Jules Mazarin, hearing his servant’s news, said, “There is no help for it. I must return to France.”
“My lord, do not, I beg you,” d’Albert pleaded. “They will kill you. I have never known such ruthlessness as Gondi exhibits.”
“Who do we have near Chenonceaux? Is there anyone?” the cardinal replied, ignoring his servant’s plea.
D’Albert considered a moment, and then said, “There is the Marquis d’Auriville, but he is about to wed, and he told me he will serve no longer. His chateau, Chermont, is several miles upriver from Chenonceaux. He is a good man, monseigneur, loyal to the king, but he is in love and fears to endanger his bride.”
“If he is a good man, d’Albert, then he will continue to serve until it is no longer necessary,” the cardinal replied quietly. “You will make the arrangements, returning to France ahead of me and arranging for me to stay at Chermont. I will travel incognito.” Reaching for the bellpull, he yanked it, saying to the servant who answered his call, “Ask my cousin, Seigneur Carlo, to join us.” The cardinal arose and went to his map chest, drawing out a large chart and laying it open across the table.
“When I came to Cologne I crossed from France into the duchy of Luxembourg, and thence to Cologne. It was the most direct route for me at the time. It would not be expected that I should reenter France under any circumstances, but on the chance those particular borders are being watched, I shall take an entirely different and unexpected route. By voyaging down the Rhine I can cross into France at Strasbourg, here.” He pointed to the map, and then his finger began to trace a route. “To Colmar, to Vesoul, to Dijon, to Nevers, to Bourges, and from there across the countryside to Chermont.” He turned to look at d’Albert. “What do you think, old friend?”
“You will be recognized,” d’Albert said.
“Nay, I will not,” the cardinal replied. “I shall travel as a simple gentleman with a few men-at-arms to protect me.”
“Your absence will be noted here in Cologne. Your residence has hardly been private. D’Orleans’s spies will fall over themselves in the rush to tell him you have departed Cologne. Then all of France will be on its guard, monseigneur,” d’Albert said fatalistically.
The door to the cardinal’s paneled library opened and a masked figure entered. He bowed to the cardinal and said, “You sent for me, cousin? How may I serve you?”
“Remove the mask, Carlo,” the cardinal instructed the man, who immediately pulled the mask from his head.
D’Albert gasped, staring openmouthed at the man. Then he looked at the cardinal and back again to his cousin. Finally, shaking his head, he exclaimed,
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!
He could be your twin, monseigneur. If you were garbed identically, I, who have served you so faithfully all these years, could not tell the difference. Who else knows of this man and his presence here, or even of his existence?”
“Only my servant, Luigi, who has been with me since my childhood,” the cardinal replied. “My cousin keeps to his apartments. Luigi brings him his meals. When he walks in the garden, I hide myself, so no one will know I have this twinlike relation.” The cardinal smiled, amused by d’Albert’s astonishment. “Carlo studied for the priesthood, although he never took final orders. I can leave him here in Cologne, and it will be as if I am yet here. Luigi will remain with him to complete the illusion. Hence I am free to return to France to direct my restoration, and protect my queen from those who would harm her. It is a good plan.”
“But you will need an army, my lord, to restore you to the king’s side,” d’Albert protested, fearful for his master.
“I have fifteen hundred horses and two thousand foot soldiers,” the cardinal said. “They will cross into France at various points over the next few months. We will meet at a single location to be decided upon. In the meantime, d’Albert, you must go to Chermont to tell the marquis I will be arriving sometime before Christmas. I will be introduced as his distant cousin, Robert Clary, who has been traveling in the east for many years. He will say he believed me dead, since he had not heard from me in several years. That small lie will cover a multitude of sins.” He chuckled and smiled again.
D’Albert was astonished. In all the years he had secretly served the cardinal, he had never seen him smile. And now, today, Mazarin had smiled twice! “Monseigneur, I believe that you are actually enjoying this intrigue,” he said boldly, “but please, I beg you, for the king’s sake, be cautious. Gondi and the others finally believe themselves close to attaining their goal. They will do murder to retain their power, and
le bon Dieu
help any who stand in their way.”
The cardinal patted d’Albert’s narrow shoulder.
“Le bon Dieu
will protect us all,
mon ami,
for what we do is right in His eyes,” he assured his servant. “Now I will arrange for you to rest here a few days, as you have ridden hard and long, I have not a doubt. I must arrange to leave for France as quickly as possible.”
“I will ride with you when you go,” d’Albert said. “After we cross into France, I will leave you and ride with all speed to the Marquis d’Auriville to tell him that his cousin Robert will soon be coming for a visit. Shall I arrange to inform the queen?”
“Nay,” the cardinal replied. “Only you and I and d’Auriville will know the truth. It is better for everyone, and I will be safer.”
“What is today’s date?” d’Albert asked.
“August thirty-first,” the cardinal answered him.
“Monsieur le marquis will surely be wed by now,” d’Albert said.
But Sebastian d’Oleron, to his great annoyance, was not married. The Duchess of Glenkirk had been called to Paris with her daughter by their exiled English queen, Henrietta Maria, to attend the young French king’s formal investiture, following his thirteenth birthday on September 5. The proclamation of the king’s majority would take place on the seventh of September, attended by as many of the nobles in France who could get there. It would be celebrated with great pomp and show, for Anne of Austria had been looking forward to this day since her son inherited his father’s throne eight years earlier. She had beaten those who attempted to take her son from her and rule in his name. Now she was triumphant. Only the absence of Jules Mazarin, her faithful partner in this miracle, saddened her. But the Marquis d’Auriville, like many of his neighbors, could not leave his vineyards with the harvest season upon them.
In Paris, Autumn, her mother and her two
tantes
were fortunate in that the de Saville family had a small hôtel on the Rive Gauche, located at Quatre Rue Soeur Celestine. Because they had had no time to send word ahead, the old concierge, Madame Alma, was distressed as their large traveling carriage pulled into the building’s courtyard. She shuffled forward, distress upon her worn face.
“Madame St. Omer! Madame de Belfort! Why did you not say you were coming! The dustcovers are upon all the furniture! There is no food! ’Tis a poor welcome to Paris I offer you.”
“The servants we brought can lift the dustcovers and fetch food from the market, Alma,” Madame de Belfort said soothingly as she alighted from their coach. She hugged the old woman. “It’s good to see you again. This is our cousine from England, Madame la Duchesse de Glenkirk, and her daughter, soon to be la Marquise d’Auriville. We have all come for the king’s proclamation. Isn’t it exciting!”
“You will forgive me for saying it, madame,” the concierge answered her, “but one king is very much like another for people like me.” Taking a large iron key from her apron pocket, she moved ahead to open the front door of the house. The lock turned silently as the concierge waved them into the building. “Come in! Come in!”
Autumn sneezed. “It’s musty,” she said as she entered the dimly lit foyer.
“We must open the windows,” the old woman, said, and proceeded to shuffle about, doing just that.
Now the serving women, who had traveled in a separate coach, hurried in and began to remove the dustcovers, swiftly snatching them from the furniture. Soon they were all sneezing as the dust flew about, pollenating the salon. Laughing, all the women retreated into the foyer, shaking their skirts out as they went.
“Gracious, how long has it been since anyone has stayed here?” Autumn asked.
“It has been at least ten years, mademoiselle, since any of the de Savilles came to Paris,” the concierge said. “Why they keep the house confuses me, as they rarely use it.”
“But here we are today for the king’s special day, and where would we lay our heads, Alma, if it was not for Quatre Rue Soeur Celestine?” Madame de Belfort replied with a smile. “Of course, if you were not here to look after the hôtel for us, we would have to reconsider, wouldn’t we?”
“I am here,” the old woman said. “Now, I will take one of your women to the market, to see if we can find something for your supper tonight. Ah!” The concierge jumped back as Fergus and Red Hugh entered the house. “Who are these great beasts?” she demanded.
“They are my servants,” Jasmine explained, “and gentle as lambkins for all their size, Madame Alma.”
The old woman looked the two men up, and then she looked them down again. “I shall take them to the market with me,” she said. “How long has it been since I was last seen in the company of a man, I cannot recall. This will set the old wives chattering,” she cackled merrily.
“What kind of men are these Parisians,” Red Hugh teased the old woman in excellent French, “to overlook such a fine figure of a woman as yourself, Madame Alma?” Then he gave her a kiss on her withered cheek. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you could cook,” he concluded.
“I can,” she told him with a wink. “Come along now,
mes braves!
There is bread and cheese to buy.”
Striding on either side of the little old lady, the two big Scots left the house. Behind them the women were laughing. When they returned from the marketplace, laden with fresh bread, cheeses, a fat capon, plucked and ready to roast, fresh fruit, and other staples, the dustcovers had disappeared; the horses were stabled and the coaches set to one side of the yard; the luggage was unloaded; and smoke was coming from all the chimneys. Obviously everyone had settled in nicely.
In the morning the women dressed in their finest gowns, Jasmine in midnight blue, Autumn in rose, Madame de Belfort in silvery gray, and Madame St. Omer in deep wine. They departed for the Palais Royale to first pay their respects to Queen Henrietta Maria. It was she who had sent the invitations to the royal proclamation.
“How did she know we were in France?” Autumn had asked her mother when they had arrived.
“I send the queen a purse each month,” Jasmine explained. “She is very poor and, while the young king’s aunt, neither he nor his mother give her enough to really live comfortably. I do not believe they intend being mean, but the queen is used to living as a queen. She does not know how to live any other way, and now she must. She is very much in debt. So each month I send her a purse. It is not so much as to be embarrassing to her, or ostentatious. Just a token, a reminder of my loyalty. Remember, Autumn, in different circumstances this lady would have been my sister-in-law. Then, too, she has young children to bring up. The Duke of Glocester is just eleven, and little Princess Henriette Anne only six. The poor lady has lost her husband, as well as Princess Elizabeth last year. Her lot is not a happy one.
Autumn had been quite surprised at her mother’s response, especially given the fact that she thought the Stuarts brought bad luck to the Leslies of Glenkirk. Now, on the day of the king’s proclamation, she found herself curtsying to a queen she had never known but who obviously knew her mother. It seemed odd to Autumn that her mother knew a queen so well; but then, everything had been different since they had left Scotland and England behind.
“Ah, Jasmime,
votre fille est trés charmante.
She is to be married soon,
non?”
The queen tipped Autumn’s face up and gave her a kiss upon her cheek.
“We had affixed the date for August thirty-first, but then came your majesty’s kind invitation,” Jasmine said. “The wedding will now be held on the thirtieth of September, your majesty.”
Henrietta Maria looked at Autumn. “Is he handsome,
ma petite?”
“Oui,
your majesty, he is
very
handsome,” the girl replied with a blush.
“And what is this
very
handsome man’s name?” the queen asked playfully.
“Jean-Sebastian d’Oleron, your majesty. He is the Marquis d’Auriville,” Autumn answered the queen.
“It is time, Madame la Reine,” one of Queen Henrietta Maria’s servants said. “The procession is forming now.”
“Come,” the queen said, rising. “You, your daughter, and your cousins will come with me. It will almost be like having members of my own court with me again.” She sighed sadly.
The ceremony was to take place in the Parlement of Paris, and the hall was filled to overflowing. To the right, in the upper tiers of the building, Anne of Austria, Prince Gaston d’Orleans, the Prince de Conti, the marshalls of France, the high nobility, and the clergy were seated. Paris’s troublemaking archbishop and two of the most powerful bishops in France, of Senlis and of Tarbes, were together looking pompous and quite smug, as if they alone were responsible for this event. To the left were seated other churchmen of rank, the papal nuncio, and the ambassadors of Portugal, Venice, Malta, and Holland, as well as the
conseillers de grand-chambre,
the presidents and the councilors of the Parisian Parlement, and other guests of rank.