“Not Philippe’s finest moment,” Ysabeau agreed, her eyes glittering strangely. It looked as though there was a red film over them.
Ysabeau was crying.
“That’s enough, Marcus,” Matthew said, concerned for his mother’s well-being. She had still not fully recovered from Philippe’s death, nor had she stopped grieving.
“When did this family decide the truth was unacceptable?” Marcus demanded.
“Honesty was never part of our family code,” Ysabeau said. “Right from the very start, we had so much to hide.”
“My contracting blood rage didn’t make the de Clermonts more open,” Matthew said, accepting part of the blame. “I often think of how different everything would be, had I not been susceptible to it.”
He sounded wistful.
“You wouldn’t have Becca and Philip, for a start,” Marcus retorted. “You’ve got to stop with this regret, Matthew, or you are going to damage your children in ways that you won’t be able fix, like you did for me in New Orleans.”
Matthew looked startled.
“I knew, Matthew,” Marcus said wearily. “I knew Philippe sent you, and that you would have let me sort it out myself if left to your own devices. I knew that he ordered us all dead—Philippe wouldn’t have made an exception for me, or for anyone else, not if our existence would put Ysabeau in danger. You disobeyed Grandfather’s orders, even though Juliette was right at your elbow, egging you on to do the ‘right thing’ and put me down.”
I had wanted to know about New Orleans and thought it would be hard to get Marcus to talk about that terrible time. It seemed he was ready to revisit what had happened there.
“Philippe was always more ruthless with those he loved than those he pitied,” Ysabeau said. Something in her expression told me she knew this firsthand.
“Father wasn’t perfect, you’re right,” Matthew said. “Nor was he all-knowing and all-seeing. He never dreamed you would go back to America, for a start. Philippe did everything he could to make England attractive to you—Edinburgh, the house in London, William Graham. But there were two things he just couldn’t control.”
“What?” Marcus asked, genuinely curious.
“The unpredictability of epidemic disease and your gifts as a healer,” Matthew replied. “Philippe was so busy trying to keep you away from Veronique and the Terror in France that he forgot the ties you had to Philadelphia. After Marat was assassinated, Philippe gave notice to the captain of every ship that they were not to transport you across the channel for any reason. If they did, they would find their business affairs in ruins.”
“Really?” Marcus looked impressed. “Well, to be fair, only a lunatic would have chosen to go to Philadelphia in 1793. The guillotine was less terrifying than yellow fever. Quicker, too.”
“There was never any question in my mind which path you would choose.” Matthew gave his son a fond, proud look. “You did your duty as a physician and helped others. That’s all you’ve ever done.”
Morning Chronicle, London
24 October 1793
page 2
The execution took place on Wednesday the 16th.
. . .
Nothing like sorrow or pity for the Queen’s fate was shewn by the people, who lined the streets, through which she had to pass. On her arrival at the Place de la Revolution, she was helped out of the carriage and ascended the scaffold with seeming composure. She was accompanied by a Priest, who discharged the office of Confessor. She was in a half-mourning dress, evidently not adjusted with much attention. Her hands being tied behind her, she looked around, without terror; her body being then bent forward by the machine, the axe was let down, and at once separated the head from the body. After the head was displayed by the Executioner, three young women were observed dipping their handkerchiefs in the streaming blood of the deceased Queen.
30
Duty
OCTOBER 1793–DECEMBER 1799
Marcus had lived in England for years and had gotten used to searching through newspapers for news from abroad. The first page was always dominated by playbills, advertisements for medical cures, real estate notices, and the sales of lottery tickets. News from America was usually on page three. Marat’s assassination back in July had warranted mention only on page two.
Still, he was surprised to find the story of the trial and execution of Queen Marie Antoinette relegated to the same spot that Marat had once occupied on the second page, the two of them becoming strange bedfellows in death.