Kit almost would not blame the sorry-looking citizens for petty thievery—most of them looked as though they'd gone a long time between meals. On the advice of his uncle, he had traveled with nothing in his luggage that he could not bear to lose, and his money was secured about his person in several inner pockets.
"I've never seen things so dreary,” Philip said. “When I was here last year, everyone seemed full of hope."
"What hope can they have left?” Kit replied. “At least when the Americans rebelled, they had the example of Parliament to guide them in governing themselves—and we may yet see that experiment fail. But who among these poor fools has any experience in ruling? They must have been mad."
"Some were, I suppose,” Philip said. “Mad, and desperate, and then there were the schemers who thought only of seizing power for themselves. France has exchanged one set of masters for another, that's all. And at least some of the old aristos had a sense of noblesse oblige .” The carriage shifted, and moved forward a little. “Ah. Perhaps we might make it through the gate before dark, after all."
"Are you certain we will have a place to stay if we do?"
"Oh, yes. M. Monfort has plenty of room with his family gone, if the hotel fails us. Though if it comes to that, you may wish you'd brought your valet."
"I can shave myself if I have to,” Kit said. “You forget—I inherited Curtis from my father, and he was older than Papa. The poor old thing is terrified of setting foot on French soil. To let him near my throat with a razor, and him all a-tremble—no thank you!"
Phil laughed and rummaged in his grip for his traveling chess set. It was a small, flat box with the
My reputation. Zoe met the eyes of her reflection in the small mirror on the cupboard door, dark grey eyes in a white face, framed by sleek black hair confined by a cap. “ Yes, that is so very important!" her mirror-twin mocked. "You will have a headstone like Monique's, a pure white stone that says ‘Here lies Zoe Colbert, who never did anything wrong in her life'. And everyone will be so proud of you!"
She felt tears of frustration begin to well, and turned away from the mirror. No, that would be too much work for the stonecutter! My headstone will say, “Here lies Zoe Colbert, who had no life!"
* * * *
Kit decided he did not care for the New France.
A sense of oppression hung over the people in the port of Le Havre, a sense of fear, except for those bravos enforcing the new Republic's rules, and they assumed the unappetizing role of bullies. The only smiles Kit saw were bitter or cynical. When he and Philip went to the hostler Phil remembered, the man said in disbelief, “You want to go to Paris?"
Kit had to keep reminding himself that his previous visit to France—his only visit ever—had been in the springtime. It was December now, and the bare trees and brown, sere meadows were only natural. But the mood of the folk they passed was not merely a reflection of the season. The looks of resentment and envy were enough to make him wish he had put his foot down and stayed at home. He could do nothing to help these people, and his presence only made everyone, especially himself, extremely uncomfortable.
The line at the city gates went on forever. In the past, their carriage and its aristocratic passengers would have been allowed to pass ahead of the drays and waggons bringing in goods to the city-dwellers. Now they had to wait in line with everyone else and hope that the guards atop the vehicle would be able to protect their luggage from the ragged pedestrians that swarmed about the road. Kit almost would not blame the sorry-looking citizens for petty thievery—most of them looked as though they'd gone a long time between meals. On the advice of his uncle, he had traveled with nothing in his luggage that he could not bear to lose, and his money was secured about his person in several inner pockets.
"I've never seen things so dreary,” Philip said. “When I was here last year, everyone seemed full of hope."
"What hope can they have left?” Kit replied. “At least when the Americans rebelled, they had the example of Parliament to guide them in governing themselves—and we may yet see that experiment fail. But who among these poor fools has any experience in ruling? They must have been mad."
"Some were, I suppose,” Philip said. “Mad, and desperate, and then there were the schemers who thought only of seizing power for themselves. France has exchanged one set of masters for another, that's all. And at least some of the old aristos had a sense of noblesse oblige .” The carriage shifted, and moved forward a little. “Ah. Perhaps we might make it through the gate before dark, after all."
"Are you certain we will have a place to stay if we do?"
"Oh, yes. M. Monfort has plenty of room with his family gone, if the hotel fails us. Though if it comes to that, you may wish you'd brought your valet."
"I can shave myself if I have to,” Kit said. “You forget—I inherited Curtis from my father, and he was older than Papa. The poor old thing is terrified of setting foot on French soil. To let him near my throat with a razor, and him all a-tremble—no thank you!"
Phil laughed and rummaged in his grip for his traveling chess set. It was a small, flat box with the