Threads of Silk (5 page)

If only I could use poison.

But not on this occasion. She dare not bring suspicion to her door. Not with a monsieur as beloved in Spain and Rome as Ducde Guise. The Spanish ambassador had already sent lettres to his master Philip accusing her of using poison against her personal foes at court. If the duc died by poison, they would turn on her like starving wolves. As for his popularity, all Paris cheered when the duc rode his horse down the street, calling out, “A Guise for a king!” Those same citizens, however, whispered their dislike and distrust of that “Italian woman.”

There must not be even a hint of suspicion suggesting her involvement. Both the pope and King Philip had accused her of protecting the heretics and were looking for reasons to remove her from power, though the Huguenots would mock any claim of her protection. Daily across France, the religious burnings continued unabated upon orders from the cardinal, another Guise.

Someone other than herself must be used to remove the duc. It was essential she remain shielded from the murky details. She rolled up the parchment, convinced this was the most favorable time to arrange for her plan to be carried out. Using a key on her wrist, she unlocked a large drawer concealed in the wall and placed the parchment inside. She left her closet and entered her main chamber.

Spies had already sent word that Marquis Fabien had taken the Macquinet couturière from Paris and escaped with her to the Bourbon castle at Vendôme. She retrieved her sealed lettre from the desk and struck her gong.

Her servant girl, Madalenna, appeared and bowed.

“Yes, Madame?”

“Take this to the dwarves to deliver at once.”

AT
VENDÔME,
MARQUIS
FABIEN
left Rachelle in her chamber and went back down the stairs to the grand salle. He frowned, caught up his hat and coat, and went through the archway into the courtyard.

The rain had temporarily ceased, while the sky was awash with wind-tossed clouds. Lightning flashed over the forest and the trees bent before the irate wind. It was a night for trouble.

Gallaudet was waiting for him in the shadows as planned and came quietly to him.

“We will handle this ourselves,” Fabien said. “Where is he now?”

“He is in his bungalow.”

“Under whose watch?”

“Julot is near at hand.”

Fabien would trust Julot with his life. “Come.”

During his absence at sea, Fabien had left the security of the Bourbon estate under the command of the captain of the castle guard. Only those unmarried
chevaliers
who were skilled swordsmen and anxious for adventure, had accompanied him on the privateering mission against Spain. The others, the married and those content to remain at their positions here in Vendôme, had stayed behind. Even so, there was not a monsieur among any of his loyals, whether men-at-arms or castle guards and lackeys, that Fabien had not chosen with care.

The bungalow was ahead, a small light glowing in the main window. Fabien’s gaze searched the area — nothing stirred. Gallaudet returned with Julot.

“No one has come, Monseigneur. Captain Dumas’s wife came out and returned, but that is all,” Julot said in a low voice.

Fabien disliked the thought of barging into the bungalow with the man’s wife there.

“Knock and tell him I wish to see him at the castle,” he told Gallaudet.

“If what you have heard is true, he is likely to slip out the back.”

He motioned for Julot to move to one side of the bungalow. Fabien made for the shadows and came around the other side to watch the window. Gallaudet had gone to the front door and was speaking with Dumas’s wife. Fabien waited in the shrubs unseen. All was still, then came a rustle of movement. The man had climbed out the low window with a satchel on his shoulder.

The man held a sword, but his face was in shadow. Fabien felt a moment of grief. This was the captain of his home guard, a monsieur Fabien had trusted above many others
.
That his character had a price of betrayal was a stinging disappointment; he would never have thought it of him. Dumas’s hearty cheer tonight was naught but hypocrisy.
Honneur
in a man was as priceless in Fabien’s estimation as virtue in a great woman.

Disappointment over Dumas’s betrayal turned swiftly to anger. Fabien lifted the point of his sword. Within the bungalow, another lamp was lit and the glow came through the window and fell across the escaping man’s face. It was not Captain Dumas!

Fabien stepped forward, sword lifted. “So, you join my traitorous captain. Where is he?”

A lean, dark young man whom Fabien knew as Sully turned sharply at the sound of his voice.

“Monseigneur, I — I am no traitor to you, I had naught to do with it.”

“Where is Dumas?”

“Dumas?”

Fabien’s sword leapt to life and pricked dangerously close to his jugular.

“I am in no fair mood for games, Sully.”

The guard fell to one knee, his sword clattering to the stone walkway.

“Monseigneur, I confess all! His wife told me he left soon after your arrival when he saw the boy seek out Gallaudet. The boy did not know much, only that his Oncle Dumas had met with the Comte Maurice Beauvilliers.”

Maurice! That pariah! He’d managed to bribe the captain of the guard! How much had he paid Dumas?

“Go on. Be quick.”

“I heard Gallaudet knew of the captain’s treachery, so I came here to find him, but he’d already fled.”

Gallaudet appeared in the open window and leaned out. “Monseigneur, we have the captain’s wife. Do you wish to speak with her?”

Fabien stepped back from Sully and pointed him toward the front of the bungalow with his sword.

“Inside,” he said roughly. “We shall see if your testimony bears with hers.”

Madame Dumas was in tears, sitting hunched in a chair when Fabien entered with the guard Sully. Her bent figure, the rough worn hands that clasped and unclasped in her lap, softened his mood. Fabien gestured to Julot to remove Sully’s weapons.

“Captain Dumas has already escaped, Monseigneur,” Gallaudet said. “Would you that I run this other traitor through with my blade?” He cast Sully a cold look.

“One’s enemies are always best dead,” Julot said, eyeing Sully with scorn as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Let me have him, Monseigneur, and spare you the trouble.”

Fabien saw the anxiety on the poor woman’s face, for her husband was a worse traitor than Sully. Her eyelids were red and puffed from crying. He vaguely remembered hearing from Dumas how their child caught a sickness and died a year ago. Before that, there had been a baby born dead.

“Enough,” he said to Julot and Gallaudet, and turned to the woman, ignoring Sully, who crouched in a corner under the stare of Julot.

“Where is your husband, Madame?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him, then away quickly, lowering her face with evident shame.

“He fled away, Monsieur Marquis. Where, I do not know, and that is the truth. All I know is he told me he’d be coming into twelve gold pieces.”

“Twelve pieces of gold? Who would give him such a reward, and why?”

“I swear he never told me.”

She pointed a finger toward Sully, no sign of geniality in her prematurely lined features. “I do not know what Sully told you, Monsieur Marquis, but he knows what it was about. Sully was to get some of the gold pieces.”

“And the plan?” Fabien asked. “Were any other of my guards involved?”

She shook her head. “Ah, Monsieur Marquis, I know nothing more of it, I swear it. I have been busy working the castle gardens with the other women. My husband told me none of the details. He thinks little of a woman’s tongue.”

He believed her.

She pointed at Sully, and resentment flickered in her eyes as though she blamed him for her husband going astray. “He knows. He came here for supper, too lazy to make his own, always talking in whispers with my husband.”

“You lie,” Sully said. “I sometimes brought things to pay for my supper. More times I brought you a fat duck.”

“Likely stolen from the marquis as not.”

“I stole nothing from the marquis! I got the ducks honest, and I will swear to it.”

“Enough,” Fabien said.

“Ask him, Monsieur Marquis, about the gold pieces.”

Sully’s mouth twitched. He shot her an ugly look.

“Take him outside,” Fabien told Julot. “I want the truth from him.”

Julot grasped his arm. “On your feet, traitor.”

In the trees, some distance from the castle Fabien stood by, affecting indifference to Julot and Gallaudet’s pretense of savagery as they tied Sully to a tree. They began arguing about the best way to kill him.

“The new methods I learned from the Dutch pirate are certain to loosen the tongue,” Julot said. “The Dutchman learned them from his Spanish captors.”

Sully looked wildly from one to the other, as if assured his old comrades-in-arms had degenerated into masters of Spanish cruelty since sailing with pirates.

“Now, if you want my opinion, there’s no reason for such unpleasantness,” Gallaudet said. “Traitors that don’t speak the truth are best just dead and buried, or even better — alive and buried.”

Fabien turned away to start back for the castle. “Let me know when it is over.”

“Monseigneur,” Sully screeched. “Do not go, Monsieur! I will tell all I know.”

Fabien turned to look at him. “Very well, say on.”

Sully swallowed and licked his lips. “Comte Maurice Beauvilliers promised Captain Dumas a dozen gold pieces if he would play the spy for him here at the castle. He was to inform the comte of all that went on here. He was to send word as soon as you returned and — and send someone to open the gate when he and his men-at-arms arrived.”

“And who might that be?” Julot snarled in his face.

“Tonight when the captain saw the mademoiselle with you, he rushed away to tell the comte. True, he was affrighted the boy would tell and put his spying to an end, but the captain knew the arrival of the mademoiselle was the grand news the comte needed to give Dumas his gold pieces. He was to deliver the news to the comte, then sneak back here. It was my duty to let him in through the western postern gate. He would get his wife, and we would be ready to leave as soon as the gate was opened for the comte. We would be gone before anyone missed us in the battle. I was to get two gold pieces, and the captain would keep the rest.”

Fabien watched him evenly, hands on hips, and Gallaudet turned his back.

“Who planned this?” Fabien asked.

“Comte Maurice. He first sent a messenger to the captain. Then matters were arranged between them. Comte Maurice is rash, Monseigneur. He will act soon when he learns you are here. He will come with his men-at-arms.”

“No doubt. He will wish to duel for mademoiselle. And if so, I would not wish to disappoint him.”

“His belief, Monseigneur, is that the mademoiselle is promised to him in marriage by decree of the Queen Mother herself. He believes he has just cause.”

Fabien’s temper flared when he thought of the lettre the Queen Mother had sent to him in London. Her intention was clear: if Fabien wished to stop the marriage, he must return and yield his service to the Queen Mother’s dark intrigues. She cared nothing for Maurice’s interest in Rachelle; he was merely an expendable pawn.

“That jackanapes,” Fabien said harshly. “He will guess at once my plan to take Mademoiselle Macquinet out of France to her family.”

“Then we are too late, Monseigneur,” Gallaudet said. “Captain Dumas will soon contact Comte Maurice.”

Yes, the news that Rachelle was here with him at the castle would provoke Maurice to action. Fabien had no doubt of Maurice’s temper and abilities.

“It will take Captain Dumas the rest of this night to reach Fontaine-bleau, and half the morning for him to return with the comte and his men,” Gallaudet said. “Should we not be gone by then, Marquis?”

“The comte is not at Fontainebleau,” Sully said. “He is near at hand.

Captain Dumas rode there tonight.”

“Where then?” Fabien demanded.