Page 98 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“I have only the clothes Catherine gives me,” said Souveraine. “If they aren’t the right colours, if I don’t look ‘fervent’ enough…” She took a breath to avoid breaking down. “And so we are prisoners here. We cannot leave this house for fear of treading a foot wrong. And I can see…” Souveraine wiped a tear from her cheek, then took Léon’s hand. “Come.”
She led him down the long hallway, away from Émile’s loud whining about their taking so long, to the front of the house. A sitting room, exquisite in lavender. Almost the entire front wall was a huge window, arched at the top, and only half boarded up because of its height and odd shape. Souveraine pushed achair close, stepped on, then pulled Léon up to balance with her. “There? Do you see it?”
The aspect looked over surrounding buildings, over the Seine, and was angled such that it gave the viewer a clear look into Place de la Révolution, directly facing the glinting guillotine. “I watch them. They make it look so clean and fast. But the dirty work, massacring French citizens en masse, they don’t do that there. Not in the light where everyone can see.”
Catherine said, “This isn’t what we were promised, Henry. This isn’t the great miracle you dreamed of. I’m sorry, but we need to leave right now.”
“No.” Henry walked away from her, making abstractedly for Léon, somewhere upstairs, only to be stopped by Catherine’s hand, pulling him back.
“What on earth are you talking about? No? You don’t just say no.”
He couldn’t fight with her—not without the ceiling falling in on them. So he tried his own special brand of revolutionary logic. “We knew it would be dangerous. What did you think? A revolution would just happen overnight without any violence? The whole thing is illegal. The revolution only happens if we break some laws.”
A vase fell to the floor and shattered. “Christ, you sound just like Robespierre.”
Ignoring the vase, “This is why we came. Listen…” He placed two hands on her arms and looked into her eyes, wild and scared. “Give it a while to settle.” She made to protest, but he talked on, calmly, soothingly. “I’ll get in touch with some friends. We’ll be okay.”
“Henry knows people,” Léon was saying to Souveraine, helping her down from the chair. “He has contacts who can help. Robespierre himself. We’ll be all right.”
“I don't like the way you’re talking about him,” Souveraine said. “I don't like whatever influence he’s having on you. When are we going home, Léon? I can’t stand it here.”
“I’m ready to help change things,” Henry was saying to Catherine. “I’m energised. Invigorated! Ready to write pamphlets or articles or whatever they’ll give me. Let me ask around a bit, see who’s nearby. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“And how are you going to stop it?” Catherine asked, scathingly. “You were in prison a week ago, about to be killed.”
“To be fair, so were you.”
“Be that as it may,” she doubled down, “you’re not exactly infallible. And now you bring this pretty boy in here?—”
“He is pretty, isn’t he?” Henry eyed the staircase eagerly, a blush glowing across his cheeks.
“Him being here won’t help,” she said sternly. “Souveraine’s already falling apart on me.”
“But there’s more,” said Souveraine, also glancing down the stairs. “This house… You’re going to think I’m mad, but… I think it’s haunted.”
Léon’s brow drew deep at the unexpected statement.
“I think she’s onto me,” Catherine whispered. “I’ve been doing all the things—reading, keeping quiet, exercising—but I’m very stressed.”
“I can see that,” said Henry, with a glance at the shattered pieces of the vase on the floor.
“Things move, things break,” said Souveraine. “And Catherine…”
“What?” asked Léon, with bated breath.
“She acts like it’s nothing. Like she’s… almost expecting it. But it happens so often when she’s upset…”
Catherine said, “All she talks about is ‘when Léon comes back’, and how they’ll be married soon, and it’s driving me upthe wall. As though I don’t have enough to deal with. And now it’s the two of you? She’s not going to cope. You’d better keep this shit under tight wraps.”
Appropriately dampened, Henry changed direction. “And how’s Émile doing?”
“Émile?” Her lips crinkled into a slight smile. “He’s honestly having the time of his life. It’s all one great adventure to him. And now you’re here…” For the first time during the conversation, her expression betrayed the great love she had for Henry. “What did you do to him? He’s obsessed with you.”
“He’s charming,” Henry returned. “Léon’s done an amazing job. All by himself, did you know? Took him on alone when the boy was two. He’s an admirable man.”
“Exactly how admirable?” asked Catherine, watching him close.
His voice softened. “Look, I’ve… I have…” She folded her arms, awaiting his meandering answer. “He doesn’t want to stay in Paris. But I think it would be best for all of us?—”
