The French Mistress (21 page)

Thus for that month, I skipped along a line as perilous as any ropewalker’s at a fair. While I relished the king’s attentions, I took care not to make myself too eager, too ardent. I would not be alone with him, though often we would make a small party with Madame and her constant squire, the Duke of Monmouth. I smiled and I laughed, and I let the king kiss my cheek and my hands, but no more. It was at once extraordinarily difficult, and extraordinarily delicious.

But whether I loved him in Dover: ah, I do not know.

 

 

“Mademoiselle de Keroualle, here.”

I stopped on the staircase to see who had spoken. Tables for cards had been set up after supper, and the gaming was fierce. The English, it seemed, were willing to risk most anything on the turn of a jack or queen, with wild shrieks and howls of excitement from both ladies and gentlemen alike. I did not play, of course, being in no position to risk a loss, and as a result Madame had sent me up to her rooms to fetch a box of the peppermint lozenges that gave her ease.

“Here, mademoiselle.” The Marquis de Croissy stepped from the shadows near a window and bowed his head to me in greeting. He was striking rather than handsome, with ivory skin and a narrow, crooked nose, and the distinguished face of a gentleman long in the king’s service. As usual, his manner was quiet and subdued, for he found it more useful in his profession as an ambassador to go unnoticed than otherwise; I’d certainly not seen him as I’d passed by, and I wondered uneasily if he’d been waiting there for me.

Not that he would ever confess it. “You catch me stargazing, mademoiselle,” he said instead, gesturing toward the long window beside him. “For the first time since we left Paris, the clouds have parted, and the stars have revealed themselves.”

I glanced past him as if studying the sky, too. “If we’re fortunate, my lord, we’ll have sun tomorrow. Pray excuse me. I am on an errand for Madame, and she expects me—”

“Her Highness will excuse you for another minute or two.” His smile was bland, without showing his teeth. “More likely she’s so interested in whatever Lord Monmouth is whispering in her ear that she’s forgotten she sent you away in the first place.”

“Madame is happy, my lord,” I said, defending my mistress. She was openly enjoying the attentions of the young duke, delighting in having such a handsome, young squire at her beckoning, and without the jealous rages of Monsieur to tarnish her enjoyment. “Her Highness is
happy
.”

“She is, she is,” he said, soothingly. “And so is her brother. You have done well, mademoiselle.”

At once I was on my guard. “Forgive me, my lord, but I’ve done nothing.”

“You are modest, mademoiselle,” he said. “His Majesty is a restless gentleman. Your presence during our little talks has calmed him greatly. It pleases him to gaze upon your beauty.”

“I am there at Madame’s wish,” I said warily. “If the choice were left to His Majesty, I doubt I’d be included.”

He shrugged, his hands open, as if to say there was no telling what this English king would do.

“This king is ruled by his cock, mademoiselle,” he said bluntly. “You need not blush on my account. It’s common enough knowledge. You can be sure that our own Most Christian Majesty has taken note of his English cousin’s proclivities, and how they can best be exploited for the benefit of France.”

Since I’d been here, I’d learned that the ambassador had done much more than merely take note. Lady Castlemaine was openly receiving French gold and jewels from him in exchange for her supposed influence over the king. To my countryman’s chagrin, however, that same lady was also receiving subsidies from the Dutch ambassador and likewise any others who offered.

“The English king is like other men in that regard,” I said warily. “I am sure he enjoys the beauty of many women.”

“But these other women are not French, mademoiselle,” he said. “And he
is
the king. If an opportunity were to present itself—”

“There will be no such opportunity, monsieur,” I said, recoiling, my cheeks hot with shame at what he was proposing. To dream idly of indulging the king was one thing, but to be pandered to him like this was another entirely, and I wanted no part of it.

“You’re very proud, mademoiselle,” he said, glancing pointedly at my gown, “especially for a lady who has already accepted royal generosity.”

Too late I remembered the new clothes I’d been given before this journey—clothes that I now realized were meant to present me more favorably to the English king. I remembered Madame’s hesitant explanation that had really explained nothing, and her warning about her brother, and felt like the greatest fool imaginable.

“I am not some common slattern, my lord,” I insisted, “but a Christian lady, a Keroualle, and my father’s daughter.”

“You are also a daughter of France,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh. “If the English king chooses to act upon his obvious desire for you, then you—”

“Good evening, my lord,” I said curtly. I began to turn away, meaning to leave and continue on my errand before I rashly said something I’d later regret, but he caught my arm and stopped me.

“We all serve France, mademoiselle, and we all serve our king,” he said softly. “You, Madame and I. We are here together in Dover for that purpose alone. We only differ in how we prove our loyalty. You would be wise to remember that, mademoiselle.”

I pulled my arm free. “No one has ever questioned my loyalty to France.”

“Take care no one does, mademoiselle,” he warned, and raised his hand in dismissal. “His Most Christian Majesty expects nothing less.”

 

On the twenty-second of May, the new treaty was signed and sealed in the keep’s tower room. As I listened to the final details as they were agreed between the two countries, I could well understand why this alliance was to be kept secret, for there was much that was shameful about it.

Only two years before, Louis had signed the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle with Spain, accepting the territories of Lille, Flanders, and certain other portions of the Spanish Netherlands in return for ceasing further hostilities, presumed claims based on his queen’s inheritance. The agreement had been mediated by the supposedly impartial allies of the Triple Alliance: England, the Republic of the Seven United Provinces (the proper name, though seldom employed, for the Dutch and their territories), and Sweden. Now Louis had taken England as a more advantageous ally, and he intended to ignore the earlier Peace entirely, and aggressively strive to claim more of the Spanish territories for France, and Dutch ones, too, if it could be managed.

Charles was even more duplicitous. Forgotten was England’s role in the Triple Alliance, and the goal of halting Louis’s relentless expansion. Now France was made England’s much more attractive ally, and Charles agreed to join with Louis in a fresh war against the Dutch. These were old dreams for both kings: Louis wished to rule as much of the Continent as he could beneath the flag of France, while Charles in turn wanted the English to reign unchallenged at sea, with English trade ruling the world.

There were many other carefully defined clauses within this document, deciding which country would supply certain troops and whose navy would engage in which waters, as if these two kings and the single princess were cheerfully dividing toy soldiers and boats instead of the lives of men. To secure Charles’s good faith, Louis also agreed to pay his impecunious cousin three million livres Tournois, a great sum of gold pieces that would make the English king independent from the demands of his quarrelsome Parliament.

But the single clause of the treaty that would likely be most difficult for the English king involved his eventual conversion to our Church. In return for what Louis offered in gold and military strength, Charles was publicly to accept the teachings of the Church of Rome and announce his conversion, as soon as the welfare of his kingdom would permit. Madame was overjoyed that her brother had accepted this clause, as was the Marquis de Croissy. While I could rejoice in principle, in the harshest of reality, I now feared for the English king’s life at the hands of his unruly Protestant people when they learned of what he’d promised.

In the handful of days that I’d been in Dover, I’d seen for myself that what Lord Monmouth had told me that first night was true: the English did hate Catholics. From the shopkeeps in the town who made unsavory jests about holy sisters to the toasts that mocked His Holiness the Bishop of Rome that were drunk each night by the noblemen in the great hall of the keep, there was only intolerance, suspicion, and black-hearted loathing. Catholicism and Catholics in general were regarded as anathema of the worst sort, and even I had soon begun tucking my grandmother’s crucifix into my bodice, to avoid the crude jibes that it inevitably drew. For a country so firmly Protestant and scarcely ten years removed from the rule of that puritanical fanatic Oliver Cromwell, the king’s promise to convert would be a troubling declaration indeed, and I didn’t wonder that the only councilors admitted to this secret and signing this treaty were the two already sympathetic to Catholicism.

I understood, too, why the king had been so obliging to Monsieur about excluding the Duke of Buckingham. Lord Buckingham also sat on the privy council, and by rights he would have had to have been included in this treaty. But he was also a staunchly belligerent Protestant, wed to the daughter of one of the old Puritan grandees, and he would have spoken out sharply against an English king declaring for the Catholic faith.

Yet perhaps because I was young and this my first experience with diplomacy, I was likewise the only one who knew of the new treaty who seemed to have any misgivings about it. The rest happily celebrated with toasts and rejoicing as the papers were signed, and though the reason for their happiness was perforce left unspoken, their collective humor rose even higher.

To my endless relief, Lord de Croissy said nothing further to me about my supposed role in the negotiations. Instead he returned to how he’d been previously, scarce taking any notice of me at all. Perhaps he believed I had done what was necessary to secure the English king’s signature on the treaty; perhaps he’d simply realized, as was true, that I’d not near the power over the king that he’d ascribed to me, and that I was no longer worth his trouble. Either way, I was relieved, and like all the others, I set myself to enjoying the next weeks without that particular care to burden me.

With her long-desired goal met, Madame in particular threw herself into the daily amusements with a feverish intensity, so much so that again I feared for her health. She ate nearly nothing, slept little, and danced late every night. It was an old tale, the pitiful moth drawn irresistibly to the brilliant, fascinating glow of the flame, yet when I saw Madame drive her own fragile body to wrest all the pleasure she could from these few days in England, I could think only of that delicate, determined moth and its disastrous fate. My poor lady, I thought, my poor, dear, tormented lady!

But, ah, the moth, and the flame, and the ruin that came from it: how much better if I’d only thought first of myself.

Chapter Ten

DOVER CASTLE, DOVER
June 1670

 

 

 

I
greeted our last day in Dover with mixed feelings. I was sorry, very sorry, to see this magical time end. In an ancient, foreign castle, I’d been like a princess in the old romances, revered for my beauty and admired by a king.

But my own tale, I knew, would have no sweetly romantic ending. My fantasy king was already wed to another, and besides, even if he were not, he desired my body, not my hand in an honorable wedlock. Nor could I overlook Lady Castlemaine and his other mistresses (including the lowly actress who, I’d heard whispered, had this week given birth to another of his bastards in London).

In Paris, I wouldn’t exactly return to the scullery in rags, but Monsieur was enough of a monster for any fairy tale, guarding his gates and ready to pounce the moment we returned. I would put aside my beautiful new clothes, tainted as they were; perhaps they’d even be taken from me, for not having been sufficiently earned. Before long I’d fall back into the same patterns as before, and once again at the French Court I’d stand to one side and watch while others danced. To be sure, it was not an unpleasant life in Madame’s household, but it had none of the excitement or success I’d found here in Dover.

For one last time, I walked with Madame and a group of other courtiers along the rambling defenses and parapets of the castle overlooking the sea. Of course the king was with us. On account of his sister’s imminent departure, he seemed more quiet than usual, even melancholy, and he left the customary singing and good-natured tomfoolery to his other gentlemen. To no one’s surprise, the skies were again misty gray and threatening rain, as they had been for nearly all of our visit, something none of us would realize had been a sad portent until later.