The Frost of Springtime (6 page)

Elise set down a brunch tray that was near to overflowing. Red wine and
a plethora of elegant treats were laid out beautifully, presenting a feast for a
king. Aleksender glared down at the food and swallowed his gut. He had no
appetite.

“Yes, Elise,” he murmured, “that should do just fine.”

Elise reached inside her starch white apron and withdrew several
newspapers:
Le Figaro, La Gazette
, and several publications
of
Le Père Duchêne
were arranged in front of Aleksender, ordered by
date.

“Shall you be requiring anything else, monsieur?”

“No, no,” he said, throwing a nonchalant wave in her general direction.
“You are dismissed.” Before departing to the side, Elise curtsied, blushed once
more, and straightened out the conservative material of her uniform. For
reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend, she refused to meet his gaze.

Aleksender’s eyes ran across the blackened words that jumped out at
him. His heartbeat quickened as he thumbed through the various newspaper
headlines:

Vive la Commune! Citizens fight for a free and social republic

Latest decree of the Commune: any and all places that favor gambling
and prostitution shall immediately be closed down and rendered illegal

AFTER THE SIEGE

Reclaiming liberty beneath the Commune’s red flag

Mind spinning with the ferocity of a toy top, Aleksender flipped
through the most recent edition of
Le Père Duchêne
. His fingers were
numb, unusually stiff. Blood rushed into his ears as he stared down at a
remarkably familiar caricature.

Parade of the pretenders
was centered above
a single-file line of six rather absurd looking characters. Prime Minister
Thiers headed them at the front, a stupid grin plastered to an even stupider
face. Comte de Chambord was squatted at the farthest end and depicted as
nothing more than a ball of shriveled flesh. Then came several notable
monarchists: Marquees Boury, Baron Rieu and Le Pere Bandigue. But it was the
soldier standing directly before Adolphe Thiers who defined the caricature. Muscled
arms were crossed over a puffed out chest, an arrogant nose pointing straight
to the heavens.
And Comte de
Paris?
was
inscribed just below his
heels.

Aleksender scraped the picture aside with a sharp intake of air. A
stinging fear crept into his bones. The newsprint might as well been written in
blood. And he could already feel the guillotine’s crisp blade slicing through
his neck. It would be the Reign of Terror all over again. He stretched against
the chair with a groan and downed a generous swig of red wine.

Aleksender couldn’t say how much time passed before the playful voice
interrupted his concentration: “
Frère ainé!
You look
positively terrible!”

“Richard.”

“Monsieur le Comte,” Aleksender’s brother greeted with a small grin.

Richard de Lefèvre really was a spitting image of their father. The
resemblance was a difficult thing for Aleksender to stomach. Much like the late
comte
, Richard was tall with a gentle attraction and
kind eyes. A pale mustache peppered his upper lip, awarding him a distinguished
and noble presence.

Aleksender came to his feet and outstretched a weathered hand.

“Really—a handshake, Alek?
Such
formality!”
Richard reeled Aleksender into an embrace and patted his
shoulder with rough affection. “I see war has stifled you.” He stood away and
nodded, examining Aleksender from head to toe. “Good to have you returned to
us.”

The two brothers claimed parallel seats. For several minutes, they
engaged themselves in harmless conversation, reminiscing on memories of their
father, observing each other with an unmistakable and nostalgic fondness. Elise
came forth and placed a brunch tray in front of Richard, filling his glass with
red wine. Then she eased back into the shadows, granting Aleksender and Richard
privacy.

The tender moment passed by too soon. There was no time for sentiment.
Paris had lost that luxury long ago. Richard cleared his throat and gestured to
the collection of newspapers. “Conditions in Paris are unfortunate.
Worse now than they’ve ever been.”

“This commune—”

“Is expanding as we speak,” Richard finished in a pained tone.
“Expanding in both size and power.
At present, the group is
rather unorganized—spread throughout the city. But they are steadily gaining
influence. I estimate a matter of weeks before they have all of Paris eating
from their palms.”

“And their demands?”

“Ah, mostly fancy ideas and radical reforms. The majority of these
so-called Communards do seem harmless enough … even good-natured. But you
mustn’t be fooled. Many are turning to violence. See, they’re in the process of
trying to pass a law that requires every person between nineteen and
thirty-five years to join the National Guard.” Richard suggestively arched a
brow, signaling himself. “Present company included.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I shall try not to take offense to that.” Between a heavy sigh and
exhaled breath, Richard went on to say, “My advice? Remain on exceedingly
pleasant terms with Prime Minister Thiers. The wretch has no conscience and
full control of the military. He’d wipe away the Communards without second
thought. A hundred or so already have been killed.”

“They are really so troublesome? Troublesome enough for Thiers to risk
further revolt?”

“Well,” Richard began, chuckling beneath his breath, “the Commune damn
well drove him from Paris.”

Aleksender’s mind felt ambushed. He gave a sharp nod as he struggled to
absorb the startling information. “I understand the military is stationed in
Versailles now.”

“Indeed. They’ve been relocated to Chateau de Versailles.” Richard
pressed the glass to his lips and downed a mouthful of wine. Then he dug a hand
into his pocket and withdrew a case of cigars. He absently toyed with the
tortoiseshell casing as he spoke. “The Communards have already taken Baron Rieu
and Marquis de Boury into custody. And just this week they threatened to kidnap
the archbishop … or
whomever
might be of value. Poor
fellow would be a ‘hostage of the Parisian people.’ Or so they passionately
say. Look here—” Richard fetched one of the newspapers and directed
Aleksender’s attention to a particular passage:

The government of Versailles tramples the rights of humanity. All
persons accused of complicity with the government shall be decreed accused and
imprisoned. All the accused shall be hostages of the people of Paris. For every
death of a prisoner of war, or a partisan of the Commune, the execution of
three hostages shall follow.

Aleksender stared forward, mute and motionless.
For the life of
him he couldn’t find his voice. Richard lit a cigar and slipped it between the
seam of his lips, inhaling a long and tasty drag. He exhaled the pasty cloud of
smoke and lazily crossed a leg knee-high.

“After our surrender, Paris lives in a state of constant fear. Fear of
poverty. Fear of the monarchy resurrecting and seizing all control. Fear of
losing all liberty. Fear of another revolution … of Prussia invading our homes
and streets once more.” Tense silence hung in the air. “Dark times such as these
call for a certain measure of diplomacy, so to speak. You ought to make haste
to Versailles. I’ve no doubt you would win Thiers’s favor.”

“Absolutely not.
I’ve no desire to
meet with him.”

“Even so, at least you would be safe—”

“I’ve even less of a desire to run away.”

“Then you are making a deadly mistake.”

Aleksender scoffed in disgust and shoved a handful of fingers through
his hairline. “What would you have me do? Flee to the palace like a damn
mongrel, tail tucked beneath my legs? I’ve already surrendered once,”
Aleksender spat, referring to the shameful defeat in Sedan—the battle that had
inevitably earned Prussia its overwhelming victory. “Mark my words. I refuse to
do so again.”

“Then your arrogance shall be your downfall.” Richard hesitated. “Look
at me, Aleksender.” Unblinking and unmoving, he leaned forward and locked
Aleksender’s gaze. “I am asking as your brother, as someone who cares for you
deeply. Whether you wish to admit it or not, you’re a sure pawn for these men.
You’ve held the title less than a month. They shall expect your protection.”
Richard hesitated, lowering his tone to a careful whisper. “And Father would
have never denied them such a thing. You know this better than
myself
.” Victim to an ominous undercurrent, his voice held a
slight tremble. Richard’s hands shook as he fisted the tablecloth between
strong fingers. “Lives are being threatened. Go to Versailles.” His next words
were recited with the gravity of a death sentence. “If not, you could be named
next.”

The meaning was explicit. A fierce chill overcame Aleksender.

“I’ll say nothing more on the matter.” Richard heaved a long sigh and
leaned back in his chair. “Stay here in Paris if you please. Lord knows—this
wretched town could use some tender care.
Just this afternoon
I saw a child’s corpse laying in the gutter, thin as bones.”
Aleksender
said nothing, at a total loss for words. “I do hope you come to your senses. In
the end, it’s your choice and yours alone. I only pray you choose wisely.”

“Damnable.
Year of war, now this.”
Then,
beneath a hushed breath, “This comes as no surprise.”

Richard’s eyes ignited. His voice contained a triumphant edge, almost
infantile in its glee. “Ah, but you are no longer so inferior
nor
unarmed. Can’t you see? You have the power to restore us.
You can clean our streets, regain our people’s trust. As comte—”

“And you are beginning to sound as mad and delusional as Christophe,”
Aleksender scoffed, waving him off. Richard’s sudden rush of excitement did
nothing for his amusement. Even so—according to this Commune, his “loyal
people” desired his head on a pike.
Certainly not his
guidance or interference.

“Well, I must thank you, then. I’ve always fancied Monsieur Cleef.
A fine gentleman and soldier, if I may say so.”

“Well. I advise that you not get too attached,” Aleksender dryly said.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching his strong limbs with a feline’s grace.
“Between his outrageous schemes and wagging tongue, the fool is bound to get
himself killed.
Perhaps worse.”

“Yes. Though, his intentions are as honest as they come.” Aleksender
gave a look. Richard shrugged, defeated. “I suppose his methods are a bit …
err
, unorthodox.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Good to see you haven’t abandoned that terrible sense of humor of
yours. Paris would have been quite lost without it.”

Aleksender betrayed himself and surrendered to a small chuckle.

A considerable silence pressed between the two of them.

“How is Elizabeth faring?”

“Cannot say.
Like anything
else, I suppose time shall tell.”

Richard nodded, cleared his throat, and glanced down.
“A lovely creature.”

Aleksender paused for a moment, absorbing any possible sentiment of
Richard’s words.

A breeze stirred, catching the de Lefèvre brothers by surprise. Aleksender
watched as the trees swayed back and forth, manipulated by nature’s gentler
element.

“I should have been at his deathbed.” Aleksender’s voice was detached
and heavy with emotion.

“Father never questioned your love.” Richard shook his head and sighed
whole-heartedly. “You are an honorable man.”

“On and off the front lines, I’m quite finished being noble.
Or honorable.”

“Ah, come, come—”

“I am done.
Finished.
Finis
.”