Betsy and the Emperor (9781439115879) Read Online Free Page B

little Alexander were too young to recognize Bonaparte on sight, and Jane too ignorant. I smiled inwardly, anticipating the unpleasant surprise in store for her.
    My mother was serving tea and cakes. Her hands shook so much, the fine china cups rattled like bones on the tray. Bonaparte stood by himself, absorbed in removing some of my father’s books from the shelves and examining them. My father and the admiral chatted amiably, reminiscing about their days at sea.
    I was about to make myself comfortable on the settee, but my mother caught my eye and shook her head vigorously at me. Reluctantly, I continued to stand.
    â€œWon’t you sit down, monsieur?” my mother said nervously, offering Bonaparte my place on the sofa.
    He either did not hear or chose to ignore her. In any case, he made no reply.
    â€œMonsieur?” my mother ventured timidly.
    Slowly, he turned around. Bonaparte first looked puzzled, then extremely annoyed. The transformation was sudden and complete. “You are addressing me, madame?” he snapped.
    My mother was taken aback. Jane looked stricken. My father and the admiral ceased their conversation.
    My mother plucked up her courage and nodded at Bonaparte.
    â€œMadame, if we are to live under the same roof, then I suggest you learn to address me in a more appropriate manner.” He did not elaborate. My mother nodded like a small child who’d received a scolding from her teacher. So, just as I’d thought: He was moving in with us!
    An uncomfortable silence ensued. Then the admiral attempted to lighten the atmosphere. Heheld up a tea cake, cleared his throat, and said: “Mrs. Balcombe, these are marvelous. If you can make hardtack and boiled sow as well as you can tea cakes, there’s a place for you on my ship!”
    She smiled wanly in appreciation. My father chuckled.
    â€œSorry, Admiral,” my father said. “My wife has her own crew to cook for.”
    â€œUnderstood, Captain Balcombe,” the admiral replied, smiling.
    â€œWilliam?” my mother said, as a reminder to my father that there was business at hand. He caught her meaning.
    â€œChildren,” he said, “gather round. Gather round.” He pointed to an area on the rug.
    Jane, Willie, and Alexander lined up in front of the stern-faced Bonaparte, who stood at attention, hands folded behind his back. My brothers and sister seemed unsure of whether to expect an inspection or a firing squad.
    â€œYou too, Betsy,” my father added when he saw I was laggard. I took my place in line.
    â€œChildren, this gentleman will be our guest for a while. General Bonaparte, these are our children. Jane…”
    Gleefully, I noted that Jane was turning as pale as pastry flour. Bonaparte nodded at her to acknowledge the introduction. She staggered a bit, then took a step backward in an attempt to conceal this. She curtsied and managed to croak out: “ Bon—Bonjour, monsieur.”
    Next, my father turned his attention to the boys.
    â€œWilliam Junior,” he said. “And Alexander.”
    â€œIt’s vicious Boney-parte!” the terrified Alexander whispered into his older brother’s ear—loud enough, unfortunately, for everyone to hear. My father turned purple with embarrassment. Little Alexander clung to Willie, gripping his waist so tightly from behind that poor Willie swayed back and forth like a dinghy. Alexander peeked out from behind his brother.
    I studied Bonaparte’s face, and I could swear that I saw the trace of an amused smile appear on his lips as he watched the trembling boys. He took one step toward them, and they cowered all the more. Then, quickly, Bonaparte mussed up his hair with the tips of his fingers and bugged out his eyes like an ogre. He bent down low and leaned close to them. “Argghh!” he growled.
    The boys screamed and jumped back in terror. This frightened Jane, who fell backward right into apile of ashes in the