Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.
I confess that I have been reading up on medieval to Revolution era stuff, including Dickens' Tale of 2 Cities, Rose of Versailles and the 3 Musketeers.
Chapter 2 – Resurrected to Life
Easter Sunday found D'Eon in St Petersburg. The new French ambassador was an elderly knight who seemed destined to die in Russia from drink or illness. The regent probably sent him there as a form of exile. Jean Pierre had reassured him that they would care for his mother in his absence. Good old Jean Pierre. After much waiting in the embassy, a page came to announce that the Empress was ready to grant him a private audience.
He was kept waiting for an uncomfortably long time before a handsome guardsman ushered him into the private reception hall where his sister's portrait still hung after all these years. The Empress herself stood before the portrait. D'Eon dropped to his knee.
"D'Eon de Beaumont, rise. It has been a long time," the Empress said. She was older now, with fine lines on her face. Before D'Eon could make a suitable reply, a blond streak burst in through an adjourning door.
"Natalia! Stop there!" an elderly matron demanded as she followed brandishing a rod. The child ran round the stunned knight, dropping pieces of torn paper, before choosing to seek refuge behind the copious skirts of the Empress. "What happened this time?" the Empress asked in exasperation. The harried nurse dropped a curtsy. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, the child got into the library… I'm afraid she damaged some of the books."
"I was trying to find out how I can get to France!" the girl Natalia protested. The face that peered at D'Eon was exactly like his sister when she was a child. Her hair was a shade paler than Lia's was.
"D'Eon, this is your sister's child, Natalia… you better hear the full story from Dowager Olga here," the Empress smiled as she untangled the child from her skirts. D'Eon saw that the matron was that from his dream.
"Is this my uncle D'Eon? You look just like the angel," the little girl asked.
"What angel?" D'Eon asked.
"That angel," she pointed at Lia's portrait. "She healed me and told me to get help…" she traced the ugly scar across her neck. It should have killed her, D'Eon thought.
"She walked out in front of our carriage that day. It was snowing heavily and our driver almost ran her over," the Empress said. "Our guards found everyone else in the house dead, even the family's servants and dogs. They say blood was everywhere. We weren't even sure how many were killed. She was the only one alive."
"No, they took Max with them. They took my brother to France," the girl interrupted with the candour of youth. Her blue-green eyes were solemn. She took D'Eon's had in hers.
"Your sister was very far gone when she arrived in Russia. I have no idea how she intended to deal with the baby when it came," the Dowager Olga sipped at her wine. The exuberant child had finally been cajoled away with cake and a book. She now sat in the Empress' parlour reading aloud to the Empress while D'Eon took the chance to speak with the old woman who had attended to Lia during childbirth.
"She went into labour during a chess game with her blessed Majesty Elizaveta. They were close enough by then for the Empress to invite her to her villa for a weekend. Only a few other guests were there, including me. The Empress sent everyone else away, claiming a contagion. Only trusted servants were left to attend to your sister. I've attended many births. She had a difficult one. We didn't even know if she would pull through. When the babies were born, we asked if she would like to hold them… that girl, she broke my heart… God bless her soul," the dowager dabbed at some stray tears.
"She begged us not to show them to her, for fear she could not bear to give them up… She was an unmarried woman, wasn't she? Probably terrified what her family would have to say. Her Majesty promised to find a good family for the children. 'I'll think of them as dead,' she said and wept when we took them away. She was still very weak when she was called back to France. I knew the Perraults well, young man. They were good people. French emigrants turned Russian citizens. Monsieur Perrault was a retired cavalryman, once served under Empress Elizaveta. His wife, a music teacher. They were childless and more than willing to care for the twins even without the stipend due to them as wards of the Imperial Russian court. They did not deserve to die like that," the dowager's voice took on a hard edge.
"Why have I been told this after so long?" D'Eon asked. The old woman shrugged. "If circumstances had allowed, we would have them raised as the Perraults' children. Let your sister take her little secret to her grave and keep it there. But things have changed now. The Empress' court is not as stable as one would wish. Do you believe in the power of words, sir knight?" the old woman asked.
D'Eon nodded solemnly. "I hear from the servants that strange letters were scrawled on the walls of the Perrault's home. Poets. I trust you are aware of the Revolutionary Brethren... and the danger they still pose… that girl should have died! If they are after this child, I don't want her anywhere near the Empress for the sake of Mother Russia," Olga concluded. Her lips were drawn in a grim line. D'Eon's mouth went dry. He saw in Olga's eyes the determination equal to that of any loyal knight of the old ways. She would gladly strangle her charge if it were for the good of her Empress and motherland. Just as his old teacher would gladly sacrifice him for the good of France.
"And God saidth, this is My Son, whom I am pleased with…" Natalia's voice drifted from the adjoining room. She sounded eerily like Lia did as a child.
Bringing a child into the French embassy would raise eyebrows. Bringing a 6-year-old girl with an uncanny resemblance to one invited gossip and speculation. "Did you bed some young lady the last time you were in town?" one hapless scribe ventured before he was chastised into silence by D'Eon's deadly glare. "What an adorable child!" the merry-faced wife of a guardsman exclaimed.
"Aw, she looks just like her papa!" some young noblewoman added. D'Eon rolled his eyes. He was past explaining now. By dinner, D'Eon and his 'daughter' had become the latest gossip titbit in the embassy. He could be sure someone would mention it in some letter on its way back to France.
Robespierre wondered what had possessed him to take that damned boy under his wing. True, the boy would be able to decipher the mysteries within the psalms someday. For now, he was still a child, a child who reminded him of his own past. He had the boy cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, since Lorenza and Cagliostro had apparently been negligent in his care. Fritz Milien was the name he gave to the child to hide his identity. The boy readily agreed to the new name he was bestowed with, his earnest little face beaming as he nodded.
With those shoulder-length pale tresses, he looked a bit like his father, Maximilien Robespierre. His face, however, was like his mother's and his uncle's. He did not have the shrewdness or calm of his father. The little brat was like a curious puppy in the streets of Paris once he had been liberated from his catacomb prison. After suffering ill-treatment by his captors, he clearly saw Robespierre as god-sent.
"Monsieur Robespierre, sir… could I have an apple please?" The boy had stopped before a fruit vendor's cart. "Of course, Milien…" Robespierre replied and dug into his purse.
"Merci…" the boy bowed. It was an almost courtly gesture, out of place in a busy marketplace. The foster family had taught him French well. The lad was a quick learner. Robespierre had caught him saying a few rude words in Italian, courtesy of the drunkard Cagliostro. He was a bright child, and readily malleable. Though he was prone to sneaking off alone at times, he always returned to Robespierre's side without fail like some faithful hunting hound.
A wine cask rolled off a cart as it was being unloaded and shattered on the street. Wine flowed and an eager crowd of poor peasants gathered to enjoy the spoils before the tavern-keeper realized what was happening. Some even went down on all fours to lick the liquid from the stones. Gaunt mothers dipped rags into the liquid so that they may squeeze the precious drops into the mouths of their whimpering infants. It was a hard time in France and things would get harder. The boy watched in fascination as he held his guardian's hand. "Why do they drink spilled wine from the streets, sir?"
"Because they are too poor to buy it from the tavern."
"Why are they so poor?"
"Because both king and church tax them heavily," Robespierre replied. The lad was sharp. "Looks like spilled blood, sir," Milien shuddered visibly and pressed close to him, burying his face into the scribe's coat. Maybe some latent memory of his family's deaths lingered in some dark recess of his mind.
We shall meet again… D'Eon stared in amazement at the words which had apparently appeared on the mirror in Natalia's room at the embassy. For one moment, he thought it was his sister. The hand was that of a child and he wondered if Natalia had been up to some obscure mischief. The girl was asleep on her bed. The bedclothes pulled up to her chin for the embassy was draughty. Her blond hair fanned out like a golden halo. She looked like Lia did as a child, an innocent sleeping angel.
On an impulse, he touched the wet words and sniffed at his fingers when they came away red. They smelled of cheap wine. The old battle-axe of a dowager had described the girl's wayward antics as if she were an imp straight from the pits of hell. Swims in the local river, writing on the mirrors, running off… and the poor horses, the dowager threw up her hands in dismay. D'Eon wondered if his niece could have sneaked the wine into her room somehow from the embassy's kitchens. The arrangements have been made. They would leave for home in the morning. D'Eon wondered how he could explain little Natalia to his mother.
Miles away in Paris, Natalia's twin curled up in his cot, grateful for a warm fire and the comforting presence of his protector working over a nearby desk. The wine they had for dinner made him a little drowsy. "Goodni…" he yawned and dropped off to sleep. Robespierre looked up from his work and cursed himself when he saw the child sleeping with his hand still clasped over his precious book of Psalms. The child was only a key to deciphering the book, nothing more, he told himself firmly.
Author's Notes:
Natalia – the Russian version of the French name Natalie. Natalia's twin brother refers to her as Lia. He now has a new name, Fritz Milien.
D'Eon's reputation is taking a serious beating here. The spilled wine scene is taken from the Tale of 2 Cities before the Defarges' tavern.