Chapter 86#
Chaise a la ReineChapter 86#
The scorching heat had vanished beneath the storm clouds gathering overhead, but in its place settled a stifling humidity. The rain-laden air pressed heavily over the land. Though it was midday, the world had darkened so thoroughly that it was nearly impossible to distinguish sky from earth. From beyond the horizon, where it met the distant heavens, came the growling cries of a thunder god.
Rumble… grumble… roar… With each low vibration that rolled through the air like a wild beast growling in the distance, the window against his shoulder shuddered slightly. He had suspected the rain would soon arrive, and sure enough, not long after, sheets of water came pouring down in a torrential downpour.
The mansion was as isolated as though marooned in the heart of the sea, surrounded on all sides by the relentless roar of rain. Though deep channels had been carved along the paved paths to prevent flooding, they could hardly be expected to save the garden trees the groundskeepers had so painstakingly cultivated.
Old Gregory will be terribly disheartened.
Gregory, an old man who had tended the family’s garden since the days of his mother, was a childless widower who regarded his plants as his own flesh and blood. Well, he himself had little interest in gardens and had exchanged barely a handful of words with the man even after all these years, at most a brief greeting in passing. Yet, perhaps out of long familiarity, moments like these would occasionally bring the old gardener to mind.
The rain poured with such fury that it seemed ready to gouge the earth, and for once, the endless stream of visitors ceased. His mansion, usually bright and lively well into the night, sank into silence like a shipwreck lost to the deep.
The Duke sat by the wide window, idly listening to the sound of the rain as he lit a slender ivory cigarette holder. The fine tobacco, packed into the pipe earlier, burned slowly, releasing a warm, roasted scent not unlike dark coffee.
He puffed leisurely, watching the rain-soaked scene beyond the glass. The room was still, his attendants having quietly withdrawn. He had instructed that no visitors be shown in while he remained here, save for one particular guest, and so, for the time being, no one would disturb him. Relishing this fleeting, accidental peace, he let his eyes drift shut.
It rained like this that day, too.
Behind his closed eyelids, the image of that man rose clearly in his mind. He had thought him a grown man at first sight, but looking back now, he could not have been more than a teenager, perhaps in his mid to late teens.
How old had he been himself, then? Eight? Nine? It was still during the time he had been entrusted to Madame Bouteille, his wet nurse, so certainly no older than ten.
Among noble families, there was a tradition of sending young children to be raised in another household. The custom had faded over the years, with only a few old families still observing it, but when he was young, most aristocratic children spent their early years under the care of commoner wet nurses.
The Duke retained only fragments of his childhood. Madame Bouteille had been a gentle, devout old woman, and her home was warm and welcoming. On days when the tutor did not come, he would run off to catch frogs or go fishing with the neighborhood boys.
It had been a happy time, he supposed, though the details had blurred. Perhaps that was because his childhood had been peaceful enough to leave no deep scars. He had heard grim tales of wet nurses who starved or abused the noble children left in their care, but Madame Bouteille had long been known to his family, and no such cruelty had ever touched his life.
Then one day, he came.
It must have been the middle of the night. He had finished supper and evening prayers and gone to bed when, hours later, someone came and knocked loudly on the door.
The boy, barely awake, rubbed his eyes and sat up. Such disturbances were rare in that well-mannered household, and he crouched on the edge of his bed, listening.
Someone waS rattling the doorknob withoUt paUSe. Madame BoUteille, whoSe hearing had dUlled with age, failed to notice at firSt, bUt the viSitor Showed no Sign of giving Up.
Who could it be, knocking so persistently at this hour? Eventually, unable to overcome his curiosity, the boy slipped from bed and crept to the landing on the second floor, peering down.
‘Who is it?’
By then, the old woman had awakened. Wrapping herSelf in a Soft Shawl, She ShUffled to the door and opened it withoUt caUtion. Upon Seeing the man Standing there, drenched to the bone, She gaSped and covered her moUth.
‘I am sorry to trouble you at such an hour, Madame.’ 6QZ72j
The yoUng man’S VoiCe waS CoUrteoUS and low, and hiS Complexion pale. She took him by the arm and hUrried him inSide.
‘Young Master Eugène? What brings you here?’
lt waS a man the boy had neVer Seen before, yet Madame BoUteille had addreSSed him with great familiarity. PerhapS he had ViSited before, thoUgh the boy did not remember. BUt that night waS the firSt time the dUke trUly beCame aware of him.
‘Oh my, you are soaked through. What are you doing out in such weather? Just a moment—I will fetch you a dry towel.’ tvpPWK
‘…My apologies. I am leaving the capital tomorrow, and had no choice but to come at this hour.’
That deep, pleasant voice offered its regrets.
A young man? At this hour? The boy craned his neck to get a better look from the stairs, but by then, the two had already moved away from the door.
Who was that? Still crouched on the stair rail, the boy tilted his head in puzzlement.
Madame Bouteille had always called him ‘Young Master.’ Why would she use the same title for a complete stranger? He had not looked the part of a noble, his clothes were too shabby…
The boy, unable to contain his curiosity, tiptoed downstairs and crept toward the drawing room. He remembered how his heart had fluttered then, as if embarking on an adventure. He knew he would be scolded for wandering about instead of sleeping, but so what? It wasn’t as if he had meant to wake up. Perhaps he had that kind of nerve as well
‘—I heard the funeral was held. Young master, how did you manage such a thing alone? I only heard the news after it had passed and could not attend.’
As he neared the corner of the drawing room, he heard their murmuring voices. Madame Bouteille was pouring tea for the rain-soaked man, her tone soft and laden with sympathy.
‘I did not go out of my way to make it known. Nor did I have the leisure to do so.’
‘Oh, dear. And at such a young age… all on your own… You must have endured quite a lot.’
Madame Bouteille sighed softly as she traced the rim of her teacup.
The boy knew that her words were sincere. Madam Bouteille, who had long served noble households, was a woman of dignity and kindness. Though her own means were modest, she was known for her generosity to those around her, and her gentle nature had earned her universal affection.
‘The reason I have come to you today is that I only recently discovered my late father was indebted to you. While going through his belongings, I found a promissory note bearing your name. It was dated over five years ago.’
As he spoke, the man drew a folded document from his coat pocket. However, the paper had become thoroughly soaked during his walk in the rain, its pages clinging together, the ink running so badly that the original contents were now unreadable.
Upon realizing this, he looked briefly disconcerted, then sighed and laid the wet wad of paper upon the table.
‘You went to such lengths over something so trivial? And with your heart already heavy from your father’s passing… It was such a long time ago, I had nearly forgotten about it myself.’ 96Q4Dz
‘The state of the note may be what it is, but I did read its contents. For your household, I imagine 120 dinars was no small sum.’
‘No matter how modest my circumstances, they are still not so dire as yours, Young Master. Truly, you need not concern yourself.’
The kind old woman did not so much as glance at the damp promissory note. The man gave a faint shake of his head at her response.
‘It is too large a debt to be dismissed so lightly. Judging from your generosity, I assume you lent the money to help pay for my mother’s medicine. Even after such a kindness, I never once came to offer proper thanks. Forgive me for coming only now.’ e1z4L
‘No, no, please. I am simply grateful for your words alone. Our poor Lady Constance—ah, the Baroness—had she seen how fine her son has grown… how happy she would have been….’
As he would later learn, before her retirement, Madame Bouteille had served as the chief maid of House Croix. She was almost like a nanny to Baroness Amieux, Eugène’s mother.
The old woman dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her shawl, struggling to compose herself. The man watched her silently before bowing his head with a trace of bitterness.
‘I have sold all of my father’s possessions and settled every debt that could be settled. Yours was the last outstanding one, and so I have come to you.’ dYSQFM
After speaking, he took from his pocket a small, worn box and pushed it gently toward her. The woman, who was trying to calm herself down by taking a deep breath, opened her eyes wide when she received the item the young man handed her.
‘Young master… why are you giving this to me?’
‘It is the only thing I possess of any value. I regret that it is not cash.’
Curious about the conversation, the boy had snuck a glance into the drawing room, and caught sight of the platinum pocket watch in the woman’s hand. Though it was clearly an old piece, its chain tarnished with age, it looked to be exceedingly valuable.
No larger than the palm of a hand, its casing was platinum, adorned with an intricate engraving of vine roses entwined with stag antlers. Even a child’s eyes could see how beautiful it was.
‘But that is the only heirloom you received from your grandfather, is it not? I remember the Baroness saying that even if everything else were sold, that one item must never be touched!’
‘Did Mother say such a thing?’
‘Of course she did. You were so young, so you might not remember, but she said it right in front of me.’ avhb4S
‘Then all the better. If it remains with me, I will be forced to sell it eventually. I would be glad if you would keep it safe.’
The old woman was startled and hurriedly tried to return the pocket watch, but the man gently declined.
‘Regardless, I cannot accept this. How could I dare to take something so precious?’
‘Please do. Only then will I feel at ease when I leave.’ 12DXVr
‘…Young master? Leave? What do you mean by that?’
‘I will be departing on the first ship out of Michèle tomorrow morning. I have already relinquished my room at the boarding house where I was staying. For now, I am lodging temporarily at the inn where I used to work.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I intend to head west and enlist as a seaman.’ iK73n1