“No my dear sweet, new friend. It is yours. For I have never worn it and you will do it much more justice than I ever could. I told Charles I sent for the dressmaker to come tomorrow to make you some gowns of your own while you’re here. He told me your parents had been waylaid along with your belongings. So don’t you fret, we will care for you as best as we may while you reside with us.” I was so touched by her openness and friendship. I was near to tears at her kindness that was like a big old Band-aid over my century-confused heart.
“Nicole, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough for your kindness. Except,” I added, “if we’re to be best friends, as I feel sure we are, you must call me Izzy.” A smile spread across her face and she grabbed my hand.
“Izzy,” she said, “I am so glad you have come.”
Then it was a flurry of motion getting me out of one dress and into another. Thank goodness the new dress went over my shift and I didn’t have to have another conversation about my strange bra and underwear. These poor women would be scandalized if they walked into a Victoria’s Secret! It was hard to even imagine that. But then I was dressed and my hair was meticulously done again for the second time that day. I was whisked off to the king’s hall once more, where long tables were set up and people were gathering for the evening meal. As we entered the room, I could immediately feel Charles’ eyes on me. He was probably surprised I hadn’t run off with the king’s gold or something. I looked at him in answer to his stare and felt a jolt as his eyes met mine. I saw his eyes travel down the length of my gown and felt the heat of a blush that I swear started in my toes and traveled back up with his eyes to mine. I was having a hard time breathing, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d managed to rattle me somehow. So I gave a slight nod of my head in his direction and followed Nicole to sit at a table with the rest of the ladies-in-waiting. Not without noticing the heated glare coming from Genevieve who clung to the prince’s arm.
The dinner was an elaborate affair, which I had to try to eat with a knife and my hands. I never realized that I’d spent my whole life taking the simple use of a fork for granted. What I wouldn’t give for my warm-vanilla-sugar hand sanitizer from Bath and Body Works too. Luckily, between each course, a servant would show up at my elbow with a bowl of water and a linen towel to wash my hands. More sanitary than I thought it would be!
Nicole kept nudging me every time she saw Charles look my way. I elbowed her back and told her to stop it. Then couldn’t help but smile as she tried to control her bout of giggles by hiding behind a napkin. Geez, best friends were still a pain no matter what the century! Although, I did catch him looking my way once myself, but ignored him the best I could. And all too quickly–OK, not that fast. Dinner in 16th-century France takes a really long time. Well, that hasn’t changed too much actually, except the utensil part and such–Still, before I knew it, the tables were cleared away, people made a circle with their chairs and long benches, and the servants continued going around the room pouring wine into cups when they were raised to ask for more.
I saw Prince Charles directing servants to the center of the room with the harp I’d told him I’d be playing tonight. Feeling the buzz around the room, I could sense the excitement. Apparently, Nicole told me, I’d made quite an impression with my cups song. Which to my horror, I now realized I’d played with the king’s real goblet. Yeah, lined with real gold on the inside and real jewels on the outside. Did I mention, it was real! Oh gosh, I could feel the blush start in my cheeks just thinking about it. No wonder everyone gasped. I probably could have lost my head for that or something. Good thing the king liked it. Also a good thing that the lighting in the room was dim as it didn’t seem my blush was going to go away anytime soon.
The prince brought a chair over and placed it in front of the harp, looked me in the eye, and waved his hand toward the chair. Guess I was up. Slowly, I walked to the center of the room, curtsied to the prince, and turned to the king and queen and took a bow. I would call it a sweeping bow, but I don’t really know what that is. Although my dress did make a swishy-sweepy sound, so maybe it was sweeping? The King motioned for me to rise and called everyone to attention. Not that they needed to be called to it. All eyes were already on us.
“And now,’ he started, “we will be pleased to be entertained by our new court musician.” He nodded my way, as he raised his goblet to me in toast. Yes goblet, that goblet. Still reeling a bit from the fact that it wasn’t a fake, I was about to take my seat and get started when I heard the prince whisper out of the corner of his mouth, “Curtsy.” What? I was supposed to curtsy to the king after I already bowed? Sheesh, would I ever get the hang of all this? I quickly curtsied, and then sat on the chair the prince was still holding out for me. Then he walked away and I could hear his shoes tap-tapping on the floor, the sound receding as he got further away. I took a deep breath.
* * *
The room was hushed and I could feel the anticipation. My voice rang out, a capella at first.
The story of Les Miserables. A story that wouldn’t have been written for another 200 years. No worry. For all intents and purposes, they needed only to hear of love; a longing for love, love found, love scorned, love lost, and love conquering all. I had put together a medley of songs from the great Broadway play. The harp was perfect for it. This was the kind of music that didn’t need a full orchestra to feel its meaning. As I sang, I could see the characters on the stage in my head and tried to bring them to life for my audience. At least I hoped I did. When I closed my eyes now and sang Jean ValJean’s moving “Bring Him Home,” I thought of my childhood, snuggling next to my mom, wrapped in a cozy quilt while she and my dad took turns reading the great novel by Victor Hugo. They read it to me in French, as they thought it would help me with the language, but also because they believed it should only be read in French. I silently thanked them now for my education in French. Oh my parents, my heart pained for them. I threw that heartache into the music as I finished with my favorite solo sung by Eponine: “On My Own,” perfect for the way I was feeling. All alone in the Middle Ages.
Again, I lost myself in the song. I became Eponine, walking the dirty streets of Paris, singing of a love that would never be. Trying to portray that angst and longing as I brought the song to its climax. Singing out Eponine’s love for a man who would never be hers. The sound of my voice resonated through the great room, bouncing off the stone walls. I opened my eyes and found the deep blue eyes intent upon my face. At that moment I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room. I plucked a last chord on the harp and slowly finished, professing Eponine’s unrequited love.
The sound of the harp faded. The room was quiet. I sat, still transfixed by the eyes that held me captive, my heart beating fast. I sensed a movement out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly, the king was on his feet clapping and stomping his foot in approval. I broke eye contact then and looked at the king. The Queen followed him to her feet as well, clapping and drying her eyes. Around the room, I noticed others sniffing and wiping away tears as they too added to the applause. I got to my feet then, and bowed to the king and queen once more, then turned and curtsied to the audience. The applause was deafening and I felt an odd sense of triumph, like I should start singing “Do You Hear the People Sing” and wave the French flag high in the air. But of course, I didn’t. Instead, the ladies-in-waiting descended upon me, still sniffing and drying their eyes.
“Izzy!” Nicole got to me first and flung her arms around me. “That was so beautiful, so truly touching. You are magical!”
The others were all in agreement, grasping my hands and telling me how moved they’d been. I felt a huge chunk of relief fall off my shoulders and I began to smile back in earnest. It was almost like getting more subscribers on YouTube. Almost.
“Mademoiselle Blanchet?” Someone said my name, a voice I didn’t recognize. So I turned and found myself face to face with Genevieve of the Sour Face. Only, she was, smiling at me? She reached
for my hand and held it in her own. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” Her eyes flickered toward Nicole as if to blame her for the slight. “I’m Genevieve Touraine. So pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied, not quite sure what to do with her sweet demeanor. I didn’t trust it, but still, I guess I could be nice.
“You are a very talented musician,” she continued. “We’re so lucky to have you here at court. And where were you before Amboise? You do travel, do you not?” I didn’t miss the tone of her voice underneath the sweet smile on her face, and the underlying message. I believed the question she was really asking was when would I be on my way again. If only I knew the answer.
“Yes,” I began to reply, stalling for a bit of time so I could come up with a plausible story. I knew I had to come up with some kind of reason for my existence here, but I hadn’t had time to think something up. Ugh, what was I going to say?
“Pardon, M’moiselle,” someone tapped my elbow. Saved by the bell. Or in this case, the prince. I turned in his direction, but noticed Genevieve’s eyes blaze with anger, though the smile stayed set in place. Man, she really was a witch! “The King and Queen wish to speak with you,” he said, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his arm to lead me away from the group. Whew, that was close.
“What do they want to talk to me about?” I asked, more concerned about a round of questions from the king and queen than I was by the glare of the eyes I felt sure were burning holes into my back.
“I cannot say,” he replied. He glanced at me and must have felt my nervousness. “But you have nothing to fear. With a performance like the one you just gave, I can only guess that they are nothing if not pleased beyond measure.” I felt the blush start to heat up my face once again.
“Am I mistaken,” I teased–I couldn’t help riling him–”or was that a hidden compliment from the prince?”
“Do not flatter yourself, m’moiselle. When I pay compliments to a lady, she knows it.”
“Hmmph,” was all I could reply to that. “Be sure I won’t be waiting for it with bated breath,” I threw back at him. Geez, how can he be so nice one minute and so mean the next? I wrenched my hand from his arm and walked ahead of him the rest of the way to the dais where the king and queen stood talking with a group of people.
“Your Majesties,” I bowed, waiting for their signal to rise. The King motioned for me to do so and was the one to speak.
“Mademoiselle Blanchet, may I commend you on your performance tonight. It was unlike anything I have heard before. You do our court great honor sharing your gifts with us.” And then, before I knew it, he took my right hand, bowed over it and kissed it. Er, I just got kissed by King Francis. Surreal, anyone? Kind of in a daze, he turned me to Queen Claude.
She added, “My dear, so moving. So very moving. I do hope you plan to stay the season. And please, join my ladies-in-waiting in the queen’s quarters on the morrow. We would be honored by your presence.” She had a sweet sparkle in her eyes and I liked her at once.
I was dismissed after that and turned to go. It was late and it had been a very long day. I suddenly felt drained. The prince was still standing behind me, watching my exchange with his parents. He still didn’t look too pleased. Whatever. I brushed past him and went to find Nicole. Thankfully, she didn’t mind helping me find my way back to my room.
“Thank you so much, Nicole,” I said as we approached my room. “I didn’t mean to make you leave so early. It’s just been a long day.”
“No apologies needed, dear friend!” she replied. “It must take a great deal out of you to perform as you have. I am amazed you have not yet fallen over.” She opened the door to my room and the light from the fireplace spilled out into the corridor. Its coziness was a warm welcome. I turned to thank her once more and saw a look of horror on her face. She stood transfixed, staring into my room.
“Nicole! Are you okay?” I asked in alarm, turning to see what she was looking at. I gasped.
My bed. Its draperies slashed to pieces and scattered all over the floor. The white down coverlet was covered in streaks of blood and a warning:
Be gone.
Chapter 9
As scare tactics go, a message written in fresh blood on your bed is a pretty good one. Finding the dead rodent used to write said message tucked inside your bed is an added freaky bonus.
“Oh my stars!” Chantal, one of the ladies-in-waiting, had a look of pure horror on her face as Nicole recounted the events of the night before. We were sitting in a corner of the queen’s room, filled with cozy couches and chairs. The Queen wasn’t in the room yet, so all the girls were openly discussing my nightmare of a night. Rubbing my tired eyes, I confess I didn’t sleep well, having slept in Nicole’s room and still not feeling quite safe.
“Then,“–Nicole was very animated in her retelling–”Izzy threw the coverlet back over the rat and we ran screaming from the room!” She threw her hands up, gesturing our frantic escape. Servants had rushed in by then, Marie barking orders to clean and scour the room top to bottom. “It was horrible!” Her eyes grew wide, hands covering her mouth as if she were about to throw up. Which, maybe she was?
“Who would do such a thing?” asked sweet little Fleur. She was as petite and pretty as a flower. And was trying hard not to look at Genevieve, as was everyone else.
“Have you made enemies in your travels?” Genevieve asked. “Perhaps they have followed you?”
“I am fairly sure that’s impossible,” I replied, still wondering how I happened to end up here in the first place.
“Nothing is impossible, my dear,” she responded. I noticed that none of the other girls liked to contradict Genevieve.
“Trust me,” I added, “I came from too far away for anyone to follow.”
“And just where would that be...?” Genevieve was vigilant if she was anything. Like a cop on Law & Order or something.
But before I could answer, the doors flew open and in walked Marie with a group of women all carrying bolts of fabric and baskets filled with trims, feathers and fur. Then from the middle of them emerged the most magnificent woman I had ever seen. We all turned...and stared. I believe my jaw might have even hit the floor.
She looked like an opera diva, so elaborate was her dress. It shimmered in colors caught in the rays of the sun streaming in from the window. It must have been silk, but it reminded me of a bottle of OPI nail polish that looks orange at first, but then you see an underlying sparkle of pink when you turn the bottle. Probably called “Orange You Fantastic” or something to that effect. Fabric swirled in an impressive up-do on top of her head, jewels dangling from the edges. Her face was made up, which was unusual since make-up was a bit hard to come by. Her eyes were heavily outlined and color glowed on the lids. Her brows were darkened and her cheeks were unnaturally blushed. Her lips were pink and they spread into a smile as she struck a pose like a model on a catwalk, hitting her mark in the center of the room.
“Mes chères!” she exclaimed, sweeping off her fur-trimmed cloak, opening her arms wide as if waiting for a hug. Ladies in her entourage scurried to grab the cloak before it fell to the ground. “Madame Odette ees here, at your service.” And then she bowed, to no one in particular. I followed the rest of the girls as they all jumped to their feet in the presence of such a creature.
“Who is she?” I whispered to Nicole as we all curtsied toward our new guest.
“Why she’s…” Nicole began, but was interrupted before she could finish.
“Now where ees she?” Madame Odette demanded, looking around the room until her eyes landed on me. “Ah! Zere you are! You must be ze musician everyone ees talking about!” She walked over to me and the others made room for her.
“Madame,” Nicole having remembered her manners, began, “may I present Mademoiselle Blanchet? We are ever so grateful to you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come do a fitting.”
“Tsk!” Madame O
dette said, swatting her hand in the air. “One ees never too busy to meet a new sensation.” And with that she took my face in her hands and turned it this way and that.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Nice complexion. Beautiful eyes. Smile for me dear,” I could do nothing but comply. “Ah, and good strong teeth. Yes, this should do. This should do quite nicely.” Then she grasped my hands and spread them wide, taking an inventory of the rest of me. I think I was too shocked to even think about blushing, but it was a bit unnerving to have someone look you over as if you were a racehorse they were about to place a bet on!
“Oui, oui,” she kept saying to herself. “Ah, you have given me perfection to work with!”
“Er, thank you?” I answered. I didn’t think about myself as perfect. But okay.
She dropped my hands and clapped hers together. “Come mes chères! Let us play with fabric!”
And with that, her entourage came forward with their bolts of fabric; unrolling silks, linens, and cottons; draping them over my shoulders and down to the ground, exclaiming over the fabrics. I stood like a statue and watched the commotion around me, getting caught up in the excitement. As if I were a participant on an episode of Project Runway. Madam whirled about nodding or discarding fabrics at will while throwing remarks at her assistant who sat at a small desk scribbling instructions on a piece of parchment, quickly dipping her quill pen in ink and scribbling some more. All but Genevieve seemed excited to be part of the dress-making party. I glanced at her, sitting once again in the corner, just watching. Her arms were crossed and in her hand was a feather that must have flown out of the trim basket. In deep thought, she twirled it back and forth, the feather brushing her chin with the motion. Then she suddenly broke the feather in two with a quick twist of her hand and threw it to the ground with a disgusted scowl. She caught my eye and I didn’t miss the smirk that quickly crossed her face before turning it into a smile–a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Rewind Page 7
