by Ann Benson
“I shall trust you to express my gratitude to him when you return,” she said to Karle as they descended the stairs.
“You may count on me, mademoiselle,” he said gallantly. “I shall not fail you.”
“So you have promised, but you nearly failed me this afternoon,” she said. “I had begun to believe that you would not be able to tear yourself away from your rebel comrade.”
“We are not rebels at the moment. Only schemers to rebellion.” But his expression was filled with hope and excitement. “Marcel believes that if we ally ourselves temporarily with Navarre, the king’s forces may be defeated.”
“But—Navarre is a monster! Do you think it possible to trust him?”
“I do not know. But I think it necessary for me to give it a good deal of thought.”
She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and thought to herself that he was right to be hesitant. But he had been led into consideration of this strange alliance by a shrewd statesman, a politician with great persuasive skills, for whom he was probably no match in diplomacy.
Perhaps I should try to dissuade him from this path. It can lead nowhere good.
“Karle, I was thinking …” she started to say.
“What?”
“Oh … nothing. It is not important.” For soon, when she rejoined Pere, it would be no concern of hers at all. Very quietly, she said, “I just wanted to say that I wish you good fortune in this endeavor. And I thank you for coming for me.” Then she turned their discourse in a different direction. “And it was not a minute too soon! Marie is a pleasant companion, but her chatter—madame this and monsieur that! One fears the poor thing knows naught beyond that which she has seen within those walls. I should die were that to be my lot.”
“Then be grateful that God has not ordained such a life for you, and that you know something beyond servitude. But consider this: Marie has a decent home, a belly that is regularly full, and a sou or two to call her own. Few outside the walls of Paris can claim that. Few inside, for that matter. And Marcel has made certain that she enjoys a certain amount of liberty, in keeping with his philosophy. Often there are people of great influence in his home. Perhaps he wishes to set a proper example by showing them how one ought to treat a servant.”
He admires this Marcel overly much, she thought suddenly, her concern renewed. It colors his thinking. ”Still, he keeps her a servant.”
“That is true. Her liberty is restricted. And you, lady, enjoy a greater gift of liberty than she.”
Such liberty as it is. But she felt briefly shamed, for she knew he spoke the truth. “I am grateful for what God has given me. But He has been whimsical in His gifts. He gives, He takes, He toys with me, I think.”
“You are no more or less God’s plaything than any other mortal soul on this earth.”
She slowed her pace, then came to a halt and stared at him. “Oh, yes, Karle, I am. God has played most enthusiastically with me. And with Pere. More than you can ever know.”
He stared back at her, his eyes burning with curiosity. “I beseech you to tell me how.”
His interest seemed so genuine; she was tempted to reveal it all to him. It would be such a relief to be able to speak freely of her life; to confide the complete truth to someone other than Alejandro was a blessing she had not known since her earliest childhood. But it was not a decision that was entirely hers. Père will want to speak to this notion, she thought. “I … do want to, Karle, but I must speak with my père first.”
He was curious to the point of distraction, but even more than that, Karle was realizing his own unhappiness that Alejandro would soon reclaim Kate, her company, her devotion, her full and loving attention. Her mere presence at his side had become a comfort to him, and for the briefest moment he wished with all his heart to shake off the responsibilities that had fallen to him, to return to simple manhood, to leave the bloodshed behind. To once again be ordinary, and live an ordinary life, with all its trials and pains and momentary joys. Here, at my side, though she is barely more than a girl, is one whose company would make an ordinary life noble! Truly, this is fortune!
But soon she would be gone. With every step toward the meeting place the thought of her impending departure from his side became more troubling to him. Rue des Rosiers was only a short distance away when he finally found the courage to take her by the arm and draw her to a stop. “I know you are impatient to proceed, but I would speak to you of a certain matter before we arrive at the meeting place,” he said. “It would please me greatly to know that I might find you again when all of this madness is over.” Then quietly, he added, “If you would agree, that is, to be found.”
Their eyes met momentarily and then Kate looked away. Even in the dim light her cheeks glowed red. “I should also be pleased,” she whispered.
“What might your père say to the notion of you staying with me?”
Surprise took over her expression. “Only myself?”
“No,” Karle explained quickly. “I meant both of you, of course.”
She was filled with strange and unfamiliar emotions: hope, excitement, anticipation. But it was all colored by the reality of their plight. “I have no idea what he should say to such a plan. If you mean to make us soldiers in your cause, he is likely not to agree. But he must speak for himself, as he no doubt will if you propose this.”
Karle took hold of one of her hands. In contrast to his own, it was small and delicate. With far more confidence than he felt, he said, “And you have no objection to my speaking to him on this matter?”
“No, Karle, I … I … think I would welcome it.”
He pressed his inquiry to where he had hoped it would finally lead. “And were you to speak for yourself, what should your answer be?”
“It would be yes.”
The undisguised happiness on his face surprised her.
“But I must consider what Père wants,” she quickly added.
“A physician would be very useful in our cause.”
“He wants no part of war, I assure you.”
“A midwife, then? I have seen what you can do.”
She gave him a small smile. “There is much for me yet to learn. But I would try to make myself useful.”
“I have seen how useful you can be,” he said. “But were you only to stand beside me, with no purpose other than the comfort of your presence, you would be the most worthy and welcome comrade.”
And they walked on, their affection finally, if clumsily, declared.
In the small room to which de Chauliac had relegated him, Alejandro passed his first full day of captivity in comfortable solitude. Outside the door stood the everpresent guards, two stalwart soldiers who never said one word between them, but silently and stoically kept vigil. Alejandro had no doubt that should he attempt anything untoward, they would break their silence and fall upon him in an instant. But while he was well behaved, they left him alone.
The attic room was by no means unpleasant. There was air enough, and light, and the ceilings were freshly whitewashed, so when light came in through the window it bounced off the sloped surfaces and gave the small space a pleasing, warm glow. His captor had been good enough to provide him with a wonderful diversion—a recently acquired manuscript of a Greek tragedy, a rare and precious thing, for which Alejandro felt the most conflicted gratitude. He wondered at de Chauliac’s eagerness to see to his contentment, amply demonstrated by his tender of the valuable Greek book. And though the younger physician’s Greek was old and ill-used, for his father had disapproved of its acquisition, he recalled enough to find the small book thoroughly engrossing. But however compelling, the book’s entertainment did little to dispel the constant and gnawing worry that he had made a bad choice in putting Kate into the keeping of Guillaume Karle.
I will kill him with my own hands if she suffers in any way, he thought. He himself will suffer like no Christian has ever suffered before.
He heard the soft rustle of robes and approaching footst
eps, and looked up to see de Chauliac standing in the doorway of his small room.
“Good day, colleague,” the stately Frenchman said with a nod of his head. “How are you faring on this lovely afternoon?”
The physician regarded his host with cool resentment. “Well enough, considering my captivity.”
“I would have you think of yourself as a guest in my home.” He made a thin-lipped smile. “One without the means to leave just yet.”
“Your hospitality is remarkable, colleague, more so in view of the times. But I don’t suppose I need to tell you that I would sooner be miserable in freedom than your pampered captive.”
“Perhaps you would do well to consider that you might be my miserable captive,” de Chauliac said with a wry smile.
He stood slowly and faced his keeper. “I am not fool enough to have missed that possibility.”
De Chauliac laughed. “I do not consider you any sort of fool, my friend.”
“You flatter me unnecessarily, de Chauliac. You need not be insincere. We are not friends. If that is what you consider us to be, then you define friendship far more loosely than I. Friends do not keep each other in chains.”
“Please, Alejandro,” the captor said, “you are not in chains.”
“But I am unlikely to be leaving you anytime soon.”
“I simply cannot allow you to leave without first enjoying the full benefits of your visit.” He joined Alejandro at the window. “You see, I have much planned for you. There are many things we need to speak about, and I have craved such an opportunity for a very long time. Many years, in fact. And you must not think that your stay here will be unfruitful. Tomorrow we shall enjoy the company of some illustrious guests. I have arranged an evening’s entertainment for us as I told you I would. I think you will find the company both delightful and inspiring.”
“I prefer to choose my own company,” Alejandro replied frostily. “And does it not concern you that my true identity may be discovered? Someone may take me away—and then you shall have no one to toy with.”
De Chauliac stared at him with eyes of blue ice, and when he spoke his voice was measured and controlled. “I assure you, colleague, I am not toying with you. Just yet. Be certain that you shall know it when I do.”
Alejandro flung back his own daggers. “While I wait for that, perhaps you would be good enough to return my manuscript to me. There is much work yet for me to do on it. And though I am delighted with the Greek, I feel as though I might accomplish something more useful in this time. Until you have decided what you will do with me, that is.”
De Chauliac was quiet, nearly expressionless; Alejandro tried desperately to read his captor’s emotions. He saw tamped-down anger, certainly, and doubt over what ought to be done. But there was something more, something less expected. De Chauliac looked hurt. After a few moments of silence, his host finally said, “I suppose it would be acceptable for you to have it back, if it will keep you profitably occupied.”
Alejandro curtly nodded his thanks.
“Until tomorrow, then,” the Frenchman said as he departed.
Alejandro turned wordlessly away from him and stared out the window. Tomorrow? he thought. Tomorrow I will not be here.
Kate fought off confused tears until they had almost reached Pillar House again, but as she and Karle rounded the last corner she was finally overtaken by them. He had intended to lead her toward the front door, but when he saw the glow of light coming from the salon window he decided instead to take her in through the kitchen.
The servant Marie opened the door for them. “What is this, you are back?”
Kate’s tears poured out of her. With an effusion of sisterly clucking, Marie drew the weeping mademoiselle inside. Glaring at Karle, she led Kate away to a stool, where she made her sit. The servant stared at the Frenchman with a look of terrible accusation on her face, then cooed at Kate, “What has he done to you, this beast of a man?”
Though he tried to protest his innocence in the matter, Marie promptly banished him from the kitchen. “Go join your men,” she said angrily. “They are upstairs, planning even more cunning ways to make women shed tears.” Flustered, Karle obeyed her by disappearing hastily.
“Here,” Marie said, “drink this.” She handed Kate a goblet of strong red wine. “It will soothe the nerves. And your nerves just now seem in great need of soothing. Now tell me, has this oaf mistreated you?”
Kate hitched and sobbed pitifully. “Karle has done nothing to upset me. He has been nothing but kind and conscientious. We were to meet my père at a prearranged meeting place, where I was to be reunited with him. But when we came to the place where we were supposed to find him, Père was not there.” She began to bawl. “And I am not completely unhappy, as I thought I would be! I am so confused! I fear that something terrible has befallen him, but I … I …”
“Oh, hush,” Marie said soothingly. “Do not speak such unholy thoughts. I am sure that he is only delayed.”
“I wish I could be sure of that! Surely by now he should have found me. We made no plan beyond this meeting. But now,” she wept, “I find myself wanting to stay with Karle!” She wiped away her tears. “I do not know what I ought to do. These things are so confusing.”
Marie put an arm around Kate’s shoulder and tried to calm her. “And upsetting—you are torn between your father and your lover, as all women are at one time or another.”
“He is not my lover, but … but …”
“But you wish him to be.”
“Yes! No! I do not know! Oh, how can one not know one’s own heart?”
“When does one know one’s own heart? You must simply bide your time until it reveals itself to you.”
Kate gave Marie a pathetically unhappy look. “And what am I to do until then? I have no home, I cannot find my père, this Karle is so new to me.…”
“Why, of course you shall stay here in Monsieur Marcel’s house. He is a generous man and would not see you put out. And I will not allow it! He has much to occupy him these days, and with madame so far away, your company would be a blessing to me.”
Kate attempted to protest, but the servant would not hear of it. “You shall be no bother. I daresay you might actually be helpful. After all, there are now two gentlemen in the house, and two gentlemen always seem to require the work of a hundred ladies, don’t you agree? They will not admit it, though.”
Kate did not admit that she had no basis on which to make such a comparison, but she did not disagree.
“I know not the habits of the younger one, but perhaps you can see to his needs as I see to those of Monsieur Marcel,” Marie said with a teasing wink. “No doubt your gentleman would have preferred your hand in the washing of his disgusting garments this morning instead of mine.” Then she giggled and said, “So would I.”
“But what will he think if I begin to serve him in that manner? Will he think me his—woman? I cannot be sure that that is what I wish to be.”
“He will think how much he would miss it if you stop, and try doubly hard to please you. Now, dry your eyes and take heart, for your confusion will soon come to an end. This I promise you.”
They passed what little remained of the après-midi in household chores and the preparation of a simple late meal. And when the gentlemen retired to the salon for another round of strategic arguing, Marie helped Kate wash her long hair. As it dried, Kate taught the servant how to play at cards, which instruction delighted the young woman, who had never enjoyed such games before.
“You have a quick aptitude,” Kate observed.
“A useless one, then,” Marie said. “Only those of noble station have time for such folly. Did Monsieur Karle teach you?” she asked, in all sincerity.
Kate answered truthfully, saying only what she could. “My mother once served a highborn lady in England,” she said. If only I could say just how highborn! “There were many fine things she learned and thus taught me.”
“I have noticed that you have fine ways a
bout you,” Marie said. “I wondered how you acquired them.”
“There is much to be learned by observation,” Kate offered, hoping it would suffice.
Marie laughed. “One wishes some fine wealth would come from observation.”
“Do not envy the wealthy,” Kate said. “They are not always the happiest of people.”
“I should very much like to test this notion myself,” the servant said as she laid down a card and triumphantly captured the hand. “I have little doubt that I could prove you wrong.”
Suddenly the summoning bell interrupted their play. Marie immediately set down her cards and hurried up the narrow stairs. After a few moments she returned to the kitchen with a look of excitement on her face. “Monsieur le Provoste needs a message to be sent. He would not send me alone, but he says since there are two of us, we will be safe. That is, if you wish to accompany me. It could wait until morning, but I would like a bit of air. It is but a short walk.”
The look of concern on Guillaume Karle’s face when she left the house lingered deliciously in Kate’s mind as she and Marie headed toward their destination. His obvious worry was strangely satisfying to her; she might have felt slighted had he not exhibited some discomfort at having her out of his sight, however momentarily.
The amber-haired Frenchman had occupied her thoughts almost exclusively since their earlier exchange of—what should she call it—endearments? No; too strong a word yet. Devotion? He is devoted to his cause far more than he will ever be to me, or to anyone, she thought. It would have to be a softer word. Admiration, she decided, would best describe what had been expressed between them.
She wondered what Alejandro would think of her admiration for Karle—he had already trusted the Frenchman enough to put her in his care, but that was an act of near-desperation against a wager that should have gone the other way. Given time, would he think him brave, and intelligent, and spirited, as she herself did? Even he could not deny that it was only natural for her to attach herself to a strong man who would look after her. It was prudent and sensible.
