‘I would like bowls of lukewarm water,’ Marietta said authoritatively to the housekeeper. ‘ Nothing else.’
While the housekeeper hurried away to do her bidding, Marietta crossed to Elise’s bedside and, holding her as tenderly as she would a child, poured the carefully-prepared medicine down her throat. Elise protested feverishly, trying to turn her head away, her eyes glazed and showing no recognition of Marietta.
Marietta’s hold tightened. She pressed Elise’s head against her breast, holding it tightly until she had protestingly swallowed a sufficient amount of the mixture. Then the housekeeper was back with the water and at Marietta’s nod of dismissal, scurried away. Prayer was the only saving from the fever, and the housekeeper meant to pray fervently; not for her mistress but for herself. She didn’t want to go the way of Solange Agoult, who had died only weeks ago after suffering the same symptoms as Madame Sainte-Beuve.
Alternately, Marietta sponged Elise’s fevered body and gave her the medicine. The hours passed, and still Elise did not recognise her. She did not even know that she was in her own bed and at Lancerre.
‘The Queen!’ she cried again and again as she flung the sheets off her fevered body. ‘The Queen wants me! I’m to be a lady-in-waiting. I must go now! Immediately! The Queen awaits!’
With tireless patience Marietta continued to sponge her with a constant supply of lukewarm water, press the bottle of medicine to her lips, waiting for any sign that the fever was about to breaks. It did not. By dawn Elise was worse, tearing at her nightdress, the hair that usually glistened in such pretty ringlets now damp and dishevelled.
Dawn broke, and still Marietta had not slept and still Elise raved about Versailles. About her position there; her carriages; her jewels. Not once in her delirium did she call Léon’s name.
The sun rose and Marietta felt faint and dizzy. She wanted sleep; a rest. Yet she could not while Elise hovered between life and death. Through the closed door the housekeeper told her that the Abbé was downstairs, and that the Duke of Malbré had arrived. But there was no news of Léon. Was he still in Montpellier? Or Chatonnay? Or—Marietta’s heart seemed voluntarily to cease to beat—was he dead? Killed, acting in her defence against an evil that he knew nothing of?
‘Maurice! Cousin Maurice!’
The name roused Marietta. Who was Maurice? She wiped Elise’s sweating brow with a sponge soaked in camomile.
‘Cousin Maurice says my position is at court! He will take me there! To the Queen as a lady-in-waiting. Oh, where is Maurice?’
She buried her head in the pillow in a frenzy, and Marietta breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. No longer did Elise believe herself to be at Versailles. She knew she was still waiting to go. No doubt Maurice was the wedding guest already in Montpellier. She took Elise’s hand.
‘The Duke is here,’ she said. ‘He is most anxious for your health, Elise.’
The restless body stilled and then the wild blue eyes sought the door and she cried out, ‘ Léon. Is Léon here?’
‘No, but he will be, Elise. He will come.’
The very sound of his name seemed to cause the fever to return in full strength. ‘Léon! Léon!’ Elise screamed, unable to bear the knowledge of her marriage to that masterful, frightening creature, the Lion of Languedoc.
Marietta’s hand trembled as she reached out for the medicine. If Elise loved Léon so desperately, how could he possibly tell her he no longer wished to marry her when she was ill and weak? ‘Drink this,’ she said with an anguished heart, and for the first time the medicine was drunk voluntarily.
Elise fell back against the pillows, her face white, dark circles beneath her eyes. The hands that had clutched at the sheets continually through the night were now still. Marietta rose and opened the door. In the hallway below stood a taut-faced Henri and a nervous-looking house keeper.
‘Warm milk and honey,’ she said. ‘ The fever has broken.’
The Duke de Malbré, a man used to concealing his emotions in even the most trying of circumstances, mopped his brow. ‘Praise God,’ he said fervently. ‘Praise God and all the holy angels,’ and he clutched at his ebony-topped cane to prevent his knees from buckling with sheer relief.
With infinite patience Marietta spooned Elise the un welcome goat’s milk and honey, knowing that she needed sustenance if she was to recover her strength. Then Elise’s eyes closed in natural sleep and Marietta sat on the floor at her bedside, Elise’s hysterical cries for Léon ringing in her ears.
For the rest of the day and the following night Marietta stayed alone with Elise, giving her medicine every two hours, feeding her with the milk and honey. Léon had arrived and waited downstairs with the loyal Duke. Marietta had shed silent tears as she offered a prayer of gratitude at his safe return, but she could show no joy at his presence. Not after Elise’s tortured cries for him. She had thought that the mention of the Duke’s presence would bring Elise comfort, but it had been Léon’s name that she had screamed, her eyes transfixed on the door. A problem that had seemed simple only a day ago now seemed insuperable.
It was dusk on the second day when she finally left the room. She swayed visibly at the top of the stairs and Léon mounted them two at a time, catching hold of her. More than anything in the world Marietta wanted to stay there, close to that strong chest, secure in loving arms. She could not. Not with Elise only yards away and the Abbé watching them with curious eyes. She withdrew herself from his embrace and said quietly, ‘She is weak and will be for a long time. She does not have Ninette Brissac’s natural strength. But she will live.’
‘Thanks to you.’ The gold-flecked eyes were so full of love and gratitude that Marietta felt she would drown in their depths.
‘Come.’ Despite the watching eyes of the priest, his arm encircled her waist. ‘You need rest and food. Let me take you back to Chatonnay.’
She shook her head. ‘You must see Elise. She cried out for you, Léon. In a voice of such pain!’ Tears Tears choked her.
Léon’s brow furrowed. ‘I will not speak to Elise of our marriage yet, if that is what you fear.’
‘No.’ She shook her head vainly. ‘I fear you will never be able to speak of it to her,’ and she freed herself from his hold and hurried on down the stairs to where Henri and the Abbé waited.
Léon paused, wanting to go after her, to reassure her, but the sharp eyes of the priest were watching his every movement and he turned instead to Elise’s door.
‘Elise?’ Her eyes remained closed. He stood helplessly by the bed and then, as she showed no sign of awakening, he left the room. As the door closed behind him two tears slid from Elise’s closed lids and down her cheeks. Where was Henri? Why didn’t he come to her? She wanted his understanding presence, his gossip of Versailles.
‘She’s asleep,’ Léon said as the Abbé raised surprised brows at his sudden departure. ‘I will escort Mademoiselle Riccardi back to Chatonnay. She is exhausted.’
In the presence of the disapproving Abbé, Henri reluctantly rose to his feet.
‘And I will accompany you.’
He turned to the housekeeper. ‘Tell Madame Sainte-Beuve, should she wake, that I will be back in the morning.’
His face was tired and drawn and it occurred to Marietta that he had been at Lancerre ever since she had first seen him in the hallway.
Wearily the three of them mounted their horses and cantered out into the darkness of Lancerre’s deserted streets. There was nothing that any of them could say in each other’s company. Léon wanted to tell Marietta that no power on earth would prevent him from marrying her, but could not with Henri at his side. Marietta was filled with a terrible apprehension that Elise’s future health would make any such marriage impossible, and Henri had thoughts only for a child-like figure, sick and ill and in no condition to accept his proposal of marriage.
They were not the only ones who had had little sleep. A wan-faced Jeannette waited for them, an anxious Céleste at her side.
‘T
he fever broke two hours ago.’ Léon said briefly and though Céleste avoided his eyes it was obvious to Marietta that nothing terrible had happened in Montpellier. It could not have, or Léon would have found some way of telling her and Céleste would not be waiting to meet them.
‘Thank the Lord,’ Jeannette said with heartfelt relief, and then, seeing Marietta’s pale face, ‘To bed with you at once. Céleste, help me assist Marietta up the stairs. She scarce has the strength to stand.’
‘Allow me,’ Léon said, and Marietta was swept up unprotestingly in strong arms, and despite all her tiredness at his touch a fire leaped within her. Léon! How could she live without Léon?
He lay her on the bed, and her last waking memory was of his lips on her forehead as he covered her, fully dressed, with the bed-sheets. Jeannette stood at the door, a nightdress in her hands, but he motioned her away.
‘She is already fast asleep. Let her be till morning.’
Henri had already made his way exhaustedly to his room and Léon escorted his mother to hers.
‘What days,’ she said, leaning heavily against him. ‘Is it all at an end now? No more witch-hunters? No more fears for Elise’s life?’
‘The witch-hunters are still in Montpellier, and we must be on our guard until they leave, but at least Céleste spoke to no one but the devastating Maurice, who seems to have quite turned her head. As for Elise, thanks to Marietta she will live, but Marietta says she will be weak for a long time. It may be days, weeks even, before I can tell her that I no longer wish to marry her,’ and he kissed her goodnight and went restlessly to his own room.
Marietta was awoken by an excited Céleste, bouncing up and down on the bed.
‘Oh do wake up, Marietta. I’ve so much to tell you!’
Marietta blinked bewilderedly, expecting to see Elise nearby. Then she remembered and a smile touched her lips as she saw she was still fully clothed. Léon had carried her to her bed. She had gone to sleep with Léon’s kiss on her brow.
She sat up, arranging her pillows more comfortably as Céleste said, ‘I’m so glad Elise is better and I know you must have been very tired, but it’s not fair of Aunt Jeannette to tell me not to wake you when it’s after nine and I’ve no one else to talk with!’
‘And what is it you want to talk about?’ Marietta asked, reflecting that if it was well after nine she would have to bathe and change in a hurry, for Elise would be needing her.
‘Yesterday.’ Céleste’s face glowed. ‘Do you know that now I have two suitors? Raphael and Maurice.’
Raphael, Marietta thought, suppressing a smile, had not taken long to recover from unrequited love. ‘Who is Maurice?’ she asked as Céleste settled herself more comfortably and with very little regard for Marietta’s feet.
‘Maurice is Elise’s cousin and a Marquis. I rode with Elise’s valet yesterday to meet him and accompany him back to Lancerre but he had business in Montpellier and so must stay there for a few more days, which is just as well as Elise is now sick. You don’t think he will return to Paris now that the wedding is to be postponed, do you?’ Her eyes lost their sparkle. ‘Oh, I couldn’t bear that.’
So no one had yet told Céleste that the wedding was no longer to take place. It was still only a postponement. Marietta felt a deep-seated fear take hold of her. ‘If he does he will return,’ she said with an attempt at reassurance.
‘But it might not be for ages. I think I will ask Aunt Jeannette if he can stay here, at Chatonnay.’ She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘To be sought after by two men under the same roof! Do you think they will become jealous and maybe fight a duel over me?’
‘I should hope not,’ Marietta answered chastisingly. ‘That way one of them would be hurt and might possibly die and I thought you cared for them both?’
‘Oh, I do.’ Céleste’s face, still soft with the childhood she had scarce left behind, was ecstatic. ‘Raphael is so … sophisticated. I must confess I thought he was more interested in you, Marietta, but he told me yesterday when he rode to meet me, that he was simply trying to arouse my interest by making me jealous. Can you imagine such folly? He said the tenderest things to me.’ She blushed. ‘He even took the liberty of kissing my foot, saying it was the daintiest he had ever seen, and then Léon came and spoiled everything.’
Her face darkened. ‘Really, Cousin Léon is not a bit charming at times. He wanted to know where I had been, who I had spoken to. He wasn’t even civil to Raphael. Only when the steward told him that we had spoken to no one but Elise’s cousin did he recover any semblance of manners.’
‘And is the cousin as handsome as Raphael?’ Marietta asked, glad that this sudden attention had banished Céleste’s sulks.
‘Oh, he is divine! I think he is even richer than the de Malbrés, for his hands were covered in rings. I have never seen a diamond so huge as the one on his forefinger. Perhaps it is the one he will give to his bride-to-be!’ She hugged herself. ‘Duchess de Malbré or a Marchioness? I wonder what it shall be?’
Marietta smiled indulgently as she swung her legs from the bed and began to take off her crumpled gown.
‘You aren’t too disappointed about Raphael not loving you, are you?’ Céleste asked as Marietta washed and then dressed in fresh clothes. ‘I would understand if you are, because he is so extremely eligible and so elegant. His buttonholes yesterday were inches thick with gold thread, and I am sure the perfume he was wearing must have cost hundreds of livres.’
‘It is a disappointment I think I can recover from,’ Marietta returned gravely.
‘Oh, I am glad. I would hate to hurt you. So now we can continue to be friends even though Raphael treated you shamefully in pretending to love you when really he was besotted by me.’ She twirled in front of the mirror in a gown of brocade with a flowered silver design. ‘Do you think this dress becomes me? Do you think Aunt Jeannette will allow Maurice to stay here? Do you think …?’
‘Later. I must go to Elise.’
Céleste paused in front of the mirror and patted her curls. ‘Cousin Léon and the Duke are waiting to speak to you in Léon’s study. I quite forgot to tell you. Aunt Jeannette said that when you woke I was to send you there immediately.’
Marietta felt an all too familiar tightening of her stomach muscles. What could Léon want to say to her that he needed Henri there as witness? Had more happened in Montpellier than Céleste was aware of? Or had a night’s sleep and reflection brought him to a different decision about Elise, and was he not man enough to tell her on his own? She dismissed the idea as soon as it entered her head. Not that he might have second thoughts about breaking off his betrothal to Elise, but that he would need anyone for moral support if he did so. Léon was frightened of nothing and no one.
She took a deep, steadying breath, knocked on the door and entered.
Céleste sat down on the bed in a pet. She hadn’t had the chance to tell Marietta half her news: of the excitement in Montpellier that Maurice had aroused. For the Sainte-Beuve wedding was not the only reason for Maurice’s presence in Languedoc. He had been sent from Paris to find the She-Devil, the witch who was about to wreak havoc in the South, so beautiful she was reputed to be Lucifer’s mistress. Maurice was offering hundreds of livres for any information that would lead to her capture, and as he had come from Paris it could only mean that the King himself had given him his charge. And if Maurice was so close to the King.…
Céleste shivered with delight. Why, perhaps if the King saw her even he would fall in love with her and she might follow in the footsteps of La Vallière and Madame de Montespan!
Raphael waited for her in the orchard and unknown to Léon or her aunt, Maurice also awaited her later in the day at a secret rendezvous. He had been so interested in her, listening to her every word; he, a man who consorted with the great Sun King himself! Céleste thought she would die of happiness.
She would have to be careful if she was to leave the château without attracting attention, and she would also have to be careful not t
o allow his interest to stray to Marietta. He had already shown an uncommon curiosity about the redhaired girl Léon had brought back with him to Chatonnay.
But that was only to be expected. Everyone was curious about Marietta and if Maurice’s interest were sincere he would have to be sure of the family he was marrying into. She pulled her gown lower to expose more of her bosom, bit her lips to redden them, and left the room, intent on meeting the first of her lovers in the orchard.
Chapter Ten
One glance at Léon’s face was enough to set aside all Marietta’s fears. His eyes held only love.
‘Henri wishes to speak to you about Madame de Montespan. He wants to know what you meant telling him that the lady came to the Riccardis for more than lace, and to tell the truth, sweet love, so do I.’
He had crossed the room to her and now held her clasped hands against his chest. She looked up into his face. That olive-skinned face that could be so frightening in anger and so tender in love. He had risked his life by going to Montpellier, and he had not known why. Now was the time to tell him.
The Duke waited patiently as Marietta gently freed herself from Léon’s hold and walked slowly across to the window. Then, without looking at either of them, staring out over the moat and the vine-filled plain beyond, she began:
‘Madame de Montespan has always wanted to be the King’s mistress. For years she flaunted herself in front of him but the King had no eyes for anyone but Louise de la Vallière. She decked herself with jewels and the richest of clothes. My grandmother made her the most superb ball dress ever seen at Versailles, and it was when wearing that dress that she finally caught the King’s attention.
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