The French Bride (31 page)

Louise had been tempted to refuse when she received the Du Barry's invitation; her dresses were packed and most of her jewels, and she was anxious to leave Versailles. The peace and security of her neglected country estate seemed the most desirable thing in the world. So much of her zest for life had been drained out of her in the last few weeks that she felt old and intolerably tired. She needed rest and quiet and time to think. She would find some means of enticing Charles back to her. Her necessity was so great that it must surely breed invention. When she came back to Versailles again, it would be in triumph, more beautiful than ever, with her lover at her side once more.

As she made the journey to the duc's house that night, Louise lay back against the cushions in her coach. She felt increasingly confident. It was almost her last evening at Versailles but it was unthinkable to refuse an invitation from the duc and the Du Barry herself. She might even enjoy it. Her coach drew up before the entrance; torches blazed at the doorway and two lackeys came running down the short flight of steps as her own position climbed off his perch at the back of the coach and opened the door for her. He handed her down the steps and she followed the lackeys to the door of the house.

In the hall, one of the duc's servants came forward, bowing low, and took the baroness' velvet cloak. She paused by a tall gilt mirror and examined herself quickly. Her yellow silk dress was a little creased by the journey; Louise shook out the skirts and half turned once more. She looked very handsome, but undoubtedly tired; that fool Marie had put on too much rouge, it made her look haggard. She opened out her yellow fan and walked towards the door where another lackey waited. It occurred to her that the house was unusually quiet.

‘Am I very early?' she demanded. ‘Haven't the other guests arrived?'

‘Not yet, madame.' The servant stared back at her blankly. He had been in the duc's service for many years; the staff had been specially chosen for duty that night. ‘But His Grace and Mme. la Comtesse are waiting for you.'

The salon was empty when she went in; at least it seemed so until a voice spoke softly just behind her, and Louise whipped round with an exclamation of surprise.

‘Welcome, my dear baroness. How charming of you to come!'

The Duc d'Aiguillon was standing behind an armchair, and in the armchair the Du Barry was seated, fanning herself idly. Louise came forward and smiled; she curtsied to her host.

‘You startled me, monsieur; forgive my confusion but I thought I was alone. Mme. la Comtesse … how delightful you look, as always.'

The Du Barry gave her a strange smile; her eyes glittered like points of steel.

‘You were always a great flatterer, Louise. Such a great flatterer and such a true friend.'

‘I fear I must be very early,' Louise said.

‘Madame,' the duc said gently. ‘I'm afraid you're the victim of a little joke. You're going to be our only guest this evening.'

Louise laughed; it was a light laugh ending on a slightly nervous tremor. There was something frightening about these two, the handsome man leaning so relaxedly on the chair, above the lovely woman. She had seen the Du Barry most days for the past three years and she had never seen that expression in her eyes before.

‘I'm very honoured then,' Louise said. ‘But why should you choose me?'

‘Because we're going to play a little game,' the duc went on. ‘It's called question and answer. We're going to ask the questions, madame, and you're going to give the answers. It's a most amusing game – you'll enjoy it.'

The Du Barry leant forward; she shut her fan and threw it aside. ‘You brought that girl into the King, didn't you? You went to Grand-mère's and bought that little bitch and played procuress to Louis, didn't you?'

Louise looked at her and then back to the duc; she felt suddenly very cold as if she were standing in an icy draught.

‘I haven't any idea what you mean,' she heard her own voice saying and it sounded absurdly level, almost contemptuous in contrast to the terror which was creeping over her.

‘I brought no girl near the King. I'm afraid I don't understand your game, monsieur. And I don't think it's very amusing. You will excuse me, I shall need my coach at once!'

‘Oh, no you won't! Du Barry sprang up then, her hands on her hips in the attitude of the Parisian streetwalker. She opened her mouth and swore at the woman in front of her. And then she turned to the duc.

‘We've wasted enough time – she won't tell us the truth of her own will. Downstairs with her!'

Louise heard him clap his hands and saw the look he gave behind her. She managed to scream once before the two menservants smothered her in a blanket and carried her out through a door in the tapestried wall.

‘Now,' the Duc d'Aiguillon said once more, ‘we will resume our little game, madame. We want to know all about your intrigue to replace Mme. du Barry. We want to know about the girl – who suggested her – who arranged that the King should see her, and who directed the whole plan. Names, madame, dates, everything useful which comes to mind.'

The cellar was in darkness except for one end where a pair of resin torches blazed in their sconces against the wall, illuminating the figure of a woman fastened to it with arms outstretched, her dress cut away to the waist.

A few feet away, a man bent over a brazier, working a hand bellows on the white-hot coals, where a branding iron was heating. There were other instruments close at hand; a device for crushing the fingers, a cross-shaped stretcher festooned with ropes and pulleys where the obdurate were racked until every joint was dislocated in their bodies, and the scourges and pincers which were the ordinary tools of the professional torturer.

At the back of the small cellar Mme. du Barry was seated comfortably on a chair where she could watch the interrogation. The duc himself was standing to one side of Louise; he had taken off his coat. He looked into the white face, distorted with hatred and terror.

‘Why did you do it, eh?' he said. ‘What did you gain from betraying madame?'

She gave a violent jerking movement against the wall.

‘I know nothing!' she said. ‘Nothing!'

‘Very well.' The duc lifted his finger to the man at the brazier.

‘Apply the iron to her breasts.'

It was past three in the morning and the great sprawling palace was in darkness; here and there a few lights burned, some of the hundreds of royal servants were still cleaning and preparing the rooms for the next day; lovers kept their trysts in corners; a few late gamblers were making their way down the dark corridors to sleep; and Sir James Macdonald, his wife, and his son were waiting in an anteroom for a summons from the Comtesse du Barry.

The warning had come to them during the evening after the King had retired to bed. It was a short note, delivered by a lackey, and it told them to wait for the comtesse, adding that it might be far into the night. Charles had been pacing the room, opening the door, and looking out into the empty corridor, while his parents passed the time playing cards. A servant had brought them some wine, but that was finished long ago. Nobody had spoken for some time. Charles went again to the door and pulled it open; he almost knocked down the lackey who had been about to come through it.

‘Chevalier Macdonald?'

‘Yes,' Sir James sprang up.

‘I have a message from Mme. la Comtesse du Barry. She asks you all to wait on her in her rooms immediately. I'll take you there.'

Sir James took his wife by the hand. ‘Be calm,' he whispered. ‘It will be good news.'

Katherine did not answer, she only nodded and held on to him. He did not believe it, nor did she. As she passed her son, they exchanged glances, but said nothing. They had little to say to each other, but much of the hostility between them had disappeared. Friends they could never be, but they were enemies no longer. They followed the lackey down the corridors and down the main staircase to the Du Barry's apartments on the first floor.

The favourite was very tired; she lay back on a chaise longue, her shoes had been kicked off, and stretched her beautiful arms above her head and yawned. Louise de Vitale had been very, very obstinate. Du Barry had stayed in the cellar below the duc's house for nearly two hours and by that time her vengeance was satisfied and she felt faintly sick. She had gone back upstairs and left the duc to finish questioning the baroness; she had seen enough.

She looked at the three people standing in front of her and wondered why she hadn't let the matter wait till morning. It was not going to be pleasant, and all she longed for now was to take off her corsets and go to bed. But she had kept her promise.

‘Chevalier, Lady Katherine …' she gave a cold glance at Charles. What the devil did he care about his wife, at this eleventh hour …?

‘I have found out where your daughter-in-law, the marquise, is. Lady Katherine, I should sit down if I were you.'

‘Where is she?' Charles came close to her; she saw that the hands clenched at his sides were trembling.

‘Your wife is in the Bastille, monsieur. She was taken there nearly six months ago with a
lettre de cachet
signed by the King. Don't interrupt me! I'm as tired as the devil and I want to get this over. It's been a long night, I can tell you!'

‘Oh my God,' he heard his mother say. ‘The Bastille – oh, my God!'

‘Why,' Charles said slowly, ‘how … who did it?'

The Du Barry considered him angrily.

‘Your mistress, Louise de Vitale. She was the one who brought that little whore to the King and De Verier got a signed paper from him. The order was made out against your wife and she was abducted and taken to the Bastille. All for the love of you, monsieur. Quite an achievement, if I may say so. Louise didn't want you to find out your wife was pregnant.'

She looked into the ashen face of Katherine Macdonald and back to the man standing above her. Except that his dark skin had turned grey, his face was like a mask. ‘None of you knew about it? Well then, that's why the baroness got rid of her. I've heard it all only a few hours ago. From her own lips.'

‘Where is she?'

Charles asked the question very quietly. His eyes made the Du Barry shiver. ‘Where is Louise? I'm going to kill her,' he said. ‘Very slowly, and with my own hands. Madame, you haven't answered me, where is she?'

‘She came to the Duc d'Aiguillon's house this evening,' Du Barry said at last. ‘It was a trick to make her speak; I'd found out she had procured this girl for the King; we wanted to know more. The duc and I confronted her but she was obstinate, she denied everything. The duc had her tortured, monsieur, until she confessed, but too late to save herself. She died on the rack. I saw most of it and I promise you, she paid for what she has done to your wife.… And now, there's nothing more to tell you.' She yawned. ‘I've kept my word, I've found out where the marquise is; now I must go to bed.'

‘Wait, wait,' Katherine came forward and before the Du Barry could get up, she fell on her knees before her. ‘It can't be left at that … she must be rescued, the King must release her!'

‘Madame,' the Du Barry spoke gently; she liked the older woman and it distressed her to see her crying at her feet. ‘The King does not know she is in the Bastille. That's the art of the
lettre de cachet;
he never knows whose name is written on it. He never wants to know. I'm sorry for you, for all of you. But there's nothing anyone can do for the marquise.'

‘You can go to the King, madame,' Sir James broke in. ‘You can beg him – explain what happened.…

The Du Barry shook her head. ‘I have done many things with the King, Chevalier, but even I haven't tried to recall a
lettre de cachet
to his mind. I wouldn't dare. I told you, I'm sorry. But there's nothing more that anyone can do for your marquise now. Officially she doesn't exist.'

Then Charles turned to his mother; he held out his hand and lifted her up. ‘No more now, Mother; Madame is tired. We're very grateful to you,' he said to the favourite. ‘Now at least we know where Anne is. I don't expect you to go to the King, madame; I know how tactless it would be to mention a
lettre de cachet
to the one who's signed it and sent a human being to prison without trial, without appeal. I don't expect you to say anything to him about it. But in the morning
I
shall go to His Majesty and demand my wife's release. Come, Mother. Your servant, madame.' He bowed very low to the Du Bary; though the pale, glittering eyes were fixed upon her, she knew he didn't even see her.

‘If you do that,' she called out after him, ‘you'll likely join her there! I warn you!'

At the door he turned, and now the burning look was focused on her.

‘What better place can a man be, madame, than with his wife and his child?'

In the beginning, as some of her strength came back, Anne used to lie in bed and watch the window in the wall; it was her only means of trying to assess the time, her only measure of night and day as the light faded. At the start of her convalescence, Marguerite had brought her some needles and thread and some pieces of linen to make shifts for the baby; it would help to pass the time and keep her occupied, but she insisted that the turnkey must not find her sewing. The governor was still threatening to take away the trestle bed and stop her privileges.

Anne did as she was told and sewed in secret for the baby, but now the little clothes were put away, hidden beneath the paillasse. She had no interest left in anything, for at last her hope had died. The weeks had gone by, until two months had passed since the pin was sent to Francis at Metz and there was no word or sign he was coming. The cell enclosed her like a tomb, and though she was well enough to walk slowly round the tiny room, Anne spent hours lying on the bed, staring at the damp stones above her head, for now she had lost interest in the window too. Night and day were of no consequence; nor was time, because there was only a little left. The child was strong and active; each movement caused her agony because it showed the vigour of the pitiful unborn that had no hope either.