Marcus filed Fanny’s wisdom away for future use, shifting on the edge of the bin to give himself more room.
“So. Tell me your news. How did it go with Far?” Fanny fixed her frosty blue eyes on Marcus.
Marcus had no idea who Far was. He shrugged. Fanny’s expression turned sympathetic.
“Give Philippe time.” Fanny reached over and patted him on the knee. “Once Father has figured out what use you are to him, and given you names, he will thaw. Until then, you will stay with me. I will teach you how to be a wearh—and do a far better job than Matthew would have done. Even Far will be astonished at what I have achieved.”
Marcus bit back a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure Fanny would make a better parent, but he was confident she would make his education a more interesting—not to mention pleasurable—experience.
* * *
—
FANNY EMBRACED THE CHALLENGE of Marcus’s education with enthusiasm, supplying him with dancing and fencing masters, French and Latin tutors, a tailor, and a wigmaker. Marcus’s days were filled with appointments, his nights with reading and writing.
Still, Fanny fretted about how Marcus might develop, and aspired to do everything she could to see him become a credit to the family.
“We must occupy your mind with new experiences, Marcus,” Fanny declared one night. “Otherwise you might slip into ennui and come out jaded like my sister Stasia. Do not worry. I have sent a message to a friend. She will have marvelous ideas about how to perfect you.”
Stéphanie Félicité du Crest de Saint-Aubin, Comtesse de Genlis, received Fanny’s cry for help and left the opera at once to lend assistance. She arrived like a spring sunset, swathed in lavender and blue silk, sparkling with tinsel braid, and topped with a powdered, puffed wig that resembled clouds. The comtesse peered at Marcus through a pair of spectacles worn around her neck on a sky-blue ribbon.
“A remarkable creature,” she pronounced in perfect English, once her examination was complete.
“Yes, but he is still an infant,” Freyja said sadly. “We must spare no effort in preparing Monsieur Marcus to meet his grandfather, Stéphanie. You will move in—straightaway.”
Together, Fanny and Madame de Genlis poked and prodded him, firing off questions and comments so rapidly in English （the questions） and French （the comments） that Marcus couldn’t keep up. Marcus stopped trying to anticipate whether the next topic would be his experience with women （tragically limited, they agreed）， his education （shockingly poor）， or his manners （quaintly old-fashioned, but really he must stop bowing to servants）。
“It is a very good thing Le Bébé doesn’t require sleep,” Madame de Genlis commented to Fanny. “If we work night and day, he might be ready to meet your father le comte at midsummer.”
“We do not have six months, Stéphanie,” Fanny said.
“You will be lucky to have six days” was Fran?oise’s dour prediction.
“Six jours!” Madame de Genlis was appalled. “Fran?oise, you must do something! Talk to Madame Marthe. She will get Philippe and Ysabeau out of Paris. Perhaps they could go to court?”
“Ysabeau hates Versailles. Besides, news travels between Paris and the palace too quickly,” Fanny fretted.
“Surely they would enjoy spending the winter months in Blois, or even at Sept-Tours? You could suggest it, Fanny,” Madame de Genlis insisted.
“Father would know I was up to no good,” Fanny said. “No, Stéphanie, we must be brave and ruthless, and teach Le Bébé all we can as quickly as we can. The fear of discovery will sharpen our focus and enliven us to new possibilities. Energy and persistence will conquer all obstacles, as Dr. Franklin says!”
Marcus’s days and nights passed in a dizzying whirl of activity. He didn’t much care for the Latin, the French, or the dancing lessons. The fencing lessons were better. But his favorite moments were discussing politics and philosophy in Fanny’s opulent library. Marcus had never seen so many books in one place. Madame de Genlis was quick-witted and well-read, which meant that Marcus had to work hard to keep up with her, even when the subject of their conversation was Thomas Paine. But it was their outings into the city streets that Marcus loved above all else.
“Paris is the best teacher,” Madame de Genlis proclaimed as they crossed over the Seine and into the narrow, twisting thoroughfares of the ?le de la Cité.
Together, they watched cows being butchered and the prostitutes in Madame Gourdan’s brothel taking their afternoon ablutions. Fueled by his unfulfilled desire for Fran?oise, they spent a glorious morning amid the bateaux-lavoirs on the Seine, drinking in the heady scents of starch and soap and giving washerwomen a few sous in exchange for a cup of their blood. Gunpowder was next, after they stumbled across a tense duel while hunting at dawn in the Bois de Vincennes. Print shops followed, the damp pages and tang of the ink drawing Marcus like iron filings to a magnet.