The Ruins of Lace (8 page)

The Count of Montreau rumbled into our courtyard one afternoon at the beginning of October. His carriage raised a cloud of dust that rained down upon the outbuildings and the courtyard.

Though he retained his striking beauty, he seemed to have grown thinner. He possessed a feral grace that reminded me of the fox that lived in the wood lining the estate. There was both refinement and menace in each of his steps. And his clothes served only to heighten that impression. Even veiled by the settling cloud of dust, the colors shone. I knew, from regrettable experience, they were made from only the finest materials. They would have put my own gown to shame three years ago when it had been new.

As the count disappeared into the château, Alexandre came toward the barn, as if he knew where I was hiding. His gaze raked the gloom as he stood at the threshold. Between us, a ray of light had pierced the stone walls, slashing through the darkness. In its shimmer, dust floated in the musty air, glistening like gold.

I clung, even more desperately, to my shadow.

“I know you’re here, Lisette.”

He always seemed to know where to find me.

“If you wish to remain veiled by shadows, you should not wear so pale a color.”

I looked down at my worn and faded brocade that glowed even in the near absence of light. “It’s the only gown I have.” Least the only one that did not require me to pull in my shoulders, tighten my fraying laces, and flatten my bosom to don it. It was a difficult task to maintain the outer aspect of a viscount’s daughter, when that viscount’s monies had been so drastically reduced.

But worse than that, in my deepest heart I desired all of those things I had made certain we would never have. All of those things we had possessed when
Maman
had still been living. I craved the silks and the jewels and all of the comforts I had been born to. All of the luxuries we had sold to repay our debt. Was that not fruitless and vain? Perhaps it was the thorn in my flesh: to be always aware of what I might have been. Of what I might have had.

An eternal penance.

That’s why I so often walked the ridge of an evening. There was beauty enough in the hill and in those mists for the taking. Though it often made me wonder what my mother would think of me now.

I tried to be like her; I tried to be good. I tried to ask for nothing more than what was needed. And most of all, I tried to damp my desires. ’Twas my impulses that had betrayed me. Everyone thought me kind and meek and unfailingly mild. I hoped it was only I who knew the truth.

Alexandre’s eyes had darkened as he looked at me. “You should have trunks filled with gowns. And slippers in abundance.”

It brought to mind the words he had spoken at dusk on the hillside, and an uncharacteristic blush burned my cheeks. Perhaps I should have. But it was my own fault I would never possess them. I considered burrowing my bare feet into the straw, but he could not see them from where he was standing. What did it matter in any case? I saved my slippers for only the most special of occasions. There were precious few of those to be had anymore.

“Come out from there.”

“So the count can gloat over all his coercion has cost us?”

“No. Because you are worth ten thousand of him. It isn’t right that his presence should deprive us of your own. How else could we bear his visit otherwise?”

The perfect gentleman. That’s what Alexandre had always been. He always smelled so clean, like the sunshine or the wind. And his flatteries somehow always seemed to sound like unimpeachable truth. I allowed myself a smile. And a hint of my old spirit. “If I come, it’s only because you’re the one doing the asking.”

“And if I ask, it’s a selfish request, since it would benefit me the most.”

As I departed my refuge, I brushed the dust and cobwebs from my skirts, shook the straw from my feet, and pushed back the curls that had sprung free from their restraining riband. I stepped into that errant ray of light, and the world went bright for a brief moment. Then I plunged back into the gloom.

I eyed Alexandre as I began to brush past him.

As a child, I always used to kiss him for his attentions in spite of his holding himself away from me. I had taken particular pleasure in doing those things I was not supposed to do.

Such an impulsive, spoiled, and petted creature I was!

Though I had imagined kissing him a thousand times since his confession, I held myself apart from him now. This impulse I would control. Alexandre could still marry well. If he put his mind to it, he might find an heiress far from here who knew nothing of Souboscq or our decline in fortunes. If he couldn’t save us, he might yet be able to save himself. He reached out a hand and brushed my cheek with his fingers.

Pressing my back to the timbers of the doorframe, I slipped past him, hand to my cheek, as I added one item more to the list of those things I would not let myself desire.

•••

I loved the home of my birth. I always had, with its red tiled roofs and rounded towers, nestled in the heart of Gascogne. Though it had been a place of plenty, those in the King’s circle would have scoffed at those things we considered luxuries. Though nothing about the château was fashionable, everything in it was familial. From the sturdy, dark walnut furniture to the tapestries that had decorated the walls with scenes of the peasantry. From the blackened mantels above the fireplaces to the timeworn stone floors. But the presence of the count seemed somehow to have offended. It was all closed doors and dark corridors. What had, in the past, seemed so expansive and familiar, now seemed to have shut itself away.

At the hour of supper, I descended into the hall as the count was conversing with Father.

“We so enjoy our time here and always look forward to your
generous
hospitality.” The count’s companion, who stood beside him, snickered.

Father’s face went red, and Alexandre’s hand moved toward the hilt of the dagger he kept hidden beneath his coat. As many times as I had begged, as a child, to see it, he had always refused me that honor.

I stepped in front of them both to address the count, curtseying. “Please, my lord. Won’t you join us at the table?” No good would come from words spoken in anger. There was nothing to be gained by hostility. I tried to hide my bare feet beneath my skirts, though the shortness of the hems and the new, longer length of my legs did not allow for it. But just the same, I lifted my chin in honor of my father’s title.

The count bowed toward me with a twist of his lips. “As you wish.”

The only thing I wished him was far from Souboscq…and a gruesome death on the road back to whatever hell it was from which he had come.

Supper was eaten in relative silence, save a belch or two from the count’s companion. The food did not reflect our decline. We had thrown ourselves upon the mercy of Providence. The stream could always be counted upon to yield a trout or two, and the orchard its apples and pears and noisettes. It was after the cheese had been served that Father began to speak. “I must tell you plainly, my lord, we have no money. The crops last year withered in the earth from drought, and this year’s harvest was also poor.”

The count waved his knife in the air, as if to banish my father’s words. “Have no worries. I have not come, this year, for gold.”

Father and Alexandre exchanged a glance. Father raised a brow. “No gold?”

“No, my dear fellow. I’ve come to settle the debt.”

Astonishment must have gripped us all, for Alexandre dropped his spoon, and Father’s brows nearly disappeared into his hair, while a wild sort of elation threatened to bubble from my throat.

“I’ve no concern for gold, you see, for I’ve come to be repaid in lace.”

Alexandre collected his spoon and then placed it carefully upon his plate. “The arrangement, I believe, was for us to repay you as we are able.”

“No. The arrangement was that you would pay me for my loss, and I would keep your role in Chalais’s conspiracy to kill Cardinal Richelieu to myself. That was the arrangement. Unfortunately, however, I need the lace now.”

“You will be paid as we are able to pay you.” Alexandre repeated the words as if the count hadn’t quite comprehended them.

“Oh! I see. You misunderstood me. How can I put this plainly? I no longer want money. I no longer need it. What I need is what I don’t have. The lace.”

“We don’t…we don’t have any lace.” My father seemed to be choosing his words with some delicacy, as if that might placate the count. “The King has forbidden the wearing of lace.”

“I see how it might seem that way, with his edict and all of that nonsense, but the thing about kings is they so rarely say what they mean. You can hardly depend upon them at all. He said no lace, but everyone knows the lace he doesn’t see won’t disturb him. He’s very reasonable that way, you know. Or perhaps…I suppose you don’t know. Having taken part in that regrettable plot.”

Father’s brows had now reappeared, hurtling toward his nose. “I…I don’t understand—”

“
Lace.
It’s the lace I have need of now. Gold is no longer of any use to me.”

“But I…we…I do not have your lace! It’s for that reason I have repaid you these many years.”

“Ah! Tsk, tsk. There now, you have not spoken honestly. It’s for your abominable folly in joining that doomed conspiracy against Richelieu all those years ago you have paid me. We might as well be frank, you and I, since it seems we’re to be bound together for a while longer.”

A sweat had broken out upon Father’s brow. “I have no lace.”

“Yes. I know. That’s what caused all this trouble from the first. I suppose you’ll have to send to Flanders for some.”

“To—? But…it’s forbidden! Lace has been forbidden by the King himself.”

“True. But you are a clever fellow. I’m sure you’ll think of some way around it.”

The count’s companion smirked as he listened.

“To be caught with lace is to be subject to a six-thousand-livres fine. And exile. And the confiscation of estates.”

The count raised a finger. “Only if you are caught.”

“But…I can’t…I don’t know…I don’t even know how much it would cost…” Father had gone pale as he spoke. “And I’ve already paid you so much…”

The count smiled as if his extortion had not cost us nearly everything we owned. “I can see my simple, reasonable request has taken you by surprise. Perhaps I should have stated my requirements more delicately.” He sniffed. “I’ve no doubt a night’s sleep will be…illuminating…for I’m convinced you’ll come to the same conclusion I have. It is my belief you have no other option.” He touched a cloth to his lips, nodded at his companion, and then stood. “
Belles rêves
.”

•••

Father and Alexandre talked long into the night. I lit a precious taper for them. When it had burned to a stub, sparking and sputtering in a pool of its own wax, I lit a second.

“We must refuse him.” Alexandre had not taken long to reach this conclusion. That he clung to it for so many hours was admirable. That he insisted upon repeating it often was less so.

Father sighed and ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair. “As I have already said, we cannot refuse him.”

Alexandre took to his feet and followed an already well-trod path in front of the hearth. “I say we must refuse him, only because we cannot honor his request.” His voice had risen by that time, as well.

“We must. You know how Cardinal Richelieu is! He acts as the King himself. He has spies everywhere, and if the count breathed even a word of my involvement with the conspiracy, he would take my head in a minute. Just like the Marquis of Chalais’s. If he took a marquis’s head, what would he do with me? A viscount. What would be left for you? And who would care for Lisette?

I sunk deeper into my corner, pressing myself against the cold stone of the wall as he said my name and as Alexandre’s gaze swung toward me. It must have taken great control on both their parts not to have thrown my mistake up in my face. It was no one’s fault but mine that the count had demanded from them such an impossible thing.

Father continued with a sigh. “We must face the facts. The count can ask me for anything he wants, and I have no choice but to give it to him.” He shook his head when Alexandre tried to speak. “I am simply stating what’s true. If we sell the estate, then—”

“No!” The word escaped my lips before I could think to stop it. They must not sell the estate. The estate was all that was left. As long as Father held the lands, then there was hope. With the estates as his promised inheritance, Alexandre might still marry. The weather might change—next autumn might bring a more generous harvest. And who knew when the count would die? We might, all of us, find relief sooner than we thought. But without the lands, we would be nothing at all.

Father’s face seemed to crumple in upon itself as he turned toward me.

I stepped farther back into the shadow.

“
Ma
chérie…
I do not have many choices. My past does not allow me that luxury.”

“Please…don’t do it.” Then I would be responsible for his complete and total destruction. I stepped toward the light of the taper. Toward him. “Please don’t.”

Alexandre joined me in beseeching him. “You must not. He has no right to demand it!”

Father tried to smile. “Sometimes the past has the power to devour the future. If only I had known then what would be required of me now…but perhaps there is still some hope. If we can get a high enough price for the land, then perhaps we can keep the château…”

“But…it’s not fair!” There was no use trying to hide the tears that seeped from my eyes. I had come so near him by that time, when he reached for me, his hand found my cheek. He cupped it there, just as he had done so many times before when I was a child. I wished, how I wished, I could be the daughter he needed. In spite of the slow deterioration of our circumstances, he had insisted I be trained in singing and dance and the playing of the lute. Somewhere he had found the money. He wanted me to have the same advantages
Grand-père
had given
Maman
. He’d always claimed me to be the picture of her person, but why couldn’t he realize I could never match her soul?