Louisa Rawlings (29 page)

But today is May Day, she thought, and his lover’s heart is filled to bursting. She pressed his hand tightly. “’Tis a long day. And much can happen. There may yet be a way.”
 

“Oh, mademoiselle, do you think…? Can I hope?”
 

She nodded with determination. “Leave it to me.”
 

She found Pierre at his wagon, arranging with the bailiff to keep an eye on his goods when he was not about. It was still early in the marketplace, and the bakers and housewives had not yet come out to buy their flour. “In the meantime,” said Pierre, taking Rouge by the arm and steering her toward the other side of the square, “I’d like to look at the wheat the farmers have brought to sell. And I promised you a visit to the gypsy.”
 

“Does she live in Selommes?”
 

“No one knows
where
she lives, but she comes to market day every week and scandalizes the curé by setting up her stall next to the church!”
 

The gypsy proved to be a plump little woman with rosy cheeks who seemed more suited to keeping an alehouse than telling fortunes. But her eyes were shrewd as she pocketed the coin Pierre gave her and pulled Rouge under the canopy of a tattered blanket. She pointed to a stool. “Sit there, lady.”
 

Pierre chuckled. “Mind you give her a good fortune, old woman. Something to bring her happiness.” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “And wealth, of course.”
 

Rouge dismissed him with a wave of her fingers. “Away. This is
my
fortune. I’ll not have you laughing in your sleeve at me! You wait your turn out there!” She waited until he had ducked out from under the canopy and was standing at some distance before she held out her hand to the gypsy. “Tell me what you see.”
 

The old woman’s eyes were bright as she spun out Rouge’s fortune: love and wealth and happiness. A handsome stranger. A surprise. A good marriage to a man who would be faithful. It was all nonsense, of course, but Rouge was ready to believe it. Somehow that happy fortune belonged with the sunny day, the songs of May lovers, the smiling man who had stolen her heart, all unknowing. As the gypsy finished, Rouge was struck with a fanciful thought. “Gypsy woman,” she said, “do you have magic spells?” She felt like a perfect fool. How Tintin would laugh to hear his practical child now!
 

“I have spells for good magic. But not evil. What do you want?”
 

I must be mad, thought Rouge. “I want all my wishes to come true today. I want one perfect day of happiness.”
 

The old woman laughed—a high cackle—and glanced over to the waiting Pierre. She winked at Rouge. “And love?”
 

Rouge tried to ignore her flaming cheeks that told too much. “Can you make love happen?” she whispered.
 

The gypsy put her hand down the front of her chemise and withdrew a soiled blue handkerchief. She unwrapped it with care to reveal a small piece of bone tied to a leather thong. “You must wear this.”
 

“A chicken bone?”
 

The gypsy frowned. “Have you no faith? This magic amulet is no ordinary bone! Know you that it is the little finger of the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra, that was given me by a dying man on a stormy night. Its magic is great. You must wear it all the day. When you wish to call forth its magic, you will say ‘Oh, Egypt,’ and Cleopatra herself will hear you and grant your desires.”
 

Despite her best instincts, Rouge found herself caught up in the enchantment of the amulet. “Must I speak the words aloud?” she asked.
 

“No. But you must believe in the spell when you say it.”
 

Devil take me for an impetuous fool! thought Rouge. “How much?”
 

“Two crowns.”
 

“Oh!” Rouge shook her head. “I have but one.”
 

The gypsy pointed to Rouge’s hand. “Give me your crown. And that ring.”
 

“But it’s been in my family…”
 

“Do you want your perfect day? There’s a price for everything. For happiness”—here the old woman’s dark eyes flicked in Pierre’s direction, then came to rest again on Rouge’s face—“and love.”
 

Rouge hesitated. It was a waste of money. A waste of her great-uncle’s ring, though it was worthless brass. But her heart ached with yearning, and she might never have the opportunity again. And what if the gypsy spoke truth about the magic? She reached into her pocket and pulled out her coin. “Done.” She slipped the ring from her finger and handed it to the gypsy.
 

“You’ll not regret it, lady. But throw the charm away at dawn tomorrow. Its power will be gone.”
 

Rouge knew it was foolish, but the moment the amulet was around her neck she felt magically transformed. A perfect day. Could anything be denied her on this perfect day? Oh, Egypt, she thought, pressing the amulet to her breast, let him be more than kind today. She sailed out to Pierre on a wave of inexpressible joy.
 

“Well,” he said, “did she tell you a good fortune?”
 

“She did indeed.”
 

“Did she promise you enough money to repair your beloved Sans-Souci?”
 

He meant it to tease her, of course, but the words brought her back to reality and her desperate situation. She frowned and turned away. So much for the foolish amulet!
 

“On the other hand,” he said softly over her shoulder, “did she tell you that I’d bought you a present?”
 

She whirled in surprise. He was grinning in self-satisfaction and holding an exquisite carved ivory comb in his hands. “Your hair is too beautiful tor a wooden comb. It troubled me every time I saw you using it.”
 

She felt her breath catch, overcome by the emotions that swept her. It was a lovely gift, warm and thoughtful. And it had come in answer to her prayer. She was sure of it. She smiled her gratitude for the gift. “Thank you,” she murmured.
 

If he read the look in her eyes, he chose to ignore it. “Name of God,” he said, pointing to the bone around her neck, “what’s that?”
 

She tried to sound offhand. “It’s a good-luck charm. Just a trifle.” She fingered the amulet nervously.
 

He laughed. “Such frivolity—from
you
?”
His brows knotted in a sudden frown and he reached out to touch her hand. “Where’s your ring?”
 

She found herself stammering. “I…I didn’t have any money with me, but she said it would bring me good fortune, and the ring…it’s worthless, God knows…a simple exchange…” She shrugged helplessly, praying he’d not pursue the matter. She hadn’t the courage to tell him the charm had cost her a crown besides. He would never stop mocking her foolish extravagance. Oh, Egypt, she thought. The last thing she wanted today was to seem a fool in his eyes.
 

He stared for a long time, his hazy green eyes searching her face. Then he smiled. “But May Day is a time for frivolity. Let me see what the gypsy has to tell
me
!”
 

He emerged from the gypsy’s stall a few minutes later, grinning and shaking his head. “Alas! She told me that if I sleep on a hard floor, I will surely get the ague! She said that I must insist on the bed tonight, while you take the floor.”
 

“Oh!” Rouge poked him in the chest. “She said no such thing, I’ll warrant!”
 

He sighed. “After a night of dancing, will you have no pity?”
 

“Not for you… Oh! There’s Angélique!” Rouge looked up to see the Baron de Ruffec elbowing his way into the square, followed by an unhappy-looking Angélique. “I have a message for her from Barnabé. I’ll see you later at your wagon.” She crossed to Ruffec and his daughter, curtsying as humbly as she could. “Monsieur. Mademoiselle, you look charming.” And indeed Angélique was lovely this morning, in a soft yellow gown and a starched fontange rich with lavender ribbon bows that accented her raven-black hair. Rouge beamed at the baron. “I trust, monsieur, you are pleased with mademoiselle’s progress in the dance. She’s an apt pupil, I’m happy to say.” She thought: How am I to get her alone?
 

Ruffec rubbed his hands together as though he were already counting the wedding dowry. “Indeed, yes. The banker, her promised bridegroom, will be pleased at her charm and skills. But there will be no more lessons.” Angélique’s face fell. “Not that I’m displeased, you understand,” the baron continued. “But she’s getting too womanly. She seems to have bloomed these past weeks. It’s begun to worry me. I don’t like her being about when I’m not there to guard her weak nature from a man’s blandishments. I thank you for your care on her behalf, however.” He smiled and patted Rouge’s cheek with his fat hand. “You’re a woman of many talents, I think, Mademoiselle Rouge. It’s clear you’ve seen much of the world, and have learned to…be a comfort to a man. I could be very generous to a woman like that.” He glanced uneasily at his daughter. “But we’ll talk of it another time,
n’est-ce pas
,
my sweet Rouge? In the meantime, there
is
a service you could render me. With your talent for persuasion—and you persuaded
me
of the wisdom of the lessons—could you not speak to Monsieur LeBrun? Tell him I’m willing to pay handsomely for him to work in my mill.”
 

Rouge was glad now that she hadn’t tweaked his fat nose the moment he began to importune her. For now she had the perfect opportunity to be rid of him for a few minutes. “Ah, monsieur. I have heard him speak of it more than once. I feel sure that it needs only the elaboration of your words to set his mind once and for all. Look you. There he is, over there. Will there ever be a better time? Go and talk to him.” Ignoring the baron’s mumbled protests, Rouge pushed him in Pierre’s direction. She turned at once to Angélique. “Barnabé waits for you,” she said urgently. “Where can you meet him?”
 

Angélique blushed. “He wants…he has asked me to surrender to…oh, Rouge, what shall I do?”
 

“You must follow your heart.”
 

Angélique sighed. “I’m afraid. What would you do?”
 

Rouge blinked back the sudden rush of tears. “If the man I loved wanted me, I should go to his arms, to his embrace, without another thought.” If only he wanted her!
 

Trembling, the girl nodded. “Yes. Yes. Tell him…there’s an old shed in the woods on my father’s estate. Near the small pond and the willow tree. If I can get away before my father shuts me in for the night, I’ll meet him there. But if he waits and the hour grows late and I come not, he mustn’t expect me.” She stopped abruptly, her normally pale face turning ashen as Ruffec stormed back to them. “Is…is something amiss, Papa?” she whispered.
 

“Damn that blackguard LeBrun! I thought you said he was willing, mademoiselle! If he were a gentleman, I should have left my gloves in his face, for the way he spoke to me!”
 

Rouge smiled tightly, surveying the red-faced ruin of a man before her. “How fortunate for the miller,” she said, her voice tinged with irony, “that you didn’t challenge him.”
 

The face became redder still. But Rouge feigned such an expression of innocence that Ruffec couldn’t be sure she was mocking him. Instead, he vented his anger on his daughter. He searched fruitlessly in his pocket, then glared at Angélique. “I thought I told you to fetch me a fresh handkerchief before we left!” he barked. “Will you never try to please me, child?”
 

“If you wish, Papa, I’ll run back to the château and get it now.”
 

“And let you out of my sight?” He waved his arm at the young men who crowded the square. “So that you’ll throw yourself at the first lout who puts his hand under your petticoats?”
 

“Papa, I’m not a…whore.” Her mouth was set in an angry line.
 

“Hold your tongue!” he thundered, and slapped her sharply across the face.
 

She cowered away from him, cradling her scarlet cheek. Ruffec turned to Rouge with a sigh. “You see my burden, mademoiselle. I must keep the insolent chit on a short tether until she’s safely wed to the banker. Come, Angélique. The sooner I fulfill my duties today, the sooner I can get you out of temptation’s way and securely locked in your room.”
 

“Please, Papa,” she said, her voice quivering, “I should so like to watch the dancers today. And when they light the bonfire…”
 

“Not while I live,” he growled. “There’ll be time for gaiety when you’re safely wed. But until then…I promised the banker I’d deliver him a virgin bride, and by God, I shall!” He took Angélique’s arm in a cruel grip. “An hour on your knees in church, reflecting on your forward ways, will do you good.” He pulled her roughly toward the church.
 

Rouge clutched the amulet at her breast. “Oh, Egypt,” she whispered. “Free her. For an hour or two. Let love triumph, just for today.”
 

Filled with hope (was this not her perfect day?), she walked back to Pierre’s wagon. Billot the baker was there with his
compagnon
Cosme. As usual, Billot was berating Cosme.