He would try to force himself on me, it seemed to me then. Was it better to go to him or to be pulled from here?
I went to stand in front of the vanity. My body was pale in the late afternoon light, the gold of the sun covering my skin. I still had something of a girl’s body except across my hips, but a faint fullness to my breasts had appeared, which was new. A sense of what remained of my own beauty returned to me then. A sense of it and the powers it perhaps endowed. He had loved me best naked, I recalled. I could use this to my advantage.
You saw nothing, he said. He said this without having turned to see who it was, he was so sure of me. He held out my uniform and mastered his face back into the angry confidence of a moment earlier as I stopped before him.
You see? I told you I would have your secret.
He walked closer and circled me, examining me.
This is lucky, he said. Very lucky. So you are hers, then, yes?
He meant the Empress, of course. I still had not spoken and did not want to speak. My eyes averted themselves as he put his hand under my chin and lifted my face so that I was looking at him.
Understand me. You still belong to me. And when I leave, you leave with me. I may sell you; I may have you imprisoned; I will decide. Part of how I will decide will depend on if I am well pleased.
He took his finger from my chin and ran it down my front before handing me my uniform.
Dress then and return to your lady. But meet me here tomorrow, for I have something for you to do. Much depends on if you please me then.
He said this with such confidence, as if it were on the week’s schedule like the dinner that evening, the ball after; it chilled me as I made my way through the back passages, which comforted me now. I walked back to the Empress’s chambers and sat shivering on the bench.
How had he found me? I asked myself. How? But, of course, a single answer floated before me in the dark.
The tenor was sent here to remind me of what waited if I failed in my tasks. If the Comtesse was Providence, the tenor was a warning from God.
§
The following afternoon, when the Empress left again for her afternoon council, I returned to the apartment, seating myself on a sofa there.
The door opened and the tenor walked in.
He took in the scene I made as I waited, the picture of a palace grisette.
Where does your mistress think you are? he asked.
I shrugged.
Speak to me, he said. I asked a question. Or has the sight of me struck you dumb?
I closed my eyes, hoped for divine forgiveness, and cleared my throat.
She’s at council, I said. She thinks of me not at all. She thinks I am looking after her gowns.
This thundered inside of me and around me as I said it, speaking to him in French in our old way.
Are you? he asked.
I am, I said, and held my arms out to indicate the trunks around us.
Take off your uniform, he said. And put that on.
He made me dress in the gown I’d just brought up and then took me in it, brutally. And then continued, for he was not satisfied.
He took real pleasure in it and knew me enough to try to reach me in my pleasure also, and so these discomforts mixed to create a new one. This was no blunt cruelty, but something intimate. Here then came over me the old trick of the body, the way I could pull back from the surface of my skin as someone might leave a room.
The instrument took over and saved me.
Afterward, I ached and was wet, as if from a fever, and full of shame. As if we had fought on the floor. I felt the need to clean myself and stood. He, by contrast, seemed asleep, at rest. Childlike.
A long golden beam of light traced the skin across his stomach up to his left eye, and as if it pressed there, he blinked and opened his eyes.
Leaving, he said. Does your mistress need you so very much?
She does, I said.
He laughed. Who are you really? he said. Are you the ghost of the one I loved, here to torment me? Will you vanish now like mist?
I sat down on the chaise and tried not to let him see my own anguish.
No, he said. You’re not. You’re like a girl from the fairy tales of the Comtesse d’Aulnoy. And you’re back from the dead to kill me. You’ll be the death of me, I think.
I let myself smile a very little bit as I looked down at his naked body and the unexpected, even extraordinary beauty of it.
Why was I not used to it? But, of course, each time I saw it, I sought to forget it, and so each time it was new.
He noticed my examination and laughed again slowly and slapped his naked belly. He sat up. And then I will come back from the dead for you, he said. Perhaps it will never end.
He leaned in to kiss me, and his mouth against mine, unexpectedly soft, made me feel suddenly grave. The kiss was long and quiet, and had an insistent tenderness, unlike what had gone before.
I pulled back my head and nodded my assent. If anything was going to prevent him from exposing me, it was this, his tenderness for me.
This, which I abhorred most of all, this could save me.