The Silk Weaver's Daughter (2 page)

Chapter 2

T
he clip-clop of hooves in the courtyard and the commands to the horses sounded the arrival of the party from the coast.

“They’re here.” Louise called to her family. Her heart racing in anticipation, she ran out the door to greet them followed by her family, with the exception of eighteen-month-old Andre.

They had not seen their cousins for over two years. Marc had a brother, Philippe, the same age as Louise, and two younger sisters. Besides the carriage carrying Jacques and the women, Marc and his brother each drove a cart filled with bundles of silk thread they had purchased for Pierre in Lyon. Much hugging and kissing ensued, and she sensed herself blushing as Marc brushed her cheeks, holding her close for a second.

At twenty-two, he now had a muscular build and was even more handsome than she remembered. With his black curly hair and eyes the colour of Persian pottery, he resembled his father, an extremely attractive man. However, Uncle Jacques sported a neat goatee and a carefully trimmed moustache, which gave him the distinguished and rather dashing look that Marc had yet to acquire. Standing beside his debonair father, the son still appeared charmingly boyish.

“Come along, Marc and Philippe,” Uncle Jacques directed. “Let’s help Pierre and Jean Guy moves these bundles into the manufactory. I want to see what they have ready for us to take to England on our next trip. Good news, Pierre. There’s an enormous market for fine French silks there now. The English have many weavers but so far they can’t meet your quality.”

As unnoticed as he was in his own country, Pierre’s name was renowned in London as one of France’s best silk weavers and designers; and the lustrous materials his manufactory produced were in constant demand.

After attending the Huguenot University in Samaur, he had gone to Tour to apprentice as a silk weaver. However, he inherited the farm from his Grandfather and, since it had been his childhood home; he chose to live and work from there. He built the small manufactory on his land, taking on apprentices from the surrounding area. This enterprise helped the economy of the Huguenot hamlet a great deal. As he told his family, he was thankful the village was a long way from the eyes and ears of the King.

After all the bundles were stored in their allotted corner and Jacques and Marc had inspected the rolls of material ready for trade, Pierre led the party into the orchard. Louise and Catherine followed with Marc’s sisters in tow. “Take a look at these,” he said to Jacques.

He pointed to a grove of about eighteen young trees with beautiful green, shiny leaves and full of fruit resembling unripe blackberries. His daughters appreciated how proud he was of this special orchard.

“Hmm, they certainly look healthy,” Jacques said. “But why mulberry trees, Pierre?”

“My plan is to raise silk worms, so I’ll need the leaves to feed them. I know you bid well for the silk thread in Lyon but perhaps I’ll be successful in growing my own cocoons right here as well.”

“You realize that working with cocoons is difficult. Everything must be exactly right—the temperature, the light and those worms, they constantly need feeding. Do you really consider it worthwhile?”

“I know. It won’t be easy. Still I want to try. Times are difficult for Huguenots out here in the country. The Monarchy forbids many occupations to us now, and people in the village have trouble making enough money to survive. Whatever work I can find for them here helps.”

“Well, then. May God be with you on this. Everything else you do has been a success. I pray there will be the chance for you to achieve this as well.”

“Thank you,
mon ami.
Now let’s go in and try my new vintage. Last year was extraordinary for the
pineau.
Smiling at his daughters, he added, “And the women have created a delicious feast—roast lamb, I believe.”

As Louise followed them inside, she pondered on her uncle’s last words. He didn’t sound very positive about Papa’s idea, she thought. That’s not like Uncle Jacques. I wonder if he knows something, he hasn’t told us yet.

The residence Pierre ushered them into was a handsome structure built in the 16
^th
century—long and low, with an upper gallery for the bedrooms and an attached barn for the animals. A staircase led up from the main salon, which was a large room with stone walls and dark wooden beams. Because of the visit, his two oldest girls had polished everything until it shone. The room presented a warm and appealing ambience, with woven tapestries hanging on every wall and small, silk carpets adorning the ancient, flagstone floors.

After the meal—a tasty fish soup; the roast lamb with herbed vegetables; and a mouth-watering, apple
clafoutis—
they settled into the comfortable lounge, and Jacques told them about the visit he and Marc had made to Versailles.

“We became acquainted with a most important person—the man who oversees the
Compagnie des Indes Orientales—
the French East India Company,” he explained. “He has been extremely helpful and now he took us to meet King Louis.”

“You were presented to the King? At court?” exclaimed Claudine. “You mean you went to Versailles? Is it as wonderful as they say?”

“Magnificent. The palace and grounds cover over nineteen hundred acres. The rooms are spectacular, especially the Hall of Mirrors. You can’t believe that room. It is well over two hundred feet long, with mirrors lining both walls. The reflections—they go on forever. The chandeliers alone must have cost a king‘s ransom. In fact, no amount of money has been spared anywhere in the palace.”

“Why were you there, Uncle?” inquired the practical Jean Guy.

“It has to do with the trading company. Because we’re assigned to India to help with the building of a French fortress, they invited us to attend a banquet of executives, mostly nobles and merchants. We took gifts to King Louis, of course. Furs we got on our trip to Canada—beaver skins and silver fox. His Majesty was entranced with them and treated us quite royally.” He laughed at his own pun.

“What was the food like? Did they feed you well?” inquired Claudine.

“But, of course, my dear.” Jacques turned to her still smiling. “In fact, the meal was ludicrous—much more than anyone could eat. And a good deal wasted, I’m afraid. Afterwards we danced. There’s a new one at court, which has everyone enchanted. Even the king tried it. They call it
the passé pied,
and since it came from Brittany, it’s quite lively. In the candlelight, and with the reflection of the dancers in that great hall—
zut,
it was a sight to behold.”

“Oh, I would love to dance at Versailles,” exclaimed Louise.

“Well, why not try it right here,
Cherie?
Show her how it’s done, Marc. Your mother knows the music. May Marie play it for you?” Jacques asked, turning to Pierre.

He hesitated a moment before replying. He wasn’t against dancing. King David danced, he reasoned. However, having been an elder in a Calvinist church, he wasn’t happy about emulating what went on in a Catholic court. Still he never could resist the
bonhomie
of his charming cousin and as a rule went along with whatever he asked.

“Of course,” he finally said.

Jacques’ exquisitely dressed and coiffed wife, Marie, settled herself at the
epinette
and began to play the spirited melody.

Pierre watched the couple as Marc made a leg, bowing in courtly style to his daughter. Eyes twinkling, the young man took her hand and proceeded to twirl her around the floor in a dance rather like a fast minuet. It took only a few seconds for Louise with her natural agility to work out the steps. They danced gracefully together, and the rest of the family appeared delighted by the energy and attractiveness of the good-looking couple.

As they danced, Marc managed to whisper something in Louise’s ear. She blushed, nodded, and smiled into his eyes. Pierre’s lips tightened with annoyance although he said nothing. When the music ended, Marc handed his cousin, flushed and laughing, back to her chair. With the exception of Pierre, they all clapped enthusiastically.

“Très bonne, mes enfants,”
exclaimed Jacques, before going on with his account of the court visit. “After the dancing, the ladies retired, and we merchants were ushered into a room with card tables where we were offered the best brandy and played Primero until morning.”

“Was the king still there?” Pierre asked.

“No, no. King Louis left after the dancing. He always has many documents to sign, and he goes to bed early, so they tell me. They’re saying he has married again.”

Jacques chuckled and continued. “It was officers from the company and some of the other merchants,” he continued. “We had much to discuss regarding how we can compete against the Dutch and the British in India. They are most successful. We believe France can be, as well. We already do well in the Caribbean. Now we want to break into the oriental markets. After our trip to England, Marc and I will travel to Pondicherry in the southeast of India. I’m to be in charge of some of the construction work there.”

“Does the King or these officers realize you aren’t Catholic?” Pierre again questioned. Something worried him about Jacques’ story—something that wasn’t right—he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He had noticed his cousin avoided looking at him.

“No, no. It is my belief that what they don’t know won’t hurt them. We have an excellent business relationship, which I don’t intend to spoil, at this moment. You know how King Louis feels about the Protestants. In fact, he is considering ways to get rid of them. No, none of them needs to know about this matter at all.”

Yes, there is definitely something wrong, Pierre thought. He’s been trying to keep up his usual
joie de vivre.
However, there’s a tension there. I must speak with him alone. Tonight.

Chapter 3

F
or the first time since their relative’s arrival, a lull occurred in the conversation. It was late, so Claudine stood as if to end the evening. She and Louise led Marie and the children upstairs for the night. Jean Guy, Marc, and Philippe excused themselves to go and look at the horses. The two men were left by themselves, with Jacques looking rather downcast.

“You seem so preoccupied tonight, Cousin,” Pierre said as they stood to leave the room. “The rumours are true then? Do you envision more trouble ahead for Protestants?”

“Regrettably, yes. I didn’t want to say anything in front of your family but the situation has deteriorated. Cousin Guillaume came down himself from Lusignon to inform me of the latest. The dragoons, Pierre…” His voice choked up. “I’m sorry to tell you this—they’ve killed his mother and father.”

Pierre went cold. “Oh, no, Jacques! Uncle Lucien—they’ve killed him! And Aunt Mathilde! Dear lord. How was it done?”

“They came in the evening—right after dinner—took them out and hanged them. On an oak tree, in front of the cottage. Guillaume watched some of it from the forest. He was on the way to visit them when he heard the soldiers coming, so he hid in the grove. He blames himself for not helping them, of course, but what could he do. There were at least a dozen of them. They burned the house—the animals—everything. What an unspeakable thing for him to witness.”

The cousins stood for a moment, tears running down their cheeks.

“A pastor! What harm did Lucien ever do to anyone?” Pierre’s voice trembled with emotion. “And dear, old Mathilde! Oh, the poor souls— they are martyrs no doubt. It’s too horrific even to think about. What could make King Louis order such a thing?”

“I don’t know what to think about the king anymore. Someone must be manipulating him. I can’t imagine he would think to do it on his own. Now they say by autumn he is certain to revoke the Edict. Right now, it’s ministers. If it goes through, they will surely kill any who don’t convert.”

“Fichu,
this is shocking. What should I do?”

“I can keep my ears open. If anything else momentous happens, I’ll ride back myself to keep you informed. I believe you must now warn both your family and the towns’ people of what may lay ahead, Pierre. It’s only fair to let them know.”

“Yes, you are right. I have prayed it wouldn’t come to this but what will be, will be.”

With that, Pierre soberly escorted his cousin upstairs, and they parted for the night.

Louise had not gone to bed after leaving her mother. She listened until the murmuring of voices and other sounds in the house stopped. Then she opened her door and as quietly as possible sped down the stairs. Just as he promised during their dance, Marc waited in the workshop for her. In his hand was one perfect red rose. He held it out to her. “Do you remember? Red roses are for true love, they tell me. This comes from my mother’s garden in La Rochelle. I brought it just for you.”

Without hesitation, she walked over to him, and taking the beautiful rose, smiled up at him. A cloud of curly black hair framed a face bronzed by the sun. His Persian blue eyes danced with merriment. How handsome he is, she marvelled to herself. But I’m so afraid Papa doesn’t approve of him.

Marc was tall for a Frenchman, nearly six feet, so the top of her head came under his chin. He put his arms around her and drew her close. Only once before had he kissed her as a lover. She had relived the moment a thousand times. It happened before he left on his merchant trip. Somehow, he managed to be alone with her in the courtyard garden. He plucked one of the red climbing roses, and carefully tucked it behind her ear. His marvellous eyes softened, as he looked deep into hers.

“I want to go on this journey very much,” he had said. “My only sorrow is I won’t see you for over two years. You will grow up in the meantime, and you are already so lovely. Will you wait for me to return? You won’t go getting betrothed, I hope.”

“Of course I’ll wait, Marc,” she whispered, overcome with emotion and sudden shyness. “I’ll think of you every day.”

He leaned over then and brushed her lips with his. It had been the most glorious moment of her life.

Now, her heart again beat wildly as he looked at her in the way she remembered. “Did you keep the promise you made two years ago?” he inquired. “Are you still mine?”

“There has only ever been you.” She lowered her gaze.

I think I have loved you all my life, Louise,” he murmured. “We must marry as soon as your father allows it.” His lips brushed her eyes, then her cheeks and came to rest gently on hers, first softly, then firmer as she re-sponded to him.

She could hardly breathe; in her whole life, she never experienced a feeling like this. Although she often dreamt about her first real kiss, it was far more intoxicating and all consuming than she had ever imagined. New sensations surged through her in a way she could not quite comprehend. Yet, she did not want him to stop.

When he finally pulled away from her, his face was serious, his voice husky. “I hoped to speak to Uncle to arrange our betrothal on this visit, my
Cherie.
Now I’m afraid it must wait a little longer. I’m told the trouble between the king and the Huguenots is finally exploding.”

“Oh, no. Do you really think it is?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s his mistress Marquise de Maintenon—perhaps they
are
married by now. No one is sure. She was a Huguenot who turned Catholic, and now she hates us to the core. They say she is the one who encouraged Louis to revoke the Edict of Nantes. He wasn’t particularly religious up ‘til now.”

“Then Papa was right. We might have to leave.”

“If the king retracts it, it means all freedom is gone. No Huguenot will be safe here in France unless he renounces his faith. I’m sure my Father spoke to Uncle Pierre about this tonight, so I don’t think now is the right time to break our news to the family. There’ll be too many other things to consider for awhile.”

“Papa did tell me not to worry about it. He must have some idea of what we should do. Well, I don’t mind keeping our secret to myself a little longer, Marc. I won’t be seventeen until November, so it’s fine if we wait a little. As long as you don’t stop loving me.”

“That,
Cherie,
is something that will never happen. Now you must get to bed. We’ll be leaving early in the morning. With all this uncertainty in France, my father will want to be back in La Rochelle. But I’ll return to speak to your father as soon as possible.”

Nodding, she hugged him once more, and then stealthily made her way back to the house.