Through the Iron Gate
By Paul Franklin
copyright © 2010 Paul Franklin
Each day, shortly before noon, Thomas and Georges would bring the carriage to the side of the house. Located deep in Paris’ 3ème Arrondissement, one of the city’s wealthiest neighborhoods, it boasted its own stable and carriage house. The gardens were surrounded by ornate walls and the columned Fascia opened onto a tranquil tree lined boulevard.
Georges, the driver, had been in the Comte De Mont Villier’s employ for fourteen years. Thomas, the footman, now almost twenty years old, was starting his third summer. Then there was Louis, he was the newcomer.
The first thing that the two men had noticed about Louis was his missing lefty ear. Thomas speculated in an aside to Georges that it must have been in a back alley brawl. He said that Louis had that look to him, muscular and not afraid of anything. Hadn’t he and Georges seen a display of Louis’s bravery with their own eyes only the week before? Both horses had been startled by a dropped barrel shattering on the cobblestones across the lane in front of the house. As they shied and reared, hooves stamping and clattering, Louis had neatly hopped from where he stood beside the right horse to safety on the garden wall. Georges only gave him a look, as if to say that any other course of action would be unthinkable for anyone in the same position. This did not sway Thomas’s regard for Louis one bit. It did not hurt for a moment that the young lady of the house, the Comte’s youngest child had taken a liking to Louis. If not for her they would have run the vagabond off weeks earlier. The Comte did not suffer the attention of the lower class.
As usual, unless command to do otherwise, as the last moments of the morning came and went, the two men brought the carriage with its canopy and velvet upholstery of burgundy velvet forward to the assigned waiting place at the side of the house, beside the iron gate, to the side of the foyer.
It was through this gate that Georges and Thomas would keep watch for their Lord and Lady’s approach down the white marble stairs. The first moment that they were detected was the signal to move the carriage to the undercroft between the front door and the white columns. Their master appreciated their diligence in being ready to drive him and his family about the city
Today as Georges pulled in the reins to halt the pair of horse, he remarked to Thomas, that it was a particularly nice day for so early in May. And, perhaps the Comte and his lady may be about later than their typical early afternoon, as yesterday had also been unseasonably warm, keeping them out after their opera considerably later than usual. Thomas’s only comment was to say that it was not his position to comment on the habits of his betters. Georges smiled to that, remembering many years back when the mere thought of being a Comte’s tiger with the possibility of having to talk to a member of the aristocracy would have left him quaking in his boots.
Thomas took a position sitting on the carriage’s bottom step, the perfect vantage point for seeing into the foyer though the gate’s black wrought iron work. Idly, he scraped at a bit of tarnish on the buckle of his left shoe. Beyond the gate in the foyer was silent. Other than the occasional flicker of light from candles {are oil lamps period?} in the ornate sconces, there was no movement evident from within the house.
Thomas felt the carriage shift as Georges turned in his seat. From above the boy heard, “‘Morning there Louis, how’s yer highness this fine day?”
Thomas stifled a laugh, Georges was always teasing Louis that if he had a king’s name he must be royalty, so what was he doing spending his time lounging about with his feet up on a mere Comtes wall?
Louis just gave him a silent look that said if he were royalty he’d have a better class of servant.
At hearing Georges’ voice, Thomas peered through the carriage doors windows and spied Louis lounging on his usual place on the flat top of the stone wall.
Thomas turned back to gaze back into the foyer through gate, just as the sounds of footsteps could be heard on the marble staircase leading to the family’s apartments on the upper floors. As the young man stood, straightening his coat, he saw it was the Lady Clare, the Comte’s daughter and Louis’ patroness. They should all be so lucky he thought to himself, a wry smile crossing his lips. The child skipped down the stairs, her shoes clacking on the stone.
Only just nine, the girl was a mass of sandy blonde curls and seemingly never ending skirts and bows. Georges had noted on several occasions that she never went anywhere quietly or slowly, very un-lady-like. He always said it with a smile though Thomas noticed. The girl twirled her way across the foyer while loudly humming some unintelligible piece of music. When she got to the gate she unlatched it and stepped into the courtyard.
Thomas jumped to his feet and Georges sat up straight in the carriage’s driver’s seat and as if with one voice they greeted the girls with a pleasant “Good morning milady.”
Past the girl, across the foyer on the stairs, Thomas saw the girl’s governess looking disapprovingly through the bars of the gate as it clanged closed behind Clare.
Clare returned the greeting of the two men with a smile as she whirled and twirled her way around the back of the carriage (she had been cautioned about staying clear of the horses and their sharp hooves at the front). A shrill “Louis!” announced to all present that she had found her quarry.
On the wall in the sun, Louis had been preparing for her arrival. Now neatly groomed he hopped from the wall, soundless landing on the cobbles and strutted to where Lady Clare waited for him at the carriage’s back wheel.
Drawing himself up smartly in front of his lady, he awaited her pleasure. From the folds of her skirt Clare withdrew a small neatly wrapped square bundle. “Would you like some breakfast, Louis?” the girl asked as she un-wrapped a chunk of pail orange cheese and offered it with an outstretched hand.
Louis’ nose twitched as he caught a whiff of the cheese’s aroma. Cautiously, Louis edged his way forward, head out, savoring the smell. Then, from nowhere came Clare’s other hand, deftly scooping him up and drawing him close to her chest.
Halfheartedly, he wind-milled his legs in a feigned struggle, but he knew this game, soon his stomach would be full of cheese and the little girl would be scratching him under his chin. Then, after never quite long enough, her governess would call and she would deposit him, as he purred, his eyes closed, back on the sun soaked wall.
A moment later, the warmth of the stone pleasant against his fur, he heard the gate clang shut. Clare was gone for another day, leaving the alley’s king to his rest.
Fini.