The French Bride (30 page)

‘We daren't,' she said. ‘We daren't touch him without the King's permission. He knows that. Do you think it's true about the woman bringing her?'

‘Yes, I'd swear it was. You know the old maxim – tell a little of the truth to cover up the rest – I was watching his eyes; he wasn't lying about that! But we still don't know where the slut came from.…'

‘I think I do,' Du Barry said. ‘I'm going there tomorrow to find out. And you might do me a favour, and see if you know anything about the Marquise de Bernard. I promised that poor woman and I like to keep my word. It sounds like a
lettre de cachet
to me.'

‘A
lettre de cachet
? Wait a moment, my dear, wait a moment. When did this woman vanish?' The duc's brown eyes were darting everywhere, as a thought flashed into his agile mind.

‘Five months ago. It was thought she'd run off with a lover. But he's dead and she never reached him … why?'

‘Five months ago that girl came to the King,' D'Aiguillon said. ‘Five months ago exactly. And you don't get a
lettre de cachet
for someone like a De Bernard for nothing. I'll make enquiries for her, my dear, don't worry. Just you find out who brought the girl in, that's the first thing.… It's just possible, just barely possible, that there's some connection here.'

The sinister doorkeeper at Mme. Grand-mère's house bowed so low that his greasy head almost touched the floor. He knew very well who the small, masked lady was, with her escort of liveried servants, though it was nearly a year since she had paid the house a visit.

He set the one chair in the dingy room for her to sit upon and wiped the seat with his hand. The Du Barry wasted no time.

‘Stop fussing, man. Send for Mme. Grand-mère, I'm in a hurry.'

‘At once, Highness, at once.…'

When the old woman came in she swept her distinguished client a low curtsy. Du Barry took off her mask; there was no need to keep up the pretence that she was incognito; she and the dreadful proprietress knew each other far too well.

‘What can I do for you, Comtesse? I wish you'd given me a little warning, my stocks are low just now.'

‘I haven't come to buy,' the Du Barry said. With a grimace she sat down on the chair and sniffed at her muff, exactly as all the ladies did when they came there. Unlike the ladies, she made a face.

‘Pooh, how this place stinks! Don't you ever open a window?' Madame made a gesture expressing her apology and said nothing. The comtesse had not come to buy. Her eyes were bright and they flickered round her; she seemed nervous. With a connoisseur's appreciation, the procuress decided that she grew prettier with time. She reminded her of the exquisite and fantastically expensive ornaments one saw in the exclusive Paris shops, from her shining red-gold head to the tips of her pattened shoes.

‘If you don't want to buy, what can I do for you?' she said.

‘You can give be some information. Mme. Grand-mère, I'm in trouble. I need your help.'

‘Anything,' the old woman said quickly. ‘You've been a good customer, Comtesse, I'll do whatever I can for you. What is it, what do you want to know?'

‘Five months ago someone introduced a girl to the King,' Du Barry said. ‘She almost got me out of Versailles. She's gone now, but I want to know who found her and brought her to him. I can't risk it happening again, you understand. There's just a chance this girl was one of yours. Think back – five months ago.… Did anyone come to you at that time, someone you'd never seen before, a woman perhaps? Did she make a purchase?'

‘A moment now.…' Madame scowled, trying to remember.

Many had come and gone in five months; she'd sold some boys, a few girls, including the savage little gipsy to a gentleman who liked them spirited and wild. She had known all of them, all except one, the one who took that passive blond girl from Lyons.… That buyer was a stranger and she had never come again. She remembered it all now, the woman's nervousness, her willingness to pay, even the outrageous price – fifteen hundred louis – And no wonder, if she was buying for the King.

‘Did you ever see the girl, Comtesse? That would be a help.'

‘Never,' Du Barry answered. ‘But I had a description of her, after she was sent away. Very blonde, angelic looking. The King did well by her; no Parc au Cerf for this one! He gave her a dowry and sent her to a convent to be educated. It makes me sick to think how close she came to staying on.…'

‘Blonde,' the old woman said. ‘That's right, I had a girl like that about that time; blue eyes, pretty, if you like the type. I sold her too, five months ago. And the buyer was a woman I'd never seen before. She said she wanted something special, a virgin, refined … you know the sort of thing. She paid a huge price for her and never made a murmur. I'll swear it's the same one!'

‘I thought so,' Du Barry leaned forward, her lovely little face as hard as stone. ‘Have you any idea who this woman was? I've got to find her, Mme. Grand-mère. I've got to know who's behind her, who's working against me. Think, for God's sake! I'll pay you well, don't worry.'

‘I never saw her before or since,' the old woman said. ‘She wore a mask, like they all do. But there was something … wait! She paid me and I saw her hands. There was a ring on one finger, I remember noticing it. Two hearts in rubies and diamonds, and a diamond stag above them. Very unusual, that's why I noticed it at the time. But that's all I can tell you.'

‘It's enough,' Du Barry stood up. ‘I know a woman with a ring like that. I've never seen another like it. Two hearts and a stag; you're sure?'

Absolutely, Comtesse. That's it; I was born in the country, you know. I can tell you, the little beast was a stag made in diamonds.'

‘I'm very grateful to you.' The Du Barry drew on her mask. ‘Here, there's five hundred louis in that bag. If I need someone, I'll give you time to look around before I come.'

‘How is the King?' the old woman asked. She put the bag of money in her skirt. ‘In good health, I hope?'

‘Too good!' Du Barry laughed. ‘He drives me hard enough! One thing more; if you get any more callers and you suspect they're buying with His Majesty in mind – send word to me first, will you? I shan't forget it.'

‘I promise, Comtesse,' Mme. Grand-mère gave a wink, and her grotesque red mouth turned back in a travesty of a smile. ‘You can rely on me. Believe me, if I'd known where that brat was going, I'd have strangled her first!'

As the Du Barry went out of the house, the old woman gave a silent whistle. That girl – that spiritless milksop had almost ousted the Du Barry – Madame felt suddenly angry at the deceit the minx had practised on her, hiding her talents under that submissive mask. A clever, ambitious little bitch, cunning as a snake … she'd look at the quiet ones with new eyes after this.

‘Madame.…' Louise's maid put her head round the door, she approached her mistress cautiously, for the baroness' temper was uncertain in these days; she ate little and slept badly, and when the girl annoyed her, she boxed her ears or threw things at her. It was all the fault of that cursed Macdonald; Marie often found her mistress crying and she was shocked at the effect upon the baroness of his leaving her. She was such a proud woman, so contemptuous of weakness, so well able to take and discard a dozen men, until this one came into her life and then walked out of it. Indirectly, he had made Marie suffer too, and she could not forgive him. Louise de Vitale had aged twenty years since he abandoned her.

‘Madame, you will be late for the hunt.…'

Louise was dressed in her habit; her gloves and riding crop lay on the table beside her, her horse was waiting in the stables, and the King would leave the palace in half an hour. Everyone was expected to be mounted and waiting for him.

‘I'm not going,' Louise snapped at her. ‘My head's aching. Go away, girl, for God's sake!'

She couldn't face the hunt; she found it more and more difficult to lead the incredible strenuous life at court and to maintain a pretence that nothing was wrong, when her mind and body were racked with longing and despair for Charles; she dreaded seeing him and yet perversely looked for him in every corner of Versailles. And Fate was cruel, for even in the milling crowds she often found him, saw him talking to others, dancing in the evenings with other women until her heart almost burst in her breast. He would be following the King's hunt today. Charles had not taken another mistress; her shameless enquiries had established that. They had also exposed her to the ridicule of a society which found her position peculiarly amusing; it was so unfashionable, so bourgeois to be jealous and eat one's heart out for a man who no longer wanted one. People sneered at her openly and the men, who tried to begin an intrigue with her, shrugged and went elsewhere when she refused them. More and more she had begun to think of the absent De Tallieu's advice; life at Versailles was empty and bitter as long as Charles was there and apart from her. She felt unbearably bad-tempered and ill.

That morning Louise had made up her mind and written to the Royal Chamberlain, asking the King's permission to retire to her estates for a few weeks where her affairs were in disorder. If she went away, it would give her time to recover, time to think and make some plan, however wild, to get Charles back again. Thank God De Tallieu was not there to see her suffer; the situation would have amused him enormously. But thank God, most of all, that the woman who had taken Charles away from her was ignorant of her triumph. That was Louise's only consolation. Anne was paying for her victory in some foul corner of the Bastille, abandoned and forgotten as if she were dead. She might have died months ago; Louise exulted at the thought of that; she addressed frightful prayers, full of hate and blasphemy to the God in which she did not believe, that Anne and her child were already in their grave. He might love Anne still. He might have struck
her,
Louise, who cared for him, and taunted her and left her, but he would never, never see his wife again or know his child.

‘Marie!' The door opened again.

‘Yes, madame?'

‘We shall be leaving for the country at the end of the week. I need a rest. You can begin by seeing to some of my baggage.'

‘Yes, madame. Shall I help you change now, if you're not going out?'

‘I'm not going anywhere,' Louise said. ‘Except to bed. I haven't slept for a week.'

The Du Barry was late for her appointment with the Duc d'Aiguillon; she came to his apartment still in the dress she had worn that afternoon when she followed the King's hunt; her face was flushed and her feathered hat askew.

‘I came as soon as I could,' she explained. ‘He was in such a good temper, he made me get out of the coach and watch him cut the stag's throat.… Ugh, I felt as sick as a cat!'

D'Aiguillon smiled and patted her hand. ‘Be thankful he still loves you,' he said. ‘Clever, charming creature … sit down and get your breath.' He bent over and kissed the warm, pink cheek. They were still lovers, but their opportunities were few. ‘What did you find out last night?'

‘I found out who brought that damned girl to Versailles!' Du Barry said. ‘I was right, she did come from Mme. Grand-mère's and De Verier wasn't lying when he said the introducer was a woman. And do you know which woman? Can you guess?' He shook his head.

‘No,' he said softly. ‘Tell me.'

‘My friend,' the favourite said, ‘My amusing little friend who sat down and played cards with me the other night – no wonder she lost every sou, she must be half out of her wits with fear that I'll find out.… Louise de Vitale, that's who it was! The dirty, scheming.…' She gave vent to a flood of gutter language until the duc winced.

‘Enough, enough,' he said. ‘We know what she is, my dear. And now I've news for you. I hear from the chamberlain that the lady is planning to visit her estates!'

‘Oh, is she!' Du Barry swung round. ‘Thinks she'll escape, does she? Well, by God, she's going to answer a few questions first.…'

‘She is,' he agreed. ‘And what we couldn't ask De Verier, we'll be able to ask her. But I'm puzzled; why should she turn against you, what did she have to gain?'

‘God knows,' Du Barry said. ‘She's not important, she's not involved with anyone like the Richelieus or the ministers.… And still she let herself be used, found that girl, brought her to the King's bedroom! She had a reason, but I'm damned if I know what it was.…'

D'Aiguillon did not answer; his mind had been working while she talked, fitting the new pieces into the puzzle, making a little more of the picture. The baroness had been the mistress of Charles Macdonald, whose wife had so conveniently disappeared. That was a clue, but it was not important. That would be extracted from her along with what he really wanted to find out, the names of those who had worked with her, the ones who had approached the King's confidential valet and through him, the King himself. They were the enemies he must discover, if they were not to strike again at the Du Barry and at him.

‘I'm going to give a musical evening,' he said suddenly. ‘At my house. A small party for just a few friends. And you're going to invite the baroness before she leaves Versailles.'

Du Barry looked at him, and after a second's pause she smiled.

‘You couldn't question De Verier there, but you can question her,' she said. I'll make it a musical evening for her.'

‘Don't worry, my dear,' the duc said gently. ‘Mme. Louise will make the music for us. And by the way, I think she'll throw some light upon that missing marquise. Ask her for tomorrow evening and make it a command. She'll have to come.'

‘She will,' the Du Barry said. ‘Normally, I don't like your methods, but this time it'll be a pleasure! I wouldn't miss it for the world.'