“Until the devil got him.” The first woman poked the other woman.
“Oh, don’t be sounding like some half-wit.”
The first woman leaned close to Juliet, whispering again as if the dead man could hear them gossiping. “Don’t listen to her. That lovely dark hair… turned red like the color of hellfire, it did.”
“She’s right,” agreed the other woman reluctantly. “Made a deal with the devil he did. His hair turned as red as the pope’s robe.”
“Now look at him.” They both shook their heads.
Down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, past the Luxembourg Gardens, Juliet caught up with Varnier, who seemed preoccupied, never taking his eye off the hearse. The clopping of hooves stopped and the horses idled before turning into a cemetery with open black gates—Cimetière du Montparnasse. They were far from home now, having walked nearly an hour. Now the hearse turned and Juliet followed Varnier, staying far back, which wasn’t hard because the hearse was tall. Only one black carriage followed behind, and it carried several women dressed in black with heavy veils.
Her feet were hurting; she hadn’t expected to walk this far in the midday sun. Not wanting to get caught again, she turned and headed back to the apartment.
The next day, Varnier said he had urgent business in Rome and abruptly left Paris. First, he said the trip would last a few weeks, then he sent word that his business would require months.
In his absence, he wrote letters to Juliet inquiring about her piano lessons and updates on books she was reading. Juliet penned thoughtful letters back to him, telling him about the changes on the boulevard. As the summer passed into fall, Juliet wrote to him frequently telling him she missed him. Needing a chaperone, she was now accompanied by Paul to the theater or on walks. She found the older man patient and kind, but she missed Varnier, the energy he brought to a room. Paul smiled and agreed with Juliet on everything from Zola to the color of flowers to the temperature of the soup. Varnier challenged her on everything. He made her think and defend her reasoning. She had come to trust Varnier as she had not trusted anyone but her parents.
With Marchant’s betrayal, her feelings for Varnier had become complicated and feverish. As a young woman of nineteen, she knew most women her age were seeking good matches. Varnier had expressed no such plan for her—he’d said as much. She would remain in the apartment for safekeeping. Did Varnier want her for himself? Once, the idea of that had frightened her, but now the idea of being his wife had great appeal. As she penned letters to him, she told him she longed for their conversations. She longed for Varnier.
A letter came in late November that he would be returning. Juliet was excited. She had Marie and the maids scrub the apartment; she bought a Christmas tree and had it decorated. She was like the real lady of the house. Once again, she had purpose, but this time it no longer involved Auguste Marchant.
On the day Varnier was due to arrive, dinner was prepared in his honor—everything she knew he liked: rabbit, trout, fresh baguettes. Juliet was watching from the window as he stepped out of the carriage, but he stopped and turned, holding his hand out to retrieve another person from the cab. He wasn’t alone—a dainty woman with hair the color of the coal in the stoves climbed out of the cab and looked up at the street in wonder. Juliet groaned. What would it be this time? Needlework? Latin? Ballet? Juliet lingered at the top of the stairs as the woman and Varnier arranged themselves in the foyer with Paul taking their coats and organizing their luggage. Varnier glanced up at Juliet with an unfamiliar look—guilt—and she sensed something was terribly wrong in the composition of the scene. He came to the bottom of the stairs. “Ah, Juliet, please come down and meet Lisette.”
The woman joined him at the bottom of the stairs. She was pretty, but not beautiful. Her brown eyes were warm and when she smiled, Juliet noticed a small gap in her teeth. Far from making her unattractive, this flaw gave her character. The sum of the woman’s features was striking.
“Lisette, this is my niece, Juliet.” Varnier watched Juliet warily as she descended a few stairs.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Juliet.” The woman had a thick Italian accent, but her greeting seemed genuine. “Luc has told me so much about you.” Lisette looked at Varnier for reassurance that they had, indeed, discussed his niece. But Varnier’s eyes were only on Juliet. She was wearing a pink-and-gold dress for dinner; her hair had been left down in long auburn waves at Marie’s suggestion.
At the name “Luc,” Juliet changed her focus from Lisette to Varnier and before he even uttered the word, Juliet knew what was coming next.
“Juliet.” His voice was thin. “This is my wife, Lisette.”
Perhaps it had been the disappointment with Marchant that had steeled Juliet for a moment such as this, but the shock she had shown Auguste Marchant would not be replicated for Varnier and this moment. Juliet clutched the banister and her hand shook, but she stood upright. She looked down at Paul standing below her in the foyer and she was sure he could see her dress move as her legs wobbled from his vantage point under the stairs. “While I’m obviously thrilled, you did not mention that you had taken a wife, Uncle. It was a strange omission given our regular correspondence, don’t you think?”
Varnier looked surprised at her composure. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Juliet gave Varnier a hard glance and then a smile. “Then you achieved your goal.” Juliet turned toward Lisette. “Welcome to your new home, Tante Lisette. Please let me know if there is anything I may help you with. I look forward to spending time with you.” Juliet bowed her head. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to. There is a lovely dinner prepared for the two of you, all of Uncle Luc’s favorite things.”
“Thank you, Juliet,” said Lisette. “I look forward to learning what he likes.” She slid her hand under Varnier’s arm.
Juliet walked back up the stairs with her head high. She closed the door and sat on the chair facing the Boulevard Saint-Germain watching the carriages go by. Only when she was seated did she realize how badly she was shaking. In some ways, Varnier’s betrayal had cut deeper because he’d known the pain she’d already suffered and he’d known how she felt about him. And yet he’d chosen to deliver another blow.
There was a knock on her door. Juliet expected Marie, but instead Varnier stepped in. He’d never been in her room before, so this in itself was unusual. She was glad that she’d held her composure and that he had not found her crying at her dressing table.
“I wanted to see if you were all right.” His gaze was surprisingly soft, almost fearful, when she met it.
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” Still seated in the chair, Juliet turned her face from him.
“I should have told you.” He stepped into the room and Juliet heard the door click shut behind him.
“Yes.” Juliet stood. “That you planned to take a wife was a key detail that should have been in one of your many letters.” She walked closer to him and she saw him take a step back, but the closed door stopped him. Placing her hands on his jacket as if to straighten his collar, Juliet looked into his eyes. He was afraid of her. She could see that now. “I trusted you, but you betrayed that trust.” She smiled sadly. “As of today, you and I are done. Whatever this arrangement, we will have to honor it. I will honor it for my mother.” Her hands were still resting on his lapels, and she thought she felt him lean in as if he wanted to kiss her. Juliet’s words were soft, almost a whisper, and she leaned in close to him, making him believe that she was, indeed, about to kiss him. He made no move to stop her. “You had both my love and my devotion and you knew that. You knew it in your soul. Now you have lost both. You have lost me.” She looked into his eyes so he could see she was serious. “Do you understand?”