“There was also the episode with the stones,” Valérie said. “How did that come about? I don’t recall.”
An uncomfortable silence rested upon the room. Antonina’s follies were tolerated at Oldhouse, but it could not be denied she did not have a commendable grip on her talent.
“I should speak to her,” Hector said.
“Or I,” Madelena said.
Madelena made a motion as if to rise, but Valérie spoke at once, aware she could not allow the sisters to talk at this point. Who knew what poisonous words Antonina could spill? She must ensure this snake’s venom was drained before allowing it to roam freely around the house.
“You would only upset her more. Let her rest and dry her tears. In the morning she may have seen the senselessness of her actions,” Valérie said, and extending her arms, she clutched Madelena’s hands. “Come, dear cousin, Antonina is young, as you said. Barely more than a child.”
“Nina can be temperamental,” Camille conceded. “Valérie is correct, it might be best to let her rest.”
Madelena nodded. It was thus agreed that Nina would not be coaxed out of her room until the next day. Supper was a grim affair. Camille and Madelena fretted, while Hector’s eyes were glum—you would have thought he had witnessed an execution. Valérie was not in high spirits either, but she did not give in to despair. Having shed a few violent tears and lost a measure of control when they had been in the library, she now felt equipped to solve this situation with the aplomb it required.
Once night fell, she knocked at Antonina’s door.
“Open up,” she said, and when no reply came, Valérie spoke again. “I have your letter.”
Antonina opened the door and stared at her with unmitigated fury in her eyes. Valérie imagined duelists gazed at each other in this manner before they pulled the trigger. But Valérie was not afraid; she almost wanted to say, “Don’t make it too easy for me.”
“Did he truly give my letter to you?” Antonina asked.
“Let me in and maybe you’ll learn the answer.”
The girl agreed, as she’d expected. Antonina was likely itching for a fight and a chance to pile as many hard words as she could at Valérie’s feet.
Valérie walked in and looked around, finding an empty chair and sitting straight. Antonina followed her every movement. She saw the girl was clutching a towel between her hands, as if it were a talisman. How young she looked, though Valérie did not feel envious of this youth. She was a half-formed being, a creature with no edges.
“I have come because I can imagine what thoughts run through your head at this time. You must be eager to put pen to paper and inform my husband of what you think you saw,” Valérie said.
“I know exactly what I saw. You’ve taken Hector as your lover.”
“Dear girl, I have not.”
“What do you call it, then? A friendly hello?”
“A kiss. We only ever shared kisses, even when we were in the thrall of youth.”
Kisses and a few embraces, and one heated evening, it might have come to more but Hector was gallant and somewhat naive, a romantic with high ideals. Valérie—cautious, too—recognized that life had not given women many cards to play and one valuable one she possessed was the stamp of her virtue.
“What do you mean?” Antonina mumbled.
Antonina moved closer to Valérie, as if she were trying to get a better look at her. The towel she held, Valérie noticed, had red splotches upon it. Dried blood. The girl twisted the towel violently between her hands. Had she harmed herself during her fit? It could not have been too badly.
“You can’t guess? Must I say it?” Valérie asked.
She realized that, yes, she must say it. Antonina could not understand implications; she must be shown in stark black-and-white the meaning of words. Not that Valérie minded instructing the young woman this one time.
“I met Mr. Auvray when I was your age. We fell in love and I promised him my hand in marriage. But he went away, to Iblevad, and I was pressured to marry your cousin Gaetan. Once Hector returned to the city, he sought me. He begged me to run away with him, saying that he still loved me and always had.”
Antonina was trembling. Valérie watched her step back and raise herhands, digging her fingers through her hair. “He was chasing after you, wasn’t he?” she whispered. “He wasn’t after me, he wanted you all along.”
She did understand now. Valérie leaned forward, and hearing how Antonina’s voice cracked, she almost felt sorry for her and could have attempted one kind word, except then the girl spoke again in a high voice, which cut Valérie to the bone.
“And you, you… strumpet—”
“Don’t you dare to judge me when you are the silly whore who is willing to rut with the first fool who knocks at her door,” Valérie said, rising to her feet, tall and proud. “I gave him nothing, and still he returned until today he felt compelled to kiss me. I offered no comfort to him and I did not yield. But you there, practically offering yourself on a platter for the man. The passionate words in that letter, they almost made me cry.”
