Scarlet by Genevieve Cogman

Author:Genevieve Cogman [Cogman, Genevieve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-05-09T00:00:00+00:00

12

“I MISS OUR village of Laragne this time of year,” Fleurette said with a sigh. She put down the spoon she’d been polishing and picked up one of the forks from the set laid out on the small table in front of her. An apron protected her pretty pale green dress, but her hands were black with silver polish and it was ground in under her nails. Still, dirty as it was, polishing the silverware was one of the few household tasks which Louise would permit her to do. “At least we had breezes in the countryside. And the people . . .”

“The people?” Eleanor prompted, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. Even with the windows open, it was hot. She was polishing the big unused mahogany dining table, and proper polishing, as her mother had always said, was never complete without a good dose of elbow grease.

They were in the big dining room on the first floor, whose windows looked out onto the street below. Eleanor could hear the occasional rattle of carriages or murmur of conversation as people passed Chauvelin’s house. She also knew that if she were to look out at the street below, she’d be able to see his men guarding the house.

They were waiting for her to make a run for it. Day or night, the guards watched the front and back gates, like dogs guarding a rabbit hole. And when she ran . . . she’d not only confirm that she was a criminal, but she might lead them right to the League.

For two days now she’d been living here, sleeping in the attic, and cleaning or cooking every waking hour. She kept hoping for the blank spots in her memory to clear, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t recall exactly what happened in the chateau or how the Marquis had died. Instead, there was only a feeling of deep fury—and a voice in her head that wasn’t her own.

Chauvelin’s house was peaceful by comparison.

“Oh, just people,” Fleurette said vaguely. “Monsieur Colombe, the grocer, and Monsieur Duflos, the butcher, and . . .” She blushed a little. “Other people.”

A young man, Eleanor guessed. Perhaps a childhood sweetheart.

“You said earlier that Louise and Adele were from Laragne too?” she asked. Fleurette was very free with casual confidences and with descriptions of how pretty her village was and how friendly its inhabitants were. She’d avoided saying why they’d moved to Paris, though, which showed she could keep her mouth shut about at least some things.

“We were so happy in our little cottage,” Fleurette said dreamily. “The flowers and the lovely old wallpaper, and the furniture and the statue of Saint Anthony of Padua—they say that if you lose anything, you should pray to him, and it’ll turn up!”

Who do I pray to if I want my liberty back? Eleanor wondered sourly.

“But why did you leave?” she asked. “It sounds like a lovely place, and much safer than Paris.”

“Things happened . . .

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.