by Jean Plaidy
“By so many children. And the Maréchal and Madame d’Humières have so much with which to occupy themselves. I do not wish dear Lady Fleming to work all the time she is with us, and I should like her to have some little respite from her duties. I should like her to enjoy a little gaiety.”
The King looked sharply at the Queen, but Catherine had laid her beautiful white hands on her stomacher and lowered her eyes. Her smile was almost smug. Mary wondered whether the rumors were true and that she was going to have another baby.
“I know,” went on the Queen, smiling affectionately at the King, “how greatly Your Majesty esteems those who look after our children. Therefore I would beg for a few privileges for my Lady Fleming. I will send someone to assist her so that she may have a little more time for pleasure. Madame de Paroy is well skilled and most fitted to help in the nurseries. If Your Majesty would agree to her doing so, it would give her the greatest pleasure and, as for myself, I should feel that I had assisted our good Lady Fleming to obtain a little of the pleasure she deserves.”
Madame de Paroy in the nurseries! That hideous old woman with the crafty eyes—the Queen’s spy! Mary felt the hot color rise to her cheeks. Forgetting ceremony she ran to the King and took his hand. “Please… please, dearest Papa, do not send Madame de Paroy here. Please!”
The King looked down at her in some astonishment. He ought to be angry with her for thus addressing him on an occasion when it was clear that ceremony was demanded; but he found it difficult to be angry with children, and such a beautiful child as this one, whatever she did, could not arouse anything but his wish to please her.
“My dear child,” he began helplessly; then he smiled. “Why, how vehement you are!”
The Dauphin had come to the other side of his father. “Papa,” he said, “please do not send Madame de Paroy here.”
“Why do you not want her?” asked the King.
The Dauphin did not answer. He looked to Mary for guidance. “Come,” said the King, “speak for yourself. Why do you not want her?”
“Because… because Mary does not.”
The Queen gave her sudden laugh. “Ah! So in the nursery Scotland already rules France!”
“And Elisabeth, what does she wish?” asked the King.
Elisabeth came forward and, keeping her eyes on her father’s face while she elaborately turned away from her mother, said: “I wish what François and Mary wish.”
“So Madame de Paroy is unanimously rejected!” cried the King.
The Queen laughed. “You see, Lady Fleming, your charges defeat my good intentions.”
“Your Majesty is very gracious,” said Janet. “I think you for your solicitude.”
“And these young people will have none of my Madame de Paroy, eh? Well, well! We will forget I suggested it.”
Mary could not help throwing a triumphant glance at the Queen. She knew that Catherine had particularly wished Madame de Paroy to come. What she wants, thought Mary, is to set a woman to spy on us, and she lacks the courage to insist. I despise her.
While the Queen talked to the children about their lessons, Lady Fleming showed the King some of their essays. They were bending over them and the King looked pleased. Janet, flushed and excited to find herself so popular in such exalted company, ventured to say something which had been in her mind for some time.
“Your Majesty, may I make a request?”
The King’s smile was very friendly. “Lady Fleming, please do.”
“It concerns my very personal affairs, and doubtless I should not bother Your Majesty with it at all.”
“I shall be happy to give my attention to your personal affairs, and if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be well pleased indeed.”
“It concerns one of my sons, Your Majesty. He is a prisoner of the English. He has long been in their hands and I cannot bring about his liberation. I thought that if Your Majesty would intercede for me with the Queen-Mother of Scotland, perhaps she might arrange to exchange an English prisoner for my son.”
“It would please me greatly,” said the King, “if I could be sure of granting this request. As it is I shall do my utmost. I will write this day to my cousin of Scotland and suggest to her that there might be an exchange of prisoners.”
His eyes were very warm and friendly. Janet was excited. It was a long time since she had had a lover, and now it occurred to her that the next one might be none other than the King of France. No wonder she was excited. No wonder that, in spite of her age, she looked like a young girl in her teens.
Even the children noticed the change in her. The only one who did not seem to notice was Queen Catherine.
MARY LAY in bed; she could not sleep. She was suffering from pains which were not unfamiliar to her. She had eaten more than usual. She had such a healthy appetite, and she looked upon it as a duty to set a good example to François and Elisabeth who pecked at their food. The meal, presided over by Madame d’Humières and the Maréchal, had been much as usual. There were joints of veal and lamb; there were geese, chickens, pigeons, hares, larks and partridges; and Mary had done justice to all, with the result that, although there was to be a grand ball, she had had to retire early on account of her pains.
There had been some amusement about this ball because it had been arranged by the Queen and, oddly enough, the Constable de Montmorency had helped her with the arrangements. Young as she was, Mary was very intelligent and eager to learn all she could concerning Court matters; and with her four little Marys to assist her she could not help being aware of the tension which was inevitable in a Court where the Queen was submitted to perpetual humiliation, and the Kings mistress enjoyed all—and more—of those honors which should have been the Queens.
With the aging mistress sick at Anet—some said dying—that tension must increase. Would the Queen seek to regain some of her rights? Would some beautiful and ambitious lady seek to fill Diane’s place?
François and Elisabeth and little Claude might have watched the ball from one of the galleries. The French children would have enjoyed that more than mingling with the guests, but Mary would have wished to be with the dancers in a dazzling gown, her chestnut hair flowing, and all the gentlemen paying her laughing compliments and speaking of the enchantress she would become when she grew up. But alas, she was too sick to attend and must lie in bed instead.
Janet Fleming had talked continually of the ball, but Mary had felt too sick to listen. She had drunk the posset Queen Catherine had given her, and afterward had felt some misgivings. She had heard rumors about the Queens Italian cupbearer who had been torn asunder by wild horses when the King’s elder brother had died—of poison, some said, and others added: poison administered by Catherine de Médicis. Mary could not rid herself of the idea that Catherine wished her ill.
“Here,” Catherine had said, “this is what I call my gourmands dose. Do you know what Your Scottish Majesty is suffering from? A surfeit of goose-flesh, like as not. You have been overgreedy at the table.”
Mary had grown hot with indignation as Catherine had bent over to look into her face.
“You’re flushed,” said Catherine. “Is it a fever, or have I upset your dignity? The truth can be as indigestible as gooseflesh, my dear Reinette.”
And Mary had had to swallow the hideous stuff and lie in bed nursing a sore stomach while others danced.
It was near midnight but she could not sleep. She could hear the sound of music from the great ballroom.
Before going to the ball Janet Fleming had come into the apartment to show Mary her costume. Everyone was to be masked. Those were the Queens orders. The idea of the Queen and the Constable planning a ball! The whole Court was rocking with amusement. They would not miss Madame Diane tonight… not even the King.
“How I wish I could be with you,” sighed the little Queen.
“Has her Majesty’s posset done you no good then?”
“I am not sure that she meant it to. She hates me because I would not have Madame de Paroy
in the nurseries.”
“You are a bold creature, darling Majesty, to go against the Queen of France.”
“Would you want Paroy in the nurseries?”
“Holy Mother of God, indeed I would not! Why, if she knew that the King had shown me … a little friendship, Heaven alone knows what she might tell the Queen. But… my tongue runs away with me and I shall be late for the ball.”
Mary put her arms round her aunt’s neck and kissed her. “Come and see me when the ball is over. I shall want to hear all about it,” said Mary.
So now she lay in bed waiting for the ball to be over.
She slept for a while, and when she awoke it was to silence. So the ball was over and her aunt had not come as she had promised. Faint moonlight shone through the windows, lighting the room. She sat up in bed, listening. Her pains had gone and she felt well and wide awake. But she was angry; she always was when she suspected she had been treated as a child. Lady Fleming had no doubt come in to tell her about the ball and, finding her asleep, had tiptoed away—just as though she were a baby.
Mary got out of bed and, putting a wrap about her shoulders, crept across the room to that small chamber in which Lady Fleming slept. She drew back the curtains of the bed. It was empty. Lady Fleming had not yet come up, although the ball was over.
Mary got into Janet’s bed to wait for her. She waited for a long time before she fell asleep; it was beginning to grow light when she was awakened by Janet’s returning.
Mary sat up in bed and stared at her aunt. She was wearing the costume she had worn at the ball, but it appeared to be crumpled and was torn in several places.
“What is it?” asked Mary.
“Hush! For the love of the saints do not wake anybody.” Janet began to take off the costume.
“But what has happened?” insisted Mary. “You look as though you have been set upon by robbers and yet are rather pleased about it.”
“You must tell no one of this, as you love your Fleming. You should not be here. You should be punished for wandering from your bed in the night. The Queen would punish you.”
“Perhaps she would punish you, too, for wandering in the night. I command you to tell me what has happened to you.”
Janet got into bed and put her arms about Mary. “What if another has commanded silence?” she said with a laugh.
“I am the Queen …”
“Of Scotland, my dearest. What if I had received a higher command?”
“The Queen… Queen Catherine?”
“Higher than that!” Lady Fleming kissed the Queen of Scots. “I am so happy, darling. I am the happiest woman in France. One day I shall be able to serve you as I should wish. One day you shall ask me for something you want, and I will perhaps, through the Kings grace, be able to give it to you.”
Mary was excited. Here was one of the mysteries which occurred in the lives of grown-up people; here was a glimpse into the exciting world in which one day she would have a part to play.
“There is one thing I will ask you now,” she said. “It is never to allow that dreary de Paroy to come near the nursery.”
“That I can promse you,” said Janet gleefully. “She is banished from this day.”
They lay together smiling, each thinking of the glorious future which lay ahead of her.
MARY FORGOT the excitement of the Court for a while. With her four friends she went to stay with her grandmother at Meudon. Her grandfather, Duke Claude, was very ill and not expected to live. She knew that soon her uncle François would be the Duke of Guise and head of the house. But she did not see him. It was her uncle, Cardinal Charles, with whom she spent much of her time.
They would walk about the estate together and the Cardinal’s eyes would gleam as they watched her. He studied her so closely that Mary blushed for fear he would find some fault in her. There were occasions when he would take her into his private chamber; she would sit on his knee and he would fondle her. He frightened her a little, while he fascinated her; her wide eyes would stare, almost involuntarily, at those long slim fingers which ceaselessly caressed her. She did not know whether she liked or hated those caresses. They fascinated yet repelled. Sometimes he would make her look into his face, and it was as though he were making her subject to his will. His long light eyes with the dark lashes were so beautiful that she wanted to look at them, although she was afraid; they were tender and malicious, gentle and cruel; and beneath them were faint shadows. His mouth was straight and long; it was the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen when it smiled—and it smiled often for her.
There was a delicious odor about his person; it clung to his linen. He bathed regularly; he was, it was said, the most fastidious gentleman of France. Jewels glittered on his hands, and the colors of those jewels were tastefully blended. Her grandparents were in some awe of him and seemed to have almost as much respect for him as they had for Uncle François.
“Always obey your Uncle François and your Uncle Charles,” she was continually told.
That was what they all wished to impress upon her. Even her new brother—whom she discovered in her grandparents’ house—the Duc de Longueville, the son of her mother by her first husband, hinted and implied that it was her duty.
Everyone was telling her that the most important thing in the world was the power of the Guises, and as she played with her Marys she could not completely forget it. She felt like a plant in a forcing house on those occasions in the perfumed chamber of the Cardinal when he talked to her of her duty and how she must make young François her completely devoted slave so that he gave way to her in all things.
“When you are older,” said the Cardinal, putting his hands on her shoulders and pressing her small body to his, “when you begin to bud into womanhood, then, my sweet and beautiful niece, you must learn how to make the Dauphin entirely yours.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Cardinal.”
He laid his cool lips against her forehead, and, when she received his kiss, for some reason she could not understand she began to tremble.
WHEN MARY returned to Court the excitement regarding the King and Diane had reached its zenith, for Diane was recovered and had come back to Court.
Mary overheard strange whispers.
“Now the fun will start.”
“While the cat is away the mice play.”
“And do you know that mice are very fertile?”
“My dear Duchesse!”
“My dear Count, I assure you, I have noticed!”
Lady Fleming, Mary realized, was more excited than ever.
One day when Mary was in her apartment, she heard her governess talking to one of the Queen’s ladies. Janet was saying: “Yes, it is true, and God be thanked for it. I am with child by the King and I feel honored. I feel so full of health. There is some magical property in the royal blood, I’ll swear!”
Mary was astounded. She decided she would seek out Lady Fleming and demand a full explanation; but when she sought her she could not find her. None of the attendants appeared to know what had happened to her. The King was riding with Madame de Valentinois who had returned from Anet. She was somewhat frail but more beautiful than ever, and the King was like a devoted husband who, after a long separation, is able to enjoy the beloved company of his wife. He could not leave the Duchesse’s side; he must spend every minute with her. Perhaps he wished to explain a little affair in which he had regrettably indulged during her absence; perhaps he wished to tell her that it should never have happened—and would not, had she been there—that it had been begun in a moment of desperate longing for herself.
And she would understand. She would tell him that she understood him now as she had when he was a shy prince with no thought of mounting the throne. She had shown him how to act like a great prince; now she would show him how to act like a great king.
Life would be as it had always been at Court. Queen Diane would rule through the King; those entwined initials H and D were as firm as they had ever been, as closely entwined.
The foolish Fleming woman would have to be banished from Court and then forgotten. It was no indiscretion to bear the King’s bastard. The folly lay in boasting of the honor.
The Queen of France agreed with her husband and his mistress. She was eager to help. Would the King allow her to deal with this little matter? He knew how she abhorred scandal. The little peccadillo she accepted. It was inevitable. It was the flouting of Court etiquette that she could not endure.
The King and Diane were grateful to her. Neither of them wished to hear any more of the disposal of the matter, which they felt sure could be left entirely to the Queens capable handling.
CATHERINE CAME stealthily into Lady Fleming’s chamber. Janet rose from the bed on which she was lying and fell to her knees before the Queen of France. She lifted fearful eyes to the flat expressionless face.
“You may rise,” said Catherine. She laughed suddenly. “We should not have known yet,” she added, “had you not boasted so freely.”
“Your Majesty, I implore your forgiveness….”
The Queen lifted her shoulders. “The King chose to honor you. You should not ask my forgiveness for that. How many times?”
“Your Majesty…”
“How many times?” insisted the Queen. Again that laugh. “So many that you cannot remember? It began on the night of the masque which I arranged. Well, now Madame de Valentinois has returned, and your services are no longer required.”
“Your Majesty, I will be content to obey your command.”
“My command is that you leave the Court this night.”
“Leave the Court…”
“Have no fear. Arrangements have been made. Remember you carry a royal bastard. You will be cared for and doubtless the child will be brought to Court. The King, as you have doubtless heard, had a child by a girl of Piedmont. It happened when he was away from France. You understand? The blood is hot and there is always some wanton at hand who can amuse for an hour until something better can be found.” The Queen laughed again. “It is the way of all men, my dear Lady Fleming, and kings are no exceptions.”
