Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.
15 March 1020, L’École du Sorciers
My dearest cousin Armand,
Maximilian and I have now been back in Toulouse for nearly a week, and nothing is as I expected it to be.
Somehow I had had it in my head that we would be returning to our rooms at 17 Rue Thomas and the care of my dear maid Mlle. Sophie, when of all things this was the least likely. We have been gone from Toulouse for quite some time, and Mme. Hanson must let her rooms, and Mlle. Sophie must have work.
And I knew this, of course, but it did not stop my eager fancies from dwelling on the comforts to be had! I intended to go to L’École and present myself to Drs. Guisman and Laguerre; then I would speak to Mme. Hanson about rooms; and then I would ask Miss Morton at the Embassy to see if she could find me a maid, Mlle. Sophie if at all possible.
Instead, Dr. Guisman offered Maximilian and I rooms at L’École—insisted that we take them—and I am to be confined to the grounds until I complete my course of study. It makes me so angry to think of it that I can hardly sit still—but I am ahead of my story.
We arrived on the 9th, left our things at L’Hotel D’Esprit, and then took a hack to L’École.
The porter gave me a broad smile as Maxmilian paid the driver.
“Mme. Archer! I was told to expect you. Go straight on to Dr. Laguerre’s cottage, s’il vous plait.”
I thanked him, and as we went in I remembered the first time I had walked up the path to Dr. Laguerre’s door. Then, I had knocked; now, knowing better, Maximilian opened the door with a flourish and we seated ourselves in Dr. Laguerre’s parlor.
She joined us swiftly.
“You have just arrived?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Bon. Be at ease; I will send for Dr. Guisman.”
She vanished, returning with a tray of tea and biscuits. She sat across from us in her usual chair, the chair from which she did most of your teaching.
“We must wait for Dr. Guisman before we begin,” she said. “But I know he would wish me to beg your pardon for the peremptory nature of your summons, Mme. Archer. It was a necessity, as you shall see.”
And so we sipped tea and nibbled biscuits for perhaps a quarter hour—quite the longest time I have spent in silence in Dr. Laguerre’s presence!
And then the door opened, letting in a damp wind and Dr. Guisman. We rose, and he took our hands.
“Mme. Archer, M. Archer,” he said. “It is good that you have come. We had worried—but you will want an explanation.”
“We would,” said Maxmilian. I would not have dared.
“Bien sur,” Dr. Guisman nodded. “How not?” He seated himself to one side, accepted a cup of tea and a biscuit, and began.
“Mme. Archer, I summoned you for two reasons. Do you know what they are?”
“You mentioned the charter, sir—that I must remain under the authority of the masters of L’École until I complete my studies. But I am at a loss as to what the second may be.”
He shook his head. “The charter, it is, how would you say, a fig leaf. It says that, and le Nouveau Roi, our new king, he must accept it. But our true reasons differ.”
He paused, sampled his biscuit, and then regarded me frankly.
“Mme. Archer, how is your temper?”
“My temper? What do you mean?”
He turned to Maximilian.
“Your wife—has she been more irritable of late? Has her anger been…hotter?”
“Hotter?” I said. “What are you—”
And then I stopped. All three were looking at me, and of course I’d heard the anger in my voice.
Dr. Laguerre pursed her lips as Dr. Guisman continued, “Have there been…flames?”
“No!” I cried. And then I remembered the incident at the Cadwallian Library, where I had put that officious little man in his place by making the reading room fires roar for a moment.
“Just once,” I said, and related the story. Dr. Laguerre looked as if she wanted to be amused, but Dr. Guismann regarded me soberly.
“Just then?” he asked. I looked at Maximilian, and he nodded, so I did too.
“Tres bon. Mme. Archer, an increase in temper, in irritability, is common in those who study the Fleuve de Johannes. And Dr. Laguerre will tell you that we have not had a student of your strength in many years. And you have not completed your studies.”
I looked at Dr. Laguerre, and she nodded.
“It is no surprise,” she said. “You were greatly moved, and la nécessité est la mère de l’invention. But now there is a danger. You have the strength; you must learn the theory.” She leaned forward. “And you must learn control.”
I studied her face, Armand, and I became aware that Dr. Laguerre had that control, that I had always seen it. She is stern; precise; the opposite of mercurial in every way. Now I saw that she was this way by choice, by training, not by nature.
She nodded. “A follower of Johannes must never, I think you say, fly off the handle.”
“That is what you meant when you said I must return for the sake my of my family,” I said.
“Naturellement,” she replied.
“So that is one reason; and what is the second?”
Dr. Guisman grimaced. “We have had questions, questions from le Nouveau Roi. He is most interested in la femme incendiaire, the woman who ruined Le Maréchal’s last hopes. We have explained our principles, but he believes that having used your skills for war once, you will amenable to doing so again.”
“What? No, never. Never again!” I believe I turned white. You saw me after the Battle of the Approaches, Armand. I shan’t revisit those hours, even in memory.
“Not even to save your husband?” asked Dr. Guisman.
Maximilian cocked an eyebrow.
“We are one, so the minister said at our wedding.” I said slowly. “One must be allowed to defend one’s own person.”
“Mais oui. But le Roi, he wishes otherwise. He wishes to speak to you, to coerce you—or at least, to be sure Cumbria will not use you against him. We feared you would not be safe from his agents in Cumbria; only here can we ensure your safety—and ensure that in assuring your own you do not cause a, a conflagration.”
I shuddered.
“Very well,” I said. I looked at Maximilian. “I suppose we should go find ourselves some rooms.”
But Dr. Guisman was not finished. “Therefore, you cannot be allowed to dwell outside the walls of L’École. We have a responsibility to the people of the Albertine, your Mme. Hanson not least.” He gestured at Maximilian. “M. Archer can fetch your things; you will be staying here. We have prepared accommodations for all three of you.”
“Three?” I was searching for words to say that I hadn’t found a maid yet, when I heard him say this:
“Three. Were you not yet aware? Your child will be safe here.”
And so here I sit. Here we sit, though days later I still have not taken that in.
It is all very well for Maximilian, who will be working at the Embassy for Alec Gainsborough as he did before, though he ensures me that there will be rather less skulking about in disreputable garments than hitherto.
“My face is known, now,” he told me. “And after getting wounded in Andaluse, I find I would much rather do my work from behind a desk.”
He is putting a brave face on it, poor man. He would much rather be out and about in our caravan, or in Edenford studying Cumbrian sorcery with Jérôme.
And so would I.
Your furious, frustrated, femme incendiaire,
Amelia
____
Photo by Margarida CSilva on Unsplash
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