Where the Light Falls(20)
“Why would the Marquis de Montnoir have targeted your husband in particular, Citizeness Poitier?”
“My husband had married our eldest girl, Sylvie, off to her sweetheart without telling the marquis. Did it while the marquis had been away the previous winter. You see”—and now she leaned close, making sure that none of the other clerks in the room might hear what she had to tell—“we often heard rumors. Nasty, filthy rumors.”
Jean-Luc’s pulse quickened. “Rumors of what sort?”
“We’d heard from more than one tenant farmer that the marquis claimed the Droit de Seigneur.” She paused, her eyes full of meaning, and Jean-Luc realized in that moment that she was not an unintelligent woman. Unsophisticated, to be sure. But this simple woman had known life and the world in a way that undoubtedly made her more accustomed to cruelty and hardship than he, or anyone else in this office, was. “You know, Citizen St. Clair, about the ‘Lord’s Right’?”
Jean-Luc lowered his eyes, nodding. He knew of the ancient tradition of Droit de Seigneur. But he had always believed it to be an antiquated legend, a horror story told by those who despised the noble classes and sought justification for the recent bloodletting. He had never imagined that it was still practiced so recently, and certainly not this close to Paris.
“Well, my Jacques weren’t going to let the Marquis de Montnoir defrock his own daughter. He was a lecherous man, he was, always tormenting the farmers’ daughters, and certainly he took no pleasure from that cold fish of a wife. But my Jacques wouldn’t stand for it. So he married Sylvie off and never told His Lordship.” Now the Widow Poitier pressed her forefinger onto the desk between them. “So, you can reckon how roiled Seigneur was when he found out he’d been denied Sylvie’s wedding night.”
Jean-Luc lowered his quill, his mouth suddenly dry like starched cloth. “Citizeness Poitier, I think I shall go fetch us some water. Can I bring you some?”
“I would not turn down a spot of wine,” the woman answered, shrugging her shoulders. Jean-Luc nodded and rose to fetch them their drinks. When he returned, he also carried with him the latest rolls of prison records.
Offering the widow her cup of wine, he placed the book between them and opened it. “So, you believe that the Marquis de Montnoir is recently removed from his lands?”
“That’s what I heard. ’Course, he ran us out of our cottage the day Ole Jacques died. We’ve been drifting about, living off the mercy of relatives whenever we can. But there are just too many mouths to feed, you see. We don’t want to scrounge off the charity of others. My sons, and my daughters, too, we just wish to work for someone who would have us. To make an honest living, that’s all. And we was hoping, now that His Lordship is no longer haunting those lands, that we might have the good lord’s blessing of returning to our rightful home.”
“I see here, from the prison intake records, that you are correct, Citizeness Poitier. The Marquis de Montnoir has been transferred to the prison at La Force. It says here that his home and lands are now in the possession of the Republic.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means that the lands and château once owned by the Montnoir family are now the property of the French people.”
“Well, does that mean they will let us back into our home?” The widow’s brow crumpled in childlike hope. Jean-Luc felt a swell of anger at the fact that such a woman and her children had been so unjustly treated.
“To be honest with you, citizeness, I’m not certain,” Jean-Luc answered, slamming the book shut. “But I intend to do everything I can to get you home.”
The widow sighed. “You know, Citizen St. Clair, our Revolution has allowed for a strange wind to shake the trees, if you take my meaning. Oh, if Ole Jacques could imagine this. A lawyer, giving the boot to a seigneur and his rotten family and making way for common folk like us to return.” The old woman took a small sip of wine, offering Jean-Luc a timid smile.
Jean-Luc’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman across from him, her words uncharacteristically sage. “Well, it is the purpose of our Revolution, citizeness, to bring the sacred ideals of liberty, equality, and brotherhood to this land. And I do believe your family has every right to move back into your home.” He paused, folding his hands before him on his desk. “But, if you don’t mind my asking, madame, er, citizeness. How is it that you came to know of me and seek out my services?”
The widow nodded. “I stood outside this building for days, knowing it to be full of lawyers. I asked—begged—so many men, fancy types in wigs, to take my case up. They all shrugged me off. Said, ‘The only man in this building who’ll take on a charity case is that Jean-Luc St. Clair.’ And so I found you. Knew you were my only chance for justice.”