René might be shallow, but she was certainly not stupid. She was a Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen and had contrived to make herself so useful that, if Catherine did know about her indiscretions, she turned a blind eye to them.
René’s love for the Duc made her not so subtle in dealing with him as she would have been if her emotions had not been involved.
“You have not answered my question,” she insisted. “Why were you so long with the ‘divine Diane’? Is it perhaps that you too find her divine?”
“We seem to have had this very same argument before,” the Duc said, surprisingly good-humouredly. “I admire Madame La Duchesse enormously, as you well know, but I do not yet contemplate suicide by rivalling His Majesty for her attention.”
René laughed again.
“I am being stupid, I know that, but I am jealous – jealous of all the time you spend away from me. I cannot think why you cannot take me to your estates in the country. Who would know if we went there by different roads? Oh, Jarnac, let’s be alone for a little while.”
She pressed herself close against him and laid her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her but almost perfunctorily as if his mind was elsewhere.
“You have been with the Duchesse at Anet all the week,” she pouted, “and yet when you come back to Paris you spend the evening with her while I wait alone and think that you will never come to me. Are you surprised that I feel hurt and a little resentful?”
“There is no need for either,” the Duc replied. “The Duchesse had asked me to be present when she received Mistress Sheena McCraggan, the Scots girl who has arrived to take the place of Madame de Paroy, to whom Mary Stuart had taken a violent dislike.”
The Comtesse drew herself out of his arms.
“So the new Gouvernante has arrived!” she exclaimed. “I thought she was not due until tomorrow. What is she like? Is she pretty?”
“Small, attractive – yes, I think you would say distinctly pretty,” the Duc answered.
“The Queen will be pleased,” the Comtesse murmured.
“The Queen! Why should she be interested?”
The question was sharp.
“Have you forgotten Lady Fleming?” the Comtesse enquired with a little sidelong glance of her eyes.
The Duc looked puzzled for a moment.
“Lady Fleming!” he repeated. “Oh, you mean the previous Governess who attracted the King for those few months when the Duchesse was ill and away from the Court.”
“So you do remember,” René smiled.
“A nasty scandal and one that should never have happened to anyone connected with Mary Stuart,” the Duc said almost harshly. Then added slowly, “Do you mean that the Queen was pleased about that?”
René shrugged her almost naked shoulders.
“Pourquoi pas? The King’s attention was then diverted from the hated Diane. Even her witchcraft did not work when she was indisposed.”
“By all that is Holy!” the Duc exclaimed. “I have never heard such a monstrous idea, that the Queen should be pleased at her husband’s indiscretion with some strange woman simply because it made him unfaithful to the woman he has adored since he was a young boy.”
“And who is eighteen years older than he is!” the Comtesse said sharply. “If that is not witchcraft I should like to know what is.”
“I will not discuss it,” the Duc retorted angrily. “It is the Duchesse de Valentinois who has taught the King how to rule. Without her France would be in a sorry state today.
If he loves her to the exclusion of all else it is not surprising. But, if the Queen or anyone else imagines that his devotion is likely to be forgotten or diverted by any little foreigner who comes tripping into The Palace on one pretext or another, they are very much mistaken.”
“How fortunate the Duchesse is to have such a champion,” René said softly with a little edge on her voice which told all too clearly that she was piqued and annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.
“What you have just suggested is disgusting and indecent,” the Duc asserted.
He walked across the room away from the Comtesse and then turned to look back at her. Her robe had slipped from one white shoulder and a long slim thigh was revealed by the swift movement of her body.
She was enticing and seductive and they both knew it. And yet it seemed to him that for a moment the vision of another small face with angry flashing blue eyes and a trembling mouth came between him and the woman seated at the end of the chaise-longue.
It was a face haloed by unruly golden curls a face with skin so white and so unblemished that it seemed almost transparent.
He had not noticed until now, he thought suddenly, that René’s skin was indeed not her strongest point. It was rather pock-marked and, although she was just twenty-four, there were already small lines at the corners of her eyes, which were the toll of late nights and too much of the heady wine in golden goblets at the banquets given nightly at The Palace.
For a moment he felt almost repulsed by the thought of his lips on her red expectant mouth. Then somehow the heat and the perfume of the room made him feel that any effort to escape from the inevitable was hardly worthwhile.
And so he stood looking at her as she rose very slowly to her feet and she swept back the rustling robe from her shimmering body and moved swiftly towards him.
He felt her arms going around his neck and drawing his head down to hers, felt her lips searching for his and heard her whisper,
“Why are we talking? It is such a waste of time. Oh, Jarnac! Jarnac! I have missed you so much – ”
*
In another part of The Palace, Sheena, too tired to sleep, tossed from side to side on the most comfortable bed she had ever known. There was so much to think about and so much for her to consider.
And yet she was conscious that her overriding emotion was one of fear.
She had expected to feel small, insignificant and apprehensive in any Royal Palace. She had even expected that she would feel afraid in the presence of the King and the Queen. But what she had not anticipated was this feeling of being an utter failure, of having to return to those who had sent her and tell them that there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say as everything was completely and absolutely different from what they had imagined.
She had thought to find Mary Stuart a child. But she found her a woman and, what was more, a very educated young woman.
“It is really time that I should finish with lessons,” Mary Stuart had said. “I am proficient now in Latin, Greek, Spanish and Italian. When I insisted that Madame de Paroy should be dismissed, I had not thought that they would send me anyone from Scotland.”
“I do not think that your Statesmen meant to impose another Teacher upon you,” Sheena commented humbly. They sent me more as a – a companion.”
“I have many of those,” Mary Stuart replied a little wearily and then with that engaging easy Stuart charm she added,
“But it is nice to have you here. A new face is always a divertissement. Come, you must meet the others.”
“No, no,” Sheena protested hastily. “Not at this moment, please, ma’am. Let’s be alone together for a little while. There is so much I want to talk to you about and so much I have to tell you.”
“About Scotland?” Mary Stuart queried and it seemed to Sheena that there was a note of boredom in her voice. “The others said you would come full of long speeches and addresses. The letters of the Elders are enough, I assure you. Sometimes they take nearly an hour to read and they write all the time about things that I know nothing of, the Reformers, the dissension amongst the Clans, their solemn conclaves and dreary discussions. Oh, it is so boring. Let’s forget about it. There are lots of interesting things to do. Can you play Pall Mall? It is a game we all enjoy.”
Sheena felt her heart sink. What could she tell her father, waiting anxiously for her report on the attitude of Mary Stuart towards the dissentious Scotland? How could she ever explain to this l
aughing, happy girl the horror and the privation her subjects were suffering not only from the persecution of the English but also from the poverty which stalked the land, taking more toll of helpless children and weakened women than were ever killed in battle?
“I expect you can ride,” Mary Stuart was chattering on. “We must persuade the King to lend you one of his horses. The stables at the Château des Tournes are filled with the most magnificent horseflesh you have ever seen.”
Sheena murmured something.
“His Majesty says that I can ride as well as I dance,” the young Queen boasted. “I saw the Queen flush with anger when he said it. She is so jealous that she cannot bear him to pay anyone a compliment.”
“Perhaps Her Majesty has reason for her jealousy,” Sheena suggested quietly.
“Oh, nobody bothers about her, Mary Stuart exclaimed. “She is très ennuyeuse and when she sends for me I always try to make an excuse not to visit her. It is not always easy because Madame La Duchesse insists that I behave with the utmost courtesy to Her Majesty.”
“The Duchesse de Valentinois is right – ” Sheena began and then realised that she was siding with the woman whom she thought of as a natural enemy.
This moment of bewilderment was repeated again and again before she had left Mary Stuart to find her bedchamber and Maggie unpacking for her.
“Have you seen Her wee Majesty?” Maggie enquired eagerly as she entered the room.
Sheena nodded.
“I have, indeed,” she answered. “She is very lovely, Maggie, but she is no longer a child. We are not needed here.”
“Ah, now, Mistress Sheena, dinna you go makin’ up your mind aboot somethin’ like that within the first moment of your crossin’ the threshold. “’Tis not likely that our Queen, after bein’ in exile all these years, will not have learned to hide her true feelings and so not to go about wearin’ her heart upon her sleeve. How is she to know at the first sight of you whether you be friend or foe? And the Lord knows there’s enough of both in Scotland!”
“At least she knows I have come as a friend,” Sheena pointed out.
“There’s friends and friends,” Maggie muttered darkly. “Dinna forget there are those in Scotland who have fought against her mother, poor blessed lady. Do you no suppose that she is aware that they will be ready to fight against her again when the time comes?”
“Yes, you are right!” Sheena exclaimed in tones of relief. “Perhaps it will seem simpler and plainer tomorrow. Now I am in such a daze that I don’t know what I do think.”
“Of course you dinna,” Maggie answered stoutly.
It was then that without any warning Sheena found the tears running down her cheeks. It had been a long voyage, it had been unnerving to arrive at Brest to find that there was no one there to meet her. Her encounter with the Duc, the elegance of her escort and the knowledge of her own insignificance and badly dressed appearance had all culminated in the shock of finding the little Queen she had come to instruct was not a helpless homesick child.
She had thought to find Her Majesty lost and bewildered in the corrupt Court – instead she had discovered a poised and elegant young woman seemingly far older than herself, well educated, exquisitely mannered and already more au fait with the world and its affairs than Sheena could ever hope to be.
This was all too much to be borne and, hiding her face on Maggie’s broad shoulder, she sobbed,
“Let’s go home. We are not wanted here, Maggie. Let’s go home.”
“Now dinna fuss yoursel,” Maggie said soothingly.
She held Sheena close and then, when the tempest of her tears abated a little, fetched her a drink of water and with it a draught of what Maggie called her ‘soothing medicine’.
She had no sooner drunk it than she started to feel unconscionably sleepy.
She tried to protest but Maggie took her clothes from her and helped her into bed.
“I must dress and go down to dinner,” she murmured. “They will be expecting me.”
“There’s plenty of time for that on the morrow,” Maggie said quietly.
The sheets smelt of lavender and were warm from the warming pan. Her tired body sank low in the goose feather mattress.
“I will get up in five minutes,” she tried to say to Maggie, but before the words were past her lips she was asleep.
Maggie found a chambermaid and told her to carry a message to the young Queen that Sheena was indisposed after the long journey and would not be able to come down to dinner that night.
The chambermaid then promised to deliver it to a footman and Maggie, having seen that Sheena was asleep, drew the curtains quietly and went to her own room.
*
Sheena woke with a start feeling that something was wrong.
The room was in darkness, the fire had burned low and she guessed that it must be in the early hours of the morning. She felt conscience-stricken that she should have failed in her new position so soon and so quickly after her arrival. but it was too late now to do anything about it and she knew that the wisest thing she could do would be to go back to sleep.
But this was the one thing that seemed impossible. Instead she began to toss and turn. Scraps of conversation came back to her, the expression on Mary Stuart’s face when she had spoken of Scotland and the tone of contempt that it seemed to her had been in the Duc’s voice as he told the Duchesse de Valentinois to provide her with some clothes.
“I should never have come,” she said forlornly to the darkness and felt her heart ache because of the blindness of those scores of devoted men in Scotland, plotting and planning and worrying over their young Queen, quite unaware that she was a very different being from the baby they had seen carried aboard the ship that had taken her to the safety of France.
‘How can I ever tell them? How can I make them understand?’ Sheena asked herself.
She must have dozed a little.
When she opened her eyes again, the light was coming in through the curtains. It was the pale, faint, golden light of dawn and, because she felt stifled by the comfort of her feather bed and over-soft pillows, she rose and crossed the room to throw wide the long windows, which reached to the floor.
She found herself looking out over the courtyard beyond which were the gardens of The Palace. There was the sound of horses’ hoofs below and Sheena craned her head forward.
A magnificent white stallion was being led into the courtyard. The embroidered reins and velvet-covered saddle made her guess that it belonged to someone of importance.
Did the King rise at such an early hour? she wondered and guessed by the light on the horizon that it was not yet six o’clock.
Then down the steps below her she saw a figure that she recognised.
It was the Duchesse de Valentinois. She heard her voice, low, musical and wishing the grooms good morning and saying a word of greeting to the horse itself. Then she sprang into the saddle with the elasticity and grace of a young girl, her foot barely resting in the cupped hand of the page who knelt to assist her.
With only a groom in attendance the Duchesse cantered away over the cobblestones, her lovely face raised towards the sun as if she would drink in the beauty and freshness of it.
Sheena stared after her in astonishment. How could the Duchesse be up so early when she was so old and when she must have been late last night at dinner with the King? It was yet another of the puzzling things which she was finding in this strange Palace in this strange land.
Somehow she had had in her mind a picture of how wicked people behaved, drinking, making love and gambling all night and staying in bed half the day because they were too tired to rise as ordinary people had to do.
This was certainly not true of the Duchesse de Valentinois.
Sheena felt that she could not sleep again and so she dressed herself, knowing that it was far too early to leave her room. She settled herself at the small escritoire in the corner and tried to begin a letter to her father.
“I will wr
ite to you the moment I arrive,” she had promised him.
Yet what was there to say except to tell him how bad the voyage had been, how Maggie had succumbed to the waves and how there had been no one there to meet her when she had arrived at the quayside?
She put all this down on paper and then stopped. How could she go on? Was she to tell him about the Duc and how she disliked him? Was she to recount her first impressions of Madame de Valentinois? Could she possibly describe in words the look on the King’s face when the Duchesse had come into the room and it seemed as if he was suddenly lit by a light from within to become, before her very eyes, a different man altogether?
And Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland. What could she write of her?
There was the sound of more horses’ hoofs outside and Sheena, glad of the excuse, rose and went to the window. She looked down into the courtyard expecting to see the Duchesse returning, but now she saw that it was the King who was mounting a splendid black horse and there were four of his gentlemen to squire him.
“Which way did Madame La Duchesse go?” she heard him ask one of the grooms.
The man pointed out the direction and the King rode off eagerly. Another person rising early and contradicting her reasonable assumptions as to what was likely to happen in this great luxurious Palace.
Sheena went back to her desk, but she had not been there long before there was a discreet knock at the door. She opened it, wondering if it was Maggie who had come to her but found instead a page with a note on a silver salver.
She opened it and looking quickly at the signature saw that it read, Gustave de Cloude, and remembered that he was one of the young men who had escorted her from Brest to Paris.
“I have seen you at your window,” he wrote, “so I know you are awake. Will you not meet me in the garden? There are many things I should like to speak to you about while the rest of The Palace is still asleep.”
Sheena hesitated. She felt it would be indiscreet and perhaps something which would be frowned on, that she should walk in the gardens with a man she knew so slightly.
And yet at the same time she was very curious. She longed to ask questions of someone, anyone, who could answer what she wanted to know.
The Hidden Evil Page 4
