A/N: I'm back and kind of proud of this chapter.
Dedicated to Dulharpa, for it is her birthday on Thursday.
Chapter 27: Two Different Worlds
June 14, 1792
"Happy birthday!"
Emmeline opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at the shape above her.
"Que?" She mumbled and sat up. The shape plopped down on the bed, the mattress bouncing under his weight as she rubbed at her eyes. Philip's easy smile was the first thing she saw as she pulled her hair away from her face.
"It's your birthday, today." He repeated and she rose her eyebrows. "Don't you remember?"
"Of course I do." She retorted, swinging her legs to the side of the bed. Philip had been the one who was most eager to introduce her to many American delights and she found that his company, though extremely annoying and insistent at first, was pleasant. "I just woke up."
"Well, what do you want to do?"
"Find my brother. It is his birthday as well," and Philip rolls his eyes. "Angelica is already with him, isn't she." The deadpan tone in the French child's voice was clear as Philip chuckled.
"My sister is in love with him. Though I don't know why." At this, Philip scrunched up his nose and Emmeline grinned, nudging her friend.
"My brother is a far better friend than you are." She teased and Philip scoffed. "Perhaps she fancies the soldier-type."
"And you fancy the literary type." The brunet quipped, "Why else do you keep me around?" She sniffed and got off the bed, opening the closet. "I ever prepared a poem just for you."
"Let's hear it."
"It's the day of Emmeline
Her eyes are crystalline
They remind me of jungle vines
She is divine
Maybe one day, I'll call her mine
Until then, I can only rhyme."
His terrible rhymes made her laugh but she threw him a sour glare. Picking out a pastel lilac dress, she laid it on her bed next to Philip.
"I told you I don't want to marry you." She smacked him, wanting to shoo him out of her room so she could change.
"Not yet." He teased but his smile became softer at the edges when her eyes narrowed. "I'm joking, Emmeline."
"You better be, monsieur." She retorted and he slipped out of the room, the door closing with a soft click. When he was gone, Emmeline allowed a small smile to surface on her face, her face warm with thoughts of the oldest Hamilton child in her head.
July 1, 1792
On April 20, France declared war on Austria. Five days later, the marquis de Lafayette left his home once more, receiving orders to command the Army of the Centre stationed in the Metz. Despite all his war experience, the Lieutenant General could not mold his army into a fighting force able to hold back the Austrian forces and the routed French troops dragged one of their leaders outside the city of Lille to die at the hands of his own men.
Genevieve could only do so much as pray. Rochambeau had resigned and was back in Paris already, having visited Genevieve for dinner. There was stale conversation, nothing of joy to note, when outside, she knew that many were chanting her husband's name for death. Paris was suffering. The Jacobins had full control of the city and when a letter was given to her by a weary Gerard, her heart could only leap to her throat in fear.
Genevieve,
Stay safe. I have sent a letter to the Assembly, criticizing the radicals torturing our country. These parties must be shut down by force.
Lafayette
It was short, to the point, and Genevieve had to look away. "He's too late." She whispered to Gerard who could only regard her with grief.
"The Assembly are convening as we speak, madame. What are we to do?"
"There's nothing we can do." She leaned back against the chaise, trying to ignore how empty the house was now, as she was the sole inhabitant. Not for the first time that morning did she think of her children, darling Emmeline and Georges and her petite Virginie. Just over two weeks ago it was their birthday. She wondered how they celebrated. Did they have a cake, freshly baked as they deserved, eaten around a whole family that loved them? Something Lafayette and Genevieve both could not afford - some things could not be bought with money. "We can only hope that Lafayette has the intelligence not to come here."
"He cannot know the state of Paris, madame." Gerard murmured, picking up the ignored tea and biscuits he had placed in front of her this morning. "Perhaps you should rest and eat. You're growing thin." Startled, her green eyes darted up to her dear friend. "If anyone comes, I will send them away."
"Thank you, Gerard." Genevieve ascended the stairs to her room she had once shared. Not for the first time did she glance down the hall where her children used to sleep. And not for the first time did tears threaten to escape.
.
They burnt him down.
Genevieve stood beside Robespierre as the mob burned down her husband in effigy. They were not sated with it. They called for blood. More, more, more. But they were quiet when Robespierre denounced Lafayette, condemned him as traitor. Genevieve held the paper in her hands, wearing it down and wrinkling it between uneasy fingers. A script she had written for her to say at Robespierre's behest.
But everything about this demonstration organized by the leaders of the Jacobins all had the same message. And her, standing among them, meant she promoted the same memo.
Do not bite the hand that feeds you.
August 14, 1972
How was Danton minister of justice, the notion was beyond Genevieve's comprehension. But she read the notice in the mail, calling for her husband's arrest on sight.
Gerard asked if she's alright. She handed him the notice.
"Where is he?" She murmured and Gerard did not respond. That was her answer. "Then we'll have to wait. He'll send word of his whereabouts, I know it."
August 30, 1972
She opened the letter Gerard handed to her without a word. Robespierre requested her audience and she was off to his office after donning on a plain dress. She pretended not to notice Gerard's worry clouding her air, stealing into her lungs as his eyes raked over the few white strands in her hair and her thin wrists.
The secretary allowed her in without a thought and she was in his office at the palais de justice within minutes. Her heels against the familiar velvet carpets, she kept her gaze forward. She knocked thrice, as was her common habit, and entered once he called.
Robespierre was staring out the window behind his desk while Danton and Camille Desmoulins spoke but upon her entry, a hush fell upon them.
"Gentleman, please, do not let me disturb you." She forced a polite smile but the men simply shook their head. Danton smiled but it looked more like a shark's grin as he pulled a chair for her. Sitting down, she thanked him courteously and crossed one leg over the other underneath her dress.
"Ah, we were only waiting for you, my dearest." Robespierre's smile was almost genuine and if they had been under circumstances and had he been a different man, perhaps Genevieve would feel more at ease. "You're looking pale, citoyenne.* Have you been eating?"
"As much as I can stomach." She spoke quietly and even Danton was tamed under her soft tones. Ah, so these past few years had been worth it - the loss of her children, her husband, just to have these men under her thumb. It had been worth it - hadn't it?
"Perhaps I could offer you some biscuits and tea." Danton said stiffly and she pierced him with a levelled green glare that said don't even try. She was still proud, she would not let herself be finished by some poisoned biscuit.
"What were you all talking about?" She prompted and Desmoulins piped up immediately.
"Only revolutionary matters, la marquise."** At this, Robespierre gave the smaller man a interrogating look through dark eyes. Danton crossed his arms, sitting in the chair beside Genevieve while Robespierre turned away from the window, pulling out his own chair behind the desk. Camille remained the only one standing.
"And you do not care to expand?" She hummed coldly, "Do you forget, monsieur, that I am one of the few that have funded your little revolutionary? How much I have sacrificed for a free Paris?" At this, he quietened. "How is little Horace, your son?"
"Very well, citoyenne." He corrected and she let the set of her shoulders relax. He had a nervous air about him and she smirked when he looked away.
"Now be quiet, Desmoulins - the adults are speaking." Danton snapped. Genevieve gave the huge man a graceful little smile before turning her attention to Robespierre, all wit with none of the coyness she had used with Danton.
"What is it that has brought us all here?" She asked dryly and Robespierre picked up a letter at his deck, extending it towards her.
"I know you don't like guessing games, my dear," he murmured and she took the paper with a steady hand despite how spindly her appendage was. "A letter, from an Austrian general near Rochefort. It appears our dear marquis is much closer than we'd thought." Her eyes scanned the words, her mind easily translating the French into English.
"So it seems," she said. "And what good does it do to tell me?" Robespierre's eyebrows rose in surprise and he seemed to contemplate his words before she handed the letter back. Stuffing down her guilt and worry, Genevieve met his eyes.
"Do you have any idea what he's doing by the front?" She had told him to run.
"Of course not." She scoffed before adding, "Are they ransoming off or killing him?" Her nonchalant tone must've convinced them for Robespierre folded the paper and Danton chuckled.
"Does it matter? He's locked in some Austrian prison and far from here. See how he'll invade France now." Genevieve swayed in her sweat and Danton's proud smirk fell off his face in genuine concern. "Mademoiselle Genevieve," he started, a gigantuan hand on her arm. Robespierre frowned and Camille's eyes widened as she stood abruptly. Her skin had lost all its colour and she leaned to one side.
"How much has she been eating?" she heard one of them ask but it all became a blur.
"Don't just stand there, do something."
"Call a doctor."
"Max, it might be easier to just let her die." Camille's weasley voice came through and she had the strength to force her eyes open, snarling at the small man before the floor rushed up to meet her.
"You fool, then where will our aristocratic standing go? Where will the heart of our revolution be left to?" Robespierre's calm voice countered the panic inside her as she tried to move but it was as if the air was honey. She couldn't break free.
Danton lowered her to the ground carefully and felt for her pulse as Camille ran out to call for a doctor. Genevieve struggled to keep her eyes open but Danton was telling her to keep quiet.
"Save your strength, citoyenne. Damn, where is that doctor?"
.
When she woke, it was dusk outside and she was in her bed at the manor. A doctor was by her side and Gerard was just placing a hot teapot on the table. Clearing her throat, she eased herself up into a sitting position. Gerard straightened immediately, wet eyes shedding few tears as he embraced her tightly.
"Genevieve, you're alright." She smiled guiltily as he brushed some of her loose hair back as a father would. "You scared me half to death!"
"It's a wonder you're still here." She teased as the doctor closed his bag. "What's the diagnosis?"
"You need to eat more, and sleep more. You're underweight and you passed out due to exhaustion." Gerard made a disapproving sound where he perched on the side of her bed and she glared at him half-heartedly. He gave her a look that said 'I told you so.' "Especially after the baby, you seemed to be underweight. Is everything alright?"
"Just fine. I'll take better care of yourself and if not, I have Gerard to baby me." The older man smiled weakly as the doctor nodded.
"I'll send you the bill. I hope not to see you again under such dramatic circumstances, marquise de Lafayette."
As soon as he was gone, Genevieve felt something settle in her gut and she turned to Gerard. Recollection of the moments before her blackout came back in a rush. "Get a pen and paper. This is urgent - then, I will eat and rest." Normally he'd resist but under the green fury of her gaze, he could not find the heart within him to say no.
September 24, 1792
"You don't get a say. It's because of your inaction that they're caught in this mess!" Thomas Jefferson's voice resonated through the halls, waking whoever was not already risen and startling Georges from where he tended to his baby sister. Virgine's second-year birthday was quickly approaching in November and Georges had planned to spoil her rotten.
"When did you receive this? There might be time to-"
"So now you wish to aid him - now that it personally affects you." There was a loud crack and Georges immediately rose, carrying his sister and depositing her in her crib.
"Je vais revenir bientôt."*** He whispered before whisking himself away down the hall. Young Angelica's head poked out her door but he strode past, for the kitchen. Mr. Hamilton was standing there along with Thomas. The tension crackled in the air, thick as fog. Mrs. Hamilton was just entering, face contorted in annoyance.
"Does Washington know?" Mr. Hamilton asked weakly, holding a paper in his hands and Georges cleared his throat.
"Know what?" Thomas immediately simmered down at Georges' voice, his rage covered by the strain to shield the young Lafayette. "Is it Mama? Did she write?" It had been almost a month since her last letter that had come for their birthday. Georges knew his sister wrote to her but always discarded them before they could be sent.
"It has to be perfect, Georges." She had said.
"Georges," Mr. Hamilton pinched the bridge of his nose, "let the adults talk. Eliza," he turned to his wife who only regarded him coldly. Of course, the two were not presently on speaking terms - made worse by his refusal to come to the upstate with Aunt Angelica and Mrs. Hamilton. Wincing, he sighed, "please." The woman only turned back to the drawing room as Georges walked up to Thomas. He was ten now, he was an adult. He could handle it.
"Thomas, is it Mama?" The Secretary's face softened, "Is she alright?"
"I'll tell you everything, I promise." His voice lost languor, words precise and short. "I just need to speak with the President before I do. Can you wait, soldier?" Georges bit his lip, studying the man's face.
"Oui,"
"Good." Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder and Georges felt the worry and fear radiating off the man. He wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as he thought. "He doesn't know - but I intend for you all to know. This is your doing."
.
Earlier that day, when Thomas Jefferson had received the mail, he had caught a glimpse of Genevieve's name and immediately prioritized it above all else. Ripping it open, he unfolded the page and saw the scrawl that was her's in essence but much more loose and messy.
Dear Thomas Jefferson,
To the point: This letter is to inform you that the Austrians have captured my husband. My knowledge of his whereabouts and his future destination is, at best, a guess, and he will not be released from Luxembourg until the Austrian government and Robespierre meet a compromise and I know Robespierre - he will keep Lafayette rotting away in an Austrian prison if that prevented my husband from invading Paris.
Due to the inaction of our mother country, Thomas, your dear friend could very well be dead.
How am I to face the children then?
I know very well that it is not your fault and I do not hold you responsible. But you may very well remind His Excellency President Washington and his right hand man, the Secretary of the Treasury, that I thought that the bonds made during times of war could not be broken so easily. I thought I could rely on someone I thought a father and a brother for support but it is clear that it was just a one-sided affair.
I won't ask America to intervene in international affairs again. This is traitorous enough to Robespierre's eyes as it is.
Yours,
Genevieve Alcott, la marquise de Lafayette
He slammed the letter down on the desk before him and leaned onto his hands, shoulders hunching as he closed his eyes tight. Taking a few deep breaths, he opened the envelope once more to slide the letter back in only to find another piece of paper.
To the Secretary of State,
You are not alone in mourning for the marquis. I am useless - the only thing I can is stand by this woman's side, but I know of others. Angelica Church, for example, and her husband. And I know there must be some loophole that at least allows Lafayette's time in prison to be much easier. Not only will it help him, perhaps it will put the marquise at ease as well.
Thank you, for all you have tried to do,
Gerard de LaCroix
A/N: Thank you for all the support during my hiatus. I promise, this story will see an end.
REVIEWS:
RiseUpWiseUp: Same bro, same - there'll be more of her later
Guest (1): He is. I love him.
TabbyCat: Thanks for the review. I can't wait to experiment with the two different worlds that will collide soon.
Dulharpa: HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY! I'm so glad you liked last chapter and hopefully you'll like this one :)
Sarah-The-Slytherin: Well, here you go! A new chapter fresh off the doc.
* "You're looking pale, citoyenne..." citoyenne (for women) and citoyen (for men) were used in place of madame/mademoiselle and monsieur as the Paris Commune ordered i on August 22 of the same year.
** "Only revolutionary matters, la marquise." Camille's the only smart one here, reminding everyone in the room that Genevieve is still married to Lafayette. Robespierre, of course, doesn't take too kindly to referring allies as enemies.
***"Je vais revenir bientôt." I will return soon in French.