The next morning, I sit with Charlotte at the window seat downstairs. This is my favorite spot to work, as Charlotte has discovered. We chat, as always, enjoying the others opinion. She has asked what I thought of her plan to alter the embroidery per her inspiration yesterday. The idea is rather pleasing to the eye and will enhance the motif she had already worked. She proceeds with her plan, a broad smile curving her lips. The sun warms us, and provides the needed light for our tasks, through the clear bubbled windowpane.
The afternoon meal comes and goes with nothing noteworthy. Étienne has been with my father all morning, and their meals were brought to the study by Jeanne-Marie. The meal is basic with a strong plant base and bread with little meat.
Once we finish, I propose a walk and fresh air to help with digestion. Charlotte readily agrees, with the prospect of being seated for days while we travel. As we stroll the dusty road through town, I see people whispering behind their hands as we pass. I figure those women from last night are behind this strange display. I ignore the stares, arm in arm with Charlotte. She has fallen into a monologue about art, and symbolism within it. I try to listen, but my mind wanders as we pass the stuccoed buildings towards the river. As we step on the bridge, I remember the time I kissed Étienne. It was here on this bridge under the moon and stars.
"Camille, are you even listening?" Charlotte interrupts my thoughts.
"Yes, sorry what were you saying about representations of death?" She tilts her head at me, bringing together he dark eyebrows, and down turning her pink lips.
"What is on your mind?" She changes the subject to fit my revelries.
"I am just thinking about this place. It is where I grew up, and I will be leaving soon. I am sure you understood when we left Torcy." I decide to provide her with a half-truth. I am aware that I am not the only one that will be leaving their home with out trip to Montclar, but she has been relatively silent on her emotions for the change.
"I do, but at least I didn't have fond memories there." She shrugs off her experience.
"You at least enjoyed somethings I hope." It couldn't have been all horrible there, right? She had a doting brother, and wealth for all her needs.
"My best memories are with Étienne or you. You both are accompanying me to Montclar, so I have nothing to truly miss." I pull her closer in for a hug. I worry over her upbringing. What could have made it so she wouldn't miss her home? "Plus, I always knew when I marry, I would have to move far away, so I never got attached."
I search for the best words to comfort her, when the patter of feet reaches my ears. They are loud as the person approaches us. I turn to see who it is that is coming. My eyes widen as I see the two women from last night. They are more modestly dressed now that they are no longer on the prowl for customers, with higher necklines and a lower skirt hem. I tense at the sight, not in the mood for another altercation. Charlotte senses my shift in humor and turns to find the culprits. Her face also sours in vexation at the interruption and impending dispute.
I want to start with a bit, but nibble at my own lower lip. If we can avoid them that would be best, and me striking will only escalate the situation.
"Lady Charlotte-Anne of Torcy, Miss Ferré." They greet in unison with slight curtsies. They both avoid looking directly at us. The cordial nature of the salutation, along with their actions, startles both Charlotte and me into silence.
"I need to apologize to you Miss Ferré, I said many lies yesterday at your expense. I was wrong to do so." The woman who had suggested that I had run away with Étienne says. It takes me several seconds to process her words. I open my mouth to brush it off, but before I can utter a syllable the other begins her apology.
"I had no idea about what had happened in Torcy. I am sorry that I made baseless claims about the events." The woman who accused me of being unable to attract any decent men mutters. Neither of them looks up at us, continuing to stare at the ground. Something must have happened.
"I am glad you see your mistake." Charlotte reprimands them. "Don't be so petty again."
"We are sorry your ladyship for ignoring you." One mumbles.
"Come Camille, let's go." Charlotte pulls at my arm dragging me out of my stunned thoughts. We brush past the women, through the village and back to the inn.
When we return to the dim hall, I catch sight of Étienne, who has finally emerged from the study. He is relaxed, but a cold aura that I have been blind too surrounds him. I think back to my first encounter with him and last night. He had been exuding the same frozen sensation, but the women had ignored it. Even thinking about at Torcy the feeling was directed to everyone except my family, Charlotte and myself.
A shiver runs down my spine. Is he the reason for the change in the prostitutes' attitude? Do I really know this man?