Intrigued

by Bertrice Small

  “You don’t have to do everything that Mama says,” Henry murmured low, “but listen to all she says. She is wise. Still, you certainly have enough common sense to know what is right and what is not. Guard your tongue, your virtue, and your reputation, Autumn. Beware of men who praise you too greatly. They will want either your maidenhead, your fortune, or both, and cannot be trusted. Marry only for love and no other reason, sister. Let me know if Mama needs me, or the others.”

  “I will,” Autumn replied. “And I will heed your advice, Henry.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you, brother.”

  He returned the embrace, enfolding her in his arms and kissing her tenderly. “God bless you, little sister, until we meet again.”

  “Remind Charlie not to get killed,” Autumn said softly, “if you can, Henry.” Then she extricated herself from his embrace and followed her servant aboard the waiting vessel.

  Jasmine turned to her eldest son. “Be careful,” she warned him. “Do not get caught up in this foolishness like your brother. Heed me as I know Patrick and the others have. Cromwell and his ilk, with their mean-spiritedness, will not last forever.”

  “Will you come home when they are gone?” he asked her.

  She smiled at him and drew her hood up as the wind gusted about them. “I do not know,” she answered honestly. “God only knows Belle Fleurs isn’t much bigger than my dower house, but I have always had a weakness for the place. Besides, I like the weather in the Loire better than in England. I shall not say never, Henry. See I am buried at Glenkirk when the time comes, and if that is not possible, then Queen’s Malvern, near my grandmother.”

  “You are not planning on dying on me, madame,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Nay, but the time will come, Henry, one day. I want you to know what I want else you do the wrong thing and I am forced to come back and haunt you.”

  He burst out laughing. “Mama, there is no one like you in the whole world.” Then he kissed her heartily on both cheeks. “God speed, and write to me so I know what is happening with Autumn.”

  “I will,” Jasmine promised, and then, kissing her son a final time, she turned and hurried up the gangway of the waiting ship.

  The Marquis of Westleigh remained standing upon the dock until the Fair Winds had cleared the harbor. Only then did he return to his coach, directing his coachmen to take them home with all possible speed. His mother and sister sailed upon one of the family’s trading ships. It would take them down the North Sea into the English Channel, past Brest and across the Bay of Biscay to the mouth of the Loire, and from there up the river to the city of Nantes, where their coach would be waiting for them. The duchess’s personal captain had gone ahead to France to make all the necessary arrangements.

  It was mid-November and the seas were rough, though the weather was fair. The wind blew constantly from the north, speeding their travel as they passed the Channel Islands and rounded the Ile d’Ouessant. A northwest wind blew them past Pointe Penmarche, and it began to rain the afternoon their ship sailed between Belle Ile and Le Croisic. Captain Ballard, the ship’s master, came to the main cabin, where Jasmine and her daughter were housed. Autumn and Lily, her servant, were lying down, for the pitch of the vessel left them dizzy. Adali dozed in a chair, while Rohana and her sister, Toramalli, sat quietly sewing by their mistress’s side. At the discreet knock upon the door, Toramalli jumped up and ran to answer the summons.

  “Good afternoon, your grace,” Captain Ballard said as he entered. His eye lit upon Autumn. “Is her ladyship all right, madame?”

  “A wee touch of mal de mer, Captain,” Jasmine explained. “My daughter has never been to sea before. She has battled her symptons since boarding, but today it finally overcame her. She will survive.”

  “Perhaps the knowledge that we will be entering the mouth of the Loire by morning will cheer her,” Captain Ballard said with a smile. “We should reach the city by late afternoon, your grace.”

  “Excellent, Captain,” Jasmine replied. “I do want to thank you for coming out of your way like this. You would be well on your way to Mary’s Land now had you not had to make this side trip. You will remember to give my daughter, Mistress Devers, the packet of letters I have given you?”

  “Indeed, your grace, I will. They will make a nice Christmas treat for her, even if these Puritans running our country don’t allow for a celebration of our Lord’s birth.”

  Jasmine laughed, but then she warned the captain, “You must be careful, Ballard, in your criticism. If the wrong people heard, they could demand your replacement. My family perfers to manage their own commerce, and not be interfered with by others. The O’Malley-Small Trading Company has survived for almost a hundred years because of our discretion.”

  “Aye, your grace,” he agreed, shamefaced.

  “I know your heart is where it should be, Ballard,” Jasmine tempered her criticism, “but unlike others, we have always accepted all faiths, and consequently your crew is quite mixed. Among them, however, may be some who are not quite as open-minded as we. Be careful, not just for our sake, but for your own as well.”

  He nodded again, and then with a bow withdrew.

  “These Puritans have caused quite a stir,” Rohana said to her mistress. “I never expected that at our ages we should be uprooting ourselves yet another time.”

  “And how will we find Belle Fleurs, my princess?” Toramalli asked. “It has been more than thirty years since we were last there. Old Mathieu will be long gone. Who has been taking care of the chateau?”

  “His grandson, Guillaume,” Jasmine answered her serving woman. “He and his wife, Pascaline, have been caring for Belle Fleurs. It will seem very old-fashioned to Autumn, I think, but it was always a welcoming place, eh?”

  Her serving woman chuckled, remembering how years before they had fled England with their mistress for Belle Fleurs. And then the duke had come and they had married and departed France, never to return until now. The twin sisters looked at each other and nodded their graying heads. Belle Fleurs had been a good place then, and it would be once again.

  It was still raining by morning, but the lurching and tossing of their vessel had almost ceased and, looking out of the porthole, Autumn saw they were already on the River Loire. She could see the land through the mist and fog. France! They were in France. Soon she would be involved in the merriment of a royal court, and she could forget Master Cromwell and his sour-faced Puritans, who seemed to hate everything that was beautiful and light. She was feeling infinitely better than she had the night before. Even Lily was up, humming as she packed the remainder of her mistress’s garments into her trunks.

  “Where is Mama?” she asked aloud to the servants.

  “Topside with my Fergus,” Toramalli answered her.

  Autumn headed to the door.

  “You just wait one moment, my lady,” Toramalli said in a stern voice. “Lily, get your mistress’s cape. She should not go outdoors without it. It’s damp, and the wind, light though it may be, will be a chilly wind, you may be certain. Hurry up, girl! You have to learn to anticipate these things.”

  “Sorry, Auntie,” Lily said and, picking up the green velvet cloak with its beaver lining, she draped it over Autumn’s shoulders, then fastened it carefully and drew the fur-lined and -edged hood up over her mistress’s head. She struggled not to grin, for Autumn, her back to Toramalli, was making faces at Lily. “There, m’lady,” Lily said in the most proper voice she could muster as she struggled not to giggle. Then she handed Autumn a pair of silk-lined, scented leather gloves. “You don’t want chilblains on them pretty hands, m’lady.”

  “Certainly not!” Autumn exclaimed. “What would my fine French lord, whoever he is, and wherever he is, think of chilblains!”

  Lily snickered, unable to help herself, and Autumn began to giggle.

  “Oh, yer a funny pair, you are,” Toramalli said. “Lily, get your cape and go with your mistress. Perhaps a good blast of cold air will calm you both
down.”

  The two young women exited the cabin onto the outside deck. Behind them, Toramalli shook her head despairingly. “How you and I managed a six-month voyage from India with the princess without getting silly, I’ll never know,” she said to her twin sister.

  “We were born and raised to serve,” Rohanna said quietly. “We were slaves, and our outlook was quite different than Lily’s is, Toramalli. She will, in time, be an excellent serving woman for the young mistress. They are both Scots, and still young.”

  “You defend Lily as always,” Toramalli said. “Without us she would have been a strumpet like her mother.”

  “You are unduly harsh, sister. Lily’s mother was taken advantage of by a sly tinker. She fell in love. I remember Lily’s father well. He was as handsome as midsummer’s eve is long. I suspect Fergus’s sister wasn’t the first lass to follow him.”

  “If I didn’t love Lily as much as I do,” Toramalli grumbled, “I would send her packing!”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Rohanna laughed.

  Toramalli sighed. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t, but the lass will be the death of me, sister!”

  The Fair Winds docked at Nantes in midafternoon, ahead of the captain’s earlier prediction. Red Hugh was waiting for them. He saluted his mistress as he met her on the deck of the ship.

  “My lady. All is in readiness for you,” he told her. “I thought as you were arriving so late, and it almost dark, you would want to stay the night here in Nantes. I have arranged accommodations at the best in the city, Le Canard Bleu. When you are ready, your coach is waiting on the dock.” He pointed.

  “Thank you, Red Hugh. Now greet your family and we can be on our way,” the duchess said with a small smile.

  The big Scotsman grabbed Toramalli and gave her a noisy kiss. “Damn me, woman, if I haven’t missed you!” he said.

  “You big fool!” she muttered, but her cheeks were flushed with pleasure. “All right, I’ve missed you too.”

  In far more restrained fashion, Red Hugh greeted his sisters-in-law and his niece. He turned to his brother. “Fergus, lad.” Then he said to the duchess, “We’re ready, my lady.”

  Jasmine thanked Captain Ballard again, and with her daughter and servants debarked the Fair Winds. The coach Red Hugh had obtained was spacious and beautifully outfitted. A smaller vehicle was also awaiting them at the inn, he told his mistress as he ushered her and the other women inside. Then he and his brother climbed up on the coach’s box, and they drove off from the harbor to their inn. Upon their arrival the landlord hurried forth, bowing and smiling. Red Hugh had obviously made quite clear the importance of his mistress to the innkeeper, who personally escorted Jasmine and her party into his establishment.

  Inside the inn was clean and warm, and quite spacious. The aromas of food cooking permeated the place, and the smells were utterly delicious, Autumn thought, as they were brought to a gracious apartment on the main floor of the building. Young Lady Autumn was also amazed by the ease with which her mother switched back and forth between the English and French languages. This was done so Lily might understand, for all the others spoke French, even Red Hugh and Fergus.

  “Lily, you must learn French, for if this is to be our new home, you cannot communicate without a command of the language. Besides, how will you flirt with the young men if you don’t know what they are saying and can’t speak with them,” the duchess teased. She turned to the innkeeper. “Now, M’sieu Pierre, we will have our supper here in our apartment. Nothing special. The odor from your kitchens is delightful, and I shall leave the choices up to you. We shall eat as soon as the food is ready, for I long for a hot bath and my bed. I am not as young as I once was, and travel is quite exhausting.” She favored him with a small smile.

  The innkeeper bowed so low his head almost touched the floor. “We shall serve you immediately, madame la duchesse, and afterwards hot baths shall be brought for both you and your beautiful daughter.” He bowed again and backed from the room.

  “What a funny man,” Autumn said, “but so accommodating.”

  “He is a clever fellow, and his establishment is well run,” Jasmine noted. “Nonetheless, my gold buys the best service. Remember that, Autumn. Gold is power.”

  “Am I an heiress?” Autumn asked her mother. “I have never before considered such a thing.”

  “You are an heiress,” her mother said. “You have a large dowry that your father arranged, and you will also receive a generous portion from me, my daughter. You are wealthy enough to attract only the best husband.” Then she smiled wickedly. “And a few handsome fortune hunters as well, ma bébé.”

  “Will we go to Paris, Mama?”

  “Eventually,” Jasmine said. “I must learn firsthand what is really happening here in France. Queen Anne is the regent, but there has been much haggling back and forth over little King Louis. The queen’s closest adviser is Cardinal Mazarin, and he is hated by many of the princes of the blood, but their hate is just a disguise for jealousy. They want the power that having the young king in their possession can bring, but he and the queen have kept the boy safe so far.”

  “At least the French have not killed their king,” Autumn said. “How old is little King Louis, Mama?”

  “He is twelve, and next year when he reaches his thirteenth birthday he will come into his majority and rule without a regent, although I suspect his mama will still influence him. However, once he is legally in charge, the queen and the cardinal’s enemies cannot kidnap the king and claim to be doing it to protect him from Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin.” Jasmine laughed. “The queen and her allies have been very clever, Autumn. She is to be admired.”

  “A twelve-year-old king cannot have much of a court,” Autumn said, sounding disappointed.

  Her mother laughed. “You will have your chance, ma bébé,” she promised her youngest child.

  The door to their apartments opened, and a line of servants entered with bowls and platters from which were emanating delicious smells. The table was set up, and the dishes placed upon the sideboard.

  “I shall serve madame la duchesse,” Adali told the inn’s servants, and they departed.

  “We will not stand on ceremony here,” Jasmine said. “Sit down, all of you. Adali at the foot, Autumn on my right, and the rest of you wherever you choose.” She allowed Red Hugh to set her at the table’s head, smiling a small thanks to him.

  Adali filled each plate, passing the first to his mistress, the second to Autumn, and then the rest, serving himself last. There were whole artichokes steamed and served with a piquant vinaigrette and a delicate olive oil. A boeuf bourguignonne with tiny green onions and slivers of carrot in a rich and succulent gravy; prawns broiled and flavored with fennel; a fat capon stuffed with onions, celery, and sage that Adali carved thin, juicy slices of breast from; a pink country ham. There were two kinds of cheese, a runny Brie and an English cheddar; freshly baked bread, still warm from the ovens, and a crock of newly churned sweet butter, which Adali placed upon the table for them all. On the sideboard there remained an apple tartlet and a pitcher of heavy golden cream. There was a hearty red wine served, but while she enjoyed two cups of it, the duchess declared that the wines from her family’s vineyards at Archambault were better.

  When the meal had been thoroughly appreciated by them all and the inn’s servants had returned to clear away the debris, two wooden tubs were placed in each lady’s bedchamber. They were promptly filled, Fergus and Red Hugh generously helping the innkeeper’s staff in the task. Jasmine and her daughter then bathed before retiring. Lily, Rohana, and Toramalli would sleep in their mistress’s chambers. The men would sleep in the parlor, where they had eaten. They slumbered heavily for the first time in many nights, their beds steady and not rolling beneath them. When morning came they arose and ate a hearty breakfast. Adali had the previous evening ordered a basket of food for their journey that day.

  For the next few days they traveled north along a road that followed the Rive
r Loire. Each inn they sheltered in at night was every bit as good as Le Canard Bleu had been, and Autumn complained that she was going to get fat with all this delicious French cooking.

  “You do not have to eat it all,” her mother said.

  “Mama, I need to keep up my strength!” the girl protested.

  At Tours they crossed the Loire where it met the River Cher, following a secondary road, finally turning off onto a narrower track leading them deeper into the countryside. On either side of their coach they could see the dormant vineyards, and beyond a small hill was crowned with a beautiful chateau.

  “That is Archambault, where my cousins reside,” Jasmine told her daughter. “When we are settled I shall take you to visit.”

  “How far are we from Belle Fleurs?” Autumn asked.

  “Not very,” her mother said even as their carriage and the baggage coach turned off onto a thin ribbon of a path, rumbling and lurching down the rutted and frozen dirt path. Bare branches scraped against the vehicle, almost impeding their passage. It had not been so overgrown when she had last been there, Jasmine thought; but then it had been so long ago. She would need to hire several gardeners, but Guillaume would be able to direct her there.

  “Mama! Oh, Mama, look!” Autumn was pointing, her eyes alight. “Is that Belle Fleurs, Mama? Is it?”

  Jasmine focused, and for a moment all her lovely memories came flooding back. Belle Fleurs had sheltered her and her four oldest children from James Leslie; and then Jemmie had come, and Belle Fleurs had become a place of idyllic love. It would never again be that way for her, Jasmine thought, but it very well could be for Autumn. Reaching out, she took her daughter’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Aye, ma bébé, that is Belle Fleurs,” she said.

  Chapter 4

  The chateau was set on a tiny peninsula of land, surrounded by the waters of its lake on three sides. On the fourth side a large, beautiful garden was enclosed with a low stone wall. Built in the year 1415, Belle Fleurs was now 235 years old, but its original construction had been sound, and considered quite modern for its day. Constructed of flattened, rough-hewn blocks of reddish-gray schist, Belle Fleurs had four polygonal towers, with dark slate roofs that were shaped like witches’ hats, set at each corner of the building. The coach’s access to the courtyard was over a heavily constructed bridge through a tall, well-fortified chatelet flanked by rounded and corbeled towers rising high on either side of the entry arch.