The Star of Versailles

by Catherine Curzon

  “No,” came the weak denial from the man in question. “Not at all.”

  “He was,” Harriet cut in. “He was very brave.”

  “Gaudet saved you—saved us.”

  “And I almost lost my plait.”

  William mumbled something which sounded like, “Bloody woman,” before slumping in his seat.

  Gaudet slipped his arm around William, drawing him close as he whispered, “You’re safe, chérie.”

  “I thought I was going to die,” came the slurred reply. “I laughed at him. Couldn’t stop laughing.”

  “Because he is a ridiculous creature,” Gaudet declared, every limb shaking. “And, Mademoiselle, your father is on the mend already. He has missed you dreadfully.”

  “I’m sorry I told you he was dead, I had to.” William was rambling now.

  “He is not the sort of man to die,” Harriet whispered, snuggling against Gaudet, too. “He is far too reliable for that.”

  “You must tell him I am sorry.”

  “Hush, both.” Gaudet reached into his coat to pass the brandy flask first to Harriet, who took a deep sip, then to William, holding it to his lips. As he drank, his eyes slipped shut, a shiver running through him.

  With one arm around each of those he had thought lost, Gaudet finally let himself begin to relax, sure that nobody would intercept the carriage of Vincent Tessier. Eventually, they rolled to a stop in a quiet lane and Adam pulled the door open. He peered in and said, “We can’t be seen arriving by carriage…up to the end of the alley, first right, fourth door on the left and Dee’ll be waiting for you. I’ll dump this then see you in a bit.”

  “Not long to go,” Gaudet promised William, taking his weight as they began to walk.

  Harriet produced the lethal-looking knife from her sleeve once more as she went.

  He felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of emotion, taking a deep breath. “My sister is so close, just an hour or so away. You will meet what is left of my family and we will all be safely home in England soon.”

  There was a hint of a laugh at that, and a murmur of ‘home’ before William tightened his hold on Gaudet’s arm. Harriet left them behind, already hurrying ahead to find her father.

  They were barely into the house, however, when Bastien and Dee, leaning on a walking stick, emerged from a closed door. He seemed as though he had not slept in weeks, yet at the sight of his returned daughter, the look of fatigue visibly lifted. Harriet threw herself into his arms, Bastien letting out a cheer. Gaudet, however, took care with the delicate man on his own arm, telling him, “Into bed and let our Dee have a look at you.”

  “I’m fine.” The very words proved too much and, no doubt much to the Englishman’s chagrin, William slumped against him.

  “I shall settle my swooning damsel,” Gaudet told the others even as his heart blanched with concern, hefting William over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As Dee promised to be with them shortly, he carried William through the house, wondering suddenly what he would do if this was worse than he thought, if he lost this most precious man so soon.

  The room he found contained a bed, simple but clean, and as he settled William upon it he murmured, eyelids flickering.

  “You will be all right.” Gaudet pressed a fierce kiss to William’s hair. “I swear it.”

  William’s lips lifted in a small smile of delirious response, followed by a pained gasp of Gaudet’s name.

  “Boots off, no boots on the bed,” Gaudet chided good-humoredly, slipping William’s boots off. “Can you slip your jacket and shirt off, chérie, and we shall clean you up.”

  “Do I look a mess?” William tried his best, getting the jacket off with effort.

  “You look like the ruffian you are.” Gaudet helped him with utmost care. “And still lovely.”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking…about you…”

  “Well, naturally.” He kissed William’s hair again, gently helping him with his shirt. At the slashes and bruises left by the horsewhip, Gaudet’s stomach lurched and he whispered, “Oh, chérie.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks…” When William spoke, Gaudet knew that he should go and summon the professor. For now, he could not bring himself to leave his lover alone, stroking one hand through William’s hair whilst the Englishman murmured, “I’m glad that you are here.”

  “I have been so worried…” As Gaudet spoke, William lifted one hand to his cheek. At the touch his eyes flickered shut for a moment and he whispered, “I thought I would lose you.”

  “You won’t get rid of me.” There was almost a smile in the words. “Not that easily.”

  “When we are home, you are not leaving my sight, sir. Besides, I have the most enormous—” Gaudet dropped his voice to a whisper, eyes wide when he finished the sentence, “bed.”

  A flicker of something other than exhaustion and pain crossed William’s face at the unspoken promise and the hand that trembled on Gaudet’s cheek slipped up into Gaudet’s hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to his lover’s lips, the worry and fear and love he felt all mingling as the hours just passed finally washed over him.

  “Chérie…” Gaudet whispered, hardly noticing the door open nor the figure of Dee stepping into the room, a heavy medical case under one arm.

  William broke the kiss, voice barely a whisper when he murmured, “It hurts…”

  “Well,” Dee commented, as though nothing was unusual at all in this new departure, “it will.”

  If he minded in the slightest, William gave no sign, still clutching at Gaudet even when he sank back into the pillows with a weary sigh.

  “You must be gentle with him, sir,” Gaudet told Dee, gaze still on William. “And lovely though he is, he’s mine.”

  “It’s all right,” William murmured, eyes closed, “he’s too Irish.”

  “Are you Irish?” Gaudet was genuinely stunned. “Your French is flawless. What about the roguish one with the twinkle? Is he Irish? Do you wield a shillelagh? Chérie,” he gasped with the very thought, “are you Irish, Guillaume?”

  “No.” The Englishman’s eyes snapped open at that suggestion. “No, I most certainly am not.”

  “This poor chap is English,” Dee lamented, resting his stick against the wall. “Well, Guillaume, Gaudet, I should be furious. Instead, I wish I could pin a bloody medal on the pair of you.”

  “She is a wonder with a hair pin,” William remembered.

  “And a beer bottle, from what she tells me.” Dee sat on the edge of the bed, bringing the candle closer as he examined the wounds left by the whip.

  “You have taught her well.”

  “She is a fine young lady,” Dee agreed with obvious pride. “I think you will live. I shall clean the wounds, dress them and then I recommend some bed rest. Rest being the operative word,” Dee told Gaudet. “As in, actual rest, Gaudet, no bouncing off the walls for your friend just yet.”

  “And afterwards?” William’s voice was sharp and Gaudet took his hand. “Am I still to be relegated to less challenging work?”

  “Afterwards,” Gaudet cut in before Dee could, glancing to the door as Pap bounded in and hopped onto the bed, “you shall not be doing any work, for we shall be enjoying life for a while.”

  “That sounds…” William didn’t get any further, words trailing off in a yawn as his eyes slipped shut again.

  Gaudet watched Dee work in well-behaved silence, glad for Papillon’s presence when she snuggled into his lap, tail wagging softly. Finally, the professor declared that William would mend soon enough and, setting a bottle of claret on the nightstand, took his leave. After settling Pap on the covers, Gaudet slipped off his own boots and coat and lay beside William, drawing the blanket over them as he kissed his lover’s hair.

  “Sleep,” he whispered, holding William in a careful embrace. “I will be here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  With a good few nights’ rest and the benefit of Dee’s healing salves, William felt sore but distinctly more alive than he ha
d in days when the carriage arrived in Le Havre. Sitting as close as he could get without being in William’s lap, Gaudet was a bundle of nervous energy, his excitement writ large as the carriage rolled on, the sight of ships at the dock marking the closing days of their journey.

  “I have not seen Claudine in many years,” Gaudet whispered, peering from the window at the dingy buildings with a frown. “And have never ever seen the little man. I have written, sent stories, drawings, but this is a world away from Versailles.”

  “What is she like?” William asked, curious to know more of the woman who so occupied Gaudet’s thoughts.

  “She is beautiful, the most beautiful woman who ever was at court—wonderful hair.” He shook his head. “And quiet and intelligent and I wish she would laugh more.”

  “You will make her laugh.” William was certain of that. “And the child, too.”

  “Well, Monsieur Roucelle awaits,” Dee announced. He and his daughter exchanged a few words then he gestured to the small house before which they had stopped. It was tiny, unremarkable and best of all, easy to miss. “Go and find your sister, Monsieur.”

  With the carriage door opened, William hung back, certain that Gaudet would want to enjoy his reunion in private, yet it seemed that he had no such plans. With Pap safe beneath his arm, he knocked at the weathered wooden door and urged, “Come, chérie.”

  William climbed down to join Gaudet, standing close beside him, hands knitted behind his back. They did not have long to ponder, as the door opened to reveal a man who, William’s first impression noted, had a head as round as his belly, as stout as he was short in stature.

  “Roucelle?” Gaudet asked and William noted that the man peered around him, seeming to recognize Dee. “I believe you have a guest who is awaiting her brother?”

  “I have a lady who has just about given up on the lot of you.” Roucelle stepped back to let them enter. “There’s been not a smile nor a snicker in this house for longer than I can recall.”

  Gaudet slipped into the house, William following as they made their way along a narrow hallway and into a tiny sitting room. There, a woman as large as Roucelle was knitting in a threadbare armchair, though she barely glanced up at the new arrivals. What struck William as utterly, almost comically, incongruous was the presence of another woman, who sat straight-backed in a rocking chair with a little boy perched in her lap, a book held in his small hands. Dressed all in black with a silver crucifix shining at her throat, she did not lift her gaze to them, her dark hair scraped into an unruly bun that seemed at odds with the soft beauty of her pale face.

  The child, no more than three, was dressed as simply as his mother in shirt and breeches, bare feet kicking happily as he pointed to something in the book. She peered closer, smiling before she kissed his hair very gently. Only then did her gaze shift to look over the new arrivals, her hand flying to her mouth before she gasped, “André!”

  William stepped back at the word, certain in that moment that Gaudet’s sister would not welcome any intrusion into this moment of reunion.

  “It’s Uncle André,” she told the little boy, who peered at them with sparkling eyes.

  William was so used to referring to the playwright as Gaudet that the name sounded strange, as if it belonged to someone other than the man who stepped forward to greet them. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering what it might be like to be so cared for, to be so welcomed.

  And now, of course, now I have Gaudet, I know what it is to be cared for.

  To be loved, perhaps?

  The little boy flew across the floor and leaped into the playwright’s arms as Gaudet declared, “And this is my wonderful friend, Guillaume, to whom I owe my very life. He is an honorary member of our family.”

  “Oh,” William interjected. “No, I’ve not, I just—”

  Claudine rose from her seat and greeted him with a polite nod, her eyes glittering. “I had thought—oh, sir, where have you all been?”

  “Your brother got here as quickly as he could, Madame.” William bristled just slightly at the tone. “At much peril to his person.”

  “My brother is an oaf,” Claudine replied without any conviction and a moment later she flung her arms around Gaudet, leaving William somewhat taken aback when François scrambled from his uncle’s embrace and held up his arms to William.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, the little boy asked in a manner so imperious that he must have learned it from his poised mother, “Cuddle?”

  He approached the child with the utmost care, gingerly bending as best he could to be in reach of the small arms that demanded attention.

  “Guillaume,” the child tried the name out. “Uncle?”

  “Oh, no,” William told the infant quickly.

  “Quite so,” Gaudet cut in. “This is Uncle Guillaume, my best friend of all my many friends, and this is your cousin Papillon.” He raised one of Pap’s paws and waved it. “My little girl.”

  At least he had not said our little girl, William thought as he smiled for the boy, trying to avoid the gaze of Gaudet’s formidable sister.

  “Well.” Gaudet reached across to take William’s hand and whisper, “she is ours, really.”

  William’s eyes widened even as he patted Gaudet’s hand reassuringly, wondering what on earth this suddenly adopted family would make of him now.

  What would everybody think?

  Claudine’s gaze did not falter. She took in the sight, then she released her hold on Gaudet, clapped once and said to William, “What is—?” The words were stilled however, her gaze moving to the opening door to widen at the sight of Dee and Harriet’s appearance, eyes flickering back to William when she asked, “You have come for the Star of Versailles?”

  “We have indeed, Madame,” William informed her. “And to bring you to safety.”

  “We have come,” Dee corrected carefully, William wondering exactly what the meaningful look he and the woman exchanged might mean, “For the diamond. The Prince of Wales awaits his trinket.”

  “And you will see us safe to England?” Claudine asked as François began patting at William’s cheek, saying something about rouge.

  “We will,” William assured her, watching the woman. “You have my word on that.”

  “Although I do wonder…” Dee frowned, chewing his lip before he asked the householders, “Sir, Madame, might I have ten minutes with the party?”

  “Come on.” Roucelle heaved himself to his feet, gesturing for his wife to do the same.

  With a glance back at the assembled group, they left the room, William telling the child he held, “No, no rouge. I do not do rouge.”

  Leaving Harriet to steer Bastien from the room after the couple, Claudine gathered her son back into her arms, where he immediately began telling her of the rougeless new uncle. Smiling rather brightly at the child’s chatter for just a moment, Dee ushered them all to sit, his face taking on the very grave look that William never liked to see.

  Trouble is coming.

  As they sat he found himself overwhelmed by the sudden, and only just suppressed, urge to take Gaudet’s hand, instead folding his hands in his lap to relieve the temptation when he asked, “What terrible matter are we to discuss now?”

  “I think that the time has come for honesty,” Dee told them.

  God—not this, not such public revelations. It doesn’t matter who I bed, surely, who I care for—will Dee really tell the world of our liaison?

  Why?

  William recalled Dee’s presence while Gaudet had comforted him, the indiscretion seemingly so trivial at the time now momentous in the cold light of day. Whatever Dee was about to announce to the assembled group he would not apologize for, he decided. If he never worked again, faced public shame, faced a life in hiding, then he would gladly do it for Alexandre Gaudet. The same went for whatever he stood to lose from not profiting from the diamond they had come to collect. Being with this French dandy, rouge and all, meant more than any money.

  “
The Prince of Wales is…well, to be polite, a boor.” Dee knitted his fingers in his lap, looking for all the world as though he was in the finest club on the Strand and not a dingy sitting room barely large enough to contain his height. “I propose that the diamond is officially lost. The Star, however, must be protected at all costs.”

  “So…” It took William a long moment to process this unexpected and relief-inducing development, the realization that his sex life was not the topic under debate. “We have to keep the diamond safe but pretend to the Prince it is missing?”

  “I have a buyer for the diamond, a gent of the east, and propose a split of the spoils between us in Madame Plamondon’s favor, of course.” Dee met Claudine’s gaze with a polite nod of acknowledgement. “There is something more, however.”

  “The diamond is grand enough, but it is not the Star of Versailles,” Dee went on, Claudine giving an imperceptible nod of her head in consent. “When the royal family fled to Varennes they left a precious treasure with Madame Plamondon and her husband, entrusting it to her keeping along with the diamond that is so sought after…”

  “This child, my beloved boy, was given to me as a newborn by her late Majesty, and it broke her heart to say goodbye to him, to have the world know nothing of his birth,” Claudine took up the tale. “When this regime collapses, he will be rightly called by his proper title as our sovereign King Louis XVIII, chosen by God.”

  It took a moment, a rather long one, for William to process that, to realize that the small child who had so imperiously patted his cheek and waffled about rouge was in fact the rightful dauphin of France. “Bloody hell!”

  “He was born premature,” Dee went on, as Claudine drew the child into a loving embrace. “The flight to Varennes could not be postponed any longer and the intention was to follow the family when the little one was stronger. It was not to be.”