My Brother's Crown (22 page)

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Grand-Mère came around the corner, followed by the wet nurse, who kept her eyes down as she passed by. Grand-Mère motioned for Catherine to follow, and the three women entered the apartment. Amelie opened her eyes as they stepped into the bedchamber.

“This is Estelle,” Grand-Mère said.

Amelie reached for the young woman's hand. “
Merci
,” she whispered.

Grand-Mère retrieved one of her own simple gowns for Estelle and
directed her to the washbasin in the corner. After the girl cleaned herself up, Grand-Mère brushed out her light brown hair, pinned it to her head, and then placed a covering on top. No one spoke over the hollering of the baby.

Finally, Estelle sat down in the chair along the wall and gestured for Valentina. Within moments, the baby's screams ended so abruptly that they seemed to echo in the silence. Grand-Mère and Catherine both let out a sigh, the smile they shared fading only when they looked over at Estelle and realized she was crying again, the tears rolling down her face even as she nursed the hungry babe.

Grand-Mère shooed Catherine out of the chamber. “Ask Cook if she needs your help. The kitchen maid quit this morning.” The butler had quit the week before, claiming he was moving to Grenoble. None of them believed him. More likely he wanted to get out of the Huguenot household—and he could not be blamed, not at all.

Catherine retrieved her cloak in hopes that she could manage to convince Cook to send her on an errand. As she stepped into the hall, she realized the physician had arrived and the footman was leading him her way.

She curtsied as he greeted her, grateful that the man was finally here. Then she kept going and continued along the corridor to the kitchen, where she found Cook kneading a mound of bread dough with vigor. Outside the open door of the kitchen, Monsieur Roen walked Catherine's mare. The entire household seemed to have settled back down.

Catherine took the market basket from the shelf.

“
Non,
” Cook said. “It is too dangerous.”

Catherine reminded her that the dragoons were on the other side of the Rhône for the day. “I cannot stay inside for the rest of my life. Grand-Mère told me to help you, and I know everyone would rather have me do the marketing than the cooking.”

“Be quick then,” Cook said, rattling off a shopping list and pulling the money from her apron pocket. “I got off to a late start, but I will have the bread baking by the time you get back.”

As Catherine hurried over the slate of the courtyard, she looked toward the pen outside the stable, into which Monsieur Roen was
leading her horse. Catherine missed her riding time, but just a week ago Jules had forbidden her from riding at all, saying it was no longer safe. Perhaps tomorrow she would take over the animal's care instead.

For now, she pushed through the door to the street and walked toward the market, slowing at the window of La Boutique de Lyon and squinting into the shop. A girl from the neighborhood examined a bolt of cloth with her mother. A beautiful coral silk. Janetta was nowhere in sight.

Catherine hurried on until she reached the market, which was located in the shade of Saint-Jean-Baptiste. As she neared the poultry cart, Madame Berger, the pastor's wife, came around the corner, glancing over her shoulder as she walked.

“
Bonjour
,” Catherine called out. “
Comment vas-tu
?”

“
Très bien,
” she answered, again peering over her shoulder.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Madame Berger shook her head and whispered, “There is a dragoon at the edge of the market.”

Catherine rose to her tiptoes but did not see a soldier.

“Two moved into our home yesterday. They are sleeping in the loft,” the pastor's wife confided.

Catherine could not imagine it. The Bergers lived in a small house. As a family of five, they were crowded even without dragoons.

“I left the boys at home.” The three Berger sons ranged in age from five to nine. “I thought the dragoons were gone for the day, but I just saw one—although I cannot be sure if he is one of the ones staying with us or not.”

Catherine grabbed her hand, pulling her past the herb seller and a stack of flour bags to the fishmonger. She asked for three of his largest pikes. Then she whispered to Madame Berger, “Where is Pastor today?”

“He had an appointment.”

A woman cried out across the market as Catherine was paying for the fish. She looked up to see that a dragoon had her by the hand. But then, from across the crowded square, he seemed to spot Catherine—and he let the woman go.

“He is coming,” Madame Berger said. “But I do not recognize him.”

Catherine started marching toward the cheese cart. “I do,” she said. It was the drunk one from the night before. She stopped and asked for a wheel of hard cheese. The
fromager
took her money and handed her the wheel.

There was another commotion, this time at the fish cart.

Catherine ducked toward the cathedral.

“Stop!” the dragoon commanded.

“Leave me,” Catherine whispered to Madame Berger. “Go on home.”

The woman glanced at the soldier again. “I am afraid the others may have come back too.”

“Of course,” Catherine said. “Go home to your sons. Maybe Pastor will be back by now.” Her legs trembled and she grabbed her skirt with her free hand, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. She could not imagine that Madame Berger would be any safer at home. How were they to protect themselves?

“Go,” she said, pushing against the woman. “You have little ones to think of.”

Madame Berger obeyed, walking away with her basket still empty, leaving Catherine to fend for herself.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Catherine

C
atherine continued on to the egg cart, pulling the smaller basket from the larger one. Cook had used more eggs than usual recently, and the farmer had not delivered enough. As she stopped, the dragoon rounded the corner on his horse. “There you are.” He sneered at her and then laughed. “Surprised to see me,
non
?”

She ignored him and ordered two dozen eggs, passing the basket to the farmer.

His hands shook as he filled it. When he returned it to her, the dragoon swung his sword up underneath the basket, sending it spiraling into the air, eggs flying in all directions.

Catherine stepped backward, covering her head with her free arm as the eggs rained down. The horse reared. The farmer hurried to the back of his cart. A woman screamed and shoppers scattered.

“That will teach you to ignore me.” The dragoon brought his horse back down. He slipped from the saddle, holding tightly onto the reins, his eyes beady in the morning light. “Come here,” he commanded Catherine. She took another step away from him but slipped on a
broken egg. She reached for the cart behind her to steady herself but accidentally upset it instead. A mountain of greens fell on top of her as she landed on the ground, her back crashing hard against the toppled cart.

The dragoon stepped toward her.

Ignoring her pain, she scampered to her knees and stood, grabbing at her skirt.

She took a step toward the cathedral.

“Stop!” the dragoon yelled.

She hurried on. A peasant moved out of her way, and she stepped into the barrel chest of someone wearing a brown tunic.

“Catherine.” Father Philippe, with Pastor Berger behind him, put his hands to her shoulders. “What is going on here?” the priest boomed over her head.

Catherine turned toward the dragoon, who had his sword drawn. He slowly put it back in its scabbard.

“For the love of God, these are good people.” Father Philippe pulled Catherine behind him and stood face-to-face with the dragoon. “You will treat them with respect.”

The dragoon spread his feet apart. “I am only following the king's orders.”

“No one has ordered for women to be mistreated.”

The dragoon crossed his arms.

“You will treat the women of this town as you would the women in your own family. Do I make myself clear?”

The dragoon glared at the priest.

“Then I will speak with your superior,” Father Philippe said. “Today.”

The dragoon's eyes darkened even more, but he remounted his horse. His beady gaze fell on Catherine, and then he spurred his mount and headed back toward the river.

“
Merci
,” Catherine said, going weak in the knees as Pastor Berger stepped to her side and steadied her.

“
Oui
,” the priest responded. “Do not come out by yourself anymore. It is not safe.”

She nodded, finding her footing. “I thought they were gone for the day.”

“Perhaps they told us that to lure us out,” Pastor Berger said, releasing his hold on her arm.

She nodded. He was probably correct.

The farmer began trying to upright his cart. Father Philippe and Pastor Berger stepped forward to help. As they did, Madame Berger appeared and quickly grabbed Catherine's basket, stuffing the fish and cheese back inside.

“Go straight home, Catherine. Tell your grandmother what happened. That dragoon is the worst I've seen.”

“
Oui
,” Catherine said as the men righted the cart. In a lower voice, she added, “Would you believe he is one of the dragoons currently billeted at our home?”

Madame Berger's eyebrows raised in alarm.
“Vraiment?
That's terrible!”

With a solemn nod, Catherine bid the woman
au revior
. As she turned to go, Pastor Berger gestured for her to wait. He stepped close and spoke softly, saying they would not be meeting at the church for the evening's Good Friday service.

“We considered meeting at the home of the Talbots, but Pierre's mother is too afraid,” he added, “so it will be at our house.”

“But the risk—”

“The dragoons will be at mass. Father Philippe has assured us of it. They are commanded to go by their captain. We will be safe.”

Catherine didn't tell Grand-Mère what had happened, but she and Cook both guessed anyway, thanks to the look of the basket and the egg yolk on her dress, crusted with a bit of shell.

“I will send Monsieur Roen,” Cook said, sighing. “I need the eggs for the custard.”

Catherine leaned against the table. “I am sorry.”

“
Non,
” Cook said. “What was I thinking to let you go? I heard the talk this morning. They are incorrigible. The worst of them found his way to the wine cellar last night. If he keeps this up, it will be bare in no time.”

“Oh, dear,” Grand-Mère said. “I will lock it. I never thought of it last night.”

“He will just make you unlock it later, Madame. It's probably better to let it be.”

Grand-Mère shook her head but then stopped. “You may be right. Tell the footman to move the best of it into the root cellar, and we will water down the rest.”

Cook grinned. “That's the spirit.”

Catherine shook her head and walked out of the kitchen with Grand-Mère toward the corridor. “What did the physician say?”

“He thinks the illness Amelie had soon after the baby was born was scarlet fever. Even though the infection is gone now, it may have damaged her heart. If she is not better in the next week, he will consider bloodletting, but he said with rest she may heal on her own.”

Catherine hoped it would not come to that, but she knew the physician would only do it if he needed to.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just that we should have an idea in a week or so how she will fare in the long run.”

“What about the baby? Did she have scarlet fever too?”

Grand-Mère shook her head. “Probably not. According to him, babies don't often get it, thankfully. He said Valentina is malnourished, but he thinks she will be fine once she gains more weight.”