Hot and festering and disease ran rampant in the poorer streets of Paris. Louis would not be persuaded to go near her for some time. Since he was a child he carried an overwhelming fear of death, which made it all the more difficult for him to comprehend Reinette's soft acceptance of it.
What would he think now, to know she could name the precise day?
It occurred to her often she had never pressed Jack to answer how. She supposed she never might now. She did not think it required all that much imagination.
Versailles never managed the seasons well. For all its beauty it was poorly conceived. The winters were bitter and the summer all but unbearable. A cool bath had done little to bring comfort, and even in her simplest, lightest gown of muslin there was no denying the oppressive heat. Sweat caught beneath her stays, impossible to reach. Reinette had little choice but to ignore it.
She retired to her rooms for the most oppressive heat of the afternoon in an attempt to avoid it. Reinette was there for several minutes before a bundle of papers left sitting at her writing desk caught her attention.
Curious, she moved to examine them.
The writ she recognized, the familiar seal cut into the wax. The accompanying note, left in an anonymous hand. And the description of a man. With each page her breath stilled until there was no air left at all.
Nothing left at all but a single, carrying word.
Jack.
She lifted her skirts and ran to Louis chambers, past courtiers and guards. Not caring for the sight she made.
no subject
Hot and festering and disease ran rampant in the poorer streets of Paris. Louis would not be persuaded to go near her for some time. Since he was a child he carried an overwhelming fear of death, which made it all the more difficult for him to comprehend Reinette's soft acceptance of it.
What would he think now, to know she could name the precise day?
It occurred to her often she had never pressed Jack to answer how. She supposed she never might now. She did not think it required all that much imagination.
Versailles never managed the seasons well. For all its beauty it was poorly conceived. The winters were bitter and the summer all but unbearable. A cool bath had done little to bring comfort, and even in her simplest, lightest gown of muslin there was no denying the oppressive heat. Sweat caught beneath her stays, impossible to reach. Reinette had little choice but to ignore it.
She retired to her rooms for the most oppressive heat of the afternoon in an attempt to avoid it. Reinette was there for several minutes before a bundle of papers left sitting at her writing desk caught her attention.
Curious, she moved to examine them.
The writ she recognized, the familiar seal cut into the wax. The accompanying note, left in an anonymous hand. And the description of a man. With each page her breath stilled until there was no air left at all.
Nothing left at all but a single, carrying word.
Jack.
She lifted her skirts and ran to Louis chambers, past courtiers and guards. Not caring for the sight she made.