Louisa Rawlings (47 page)

“Mademoiselle, your father’s debts amount to one hundred and twenty-five thousand livres, though now it may be more, because of interest due. I work very hard, and earn twenty thousand livres a year. Surely you can’t expect me to be sympathetic to your plight.”
 

He had won again. She nodded in agreement, listening in numb silence while he explained the plan once more.
 

Chartres went riding the next day, and the next. But on the third day it rained. Rouge waited outside his
appartement
at a discreet distance, watching as he retired to his rooms to write. After nearly a half hour, one of the king’s personal attendants appeared, vanished into Chartres’s rooms, and appeared again a moment after with the duc in tow.
 

Rouge hurried into the
appartement
, glanced quickly around the small antechamber, and moved into the next room. It appeared to be the study, with a writing table and a large bookstand piled with handsomely bound volumes. As Torcy had anticipated, Chartres had been summoned while in the act of writing letters. The table was strewn with papers, and a small chest, with a key still in the lock, lay open beside the ink pot. There appeared to be half a dozen or so letters in the chest. Quickly Rouge scanned the letter that Chartres had been writing. It seemed harmless enough, and rather ordinary. Rouge guessed at once that the recipient was someone in authority at Chartres’s
hôtel
in Paris; the complaints about overspending and mismanagement were familiar to anyone who had ever run a large household. She thumbed through the letters in the box, reading a few lines here and there; they seemed equally innocuous. If Torcy was hoping to find a traitor in Chartres, he was gravely in error.
 

She started. Name of God, what was that? Chartres couldn’t be coming back so soon! He’d only just left! But there were voices in the antechamber. Hastily she replaced the letters and looked about the small study. There was another door. Perhaps it led eventually to the long gallery outside the
appartement.
She darted through the door and found herself in a large bedchamber, handsomely decorated with carved and gilded wall panels. There seemed to be no exit from this room; if one of the panels was a hidden door, she certainly had no time to go searching for it! She heard the opening of the antechamber door; whoever came into the study would surely see her in the room beyond. She looked wildly about the room. The large windows were flanked with heavy draperies; perhaps they would conceal her. She slipped behind the velvet hangings and pressed herself against the wall, holding her full skirts close to her body so they wouldn’t protrude. It was dark and suffocating here.
 

She heard, from the study, what sounded like men’s voices, then a woman’s. She didn’t recognize them; but with three thousand courtiers and servants at Versailles, she didn’t expect to. She heard them enter the bedroom.
 

One of the men was speaking; his voice was odd, with a peculiar lisp. Rouge thought: I’m certain I would have recognized
that
voice had I heard it before! “Wasn’t it our good fortune,” he said, “to meet Chartres on the way.”
 

A masculine laugh, lower pitched than the first. “Though I doubt he knew what we had in mind when we asked for the use of his rooms for the merest quarter of an hour.”
 

The lisp again. “If it hadn’t been raining, I should have preferred the grotto in the park.”
 

The woman giggled. “This is much nicer. But hurry. I haven’t all day. My husband is waiting for me to rub his forehead. The poor fool always gets a headache when it rains. Go away, Louis, until we’re finished.”
 

The man with the deep voice laughed again. From the sound of the movement about the room, and the voices, Rouge guessed there were only the three of them. “I’ll not go away,” said the deep voice, clearly the “Louis” who had been addressed. “It’s a rainy day, and I’m bored. I want to watch.”
Ciel!
thought Rouge. They can’t mean to… Not here, not now!
 

“Oh, see here, Louis,” said the man with the lisp. “At least pull the curtains!” Rouge held her breath. They would discover her.
 

Louis snickered. “What kind of soldier are you, that can only fire your cannon in the dark?”
 

“Faith!” cried the woman. “Make up your minds, the two of you. I don’t have all day to wait!”
 

“You challenge me, you beetle-headed knave?” said the lisp. “You’ll see my cannon is primed and ready. Woman, tuck back your skirts.”
 

Rouge felt sick. Had there ever been a more corrupt place than this château of pleasures? Sodom had been no more evil than this. A woman who betrayed her marriage vows merely to pass the time of day, a man who watched just for the sport. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the animal sounds that came from the room beyond, the laughter and encouragement from the spectator. As though it were a comedy for his enjoyment! The sweet patter of the rain on the windows was the only chaste sound in the room.
 

At last it was done. Rouge heard the woman sigh in pleasure, then Louis laughed. “Damned if you don’t look inviting, madame. I’m tempted to take a turn myself!” Rouge felt her flesh crawl in disgust.
 

“No. Not today. I must go to my husband. Perhaps another time, Louis. The two of you together? It might be amusing to see how it could be managed. My faith! Look at my hair! I shall have to tell my husband that I opened a window and the wind caught me.
Au revoir
.” Rouge could hear her steps tapping across the floor to the door. Let them all leave now, she prayed.
 

“Morbleu,”
said the lisp, “but that hussy’s a pleasure.”
 

Louis grunted. “Where the devil does Chartres keep his wine?”
 

“Over here.” Rouge heard the sound of a cupboard door, the clink of glasses. After a moment of silence, the lisp smacked his lips loudly. “By God, but Chartres has a good wine cellar. Drink, Louis. This is not a time for solemnity.”
 

Louis’s voice was suddenly subdued. “I’m worried. Have you spoken to the others in the past few days?”
 

“No. I’m not sure myself.” The lisping voice rose in pitch, clearly aggrieved. “I don’t see why he has to be killed.”
 

“Do you shrink from it? The rest are agreed.”
 

“Not Chartres.”
 

“He can be persuaded.”
 

The lisp sighed. “I don’t know. Give me time to think on it.”
 

“It should be done before the will is signed.”
 

Rouge heard the sound of the antechamber door slam. “Louis!” called a voice. “Are you still there?” Rouge recognized the voice as belonging to Philippe, Duc de Chartres. Footsteps clicked across the floor of the study.
 

“In here,” said Louis. “The
coquine
is gone.”
 

Chartres laughed. “What? You rogue! In my own bedchamber? And drinking my best wine, I’ll be damned! Here, give me a bit of that.”
 

Rouge’s heart sank. Would she be here all afternoon, while they joked and drank? And what did they mean about killing someone?
 

“Will you come to
Val d’Amour
again?” said the lisp. Rouge nearly gasped aloud at the name.
 

“Not until it must be done,” said Chartres.
 

“You’re for it, then.”
 

“I don’t know,” replied Chartres.
 

“There’s nothing for you to do,” said Louis firmly. “Your hands will be clean. Who would suspect you? Just bring him to
Val d’Amour
when the time comes. I have the men to do it.”
 

Chartres groaned. “Why doesn’t the old fool die?”
 

“Patience,” said the lisp.
 

“Patience? When the king’s bastards can hope for more advancement than I?”
 

Name of God! thought Rouge. I must tell Torcy!
Someone
was to be killed to advance Chartres! Was Chartres scheming to be named heir when Charles of Spain died? But how could he guarantee it? According to Torcy, King Louis planned to have the young Duc d’Anjou named as heir. And, if not, his younger brother, the Duc de Berry. Perhaps Chartres had his sights set on the throne of France. But surely he didn’t intend to kill his majesty to realize his ambitions! And between the dauphin and the dauphin’s sons, there would be a lot of blood on Chartres’s hands before he ever saw the throne of France! Yes. Torcy would surely be interested in
this
conversation!
 

“Then you agree.”
 

“No,” said Chartres firmly. “There’ll be no killing. I’ll not have it!”
 

“We’ll talk to the others,” said Louis. “If they have another plan, so much the better.”
 

“Whom can we count on?” asked the duc.
 

“Bleyle has his circle, of course.” Bleyle! As Torcy had suspected.
 

“He can be very helpful. He enjoys the king’s favor. When the time comes to advance our man, Bleyle will be the one to do it.”
 

“But who does
he
have?”
 

“Quinton, of course. I’m not sure of Tournières, though they have been close of late.” At the sound of her father’s name Rouge shook so violently that she was sure they would see the draperies move. What could Tintin have to do with all this?
 

“Good. I think we can use Tournières.”
 

The lisp laughed, a high-pitched giggle. “I should like to use that daughter of his! I should use her long and well.”
 

Louis made an obscene remark, followed by a burst of laughter. In her hiding place, Rouge could feel her cheeks growing red with shame, to hear herself spoken about so crudely.
 

“Away with you and your ribald jokes,” said Chartres with irritation. “The whole plan disturbs me. Let me write my letters in peace.”
 

Mother of God, she thought. What am I to do now? If Chartres intended to write his letters, she’d be trapped here for the whole afternoon. And surely his servants would be returning! However cunning her arts, she couldn’t simply reveal herself to Chartres. After what she’d overheard, a seduction scene would be absurd.
 

“No,” said Louis. “You need a little cheer. Come and play billiards with us.”
 

Chartres hesitated. “Very well. Let me just put away my writing, and then I’ll join you.”
 

There were sounds from the study beyond, footsteps, and then silence. Rouge waited, listening, until she was sure that no one was about, then she eased herself from behind the draperies and hurried from the Duc’s
appartement.
 

What in the name of heaven was she to do? She had never seen the two men, nor recognized their voices. The only name she’d heard was “Louis,” and half the courtiers at Versailles bore that name! Chartres was clearly involved. There was a killing planned, though it seemed far from certain; Chartres and The Lisp had not committed themselves. Torcy should be told of this, that Chartres was involved. And Bleyle. She stopped, her eyes wide with horror. And Tintin? “Oh, Tintin,” she moaned aloud, “what new mischief are you up to?"
 

It was clear she
couldn’t
tell Torcy. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to speak to Tintin. She’d tell Torcy only that Chartres’s letters had been harmless. In the meantime, she’d keep her eyes and ears open and hope that she could learn more, garner a crumb or two that would show that Tintin was not involved.
 

Her heart ached. She felt sickened by what she had become—sneaking about Versailles, telling lies, overhearing things she had no wish to know. Being a helpless bystander to the wickedness and debauchery of others. She longed for the sweet, clean, honest air of Sans-Souci. When she met with Torcy to pass on her information, she begged him to release her, if only for a few weeks. To allow her to go home.
 

He patted her on the hand, a surprisingly friendly gesture. “You’ll be free for the month of August. I have no undertakings for you.”
 

She smiled in gratitude. “Then I can go home?”
 

“No. The king wants you at Marly. A singular honor, mademoiselle. But I’ve told him that you’re a most loyal subject, and he wishes to know you better in the intimate setting of Marly.”
 

Rouge’s heart sank. “Marly?’”
 

“You’ll have an amusing time, I should think. The Duc de Bourgogne celebrates his birthday in August. Madame de Maintenon, I’m given to understand, is planning fireworks. I’ll be there from time to time in consultation with his majesty, but you’re free to enjoy yourself. If you should happen to hear any interesting gossip, of course, get word to me.”
 

She sighed in resignation. One did not refuse the king’s summons. Even if Torcy
weren’t
holding Tintin’s debts over her head! But she was more than ever determined to be free of Torcy’s control; that odious scene in the bedchamber still sickened her when she thought of it.