Written on Silk (19 page)

Rachelle remained silent. None of that mattered now. It was over.

“He is a most difficult seigneur to understand at times,” Bertrand said, musing. “He declares himself a Catholic, yet he embraces many of the ideas of the Huguenots. In regard to the Guises, he discerns the dark direction in which they are leading France. He is to be commended for such insights. And more importantly where our family is concerned, is his personal faith in Christ. I told him this, but I am grieved to say that the marquis has not satisfied me in this matter, and though I think he is a Christian, on several critical issues of doctrine, he avoided an answer.”

“He can be contrary,” she said. “I am certain he knows and understands. He has given me some insightful answers. He has also discussed matters very thoroughly with Andelot.” She was irritated Fabien had not satisfied Bertrand when she was certain he could have done so.
Why had
he not?

“Andelot Dangeau . . . ah, oui, I remember him, the fatherless boy, the unclaimed neveu of Sebastien?”

“Oui, but he is a boy no longer. He has grown up. And it is now said that Andelot is blood related to the Guise family.”

“Most curious. I also discerned something else in my talks with the marquis, something that worries me, mignon. There is some matter harassing him other than Spain; oui, some little foxes that eat at him, and of these he also would not tell me.”

She could have told Bertrand plainly of the fox in particular that goaded him. It was Duc de Guise, and Fabien’s hatred for him, and the belief that the duc, and perhaps the cardinal, had Duc Jean-Louis de Vendôme, Fabien’s father, assassinated.

She did not speak of this however.

From somewhere behind her, Siffre cleared his throat. “
Pardone
, Messire Bertrand, but Nenette says there is a young monsieur here to see the mademoiselle, with the name of Andelot Dangeau. He has come from Paris with a lettre from Duchesse Dushane, and the monsieur says it is important”

Andelot! For one of the few times in recent days, Rachelle’s smile arose genuinely from within the well of her heart’s affections. He was just the young monsieur she wanted to see, for if anyone could make her feel sane and more optimistic again, it was her petit ami from childhood. Wholesome Andelot, with his winsome smile and warm, easy manner. She had not seen him since Amboise.

Excusing herself from Cousin Bertrand, she left the chamber and sped down the corridor, past Nenette and to the stairway. Nenette followed close behind. “He is most beau now, wait till you see him, Mademoiselle.”

A
S
RACHELLE
DESCENDED THE
stairs, she was met by two serving women on their way to announce Andelot’s arrival to Madame Clair. They drew aside, parting the way for Rachelle, who hurried down, Nenette still nimbly following. Rachelle reached the bottom and crossed the wide floor under the cascading light from torches on the high stone walls, her mourning dress rustling stiffly.

Andelot Dangeau stood in the doorway, another monsieur beside him, whom she recognized as Duchesse Dushane’s page, Romier. Both men wore grave faces. Had the news of the Guise attack reached them? They bowed, hats in hand.

“Andelot.” Rachelle managed a smile despite her apprehension and extended her hand.

Andelot advanced. He was fine looking, with brown hair and eyes. “Mademoiselle Rachelle, it is a lamentable message I bring from Paris, and now I have learned the bitter news of what has befallen you here. My condolences over your family’s loss of petite Avril.”

There would be ample opportunity to discuss these details with him
later.

“Merci, Andelot mon ami, it is most tragic, all that has come upon us these weeks. What news do you now bring?”

“I shall begin with a happy surprise. Sebastien is alive.”

Rachelle caught his arm. “Alive! Oh, Andelot, but how can that be? And does Madeleine know? Oh, wait until I tell Madame Clair! This is a gift from heaven amidst all of the storms!”

His smile was genuine, yet she caught the flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Oui, I was sent to Duchesse Dushane with the news only some days ago. Your sister, Madeleine, will be shocked when she learns.”

“When she learns Sebastien is alive? But you say you come from Paris, how is it that she does not yet know?” Her voice tense and cautious.

He pushed the lock of hair from his forehead and changed stances. “Well, she is ill, you see — and Madame did not think it wise yet to tell her that Sebastien is in the Bastille.” His voice lowered as though the words were too heavy to speak. “He is to be sent to the salle de la question.”

Rachelle stepped back. She searched his eyes and saw the pain, saw his gaze fall to the floor. He fidgeted with his hat.

“The salle de la question,” she whispered. Silence wrapped around her. Her hand formed a fist. “Better to be dead!” She closed her eyes tightly trying to bring her emotions under control.

“Duchesse Dushane requests that you come to the Louvre palais,” he whispered. “Your grandmère and sister need you; they are both very ill. Madame and her private docteur are caring for them.”

Rachelle looked down at the envelope he extended, as though it were poison, as though whatever news written there would come to pass if she took hold of it.

“What kind of illness?”

“The duchesse has explained in the lettre. Would Madame Clair offer you her coach for your ride to Paris? There is no time for delay, we should leave this hour.”

She raised her eyes to his and read what was left unsaid. “I shall come.” He nodded. An overwhelming sense of loss descended on her like a bleak, smothering blanket. Grandmère — Madeleine!

She took the envelope, holding it to her heart, and turning away, she started for the stairway to be alone in her chamber.

Her mother was coming down the stairs, the two servants waiting beside the banister as if they suspected more dark tidings.

“Bonjour, Andelot,” Clair greeted, looking wan in her mourning gown, but her head was held high. “What news do you bring from my
tante
, Duchesse Dushane?”

Rachelle did not wait to share the lettre with her mother, knowing Andelot would discuss all he knew with her. She ran down the corridor and entered her chamber. Away from sympathetic eyes, she tore open the envelope with shaking fingers and read Madame Xenia Dushane’s words of explanation about the sudden illness that had first taken hold of Grandmère, and then Madeleine. As though in a trance, Rachelle stood without moving, reading and rereading the concluding words the duch-esse had written with an irregular handwriting that betrayed her tears.

Rachelle, if you wish to see your grandmère once more in this
valley of the shadow of death, make all haste to fly to her side. Her
hours are swiftly declining. May our sympathetic Savior who wept at
Lazarus’s tomb for the unhappiness of Mary and Martha uphold you
as you cling to His faithful promises to be with you in every trial.

Rachelle gripped the lettre. She moved with uncertain steps toward the chair.

Tears flooded her eyes and her throat cramped.

Grandmère — dare she think it? Even say it? After enduring the loss of Avril, not her beloved Grandmère!

The damsel Nenette, who had followed softly, came up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, Rachelle — Mademoiselle, what has happened?”

Rachelle, overwhelmed, moved past her and collapsed on her knees beside her bed. With hands at her bosom, she wept before her Savior’s throne of mercy.

Oh, Father God, I come to You in the name above all names, that of
Your beloved Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Oh
,
I beg of You, heavenly
Father, do not take Grandmère home yet. I must see her one last time. Oh, sustainer of our every breath, have mercy! I cannot bear losing her
without a last adieu — I know she will be ushered into Your presence, for
Christ has secured deliverance of her precious soul! But, oh! For me her
departure will be heavy! And Madeleine — oh, Father! She has just given
birth — what would the bébé do without her — and Sebastien! Oh, poor
Sebastien —

E
VENTUALLY
RACHELLE
BECAME AWARE
of Nenette’s weeping, and opening her eyes, saw the girl also kneeling, hands clasped. Nenette, like Andelot, had been raised without parents by one of the women who worked in the silkworm hatcheries before being cared for by a nurse on the estate. Nenette had found favor in Grandmère’s sight and was brought to the Macquinet château to enter training as a grisette. She had gravitated toward Rachelle, and soon, Nenette had become her personal maid.

Rachelle moved closer, placing her arm around her, drawing Nenette’s head down on her shoulder, and sadly stroking her tumbling red curls.

“We must have courage, Nenette,” she choked, her throat dry from crying. “This time we live in was given us by God. We must accept it.”

“Oh, but why should Grandmère die now? She is most kind, and we need her — ”

“Yes, we need her. Oh, Nenette! It will not be the same for me without her, not ever! I was so looking forward to telling her of the gown for the English queen.”

“Ah, oui!” Nenette dropped her face into her small hands.

Rachelle stood. “We must rise, petite amie. I must go to Paris. We need to pack some of my things, get my hooded cape, and my French Bible.”

Nenette raised her swollen eyes, horror written there. “The Bible? Non — oh, do not, Mademoiselle!”

“Oui.” Rachelle stood firmly to her feet. She tossed back her wealth of autumn-brown hair, her thoughts far away at the Louvre. “I will. No one will stop me from reading it at her bedside! I want it. Go and bring it. Hurry.”

Wide-eyed, Nenette stumbled to her feet. Groaning her dissent, she nevertheless rushed to unearth the hidden Scriptures from a carved wooden box in the wardrobe.

Rachelle took it, pushed it beneath some garments in her brocade satchel, and closed the latch. Nenette had grabbed her hooded cloak, and Rachelle, snatching it, hurried from her chamber.

As she came down the stairs, Madame Clair was still discussing matters with Andelot near the front doorway. Rachelle squared her shoulders and looked at her mother. Their gazes met evenly.

Clair sighed, and closing her eyes, gave a nod.

Rachelle walked briskly toward Andelot.

“Is the coach ready?”

“Oui, it is out front now,” he said.

Rachelle turned quickly to her mother and they embraced.

“Be careful, ma chére; this I do not like — it worries me — this sickness. Do be careful.”

“I will. What of Cousin Bertrand? He intends to start for Calais tomorrow — ”

“Today,” came the firm voice, and she and Clair turned to see Bertrand leaning on Siffre’s arm, coming slowly but steadily down the stairs. “Andelot? My bag, s’il vous plaît.”

Andelot in a few strides was at the stairs. He took up the bag and aided the pasteur across the hall to the doorway.

Clair, with calm repose, met him. “Are you sure, Bertrand? It is a long journey.”

“Not too long, when it is this important. Have you a word for Arnaut?”

“As ever, my prayers, my amour. Tell him we are finding God’s grace sufficient. That we will stand firm.”