Daughter of Silk (20 page)

“One thinks not,” Grandmère said sadly, “but who can know except the Lord? And still there is no Sebastien . . .”

Rachelle drew in a breath and explained the Queen Mother’s unex- pected demands. Grandmère frowned over the news of Madeleine’s health and her urgent request to Catherine to send Grandmère to Paris. “I wish I were going to be with Madeleine,” Idelette said. “I can be of

help to you both. Grandmère, is there any way I could?”

Grandmère, while appearing to understand her desire, was insistent. “You will see Madeleine another time, after the child is born. You must return to the chateau, since Rachelle will not be returning to Lyon yet. The Queen Mother is right about our need to see the Macquinet silk equipage home to Lyon. Someone with calm reason will need to explain all of these crucial changes, especially about Rachelle, to Clair and Arnaut when they return from Geneva.”

“She knew about Geneva,” Rachelle said.

Grandmère and Idelette exchanged concerned glances.

“But she could not be wrathful if she has granted such gifts,” Idelette said. “But where is mine?”

“How odd that you did not get one,” Rachelle said thoughtfully. “Perhaps because I worked on reinette Mary’s gowns.”

“Yes, ma cherie,” Grandmère said, patting Idelette’s arm. “I am sure Mary will also reward you.”

“What could they be? Open them now,” Idelette urged. “Perhaps there is a jewel inside.”

Although Rachelle too wondered, she shook her head. “Ah, ça non! We cannot. Her Majesty made me promise we would wait until the birth of Madeleine and Sebastien’s enfant.”

“I do not like this,” Grandmère said unexpectedly. “Why would the Queen Mother do this for us? Andwith Avenelle betraying the Huguenots and Sebastien missing. She cares for no one. A comfortable calèche for me to journey in as well?” she tapped her temple. “Something is not right, but what? I must think . . .”

Rachelle felt emotionally exhausted after confronting Catherine, but what could she do? She must go to Amboise, and Grandmère must go on to Paris. And Idelette —

“We three Daughters of Silk will be separated in our work for the first time,” Rachelle said sadly.

“Yes, I do not like this at all,” Idelette said. “But what choice have we?”

“I fear we have none,” Rachelle sank back against the velvet chair. “We must trust the will and purpose of God in this royal decision,”

Grandmère said. “There is naught else we can do to oppose Catherine de Medici.”

Idelette nodded brief ly, but her face was pale and her mouth tight.

Rachelle collected herself for their sakes. She stood and put her arms around Grandmère. “Do not fear. I shall be safe. And I am sure that after Amboise I shall be sent back to Lyon.”

Grandmère looked into her face. “I wonder, Rachelle, will you?”

Rachelle considered, then lifted her chin with dignity and resolve despite events that were determined to tear down her faith. She had seen so much of this same resolve in her mother, and she knew that deep within her grandmère’s heart there also was a reserve of strength and godly trust that would rise to the need of the hour. Rachelle, too, now reached out for that same strength to be found in Christ alone.

“I will pray for you, ma amour,” Grandmère said.

“And I you, Grandmère. Always.” She kissed the pale wrinkled cheek. She turned to her sister. They embraced but Idelette looked less tranquil than Rachelle had ever seen her.

Somehow . . . after the Queen Mother saw me with Marquis in the gal-

lery, I suspected something like this might happen. The question is, why? Why does Catherine want me with Princesse Marguerite; why at Amboise? Why does she want Grandmère in Paris with Madeleine?

Rachelle looked at the gilded red boxes.

Chapter Ten
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T

The Queen Mother dismissed Madalenna from her small bed at the foot of her own, then proceeded to dress herself in her usual black dress with lace ruff collar that opened like a tulip. Her head
coif
was in place, forming a
V
shape over her broad forehead. Her round chin was set, and her eyes, appearing light and obscure in her Venetian mirror, gazed back, revealing nothing. She must mask her true plans.

She had agreed to meet with le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine just after dawn this morning to discuss further plans. The cardi- nal preferred to keep her son, her petit King Francis, totally uninformed.

Catherine despised the Guise brothers . . . Little did they know how she wished to drop poison into their wine goblets or send gloves —

But no. Gloves must not be used again at court for a length of time. Her enemies were already whispering that she had sent her Italian cup- bearer with water to her husband’s older brother, the dauphin, when he was sick. The dauphin died soon afterward, and Catherine’s husband, Henry, had become king in place of his brother.

Catherine shuddered. Even Henry had once all but suggested she had eliminated his brother so they two might rule France.

She poured herself tea. She was a hearty eater and usually enjoyed her large meals, but not this morning. There was too much to do, to plan, and to seal those plans in her mind for the future. As long as she knew her humiliation under the Guises would not endure forever, she could accept their arrogance. Their combined power over her could not last long because her petit Francis was sickly; everyone knew he suffered from poison of the blood.

She stared at the two wax tapers as if hypnotized by the weaving flames.

As long as Francis is king, the Guises will hold the key to power in

France through Mary. Mary!

She both loathed and feared the Guises, for they were as shrewd and sly as she. Had she not tried to placate them, to assure them she was loyal to Philip of Spain and the pope in Rome?

But they accuse me of secretly reaching out to the Huguenot Coligny

and Bourbon princes.

She did not agree with the Huguenots anymore than she agreed with the Catholics; she used one against the other to maintain her own con- trol. But when the Guises learned of her secret meetings with Coligny and Condé to thwart their power, the duc had confronted her.

As if I do not know that the authority of the duc and cardinal will grow

as Francis matures and draws further from my influence. And Mary, already clever, will mature in her ability to exercise authority as Queen of France. All the while, her oncles would grow bolder as the months pass, until—

Catherine banged her fist down on the table.

Her son Charles was still a boy and would be for many more years.
My hold over his mind is almost complete. Charles will do everything I tell him, though there are times when he shows his independence and rebels
. When that happened she had to frighten him into submission by telling him details of the Inquisitors.

“Ah, you do not want to be sent to the Bastille do you, mon petit? The Huguenots will have their revenge on you. They will pour molten lead down your throat. You must trust me, you must do as I say, for only I, your maman, can protect you from them.”

Catherine stood tall and straight. She walked to her window and drew aside the heavy drapery to look into the garden below.

The early dawn sky was beginning to show pink. As she scanned the garden she noticed two people creeping back toward the palais. She clamped her mouth. It was Marguerite, looking disheveled. Her black hair was partly loose and she was clinging to Monsieur Henry de Guise’s arm and looking up into his comely face with those sick, adoring dark

eyes of hers. “Ah, the harlot. I must marry her to a prince soon or none will have her.”

Catherine could not think about Marguerite now. She would handle her wanton daughter at Amboise.

Catherine laughed coarsely.
Petite Margo will be dismayed when she

learns of the plans I have to marry her to another Henry— Prince Henry of Navarre
.

Catherine sobered. But first she would need to convince Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre, that her Huguenot son should marry the Catholic princesse. The clever Jeanne was a delicate problem. Catherine did not feel comfortable around her and had not since the first time they met when both were in their teens. Jeanne, the Protestant, was too much like Princesse Eleonore, the pious Huguenot wife of Prince Condé. Clever women, both. But not as clever as she.

Catherine rang her gong. Madalenna appeared silently and bowed. “Send for Charlotte de Presney.”

“Oui, Madame.”

Charlotte de Presney knelt before the Queen Mother. She had been rushed out of her bedchamber, hurriedly gowned, and her hair arranged. Charlotte was always nervous when Catherine called for her. As a mem- ber of the escadron volant, she was, for all practical purposes, owned body and soul by the Queen Mother. In return, she received a pampered life and jewels, and moved among the courtiers freely. She was not liked by the women, but that did not trouble her; there were few of them that she wished to be friendly with.

“Ah, Charlotte, you are looking winsome this morning.” “Merci, Madame.”

“How are you coming on your wooing of the most beau young man at court?” She smiled slyly.

Charlotte was still kneeling for the Queen Mother had not yet lifted her hand to allow her to rise.

Charlotte tried to shield her surprise and her shiver at the mention of Marquis Fabien. It was one thing for the Queen Mother to order Charlotte to spy on others, but that Catherine also was watching her was ominous.

“Oh, come, come, it is no trif ling matter to me whom you seek for your newest lover. So you are attracted to Marquis Fabien de Vendôme? That is well. He is just the man I want you to turn your charms upon. You are to find out from the marquis just what his plans are toward someone most important, le Duc de Guise.

“Ah, you are surprised, as I expected. You need not be. You should understand what constrains the man you wish to influence your way, Madame de Presney. Marquis Fabien believes the duc is responsible for having his father, Duc Jean-Louis de Vendôme, assassinated at Calais in the last war with Spain. I see by your shock you did not know this. Marquis de Vendôme has been suspicious of the duc for years, since but a boy. What could he do about his loathing but set aside his plans until manhood? Ah, but now he has arrived, as you have surely noted,” her lip curled, “and I want to know of his plans for revenge.”

“But — what can I possibly do, Madame?”

“It is most simple. You will plant little seeds in his mind. You need merely make suggestions that you have the evidence he is seeking.”

Charlotte saw how this might work to gain his attention. And once she had that . . .

Catherine smiled broadly. “He will be most indebted to you, I assure you.”

Charlotte smiled in return. “Yes, Madame, merci. But how can I con- vince him of such things when I know nothing?”

“Do not be a fool. I intend to give you the proof you need at the proper time. But only when I say it is time. Understood?”

“May I ask, Madame, why you wish to help Marquis de Vendôme in his suspicion of le Duc de Guise?”

“I would think that would have dawned upon such a sly mind as yours.” She motioned for her to rise. “First, sow your seeds. I need not tell you how. You have your ways. He will take the bait, I assure you. He has no liking or trust for the Guises. Then learn his plans for revenge on

Guise. When you have them, come to me. We will proceed one step at a time.”

“Madame, if I may ask a favor of Your Majesty?”

Catherine looked at her impatiently. “Be quick, I soon have a meeting.”

“Yes, Madame, that — you would have your Florence perfumer, Monsieur Rene, make me a vial of
amoureux
potion? I believe it will help me convince Marquis de Vendôme of his desire for me.”

Catherine did not laugh, and Charlotte had not expected her to do so. Rene and Cosmo were the Queen Mother’s chief parfumer and poisoner.

Catherine stood abruptly. “Be in the garden, waiting. I will send Rene’s assistant to bring you a small vial before the king rides out of the gate this morning.”

“Merci, Madame.” Charlotte could hardly contain her excitement. Catherine looked at her coldly. “And remember, Madame de Presney,

if even one word of what I mentioned about the duc is made known to anyone, you will curse the day of your birth.”

“Yes, Madame, I will not disappoint your confidence in my loyalty.” “You may go now.”

Charlotte bowed and left, now sure of her future success, yet ever afraid of Madame le Serpent. She doubted not that failure would bring her disfavor, and that she would be sent away from court.

The sun was climbing over the Touraine hills when Andelot Dangeau swung himself into the saddle of his horse. He reminded himself the fine beast belonged to his cousine by marriage, Marquis Fabien. He rode slowly from the armory and barracks toward the front of the palais cha- teau for the journey to Amboise.

“This malevolence is deliberate! The fates must be amused to frus- trate me, to bring me to woe,” he spoke aloud to the horse. He straight- ened his handsome cloak and hat, also borrowed from the marquis, and sidled into his lowly place in the long line of soldiers gathered outside the gate at Chambord. The royal retinue was soon to begin a twenty-

odd mile journey to the fortress castle of Amboise, which he had learned about only this morning.

He glanced about and saw the scurrying members of the nobility dutifully making preparations for the unexpected journey without yet knowing its purpose.

Andelot struggled with disappointment. His one reason for coming to Chambord, for which Oncle Sebastien had called him, and for which Marquis Fabien, at his own expense, had brought him here, was for Andelot to meet some recently identified kinsmen. Kinsmen so impor- tant that the news coming from Sebastien had left Andelot dazed.

“I am related by blood to le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine.”

Andelot thought of little else. He was to meet the two most feared and powerful men in France, the Guise brothers; the beloved duc was Marshal of France and the cardinal was so powerful in the state church of France the pope had once called him the Transmonte Pope.