Daughter of Silk (19 page)

A moment later Madalenna padded silently into the chamber. Rachelle pitied the demoiselle, whom she had heard Marguerite’s ladies- in-waiting whispering was an utter slave of the Queen Mother. She had no life of her own and slept in a gilded box like a pet cat, near the foot of the Queen Mother’s bed, her most nimble spy. Duchesse Xenia Dushane had also told Grandmère she had once seen the demoiselle slinking out of le Duc de Guise’s chamber, deceiving even the great duc. Madalenna had been horrified at being seen by the duchesse and so upset by her failure to slip away unseen that she admitted that the Queen Mother had sent her to hide in the duc’s cupboard. Madalenna was to report back on his meeting with his young son Henry. The Queen Mother had wanted to know if the duc was telling young Henry de Guise that he should try to marry Marguerite.

Now Madalenna stood in the doorway of the Macquinet chamber watching her with a sad, sallow countenance.

Rachelle smiled gently. “Hello, Madalenna. I have not seen you in some days.”

“No, Mademoiselle.”

“Are you well?” Rachelle had hoped to win the demoiselle’s confi- dence but so far, to no avail.

“I am well, Mademoiselle.”

The Queen Mother could not possibly know about the key,
Rachelle solaced herself, sensing danger from the behavior of Madalenna.
No one saw me remove it from the drawer.

Rachelle noticed how Madalenna shivered. She too might allow her fears to weaken her if she permitted them to reign. She often thought that entering the chambers of Catherine de Medici was like entering a nest of poisonous spiders. How easy to get caught in the sticky web. One must be constantly alert.

“What is it, Madalenna?”

“Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, desires your immediate presence, Mademoiselle. She has approved the gowns for the Princesse Marguerite and wishes you to come for them now.”

Rachelle searched the demoiselle’s face.

“It is because Her Majesty will depart in the morning for Amboise,” Madalenna said meekly, her eyes dropping.

The opportunity I was hoping for, but how will I get the key back in the drawer if the Queen Mother is in the chamber?

“I will come tout de suite,” Rachelle said, surprised at the calm in her voice.

Madalenna curtsied and left the chamber on stealthy footsteps.

Perhaps a way will open once I am in her presence. If she would leave the chamber for a moment . . .

A short time later Rachelle entered Catherine de Medici’s royal cham- bers. She knelt before the Queen Mother until at last Catherine decided to lift a hand, biding her to rise. Rachelle noticed her carmined lips turning into a smile, but the reptilian eyes watched her. Rachelle’s heart quickened.
Caution
. Take one faux pas and death will surely await you. The key hidden underneath the lace on her wrist cuff weighed like a rock. She could almost fear Catherine’s gaze sliding to her wrist.

“You may sit, Mademoiselle Macquinet.” “Yes, Madame, merci.”

Rachelle sensed the temptation to swerve her gaze to the dim corner, to the drawer where she must return the key.

“So,” Catherine said amiably, “the gowns are c’est magnifique. Marguerite is most pleased, as am I. Your talent is most telling, Mademoiselle Macquinet. You will surely ascend to the skills of the Grand Dame Henriette, your Grandmère.”

“Your Majesty is most kind to say so. Speaking for Grandmère and Mademoiselle Idelette, my sister, we are honored to have served the royal Valois family once more, Madame.”

“Ah? Then perhaps the day shall come again. We shall send for the Macquinets when my daughter, Marguerite, shall marry. Marguerite will wish a large wedding trousseau, I assure you.”

Rachelle remembered Marguerite’s dismay over the rumor that the Queen Mother wished her to marry Prince Henry of Navarre, the son of King Antoine de Bourbon and Queen Jeanne d’Albret. A marriage between the Catholic princesse and Huguenot prince would suit the mind and cause of the Queen Mother.

“Madame, it will be an honor to design and sew the princesse’s wed- ding garments.”

Catherine smiled, but Rachelle found in the expression no genuine warmth.

“Ah, you are most charmante, Rachelle Macquinet. Marguerite has taken a special fondness for you. She wishes you to go with the royal party to Amboise.”

Rachelle’s heart tripped.
Amboise.

“Ah yes.” Catherine gave a brisk nod, still smiling, her prominent eyes watching Rachelle’s every response.

“Princesse Marguerite also wishes for you to design and sew a few more items in a certain color of silk. So you will be with us for sev- eral months. You will arrange for this with your Grandmère, Madame Dushane?”

Rachelle’s mouth was dry and she could not speak.
She would be left

alone at court. Was this some sort of scheme?
She saw her eyes upon her burning with inner mirth.

“We — I deem it a grave honor to serve my king and the royal family, Madame, but —”

“But, Mademoiselle Macquinet?” came the needling tone. “Are you not a cousine to Comtesse Claudine Boisseau who was my mignon maid- of-honor until her unexpected frailty? And are you not related through your Grandmère to Duchesse Xenia Dushane?”

“Yes, Madame — ”

“Then who better for me to choose to become a lady-in-waiting to ma cherie Marguerite?” Her smile broadened.

“But — ”

“But?” Her eyes f lashed with sudden anger. She leaned forward in her elevated chair.

Rachelle hastened a bow. “I am at your service, Madame.” “Ah.” Her voice became soothed.

“Your Majesty knows that I am so young, that — ”

“Au contraire. Ladies-in-waiting come to us much younger. Our ducs and duchesses do all in their power to gain the privilege of sending a daughter or a son to court. Most are not belle enough for this honor, but you, Mademoiselle Macquinet, have shown yourself acceptable.”

Rachelle saw the mockery in her smile and knew she was laughing at her, reminding her of the romantic scene near the gallery with the mar- quis. Rachelle prayed fervently that Catherine would change the subject and not force her into committing herself to a life at court with so much debauchery.
Oh Father God, help me, protect me. My life belongs to you.

Catherine’s square jaw set. Her eyes gazed down at her evenly. A thought f lashed into Rachelle’s mind of Joseph in the court of Pharaoh. Could God not keep his own wherever they were?

Catherine waited as though she took malicious amusement in her struggle.

She is evil, this woman
, Rachelle thought. She cast her eyes down in

submission to Catherine’s demanding stare.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I am honored to serve Princesse Marguerite at Amboise.”

Catherine nodded. “Ah, well then, we shall arrange these matters at once, for we journey in the morning.”

“Your Majesty,” Rachelle rushed boldly, “perhaps the princesse would also find it helpful if Grandmère and Idelette accompanied the court to Amboise? If the princesse has other items she wishes made — ” Catherine lifted her hand. She looked scornful. “Surely, Made-

moiselle, you do not wish such a thing.” “Madame?” Rachelle inquired, bewildered.

“Comtesse Madeleine Dangeau, your sister, is in need of their atten- dance.” She lifted a message from beside her and held it up. “I received this plea from Madeleine this very morning. She has begged me to arrange for Madame Henriette to travel to Paris to be with her until the enfant is born.”

Rachelle kept stunned silence.
Was this true or a ploy? Was the letter

in her hand genuine?

Mention of her eldest sister, which reminded her of Sebastien, fright- ened Rachelle. Could the Queen Mother be hinting of anything, and if so, what? Dare she mention Sebastien’s absence? Or was this also a way in which the Queen Mother could discover how much they knew about Sebastien? Perhaps it was wiser not to admit they knew he was missing.

“Yes, Madame, Madeleine Dangeau will give birth soon.”

Catherine laughed. “Iunderstand why our petite Comtesse Madeleine should wish to have her Grandmère’s company at such a time. I shall give orders to set her up in a chamber near at hand. She will need Madame Henriette very soon now.”

Rachelle attempted to understand this affected friendliness, yet the unmistakable curl of lip, the f lash of something like malice in her eyes, baff led her.
I feel like a caged mouse on its way to a hungry snake. Or are we all in the Queen Mother’s cage?

“Madame Henriette will leave for Paris in the morning. I shall have one of the servants arrange for a traveling calèche with more comfortable seating. We, too, leave early for Amboise.”

“And my sister, Idelette? Should she not also journey with our Grandmère to Paris?”

“Non.” Catherine leaned back into her chair, placing the letter on her lap. “Idelette must return to Lyon with all of your Macquinet silk and grand equipage. She must be there to explain the change in the Macquinet family when your maman and père return from Geneva.”

Catherine knew her parents were in Reformational Geneva!
Again,

Rachelle hastened a cry for God’s protection for them all.

The sighing of the wind as it swept along the surface of the Seine was broken by the steps of the guards in the antechamber.

“Comtesse Madeleine Dangeau has been much on my mind of late,” Catherine stated, looking at her own white hands with rings of jewels. “It is fitting that one as
loyal
as mon Sebastien, her husband, should be
rewarded
, and this reward is to be given to his wife, Madeleine, as well as to him. And to their
un amour de bébé.
And what manner of ruler of France would I be, Mademoiselle Rachelle, if I also did not
reward
all of their loyal family?”

Rachelle sat in silence unable to move.
Sebastien’s reward . . . given to his wife, Madeleine, and her little baby . . . to all of the loyal fam- ily.
Catherine could not be speaking seriously? Did she not suspect Sebastien of loyalty to the Huguenots? But then, Avenelle did not speak of Sebastien as a Huguenot traitor. Or was her promise of reward a two- edged sword?

Catherine was smiling down at her from her elevated chair. “I have a gift for Sebastien’s belle Madeleine. I trust you to see that your Grandmère

has this gift at the birth of Sebastien’s healthy enfant son, for it must be a boy.” And Catherine laughed. “Your Grandmère will bring this present with her, for I will not return to Paris until the weather is more fair and le bébé already born.”

Rachelle bowed her head. “Your Majesty is — most gracious.”
A gift

from the Queen Mother!

Catherine stood and Rachelle arose and curtsied. There was no time to return the key —

But Catherine smiled. “Wait, Mademoiselle Macquinet, while I go and retrieve the gifts.” She turned and left the room with her stiff black skirt tearing the silence.

Rachelle’s heart sprang to her throat. The wind was scraping the vine against the outside window. She cast a desperate glance around her. There was no one else in the chamber, not even Madalenna —

Catherine de Medici shut the door behind her in the antechamber, then swiftly removed the plug in the wall that faced her front cham- ber. Her breath quickened. Her heart thudded. She fixed her eye to the peephole.

The Macquinet mademoiselle was casting an anxious glance about the chamber to see if she was being observed.
The thief. Look at her flee like a rat to my chest of drawers.

Catherine watched Rachelle pull open the drawer and open the petite box of filigree gold. Though Rachelle’s back was toward the peephole, Catherine had seen enough. The Huguenot mademoiselle had replaced the key that she had taken that morning. She shut the drawer again and rushed back to the window.

Catherine narrowed her eyes.
You too will be rewarded.

Rachelle was standing by the window when she heard the antechamber door open. The Queen Mother returned, a placid smile on her white

face, her lips appeared a deeper carmine. In her hands she carried three boxes painted red with gold f leur de lys engravings.

“One is for you, my favorite couturière, to be opened on the birth of your sister Madeleine’s and Sebastien’s enfant. The other two, for Madeleine and Madame Henriette.”

“Your Majesty, you have been most kind. We shall treasure your gifts endlessly and hand them down to our children.”

Catherine laughed aloud. “I am glad you are pleased. That is all. You may go, Rachelle Macquinet. I will see you at Amboise, I promise you.” Rachelle bowed low, and with the gowns being packed by her ladies,

she departed the royal chambers.

Once free of the Queen Mother’s chambers, she thought her knees would go out from under her. For a moment she leaned her shoulder against the salle wall near a diamonded window, calming herself and praying the Lord’s Prayer, then walked slowly, tiredly toward the stair- way and climbed to the second f loor.

Grandmère and Idelette had returned for the evening, and while wait- ing for her were busily gathering possessions to pack into their personal trunks. Grandmère looked up when Rachelle entered. Her silver brows nipped together. She walked quickly toward Rachelle.

“Ma petite Rachelle, have you seen a
diable
?”

“I returned the key,” she whispered. “I shall explain everything, but first, I must sit down . . .”

Idelette also came to her side. “Did she catch you?” “Non.”

Grandmère closed her eyes. “Then I praise God.”

Rachelle remained uneasy. She sat down with her skirts spread and placed the gifts from the Queen Mother on her lap.

“Tell us of Avenelle. What did Monsieur Fabien learn?” Grandmère asked. “Were our fears justified?”

Grandmère and Idelette listened to Rachelle’s whispered report, their faces losing any earlier relief as worry again returned.

“The traitor,” Grandmère scoffed. “But to God more than to his fellows.”

“Was he ever a true believer?” Idelette asked doubtfully.