The Funeral

Three days later I pace Charlotte's sitting room waiting for Mother to arrive. It is late afternoon, and she should be here any minute. These few days have been filled with Charlotte and Étienne. I haven't returned to my room, having my trunk brought to Charlotte's room. She has let me stay with her, understanding my need to remain close to those I trust. I am grateful for their support.

She has prepared to part with Étienne tomorrow morning. Neither need to stay for Thomas taking the title, and the feast that will follow.

Étienne has visited often, but he has also spent much of his time with his brothers. My father has been working with his contacts in Torcy, preparing something or another.

"Camille, come sit down. You will ware a hole in my carpet." Charlotte cheekily invites me to the couch with a pat.

"I just want her to be here. I don't want to go through tonight without her." Charlotte knows I am referring to my mother.

"I am sure she will make it. She sent an express letter before she left saying she was coming. I can't imagine it taking her much longer. Now sit down and get to work." She gestures to my sewing. I appreciate her demanding domineer. She calms me with her reassurances.

I sit and we work in a comfortable silence. Normally I would be annoyed by someone, once I had spent continuous days with them, but Charlotte is different. Although she is chatty, she understands the value of silence and reflection. She is a splendid mix that I enjoy. My lips turn up slightly thinking about my friendship with her.

A maid opens the door announcing "Madame Ferré has arrived." I jump from my seat to my mother's waiting embrace.

"Oh mon chou, how are you?" She calls me by my pet name, holding me close.

"Better with you here." I pull away and guide her to the couch. "This is Lady Charlotte-Anne. Charlotte, this is my mother, Madame Ferré."

Charlotte stands and curtsies. "It is a pleasure to meet you Madame Ferré."

"The pleasure is all mine." My mother says. "I am sorry it is under such distressing circumstances."

"I am sure you are grateful your daughter escaped her fate." Charlotte says it directly, not hiding behind politeness. My mother widens her eyes at her words. "I am happy for her escape as well."

"But isn't Baron Jean-Baptiste your father?"

"Exactly, why should he marry a girl only a year older than me, and younger than his sons. He was known as a cruel lover, but before all the women had been willing. He had no right to use his position to bully Camille here." Charlotte wraps her arm in mine and pulls me down to the couch for us to resume our work. My mother observes our intimacy with a raised eyebrow.

My mother is puzzled by the lack of intimacy for the nobles and their family but detects that it is a sensitive subject, therefor she focusses on complementing our work. She gushes over Charlotte's skills. Charlotte basks in the attention and affection she has been denied for years. We enjoy each other's company with chatting and work, waiting for the time when we will need to leave.

As the sun nears the horizon Étienne strides in with father.

"Good afternoon Camille and Charlotte." He bows to us. "This beautiful young woman must be Madame Ferré." He takes my mother's hand, kissing the back of it. He raises his head beaming, obviously acting up to gain her favor. "I am Étienne, Charlottes youngest older brother." I chuckle at his confusing terminology and flamboyant conduct.

"Don't be so humble Marquis Étienne. Eugénie this is the Marquis of Montclar." My mother nearly falls in her hast to stand and curtsy.

"This is why I didn't mention my title. I don't want this." He gestures at my mother. "We are going to travel together, and I don't wan to be treated differently."

"We are traveling together?" I look at him surprised. My family is going home, and they are going to Montclar.

"Yes, we plan on staying at your inn for several days before heading south to Montclar." Étienne explains.

I turn to Charlotte "Did you know?"

"Étienne asked if I would be okay if we did so, but I wasn't sure if he had finalized the itinerary with your father."

"I am glad to spend more time with my friends." I beam at her, but my heart squeezes. I know my heart can handle spending so much time with Étienne. I need time to heal.

"Good, now we must go join the procession at the gates." Father reminds us.

Charlotte and I are already dressed in dark clothes for the occasion, while mother doesn't need to have more than a dark armband. We all head down the stairs and to the group gathering for the parade. Charlotte and Étienne join their brothers towards the front. I mill around unsure where I should go. I had married the Baron, but in the eyes of the law our marriage wasn't sealed, and I don't feel grief as a wife should. My parents join the servants and other commoners. As I search Étienne catches sight of me. He must realize my dilemma, and motions for me to come closer to him.

I stride to his side. "Take Charlotte's arm. You can stay with us as her friend." I smile at the middle ground he has created for me.

"Thank you." I grab onto Charlotte who turns to me with a fake grimace plastered on her face. She is putting on airs for the public. I pat her hand and mimic her expression.

"There, there." I comfort.

Étienne surveys the interaction with satisfaction.

The group splits in the middle making an aisle. In a carriage the body of the Baron passes. The carriage is more like an ornate cart, with no covering over the top, allowing all Torcy to look at their fallen ruler. There is dark paint covering it, with the Baron laying atop contrasting light silk.

I turn my head, looking away. I am unable to face the man. The memory of the said man on top of me, forcing himself onto me floods my mind. Then the feeling as he stiffened and fell.

A hand grips mine, gently bringing me back to the present. It gives a slight squeeze of comfort. I look down to fine Étienne's hand engulfing mine. I look up at him softening my features into a sad expression. He returns the gesture, but it fades in an instant to a stern, stone like face. This is the look I have noticed him wear in public. Anytime it isn't Charlotte or I before him he looks stoic and aloof.

Once the carriage passes us the procession closes the gap and follows behind. It is somber, with several musicians directly behind the carriage spreading a lamenting melody throughout Torcy. We wind through the streets in a slight upward slant. Citizens gather at the edges of the route to watch the scene. They are subdued compared to the bustle that I had witness when I had arrived only days ago. Everyone wears a dark colored band on their arms, or ribbons in their hair.

Above the rooftops towers the black spires of the cathedral. Torcy is by a dormant volcano, therefore many of the buildings are made from black volcanic rock. The dark spires contrast the bright pinks, and oranges of the sunset. It is a beautiful contrast, showing life and death or light and dark.

We enter a square that opens to the entrance of the cathedral. The lavish statues and carvings are the same volcanic black as the rest of the building. I don't know where to look at the overwhelming architecture before me. It is covered with competing motifs and images.

The carriage comes to a stop at the entrance of the cathedral. A group of 8 guards work together to lift the body from on top of the carriage on the stretcher he had been placed. They walk the body up the steps into the cathedral to be placed in his sarcophagus for a final viewing.

The noble group, of which I am a part, remains at the front just behind the bearers. We follow up the steps in groups of 2 or 3. Étienne and Charlotte are on either side of me.

We sit on the first rows of the chapel, while the body is brought forward to the marble box at the head of the room. A priest stands behind on the stage, waiting for the congregation to take their seats. I keep my eyes forward listening to the hushed sounds, of footsteps and whispers, as the people of Torcy come to watch. The slight sounds echo in the immense cavern of the chapel.

As the crowd calms the priest steps forward to offer his sermon on life and death. I listen with disinterest to the dead language spoken before me. I can understand if I really try, but I don't. He drowns on. I try to appear upright and attentive. I am in the first row after all.

Something soft yet strong repeatedly rubs the back of my hand. I look down to realize that I never let go of Étienne's hand. His dark eyes are glued to the priest as if he is an attentive and bereaved son. Yet his thumb is running circles on the back of my hand, letting me know I am not alone.

I realize that I am in a loosing battle. I had decided to push away Étienne, knowing he could find a woman more deserving of his love. I was never going to set foot in Montclar, so this man could end his infatuation. He has declared his feelings, and now I see the man won't be deterred. The man who doesn't care what others think, but instead supports me; The man who held me when I cried and got me ointment for my wounds (though I insist on applying the ointment). He will be patiently persistent with his adoration.

I shake my head to clear it, but don't pull from his grasp. A part of me, that I didn't expect to rule, is unwilling to push him away.

The priest finishes his monologue, and the crowd passes the casket one by one to say their goodbye. I finally let go of Étienne as we stand for the final view of the Baron. Again, I avoid the sight as I pass. A carved marble slab is slide over the top, and the funeral party disperses. In silence we trek back down the streets towards the chateau. My parents find us on the journey back, which is no longer divided by rank.

"Dearest you look ashen. Will you be able to travel tomorrow?" Mother asks when we reach the point, we must part for the evening.

"I am fine, I just need to sleep." Her worry is written on her face, but she doesn't push. We separate, and I go to bed with Charlotte.