Dark Angels (14 page)

Alice waited impatiently with Renée and Barbara and the others. It seemed an hour or more; she put her head out the door any number of times to see what might be happening or to grab a passerby and question him or her, so she knew Monsieur Colbert was on board speaking with the princess. Finally, the Dragon came to tell them to assemble themselves on the main deck. Chattering and curious, they climbed the stairs to find everyone on the ship was on the deck, going down the gangplank, assembling on the quay.

“What’s that smell?” d’Effiat said when Alice passed near him. “I do believe it’s the stench of England.” He made a face and waved the hand fan he carried, but in another moment he was stumbling forward as if he’d been pushed from behind.

“I beg your pardon,” Richard said. “I didn’t see you.”

D’Effiat’s nostrils pinched in. “You, you—”

“Peasant, fool, lout?”

The tension between the two was dangerous. It had been so since Richard stepped on board and d’Effiat saw him.

“He means no harm,” Alice said to d’Effiat.

“He can speak for himself,” said Richard. “Amusing, is it not, that a man who mocks his Christ with behavior that is reprehensible might have any comment on my character, or any man’s, for that matter?”

D’Effiat turned white. “I will kill you.”

Richard bowed. “We understand each other, then.” His tone was pleasant.

Henri Ange interposed himself between the two, said to d’Effiat, “This is ill timed.”

D’Effiat bowed stiffly to Richard and walked away. Alice was surprised that d’Effiat would obey anyone, much less Henri Ange.

Henri, his face open and friendly, bowed to Richard. “Allow me to make apologies for him. He is not himself.”

“I disagree.”

The other man smiled, didn’t answer, moved away.

“I thought you returned with us to tutor the princess in English, not to fight duels.” Alice looked up into his cold eyes, chunks of ice dipped in paint, she thought. “D’Effiat will make trouble for you now.”

“Well, that will keep me awake at night.”

“It should. He has the ear of the prince, Lieutenant Saylor. Monsieur could forbid you the household.”

“I am here by King Charles’s order. How may Monsieur stop it?”

“We’re not in England anymore, Lieutenant. You must be more discreet, for Madame’s sake.” She found Barbara, made her way down the gangplank. Richard followed, staying near Renée.

“I wish I knew what was happening,” Alice said once they were on the quay.

“We are to travel to Paris on our own,” Richard answered. “We will be received at the palace of Saint Germain en Laye, where the king and his brother are. The word is Monsieur is unable to travel. Apparently, Colbert was sent by the king to give Madame the news.”

Alice felt stunned. It was a staggering insult, as if Monsieur had publicly slapped his wife. The princess’s progress toward Calais had been a daily pageant, everyone in court along, as King Louis both escorted the princess toward her destination and showed off to his court the territories his army had conquered in a recent war. Another war—a small one, between husband and wife—continues, thought Alice. The princess was right to be unable to sleep as they sailed back.

Carriages waited, and beyond them, in the shade of trees, a buffet, so that they might eat before they journeyed. Colbert was nothing if not efficient.

“I’m already tired,” Barbara said after they pushed their way through courtiers to get something from the buffet. Richard, Alice saw, made certain Renée received a full plate of food, found her a chair, and then draped himself at her feet to smile up at her as she fed him with her fingers.

“We’re leaving.” It was d’Effiat, snapping at Alice and Barbara as if they were disobedient dogs. With him was Henri Ange, who lifted an eyebrow ironically to Alice.

“Now?” Alice said. She and Barbara had not eaten more than a few mouthfuls.

“We depart for Saint Germain immediately. It is Monsieur’s wish. Find your carriage and place your bony English ass into it.”

Ignoring his insult, Alice put down her plate, walked over to Renée. “Renée,” she said, “we’re ordered to leave. See if you can get into the princess’s carriage, and save a place for Barbara and me. Hurry, or we’ll have to ride with the Dragon, and you know what she’s going to say to you.”

Richard stood, dusted himself off as Renée rushed away. “What will the Dragon say to Mademoiselle de Keroualle?”

“She’ll lecture her about allowing you to take so much of her time on the journey over, not to mention kissing her fingers as we all just witnessed.”

“I intend to marry her.”

“Excellent. The sooner you let the Dragon know, the better. And I’d call upon Madame, if it were me.”

“You would, would you? Do you always know what everyone else should do?”

“Yes.” She grabbed Barbara’s hand and ran to the princess’s carriage. In the carriage, Princesse Henriette sat silently, her face stony. Beside her, sitting gravely and quietly, as if she felt the upset, was her little niece the Lady Anne, York’s daughter.

“No chatter, please,” said Princesse Henriette. “I have the headache.” She looked down at the Lady Anne. “Do you think you can be very quiet for me? Just for a while.”

At a knock upon the carriage door, a lady-in-waiting leaned out the window and took a small glass bottle from Henri Ange. His eyes met Alice’s, and each considered the other for a long moment.

“For your headache, ma’am,” said the lady-in-waiting, and Princesse Henriette uncorked the bottle, drank the liquid in a gulp, and closed her eyes.

T
HE JOURNEY TO
the royal palace of Saint Germain was a tooth-rattling five days by carriage. On the first day, when they stopped to rest at a château, Richard found Alice, who’d hidden herself away in a window seat to read, and he asked her about Monsieur and the household, watching her face closely as she marked her place in the book with a finger and bit her lip, thinking, he could see clearly, about what to say, considering every word. Her caution amused him, but it also alerted him. There were undercurrents in this household that even he, a stranger to it, could feel.

“There is no love between them anymore, though she tries to do her duty. It is a most unhappy household. There was a lover, his—”

“The Chavalier de Lorraine?”

“Yes, and Monsieur was besotted with him, and the chevalier hated her, took command of the household, began dismissing her servants, Monsieur doing anything he asked, and she fought him, going to King Louis, who has a high regard for her. At any rate, the chevalier encouraged Monsieur to disobedience and arrogance against his brother, which was a mistake, and he was exiled. Monsieur blamed Madame, and even now he stays in contact with his loved one.”

“Tell me about Monsieur.” The information in the official file on Monsieur was thus—loved by his brother, the king, yet allowed no responsibility, no real service. He did not sit upon the council. He did not even have the governorship of a city or a province. Spoiled by the court, his brother, their mother. Petty and cruel as well as brilliant and sometimes kind. A man of discernment and distinctive taste. Still distraught over the exile of his lover, the Chevalier de Lorraine, a troublemaker to the highest degree.

Alice wrinkled her nose. “A man who may weep for days over nothing and shed not a tear for that which matters. He worships his brother and yet is not always loyal. Fickle. Vindictive. I have a few questions for you, Lieutenant. Why are you here? I find it hard to believe that your task is the simple one of teaching English.”

“You do, do you?”

“Yes.”

“You know the old saying?”

“Apparently not.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

She frowned and went back to her book.

O
N THE SECOND DAY,
Richard managed to obtain an interview with Princesse Henriette. He was brought to her bedchamber in the château at which they were resting by one of her ladies-in-waiting. The princess sat in a chair in afternoon light made by long, opened windows that overlooked the château’s park; Alice, sitting on a footstool, read to her. It was the duty of the maids of honor to accompany, to amuse, to assist. At a gesture from the princess, Alice glanced at Richard and then moved away obediently.

He’s going to ask for Renée’s hand, she thought, and something in her didn’t like it, but she walked over to Barbara and Renée, who played cards in a corner of the bedchamber. Women were in and out, bustling everywhere, taking the gown the princess would wear that night to be pressed, choosing the jewels she’d wear at supper, brewing the special chicory water she liked to drink in the afternoons, doing all the necessary small chores that made her life comfortable.

“I think he’s going to ask for your hand,” Alice whispered, her eyes sharp to see what would show on Renée’s face. Happiness. Alice went to a window, pleating the long drapery there, staring out at the stretch of lawn, the trees that made a shady walking path, gardeners moving to and fro. Barbara came up behind her.

“Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s a good match. She hasn’t the dowry or name to attract a soul here, so it’s a good match. You know how I want all of us married well. I’m happy for her.”

“Alice, you don’t…”

“I don’t what?” The question was sharp.

“Mind, do you? Because you seem out of sorts.”

“Nonsense. I’m not out of sorts. Leave me alone.”

Richard knelt on one knee before the princess.

“Now, my dear tutor,” she said, “shall we speak in English or French?”

“French might be easier for what I wish to ask.”

“And that would be?”

“Your permission to court Mademoiselle de Keroualle.”

“I thought so. You’ve been very open in your regard.” There was reproof in her tone. Before marriage, a woman’s reputation was as important as her inheritance. “What can you offer her?”

“My heart. My most steadfast regard, the promise that I would treasure her all the days of my life.”

“Very prettily said, but life, as you know, requires more.”

“My estate is not all that it could be, I will not lie. We have not recovered yet from the war. But I can offer her a good home, with farms and orchards and sheep, which keep us from lack and provide some income, and I mean to make it better, to add to it, to build it back to what it was and more. I mean to make her a countess one day, if she will have me.”

“What need do you have of my permission? I am not her father.”

“I would not want you to think me forward, to think that I have improper intentions toward her, when what I feel is respect and what I wish to do is take care of her in all ways. I would teach her, as I have been taught, of love, that it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, that it never fails.”

“What do you quote to me?”

“From the Bible, Madame.”

“The Bible. You are a man of God, then?”

“I would hope so.” He leaned toward her. “And I would say to you, while I have this opportunity to speak so privately, that I am commanded by your brother His Majesty to watch over you, and I take that command to my heart. I am your praetorian guard, Madame, your defender, your protector, your champion. Whatever you need of me, you have only to ask.”

He knew she was aware of the fiction of his being a tutor, but he’d been wishing to say something to her since the return voyage began. In Dover, they’d called her fairy princess because she was so enchanting and charming. Now, it was as if he witnessed invisible gossamer wings fold back into themselves.

After Richard was seen from the bedchamber, Princesse Henriette motioned for Renée to join her at the window, examining the maid of honor’s face in light that hid nothing. Words came into the princess’s mind, words the English trooper had sung in his tender voice: There’s garden in her face, where roses and white lilies grow. Dangerous to be so beautiful. There were already those who desired her for it. “You know what he wished to speak of?”

“Yes, Madame, I do.”

“It pleases you?”

The cheeks were suddenly, vividly roses. “I would like to be a wife.”

“His wife?”

“Yes, if it please you.”

Princesse Henriette was stern. “Please me? I’ve nothing to do with it. A husband and wife must please each other. I want you to remember your reputation. Don’t allow your regard for him to make you less than all your mother would expect. And he must ask permission from your father to court you.”

“Of course.”

Relenting a little, remembering her own happiness at what now seemed long ago, the princess said, “I imagine I can find a little something extra to put in your dower.” She reached out and touched one soft cheek. “He seems a good man. You are fortunate in that. Tell Alice to come and read to me again.”

L
ATER THEY ALL
walked in the park of the château, down a lane of chestnut trees toward a landscape canal, the latest fashion, a long rectangular pool of water set in a garden. Richard walked among the maids of honor and ladies-in-waiting, as if he were one of them. In high spirits, he teased one and all; his sisters had taught him much about teasing females. He insisted on beginning English lessons, making them laugh as he called out words in English, then explained them in French: “Tree, leaf, sunlight, stones, bad dogs, beautiful women.”