Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (4 page)

“Should be quite safe between here and Paris. The king’s men will be guarding the roads.”

Her mother’s benevolent smile wavered.

The carriage lurched forward, and with it, Suzanne’s heart. She turned around. Rows of
torchères
lit the palace entrance, which disappeared into the night. She could jump out, run back, and beg Etienne’s favor as her oldest friend to marry her. Why hadn’t she told him at the ball? He could take mistresses—no, she couldn’t bear that. She was losing her mind—this couldn’t be real. Whatever came to pass, she couldn’t leave her mother. Guillame would come to them. He’d put things right.

“Your father was arrested and imprisoned by King Louis. They’ll no doubt execute him in the morning.” Her mother’s hollow voice sounded much like a recitation of their menu for dinner. Maman must be experiencing the same shock now settling over her.

Suzanne’s empty stomach squeezed into a knot. Executed. Not Papa. Such a good man, a devout Protestant, the best father. Her mother’s glazed eyes gave her the appearance of a madwoman, but Suzanne’s entire world seemed to have gone insane. Maman slumped back against the cushion as a strange deadly calm settled over Suzanne. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be true. This was a nightmare from which she would awake on the morrow.

Maman ran her tongue over her dry lips. “Even now, they must be looking for us.”

To throw them in prison as well. To kill us. Her hands were like icicles and Suzanne began to tremble all over.

“This cancer claims me, my dear.” Her mother threw a hand toward Suzanne, as though apologizing.

She grasped it, the dry skin loose on her mother’s flesh. What would she do if her mother died? She sucked in a breath. “Maman, what can I do for you?”

“Make sure they get me home, to Grand-mère’s, to the country.”

They? “Who, Maman?”

Her dark eyes, full of despair, searched Suzanne’s face. “I thought I had our escape, a new life, figured out—what to do—but now I’m not so sure.” Her bony fingers kneaded her silk handkerchief, over and over, until it appeared she would work a hole into the delicate material. “I sent word to Anne DeMint for help. I cannot go on to Aachen, much less the colonies, and now Guy is with Rochambeau.”

Her godmother could sponsor her; Suzanne was young enough she could be protected despite her family’s beliefs. Some Huguenots had been spared execution when a devout Catholic fostered them. Was that why Rochambeau had sent for Guillame? But her brother was too old for such an arrangement.

Suzanne stared out the window into the darkness, watching the miles slip by. Having chewed her lower lip until the skin tore, she finally asked her mother, “Guillame said he’d come to us as soon as he can. What is his plan?”

A gentle snore was the only response she received. Tears pooled in Suzanne’s eyes. She couldn’t feel this pain—its intensity would overwhelm her. Fingering the smooth rosary beads at her neck, she prayed. This had to work. She closed her eyes and repeated her special prayers, the rhythm soothing the pain—the unremitting grief she’d experienced since her beloved Grand-mère had died and Maman had taken ill. Her head began to nod.

The coach hit a rut, rousing Suzanne, her thumb still looped through Grand-mère’s rosary.
Oh, Lord, this nightmare is real.
They should be near Paris by now or even past the great city. Her mouth dry, she retrieved a mint from the bag, the sugar coarse yet pleasant on her tongue.

Maman squeezed her hand, and a thrill shot through her. She was still with her. Suzanne handed her a
pastille
.

Both watched as they drew closer to the great city, one they would never see again. Too dark to make out the church spires and tall buildings, though. The road grew more crowded and the driver had to move over to wait for passing coaches in several areas where the road narrowed.

Through the carriage window, many torches shone—some bobbing over throngs of men on foot and dressed in peasant garb. Their gaunt faces announced them as the poor from the countryside around Paris. At least in
Grand-mère’s
district, much farther east, most people were well fed.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with so great a number of people surrounding them. “
Maman
, would Madame DeMint care for you, if you need to stay?” Her mouth was as dry as parchment. Where were the oranges she smelled? She needed one of those or a drink.

“I need to get home. I wish to be buried there.” Maman’s face was set.

Torchlight identified a column of French soldiers.

Suzanne tried to catch her breath. No, they couldn’t be looking for her and Maman, for they surrounded a long caravan of large carriages. One was a funeral hearse, with a gilded crest illuminated by one of its side lamps.

Heart pounding, she slid to the edge of her seat. The erect bearing of the rider, and the glow of light on his mustard vest, revealed her brother.

Their driver moved off the road to let the crowd past, rocking her mother against her.
Dear Lord, don’t let them harm us. Protect us.

Men, lining the sides of the road, called out. “That’s it.”

Nausea welled up in her. Their carriage swayed as the frenzied mob swarmed around.

“Haul her out of there.” They surged toward the funeral procession. Would they attack them, too?

Suzanne held her breath. Dizzy, she fell against her mother, who moaned. “Maman! What should we do?”

“It will all be over soon, Suzanne.” Her mother’s almost weightless hand patted her shoulder through the cape and rubbed her back. “Close your eyes.”

She wished her mother’s words were true. Dread took hold of her and shook her shoulders. She sat up on the edge of the seat and peered out.

“We know what to do with the body of the King’s harlot.” Curses and terrible oaths continued as the rabble shouted their plans for Louis XV’s deceased mistress. The woman’s own sister had already taken the dead lady’s place at court. Perhaps the people in the countryside couldn’t stomach such debauchery.

What did they intend to do to the woman’s corpse?

Their carriage lurched forward, and the frightened beasts snorted as they pulled on past the crowds, into the fields surrounding the spectacle. Soft soil spit up at the windows.

Soldiers on horseback struck down at the rioters, who swarmed like ants on honey.

A shot rang out, and Suzanne’s shoulders jerked. She leaned across her mother and pressed her hands and face against the cold glass window. Splotches marred the pristine mane of Guillame’s horse as her brother struggled to remain upright. A dark stain spread across his chest, illuminated by the torch before it fell from his hand.

“No!” Her mouth wide, Suzanne gasped for air.
Lord, don’t let him die!

The mob pulled Guillame down off his mount. Every fiber of Suzanne’s being longed for her to launch herself from the carriage and go to her brother. But she could not. She began to sob.

Tears trailed down her mother’s face. “I don’t wish for my entire family to join me where I’m going. Pray God spares your brother.”

They bowed their heads, held hands and prayed together as the brougham rolled on.

~*~

With daybreak came the realization that her mother’s soul might soon leave the earth. Pink tendrils of dawn’s first light battled to bring joy to the emptiness in Suzanne’s heart. What she saw along the roadway broke her heart. She bit back the desire to share her observations with her mother. Bedraggled peasants, children whose faces bespoke poverty and deprivation, and mothers whose blank expressions announced their despair, lined the roadway.

“Don’t think too badly of me when I am gone.” Maman leaned against the window, her feverish head fogging the glass.

“Why?” She must be delirious to think such a thing.
Oh, Lord, please don’t take her.

“I feel I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Her mother coughed and then gasped for air.

“About what, Maman?”
Dear Lord, forgive me for not telling her about Guillame.

“I wanted to go home but I didn’t intend for you to come with me.” Maman’s guilty expression revealed her plan. “Your father and I finally agreed that if he was taken then you’d be safer to remain with your godmother instead of going to the colonies—especially if Guillame couldn’t immediately accompany you.”

Heat spread across Suzanne’s cold cheeks. All their plans for naught.
Guillame must survive. I cannot bear to be without them all.

“I knew you’d want to come, as we’d planned, but I thought remaining with your godmother might be best.”

Part of her wished to stay with Madame DeMint, but she couldn’t abandon her mother. Remaining at her godmother’s country estate appealed. With all its comforts, she could await being returned to Versailles at a later, and possibly safer, date. The idea of her mother unable to get to her childhood home, denied the right to die there in peace, disturbed her. What if her mother insisted Suzanne stay at the DeMints’ chateau while she, dying, tried to go on alone. How could Maman manage?

“I cannot stay there.” Suzanne clasped her mother’s hands. Every muscle in her body ached. She tightened her gown in her fist as hard as she could. She must quell the idea of being totally alone that tore her to shreds inside.

Maman stroked Suzanne’s hair, as she had when she was a child. “Papa and I disagreed about some things.”

Suzanne had overheard a loud argument when they’d returned to Versailles. “Oui.”

The tree line thickened as they rode farther away from the city. Bright new spring buds covered many formerly naked trees while those with fine, dark needles formed a backdrop of consistency in the changing forest.

“I know you loved your grandmother, so much.”

Suzanne nodded.

“Wanted to be like her.” Maman gave her a quick squeeze.

Staring out the window at the countryside, Suzanne struggled to find words to explain, to apologize, for the differences between herself and her mother. Nothing came as the carriage continued.

“Your secret was always safe with me, you know.”

Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat, but she fixed her eyes on the woods beyond. Her hand wrapped around the rosary beads and caressed the smooth stones. Saying nothing, she noticed her mother’s breathing had become more labored.

“I love you, Maman.” Turning to her, she threw herself into her mother’s arms, holding fast. Refusing to leave her mother behind, she determined to see her on to Grand-mère’s estate.

Her mother patted her back.

“Suzanne, wake me when we get to the crossroads. The other carriage should be waiting.” Maman planted a kiss on Suzanne’s forehead.

“Yes, Maman.” Sliding over against the end of the bench, she made room for her mother to lie down.

Her mother curled up on the seat, her head on Suzanne’s lap. Despite the light streaming in through the windows, Suzanne slept—dreams of betrayal, disease, and death tormented her.

~*~

Following his nose to the wonderful odors coming from the kitchen for breakfast, Johan found his mother seated alone by the fireplace. Warm brown eyes searched his face before she pressed an envelope into his hands.

“No one, not one soul other than Father Vincent, reads this.” Her dark eyebrows rose high in warning, her lips pursed. Behind her, bacon sizzled over the fire, its tempting aroma making Johan’s mouth water.

“What if…” He stopped himself, knowing his mother didn’t like his lists of questions. But he needed them answered. Wanted to be sure he did exactly as he was told.

Mother shook a finger at him. “No what-ifs!”

Johan folded his hands around her pointing finger and squeezed it, then pushed her hand down gently.

She laughed. “Oh, Johan, I can never be too serious with you. But listen, you cannot let anyone else read this. Doing so could mean danger for the people Father Vincent helps.”

Quick, hard steps coming down from upstairs announced Nicholas’s arrival. His footsteps stopped in the alcove outside of the kitchen right behind where Johan stood.

His neck tightened. Johan leaned over and kissed the top of his mother’s head. This time he would help bring gifts and messages to Father Vincent. “I won’t give this letter away, Mama, I promise.”

She laughed. “Not like the gloves I made for you or the food I sent to school with you.”

Sweat broke out at his hairline. He waited for his brother to mock his tender heart and Nicholas didn’t disappoint him. “Not like me, Mama.”

His mother shook her head. Nicholas was stingy with everything except his criticisms.

“I promise.”

Mutter smiled up at him. “When did you get so tall, son?”

He lifted her and gave her a hug. “When you weren’t looking—I went to the barn and rolled in the manure every night, and I would grow a little each time, like the vegetables in the fields.” He set her down carefully on the brick floor.

“Too bad you didn’t bother to bathe before you came back in our room those nights.” Nicholas waved a hand in front of his nose.

Johan chuckled. “I’m sorry if the odor upset you, brother.”

Glancing from one to the other, their mother sighed. “I won’t send you two together anywhere, anymore.”

While Johan had met the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, his last trip into France with Nicholas almost left their mother and father childless. But French Huguenots’ lives were at stake and he and his brother were the only options Father Vincent had to assist the travelers on their secret journeys to Aachen in Germany. And they did love spending time with their great aunt, whose fervent faith inspired him. If their mother knew they had separated to confuse their French pursuers…

Papa pushed through the front door, one hand swinging a basket of wood for the fire. “Just in time for prayer.” He set down the wood. “Come, let us give this request to our Lord.”

They formed a circle and grasped hands. His mother’s cool, limp hand contrasted with that of his father’s warm, viselike grip. Johan glanced across at his brother, who already had his head bowed.

“God bless my son on this journey and protect him. May all that the Lord has intended be done, all gifts given, all blessings received. Give our son divine revelation and assurance that this task is from You and for him. Bring him home safely to us, with all that You have entrusted to him, great and small.”