Untitled

Chapter VI

    "It's a beautiful day," Henri commented after a while of me not saying anything.
    "Yes, indeed. It is rare for it to be this warm so late in the year, but it feels wonderful."
    "How are preparations for the ball coming?"
    "My mother is handling most of it. She is well suited to organising these things."
    "Yes, they are all quite enjoyable. Especially the Christmas ones. Is there going to be another splendid tree this year?"
    I smiled. "Oh, I'm sure there will be. Father and mother take great pride in finding the biggest tree on this side of France."
    We reached a crossroad and turned left, weaving around groups of people on the much busier street.
    "How has Isabelle been?"
    "She's doing better. It is always hard for her at this time of year. She has to avoid every little sneeze or sniffle to make sure she stays healthy."
    "It must be so hard to always be so sick," he said.
    "She seems to have embraced it. She paints all of the time. She's quite amazing, honestly. If I had to be shut up in the house all day I might go mad."
    "Yes, well, your health seems to be the opposite of frail. I've not seen you sick since we were young."
    "I'm glad. I wouldn't be able to ever go near Isabelle! Poor thing seems to contract a terrible disease every time the wind changes."
    "At least she's happy painting," Henri said, leading me around a gaggle of people buying the newspaper, and I nodded.
    I craned my neck to try and see the headlines. Henri noticed and laughed. "You always were so curious. The paper today has an article from Mary Wollstonecraft's Thoughts on the Education of Daughters. They're republishing it for some reason." Henri went on talking while I huffed in my head. The article was perfectly good and relevant. Henri just wouldn't ever admit it because it was written by a woman.  "It wasn't well written and isn't socially accepted, so I'm not sure why they wanted to put it in the paper again. But it's in the column run by Georges Marque, and everyone in town knows he's a little strange."
    "Why's that?" I asked. I knew perfectly well why, but I wanted to hear what Henri said.
    "Well, he's so supportive of women. He publishes writings of feminists- feminists! Can you imagine? And he promotes anonymous local female writers. No intellectual man reads his column. But I guess he gets the lower class to read his works because they're already advocating for equal rights for everyone. Not that this is the time for reform, with a revolution so near." Henri shrugged. "In my opinion at least."
    I did my best to sound like I had no idea what he was talking about. "But why not?"
    "I mean, women are just women, no matter what rights you try and give them. But you don't want to hear my thoughts on politics." No, I certainly didn't, not if those were his thoughts.
    "Of course I do. You can go on." My voice was pleasant, but if he had looked over at my face he would see it was stone cold.
    "No, let's talk about something where you can contribute to the conversation as well. No one needs to hear me go on about the government. The newspaper wouldn't interest you, Anna, trust me."
    "No, of course not," I said stiffly. However well Henri thought he knew me, I was a complete stranger to him when it came to how much I knew about politics.
    Henri must have noticed my annoyance and altered his last statement. "You're perfectly smart, Anna, and I'm not saying that you aren't. But women are so much better suited for proper things like literature, not the ugly details of political arguments. Wouldn't you agree?"
    I couldn't say that I did. I nodded, though, because I didn't want to argue. At least Henri knew of my education, unlike most of society. It had been impossible to hide it from him when I was younger because I always wanted to share what I had learned. Clara, too, had a tutor, and we knew of each other's education. Mostly because I had gone home when I was young and said to my parents, "I met a girl today named Clara. She lives next door and she's smart too!" This had, of course, immediately prompted the lecture of not telling anyone about my lessons, but I had already told Clara, and we soon became fast friends.
    We stopped at a dark wood door that seemed to appear in the middle of the shops. There was no window or storefront, just this door. I loved this place because it reminded me of myself. Weird thing to say about a building, I know, but it had this tiny, not very interesting opening. And then there was a long, dark hall inside. But once you got to the end of the hall there were huge, grand ballrooms and racks of dresses in every colour and grand pianos and dancing partners and instruments you had never seen before. Not much on the outside, but more than meets the eyes.
    "Ah, Anna Durand!" said a dramatic voice, bringing me back to the present. "And Henri Durand! So good to see you both!" The speaker was Madame Villeneuve, a tiny woman with a big mouth. And a loud one. "You two are my favourite couple, you know. So full of energy! And so very talented on the dance floor. I have missed your shining faces."
    "As we have missed yours," said Henri, taking her hand and kissing it. I tried not to giggle as I curtsied. She had seen us yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. And every day but Sunday and Tuesday for the past two weeks.
    "Your dear friend Clara is here as well. She is just through there," said Madame Villeneuve, gesturing towards the ballroom where we normally practiced.
    Henri led me through the doorway and I immediately saw Clara. She was putting her dancing shoes on, her long blonde hair hiding her face.
    "Clara!" I said. She looked up and smiled.
    "Anna! Henri! I was wondering when you two would get here."
    "Never late, but never early," I said.
    "Such is the way of our society," she smiled. Her dance partner, Monsieur Gilbert Madeleine, was across the room with another couple. He noticed our arrival and made his way over to us.
    "Mademoiselle Durand. And Monsieur Durand. How lovely to see you both again."
    I smiled and curtsied as he and Henri exchanged pleasantries about the weather. Eventually I turned to Clara.
    "I am excited for the ball," Clara said eagerly. "Do you know much about it yet? Who all is coming?" She lowered her voice. "Remember last year when Madame Couture made an absolute fool of herself fawning over Monsieur Faucheaux? He wouldn't even glance at her dance card, the poor thing. Remember  all of the new gentlemen that were there from the factories? They were quite handsome. And the ladies' dresses were absolutely ravishing. I simply cannot wait, Anna."
    I sighed at her enthusiasm. "Well, someone must look forward to it."
    "Aren't you excited?"
    "Honestly, Clara, I am quite bored of the ball." I said as I slipped on my dancing shoes. "It is the exact same year after year after year. Same old stuffy room, same old stuffy people. And stuffy things to talk about. Do I really care that Madame Dupuis, who is as wrinkly as a prune, has found yet another long lost great-great-granddaughter? And that the child is spoilt and unruly and contemptuous for the rules, as they all are? As every child this day is? And do I care to see that she looks daggers at me every time she says this? I have practically memorised her rant by now. Clara, you know there is no comment of value there. Unless you care to learn exactly the eighteen steps to Madame Fournier's apple pie." I leaned closer and whispered. "The only fun that ever comes of it is our pranks, and those are few and far between."
    She smiled. "I cannot say those aren't exciting."
    "Exciting?" I placed my hand over my heart in mock affliction. "Clara, that is truly painful. Surely they are more invigorating than simply 'exciting'!"
    "Well, aright," she admitted grudgingly. "They are much beyond my description. You are the writer, Anna."
    "Shall we begin?" Madame Villeneuve called from the doorway. Most everyone had arrived by now, and Henri and Gilbert joined Clara and me again.
    The ladies and men separated, waiting for the music to begin. When the pianist began playing a waltz they came over and asked us to dance, taking the proper formalities even if it was only practice. Henri took my hand and led me to the middle of the dance floor, taking our rightful spot as hosts of the party. Or, at least, to-be-hostess and the man she was courting.
    I hated being at the center of attention, but it was required in this case. Henri was a wonderful partner and the perfect example of a gentleman, which at least made it more bearable. Practise wasn't too bad at least. All of the couples here were young and friends of mine or Henri's. At the ball, there would be friends of my father and mother who looked at me like I was a prize animal in a cattle show to be auctioned away.
    Henri's father was the lucky bidder. He was actually my uncle, but due to a complicated family history, Henri, who was not his son biologically, was not related to me by blood, and therefore eligible to marry. We had been officially courting for a few months now, though we had been friends since childhood.
    As was custom, our parents had arranged everything, much to my dismay. It's not that I didn't like Henri or anything, but I didn't love him, and I didn't want to marry him. I knew that was my parent's intent, and I didn't like it. I had no say in the matter as far as I knew, and I was scared to be so outright as to blatantly confront my parents. It was just something I had to accept as a woman in society.
Something that was on the verge of changing, but probably not soon enough to help my circumstance.
    The song ended, and a lovely quartet began. Another gentleman, a Monsieur Victor Bellamy, requested to dance with me. I accepted, and joined his small talk politely. He was some friend of Henri's who I was not well acquainted with.
    And so we passed the morning, in turns and curtsies and tight smiles, never being too extreme in any emotion or action for fear of judgement.
    The last dance we practised was one that our class alone was to present at the ball. We had assigned partners and places (mine being Henri and the centre, of course), and it was the most exciting dance by far. It required lifts and quick steps and was actually fun.
    "Hello again, Anna," said Henri after we took our places.
    "Hello, Henri."
    The music began with a bang and we were off, spinning and smiling. I saw Clara laughing at something Monsieur Gilbert has said and smiled for her. She was so pretty, and well suited to dancing. She never missed a step, whereas I had to focus every second to not miss a step.
    The lifting part was next. We didn't have to jump or anything, just let the men ferry us around. Right, then left, then every which way until I was glad Henri was leading and not me.
    We had yet to practice in ballgowns, which made me slightly anxious. They were voluminous and heavy and not my friend when it came to dancing. But hopefully we would be alright. We had practiced this dance many times and Henri was surefooted. We were good enough not to be the worst, though we weren't the best. That award would probably go to Clara and Monsieur Gilbert.
    When the dance was over, so was our practice. We all said our farewells and thanked Madame Villeneuve and the pianist for their services. Henri, Clara, and I all left together.
    "You two were quite wonderful," said Clara, linking her arm in mine opposite Henri.
    "As were you," Henri said, and she smiled.
    "Merci. Monsieur Madeleine is quite an accomplished dancer." She looked at me. "I am sure the ball will be splendid. Especially our last song, Anna. It's going to be wonderful."
    "Thank you." It felt strange to take credit for everyone else's dancing skills, but what else could I say?
    We passed a group of women in front of a dress shop and smiled at them. I knew a few of them, but I wasn't going to interrupt to say hello. A carriage splashed by, almost hitting Clara with the water from the street. While the sun was out today, it was the weak winter sun that couldn't actually fight the damp or dry the puddles, and we lived in constant chill if not in the sunlight.
    Clara's house backed up to mine, so we turned one street early. Her street was pretty, with perfect lawns all the same size and shape. The houses were large and grand, manicured to look exactly out of a storybook. We walked her to her door, where Henri pulled back the heavy knocker and had barely knocked twice before the door was opened by a smiling servant in white.
    We said our goodbyes and promised to see her tomorrow. Henri led me back down the street. We turned onto our street just as a cool wind picked up. It paired nicely with the distant sun, a semi-cool feeling quite uncommon this far into the winter.
    When we were still a few houses away Henri stopped rather suddenly. "Anna, are you alright?"
    "Whatever do you mean?"
    He hesitated before he continued. "Well, when we were dancing, I couldn't help but notice a bandage of some sort? On your waist? I wanted to make sure you were okay. That's a very unusual place for a common injury, and I know you're slightly more... adventurous than some..." He glanced at a couple walking our direction and took my arm, resuming our stroll. "I just wanted to make sure you hadn't hurt yourself. You seemed to be fine when we did the lifts and all, but I wasn't sure."
    "Oh, it's nothing to worry about. Just a small inconvenience. And I'm taking medicine; I can hardly feel a thing," I said with the air of one discussing which potted flower to buy.
    "Anna, it must be serious if you had to bandage it. What happened?"
    "Really, it's nothing to be concerned about, Henri." I hesitated, but I had to ask. "How did you even know? I tried to wrap it really well."
    He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'm not speaking from experience, but I generally assume corsets aren't bumpy. And your waist is tiny; you don't have a random growth on the left side making it bulkier. As far as I know." I laughed. "And you're wearing red. Don't think I didn't catch that. It's number one in the books for 'how to hide an injury that might bleed'."
    "Well, you certainly are observant."
    "And you really aren't going to tell me what happened?"
    We were at my house now. "No. I am not. And you are going to keep your mouth shut about all of this. I'm serious, Henri. Don't say a word."
    "Only if you promise me you are safe."
    I banged the knocker. "Perfectly safe. I'm truly fine, Henri. There's no need to exaggerate."
    "Alright, I just have to make sure. Have a good day, Anna." He leaned forward, kissing my cheek lightly before heading back to the street.
    "Bye, Henri!"
    He waved over his shoulder as he walked away under the bright sky.