Chapter Eleven #2
“So am I, about your husband.”
They are both silent, caught in their own reflections. It’s strange to be here, Isabel thinks, at a dinner table in France, but Madame Cuvelier is right, it’s important that connections are still made. To her own surprise, and despite what happened to George, she finds she’s glad to help make them.
“But let us talk of happier things,” says Madame Cuvelier. “You are quite the adventurer, madame, traveling aboard that ship. How did you convince Captain Carlyon to take you on the voyage? My husband should never allow it.”
Isabel pushes some food around her plate. The gravy from the chicken mixes with the pastry of the butter cake. “I’m afraid I didn’t give him much choice in the matter.”
“That’s…intriguing,” Madame Cuvelier says, smiling.
With a grimace, she says, “I threatened to hand him over to the Revenue Service if he didn’t take me.”
Madame Cuvelier puts her hand to her mouth. “And he did not shoot you?”
Isabel nearly spits out her bite of chicken, the laughter hits her that hard. The question is absurd—it’s absurd that it’s true; the entire situation is bizarre. “He did not,” she says through the fit of giggles. “Though I believe he wanted to!”
Jack looks up at her laughter and gives her a smile before he goes back to his conversation with the captain.
“I would have shot you,” says Madame Cuvelier dryly, but she, too, is giggling.
“I think I would have, too,” Isabel says. “I beg your pardon. It’s not really funny. It’s only, the situation is so thoroughly bizarre.”
When their laughter fades, Madame Cuvelier beckons for the footman to refill their wineglasses.
“I shall toast your spirit of adventure,” she says, lifting her glass to Isabel.
And then, leaning in and lowering her voice, “So tell me, are you and Captain Carlyon…affianced? There is an understanding between you?”
Isabel swallows her sip of wine. “Oh no, not at all,” she says.
“I see. But you would be happy to marry again, yes?”
“Captain Carlyon is not inclined to wed,” Isabel says softly, her eyes on the chicken swimming in sauce. “And neither am I.”
“It’s too soon after your husband for you to love another?”
“It’s…I think it’s that, perhaps, but it’s also other things. The thing you said, about how your husband would never allow you to go to sea, that’s how it has always been for me, first with my father and then with my husband.”
“That’s how it is, always, for women,” says Madame Cuvelier.
“Yes, precisely. But for me, you see, it’s not like that now. For the first time, I make my own decisions.”
Madame Cuvelier nods. “While that must be marvelous, to be with one whom one truly loves, it supersedes everything.” Her eyes on her husband, she adds, “At least, so I feel.”
Isabel glances at Jack. The light of the candles has taken the lines from his face, but she knows where each of them is; the way they appear around his mouth when he laughs, the way his brow creases when he is grave or puzzled. She recognizes the mirth in his eyes as if it is her own.
Madame Cuvelier says, “When the Revolution happened, they declared all men to be equal. The women petitioned for them to recognize all women equal as well—not merely of one another, but the equal of men. Their petition was rejected.”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t believe men will ever truly consider us their equals. Not even revolutionaries.”
“But it is my belief that within one’s marriage, if it’s founded on true love, that equality may exist. Only there, hidden from the world. Hidden, even, from the sight of God, perhaps.”
It’s a strange thought. “Jack—I mean, that is, Captain…” she stutters.
Madame Cuvelier smiles and says under her breath, “You do love him.”
“It’s not like that.” Coloring deeply, she presses on. “Jack says I have singular ideas. I believe the same may be said of you.”
Madame Cuvelier laughs. “So my husband says, too. We shall be sisters in singularity, then.”
As Madame Cuvelier’s laughter subsides, Isabel hears Jack say, “Nineteen years ago, in Helford.”
“Captain Carlyon,” she says. “Do I hear you speak of my new hometown?”
“You do indeed. I was just regaling Captain Cuvelier with an account of the mysterious circumstances surrounding your childhood. You see, Captain Cuvelier, Mrs. Henley has recently returned to the place in which she was found as a small child.”
“Captain Carlyon tells me you have no memories from before that,” Captain Cuvelier says.
“None, I regret to say.” Isabel dabs her mouth with her napkin. “Oh, thank you,” she says to the footman refilling her glass with wine.
“But what is this?” Madame Cuvelier says, clapping her hands. “Mysterious circumstances? Do tell, Mrs. Henley.”
“Mrs. Henley was orphaned as a young child, my love,” Captain Cuvelier says.
“Captain Carlyon was just telling me the story. Apparently, Mrs. Henley was found on the shores of Cornwall, drenched to the bone, at the age of about four, nineteen years ago. The people there thought she must have been pulled from the sea, but there were no reports of a wreck off the coast.”
“But how strange. And this was nineteen years ago, you said?” Madame Cuvelier’s gaze is fixed on her husband’s. Her voice has grown soft, her eyes wide.
“Nineteen years this September, wasn’t it, Mrs. Henley?
” Jack says, running his finger along the rim of his glass so it rings.
“I remember hearing the story as a boy. A little girl, risen from the sea, they said. It’s an odd tale, to be sure, and do you know what’s odder still, Madame?
People in those parts believe Mrs. Henley to be the daughter of the Sea Bucca. ”
L’Homme de Bouc, Jack calls the creature in French.
To Isabel’s surprise, the Cuveliers seem to know what he’s talking about.
Jack continues, “She swims like a mermaid, too, and has no recollection of being taught to swim.” He looks up from the glass, meeting the captain’s wife’s eyes.
“But from the way you looked at your husband just now, I wager the story is not wholly new to you.”
Madame Cuvelier closes her eyes briefly, then, after another glance at her husband, she nods.
“We have a story here, too. Your story reminds me of it. It is about a family of three fleeing Paris at the start of the Revolution. The husband was some high-placed official. The Du Pont family,” she says, as if the name has significance.
Her husband says, “The family came from these parts, but had lived at their residence in Paris for many years.”
“The mob was after them,” Madame Cuvelier says.
“They left disguised as peasants. The couple had a little girl, four years of age. They boarded a ship for England, to travel to Falmouth and from there to London. They left Roscoff on the sixth of September in the year 1789, but they never arrived. In fact, they were never heard from again.”
She hesitates, then says, “The story went around town. It was such a tragedy, especially with the little girl. There was much speculation about what may have happened. The weather wasn’t bad and the captain of the ship was very experienced.
He was lost along with the family, as were the rest of the crew, but his widow still lives here.
” She turns to Isabel. “If you like, I could take you to her.”