Belle Epoque by Elizabeth Ross

Author:Elizabeth Ross [Ross, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2013-06-11T03:00:00+00:00

After tea, as soon as the carriage pulls away from the house and turns onto the street, I slip my hand into my coat pocket. The perfume is still there. I take out the bottle, pull out the stopper and take a sniff. It does smell sweet—heady and decadent, like luxury should. I dab a drop on my neck and one behind my ears, just like the Countess Dubern.

THE DUBERN CARRIAGE DROPS ME at the agency, where I change out of my work clothes before heading home. Boulevard du Montparnasse is busy tonight. The November evening is crisp, the sky is jet-black, and twinkling lights burst out of the darkness, bringing my neighborhood to life. The activity doesn’t cease when night falls in Paris. The sound of competing piano music spills out onto the sidewalk as I pass the bars and restaurants, and on every corner there are placards and posters advertising a new cabaret or music hall.

A carriage pulls up just in front of me, and I don’t think anything of it until the door is flung open and a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Maude! Come with me to le Chat Noir.”

It’s Paul. I freeze for a moment, my heart racing. I smooth my skirt and tuck a wisp of hair behind my ear.

“Climb in!” he shouts. The horse snorts loudly and stamps a hoof, as if urging me to hurry.

I’ve seen posters all over my neighborhood for the famous Montmartre cabaret; it’s popular with artists and is famous for its shadow-puppet plays. How I wish I could transform my outfit into something fashionable from the countess’s couturier. At least I put on the perfume, I think gratefully as I climb into the carriage.

“Where were you heading?” Paul asks.

“Just home from work. I live on rue Delambre. It’s not far.”

“You work late, for a governess.”

All I can do is smile in agreement and quickly change the subject. “How was your concert last week? I wish I could have been there.”

“You enjoy music, then?”

I sigh. “I don’t get to hear much in the way of concerts, really,” I tell him, and look down. “I work a lot, you see.”

The carriage jolts and jerks along the streets of the Left Bank, across the river and north, cutting through the Right Bank in the direction of la butte de Montmartre.

“A true music lover makes their own music.” Paul leans in closer. “Is there a song you like to sing?”

I shake my head, laughing. “I don’t sing—I’m not musical at all.”

“Come on, you must know at least one song by heart.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me.

I think for a moment. “I know some Breton songs.” I shrug, not sure whether to share. “The Breton language has music in it. To an outsider, it might sound rough and not as pretty as French, but I always think of it as more honest, somehow.”

Paul leans back in the carriage with a smile on his face. “I knew it. You are not a governess.

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.