“What was that all about?” Idelette was seated across from her as the coach proceeded once more toward Paris, Sebastien and his guard of a dozen armed men in the lead.
“I do not know, but he has some inane notion that the Queen Mother will arrange my marriage to him by going to the king about it.”
“Marriage to Maurice? But that will never be permitted by our family, I assure you.”
“So I told him, but he only insisted the king could force the marriage to take place if he wished.”
“I suppose he could. So could the Queen Mother, but why would they? Such enforcement is kept for high nobility and princesses like Marguerite.”
Rachelle made no further comment, but she was perturbed and growing more uneasy. What if the Queen Mother had promised Maurice her hand in marriage for some scheming reason? Was it possible she had done so? Maurice had oozed with confidence.
Things are not as they should be, she thought as the horses trotted along the unpaved road to Paris. She looked out the window at the speckled sunshine filtering through the chestnut trees along the roadway.
Sebastien had behaved oddly. She wanted to mention it to Idelette, but she was resting her head against the back of the plush velvet covered seat, her eyes closed.
Rachelle mulled over the events. Yes, matters were not as they should be. Something was in the wind. There was a certain mood that told her life as she had known it was changing, even perhaps, coming to an end.
Marriage to Maurice Beauvilliers? Never!
Her heart turned toward Marquis Fabien. The longing became overwhelming and tears soon dampened her cheeks. She blotted them away, glad that Idelette did not see them and feel worse than she already did.
She turned her heart to her heavenly Father, remembering, I am not alone. God stood in the shadows of life’s providence, keeping vigilant watch over His very own.
RACHELLE HAD BEEN AT the Louvre for several days. She set about almost immediately to search Grandmère’s chamber once again to see if the gloves might have fallen behind a piece of furniture, or got pushed under the canopied bed. The chamber had been swept clean.
On occasion she sought out each of the servants, asking questions, but again no one knew a thing about the missing gloves. They remembered seeing Grandmère wearing gloves, but they could not say where they may have disappeared.
Rachelle’s only glimmer of new information came from the serving maid.
“There was only one thing odd, Mademoiselle.”
“And what was that?” Rachelle urged.
“I saw a very small ghost in the grand madame’s chamber the day before she died. First I thought it was a boy child, but then I saw his face, and he looked old, Mademoiselle. And when I blinked and rubbed my eyes, thinking I was seeing a vision, well next thing I looked again, and whatever it was, it was no longer there. And now that I have thought it over, Mademoiselle, I am sure he was a dwarf.”
A dwarf!
The Queen Mother had several dwarves who served her as loyally as did Madalenna. It would have been possible for one of them to hide during the emotional comings and goings, when Grandmère became so ill.
Had they been clever, they should have left an untainted likeness of the poison gloves in the belle red box. They would have been tested for poison and found harmless.
“Did anyone else see this dwarf?”
“If they did, no one said so, Mademoiselle. They were all so busy with Grand Madame. It was those petite apples, Mademoiselle. They made her most sick, so that she succumbed.”
Later, Rachelle spoke to Madeleine about the Queen Mother’s dwarves.
Madeleine frowned in distress and was still unwilling to discuss anything that had to do with the gloves, Grandmère, or her illness.
“You do not understand, Rachelle. I have Joan to think of.”
“I do understand, but if Grandmère — ”
“If you discover something — then what? Take the matter before King Francis, who is only a weak boy controlled by the cardinal? Or burden Sebastien with it? He needs a long rest away from the demands and fears of Court that lash his conscience. He disagrees with much that the king is allowing the Guises to do in France, but how can he stop it?”
Madeleine straightened her shoulders and wore a determined face. “All I want is to go away from here.”
Rachelle, understanding the weariness in her eyes, kept silent. Joan began to fuss in the next chamber and Madeleine went there. Her face changed, a sparkle came to her eyes, and she smiled as she took her daughter from the nurse. She held her possessively close.
On that same afternoon she accidentally overheard Sebastien speaking urgently to Madeleine: “Nothing else matters, just . . .”
“But Sebastien — ”
“I must take them to him now. Do as I say, chère.”
“He will take nothing else?”
“Non.”
Rachelle bit her lip, backed quietly away, and returned to her chamber. Did Sebastien have debts?
When Rachelle came to the table for the evening dinner she noticed Idelette whispering vehemently to Madeleine. Upon seeing her, they drew apart. Sebastien did not show for the meal, and Rachelle noted that both of her sisters appeared tense.
After dîner no one spoke much. Sebastien did not come back to the appartement. Soon, Madeleine stated that she had a headache and was going to retire, and Idelette had correspondence to catch up on.
Rachelle, left alone, watched them leave, wondering. As Idelette turned the corner to her chamber, she looked back over her shoulder, and Rachelle caught her looking at her.
“A bonne nuit, petite sister,” Idelette said.
Early in the morning, Rachelle was awakened by Nenette shaking her shoulder.
“Wake up, Mademoiselle, wake up. Philippe was with the boys at the stables when he saw the Queen Mother and Madalenna arrive secretly.”
Rachelle sat upright, wide awake. “Secretly?”
“She came without fanfare — no trumpets and flags, and with an unmarked coach. And Mademoiselle, that is not all.” Nenette lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “Philippe has something to tell you.”
Rachelle threw on her loose-bodied gown over her night smock.
“Quickly, then.”
Nenette beckoned for Philippe to enter.
His dark eyes reflected like pools, brimming with excitement and fear.
“Mademoiselle, I saw the girl that the stable boys call Madalenna creeping about, so I followed her. There is a secret passage behind the palais. She waited there. Then an old market woman came out, and they went to the river. Then I realized it was not a market woman but the Queen Mother. I followed them to the wharf. There were strange shops and some houses. The Queen Mother went inside a house behind the apothecary shop. And the name said ‘Ruggerio Brothers.’ ”
Rachelle gripped his arm. “When was this?”
“Only a little time ago. Then I came to Nenette.”
Her heart beat faster. “Can you point out the house and shop on the wharf?”
“That is why I ran here. But we need to hurry.”
“Wait for me in the courtyard. I shall be there in a very few minutes.”
When he had gone, Nenette was breathing quickly with excitement. “Is it safe for you to go? What if she sees you? Oh, Mademoiselle, do not do this.”
“She will not see me. Quick, hand me the dark dress and the cloak.”
“If the Queen Mother learns of your suspicion, she will poison you!”
The truth was so bluntly put that Rachelle was speechless for a moment.
Nenette wrung her fingers. “Oh, Mademoiselle, one faux pas and — ”
“Hush. I will not be seen. Make excuses for me should my sisters ask.
Do not tell them I have gone to the wharf.”
Within a brief time Rachelle slipped from Comte Sebastien’s chambers and entered the back courtyard nearest the river Seine. The dawning sun had not yet burned away the mist over Paris. Philipp
e was waiting out of sight and took her to the dark river and the wharf.
They hurried in the mist, the boats creaking. Farther down the wood walkway, Philippe pointed toward fish and fruit shops. Behind them stood the many cramped and narrow houses. In the early mist they looked like wooden crates facing toward the town, but a few had oil lamps lit, showing golden windows.
“Over there, Mademoiselle. That is where she went — to that house, the tall one. There are shops too. See? The lamps are lit early for business.”
She turned to him, trying to look stern. “This is far enough for you, ami Philippe. Go back now and wait for me in the courtyard.”
“Should I not hide and keep watch? Where is the spy, Madalenna?”
Madalenna worried her, but she feared involving Philippe even more than she worried about the Italian spy or the dwarves. As Philippe went back, she walked toward the markets. They were already opening for a busy day’s work. The noise and babble on the wharf was breaking like the sunlight through the mist. She came to the shop that Philippe had pointed out. In the window there was an assortment of fine leather gloves and jewelry. A wooden sign tossed in the breeze: “Ruggerio Brothers.” The shop was closed. Rachelle looked up and saw the house above the shop. This must be the residence of the brothers from Florence.
The “market woman” was nowhere to be seen. Could she have left already?
Rachelle decided to conceal herself and wait to see if she departed, then talk to the brothers, pretending to want to buy gloves.
Foul smelling breezes tossed her cloak and mantle. She hesitated, then circled around the shop to the side of the house. A window was drawn open and silhouettes moved about inside the room. Then Rachelle caught sight of her. The Queen Mother was dressed as Philippe had said. Catherine was standing in front of two men with stooped shoulders. She was making blunt gestures with her hands.
“I need something that will work on a seigneur. Most shrewdly devised, and untraceable. No gloves or rings. I want something that leaves no evidence.”
“Come in back, Madame. We have something never used in France.
It leaves no trace. Cosmo tried it on his rats and cats and it worked.”
“There was no trace?”
“Non, Madame.”
“But will it work on larger specimens?”
“Cosmo used it on a branded woman, and it worked quickly.”
A branded woman was a poor creature who had once been arrested as a thief. Rachelle shuddered. Why should she be surprised? Did she not suspect Grandmère’s death to be murder? But even as fear goaded her to flee, she heard a rustle in the bushes to her right. She turned her head to see the dark eyes of Madalenna meeting hers.
Horrified, Rachelle fled through the shadows and back along the busy wharf. She looked over her shoulder but did not see Madalenna.
Rachelle ran, reaching the small swaying bridge, where she paused, grabbing hold of the rail and trying to calm her heart.
She saw me. She knows it was me. She knows I was listening — She knows I understand that the Queen Mother is a murderer!
Frightened and angry with herself for having taken such a risk, she hurried across the bridge and back along the walkway into the courtyard. Here she paused again to look over her shoulder toward the murky Seine, gray and mysterious in the misty morning, where small boats were plying up and down the waterway.
Once inside the palais she entered Sebastien’s appartement.
There came a breathless cry from Nenette who met her with wide eyes and clasped hands. “Oh, Mademoiselle Rachelle. Look!”
Nenette turned her head and stared into Madeleine’s bedchamber.
Rachelle rushed to the door and looked inside.
“They are gone,” Nenette cried.
“Gone? How can they be gone?”
Philippe burst in, his eyes large with excitement. “Mademoiselle, it is true. Mademoiselle Idelette is gone too. Her bedchamber is empty.”
“That is not possible,” Rachelle cried. “They cannot simply disappear.”
Though the wardrobe contained clothing and shoes and hats, the bureau drawers that had held items for travel were empty. Still refusing to believe it, she hurried over to the box where Madeleine kept the treasured bébé blanket that Grandmère had made here at the Louvre for Joan just before Grandmère’s death. Madeleine would never leave it behind.
Rachelle lifted the lid of the box. Empty. The treasured blanket was gone. She looked further and discovered that Joan’s bébé clothing was missing as well.
Then it was true. They had departed silently during the night. Rachelle felt as though she had swallowed a brick. She looked around her with a sense of loneliness and loss.
So this was the secret Sebastien had kept to himself and Madeleine these months. How long had Idelette known? Probably not for very long. Their escape beneath the very nose of the Queen Mother was also undoubtedly the cause for Sebastien taking Madeleine’s jewels. He was telling her not to take anything but the jewels and essentials. Evidently he had been packing priceless goods elsewhere and preparing them for travel, but travel to where? The château? Non, that was not far enough away to satisfy Sebastien.
Then Rachelle saw the note at the bottom of the box where Joan’s blanket had been stored.
Chère sister,
Idelette told me to put our lettre here in the box where she knew you would look. Please burn it as soon as you are finished reading. By now you understand we have departed from Paris. We are on our way to freedom, and England. We will write from London when safely settled at Spitalfields with Cousin Bertrand. We kept this from you for two reasons; Sebastien insisted that if anything went wrong and we were caught, he did not want to involve you. Your ignorance of the plan would spare you. Secondly, we knew you would not be coming to England, that your calling from God yet remains in France. The decision to leave France at this time is Sebastien’s and mine alone. Père Arnaut knows of our decision, for he and Sebastien discussed this secret plan and how to enact it soon after Sebastien’s release from the Bastille. Idelette’s decision to come with us was encouraged by our parents because Mère thinks it will be better for our sister to give birth in England. We will all be staying with Cousin Bertrand until we become settled. We will, with God’s speed, be meeting Père Arnaut and Mère Clair in Spitalfields when we arrive. As you already know, Père is trying to buy some land outside London. When they return to France to see you, they will tell you all that will have happened. Pray for our safe voyage, especially for Idelette, that the voyage is not too difficult for her. Duchesse Dushane knows of our plans, as Sebastien discussed these matters with her at Fontainebleau. Andelot does not know. You will see the duchesse there in Paris soon, and our bon ami, Andelot. Stay close to them.
Adieu, ma chère soeur. Our amour as ever. Until we meet again, Madeleine, Sebastien, Idelette, and petite Joan
Jeremiah 29:11
How long until the Queen Mother calls for me to explain my presence at the Ruggerio brothers’ shop? She will return to the palais soon, by the secret way she had departed disguised as a market woman. How long before Madalenna informs her about Mademoiselle Rachelle Macquinet the spy. Oh, how the Queen Mother detests spies when they spy on her. Rachelle paced across the Aubusson rug in the salle de séjour of Sebastien’s appartement, her perfumed skirts of blue and ivory silk rustling softly with her tense movements.
She is too shrewd to believe I was there by coincidence. Ça alors! Now what? Oh, why did I take such a foolish risk? She will know I followed her.
The pit in which Rachelle found herself trapped at the Louvre was closing in about her. If her own situation were not enough to take her to the Bastille, what of the Queen Mother’s response when she discovered Sebastien took his family and escaped France while in ser vice to her?
Rachelle shuddered at the thought of facing the serpentlike eyes of Catherine. Her family had departed and now she must face the woman alone! They could not have guessed her dilemma, and she h
ad no one but herself to blame for her adventure on the wharf.
Non, I am not alone. She ceased her pacing and placed a hand to her forehead, momentarily closing her eyes, trying to remember details from Scripture of individuals in grave circumstances . . . Daniel for one. Daniel in the court of heathen kings . . . Daniel walking circumspectly amid his duties, serving with dignity, yet remaining faithful to God.
She resumed her restless pacing. The chambers were still. Not even Madeleine’s ladies-in-waiting were anywhere to be found, which caused Rachelle to wonder what Sebastien may have told them. It was not likely they would have left for England with Madeleine, for several were married and they all had their families in France. Perhaps the Duchesse Dushane had aided in the ruse in some way. Had they been told to wait for Madeleine at Fontainebleau believing she would go there?
Nenette and Philippe huddled together in the archway adjoining the servant’s antechamber, speaking in urgent whispers.
Rachelle ceased her pacing and looked across the chamber. “What is it, Nenette?”
Nenette’s eyes were round and glinting with fear. “Philippe says someone nears the chamber. Oh Mademoiselle!”
Rachelle’s impulse was to flee for the opposite door, but what good would that do her when guards were everywhere? Even if she made it as far as the courtyard, she could never escape if the guards were alerted.
“Shh, quick, into the antechamber and close the door. You will say you know nothing about what I have been up to, c’est bien compris? When you can — find your way to Duchesse Dushane and take shelter there.”
Nenette burst into tears and knelt beside Rachelle, wrapping her arms about her skirts. “Non! I will not leave you! If you go to the Bastille, I shall go with you!”
Written on Silk Page 34
