Threads of Silk (30 page)

ANDELOT
PACED HIS CHAMBER
floor that night. The wind found ways to invade through the stairways and corridors of Fontainebleau, chilling him, despite the fire in the hearth.

I must do something to stop the murder of Antoine
.

He ran his tense fingers through his hair. He had already sought wisdom from God.

Who might he warn of this diabolical plan?

But then he remembered how murder oft was committed behind the scenes in the dark cloisters of court politics. What about Mademoiselle Rachelle’s Grandmère Dushane, that silver-haired grande dame of the Château de Silk? Was she not poisoned with gloves by the Queen Mother? There was no certain proof, and yet he was sure of it; so were Rachelle and Marquis Fabien.

He could warn Prince Antoine himself, but it would be most difficult to get an audience with him, for he was under close watch. Even if he could, would that solve the dilemma? What could Prince Antoine do except try to escape from Fontainebleau? If he managed this, he could not get far before guards alerted Duc de Guise. The attempt would grant the duc the excuse that Antoine’s death occurred while attempting to flee to Navarre.

Marquis Fabien must be warned of this evil plan against his kinsman! There was little time to waste. He caught up his cloak and turned toward the door.

Outside, the courtyard was bleak and mostly dark with only a few flaring torches. Now and then the moon showed itself but was soon covered with racing clouds.

He hurried to Oncle Sebastien’s old appartement.

Murder?

NEAR THE CRACKLING HEARTH IN THE
APPARTEMENT,
RACHELLE
WAS LYING
on the chaise beside Fabien.

“Are you sure the Queen Mother does not have a listening tube in Sebastien’s appartement?” she whispered sleepily.

“Must you mention her just before we go to sleep? She incites you to nightmares, chérie. You shall awaken as you did last night with a high-pitched scream and startle me into a frenzy. I actually had the rapier in hand before I realized you were hallucinating. Unless it truly was our cardinal you envisioned,” he jested wryly. “He may have crawled through the window with a pitchfork.”

“Hush.” She looked around at the walls with priceless tapestries and gilded ornamentation. “He might hear you mocking him.”

“It is ironic that the Queen Mother would put us here in Sebastien’s old appartement, but it is like her. In her vindictive mind, I have replaced Sebastien as one of her counselors on state matters.”

“You are wise enough, and you know state affairs well.”

“It is a trap. One I hope to avoid. Like a prisoner occupying the cell of a previous victim.”

“Now it is you who are giving me nightmares.” She looked around again at the figures in the various weavings, imagining the Queen Mother peering at her through the faces in the tapestries.

“I have plans for our escape,” he said quietly. “I am working on one now with Gallaudet. Julot and Nappier are also involved. But it will take time. It may not be arranged until the colloquy when so many will be coming and going out of Geneva.”

“I could write Père Arnaut and Madame Clair not to come to Poissy, but I fear nothing would change their plans. Père and Cousin Bertrand are coming in cooperation with Geneva.”

“I doubt that anything is likely to keep them in London except a civil war between Catholics and Huguenots.”

She turned her head to see his expression and found it calm.

“Do you still think there will be a war?”

“If the colloquy fails as the Guises wish it to and the persecution continues, yes.”

She lapsed into silence. Would a religious civil war convince him to remain in France? Fabien’s main reason for wishing to depart for England was centered in concern for her safety. So far there had been no further response from the Queen Mother. If she were safe, would Fabien then feel an obligation to fight in a war on the side of the Huguenots? He held great feelings of responsibility for his serfs in Vendôme. She was pleased when she learned his delay in coming to her after being released from the dungeon was because of his concern for the families of his men-at-arms. The idea of a religious civil war and what it would mean for the Huguenots was so weighty that she pushed the possibility from her. There was so much to be concerned about now that she did not wish to consider the outcome.

She laughed suddenly.

“What amuses you now?”

“Did my scream last night truly frighten you?”

“Oh no, I am quite used to being awakened from a sound sleep by a high-pitched shriek.”

She snuggled against him. “I thought I saw a dark figure rushing toward the bed. It was very tall with a long black gown.”

“Most certainly the cardinal in his finest night robe.”

“Or Père Jaymin.”

“Another comforting figure. With such monsieurs as these, no wonder the chapel is empty.”

“Let us not talk of them.”

“Agreed.” He turned her face toward his and kissed her. “This is much more interesting — ” he kissed her again — “and more fun.”

There came a tap on the door. A quiet voice ventured: “Monsieur le Marquis? Madame?”

Rachelle freed herself from his embrace and stood, smoothing her loose hair into place.

“Yes, Nenette? What is it?”

Nenette entered, casting a glance toward Fabien, who remained lounging on the chaise by the fire. He lifted his goblet.

“Go ahead, Nenette,” Rachelle said.

“It is Monsieur Andelot. He says it is most urgent he speak with the marquis.”

Fabien set the goblet down. “Andelot? Send him in at once.” He stood and reached over to turn up the lamplight.

Rachelle rushed into the bedchamber to put on a high-collared chemise and pin her hair up from her back. Now why would Andelot come at this hour?

Rachelle heard Fabien and Andelot’s voices as she slipped into a pair of satin shoes. She joined them by the fire in the salle as Fabien gestured Andelot to the table of various refreshments, fruits, and cheeses.

Rachelle noted Andelot’s tension, and her light mood of a short while ago fled. Something was wrong. What was it this time?

Andelot stood by the fire, so preoccupied with whatever he had come to see Fabien about that he had forgotten to remove his wide-rimmed hat. She went over and plucked it from his curly dark head. He grinned suddenly.

“Merci, Madame Rachelle, I had forgotten.”

“Do cease calling me madame,” she scolded affectionately. “It has always been Rachelle, your amie, and so it is now.”

“Oui, madame — ” he cleared his throat — “I mean Rachelle.”

“Sit down, mon ami,” Fabien said gently, a faint look of sympathy in his gaze. Could Fabien still think Andelot cared for her? But that was silly. A lettre had arrived for him recently from her sister Idelette, safely arrived at London with Madeleine, bébé Joan, and Sebastien.

“What ails you?” Fabien asked Andelot. He drew Rachelle into a white-and-gold chair, then seated himself, studying Andelot. Fabien wore a sober expression now, as though he knew Andelot well enough to realize when trouble threatened.

Andelot drew a hand across his brow in a restless movement. Rachelle saw him glance at her, then back to Fabien. From the corner of her eye she saw Fabien give a slight nod. Rachelle sat a little straighter. Fabien’s inclusion of her in whatever trouble was at hand made her feel mature and trusted.

“Did anyone see you come here?” Fabien asked.

“I was most wary, Marquis.”

Fabien gave a slight nod. “Then?”

“I am here, Marquis, to prevent a murder, and only you can help me.”

The mood plunged into icy silence. Fabien stood, hands on hips, frowning down at him. “Who is the intended victim this time?”

Andelot plunged his fingers through his curly brown hair, which again covered his head. He moved to the hearth, then turned around quickly, scowling. “Your kinsman, Prince Antoine de Bourbon.”

Rachelle drew in a sharp breath. She darted a glance from Andelot to Fabien. Now both of his Bourbon kinsmen were in danger of losing their lives.

“But why Antoine?” she whispered.

Andelot cast a cautious glance toward the tapestries as though they had ears. “They planned the death of Prince Louis — and now Prince Antoine, and both are of royal blood. I fear you too, Marquis, could be in danger.”

Rachelle stood, heart thudding. “Fabien!”

“Who are
they
?” Fabien’s voice was hard. “You mean the Guises, do you not?”

“You speak the truth. Duc de Guise, Cardinal de Lorraine, and another monsieur I have not met before who is often at court, the Maréchal de Saint Andre. It is he who will be close at hand.”

“Then the diabolical plans are already made?”

“I heard them spoken, Marquis. There was no shame in stating their plans. I was called into the very chamber of the king where the duc and cardinal waited for me.”

Fabien scowled. “Are you saying Francis knows of this murderous plot?”

“He does. They have convinced him that Prince Antoine means him ill and is waiting to usurp the throne for the Bourbons. The king is to call Antoine to his chamber as though to ask him something in particular, but it is a ploy. Francis is to then provoke Antoine by calling him a traitor and most vehemently insulting him so that Antoine becomes angry. Antoine will think they are alone and is expected to lash out at the young king. Then Francis is to slash at him with his dagger and call out for help. The duc, cardinal, and Maréchal de Saint Andre will be just out of view behind a curtain and will rush in. All three will then plunge their daggers into Antoine at the same time, as though they were protecting the king. No single monsieur will be to blame for Antoine’s death. They will say Antoine was furious over his detention, over the looming execution of his brother Louis, and that he lost his senses, stole into the king’s chamber, and tried to put a dagger in his heart.”

Rachelle sat down weakly.

“I knew they would stop at nothing to keep control of the throne, but outright murder by their own hands surprises me,” Fabien said. “What role did they so graciously assign you in all this?”

“That of witness, Marquis. I was to say that Prince Antoine lost his senses and jumped on King Francis to kill him.”

“I have got to warn Antoine,” Fabien mused, pacing. “This could be the incident Catherine has arranged against Guise, an opportunity for the duc’s death, and yet . . .” He frowned. “I do not think she is privy to this.”

Rachelle looked at him, doubting. “Why do you think so? I put nothing beyond her.”

“True, and I happen to know she carries a secret dagger for her personal protection. But when it comes to her enemies? She prefers a more ‘quiet’ departure.” He turned to Andelot, who warmed himself at the fire, looking glum. “What do you think? Is the Queen Mother involved with them in this treachery?”

“Non, Marquis, I think not.”

“And if I had to guess, I would wager she does not want Louis executed either. It will only strengthen the grip of the Guises on the throne. She has been most friendly with Antoine recently . . .” He tapped his chin. “One wonders if she might not be secretly working with him to secure the regency.”

Rachelle was frightened. What if some suggestion had reached the duc that the Queen Mother hoped to use Fabien to assassinate him? Even if Fabien had no intention of fulfilling her plans, the duc would believe him capable, knowing that Fabien blamed him for the death of his father.

“Andelot is right to be concerned about you. If two Bourbons can be murdered, why not a third?” She went to Fabien. “We must stop them, but how?”

“When it comes to weaving intrigue, Catherine is equal to the Guises,” Fabien said. “I will seek an occasion to speak with her.”

“But you are at risk even now. What if the Guises learn you were the one who informed the Queen Mother? And what about Andelot — they will know he told you.”

“They will not know, Mademoiselle,” Andelot said hastily.

“Catherine is too subtle for open confrontation with the Guises,” Fabien said dryly. “Of one thing you may be sure. She will keep her true face behind a masque.” He turned to Andelot. “Did the Guises offer you anything?”

Andelot frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, yes.”

Rachelle frowned upon hearing how he would be sent to the university the cardinal himself had attended.

Andelot smiled uneasily. “He said it was in the realm of possibility for me to take his position one day as the greatest cardinal in France.”

“He was generous with his words,” Fabien said with sarcasm. “Sending you to the Guise château at Lorraine is all but legal adoption.”

“They hope to ensnare you with grandiose promises,” Rachelle said. “Do not do it, Andelot.”

Fabien put a hand on her back and gently tugged at a curl behind her neck. “Andelot is wiser than that, chérie.”

“I would rather be an orphan and without family than be embraced by such bloody men.

“The wisdom of the Proverbs is a light unto my path to warn me. ‘These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.’ ”