The Shadow Queen A Novel (27 page)

I slowly descended the winding stairs to the street, following the coffin borne by Floridor, Gaston, and two strong actors from the troupe. A small crowd had assembled. The young doctor and Monsieur Pierre were there. Players of the Bourgogne hovered to one side, and a few vaguely familiar faces from the Marais to another, clustered around old La Roque, who’d become surprisingly stooped, his beard still divided into points, but gray. And many, many tearful strangers—Mother’s ardent fanatics.

Monsieur Pierre stepped forward and offered his arm.

I nodded, fearful of speaking. I regretted not holding onto Father’s rosary. I covered my face with my veil and slowly set off, following the coffin down the rue Saint-Denis to the church, someone behind playing sweetly on a flute.

I looked down at the cobbles. I thought of how Mother, Gaston, and I had walked down this very street after the flood so long ago. I remembered picking her up and twirling her laughing in the air. That’s how I would imagine her—now and forever.

CHAPTER 46

S
aint-Germain-en-Laye looked gray in the November drizzle, the river valley misting. No flags or banners were flying and the coaches were draped in black, due to the sudden death of Henriette, the King’s brother’s wife. The Court’s mourning mirrored my own.

I nodded to the two guards stationed in front of Athénaïs’s doors. I knew Miguel, but the other one was new.

“Madame de Montespan is not receiving,” he told me officiously.

“Mademoiselle des Oeillets is Madame’s personal attendant,” Miguel informed him, ushering me into the antechamber. “We’re taking precautions,” he explained with a meaningful look.

I found Athénaïs sprawled on her bed, a heap of soiled linens on the floor. “I’ve just had a bouillon purgative—the usual humors kicking up, an excess of bile. Don’t worry. I won’t be bolting for the necessary for at least an hour, but until then I must not move. Shut the door, will you?”

I closed the heavy door, feeling strangely spectral. I was going through the motions, but my heart was elsewhere. Gaston had sobbed when I left. Floridor assured me that he would be fine. He and his wife would be looking after him, for the time being.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother. Monsieur Molière reported that the service was lovely.”

“Thank you for allowing me the time to attend her,” I said, straightening out the pillows that propped up her knees.

“Just think of all the mud you missed in Flanders. The roads were a nightmare.”

Ugly Thing climbed down the brocade curtain and caught hold of the silk-braided rope, swinging. It seemed strange that life just went on, and on.

“Come here, silly monkey.” Athénaïs made a clucking sound and patted the covers. “Pour me some wine, but test it for me first. I suppose you heard?”

I nodded. Madame Henriette had been young, gay, and vibrant when last I’d seen her … and now she was dead. “I know how fond you were of her,” I said, sipping the wine and handing Athénaïs the glass. I paused before asking, “Do you think she was actually …”

“Poisoned? Of course she was,” Athénaïs said, giving a nut to the monkey, but teasing him with it first. “I missed you, Claude—I admit it. I’m relieved to have you back. I couldn’t sleep. My hair turned brittle, my nails chipped, and my face looked like a roasted truffle.”

I smiled. “I’m sure you looked as gorgeous as always, Madame.” Later I would give her a massage.

“And—mort Dieu!—I almost ran out of Voisin’s remedies.”

“I could have sent you a supply.”

“Put something like that in the post? Monsieur la Reynie, His Majesty’s beastly Lieutenant General of Police, has his spies open everything now, and that’s just the type of thing he’s looking for. Fortunately, my brother’s wife had some. You’re not in your courses, are you?”

I shook my head. What a strange question.

“His Majesty will be arriving soon—”

Of course, at three of the clock: the King ever punctual.

“—and I’m in no condition to receive him. All the milk I’ve been drinking—the so-called antidote against poison—has made me ill. I’d like you to stand in for me.
Lie
in,” she added with a charmed laugh.

I inclined my head to one side. There had been times, of late, when my hearing had not been good.

“Oh,
you
know.” She made a crude gesture. “He never takes long.”

Ah, a jest. I slapped my thigh, feigning to make merry.

“Darling, you’ve been away from Court too long. You’re acting like a rustic. I’m serious. The King must never leave my rooms wanting. You should have seen them in the provinces—the painted hopefuls practically lined up to be of service. There are too many beauties now at Court simply aching to oblige His Majesty, too many fathers pushing their daughters into his path. Which is why it’s crucial that
all
relief”—she arched her painted brows—”come through me. I know I can trust you.”

Trust me to have intimate congress with
her
lover? “Madame, seriously, I’m … I wouldn’t know—”

“Are you chaste?” Athénaïs frowned. “At your age? You worked in the theater.”

“My mother was strict.” And actresses are not whores! I blinked back the tears that always seemed close.

“Well, all the better then. His Majesty will be delighted.”

I turned away to hide the dismay—the confusion—I felt.

“What is it then? Are you unclean?”

Diseased, she meant. “Of course not,” I said, offended.

“I do not offer this opportunity lightly,” she said, impatiently now. “Consider how many people I employ … Almost one hundred? Including
you,
need I point out? All to be lost over your maidenhead? I thought you were more practical.”

Ever-practical Claude. Claude who looked after others, cleaned up the messes. Claude who could not afford to be without employment—especially not now with Gaston to think of, Mother’s debts.

I wiped my damp palms on my skirt. So: oui, of course, I would do it, have congress with His Majesty, offer relief. How hard could that be? He was well appointed and appareled. But more, he was an honnête homme—honest, decent, mannered, a true gentleman. I appraised the state of my chemise, trying to remember when I’d last bathed. Thinking of my great height, small breasts, my big feet.

“Just make him think you love him,” I heard Athénaïs say. “That’s all it takes to win His Majesty’s heart,” she added with a revealing hint of bitterness. “You’re an actress: you can do that, surely?” She downed the last of her wine and held the glass up for more. “I’ll tell you a secret: His Majesty is a passionate man, but the regal scepter sometimes fails. I’ve found that a bit of scolding helps. And, of course, there is our trusty
enhancer,
Madame Voisin’s amatory assistant. With it, you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

AT THREE OF
the clock, as church bells sounded mid-afternoon prayer, the King was announced, accompanied by a valet.
Xavier.

I curtsied and took my usual position by the door.

“My condolences on your loss,” Xavier said, once we were alone.

“That is kind of you to say.” He’d always been someone I could talk to—but not this time. Not now. I’d never been in a man’s embrace. I knew it would hurt, and I feared I would in some way fail.

“Perhaps I’ve not mentioned this to you before, but I was an ardent admirer of your mother.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, moved. He had such nice eyes—smiling eyes, Mother would have said.
Would have.
I put my hand to my heart. How was it possible that I would never see her again?

I heard Athénaïs’s voice, the King’s low murmur. She was no doubt explaining the arrangement. Were kings accustomed to such things? “Excuse me, Monsieur Breton, but you should know that there has been a change of plans.” It pained me to say, yet he had to know. “His Majesty will soon return—” My mouth was dry. I bit my tongue—a player’s trick. “And he’s to go in there.” I indicated a door to a chamber. “Where I will be—” Waiting.

Xavier looked at me, perplexed. “His Majesty is to … with …?”

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

A SMALL BED
took up most of the room. Embers glowed in a corner fireplace. A glass of wine had been set on a tray, along with a salt spoon and the vial: Madame Catherine’s “amatory assistant.” Athénaïs must have arranged everything earlier, I realized, must have commanded a maid to prepare the room, set out the wine in anticipation of my return. I pulled back the heavy bed-curtains: the bed had been made up. Just to be sure, I pulled back the covers to check for evidence of mice.

I could hear the King talking with Xavier. I pulled my bodice ties, gradually easing them loose and wriggling free. I untied my skirts, letting them drop. Fortunately, I was wearing my best chemise. Fortunately, it wasn’t stained. I shook the pins out of my hair and released my long braids, running my fingers through my hair, which fell to below my waist unbound, like that of a virgin bride. My feet might be big and my bosom small, but I was vain about my chestnut hair.

His Majesty entered as I was adding another log to the fire. “Mademoiselle.” He closed the door behind him.

I stood awkwardly and curtsied. “At your service, Your Majesty,” I said, testing the wine for poison and then offering it to him. He did not have his boots on. We were almost equal in height.

He regarded me … with resignation, I feared. My heart sank. Now what? I smiled coquettishly—that look known to all players: a glancing up, then away, the head lowered, that edge-of-a-precipice trembling smile.

But he hardly noticed. He was having trouble untying the red bow at his neck. “It sometimes knots,” he said as I helped him out of his shirt and breeches (which unfortunately reminded me of all the times I had helped Gaston disrobe).

His Majesty stood before me then: a man in clocked silk stockings. He was well proportioned, muscled, yet of modest parts—as the gossipers had long claimed. He was not in a manly state.

“Would His Majesty prefer I snuff the candles?”

“Don’t, please. Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to do, so I took his hand and pressed it to my breast.

I HAD EXPECTED
to be ravished, a virgin sacrifice. Rather, panicked at the thought of failure—as much for the sake of my pride as the loss of my employment—I was the one to persuade His Majesty.

After the business was done, he sat up. “Are you well?” he asked. I felt his hand heavy on my hip.

I opened my eyes, half expecting to see an entirely different world. I had been cut, as it was said. “Oui, Your Majesty.” It had happened quickly.

The King stood and stretched, traces of blood at his root. “Merci, Mademoiselle,” he said, gathering up his clothes. He still sounded so formal.

“Let me do that, Your Majesty,” I said, and then realized that I shouldn’t; I was bleeding.

“Merci,” he repeated. “Xavier will help me.” And then he was gone.

An animal of some sort was rustling behind the wall: a rat likely. I could hear Xavier’s soft voice, the King’s. I heard the King say, “I’ve a meeting with Louvois shortly.”

And then there was silence.

I sat up. There, on the gold-plated tray next to the bed, he’d left a jewel—a domed ring of silver and gold with a large amethyst set into it.

I am a whore, I thought, slipping it onto my middle finger, wondering how much I could get for it.
Forgive me, Maman.

CHAPTER 47

January 2, 1671

Theater of the Bourgogne, Paris

Dear Claudette,

You will be pleased to know that the King has increased the annual pension to the Bourgogne. I suspect you may have had some influence in this matter, and for this we thank you profusely.

I wish I could be the bearer of only good news. It pains me to inform you that dear Gaston disappeared yesterday afternoon. My wife and I were taken up with New Year’s Day visits, and then she noticed him missing. Fortunately, we managed to find him—but with a warden of the peace! Apparently he had “stolen” a glove—for one of his line projects, no doubt. He’s back with us, shaken and confused, but I don’t think it would be wise for him to live with us much longer. We love him dearly, but what control do we have? We’re in and out of the theater day and night, and if he does this again, it’s doubtful that a warden would let him go so easily.

My wife tells me that there is a house for fools in the Marais.

Yours always,

Monsieur Josias de Floridor

ATHÉNAïS WAS IN
her withdrawing chamber, reading her prayer book by the light of the window. I hesitated. A maid is never to burden her employer with her problems. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Madame, but—”

“Damnation!”

I turned to see the parrot on its perch.

“Silence, Jolie!” Athénaïs said, closing the breviary.

“Silence Jolie silence Jolie silence Jolie.”

Athénaïs threw the beastly bird a cross look. “Cover him, darling, would you?”

I enticed the parrot onto my hand and into his cage, then threw the cover over him. If only life could be so easily managed.

“You’re red, my dear,” she said, stretching and yawning.

“I … I have a problem,” I blurted out. “I need to bring my brother back here.”

Athénaïs looked up from examining a fingernail. “Here at Court?” she asked with a frown.

“He could stay in my room. He’s—” Gentle, no trouble at all! “He could help in the kitchens, fetch wood and water. He wouldn’t cost you a sou.”

“Claudette—” Athénaïs reached out to softly caress my arm. “Of course you know that’s not possible.”

I lowered my eyes. Of course. Simples were not welcomed in the realm of the blessed.

TWO DAYS LATER,
a second message arrived from Floridor.
Come immediately.

Roused by my shuddering sobs, Athénaïs looked in from her dressing room, her hair in a turban. She was giving an entertainment that evening in honor of a friend’s engagement. It was to be one of her usual sumptuous affairs, with musical entertainment as well as performing dancers and even poets. She counted on me to manage it all, make sure everything went smoothly. “Madame, I’m sorry—I know this is …” I took a breath and pressed on. “It’s about my brother again.” I handed her the letter.