Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [63]
7
ROYAL AUDIENCE
Jared’s house in Paris stood in the Rue Tremoulins. It was a wealthy district, with stone-faced houses of three, four, and five stories crowded cheek by jowl together. Here and there a very large house stood alone in its own park, but for the most part, a reasonably athletic burglar could have leaped from rooftop to rooftop with no difficulty.
“Mmphm” was Murtagh’s solitary observation, upon beholding Jared’s house. “I’ll find my own lodging.”
“And it makes ye nervous to have a decent roof above your head, man, ye can sleep in the stables,” Jamie suggested. He grinned down at his small, dour godfather. “We’ll ha’ the footman bring ye out your parritch on a silver tray.”
Inside, the house was furnished with comfortable elegance, though as I was later to realize, it was Spartan by comparison with most of the houses of the nobility and the wealthy bourgeois. I supposed that this was at least in part because the house had no lady; Jared had never married, though he showed no signs of feeling the lack of a wife.
“Well, he has a mistress, of course,” Jamie had explained when I speculated about his cousin’s private life.
“Oh, of course,” I murmured.
“But she’s married. Jared told me once that a man of business should never form entanglements with unmarried ladies—he said they demand too much in terms of expense and time. And if ye marry them, they’ll run through your money and you’ll end up a pauper.”
“Fine opinion he’s got of wives,” I said. “What does he think of your marrying, in spite of all this helpful advice?”
Jamie laughed. “Well, I havena got any money to start with, so I can hardly be worse off. He thinks you’re verra decorative; he says I must buy ye a new gown, though.”
I spread the skirt of the apple-green velvet, more than a little the worse for wear.
“I suppose so,” I agreed. “Or I’ll go round wrapped in a bedsheet after a while; this is already tight in the waist.”
“Elsewhere, too,” he said, grinning as he looked me over. “Got your appetite back, have ye, Sassenach?”
“Oaf,” I said coldly. “You know perfectly well that Annabelle MacRannoch is the general size and shape of a shovel handle, whereas I am not.”
“You are not,” he agreed, eyeing me with appreciation. “Thank God.” He patted me familiarly on the bottom.
“I’m to join Jared at the warehouse this morning to go over the ledgers, then we’re going to call on some of his clients, to introduce me. Will ye be all right by yourself?”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “I’ll explore the house a bit, and get acquainted with the servants.” I had met the servants en masse when we had arrived late in the previous afternoon, but since we had dined simply in our room, I had seen no one since but the footman who brought the food, and the maid who had come in early in the morning to put back the curtains, lay and light the fire, and carry away the chamber pot. I quailed a bit at the thought of suddenly being in charge of a “staff,” but reassured myself by thinking that it couldn’t be much different from directing orderlies and junior nurses, and I’d done that before, as a senior nurse at a French field station in 1943.
After Jamie’s departure, I took my time in making what toilette could be made with a comb and water, which were the only grooming implements available. If Jared was serious about my holding dinner parties, I could see that a new gown was going to be merely the start of it.
I did have, in the side pocket of my medicine chest, the frayed willow twigs with which I cleaned my teeth, and I got one of these and set to work, thinking over the amazing fortune which had brought us here.
Essentially barred from Scotland, we would have had to find a place to make our future, either in Europe or by emigrating to America. And given what I now knew about Jamie’s attitude toward ships, I wasn’t at all surprised that he should have looked to France from the start.
The Frasers had strong ties with France; many of them, like Abbot Alexander and Jared Fraser, had made lives here, seldom if ever returning