Enchantress of Paris (23 page)

“Remain here, out of sight,” said my uncle. “We must give gossips no cause for speculation as we draft the preliminary terms of the agreement.”

“When we have our draft, you will dismiss your niece?”

“In good time, Monsieur Pimentel,” said my uncle as they turned a corner. Their voices faded to echoes and their light disappeared.

There was no time to waste. I grabbed a candle from a sconce and slipped in without touching the door. I shoved the taper into the usual candlestick and went straight to the bust of Julius Caesar for the key. I needn't have bothered. The doors on the bookcase stood slightly open. I scanned the tidy rows of books and found the letter box.
The very same letter box. I'm saved!
I popped the catch.

Empty.

I lit another candle, locked the door, and spent hours dismantling the chamber, searching, then putting everything back. The seal with the letter
S
repeated four times was nowhere to be found. I searched in vain for letters mentioning the queen mother's crimes of treason that made the old king despise her. The physician's ledgers proving the old king had been too ill to sire a child were gone. I tried to find letters addressed to Mazarin in Paris during the year of 1637, but the only sign of his correspondence were scratch marks on the floor where the chest that housed it once stood. At dawn I retreated to bed with nothing.

There, waiting on my pillow like a threat, was the Colonna book from the cardinal's letter box.
Strife of Love in a Dream.

 

CHAPTER
29

In important affairs we ought not so much apply ourselves to create opportunities as to make use of those which present themselves.

—FRANÇOIS, DUC DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD,
Maxims

In the afternoon I awoke to the sound of Moréna crushing snail and egg shells with mortar and pestle for my weekly beauty unguent. She would mix them with onion and sulfur and other stinking, secret ingredients when I wasn't looking.

“I don't have time today.” I pulled the covers over my head. “I have to think of what to do.”

She whipped the covers down and pulled me by the ankle until I had to stand to keep from hitting the floor. “There's a new man under this roof with an aim to wed your king to Spain. So I'll tell you what you do. You get up, you make yourself perfect, and you tell the king everything. And it won't hurt to look beautiful while you tell it.”

Defeated, I gave in to her ministrations.

She clucked her tongue at the dark circles beneath my eyes and brushed her foul mixture all over my face. It slowly hardened as I soaked in a rosewater bath. I leaned back while she poured silver vats full of water on my hair so it wouldn't mess up my mask. She buffed my finger- and toenails until my face mask was crispy and fell off in little flakes. She rinsed my face, then rubbed almond paste and lily water in tiny circular motions over my forehead and cheekbones. I brushed my teeth with orris powder and a silver-handled toothbrush while she put drops of belladonna in my eyes to make them bright. She blew handfuls of violet-scented Venetian talc onto my skin, and by then my hair was dry enough to set. The smell of overheated hair filled the chamber as she moved around me, twisting and rolling long strands, darting back and forth to the hearth to exchange curling rods.

Philippe walked in as she stitched a stiff beaded stomacher over the front laces of my bodice. “Only the empty letter box is here,” I said to him. “Mazarin took what we need to the Louvre.”

He put out his palms as if to soothe me. “You know I won't give up.”

“I'll tell the king everything tonight. But he believes only things he can see and touch.”

“Mazarin left the letter box empty as a message. He knows you're searching. What if he burned the letters?”

He was right. Mazarin left the Colonna book for me as a warning. “We have to find
something.
”

Philippe ran his hands through his hair, and it seemed he'd aged a decade in the year since our uncle eliminated him as heir. He needed this leverage as much as I did. “The papers in His Eminence's offices are legion. I could search for weeks and find nothing, yet I've not been allowed a single
moment.
”

“You have no place in government. No title. No home of your own. No wife and sons. No money. The cardinal will see to it you never have these things unless you help me take him down.”

His face turned a ruddy red. “Tell me what to look for. Even if I have to sell my soul … I'll find it.”

*   *   *

Madame Venelle fussed with Hortense's hair as we rumbled along in my carriage to Bois le Vicomte for the evening's fête, given by the duc de Richelieu, nephew to my uncle's predecessor, Cardinal Richelieu, and a man much in need of royal favor.

“You should have worn it straight, Hortense,” said Venelle. “It's a mess of curls. Don't you want to look your best for the dances tonight?”

“Leave her alone,” I said, trying to shield her while I could. Hortense had agreed to help me this evening. “This is a private party. Only a handful of people will be there.”

Hortense merely shrugged. She hadn't bothered with herself much since Savoy left us in Lyon. She had resigned herself to her fate as a Mazarinette, which made my heart heavy.

We reached the end of the lane, and I climbed from the carriage first. King Louis spotted me before my slippers touched the ground and met me in front of the château. “Hortense is going to help us break away from Venelle so we can be alone,” I whispered.

He glanced at Venelle, who seemed torn between straightening Hortense's wrinkled skirts and catching up with me. “We haven't been
alone
in far too long.” He winked.

I pinched his arm. “Not for that. There are things I must tell you.” I caught my sister's eye and gave her a little nod.

Hortense immediately put the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned into Venelle. “Oh, I feel faint!”

Venelle ushered her past us toward the château. The duc de Richelieu called for his wife, who cooed and clucked as she examined Hortense. An overeager Meilleraye appeared with both a blanket and a fan. They disappeared inside. King Louis took my hand, and we ran down a tree-lined path. We kept running, laughing, until the path met the bend of a little ravine. We stopped to catch our breath. The sun was slipping beyond the blue-gray horizon. The twilight and the trees, even in their naked winter form, were just enough to hide us from view of the château. King Louis kissed me. I pressed against him, driven by the heat of our run, and we were soon out of breath again.

“We must talk,” I said, fighting the urge to draw closer. Even Hortense would soon get sick of playing sick.

He took a deep breath. “Very well, I will resist devouring you. I couldn't help but try.”

I laughed. “You can devour me every night in our wedding bed. But there is an obstacle.”

“I will cut through this obstacle with my scabbard.” He put a hand on the hilt of his sword in a pose of mock defense.

“It will take cunning rather than brawn. The obstacle is my uncle.”

He turned serious. “What has he done now?”

“He lies, cheats, bribes, and embezzles, and everyone who understands the governance of France sees it. He and his tainted money are why you weren't elected Holy Roman Emperor. He is why your countrymen revolted in the Fronde wars. He is why Burgundy refused to vote your taxes.”

“For all the trouble he causes, he manages to turn things favorably. You have to admit his genius.”

“
You
are the king. You alone should rule.”

“What would you have me do? Exile him? He is my godfather.”

I took a deep breath. “No he isn't.”

“I think I know my own godfather, Marie.”

“He is more than that. Have you never wondered why your mother trusts him so?”

“He is an able minister.” He pinned me with a hard stare. “What are you getting at?”

I shook my head. “Have you never heard the rumors?”

He frowned. “You are not the first woman to fill my ear with sour stories about my mother and His Eminence. I warn you now, each of them failed to supplant him.”

A wave of nausea washed through me. I bent forward.

King Louis put his hand on my back. “Marie?”

I understood my reaction—his comment made me jealous. And knowing he had reduced me to a sickly, jealous mistress made me furious. “If you are so willing to sweep me into the category of past conquests, I will call for my carriage.” I started for the path. He caught my arm. I tried to pull away, but my hand hit the jeweled hilt of his scabbard. “Ouch!”

He let go. “Did I hurt you?”

We studied the scrape on the back of my hand that would soon make an angry welt.

“Damn it!” King Louis unsheathed his scabbard. He took a few steps and, grunting with the force of his might, hurled it into the stream. The jewels and steel made a glittering twilight arc until it splashed and sank out of sight. He came back, knelt, and kissed my injured hand. “Forgive me. There is no one like you, Marie. None so bright, wise, nor bold.” He kept kissing my hand and, like no magic I'd ever encountered, it made the pain melt away. But I still had to tell him.

I raised him up and put my arms around his neck. “They are lovers. Married, some say.”

He laughed nervously. “A cardinal cannot marry.”

“Priests cannot marry. He was never a priest.”

A shadow passed over his features. “Everyone knows a cardinal cannot marry, even if it is not plainly written in law.”

“Theirs is a union you won't find documented in a parish register.”

He sighed. “I admit, I have heard the rumors from—well, it doesn't matter where I heard them. But that is all they are. Rumors.”

“Your mother allowed him to act as your father.”

He pulled away. “Because it was necessary. I was so young when my father died and I became king.”

“There is evidence that the cardinal is your real father.”

He took a few steps away. “Show me.”

“He has hidden the proof, but I will find it.”

He turned to me, angry. “Do you hear yourself? If what you say is true, I'm no king.”

“Were you not anointed with oil and consecrated as king in the
sacre
at Reims Cathedral? The late king, the cardinal, and your mother conspired together to produce a king. You
are
king.”

He started pacing with his hands folded behind his back. “Explain.”

“Did you know your father had your mother imprisoned for treason the summer before your conception?”

The confused look on his face proved he did not.

“She had written letters full of state secrets to her brother, King Philip of Spain. It enraged Louis the Thirteenth. He wasn't known for his love of women, and he
hated
your mother. But he hated his brother Gaston even more because of his many attempts to seize the crown.”

“Gaston would have become king if I had never been born.”

“Much as they disliked each other, they shared equal dislike for Gaston. But ledgers show physicians were treating your father for consumption at the time you were conceived. Even had they been able to stand one another's presence, your father's fits of coughing blood, his night sweats, and his weakness would have made physical consummation impossible.”

He seemed stunned. “It is true she never contracted his illness, but that isn't enough. She insists the cardinal lived in Rome the year before my birth.”

“Correspondence proves he was in Paris. And there are piles of letters written between Mazarin and your mother. All closed with a wax seal of their interwoven initials, encircled by the letter
S
repeated four times. It is a cipher from the Spanish novel
Don Quixote.
”

“You read too much, Marie.”

“True lovers possess the four
S
's.
Sabio
for wisdom,
solo
for fairness,
solícito
for affection, and
secreto
for discretion. The Spanish nobility know them. Everyone in the Paris salons knows. They are a symbol of love. Your mother and Mazarin use them as a seal to symbolize
their
love.”

He dropped his head into his hands. “I know the symbol. I've seen her use it in her letters to Mazarin.”

“They both lied to you.”

He looked at me again. “Anointed or not, Europe would move heaven and earth to overthrow me and put Gaston on the throne if they knew.”

“Demote Mazarin. Rule alone.”

“Without Mazarin, I wouldn't know how to rule.”

“I know for certain that you
do.
” I grabbed his palm and pointed to the deep solar line running from his ring finger to his wrist. “You will be the greatest king the world has ever seen.”

He closed his hand on mine. The evening had grown cold as well as dark. “Let's go back now.”

He doesn't believe me.
An owl screeched in the distance. “Decide whether or not you trust Cardinal Mazarin's version of your life before he decides the rest of it for you.”

We started walking toward the château, where the strains of harps and violins beckoned. In the moonlight I could only make out his profile. Despair and confusion poured from him, and I hated that I had been the one to cause this. He said nothing but held on to my hand as if for life itself.

 

CHAPTER
30

Jean-Baptiste Colbert visited us too early the next morning, walking in wearing his usual grave expression. “His Eminence inquires as to your health, Mademoiselle Hortense.”

Hortense and I glanced at each other. Mazarin must have heard of last night's fake fainting spell.