The River Maid Read online

  Ducasse shook his head in exasperation. “Well, if you won’t dance with them, someone has to.” He made his way over to the group of young women who had approached Christian earlier.

  Christian took a glass of wine from a footman and drank it down. The other guests nodded to him and raised their glasses. The younger women blushed and giggled when they looked at him, while the older ones sent him bolder, more appraising looks. He had received more than one offer since he had arrived at court from a lady wanting to show the hero of Austerlitz just how grateful she was for his bravery, but he had refused them all. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to them, remembering another girl, tears falling down her face as she stepped back off the cliff. It might provide him with some brief release from the dreams that plagued him, but he doubted it would stop the nightmares. Only alcohol seemed to help.

  He winced as a painful spasm went through his leg. A group of people crowded in around him, congratulating him on his heroism. He did his best to smile but suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He was there on the battlefield again with a body on top of him, the weight pressing him down and the dead all around him. He felt like he was drowning. He made his excuses and pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the doors leading to the gardens. Once he was outside, he breathed raggedly and took some steadying breaths. His heart was pounding and his shirt damp with sweat. He was an idiot, he told himself. It was just a ball.

  He turned to go back inside, but stopped, unable to face it. He couldn’t pretend tonight. He walked away, plunging into the grounds of the palace. He didn’t know where he was going. A carriage was waiting to take him back to his lodgings, but he carried on past the soldiers and guards. He tore off his stock and tossed it into the refuse that littered the street. He found a tavern and sank down and threw a handful of coins onto the table. The innkeeper brought him over a glass. He left the bottle when Christian threw another handful of coins down. Christian poured himself a drink and drank it down. The spirits burned his throat and clouded his head. He poured himself another.

  At another table, two roughly-dressed men watched him discreetly, casting him sly looks. They had seen the cane and the coins he had thrown at the innkeeper. He hoped they would follow him when he left. He was in no state to fight them off. He deserved to suffer. He hadn’t suffered enough.

  He had been in Paris now for several weeks. The days had blurred into one another. When he had first arrived, he had been welcomed at court and hailed a hero. Lavish balls and dinners with endless courses had been thrown in his honour. But he couldn’t stand it anymore. It was all a lie. He wasn’t a hero. He could no longer bear to be at court and watch the artifice and falseness of it all. Once, he had belonged among them, but he was older and wearier now. He had seen things. He had watched men die. He had no patience anymore for their games or their petty intrigues.

  He moved his leg, hitting the table. Pain shot through him. He closed his eyes and welcomed the pain. A chair scrapped back and then moved back against the table as someone sat down across from him. He was in no mood to talk to anyone.

  “It’s been a long time, my friend,” said a familiar voice.

  Christian knew that voice. He raised his head. He hadn’t realised he had been slumped over the table. His vision was blurry and he had trouble focusing. “Gaspard?” It couldn’t be him. Christian would have known if he was in Paris. He must be hallucinating. Maybe Gaspard had come to haunt him as well.

  Gradually, his vision focused on Gaspard; although this Gaspard was dressed plainly and wore a coarse jacket buttoned up tightly over his stomach, while the Gaspard Christian had known had always prided himself on being well dressed.

  “You look like a farmer.” Christian’s words were slurred and he had trouble sitting upright.

  Gaspard chuckled. “You don’t look any better, my friend.” His face sobered. “You joined the army then.” His gaze lingered on Christian’s rumpled uniform.

  “Yes.” He could see the disappointment in Gaspard’s face. Anger flared inside him. Gaspard shouldn’t be able to make him feel that way. He was his tutor, nothing more. He had no right to expect anything of him. “It was my decision. I’m not a boy anymore.” His tone was harsh and he regretted his words as soon as he had spoken them. He had to try and explain. He wanted his approval so badly. Gaspard was like a father to him. “I had to try and make it right somehow. I kept seeing her. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there.”

  Gaspard didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. “Do you still see her?”

  Christian smiled bitterly and sloshed some more drink into his glass. “I see them all, every night: Lorelei, the men I served with, the men I’ve killed.”

  “And you think drinking yourself to death will bring them back?”

  “You’re not my father.”

  “No, I’m not. If you want to drink your life away that’s your choice. But I thought more of you, my friend. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  The words hurt. They hurt more than his leg. He had thought he was beyond hurting.

  “What are you doing here?” Christian asked. “Did my mother send you?”

  “I was here on other business when I heard your name mentioned at a dinner party. They talked of a German prince who had lied about who he was and enlisted in the French army. He had worked his way up through the ranks and done remarkable things. He had saved many men with his courage and bravery.”

  “None of the stories are true.” Christian drank down the last of his drink. “They’re all dead. All my men. I should have died with them. I should have died that day when my boat sank and that night when I jumped in after Lorelei. I’m beginning to think I’m cursed, Gaspard, with living when everyone else dies.” He couldn’t keep the bleakness out of his voice.

  Gaspard pushed back his chair and stood up. “Let’s get you out of here and sobered up.”

  “I don’t need your help. You’re not my tutor anymore.”

  “I know.” Gaspard sounded weary. He slung his arm around Christian’s shoulder and heaved him up and steered him out of the tavern. Christian was too drunk to fight him. Gaspard was the only thing keeping him upright.

  “You don’t know where I’m staying,” Christian said, leaning on Gaspard.

  “I know where you’re lodging. I went there tonight, but you had had already left to go to the palace. Your valet gave me a list of taverns where I could find you.”

  He didn’t remember how Gaspard got him home or how he managed to drag him up the stairs. After much searching, Christian finally managed to produce the key from his pocket, but he couldn’t quite get it into the door. In the end, Gaspard took it from him and unlocked it. He carried Christian inside and let him fall onto the couch.

  “I thought better of you, my friend,” Gaspard said.

  “You don’t know what I’ve been through, the things I’ve seen,” Christian said.

  “You forget I lived through the revolution.”

  “Are you going to make me go home?”

  “You’re not a boy anymore, Christian. I can’t force you to go anywhere. It has to be your choice.”

  “You didn’t come here to find me did you?” The knowledge that he was not Gaspard’s main concern hurt.

  “I’m looking for Adrianna,” Gaspard said as he began collecting the empty bottles that lay scattered around the room.

  Gaspard was chasing a phantom. “She’s dead, Gaspard. Let her go.”

  “Do you remember that day when we saw the ship on the Rhine? There was a French Captain in command called Fournier. I’ve been trying to trace him, but I’ve heard he’s finally returning to Paris.”

  “Why would the French want her? She’s just a girl from the town.”

  Gaspard was silent for a moment as he placed the bottles on a side table, lining them neatly up. “There’s a ball a week from today at the Tuileries. The Emperor himself is returning for it. ”

  “I know. The whole city is talking about it.”

 
“I think she will be there.”

  Christian shook his head. And he had thought he was crazy.

  Gaspard picked up a book from under the table. “You still have it,” Gaspard said as he turned it over. In his hands was the now battered and worn copy of Don Quixote that he had given to him.

  “Yes.” Christian had carried it with him in the army, lugging the heavy tome through every battle and skirmish. It had become his talisman. When he was younger, he had idealised Don Quixote. Now, he realised that in the end Don Quixote had abandoned his ideals and given up his dreams of being a knight and become what his family wanted him to be. Christian had often wondered as he sat there late at night if Gaspard had been trying to tell him something by giving him the book.

  Gaspard placed the book on the mantelpiece and went to the door. Christian didn’t want him to go. He wanted him to stay, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask him.

  “Gaspard,” Christian called. Gaspard stopped. “I hope you find her.”

  Gaspard turned back to face him. “I hope you find what you’re looking for as well, my friend.” He smiled sadly and then left.

  Christian picked up a bottle from under his chair, where he had left it earlier. As he pulled out the cork and raised the bottle to his mouth, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. He turned away in disgust. He felt ashamed that Gaspard had seen him like this. He had always thought that if he joined the army, he would have a purpose, a direction. Everything would suddenly make sense. He would find whatever it was he was looking for. He had always felt lost, even before Lorelei.

  But, how could you find something if you didn’t know what you were looking for?

  Chapter Twenty Two

  They came for her soon after the Emperor’s visit; or as close as she could judge. A year could have passed and she wouldn’t have known. She didn’t care anymore what they did to her. She had gone far away in her mind and now looked at them with vacant eyes. There was no hope of ever escaping. She was far away and everything now seemed like a dream.

  Four soldiers, overseen by Doctor Barreau and Fournier, lifted her out of the water. They had unrolled a heavy white canvas on the floor and the soldiers placed her in the centre of it. They wrapped the canvas around her and then secured it with rope, binding her tail tight. The soldiers slid two poles into loops in the canvas and lifted her up. They carried her up the steps of the cellar and through the grand house, their booted feet loud on the floorboards. A breeze hit her as they carried her outside into the chill of the morning air and she began to shiver.

  The men set her down in a wagon. A soldier on the other side pulled her further in. She tried to sit up, but her arms were too weak to support her. Fournier heaved himself in. His clothes were much finer than when she had seen him last. He settled next to her, fussing over her and pouring water over the canvas that wrapped her tail. He only cared because she was valuable to him, but at least someone cared for her.

  The flaps were tied down and the wagon began to move. A lantern illuminated the faces of the soldiers who sat either side of her. Their eyes kept flickering to her tail and they kept their hands near their muskets as if she was a dangerous creature instead of completely helpless. Outside, she could hear the stamp of hooves and commands being shouted out in French. Fournier cursed as the wagon hit a bump. Feeling numb to it all, she lay back and stared at the canvas overhead.

  It was dusk when they reached their destination and the flaps were thrown open and Fournier climbed stiffly out. The soldiers slid the poles into the loops of the canvas sling and lifted her down. The same four men carried her, Fournier following close behind.

  She saw little of the outside of the place they had brought her to; just a vague shape of a very large and grand building. She thought she could hear water nearby and her body ached for it. Inside, they carried her through long corridors with high ceilings. The ceilings were gilded and decorated with frescoes of nymphs and cherubs and chandeliers with hundreds of crystals hung down like silver waterfalls. She had never seen anything so beautiful before. It was like something out of a dream. She guessed she was in the Emperor’s palace. The letter ‘N’ was everywhere, worked into the décor and embroidered into the cushions. It could only be his.

  They entered a vast room, bigger than any she had seen, with another level above. A huge tank dominated one corner of the room. They set her down on the floor and undid the rope and unwrapped her from the canvas. Not wanting to touch her, they lifted the corners of the canvas and carried her awkwardly up a little set of stairs and then tipped her into the water.

  She sank to the bottom as they dropped her in. Six large panes of glass made up the tank. It was not a wooden frame, but some sort of brassy metal. For the first time in months, she could swim and at last stretch out.

  The soldiers filed out, leaving her alone. Fournier stayed for a moment to look at her before following them. She hugged her tail to her chest and huddled at the bottom. The doors at the far end of the hall opened and the Emperor entered. He stopped before the tank and stood gazing at her, his hands clasped behind his back. She stared back at him. He walked around the tank, inspecting her from every angle. Eventually, he nodded to a soldier and screens were brought out and placed around her. She went to the surface, but all she could hear was the sound of the Emperor’s footsteps retreating. She was plunged into darkness as the candles were extinguished. Afraid, she went back under.

  In the morning, the screens were pulled away to reveal Fournier. She could see he was angry by the tightness around his mouth and the rigid set of his shoulders. She would have flinched, but she no longer cared if he hurt her. She was beyond that, beyond everything. He came to the top of the little set of stairs carrying a tray of food and obediently, she went to the surface. He held a glass of water to her lips and she drank it down gratefully.

  “They wouldn’t let me in to see you,” Fournier said, keeping his voice low. “He has no right to take you away from me. You’re mine. I found you.”

  Throughout the day people came to look at her. She recognised the doctors and scientists. They gestured to her, arguing once more. She tensed, expecting to be lifted out, to prove to them once again that she was a mermaid and that her tail was real, but to her relief they left her alone.

  Later in the day, the candelabras were lit and a long table was set out with silver cutlery and fine china. The servants stole glances at her as they worked, but they would quickly avert their eyes if they saw her staring back.

  Two footmen opened the huge doors and a group of people, all dressed in their court finery, came in, the Emperor at their head. Fournier trailed behind the group at the very back, looking out of place. Adrianna could see the resemblance between Napoleon and several of the other nobles. The woman who held the Emperor’s arm, she guessed was his wife, the Empress Josephine. Adrianna could see the shock on their faces as they entered and caught sight of her. They stopped, then as one they rushed to the glass. Faces looked in at her from every side, pointing and gesturing. There was nowhere to hide. Their gowns were expensive, edged with the finest lace and embroidered with tiny pearls, and yet they were looking at her. She stared back at them. She had never been this close to so many of the nobility and she was as curious about them as they were about her.

  They sat down to eat and she realised that she was meant to be the entertainment. She swam around the tank as they dined. After they had at last finished and the servants had cleared away the plates, Fournier climbed the set of steps next to the tank and gestured for her to come to the surface. Hesitantly, she swam up and put her head slowly above the water. She could hear the guests speaking, but they spoke in French so she couldn’t understand them. Fournier beckoned her closer.

  “Come here,” he said in German. There were gasps from the guests as she approached him warily.

  “She understands what you are saying?” the Empress asked, now speaking German as well.

  “She understands German, but nothin
g else,” the Emperor said before Fournier could answer.

  “Can she speak?” asked a girl, who looked like a younger version of the Empress.

  “She used to, Madame,” Fournier said. “But she seems to have lost her voice.”

  “It’s remarkable.” The Empress clapped her hands together. “You must show it at the ball and let everyone see.”

  Adrianna knew that she should speak and tell them that she wasn’t meant to be a mermaid, that she was just a girl, but it had been so long since she had spoken and she was too afraid of what Fournier would do to her if she did.

  The next day, the Emperor brought different guests to dinner to show her off too. Their reaction was the same; after they got over their initial shock, they stared in amazement, their faces filled with wonder and awe. When he wasn’t with her, Napoleon kept her concealed behind a screen. Sometimes, late at night, the Emperor would come alone and stand and watch her. She wondered what he thought about as he walked around the tank. His expression was grave and his small eyes intense as he stared at her. He didn’t try and speak to her as Fournier did. She hadn't seen Fournier since that first night and she had begun to miss him. He had hurt her and threatened her, but at least she knew what to expect from him.

  ~~~~~

  “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” Ducasse asked as they walked together through the gardens of the Tuileries. Fountains sprayed water in an elaborate dance either side of them and gravel crunched under their feet. Courtiers mingled on the lawns or strolled through the grounds enjoying the sunshine.

  Christian shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Ducasse nodded. “It will be a shame to lose you. You would have made a good officer. Together, we could have won the war.”

  “You will have to win it without me,” Christian said, relieved the General had taken his decision not to rejoin the army so well.

  “What will you do?” Ducasse asked.