My Brother's Crown (30 page)

“Of course. We will not go unless we can assure there is protection both here and on our journey.”

“Very well,” he said, smiling kindly. “Then I wish you Godspeed.”

Once he was gone, discussion of the trip continued, with Amelie urging them to go but Grand-Mère still resisting.

“Our temple has been destroyed.” Amelie's voice was much stronger. “We are running out of time.”

“I will not leave you, not with the dragoons here,” Grand-Mère answered.

“They are not staying,” Estelle chimed in from the doorway to the sitting room, the baby still at her breast.

Catherine turned toward her. “What?”

“Waltier told me. Last night. Father Philippe made an arrangement with the captain. The platoon was already going south, down the Rhône, for the next several weeks. Father Philippe convinced him to send them ahead of schedule.”

Amelie managed to walk to the dining room at dinnertime. The first thing she asked after sitting down was if it was true that the dragoons were leaving for a time.

Jules nodded. “I confirmed it with Father Philippe this afternoon. They should be gone soon.” He was obviously pleased to have Amelie join them for the meal. After the food was served, he said, “Our prayers are being answered. You have come home, our solicitor assures me the Mother Superior has no claim on you, and you will soon be well.”

She leaned toward her cousin. “I am so much better that Grand-Mère and Catherine can leave for Paris soon.”

Jules nearly choked on his beef. He took a drink of wine and then said, “No one is going anywhere, at least not that far. Besides, I know you think Suzanne can help, but why? She is a friend of the king's mistress,
oui
? What power do you think she has? Certainly none over Louis XIV.”

“It is worth a try,
non
?” Amelie said softly.

Jules shrugged. Catherine knew he would have a hard time saying no to their cousin. She had forgotten that, what it was like to have an ally around to sway him when nothing else could.

“They will need someone to accompany them,” Amelie continued. “What about Pierre? Could he go?”

Jules shook his head. “I need him to look at the mill on the Plateau. We are going down there soon.”

Catherine's heart sank until he added, “Perhaps Eriq could
accompany you if you absolutely insist on going. I can spare him. Thanks to the king's latest manipulations, we are short on orders.”

Though Catherine would have far preferred Pierre, at least her brother's suggestion of Eriq meant he was willing to help make the trip happen.

“What if Eriq went with you to the Plateau instead?” Amelie asked. “Then Pierre would be free to go with Catherine and Grand-Mère.”

“Non
. Eriq has no experience with these sorts of things. And I do not—”

A commotion in the kitchen kept him from finishing his sentence.

“The dragoons,” Grand-Mère said, sighing. “God willing, we will only have to put up with them for a short time.”

After a moment, a drunken Basile burst into the room, followed by Waltier, who appeared embarrassed by his comrade's behavior, as usual.

“Come in,” Grand-Mère said. “You will be served shortly.”

As Basile took a seat at the table, Jules escorted Amelie from the room. Catherine tried to slip out as well, but Basile commanded her to stop.

She kept going. “Get her!” Basile shouted, and before she could reach the end of the hall, Waltier grabbed her by the arm. “Play along,” he whispered.

“I do not want to play anything with him,” she hissed.

“I will protect you.”

“Really? Like you did Pierre yesterday, at the fire?”

He dropped his eyes. “I will do my best.”

“Let her go,” Grand-Mère said quietly to Waltier. “You are heading south soon,
oui
?”

Waltier nodded.

“I will give your colleague a couple of bottles of our best wine,” Grand-Mère whispered. “That should distract him for another night.”

Waltier shrugged but let go of Catherine.

“Basile,” Grand-Mère said, stepping back into the dining room. “I have something for you. I need the help of my granddaughter in the wine cellar.” She jingled her keys as she came back into the hall. Then, before turning for the kitchen, she gave Catherine a push toward their
rooms. She reached the suite and closed the door behind her, locking it.

“I take it the dragoons are back,” Estelle said from the chaise.

Catherine exhaled. “They cannot leave soon enough.”

“Oh, I do not know,” Estelle said. “Waltier is not that bad.”

Catherine frowned. “Not compared to the other one,
non
, but he is still doing the work—”

“That he has been assigned to do,” Amelie said. “All of us have our burdens to carry, Catherine. This is clearly a burden for Waltier.”

“Then why does he not quit?”

“He would be hung for treason,” Amelie said, sighing. “None of this is easy. Not for any of us.”

“Except for people like Basile. Or the king,” Catherine interjected. She had no sympathy for either.

Amelie sighed again.
“Non
, we cannot guess at what demons torment them.”

Estelle stood with the baby in her arms and started toward the cradle.

Catherine helped Amelie into bed, and she could see in the weariness of her body the cost of having taken dinner at the table with the family.

“I wish you could go to Paris too,” Catherine said softly.

“I have never wanted to go. You were the one interested in fashion and the court, remember?” She leaned back against the pillow. “And traveling and adventures. All I wanted was a husband and a family.” She turned her head toward Valentina, her eyes shiny with sudden tears. “I just want to get well and be able to care for my daughter. And for all of us to keep her safe.”

Catherine sat down on the side of the bed and held her cousin's hand. That was what they all wanted.

On Wednesday, on the Feast of Saint Mark the Evangelist, Grand-Mère took Catherine to Janetta's shop and ordered two gowns, one
brown and one gray. Both would be a little lower in the bodice than the ones she had and much fuller in the skirt. Both would be more appropriate for older, married women, Catherine was sure.

“You are going to Versailles?” Janetta asked as she measured Catherine.

“We may,” Grand-Mère said.

“No one wears this sort of thing there,” Janetta said, stretching the measurement string down Catherine's back.

“
Au contraire.
We just had a letter that this is the latest fashion, set by Madame de Maintenon.”

Janetta laughed, dropping the string on the floor. As she retrieved it, she said, “Certainly it's the latest fashion for a fifty-year-old favorite, but it isn't for an eighteen-year-old beauty.” Catherine expected Janetta to laugh again, but she did not. “She needs a colorful dress and, I'm afraid, a lower neckline. She will be laughed out of Paris, not to mention Versailles. As lovely as she is, she will be ridiculed. You do not want that.”

Catherine's face grew warm, though whether at the compliment or the warning, she wasn't sure.

Grand-Mère pursed her lips together and then said, “It's a chance we will take. Our goal is not to have Catherine accepted into Parisian society but to speak with my friend—and keep our integrity.”

Catherine was grateful for the dresses, she really was. But Janetta's words caused her concern. Maybe she had been wrong about Paris.

After Janetta assured them the dresses would be done in time, they left to continue their preparations for the trip.

On Thursday of the Octave of Easter, Catherine and Grand-Mère took a chance on going out in order to deliver soup and bread to several elderly people in the area. They heard dragoons had been harassing the cobbler again, so on the way home they went by his shop. It was closed. Catherine peered in the windows, but there was no sign of anyone.

“Perhaps he got away,” Grand-Mère said.

“Where do you think he went?”

Grand-Mère put her finger to her lips, and they continued on in silence. As they neared the house, a shout startled them. Two men were
pointing down the street. Catherine turned to see what the commotion was about. Jules approached them on his black gelding.

“It's him!” the larger of the two men exclaimed.

Catherine's knees grew weak. They were the guards from the convent. They began to run toward Jules. He slowed his horse to a trot and then stopped in the middle of the street.

“We have come to take the young woman and baby back,” the younger man said. “Mother Superior sent us.”

“Impossible,” Jules said. He opened his leather bag and pulled out a piece of paper
.
“I have a document preventing that prepared by my solicitor and already signed. I am the guardian of both Amelie Fournier and her daughter, Valentina.”

The older man squinted at the document and then snatched it from Jules's hand.

He glanced toward Catherine and Grand-Mère and then nodded toward the gate as he said, loudly, to the guards, “I have already sent a copy of the document to Mother Superior. Check with her. It should have arrived by now.”

The second guard looked over the first one's shoulder at the document and shrugged.

Grand-Mère looped her arm through Catherine's and pulled her to the gate.

“If Mother Superior has any questions, tell her to contact my solicitor,” Jules added. “In the meantime, may I give you a bottle of wine to compensate you for your useless journey today?”

Thankfully, the gate was unlocked and Catherine and Grand-Mère slipped through. On the other side was Monsieur Roen. He must have overheard the ruckus. Grand-Mère gave him the keys to the wine cellar. “Would you?” she asked.

“Of course,” he answered, closing the gate but not locking it.

Grand-Mère went inside the house, but Catherine waited by the well until the wine was delivered, Jules was safely inside the walls, and he had left his horse in the stable.

“When are you and Grand-Mère leaving?” he asked as he approached.

Catherine blinked. “I don't recall your giving us permission.”

He shrugged. “Well, then, I'm giving it now. Though you would go whether I said you may or not.”

“That's not true,” Catherine answered, genuinely hurt. She tried so hard to respect and honor him, yet he thought so little of her in return.

“Go,” Jules said.

“What about your trip to the Plateau?”

“We will postpone it as long as possible. Someone needs to stay with Amelie, especially if those guards come back.”

“Who signed the document?”

“Father Philippe.”

Catherine smiled. “Would his signature stand up in court?”

“It's confusing as far as the law. Completely open to interpretation. I'm hoping Father Philippe's involvement will impress Mother Superior, though.” He leaned against the well. “Still, I'll stay here as long as I can.”