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La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Twelve, Scene 3

Instantly there was a buzz of voices in the room among the older officers. The name Pelletier was a notorious one in the salons of Paris.

Howe looked surprised. “Are you certain, Colonel? What would a Pelletier be doing in Philadelphia?” By his inflection his low opinion of the provincial capital was made plain.

“Oh, I am positive, my lord. My association with Renee lasted many years and Christiane and I saw each other very often.” He patted her hand.

“I hate to intrude on this tender reunion,” Colonel Mensing cut in acidly, “but why is Miss Pelletier or Mrs. Belmond in Philadelphia? French sympathies for the Revolution are well known.”

Colonel Hazelton gave the man a murderous look. “A lady of the Pelletier family does not need to explain herself to you.”

“But I’m afraid she does have to explain herself to me,” Howe said softly. There was a pause throughout the room.

Christiane faced the general squarely. “I have already explained how I came to be in Philadelphia. Who I am does not alter anything I have said.”

“How do you come to be in Pennsylvania and not Canada? How long since you were in Paris?” Howe asked.

“I came to Canada around six years ago with my father, as I said before. I did not care for Canada in the winter, so I have been slowly moving south.”

“Why did you give us the name, Belmond?” he pursued.

“It is my married name. I am a widow.”

The general silently examined her face. His pause lengthened. Christiane began to worry what his verdict would be.

“Then I have only one thing to say,” he said as he waved his hand dramatically. “Welcome to Philadelphia, Madam Belmond.” There was a round of applause and laughter.

Keeping Christiane on his arm, Hazelton introduced her to many of the surrounding officers. Most of them ogled her frankly, dropping genteel hints of their interest in her.

At these suggestive phrase, Christiane felt some panic. Her recognition of her old friend had been completely spontaneous, but had it been wise? She had left Paris to avoid following in her mother’s footsteps. Now that her true identity as the daughter of a royal courtesan had been revealed, they evidently expected her to be an object of amorous adventures. She had wanted to be believed and then dismissed, not noticed and detained further.

Her eye lighted on Major Eastham. This morning he had been brusque, but he had treated her with decency and courtesy–even if he had failed to recognize her. And at that fort over three years ago she had learned he was capable of unexpected kindness.

She whispered an apology to Hazelton. Then putting her hand to her brow, she went over to the major’s side. Her hand shielded her face so that only the major could read the appeal it wore. “Major, I am not feeling well again. Would it be possible for you to escort me back to your quarters?”

Major Eastham still reeled from the stunning blow that had come when this woman had entered the room. Last night it had been too dark for him to see her face as more than a shadow. Then this morning, he hadn’t studied her, hadn’t wanted to do more than get her out of his room, out of his life. But when she’d entered in the candlelit room, he’d known who she was. Why hadn’t she told him they’d met in Canada? Did she have something to hide?

Yet now he looked up at her and read only the clear appeal. He wanted to beg off, to turn her over to someone else, but he found he could not. He hadn’t left her unprotected in Canada; he couldn’t here either. “General?” he asked as he arose to take her arm in his.

“Of course,” Howe replied, looking surprised  at her choice. Christiane left the room on Major Eastham’s arm. As the door closed after them, there was a collective, disgruntled murmur .

“Who is this Pelletier or Belmond woman anyway?” Mrs. Loring asked peevishly, not liking how everyone was buzzing about this new woman, this new rival.

“She comes from quite an extraordinary family,” her lover answered mildly. “Colonel Hazelton, would you come over and play a hand with us?” The colonel came over and sat in Major Eastham’s chair. A thoroughly disgusted and silent Colonel Mensing dealt the cards and they began another game of hearts. Howe played his card and then asked, “Colonel, Mrs. Loring would like to know about the Pelletier family history. You would know it best.”

Hazelton took his turn and then smiled at Mrs. Loring. “It was my privilege to be a close friend of Christiane’s mother, Renee, for almost fifteen years. She was a jewel of a woman, lovely, intelligent, witty, a credit to her family.” He paused to emphasize his next words. “Her family has included some of the most famous courtesans in Paris, special favorites at the French court for the last three generations.”

Mrs. Loring’s eyes widened. “You mean this girl has been presented at the French Court?” To her, as to the rest of the civilized world, being presented at the French Court was the pinnacle of social acceptance.

“No,” Hazelton answered as he studied his cards, “she left Paris at too early an age, but her family has always been received at court and she would have been also, of course. In fact all of her preceding kin have had private apartments at Versailles at one time or another.”

“No!” the blond exclaimed. Everyone knew that a private apartment at Versailles meant an affair with the reigning monarch. She almost swooned just imagining it, the flattery, the gifts, to be the mistress of a French king.

“Yes, hers is quite an interesting family history. It all began with her great-grandmother.  She managed to appear at court and charmed her way into old Louis’s bed and stayed till she acquired a start of a family fortune.”

“The family is wealthy?” Mrs. Loring asked with a slightly dry mouth.

“Incredibly. Generations of royal and noble generosity and appreciation, need I say more? And they have unique distinction. They control their fortune themselves. They remain single. Usually, as I am sure you know, to play at court a woman must be married. Pelletiers never marry and no one ever questions it. I don’t know why, but that is the way of it. I was surprised to hear Christiane announce that she was a widow. She is the first Pelletier in my memory to marry.”

“You mean she is a bastard?” Mrs. Loring asked, prickling with excitement at this exotic story.

“Of course,” Howe put in, “but with some of the bluest blood in France. Am I right, Colonel?”

“Definitely. Christiane’s grandfather was Louis XIII himself.”

The Sultana was speechless. She had met royalty, finally. And royalty she could approach.

The colonel went on, “Christiane’s grandmother, Madeleine, was always a bit upset that her daughter had a child by an Irish emigre. The fellow always represented himself as of noble blood, but the grandmother disliked him. He was rather ‘hot’ politically and not around much. Still she tolerated him because he had fathered a girl to carry on the line.”

Mensing asked, “Why did this girl leave then? Sounds to me she would have been much better off in Paris than here.”

Hazelton frowned. “It is a sad tale. I was in England at the time. If I had been there, maybe I could have helped Christiane.”

“Yes?” Mrs. Loring urged.

“I am ashamed to say, an Englishman was the culprit. A lord from the north of England formed an unhealthy attachment to Christiane’s mother. He couldn’t stand the thought of Renee Marie being with anyone, but himself. Quite unbalanced.”

“Go on,” the Sultana coaxed.

“Well, I understand from what her grandmother told me later that he had become intolerable and Renee had broken with him. One night not long after, he stabbed Renee to death. Then he took his own life.”

“That must have been a shock for the girl,” Howe remarked kindly. “When I heard her name, I remembered that there had been some kind of scandal, but I could not recall the details.”

Mrs. Loring’s mind was spinning. The story was so romantic like something out of a play. And the girl was royalty, really and truly. The ambitious woman made up her mind right then. That girl needed a friend and no one was going to beat Elizabeth Loring to her. Her keen mind began a plan. Without announcement she rose and left the room. Her lover watched her exit quizzically.

So running into an old friend has merely complicated an already complicated situation. And what about this Mrs. Loring? BTW, there really was a Mrs. Loring and she was the mistress of General Howe. She is what we call  now “a piece of work.” Watch out, Christiane!–Lyn
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Lyn Cote