In the hateful weak light of early morning, when François would leave her bed and her rooms to return to his other love, his work, Anne Lenoir would secretly be glad that he consequently missed the other feature of her morning that made her so unhappy. For a week or two, she had tried to tell herself that the sickness was the result of the Charenton chef's inability to cook a chicken correctly, before the failure of her monthly bleed to arrive had assured her differently.
When the urge to vomit took her, she held it in with all her strength, but could seldom manage to contain it for long before she retched over her wash bucket, caught in an agony of indecision and dread.
Part of her was elated to be pregnant by the man whom she loved so dearly. However, she was not a naïve woman, as was sweet, silly Madeleine. Unless, by some miracle, she could be François's wife and have them live as a proper family, her condition would soon mean disaster for them both. She would be cast out of her sanctuary as a strumpet and a liability. Her dearest one would lose his precious vocation, and surely never forgive her.
When he was not beside her in her bed, she would lie alone, crying herself to sleep, wondering as her heart gradually broke what was to become of the three of them, when all was lost. She could not even voice her fears to François, so deluded would she become when he made love to her, that all might possibly work out for the best.
His touch now left her in both ecstasy and pain, as his thick black hair brushed against her stomach, unknowing as he was that his own child lay nestled therein. Disguising her weeping as gasps of pleasure, she would resist desperately the urge to tell him the truth, unwilling to shatter the orb of joy that still survived around them.
* * *
"Maddie?" she uttered quietly to the spry chambermaid as she sauntered past her door. "Would you bring me something?"
The other girl turned, a somewhat forced smile of greeting already in place. "Of course I will. What do you need, Annie?"
"I need some parchment, ink, and quills. Could you please fetch them for me?"
Madeleine frowned quizzically. She had known Anne to read like nobody's business, but write? The only ward of Charenton she knew to enjoy such a pastime was the Marquis. But she was certainly prepared to assist the girl in doing whatever would make her happy, as she had already proved.
"Certainly, Annie. I will bring them with your supper. What, may I ask, do you require them for?"
"I feel like I have read enough by now. I think I shall begin writing."
Maddie smiled, wondering curiously what the Abbé would make of his love's new hobby. She gathered he would be pleased, just so long as her works were not as bawdy as those of his other peculiar friend.
* * *
Coulmier lay on his back, his eyes closed, savouring the warmth and gentle pressure of Anne's kisses trailing across his chest and stomach. After a few delicious moments of her lingering there, she settled her weight over his body, curling her petite arms around his neck and sucking on his lower lip, while at the same time his own arms stretched out above his head and beneath her pillow. He frowned as he felt what was most definitely a small paperback book, hidden together with a multitude of loose sheets of parchment.
"Darling…" he murmured, breaking away from her caress. "What are these things underneath your pillow? May I see?"
"No," she said, almost urgently, taking hold of his wrists firmly. "You needn't. Those are merely letters from my cousin. I prefer to keep them private."
"What about the book?"
"Just something I was reading before you visited me. I get so bored, and read so many books these days, that I need some way to remember which one I started last."
Her lover smiled up at her, moaning quietly as she returned her lips and tongue to his chest. "Am I to find some way to come to you during the day to alleviate that boredom? Because as much as I would like to, I fear it would be impossible."
Anne froze, in the midst of positioning herself above his body so that he might take her completely. Impossible, much like any hope they might have of leaving Charenton together, going on to lead normal lives as husband and wife, and parents to the innocent babe she now carried.
"Sweetheart?" François panted, pushing his hips against hers, the need to enter her overwhelming him like the most unbearable kind of hunger.
"No…" she whimpered suddenly, rolling from on top of him and pulling the thin sheets around her body, pent-up tears beginning to spill down her face.
"Oh, my darling." He wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling her sadness like a knife in his heart. "What is it? Please tell me!"
"This cannot last!" she wept bitterly, the pillow beneath her head already soaked from her crying. "We will be separated eventually, for certain. But I never want to be apart from you! You are my whole world!"
"And you are mine!" Yet, the Abbé was forced to be silent then. He was not an idiot – he had known as well as Anne knew that, should they continue making these clandestine liaisons, sooner or later both their lives would be ruined. His superiors in the asylum and the church would never view their relationship as the genuine love that it was – to them it would be a repugnant case of a man of God abusing a defenceless girl he had been trusted to care for. Who knew what terrible variety of punishment would be meted out to him, or more importantly, what unthinkable fate would befall his Anne?
Her gleaming chestnut tresses shimmered in the moonlight as she turned to face him, stroking his cheek. "What will we do?"
Coulmier succumbed to his own fear then, breaking down into tears he had never meant for her to see. They both wept then, terrified, locked into each other's arms. The Abbé wondered himself, every minute that they were apart, what he could possibly do to rescue them both from malign fate. Neither of them had substantial economic wealth or possessions to improve their situation, and in any case, it was not his place to remove her from her incarceration.
Still, Anne could not bring herself to tell him that she expected his child.
The few days following that night of fears and revelations were a living nightmare for the Abbé. He could no longer concentrate on his work, to the extent that even the most listless patients of Charenton noticed how much less lively he was, and his depression easily rubbed off on them. Consequently, it was a black week for all the dwellers of the asylum.
Several times, he caught himself longing for someone to infuriate him so that he could take his anger and frustration out on somebody else. This frightened him; he had never in his life been temperamental. Even his father had mused out loud that his youngest and least beloved son had the patience of a saint. This decline into perpetual resentment of everything and anything had to be stopped. He needed someone, if not to give him advice, then merely to listen to him.
"I really don't know why you continue to come to me, although I do adore your company as always, dear heart!"
Coulmier waved his hand to refuse the Marquis's offer of a glass of wine. He had indulged in far too many sinful pleasures of late; he did not need to add to the list.
"I have no idea what to do. I love her so much the feeling scares me sometimes. I want to be free with her, so that I may keep her and love her forever."
"My darling, this is love's first flush – it will pass with time. What you are left with is an encumbrance whom, however much you once treasured and desired her, you cannot help but resent. It is always the way."
The young priest looked into the older man's face, noticing, unsurprised, the sudden hard set of the Marquis's mouth and the cynical glint in his eyes. He was thinking of Renée, his Marquise, no doubt, and the none-too-pleasant memories he nursed of the tempestuous recent years of their marriage.
"But Anne is not merely a lover and a friend, as I believe most wives originally are to their husbands. She is part of my soul, like the final piece of the jigsaw that makes up my being – all I needed to awaken me to what life really is."
The Marquis chuckled with thinly-veiled adoration of his youthful friend. "My dearest poet, you really must take up the quill sometime."
The Abbé smiled with gratitude at the other man, rising to leave in one graceful movement. "Thank you for your time, Marquis."
"You are more than welcome, my dumpling."
Outside in the chilly corridor, Madeleine had clearly been waiting for him. "Good morning, Abbé," she said, her normally lively voice somewhat lifeless.
"Why, good morning, Maddie!" He could hardly contain his genuine happiness to see her, placing a hand on her shoulder, then taking it away as she visibly twitched.
She cast her wide eyes this way and that, making her discomfort clear. "I wanted to apologise to you for something I did."
He frowned, his frustration rising. "You have nothing to apologise for! It is I who should apologise – I have not been around for you as I should have, and I am sorry. Your friendship is irreplaceable."
As tears filled her watery blue gaze, he noticed with shock how grey her usually rosy skin had become. Had she been as anxious as he had?
"Thank you, Abbé…but there is something else. You must know that Annie has been…unhappy, lately. Well, it is my fault. I did something malicious not long ago and I cannot tell you how guilty I feel."
"Wait, Maddie…I have some questions. I was certain you did not like Anne, after she and I became close."
"I didn't like her. I thought she was a whore. But now I know that you love her, and that she loves you, and I am happy for you both. Now she and I are friends. I see some of what you find so delightful in her company."
Coulmier smiled broadly, overjoyed, before remembering the other question he had wanted to ask. "So what could you have done that was so malicious?"
Madeleine swallowed. "I wanted to upset her…badly. So I took a copy of something the Marquis had written, and gave it to her along with some other books from the library. I knew what she was like with books; I also knew that she and the Marquis had become acquainted, if only briefly. I gathered she would be devastated to read his work and see what he was so infamous for."
"Oh, Madeleine! I am…very disappointed in you, but I am glad that you and Anne have become friends." He stroked the loose strands of soft red hair down the side of her face, making her smile. "Anyway, you must not worry, for it was not that which has upset her. These are difficult times."
The girl rested her head against his shoulder as he opened his arm to her. She still wished more than anything that he would hold her this way, every night in bed, the way he held Anne. Though she had tried to stop herself from dreaming of what it must be like to make love with him, and what the man beneath the cassock must look and feel like, still the dreams returned, like a reflex. Like her tortured heartbeat, minute after minute.