CHAPTER 33 - Tragic news

December 1781/17 months later /

- Move over, Nicole! - the old lady shouted to the girl who, instead of working, was staring fascinated at the window. The first snow this winter began to fall just before noon. First, small, light flakes swirled in the air, but an hour later large, wet flakes fell inexorably and covered the world with a soft, fluffy quilt. Rarely was it snowing so heavily in December. Perhaps that was why the maid stared incredulously through the glass at the garden, which was turning white every passing minute. - Nicole! - Marie repeated and hit her on the back with the cloth - Gaspard and Claude are about to get here with the trees, and the place is not yet prepared for them!

- All right, it's all right - the girl snapped rudely - You don't have to hit me right away! - she bent down and started rolling up the carpet that was lying on the floor next to the window.

Two Christmas trees were to be placed in the living room, where in a few days there will be a festive dinner. Another was to be placed in the master's office, and another in mademoiselle's parlor.

- Madame Marie, Madame Marie! - came the call of Rosalie

In the stairwell, you could hear the voices of both men and the rustle of trees being dragged across the floor.

- Finish it - the hostess said to the maid, and ran out. Even the choice of trees for specific rooms was up to the old lady's decision - These two for the living room - she commanded - That one for mademoiselle Oscar, this one for General - the choice was simple.

- All right - agreed the servants, and began hauling the trees to the right places

- Madame Marie! - Claude take a short break from work - Sorry, I almost forgot! - he dusted mud and pine needles off his hands, rummaged in the pockets of his vest and pulled out two letters - One is for you, Madame, the other is for Mademoiselle Oscar.

The housekeeper took both letters from him and regarded them suspiciously. The letter to Oscar was from Count Fersen, which was not unusual, for two such letters had come in the past year and a half. The sender of the letter addressed to her name, was Baron de Valory. Marie had a vague feeling that she knew the person, but didn't know where from. But she had a job to do and she wasn't going to break away from it. She tucked both letters in the skirt of her dress and returned to the living room, where Gaspard and Claude were just trying to put up the first Christmas tree. It was going to be a long day.

...

- What a nasty weather! - Oscar complained to her groom, shaking a thick layer of wet snow from her hood. Claude nodded but didn't say a word. The woman looked at him in surprise. She met his saddened eyes, but his gaze quickly escaped and the boy began to stare at the wet floor. Without looking up, he took Caesar's reins from her and, still silent, led him to the booth and started to remove the saddle.

"What the hell.." - Oscar thought.

Claude was one of the most talkative people she knew. Only Jerome was probably more talkative. Apparently something happened, but she was not in the habit of asking her subordinates about their private lives, so she decided not to mention it. After all, everyone was entitled to a worse day.

She ran from the stables to the front door. She shook off the snow that had gathered on her coat once more and stepped inside. It was warm and cozy inside. Christmas decorations and additional lights were hung everywhere, which created an amazing atmosphere. Oscar handed the cloak and gloves to Gaspard, who was waiting at the entrance. It was as if the man, always nice and polite, was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. But she didn't have time to think about it, because she heard the sound of small steps behind her back.

- Good evening, Mademoiselle - Rosalie said politely. She held the letter in her outstretched hands. - From Count von Fersen - she explained.

Oscar looked at her closely. Rosalie had red eyes as if she was crying just now. Her voice, too, was unnaturally low and trembling.

- Is something wrong, Rosalie? - she asked, gently touching her shoulder.

The girl shuddered and looked at her with wide eyes. Tears began to run down her cheeks.

- I'm sorry, Mademoiselle - she sniffed - It's about.. - she swallowed with difficulty, as if uttering the words was a real effort for her - It's about Andre.. He.. He's dead! - the girl burst into tears and ran towards the kitchen.

Oscar caught up with her just outside the door.

- What are you talking about, Rosalie?! - she took her by the shoulders and started shaking her as if she was completely out of control - Where did you get this information?

The girl looked at her fearfully. Oscar only realized she was overdoing it. She let go of the maid, muttering a humble "I'm sorry." Her head was spinning. Rosalie said nothing, just slightly opened the kitchen door. Marie was sitting at a large table with a crumpled sheet of paper in front of her. The woman was leaning her elbows on the table top, her face was hidden in her hands and she sobbed uncontrollably. Oscar's first reaction was to go in and cheer her but Rosalie shook her head. The maid quietly closed the door and there was silence, broken only by the muffled sound of an old woman crying.

- How is that possible, Rosalie? - Oscar asked quietly.

Her head was booming, and her entire body felt numb.

- A letter has arrived from Baron de Valory informing about it. None of us know the details, because Marie is in such a state that we are afraid to ask - the girl replied - Maybe in this letter there is some explanation - she pointed to the letter from Fersen, tucked into the pocket of Oscar's waistcoat.

- Come with me - Oscar took her hand and pulled her upstairs to her living room.

...

"Dear Oscar,

I would prefer to write to you in more pleasant circumstances, but I felt it was my duty as a commander and friend to inform you about the situation.

After so long, after so many months of inactivity, the war has found us. In late September, we began the Battle of Yorktown to aid General de Grasse who fought in Chesapeake Bay. After more than two weeks of heavy fighting, the English laid down their arms and signed the capitulation. The United States will be free soon. We won, however, with the death of many of our soldiers. I'm sorry to have to write this, but I'm afraid your friend Andre Grandier is also among them. Due to the number of fallen, there is no full list of names yet, so at the time I write to you, he is considered a missing person.

I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Oscar for making this happen. It is not known why he was on the front line, none of us gave such an order. Nevertheless, I feel responsible for it as a commander. Likewise, Baron de Valory, who I know he cannot forgive himself that he had offered Monsieur Grandier this trip.

I met Andre Grandier once in early September and we chatted for a while. He seemed calm and pleased with his occupation here. Although I used to treat him as a rival, he was kind and polite during this conversation. We mentioned you and he asked me to greet you from him in the next letter, which I am doing here. It is a pity that under such circumstances.. From that day on I have not seen him anymore.

I don't know what else I could write to you. When I come back, I'll tell you everything.

Stay healthy!

Your devoted

Hans Axel von Fersen "

Oscar finished reading Fersen's letter, then handed it to Rosalie, gesturing for her to look at him as well. Reluctantly, the girl accepted the letter and, standing all the time, plunged into reading. Oscar leaned heavily against the back of the couch. As she read these few lines, her eyes darkened at first. If she hadn't been sitting, she would have probably fallen. She still didn't quite understand what had really happened. Is it possible that Andre was killed? His body was not found, so there was a slight chance that he survived. But would Fersen write to her if he hoped to find Andre alive? As a soldier, she knew it was almost impossible. The sharp pain in her chest only confirmed what she already knew. There was no hope. She would never see Andre again.

Rosalie was sobbing quietly a few steps away from her. The letter dropped from her trembling hands and landed on the soft carpet, but she didn't have the strength to pick it up.

- I am sorry, Rosalie - Oscar said quietly, staring blankly at the floor - It's only my fault. I could keep him..

Oscar only heard louder crying and the door slam shut. She sat motionless for a moment, then got up, walked into the bedroom and began to undress automatically. She splashed water on her face, rinsed her mouth, and put on her nightgown. She slipped under the cool quilt and pressed her face against the pillow.

Why couldn't she cry like these women? She felt dark tentacles of remorse crawling into her head. She had no right to cry. It was she who rejected him and made him drop everything and leave. Only she was responsible for his death.

Suddenly she felt she lacked air. She threw off the covers, rose on her arms, and tried to catch her breath in quick, short gulps. Panic consumed her like the mouth of a great animal. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe! She felt that she was losing consciousness and in a moment a sweet, forgetful darkness enveloped her.