The Josephine B. Trilogy by Sandra Gulland Read Free Book Online Page B

boat. Father handed me his kerchief. Mimi looked terrified. And then we were on the water, waving and throwing kisses.
    I looked back. Da Gertrude had fallen to her knees and was praying. Mother stood silently, her hands pressed to her chest. It was only Manette and Sylvester, at the last, who stood waving.

In which I come to the Old World
    Tuesday, October 12, 1779—Brest, France.
    My knees trembled climbing onto the dock. I held on to Mimi to steady myself. I hadn’t realized how frightened I’d been that we would never make it.
    France! So many people, horses, carriages! A porter balancing a load on his head barked out to us to move. A newsmonger yelled from the edge of the crowd. It seemed strange, all these white faces rushing about, crying out words I couldn’t understand.
    Captain and the flag-lieutenant helped with Father. He was so sick he could hardly walk. He has been taking a syrup of maidenhair and brandy concoction the ship’s surgeon had made him, but it hadn’t helped.
    I asked a painted lady standing by some sea chests where we might hire a hackney coach but she only looked at me. “She can’t understand your dialect,” Captain explained, getting Father seated on a crate. He hailed a hackney cab and helped get us settled in a public house. He even sent word to Aunt Désirée that we have arrived. He said it would take about ten days for her to get here, maybe longer.
    At first we tried to take a lodging in the Hôtel du Monarque, an airy and lightsome place with chandeliers, carpets and a buffet on which a few plates were set out. We were led into a parlour where a lady stood by the fire in a dress over a hoop so big I don’t know how she got through the door.
    We were all set to settle when Father, whom we had propped up in a chair, doubled over coughing and the innkeeper told us we couldn’t stay.Captain, who doesn’t hold his temper at the best of times, started to speak. I quickly assured him we would prefer to stay somewhere else. So here we are now, at the Hôtel Graves, which is at least clean, although not nearly so grand.
    Father and I each have a room on the second floor, facing the street. Mimi was given a room by the stables and privies. I told the innkeeper, Madame Mignon Lodi-Clarion, a cross sort, and thin as a stick, that I wanted Mimi with me, that I needed her help during the night, with Father, but Madame insisted. “We’ll have the boy fetch her when you need her” is what she said, somewhat curtly.
    The first thing I did after getting Father settled was ask to have a bath. Madame provided me with a hand-basin of hot water and some Joppa soap, immersion being unsafe, she said. I washed myself as best I could.
    When poor Mimi came in she smelled like the barn. I let her use my water for a wash of her own, and then we put our small linens in. We draped them over chairs in front of the coal grate. It’s so cold and damp I fear they will never dry.
    That evening.
    All the people staying at this inn eat together. I went down without Father. We had cod’s head with shrimps and oysters, and then mutton, eggs and a dish of broiled eels which I did not care for but forced myself to eat, to be polite. After the meal a man across the table rubbed his teeth with a sponge and scraper. I thought perhaps that was the custom here, but he was the only one who did it. Then he asked for the chamber-pot. Hastily, I took my leave.
    Thursday, October 14.
    Father didn’t sleep last night, suffering feverish dreams. He kept saying he couldn’t die now.
    I tried to get him to take some fish broth but he couldn’t keep it down, coughing up blood. “I’ll get Madame.” I didn’t want him to see me crying.
    “No.” He fell back against his pillows.
    I’m back in my room now, but I cannot sleep, listening for sounds on the other side of the wall. Listening for life—but fearing death.
    That evening.
    At last, the doctor came, his tall assistant carrying his big bag. He prescribed a tincture