Timewatch (22 page)

“
Oui,
but her fate is in the hands of
le bon Dieu.
”

“Can't the doctor do something?”

Memories of cool sheets, the family doctor, with his shaggy white hair and liver-spotted hands, and the cherry-flavored medicine that was her favorite, and her dad reading about the adventures of Pooh Bear, all came pouring into Laney's mind.

“What, madame?” asked the maid, who was her mother's personal servant. “The doctor, he can do nothing for her.”

Nothing.
Laney shivered. What kind of world was this where people went through such incredible suffering? Oh, she knew that people in her own time were going through similar misery from diseases like AIDS and malaria and river blindness, but it wasn't real to her, not like this wreck of a woman lying on her deathbed.

This era wasn't like 20th-century North America where the sick and dying were segregated into hospitals, where they could die in an orderly fashion, not hideously like this where you could see every aspect of their suffering.

Laney shuddered and turned away. She'd never complain about a zit on her face again.

The last three weeks here in 18th-century France had been a revelation. After putting the bit of cloth with the herbs on it on her tongue, she'd found herself in the body of 15-year-old Adrienne, married to a marquis, and not just any old nobleman, but Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, who would become a hero of the American Revolution. She had even written an essay on him for her American history class.

The information in Adrienne's consciousness revealed that her father, the duke, had bought the 16-year-old Lafayette a captaincy in the Dragoons, although Lafayette wouldn't take actual command for two years. He had to learn first from a senior officer how to drill his men and how to recruit, equip, and maintain his troops.

His duties seemed to be pretty light and left him with a lot of spare time, which he spent in going to dinners and entertainments and, if you could read between the lines of his letters to her, chasing other women. This was considered normal behavior for the aristocracy. Marriages were like business arrangements, uniting wealthy families. Once married, individuals behaved as they liked, although they were expected to be discreet about their activities.

She was getting used to living here, although she missed her parents and friends and 20th century amusements like movies, but she had to admit that there were quite a few perks to being an aristocrat. She really liked not having to do any cooking or cleaning, although she was expected to help manage the large household of the Noailles mansion.

And then there was Mignon, Adrienne's tiny lapdog. At first the dog had growled, and refused to come to her, but after offering the dog a treat, he had started accepting food from Laney's hands. Sometimes dogs were smarter than humans. Mignon knew that Laney wasn't her owner but accepted her as her new mistress. Now the dog followed her everywhere, even sleeping on her bed.

Once Laney had even gone to a musical performance. It wasn't like you could go in your jeans. Here, the women all tried to outdo each other in clothes and hairdos. The guys were just as vain, dressing up in tights and silk shirts and satin waistcoats and jewels; they were every bit as colorful as the women and even more arrogant than the guys back home. From the talk she'd overheard, all the married women were dying to make love to them.

For the rich, it was one continual party. For the poor, it was quite a different story. Laney didn't think she could ever forget the hordes of street people, most of them barefoot even though the weather was cold, whom she'd seen begging in the streets or trying to sell their pitiful goods of half-rotten fruit or crudely made articles.

If you had to live here, it was nice to have wealthy aristocrats like the Duke and Duchess d'Ayen for your parents, even though they were pretty bossy and the duchess always seemed to be at her prayers. Maybe she was so religious because she'd survived smallpox, which had marked her pretty badly.

Anyway, in these times, you were expected to obey your parents—and your husband, of course. At the beginning of their married life, Adrienne hadn't seen much of Lafayette because he was stationed at Metz while she was living in Paris with her family.

Now, however, he was on leave. Lafayette was easy to get along with and kind of cute in his own way, even if he wasn't exactly handsome. For one thing, his nose was too pointy, but he was a decent guy with a good sense of humor.

In the future, he was going to be a great hero. However, if she'd figured it right, he wouldn't go to America for another few years.

Pulling herself out of her reverie, Laney said to the maid, “See that this poor woman has everything she needs.” One of the advantages of being rich was that you could get things done.

“Oui, madame,”
the maid said as she curtsied.

Taking her skirts in her hands as she hurried down the hall, Laney remembered that Lafayette had been eating supper with Louis XV when the king had come down with the pox. Two weeks later, after suffering horribly, the king had died. Louis XVI had been so scared of getting smallpox, too, that he had himself and the entire royal family vaccinated.

The whole smallpox thing must have made a big impression on her husband because he had insisted upon being vaccinated. That was why they were here now in this “small” house, which was bigger than her entire school building! Her mother had come along to nurse Lafayette, sick in bed from the effects of the vaccination.

“Adrienne, there you are,” said the duchess, sweeping down the corridor toward her. “Have you seen where my maid packed the pomade for my hair?”

Adrienne's mother, a woman of plain, angular features, looked very imposing in an elaborate silk dress.

“No,
maman.
Could it be in your boudoir in the small inlaid box you brought with you?”

“Perhaps. I'll call my maid and tell her to look for it. If you wish, Adrienne, you may visit your husband now, but only for a short time. He is feverish today. And remember not to get too close to him. You have never had the pox.”

Without waiting for a reply, the duchess swept off.

Laney found Lafayette lying very still in the big four-poster bed where he had spent most of his time since they had arrived. Even though the thick carpet muffled her footsteps, Lafayette immediately became aware of her presence and turned his head weakly to greet her.

“Ah, dear heart, how charming you look this morning,” he said. “But you are upset.”

That was one of the things she liked about Lafayette; he paid attention to her. And while other aristocrats routinely lavished flowery compliments on her, Lafayette really seemed to mean it. When he complimented her and looked into her eyes, it made her heart beat faster—just like in the romance novels she'd read. No one had ever treated her like this before. Could she be falling in love with him?

“I saw this woman; she had smallpox. Oh, Lafayette, you must get well!”

“We must all die in due time,
petite,
but I do not plan to depart this earth for quite some time.”

“You are too important to die young.”

“I am flattered that my wife holds me so dear.”

“Not just me, but many others,” blurted out Laney.

A gratified smile spread over his face. “You are most charming,” he murmured, “but perhaps a little influenced by the fact that you are my wife.”

And by what I read in a history book, Laney wanted to shout. He was very flushed, she noted, and, so far, unmarked by the pox.

“Pray, do not, if you love me, Adrienne, keep me in this oh so delicious suspense.”

As Laney impulsively made a move toward him, he warned, “You must not come closer, sweet.”

“You will think I am foolish,” she murmured, playing with a ribbon in her hair.

“I have never known you to be foolish, Adrienne, but always eminently practical.”

When she grimaced, he added hastily, “And very charming.”

“Practical!” What sort of compliment was that! At least he had the good sense to add “charming.”

You couldn't get mad at a guy who was sexy and charming all at the same time. Not like some of the jerks she'd dated in high school.

Changing the topic, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that you are here.”

But he looked worse than the day before, weaker, and more feverish. “He can't die!”

Too late, she realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud.

“Men die every day,” he murmured, “but I should like to die as did my father—in battle.”

“You will see battle but not die in one.”

“How so, Adrienne?”

How could she have been so stupid to say that! But now the fever was snatching away his train of thought and he was rambling. She thought she caught the words, “seek glory … must prove myself …”

“You will, oh, yes, you will, but be patient.”

Turning sunken eyes on her, he gave her a smile that set her heart to beating faster and asked, “When, Adrienne, when?”

She wanted very much to say something, anything that might calm him. What harm would it do if she mentioned a few things that were going to happen? After all, he was feverish and probably wouldn't remember a thing.

“You will become a great hero, my love,” she said, longing to smooth his reddish hair back from his forehead.

His head jerked nervously and he frowned.

“The Americans need you,” she soothed. “You're going to be good friends with their commander, General George Washington, ‘your father,' as you will call him.”

At the word
father,
he quieted down. His eyes held an expression of longing. Her heart constricted, and she could hardly speak for a moment.

“You will serve with honor in the American Army as a major general, but what'll make you really famous is that your position as a hero and friend of Washington will influence French public opinion enough to gain support in France for the American cause. If it hadn't been for you, France might never have given the Americans the financial and political support that they needed to win their independence from Britain.” Which was practically word for word the last paragraph in the essay she'd written about Lafayette.

“Patriots,” he murmured.

She knew what he was referring to, Americans fighting in defense of their right to be a free people.

“And then?” Lafayette prompted, his eyes clearer now.

“You will be a hero in France also.”

His eyes silently demanded more, but how much dared she say? How did you tell a man that his king and queen and many of his friends would be beheaded in a bloody revolution while he himself would spend five years altogether in first a Prussian and then an Austrian prison for making politically embarrassing statements?

The sick man's attention was broken once more by the fever. He was becoming restless again. She could hardly bear it, the thought of this good man living in a filthy prison and suffering from stomach and nerve troubles, sleeplessness, and fever. If only he had managed to escape to England! Maybe he would have gone on to America. She remembered reading something about his writing that if there was no hope of France regaining her freedom, that he would like to be “only an American again.”

Instead, after finally being let out of prison, he had retired to their chateau at Lagrange, where he had farmed. Later on, he had reentered French politics, but the moment had passed. His ideas were no longer in vogue.

“The Americans loved you,” she whispered.

He brightened at that, and she continued. “President Jefferson offered you the job of governor of Louisiana, which you turned down, and Congress granted you a lot of land.”

“No money?” he joked feebly.

“Later, after your tour of the United States, they voted to give you a big sum for the money you'd spent out of your own pocket on clothing and feeding the men in your command during the Revolution. They loved you, Lafayette, and they never forgot you.”

Lafayette nodded weakly at her. His eyes closed, and she saw that he had fallen asleep. If she had to stay here, there was no one she'd rather be with than this man.

Now she could feel a pulling, a loosening of her consciousness from the body of Adrienne, and she was floating out into a universe of glorious sound and light. Laney tried to look back at the man she was beginning to fall in love with, but the force that was propelling her on would not let her.

CHAPTER 24

“Enchanté, madame,”
said the man bowing to her.

The orchestra stopped playing, and she almost fell as she was suddenly swept into another body—no, still Adrienne's body—but in 1775, a year later, it felt different: fatter, more awkward.

A look of concern on his pale face, the man she had been dancing with steadied her and asked, “Would you care to sit down, Madame?”

She nodded. She was a little faint. Lights from hundreds of candles were reflected in the diamonds and other jewels worn by the crowd of gorgeously dressed people and softened the heavy makeup of white paint, rouge, and beauty patches of the women.

Their necks must get awfully sore from wearing those huge hairstyles, soaring two or more feet high, loaded with ostrich feathers—introduced last year by the English Duchess of Devon-shire and now all the rage—as well as flowers and jewels.

Some women had taken to wearing “themed” hairdos, like Queen Marie Antoinette, who had celebrated a naval victory over the British by wearing a replica of a French battleship in her pouf. Adrienne's maid had even told her about another lady who had worn in her hairdo a birdcage with a real bird in it!

Laney had never seen such dresses in satins and silks in all colors of the rainbow and heavily embroidered with silver thread and billowing out at the waist, held in place underneath by panniers like the baskets seen on donkeys. Any one dress could have made multiple dresses for most of the girls of her graduation class.