The Silk Weaver's Daughter (12 page)

“Well, not at the moment. The king’s working to terminate it. He’s already in the process of appointing Catholics to important senior military and political posts, which, of course, alienates many of his subjects. We fear he’s definitely trying to turn the country back to the old religion. I think the next few years here in England will be quite interesting. You have come at a good time, to see how our political scene works.”

In deference to the Garneaus, the group spoke a mixture of French and English, and by the time the evening was over, Pierre was pleased to find he fit in quite well with the group. It was a relief for him to find ready-made friends, and he already felt a distinct affinity with Paul Thibault. He was positive they would become close friends.

In the whole party, there was only one man about whom Pierre experienced uncertainty. A Monsieur Mathurin Mercier, another goldsmith, who also seemed enamoured with Louise. The man was younger than Paul and quite handsome in a dark, brooding way. However, Pierre felt an immediate distrust of him. Behind Paul’s back, Mercier spoke in a disparaging manner about his host, which he thought was extremely poor manners. He wondered if there was indeed animosity between the two. Time would tell, he thought. In every rose, there is always a thorn.

Nevertheless, he considered himself indeed fortunate to have escaped King Louis’ long sword, and deliver his family, almost unscathed, to this new life to which, he had no doubt, they were destined.

Chapter 17

Spitalfields, September 26, 1685

T
hey had been living in Spitalfields only three weeks when, late Saturday morning, Claudine went into the girls’ room and found Louise still in bed, weeping into her pillow. A sick, sour smell permeated the room.

“Are you ill, Child? You look dreadful.”

“Oh, Maman, I’m in terrible trouble. At first, I thought it was the dizziness left over from the voyage and the coach ride. Now, I’m throwing up every morning and—Maman, I didn’t have my flux this month. You know I’ve always been regular with that. I don‘t know how to tell you this, but I—I think maybe I’m going to have a baby. I’m so ashamed. What can I do?”

“But, Louise, I explained to you about babies. You have to have been with a man in that special way I…” She paused at the look of guilt on her daughter’s face. She had seen the same look the night they waited for the ship in the small beach shack. “Oh, daughter, no. Whatever have you done? Not Marc—my dear, you didn’t? You were never alone with him, were you?

“Yes, Maman,” she whispered. “We were together twice. Right before, we left La Rochelle. He took me out to the ocean and it—well, it—just happened. I loved him so much. I wanted to be with him; and we planned on marriage anyhow, so he said it was all right with the Catholic Church. Then I went with him again. I knew what we would do the second time. I—I couldn’t help myself. Now he is so far away—oh, what will Papa say? He will turn me out. Whatever will I do?” She broke into a wail.

“No, of course not. He would never do that.” Claudine took her in her arms and tried to sooth her. Nevertheless, she was extremely upset. Pierre would be furious at Marc, and so disappointed with his daughter, as well as herself. He had left it to her to tell Louise the facts about being a woman and the Calvinist Bible-based belief that sex without marriage was a sin. Did I not explain it well enough? Did I not tell her the consequences of such an action? I’m sure I did. How could she have forgotten our discussions?

It made her sick at heart that Marc would betray them like this, and now he was gone for at least two years. She didn’t for a moment think Pierre would turn their daughter out, but it certainly was a dire situation. Whatever
would they
do? She tried to calculate exactly how long it was since they left La Rochelle. How far along would Louise be in her pregnancy now?

“My poor little girl,” she continued. “We will have to tell him about this, of course. He will be terribly hurt, and angry with Marc. He should never have taken advantage of you. How could he be so selfish?” She wanted to cry herself.

“Please don’t blame Marc, Maman. It was as much my fault. We loved each other too much. To wait for two or three years seemed unbearable. Couldn’t I go back to France to Aunt Marie and wait for him? She would keep me safe, I know.”

“I don’t think that’s at all possible. It’s far too dangerous for one thing. Moreover, Papa would be even more distraught if his own daughter were to become a Catholic. Stay in bed today, if you’re not feeling well,” she continued. “I’ll approach him this evening, and we’ll decide what is to be done. Still, he’ll be greatly distressed, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

Claudine waited until the children had all gone to bed to speak to her husband. He had picked up the English book he was trying to understand:
‘Paradise Lost.’
It was a volume he had borrowed from Paul, to help him with the language. She admired his determination to master this new tongue. She, herself, found it a most difficult language to learn.

It‘s a shame to interrupt him, she thought. However, the sooner he knows, the better.

‘Pierre, I’m afraid I have some terrible news for you.” She spoke softly; only her words expressed her urgency. “Something we must deal with right away.”

“Is it money, Claudine? Since Paul’s dinner, I’m receiving some good orders. I don’t think funds will be a problem here at all, and we still have a large amount in the account. In fact, we could purchase the house now if you wish.”

“No. This is much more critical than money. It’s news I’m afraid will hurt you desperately. It’s Louise.” Her voice trembled. “We think she is pregnant.”

“W-w-what!” He appeared utterly stunned, as his face turned pale.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.” She quailed at his look. He had taken such pride in his beautiful daughter.

“Pregnant—Louise—but how?” As comprehension of the situation hit him, he turned beet red. “Claudine, no. Not Marc?”

Claudine worried he might have an attack of apoplexy. She couldn’t speak to answer him, only nod miserably.

“Maudit,
I’ll kill that boy. How could he do this to us? And the girl— you explained everything to her about the sexual matters? The seriousness of such a step—she understood it?” She nodded again.

“How could she risk her eternal life like this? And destroy our family’s reputation as well.” His face registered horror as this new thought hit him. “Claudine, we are ruined. Just when things are going so well, now in this community, we are ruined.

As swiftly as the anger had risen, it was gone. In its place was an expression of anguish. The lines of his face sagged, and he seemed to have aged twenty years. For a few moments, Claudine glimpsed the old man Pierre would become. She crossed to where he sat on the couch, and put her arms around him as she did when the children were hurt. His eyes had filled with tears. She thought he might cry. She had never seen him like this, even when his beloved grandfather died.

“Don’t worry, Pierre. We’ll think of something. Things will turn out all right. Perhaps I can take her back to France.”

“Of course, you can’t,” he said. The anger had returned, and Claudine wasn‘t sure which was easier to deal with. “The babies need you here, and you’d never get back. I’ve been much too lenient with the girl—all that daydreaming. I should have beaten it out of her years ago. Believe me; I shall have a few strong words with her in the morning.” His voice rose.

“Please, Pierre. You mustn’t be too harsh with her now. She’s rather fragile I‘m afraid. She found the journey extremely gruelling. It may be she will lose the child.”

She paused for a moment before saying, “I’ve been thinking; she’s not too far along. Here in the city there will be women. You know—the kind that knows how to take care of these things.” She heard the desperation in her own voice.

“Wife, no, no. Have you lost your mind? That is far too dangerous for the mother, and I’m certainly not going to add murder to our daughter’s sins.” The look of anguish had returned.

“But—now—wait—I have an idea. It means that I will have to lie.
Fichu,
that will be damnable enough.”

It startled her to hear him curse. “Whatever are you thinking?”

“The dragoons. Everyone’s heard how they’ve treated our women. Rape, Claudine. Think of it. Our beautiful, virgin daughter raped by those evil men. Such an appalling thing. And ironic,
non?
Still no one will fault her— or us— in that case. Jean Guy will have to be in on the deceit, of course. Not the twins though.”

“Could we possibly tell such a falsehood? It is so unlike you. You hate liars.”

“Yes, and I shall hate myself for this. Except that, I see no other way.” He put his head in his hands.
“Maudit,
how could that girl do this to us? Well we must act fast. I shall go to Paul. I’ll start with him. He’s been exceptionally kind. He’s a compassionate man, and I think he will stand by us. I can only pray we will be forgiven for this—but, Claudine, what else can we do?”

Louise’s nausea and weakness kept Pierre from lecturing her for several days. In the meantime, he decided to make his first move in the deception. Since their arrival in London, his family had spent a number of evenings in the home of Paul Thibault and, once they were comfortably settled, he had been back to their home for dinner. They found him a charming and stimulating companion. Monsieur Thibault’s ancestors had come from Paris, during the terrible persecutions of the early sixteenth century, and he related stories handed down to him of his own great grandparents’ time.

It had seemed to Pierre strange that the goldsmith always included the children in his invitations. He did notice, however, that he kept looking at Louise whenever they were together. The widower acted like a love-struck, young swain.

It’s no wonder, though, he thought. It even astounded him to see how beautiful she was becoming. At home in France, she had been his sweet little girl. However, thinking of her need to be married now, he saw her as another man might. She was indeed lovely with an oval face, a milk-white skin, thick, golden blonde hair, and luminous green eyes, which lately seemed exceedingly large and sad.

Three days after his wife’s announcement, Pierre called at Paul’s shop on the pretext of needing funds from his account. He didn’t try to hide the worry eating away at him, and as he expected, Paul, being the astute man he was, noticed it.

“Monsieur Garneau—perhaps I may call you Pierre now—and you must certainly call me Paul—I feel we have become quite good friends over the last few weeks. But I notice something troubles you today. Are you not happy with the Spitalfields’ house?”

“Yes, please do call me Pierre. You are by far my closest acquaintance in this community, and I value your friendship. But no, no, it’s not the house. That’s exactly right for our needs. My cousin did a tremendous service to get us settled like this. I suppose I’ll seldom see him now, and we were the best of friends. I’m rather afraid I’m in need of a good friend right now.”

“Then, please, feel free to confide in me. I find we have much in common, and I, too value this bond that has grown between us. Can you tell me what troubles you so?

“I’m not sure where to turn with this problem,” Pierre said with a sigh. “I find my family to be in a very difficult situation. The last thing I ever suspected would occur to us. My eldest daughter ran into some trouble in La Rochelle, and it appears she is with child. A little over a month now, we think. I’m afraid it will quite ruin us in the community. The situation is, of course, particularly troubling to my wife. She is quite ill over it.”

“Zounds. What a terrible thing for such an attractive young woman. She is truly beautiful, you know. Breathtakingly so. How dreadful for her. They say those dragoons are no better than animals, and now the king has revoked the edict, they will get away with even more than rape. The poor child!”

He shook his head in distress at the situation; his brow furrowed, as if in deep thought.

“But think how fortunate you are to be away from France. As for your charming Louise, there must be a way out for her. Can you leave it with me for a few days?”

“Yes, certainly I will. I’m relieved to have unburdened myself. As I said, I truly did not know whom to turn to in this mess. The only solution I can think of is to send her back to our family in France, and I’m not willing to do that. She’d have to disavow her religion, and, in any case, I fear the journey would be much too dangerous. My wife would have to go with her and how would she get back?”

“Well, Pierre, perhaps there’s another way out of the problem. Call on me at the beginning of next week—but not here—come to the house. I am going to ponder the situation. It bears some thinking about.”

Quite hurriedly, Paul handed Pierre his chapeau and ushered him through the shop and out the front door.