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Paternalism: August, 1830
In the middle of August 1830, an eighty-year-old lady named Isabelle de Courfeyrac has the bad grace to die in Normandy. This obligates her family to attend the reading of the will in that far-flung part of France, including the parts of the family who inhabit the southernmost regions of the country -- at least, it obligates them if they are of jealous and suspicious minds. Aimery Courfeyrac's parents are among the clan members making this pilgrimage of distrust from their homes. On the way back, they plan to stop in Paris and visit their son, but because he had already been informed that they would be by sometime in the month, they do not see fit to inform him of their precise day of arrival. Between the lady's death and the Courfeyracs' return to Paris, there is a revolution in the capital, and all thoughts of his parents quite leave Aimery's head, such that when there is a knock on his door in the first week of August, he does not immediately remember who that might be. Suspecting that it is Audric coming by to check on Daniel's shoulder while the latter lies sleeping fitfully, he says, "Yes?" "Aimery, darling?" calls a woman's voice. "Why is your door locked?" He stares a moment. "Oh, God," in an undertone. Then he shuts the inner door gently, and goes to unlock the outer one with a resolute smile. "Sorry." His parents are on the threshold, his father all in black with a stormy expression, and his mother looking rather excited to see him. "Well," says his father, "you're looking terrible." "Thank you," Aimery says lightly, and stands aside to let them in. "I stayed up all night expressly so that I could welcome you looking properly funereal." Justine embraces him. "Now don't fight," she says anxiously. Gilbert shakes his head. "Did you stay up all night? Whatever for?" "Who's fighting?" Aimery lets his mother go, consciously patient. "No, actually, I didn't. I'm being flippant and impertinent. Will you sit down?" Gilbert sits in his son's desk chair. "Thank you. And what have you been doing in this horrible month?" Justine settles noiselessly into a seat. Aimery shrugs lightly, clasping his hands behind him with feet apart in the time-honored stance of errant schoolboys everywhere. "Nothing worth mentioning." Gilbert studies him a moment, then shakes his head. "How odd, for you. I would have thought you had been doing something interesting, what with all the uproar around here." Aimery grins. "Whatever do you mean?" The bedroom door opens, and Daniel emerges, wearing only a pair of pants and a bandage on his left shoulder. He pauses in the doorway, blinks with highly dilated pupils, and backs up. If his face were not already pale as a ghost, he would doubtless have paled when he half-realized his mistake. He slams the door just as Gilbert jumps to his feet and yells, "What in the hell are you doing?" at him, or at Aimery. Justine's hands fly to her mouth. Behind them, she gives a faint squeak, her eyes wide. Aimery swears, moving a heartbeat too late to intercept Daniel. "Keep your voice down," he says furiously to his father, "for God's sake, that's a sick man." "I can damned well see that!" Gilbert says, his face red in fury. "Are you running a hospital? What is he doing here?" "Recovering," Aimery retorts. He is slightly flushed himself. "He's a friend, Papa, he's in no condition to be moved, and he's been sleeping badly enough /without/ people shouting at him, so would you kindly calm down?" "I am not sending you money so that you can lend your room to sick friends. He can damned well go home, or hasn't he one?" Gilbert asks sharply, albeit a bit more quietly. "If he can stand up, he can get home." "It's costing you nothing," Aimery says in a tone of dangerous calm. "The inconvenience is entirely mine, I don't need any particular assistance, which is why you'll note I haven't asked, monsieur." "Gilbert, your language," Justine pleads, wringing her hands. "Aimery, dear--" "Why in the hell have you started running an infirmary? Doesn't the boy have anywhere else to go?" Gilbert ignores Justine utterly. "No," Aimery says recklessly, "he doesn't. Damned if I'm going to throw him out. And I apologize for his bad manners, Maman, but he's drugged out of his mind at the moment-- which is another reason he's not going anywhere." "By God, Aimery, what madness is this?" Gilbert asks, and despite earlier admonitions, he is yelling again. Justine hides her face in her hands. Aimery shrugs, deliberately insouciant, though he cannot repress a worried look at the door. "A youthful whim. Will you kindly keep it down?" "So you've a sick friend," Gilbert continues much more quietly, though it is not a calm quiet. "And this sickness -- the boy is abusing drugs, is he, what a charming habit." "Oh, for God's sake, Papa." "Then what does he do? Why in God's name is he living with you?" "Because someone has to look after him until he's fit to fend for himself." Aimery folds his arms, and there is a certain manic sparkle in his eyes. "Why do you care so much? Haven't I been sufficiently outrageous all by myself, that you have to start in on my friends? I'll have to try harder." Gilbert shakes his head. "God alone knows what you've done to be outrageous recently. I would rather not ask." Suddenly Aimery laughs. "I'm sure you wouldn't. Oh, come, now, look, we've made Maman despair of us again. It's too early to be furious with me, surely?" He holds out his arms, with the winning look of a small boy who hopes for a hug in spite of muddy clothes and multiple misdemeanors. Exactly that look, in fact. Gilbert attempts to glower at him, but like so many other people who have attempted to glower at Aimery, he fails miserably. "I'm not furious with you," he says, sighing. "Tell me about this boy --" with a wave at the bedroom door. Justine peeks out from behind her fingers, and lets her hands fall to her lap in some relief. "Daniel?" Aimery says innocently, as though they might have been talking about some other boy. "Nothing much to tell. I thought I'd written you about him." Gilbert shrugs. "I don't know." He looks at Justine. "Do you recall?" Justine knots her fingers together in her lap. "I-- I'm not very good with names." Aimery shrugs in turn, leaning back against the desk. "He takes his education much more seriously than I do," solemnly. Gilbert snorts. "That doesn't take much effort. What else?" "Oh, now!" protests Aimery in mock injury. "Aimery," his father says, remarkably patiently in contrast with his earlier tone, "go on." Wide grey eyes. "I don't know what you want to know." Gilbert looks less amused than Aimery might hope. "The important things." "Such as?" "Why is this studious fellow drugged and living with you? Where is he from? What is his family like? What is he studying?" Gilbert waves a hand. "Don't be dense." "I told you. Doctor's orders. As for the rest, I don't know." "He's living with you, and you don't know anything about him?" with the sort of conscious calm that parents sometimes affect. "Papa," wearily. "Have a little faith in my judgment, would you?" "Act sensibly for once, and I'll trust you to do it again." Gilbert looks toward the bedroom. "Shall I wake him up and ask him myself?" "Papa--" "Aimery --" in the same tone. The light goes out of Aimery's face. "He's worth ten of me. And if I have to throw you both out to make sure he's left in peace, I'll do it." Justine blinks, and looks between them worriedly. Gilbert frowns. "We are defensive. I won't wake him. Tell me about him, Aimery." Aimery slouches against the desk, his shoulders sagging. "There's nothing to tell," trying, to do him credit, to keep the sulky adolescent tone out of his voice. "He's clever, he's charming, he had to stay somewhere." "And he's studying -- ?" A shrug. Gilbert frowns. "What does he do?" Aimery sighs. "Did you come to see me, or to interrogate me about my friends?" "We came to see how you were doing." Gilbert glances at the bedroom door again. "And you're in a rather odd situation. Come on, then, tell us and have done." "I explained the damn situation. --sorry, Maman." "Aimery." Gilbert crosses his arms. "I asked you a question, young man." "Several, as I recall." "And you haven't answered me." "I can only answer one at a time." "Aimery," Justine protests. Gilbert frowns. "I shall have to wake your friend if you don't answer my question." Aimery's face hardens. "Threats. Marvelous. --He paints, if you must know. I don't know why that's such vital information." "He paints. How dear. No wonder he's staying with you." "I told you why he was staying with me," stiffly. "Mm." Gilbert shakes his head. "What else have you been doing that you haven't told us about?" A sudden, wicked grin. "I'd tell you, but I don't want to scald Maman's ears." And at this, mercifully, Gilbert breaks his promise to be quiet and laughs. "Terrible boy," he says, affectionately. Justine shakes her head, blushing somewhat, but smiling. "I know," Aimery says cheerfully. "Dreadful." "Shall we leave your painter-friend in peace and go elsewhere?" Gilbert asks. Aimery shakes his head. "They said he shouldn't be disturbed-- but I don't want to get rid of you--" "Then come with us," calmly. "I--" Aimery bites his lip, hesitating. "I shouldn't leave him alone like this... Give me a moment." He moves toward the inner door. Gilbert gets out of the way. "All right." Aimery lets himself into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and goes to the bedside. "Daniel?" After a few moments, Daniel blinks at him. "What?" in a sleep-fogged voice. Aimery touches his cheek lightly. "I'm sorry to wake you. If I leave for a bit, will you be all right?" "Um. Yes?" Daniel yawns. "Leaving?" "My parents are here." Aimery kisses his forehead. "I expect you can just go back to sleep. I won't be terribly long." "Oh. All right." Daniel smiles faintly and seems to fall asleep before he's done with the expression. "Mon cher," Aimery whispers, "mon amour." For a moment he stays still, watching; then he gets up quietly and leaves, shutting the door again gently. When he emerges, his father hands him his coat and his hat. "Shall we?" Aimery smiles fleetingly. "All right."
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