The Kingdom of Back(47)

Woferl found this a great source of mischief. “Do you think Papa will be angry with me, if I do mention it?” he said to me.

I gave him a stern look. “If Papa says not to do it, then don’t,” I replied. “You’ll get nothing out of it.”

Woferl tapped his shoes in a rhythm against the carriage floor. “How do you know?”

“I just do.” I let the conversation end there, and did not reply when Woferl spoke again. I knew perfectly well why Papa would ask us to do such a thing, and the La Rochefoucauld family would be grateful for it, as the end of the French and Indian War did not leave a sweet taste in their mouths for the British.

We arrived in La Roche-Guyon on a bright, blue morning, up to the top half of a large hill where the road ended at a cobblestone walkway. It was a warm day, not unlike the afternoon when we had performed in Frankfurt, and the sun seared my cheeks as we walked, leaving a slight blush on my skin.

It reminded me of the heat on my face when I’d spoken to the boy named Johann. If he were here, would he comment on the sky, the river, the color of my dress against the sandstone walls? Would he take my hand in his, or push loose strands of my hair behind my ear, the way Hyacinth had done?

I shook my head, embarrassed, and pushed my thoughts away. Lately, I’d caught myself dwelling on the dream of my kiss and wondering what such a sensation might feel like in my world, with Johann. I’d seen my father kiss my mother before, although he didn’t put his hands against her face and pull her toward him. She didn’t lean toward him with wonder in her eyes.

Would kissing Johann feel like theirs? Polite and distant? Or would it feel like the brush of cold sugar, sweet and wintry and intimate, from Hyacinth? Would it be something different altogether?

Papa glanced back at us once. I immediately lowered my head, afraid that he might have seen my daydreams spelled out plainly on my face. The blush on my cheeks deepened.

Madame Louise-Pauline de Gand de Mérode and her husband were already waiting for us. The young lady greeted Mama with delicate, gloved hands. “It is a pleasure to have your company,” she said to my mother. Her face looked pale and sickly, like she had just recovered from several weeks in bed, but I marveled at her voice, calming and full of warmth.

Monsieur Louis-Alexandre, a severe man outfitted with a long face, shook hands with Papa and spoke quietly to him before nodding at both Woferl and me. I curtsied whenever someone took notice. Woferl followed my lead in this, thankfully, but I could see his eyes darting here and there, eager to explore our new surroundings in this foreign country, his mouth twitching with curiosity.

“You will behave yourself, won’t you, Woferl?” I whispered to him when our parents began to follow the La Rochefoucaulds up the cobblestone walkway. We walked behind them, far enough to talk amongst ourselves.

“I’ll try,” he declared. “But I need to tell you something.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Woferl lifted a finger and pointed up toward the chateau that we now headed toward, the castle that belonged to the La Rochefoucaulds. “We should go to the very top,” he said. “I saw someone waiting for us up there.”

I followed his finger until my eyes rested on the chateau too. At first, I didn’t think much of it, as I simply did not recognize it. It looked like an old fortress tucked into what was once a cliff, with heavy brick towers and tiny, glassless windows. It sat high up on the hill, so that from where we stood we could see the banks of the Seine River.

I looked back at Woferl. He only stared at me, his expression confused, as if he couldn’t understand why I did not see what he saw.

“We should go to the top,” he said again when we stepped inside the keep’s heavy doors. Ahead of us, Papa and Sebastian were listening intently to the monsieur, while Mama talked to the madame in a low voice. I felt Woferl pull at my hand.

“Do not wander off,” I whispered to him. My fingers tightened around his.

But Woferl would not listen. “I want to go to the top of the tower.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself, and tried to turn my attention to what our parents were saying. Woferl kept his eyes on the stairs. They spiraled up and disappeared around the edge of the wall, partially illuminated by the child-size windows that opened to the river scene below. I could not guess what made Woferl so restless. He was still a young boy, and perhaps today was simply a day of mischief for him.

Without warning, Woferl slipped his hand out from mine and darted toward the stairs. I sucked in my breath sharply. “Woferl!”

Papa turned to see my brother scampering up the stairs, and before he could utter a sound, Woferl had vanished. He shot me a reproachful look. I curtsied in apology to the monsieur and madame, murmured something I knew they could not hear, and then hurried to the stairs myself. I heard Papa stop Sebastian from following me.

“Let her bring him back,” he said. “It is her responsibility. At any rate, she will need to learn how to be a mother soon enough.”

The words pricked me like thorns as I gathered my petticoats into my arms and ran. Again, I felt my anger shift in the direction of my brother. If he would only listen and do what he was told, Papa wouldn’t feel the need to say such things.

The stairs were high and slanted and old, crumbling in some places, the middle of each step worn down into curves from centuries of travelers. My shoes tapped a rhythm against the stones that began to sound like the beginning of a melody. I called out for Woferl again. Somewhere ahead I could hear his footsteps, but they were very far away now.