He saw a slight smile tease Isabelle’s lips.
“You looked familiar when you came to see me yesterday and it nagged at me that I couldn’t place you, but then I did. You never gave me a chance to thank you for the flowers. You’ve changed a lot over the years—probably more than I have—but you’ve led a far more rugged life. I’m very glad you came. I was going to write you a letter, but what I have to say is better said aloud and not committed to paper.” She licked her lips and wrung her hands.
“Whatever I can do, Isabelle, you’ve only got to ask,” he said, hoping to put her at ease.
She nodded. “Last night, I recalled how you saved Anne’s life. I’ve no right to ask this of you, but I’m hoping you’ll do it out of respect for Pierre and our past friendship.” Isabelle’s small white teeth bit her lower lip in her nervousness.
“Of course. Tell me what you need,” he begged, wishing he could pull her into his arms again.
She swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Guy, the king has ordered Sophie to the colonies as one of the king’s daughters. She leaves from Le Havre with the brides this week. I believe that’s your ship.”
He nodded.
“His majesty has had papers prepared that prove she, not me, is Pierre Gaudier’s widow. In fact, he’s furnished her with credentials which also verify that she is my older sister and others that confirm she renounced her claim to the throne when she married Pierre. The documents are incredible forgeries. As one with royal blood, my life belongs to the king. Sophie will go to New France, and I’ll remain here as is my duty. She’s prepared to sell you the land you want, but I beg you not to give her true identity away. If it suits you, and you’re not married or promised, you can marry her and acquire the land that way, but here’s the sticking point.” She stared down at her hands. “Despite the papers she carries, Sophie’s a maid and terrified of what will happen on her wedding night when her husband assumes she’s a woman with experience in the marriage bed.”
“Nom de Dieu! How could the King do such a thing?”
Guy knew exactly what could happen to a maiden taken by a man deprived of female company for years—especially one who believed there was no maidenhead to breach.
“Isabelle, you have my word, I will do everything I can to help Sophie. Our ship, L'Aigle Doré, sails Friday at dawn. My mother will be with me. If Sophie is traveling with the brides, then she’ll avoid the marriage mart in Quebec since all the ladies with us have been promised already. Three of them are bound for Saint Pierre, a small settlement on the Atlantic coast while the others will meet their husbands in Quebec. Of those, only four will end up in Ville-Marie. My former adjutant, Michel Émond, has a bride among them. He requested a girl from the Loire region. As part of her dowry, the King has provided her with several hardy grape vines, seed stock for the vineyard he hopes to plant. It’s his dream to eventually produce enough wine for the colony. It’s a worthy ambition. His land is sheltered by the mountains and the vines should do well. Wild grapes grow abundantly in the colony.” He reached for her hand. “When we arrive in the colony, I’ll ensure Sophie travels to Ville-Marie with my mother and me. Does she realize she has time to choose a husband? She’ll have a year to decide before anyone will force the issue with her. There are many good, worthy men in Ville-Marie, men I can vouch for, any one of whom would make her an excellent husband.” He bowed his head and played with the brim of his hat. “As to the other matter, when the time comes, I will speak with her future husband.”
“How can I thank you, Guy?” Isabelle smiled through her tears. “Sophie is like a sister to me and knowing you’ll be there for her brings me great comfort. I’ll miss her terribly, but I must do what I must do.”
There was a sense of hopelessness in her voice that tore at his heart. He cleared his throat. The timing wasn’t good, but he needed to know the truth. The sun was rising and the possibility of being noticed increased exponentially. “Isabelle, I know this is probably not the time to ask you this, but I’ll need to report what happened to my superiors in New France. This is most likely the last thing you want to discuss, but I need to know the truth. Tell me what happened to Pierre.”
He watched her cringe as if she’d received a blow. Hesitantly, she described those first few weeks together after his return, when Pierre had told her about the wonders of New France.
“When he received the summons to appear before the king, he thought he was being rewarded for an act of bravery. Instead, his majesty charged him with treason. Pierre was given two days to get his affairs in order. They say he went out and got drunk and got himself killed, but I don’t believe it. Papa began inquiries and learned something more just before his own death. Here look at this; see if it makes any more sense to you than it does to me.” She handed him the letter she had stuffed in her pocket.
Guy read it over carefully. After memorizing its contents, he returned it to her.
“Isabelle, what sentence were you told the king imposed on Pierre?” He could see this was a painful topic for her.
“He was to be imprisoned in the Bastille Saint-Antoine where he would stay at the king’s pleasure. That’s why I know he was murdered. If he’d had only two days as a free man, he would’ve wanted to spend them with me.” Tears pooled in her eyes.
Guy reached for her as he had in the church. He knew it was wrong. Nothing could come of his feelings for her, but he wanted to—no, he needed to—offer her whatever comfort he could. He wrapped his arms around her. Her account differed from what his mother had told him, something he’d confirmed with an old friend last night, and that made no sense. After her tears abated and she’d been quiet for a few minutes, he reluctantly pushed her away, gazing into her teary eyes.
“Who told you that?”
“My step-mother was quite vocal on the matter, claiming the king could have had us all charged with treason, too. I was in shock, inconsolable. Papa returned with Pierre’s body and after a rushed funeral, I left for the abbey without speaking more than a few words to him, leaving there only once to attend the viscount’s funeral a week later.”
“The countess lied to you. Pierre wasn’t sentenced to prison. The king ordered him deported to New France on the first ship of spring—my ship as it turns out.” He rubbed her back gently. “He’d have been a free man for at least two months, and you’d have had time to say goodbye.”
She pushed out of his arms.
“Why say goodbye? I was going with him.” Her cheeks were red with anger, and she twisted her hands anew. “Yesterday you said we would’ve had a good life waiting for us there. We would’ve been happy,” she continued, her voice husky with tears. She took a deep breath. Her brow furrowed. “None of this makes sense. Why would the countess lie to me like that? She had to know her words drove me to the brink of collapse. She’s cruel—I know that now—but such fabrications were just malicious. What did she hope to gain?” She sniffled once more. “I have more questions than answers. If someone could prove Pierre wasn’t a traitor, do you think it would expose whoever poisoned my father?”
What Maman had said about the servants suspecting the count had been murdered came back to him. Could his death be related to his inquiries into Pierre’s? He reached for Isabelle’s gloved hands and gazed into the green eyes that had haunted his sleep more nights than he could count.
“Let me look into this. I’ll make enquiries in New France, see what errand de Courcelle gave Pierre and get to the bottom of the charges. If there’s a conspiracy, I will find it. Your father thought you might be in danger. Let the king protect you. Promise me you won’t involve yourself in this matter. Return to the abbey and stay there. Let me handle this.”
The only conspiracy he could see right now was the one surrounding Sophie, but if forged documents could be made for that, why not for other things?
“I promise not to do anything foolish or take any unnecessary risks,” Isabelle murmured. “Now, you must excuse me. Sophie is exp
ecting me. Thank you for agreeing to take care of her.”
“It’s the least I can do. Tell Sophie I’ll see her aboard ship. Don’t worry. I’ll help her claim the land and see she marries well.” He reached for her hands and lifted them both to his lips. “Adieu, Isabelle, I doubt we’ll meet again. Be happy, my friend.”
“Not adieu, but au revoir. I’ll accompany Sophie to the ship on Thursday. Perhaps I’ll see you there. If not…” Isabelle leaned forward and gently pressed her lips against his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Guy. There are too few good men left in this world. Ville-Marie’s gain is France’s loss.”
Before he could stop her, she ran through the gate into the courtyard and disappeared out of his sight. He reached up to touch his cheek where he could still feel the soft caress of her lips.
“Be safe, my love,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear his words.
He skirted the outside wall of the castle, retrieved his horse, and headed back to Rouen.
Chapter Seven
“My word! Whatever you’re cooking for dinner, Lucie, don’t save any for me,” Sophie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It smells awful.”
Isabelle couldn’t argue with that.
The cook shook her head and chuckled.
“There’s rye bread in the oven, but I just put it in to bake. Soon its smell will fill the kitchen, and we’ll see whether or not you’ll want your supper. What you smell isn’t something to eat.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “The countess’s new saddle arrived late Friday, but she doesn’t like the color of the leather. According to her, it’s too light and doesn’t match the reins. Hector asked me to boil walnut hulls and husks to make a stain to darken it. The tannins are what give it that unpleasant smell.”
Isabelle moved closer to look into the bubbling cauldron.
“Don’t come too close, Madame Isabelle,” Lucie warned stepping between her and the small, black iron pot. “This will stain anything it touches.”
“Is it permanent?” she asked, an idea seeding itself in the back of her mind.
“Not on everything, no, but on wool and leather, yes. I used it a couple of years ago to dye the wool you wanted. By diluting the mixture, you can achieve lighter tones. If it gets on your skin, it doesn’t wash off, but it fades in time.”
Wrapping her hands in her apron, Lucie took the cast-iron pot from the hearth and carried it toward the outside door. A scullery maid ran to open it for her.
“I’ll let it sit and cool awhile longer. You,” she yelled at the boy putting wood in the wood box near the fireplace. “Go to the stable and tell Hector his dye will be ready to use by nightfall.”
Isabelle watched the child scurry out of the room. She turned to the cook. “Where’s Murielle?”
“She’s in the dining room putting away the silver they used last night—counting each piece to make sure there aren’t any missing. No one is to be trusted these days.”
“Thank you. Will you pack a picnic basket for us from the leftovers of last night’s meal? Since the weather’s cleared, Murielle, Sophie, and I will picnic in the meadow.”
Less than an hour later, Isabelle stepped out of the barn just as Murielle and Sophie came through the kitchen door with a blanket and the picnic basket. She smiled and walked over to them.
“What were you doing in there?” Sophie asked.
“I thought I saw a cat go into the shed. I wouldn’t want her kittens trampled by the cows. You know how anxious they get when they need milking.” She reached for the basket. “The sun is shining, and the temperature is milder than usual for April. Where shall we have our picnic?” Isabelle lowered her voice. “We’ll need some privacy.”
“Why don’t we go across the field to the hill where we played as children?” Sophie offered. “We can see all of Caen from there and no one can come upon us unseen.”
Isabelle nodded. “That will do.”
The three of them left the castle grounds through the field gate, stopping here and there to admire the beautiful wildflowers growing plentifully in the field. Isabelle reached down to pluck the violets and field pansies, flowers similar to those Guy had given her long ago. When they reached the hilltop, Murielle spread a large blanket on the grass, and they sat down.
“I’ll miss you both terribly,” Sophie said, choking on her words, “but I’ll miss this most of all.” She indicated the scenery around her. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
Isabelle smiled, her eyes filling with tears once more.
“People change, but the land stays the same. It’ll be here long after we’re both gone.”
There was a wistfulness in her voice she couldn’t disguise. She couldn’t bear that monster children, knowing he’d probably murder those ahead of his own offspring to get closer to the throne. No. Like Sophie she would leave Caen and this life for good, but not as permanently as she’d thought she would. She had a plan. It was risky and might not work, but she had to try. If it failed, there was always the millpond.
“Murielle, will you stay here at Caen with Isabelle?” Sophie asked, her words pulling Isabelle out of her reverie. “She’ll need you more than ever, especially if the chevalier’s children have his temperament.”
Murielle should her head. “I would stay if the new governor allowed it, but the countess has already told me my services won’t be needed. With you gone little one, it will break my heart to leave Madame Isabelle.” She pursed her lips. “The chevalier is a disgusting lecher. Every time he steps foot here, one of the maids suffers from his attentions. I do not envy you your future husband.”
Isabelle frowned. “I didn’t realize he was a frequent visitor here,” she said. “He claims he will be spending most of his time at court.”
“That will be a blessing for you. For the past year, he came once a month on business for the king. Following your husband’s death, he was here every fortnight.” Murielle reached out to touch her hand. “I wish with all my heart that I could spare you this marriage, but we must all obey the king. I will miss you.”
“And I you—both of you.”
Isabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. If the chevalier had been here that often, he could’ve poisoned her father. So many theories, so many questions, and yet no answers. No proof of any kind!
She leaned over and took her cousin’s hands in hers.
“As much as you love Normandy, New France is beautiful, too. Guy Poirier was at Prime this morning; I told him everything.”
“Everything?” interrupted Murielle.
“Well, everything relating to Sophie. He has no reason to know what will happen to me.” Isabelle focused on her cousin once more. “His mother sails with you on Friday. Do you remember her? She used to feed us sugar cookies when we played at the viscount’s home with Anne. They’ll get you safely to Ville-Marie and help you claim the land. Since you have a year to choose a husband, you can stay with them until you do.”
Seeing the confused look on Murielle’s face, Isabelle repeated what Guy had told her.
“I can’t take what’s yours,” Sophie insisted.
“It isn’t mine,” Isabelle said, shaking her head. “It belongs to the Widow Gaudier, and that’s you. You have the documents to prove it. I went through my strongbox last night searching for mine, and while my baptismal certificate was there, my marriage license, contract, and letters I’d saved from Pierre weren’t.” She swiped at her eyes. She would not cry again. “While I can’t prove I was ever married to Pierre, I know he would want his land claimed. If you like, Guy will buy it from you, but you can keep the house.”
“It seems so unfair.” Sophie frowned. “Why would the king do this to us?”
“No one said life in service to the king was fair, but I’m not sure that everything that has happened is all of his doing. I’m convinced plans were put in place even before Pierre came back to France and that he was an unwilling pawn in their scheme. It takes weeks to create a gown like the one I wore last night, and
months to arrange diplomatic missions. I believe whoever conspired against Pierre has a hand in this, too. I just don’t know what the end game is. For what it’s worth, my path was chosen for me at birth. You’ll start a wonderful new life in a new world, one that’s fresh and clean. I’ll remain here. The land will sustain me, just as it’s always done.” Isabelle sighed, the lie bitter in her mouth.
“Do you really think New France will be as beautiful as it is here?” Sophie asked, her voice filled with hope.
“I do. Before he went to stand before the lit de justice, Pierre told me all about the colony.” Isabelle reached for her cousin’s hand. “It’s a wonderful green place in spring and summer, a mosaic of red, gold, and orange in autumn, and in winter, there is so much snow, it buries everything under a blanket of white. There are majestic mountains, huge forests, and fertile valleys. The rivers are full of fish, and there are rare and unusual plants the like of which you’ve never seen. Imagine, the maple trees are tapped in the spring to collect buckets of sap which is boiled into a delicious liquid or made into hard, sweet cakes. The syrup and sugar are used to sweeten gruel and teas as well as other foods. In early spring they pour it over snow and make taffy for the children.”
“I’ve heard some of the farmers here tried to do it, but the trees aren’t as prolific, and they get very little syrup for the amount of sap they boil,” Murielle added. “Perhaps I should go to New France when I leave here. I may be too old to bear children, but I could care for them. Even the lesser nobility can use trained servants.”
“Do come,” Sophie said, looking happier than she had in days. “You can live with me.” She turned back to Isabelle. “Did he mention anything else?”
“He did. He told me about the most unusual animals. The beaver, plentiful and a favorite with trappers, lives in the water in dams he builds with trees he chops down by chewing the trunks. He uses his large flat tail to slap the water and warn others of danger.” Sophie laughed encouraging Isabelle to continue. “There’s another animal about the size of a cat with markings around its face resembling a mask over its eyes and a striped, bushy tail. Pierre called it a raton laveur because it washes its food. There are all sorts of birds as well—some small and beautifully colored with fine singing voices. Others, ugly and three times larger than geese, are excellent to eat. And the woodpeckers can be as big as a man’s forearm. Pierre and I were planning to move there when his business with the king was over.”
The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1) Page 8
