The Silk Weaver's Daughter (28 page)

“So be it,” he concurred. He then turned to Sir John. “Do you confirm you found the material in that location, Sir John?”

“I do, mi lord. And, as city sheriff, I would like to state that all charges should be dropped from Paul Thibault, that he be released immediately and that Walter Roberts be arrested and held for the crimes of breaking and entering, as well as receiving stolen goods and coining. He will have to stand trial for these charges.”

Louise had been watching the entire proceedings, with her heart in her mouth. Her whole body trembled even though her parents each had an arm around her. She realized this was Paul’s only chance for vindication. Now, as Sir John finished speaking and pandemonium broke out in the courthouse, time seemed to stand still. She could hardly breathe waiting for the judge’s response.

Finally, he once more pounded the gavel. “Order—order in the court,” he yelled above the din. “Let the prisoner, Paul Thibault be released and hold this man under arrest. Court dismissed.”

The minute Paul was free, he wanted to go to the shop to ensure everything there was satisfactory. Louise, Pierre, and Claudine went along with him. Both Claude and Henri were on hand and were ecstatic to see him and learn of his acquittal. Paul walked all through the building, inspecting the latest creations the boys were making; examining everything in the glass showcase; and finally checking the contents of the large iron vault in his office. Then he looked up at the small window.

“We must get the lock fixed right away,” he stated. “If it weren’t for my procrastination, this thing would never have happened.”

“We had the locksmith in here first thing this morning, Master,” Henri replied. “It’s got a good, sturdy latch now. However, I worry that the man who hates you so much is still out there. You will have to watch out for him. What he’s done shows he will stop at nothing to harm you. I certainly wish we knew who he is.”

“I’m pretty sure I know who he is,” Paul replied wearily. “But I’m damned if I know why, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it. Walter Roberts insists he didn‘t see his face. Well, the little rat will go to trial now himself and, if he does know, perhaps it will come out then. I’m simply glad this terrible nightmare is over. And you boys did a fine job of taking care of things.” He patted each of them on the shoulder. “You’re good lads—both of you.”

“Right then, my dear,” he turned to his wife, “let’s go home. I’m anxious to see the children, and then I could certainly use a shot of brandy.” Looking over at Pierre with a smile, he added, “And I’ll wager your father could too.”

PART VI

Destiny’s Weave

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves…”
William Shakespeare

Chapter 37

London, September 1690

M
idsummer’s Day had long passed, but because of the accusation against him, Paul lost his bid for the position of City Sheriff. Sir John assured him, however, the affair would not affect any future consideration for a high position.

Wally the Weasel was dead. His trial had been swift and so had his justice. Paul, Pierre, and Marc drove over to Tyburn Hill to see him swinging on the gallows. Not one of them could find it in their heart to feel sorry for the ‘little rat’ as they called him.

“At last he got his just desserts,” Paul commented. “It’s been coming a long time. We always recognized he was on the wrong side of the law, but we couldn‘t prove it.”

“Yes,” Pierre said “Although it’s too bad he couldn’t say who hired him. He went to his grave insisting he never saw the man’s face. It’s possible I suppose, but I’m disappointed we never got that important information.”

There were some good times for the family that summer. The wedding of Catherine to her wig-maker, Edward Renault, took place in August. As Paul had promised Pierre, the Thibaults held the reception at their beautiful Soho mansion. Since both families were well known in the Huguenot community, there were many guests to invite, and everyone agreed it was an outstanding event.

Catherine, although not an outstanding beauty like Louise, looked extremely pretty in her white silk dress. She had the same black hair and blue eyes as Pierre; and father and daughter made a striking picture as they walked down the aisle of the church together. For now, the young couple lived with Pierre and Claudine in the house on Fornier Street. They occupied most of the third floor, where Jean Guy and Claude’s old bedroom had been turned into a private sitting room for them.

Claude and Henry had restored Paul’s former apartment above the goldsmith shop, and both the boys lived there for now. Paul paid for most of their meals at a nearby inn. Since the break-in, Claude felt it was safer for the shop if they were on hand. Jean Guy also had a bed there whenever he was back in town.

The long, hot summer that brought the family both trouble and joy was almost over, but the atmosphere in the city was still uncomfortable. With the extreme heat, the smells had become abominable; and. Louise noticed that, ever since the trial, Paul had shown an aversion to life in London.

“I’m thinking it’s time we purchased a second home—out in the country. I’m tired of spending these sweltering summer days in London,” Paul said to his wife, one evening in early September.

Peter was already one year old. He was walking now, getting into mischief faster than his nanny could keep up with him. His father, who had undoubtedly aged in the last six months, and even now looked rather wilted, had just come downstairs from his nightly, bedtime romp with his son. He found his wife playing on the spinet in the withdrawing room. As he uttered the words, he came and stood behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Are you serious, Paul?” She stopped playing and turned around to look at him in astonishment. “Why only the extremely wealthy have country homes, don’t they?”

“Your cousin is building an expensive new house in Hampstead—that’s country, and we aren’t poor, my dear.”

Louise wasn’t aware of her husband’s actual financial state. She kept the books for the goldsmith shop and Paul gave her a handsome sum each month to look after the household accounts. She knew he was prosperous, but of his total worth, she had no idea.

“But the Hampstead house is all Marc has. He rents the rooms in the city when he’s working at the East India office. I think he’s quite comfortable, but not tremendously rich; although I suppose he would be if he could get his money out of France. It’s only that he hasn’t figured out how…”

“Yes, yes. I realize all that. But the point is, we really
are
as you say, tremendously rich.”

“We are?” She gave a slight gasp.

“Yes, we are, Louise. As rich as much of the nobility, but we can’t be considered gentry until we have a country estate as well as a town house. Both the Houblon brothers have them, and so does Richard Hoare. If one wishes to get anywhere in society, people must be able to see that you don‘t really have to work for a living. That’s how the social order works in this country.”

Paul walked over to the butler tray on a sideboard and picked up a bottle of brandy. He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head. She still hadn’t acquired a taste for the distilled wine, and thought of it more like medicine. He poured himself a drink; then took one of the comfortable chairs facing the small spinet bench where she still sat.

“The false arrest and the trial were a bit of a set-back, but I think it will all blow over soon. King William’s advisor, Sir William Bentinck, told John Houblon that His Majesty feels quite badly about it. He mentioned that the king might want to do something for me, when he’s back from the war in Europe. Consequently, that’s my new goal—to rise into the upper classes; perhaps even a knighthood for Peter someday. Sometimes you can buy one, you know.”

She thought he must be joking, but he looked and sounded quite serious. “Why, Paul, that doesn’t seem a bit like you. You never cared about social standing before. It’s not the Huguenot way, is it?”

“Why not? There are quite a few Huguenots high up in the social order. Sir John, and now his brother—and Sir Richard Hoare. Their families came from France originally, and they all started out as goldsmiths. And then there’s the Lanier family—they were all prominent musicians at court.”

He took a sip of his brandy.

“I’m sure there are many others as well, but, to be honest, I’m not so much thinking of me as I am of Peter. I’d like him to have a university education and be known as a gentleman—not just a tradesman. And someday we’ll be looking for a suitable husband for Alice. We would want someone with some social standing.”

“Did you get these ideas from the goldsmith play we saw last year? You know I have never been concerned about things like that. I‘d rather Alice marry for love than status.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s been in my mind ever since Peter was born. For myself, I never much thought of it before either. Now I’m thinking of my son. It does make a difference to how society in London accepts you. Don’t forget, my darling, you didn’t marry me for love, and look how well that turned out.”

The twinkle was back in his eyes, and she realized now he was teasing her. “Yes, but after I married you, I discovered how loveable you are. Now you’re telling me that you are extremely affluent too. My, my. What a fortunate woman I am.”

“Seriously, Louise, I know we have never discussed this, but we do have a great deal of money. As I say, much more than many of the aristocracy. When I was young, both my father and grandfather left me good inheritances, and I never squandered any of their money. In fact, I invested it rather well. Then I had the opportunity to become quite prosperous in the banking business, myself.”

As he spoke, she looked more and more concerned.

“Don’t worry, it was all done honestly, sweetheart,” he quickly added at her look. “Of course, I still would like to make the odd piece of jewellery,” he continued, “As a hobby, you know. I do enjoy it; but if I never sold another item, it wouldn’t matter to us financially. A country estate makes a lot of sense. It would be a good investment for Peter. He will inherit everything I have, so he should learn how to live like a gentleman. As I say, it‘s more for him and our grandchildren. It takes a generation or two to be accepted by those people, in any case.”

He stopped speaking for a moment as a spasm of coughing hit him. He’d had spells like that all summer, ever since his sojourn in Newgate. It worried Louise, but she had not spoken of it to him.

“That’s another thing—I can’t seem to get rid of this cough. I’m thinking that living in the country—away from the city’s bad air, even for part of the year, might be better for me.”

“I see.” She nodded her head slowly, still somewhat stunned by this revelation about their finances. “Do you have somewhere in mind then. I don’t know much about England outside of London, and our trip through the west counties. But I was so sick most of the time, I didn’t notice the countryside.”

“There is a house I’d like to see. It’s being advertised for sale in the
‘Gazette’.
It’s less than a day’s drive from the city. I’d like to go there next week—just the two of us. Of course, Oliver will drive, and we’ll take one of the footmen for safety along the route. The weather should be a little cooler by then.”

“But what about the children?”

“They have Nanny, but I spoke to your father; and he and Claudine would be happy to come over here to stay a few days. Andre and Jeanette will come with them, so the little ones will enjoy being together. And we know Claude and Henri do very well looking after the shop. They’d have to do without me if I retire anyway.”

“Then you really are thinking of living like a gentleman. I always thought you loved your work.” She paused then, as a horrible thought struck her. “Paul—you would tell me if something was really wrong, wouldn’t you? Did Doctor Rene say something?”

He walked over and sat down beside her on the bench, pulling her close. “No, no. Of course not. I’m fine, Louise. However, I do feel tired a lot and, since being in Newgate, I have this cough. I’m forty-three years old—I have two young children, a beautiful wife and more money than all of us will ever need. What I want now is to enjoy everything, before it is too late.”

“You’ve got years ahead of you, darling.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure the cough will go. You’re right though—the country would help. Will we sell this house then?”

“No, we would keep both the house and the goldsmith shop. I‘ll still have the banking for the next few years, but that will end when the Bank of England opens.”

He covered his mouth and stifled a yawn before continuing. “Of course, there’s still the chance I’ll be named a director. But I
am
tired and living in the country even half of the year would help. We could have marvellous times together, sweetheart. We‘ll keep horses and ride and go hunting. Didn’t you used to do all that in France?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t for sport. It was so the villagers had enough meat for the winter. As the mayor, Papa always felt responsible for his people. But if you’re going to be able to spend more time with me—that will make me happy. So let’s go and see the estate you have in mind. It’s only that this is all such a new idea for me. I do find it rather overwhelming.”