He handed the violin to Céleste; she could carry it in the hand not holding on, white-knuckled, to Adèle’s. One of his hands now free, Aldric snatched up their blankets.
They walked onto the small barge. This river was not so large or deep as the Seine, and the vessels that could navigate it were much smaller as well. There’d be no privacy, no chance for escaping the scrutiny of anyone else making the journey. But it would get them out of France in less than half the time. That was far more important than comfort.
He set their things down in an area of the deck cordoned off a bit by some crates stacked and tied together. It’d be snug but would help guard against the chill that still hung in the air. And they’d have the slightest bit of privacy. Even with that, he could see people walking past and could study their faces.
The three of them sat in uncomfortable silence. It was different than the silence that had hung in the air when they’d left Paris and when they’d fled Fleur-de-la-Forêt. The nervousness and worry they’d all felt had multiplied. And now he felt disappointment from Céleste as well.
The barge was untied and began its journey along the river. At the first bump, Adèle scrambled from her place beside Céleste and directly to Aldric, tossing herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her and simply held her. He’d almost lost her. The fate she likely would have faced was one that did not bear contemplating.
He loved this little girl. Loved her uncle Henri as a brother. He loved her aunt Céleste.
Lovedthem.
They’d trusted him and relied on him. But now they were in danger and afraid, and it was his fault.
Chapter Thirty-One
Céleste had watched Aldric allmorning, attempting to sort out what he was feeling and why he was so distant. He’d been more standoffish while everyone had been in Paris and during the very first days of this long and perilous journey. But that had changed. He’d been sweet and tender and affectionate.
And he’d kissed her. He’d looked at her in a way that made her think he was feeling some of the same things she was. There was so little of that now.
Toward her, at least. No one seeing the way he held Adèle, as the barge continued on down the river, could have had the least doubt that he loved the child and cared deeply for her.
The events of that morning had shaken them all. Adèle had literally trembled as Céleste held her in the wagon during their journey to the river. She was curled so tightly now in Aldric’s arms, it was almost as if she wanted to make certain no one could even see her. And his arms around her were so protective, so caring.
Céleste sat near them but in many ways didn’t feel like she was sittingwiththem. It wasn’t merely the foot or so gap between them. It was something more than the physical distance.
Adèle had warmed quite a bit to Céleste, no doubt owing to the fact that her father wasn’t there poisoning her opinions, but she never turned to Céleste the way she did to Aldric. It was him she had called for when she was afraid. It was him she had turned to when she was overwhelmed.
Aldric must have known that nearly losing Adèle that morning had also terrified Céleste. A few times during their very quiet wagon ride he’d met her eyes, and the fear she could not have kept from hers brought a look of understanding to his. But those moments had been fleeting and tiny. He hadn’t reached over and taken her hand. He hadn’t offered any kind words. He’d simply returned his gaze to the road and kept going.
And now, as they sat floating their way toward the Channel, she felt very alone. The piercing pain of that loneliness arose from the familiarity of it and the reminder that this was who she was: the one who was forgotten and the one who was left behind.
Music was a shield to her, protecting her from these very feelings she wasn’t ready to sort through yet again. There were too many threats she was guarding against.
The very real, present, physical threats of all the enemies Jean-François had made, enemies she couldn’t identify and couldn’t watch for, enemies who were behaving in ways that didn’t make any sense.
She wasn’t supposed to worry about England yet, but it weighed on her thoughts. She had nothing to live on, and the one ally she had with her hadn’t spoken to her all day and hardly looked at her. Adding sting to the blow, this sudden distance between them didn’t seem to bother him.
Céleste took up her violin as she stood. She hesitated for just a moment, wondering if Aldric would ask her where she was going or say he wanted her to stay there with him.
He didn’t.
She glanced out of the corner of her eye, and though he wasn’t looking at her, she knew he wasn’t asleep. He was aware that she was going to walk away, and he wasn’t going to say anything.
Céleste slowly emptied her lungs, then took in a new breath of cold, river-humid air. She knew how to endure indifference. She wasn’t quite as good at rejection, but she would manage. She always managed.
She walked slowly toward the back of the boat, careful not to get in the way of those who were working. There were a couple other passengers on board as well, and she didn’t wish to disrupt them. She found a spot a bit removed from everyone. It wasn’t a large enough boat that no one would be able to hear or see her, but at least she wasn’t sitting in any of their pockets.
Céleste tuned the violin, then started to play. It was entirely possible she’d be asked to stop. It would be fitting, really. But she would enjoy it while she was permitted to. She would play until she managed to wrap the armor around herself again and guard against this pain she’d left herself vulnerable to. Perhaps that was why Jean-François so often interfered with her practicing. It gave her strength and escape, and it brought her happiness. Those were three things life had very seldom allowed her to hold on to. Even in the fleeting moments when she had them, they always managed to be ripped away.
But she had music. And as long as she could lean on that, she could survive.
By the time they reached Le Tréport, it was quite late. The sun had already set. Lanterns were lit in the windows all along the street. That would help Aldric, but it rendered Céleste disoriented and frustrated. She couldn’t see anything very well, but she could hear the sea.
They had reached the Channel.
She’d wrapped one of their blankets around herself. The night’s chill was more significant than it had been, and she didn’t have a coat or cloak. Adèle refused to let go of Aldric, so he carried her. Céleste carried their traveling bag, her violin case, and the now-empty basket that had held their last bits of food. She kept as close to Aldric as she could manage, knowing if she lost sight of him, she might not find him again.
