L'Etranger: Chapter Fourteen

It was the sound of footsteps directly beneath us that returned me to reality. Reget had returned to the château, and I had done my duty. And yet, I didn’t want to go inside. I felt distinctly attached to Blanchelande, whether for his story or for his kiss I did not know, but I felt that now I could not run away and be with Reget. But, equally, my loyalty was to Reget, for he was the future, and if my loyalty is to anything, it is to the undeniable future that creeps ever closer with each passing day.

And so it was that I apologised to Blanchelande and told him that the shock of our stolen kiss was too much for me and that I needed a lie down, a lie which he readily believed. I disappeared from his view, though he did not seem to notice, for his blue eyes were fixed upon the sky on his white star. I saw him reach out again, as if he felt if he reached hard enough, he could depart the turbulent world of 1791 and return to a world before revolution, where he existed with Emilie as his wife. In the stars, he saw – or seemed to see – the grandiose life he could have inhabited if – just if – Emilie had not been taken from him. Perhaps that was a desire we shared, although the distinction between him and I was that he seemed to believe that he would one day be able to return if he could only reach hard enough to grasp that imaginary part of the sky, whereas I – in my capacity as a person with more than one life – knew that return was impossible.

And so I turned away from the stars, for the truth of my future was held on Earth.

Returning inside, I found myself once again in that corridor with Emilie’s portrait staring inevitably into the darkness. Not to worry, I whispered, I will give you light. I picked up Blanchelande’s candelabra and lit the candles, placing it on the little table beneath her. And then I caught sight of Reget, standing melancholy in the half dark.

“Come to my chambers,” he whispered.

“You do not command me,” I laughed, half surprised at his tone, half exhilarated by it.

“I do,” he laughed, grabbing my arm and turning back down the corridor to his chambers, me galloping alongside breathlessly. He thrust the door open and left it that way, placing me a little more gently than I had expected on the chaise lounge. “That was amazing,” he whispered.

“Did it go well?” I whispered, remembering where he had gone that evening.

“Better than well, Louverture told me that there are at least 50,000 slaves ready to start the revolt,” he exclaimed with joy.

“You know what that will mean, don’t you?” I swallowed. Reget raised his eyebrows. “The start of the revolt will mean they march straight on this château.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “So I will arrange our passage out of here.” He smiled. “If you, Elodie, are amenable.”

“And leave Blanchelande?” I gulped, already knowing the answer.

“Of course. If we leave, we can start a new life together.”

“Yes.” I smiled. “When do we sail?”

“I’ll arrange passage for us at dawn on the 25th of August. We should be out of here well in time.”

“Okay. And what do we do if they attack before then?”

“They won’t,” he smiled. “And now,” he laughed, exhibiting a little of Blanchelande’s arrogance, “I want to know how our dear Blanchelande is.”

“He was fine.” I smiled, not wanting Reget to know of our entanglement.

“Good, he did not suspect?”

“No, Reget, his mind is far from him.”

“Excellent,” he laughed, placing his hand beneath my chin and kissing my lips sharply. “I’m sorry,” he laughed again, “I am just so excited.”

“For what?” I whispered, thinking privately that in the coming months there would be little of excitement, more of fear and terror.

“Freedom,” he nodded, a wistful fantasy coming over his dark brown eyes.

“Now that I can accept.” I smiled. “It would be a wonderful thing.”

“I remember the day my freedom papers were signed,” he smiled, looking upwards. “It was the 15th of May 1776. The plantation owner called me into his study and signed before my very eyes and told me that now, I was free to go, or he would offer me reasonable wage for my work as a copier and bookkeeper. I said I wanted to stay.”

“I’m glad.” I smiled. “Else I never would have met you.”

“Then I am glad too,” he smiled. “I am glad that I was born a slave if it was necessary for me to have met you,” he whispered.

“And I am glad that I am a hero of the Revolution if it was necessary for me to meet you.” I nodded.

“My mother said to me, as she lay dying, that there is a reason for everything in this world, even pain and death.”

“Yes.” I nodded, thinking of Blanchelande. And with that, Reget kissed me again. His light fingers found the ribbons of my corset and undid them in seconds, unpeeling the white fabric from my chest, allowing it to flutter to the crimson carpeted floor. “Shut the door!” I gasped, realising we had left it open.

“Ha!” Reget laughed, pushing me a little harder into the chaise lounge.

“Seriously!”

“Oh alright,” he smirked. “Don’t you want your beloved Blanchelande to see?”

“Do you want him to see?” I asked, bewildered. Reget shrugged and closed the door with a distinct clinking sound of metal meeting metal, not unlike the sound that two swords produce when they are thrust together. He returned to me and continued to kiss his trail down me. I shifted my gaze to the white and gold ceiling, remembering those wistful days spent in Paris, then looked back at him.

While perhaps I did not immediately recognise the colossal significance of that action, a few seconds after Reget removed his white shirt to reveal rippling muscles, I realised that in a world where people lived dimly within fantasy, I, for this moment, had turned away from fantasy in favour of reality. Perhaps that was because my reality now was better than my fantasy of a romanticised past that seemed hardly to even exist anymore; and if my life -– the life of an accidental hero who finds herself on the brink of another revolution, stuck between the past and future - – is fantasy, then, well, I suppose all my life is but a dream! Ha!

He picked me up and laid me out on the bed heavily, his hand on my shoulder pushing me into the mattress. I felt so much trust in him in those moments, for he seemed to me to be all earthly things packed into one man with an ethereal spirit that searches eternally for the future it could create. By the time he removed his breeches, he was already standing to attention. I laughed slightly at the sight of it.

“What?” he laughed.

“Nothing.” I smiled. “I just haven’t had it like this before.”

“What? You want an aristocrat to take you by your gentle virgin hand and make love to you?”

“That’s just what I’m used to. And I’m not a virgin.”

“I guessed,” he smiled. “But, Elodie, I don’t want to be gentle. I want to fuck you and love you all at once.”

“I suppose our world is not one for love making.”

“Indeed.” His eyes sparked wide. “And I am not a virgin either.”

“You’ve been married?” I asked in surprise.

“No,” he shook his head.

“So you’ve had sex outside of wedlock.”

“Look at what we’re doing now,” he laughed.

“You’re about to fuck me and love me,” I nodded.

“That I am,” he nodded, and swiftly pressed his strong broad shoulders into me.

“You’re hurting me,” I whispered.

“Good,” he replied, thrusting himself into me.

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