The Silk Weaver's Daughter (34 page)

He stood and put his arms around her, kissing her firmly on her lips. “Thank you,
mon coeur.
I will ponder your words. You are certainly correct about one thing. We must remember our grandchildren. And we must make sure this estate succeeds. For Louise and Alice—but especially for Peter—we must protect his heritage.”

He stepped back and reached for his cloak hanging on a hook. “I should go and speak to the farmhands to see how the livestock are managing. I haven’t checked for a few days now. Spring will soon be here and the new babies are due.”

Louise slipped out the back door before her father could see her standing in the shadows. Tears streamed down her face as she hurried to the house. She would never want him to know she had seen his moment of weakness. But what she witnessed gave her new admiration for her mother. Claudine’s fearlessness in speaking out to her husband reminded her of some of the stories she had read about courageous women in the Bible. She thought of Sarah, who at a time when women were mostly subservient, had bravely told her husband to send Ishmael away for persecuting her own son. Instead of rebuking Sarah, God had told Abraham, “Listen to the voice of your wife, Abraham.”

I hope Papa remembers those words, she mused.

She thought back to the events of the past ten years. Unheralded by the family, this small, quiet woman had shown remarkable resilience through it all. She had left behind much she held dear without a murmur of discontent. Not once did she think to renounce her faith to save her life, nor argue against making a long and dangerous journey to be free to practice it.

When her unmarried daughter became pregnant, Claudine had taken the situation in hand, and guided the entire family through it. She had worked tirelessly at the Spittlefields Chapel to help the new refugees from France. She made the best of life in London, even though secretly hating the city. And during all their tribulation, she had never once turned her back on the God of her ancestors.

At that moment, Louise made the determination: no matter what lay ahead for her own little family, she would try to emulate her mother—a strong, unselfish, and devoted woman. My mother is exactly what a Christian ought to be, she thought.

Chapter 44

London, January 1696

T
he first day of 1696 dawned a cold and drab day in London. Feeling rather depressed, Louise made pretence of eating a late lunch in the morning room. Although the governmental ban on Christmas established by Oliver Cromwell was no longer in effect, as strong Protestant dissenters, the Huguenots took no part in the pagan customs that had crept into the celebration. Nevertheless, Alice and Peter were spending the winter school break with their grandparents at Alston Manor leaving Louise alone in the Soho house with only the servants.

No matter the season, the children loved their time on the farm. This year—with the cold and the snow—there would be ice-skating on the frozen millpond as well as delightful rides on horse drawn sleds. Louise pictured them; dashing over the silent, silvery meadows and through the hoary, pine-scented forests, tucked snugly under fur covers.

It cheered her immensely to know they would experience a far more enjoyable vacation than the same period last year, when the inevitability of Paul’s death blanketed everything. She desired that her children put all sad thoughts behind them and get on with the joy of living. However, she sensed a feeling of solitude in the house without them, which added to her dejection over her loss.

On Twelfth Night, her parents were hosting a gala dinner at the farm, their first social gathering since Paul’s death. She would travel out to the farm to attend but, in truth, she felt little like celebrating anything. It was nearly a year since his death, and it surprised her how much, even now, she missed him; his keen intelligence; his charming tenderness with her; his warm, easy laughter. There was no doubt that he had been a wonderful companion. Their life together was completely different from what she had expected, at the time of their marriage.

So far, Paul’s vast fortune was intact. The country estate under Pierre’s stewardship thrived and paid for itself. He had not taken any money from the trust fund to run it. The goldsmith shop also prospered. The boys had all opted to stay realizing how fortunate they were to be part owners of such a successful shop. She lacked for nothing, but she missed the devoted and kind man very much. Although it was not the all-consuming, passion she felt for Marc, there was no doubt she had loved Paul at some deep level.

How fortunate I was to have known such a man, she thought, and to have had those amazing years with him. He taught me so much about life and always made me feel so cherished.

She looked at her reflection; sad eyes with dark circles under them stared back at her. She had recently turned twenty-seven, but she looked older now. What had Marc said to her the last time they were together?

She remembered his exact words. “You are too young and beautiful to be living like a nun,” he had said. She laughed bitterly. I’m sure he wouldn’t feel that way now, she thought.

She remembered what Claude had told her before he left on his last trip; that Marc planned to marry the beautiful Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald as soon as he arrived home. Prior to going to China with Jean Guy, he had come to the house to say ‘goodbye’ to Paul. However, it was on a day when she was at the shop. She was convinced it was deliberate on his part. He was well aware of her schedule.

The doorbell jangled breaking into her thoughts and, a few moments later, the butler came in to announce her father had just arrived. “Shall I seat him in the drawing room, Madame?” he asked.

“Bring him in here, Herbert. He won’t mind being informal.”

“Shall I bring fresh coffee?

“Yes, that will be nice. And some of those warm pasties we had for breakfast, as well. If he’s come from the manor, he probably hasn’t eaten since very early.” Inwardly she worried that something might be wrong with the children. Her father almost never came to the city without a good reason.

“Bonjour,
Papa,” As he entered the room she stood and gave him a hug. “You must have left terribly early. Are the children well? Why are you in the city when the party is this weekend? Don’t you have to help Maman?”

“Everyone’s fine. The children are enjoying themselves immensely. Catherine and Edward are already helping your mother, and along with the servants, they have everything under control. However, there’s something rather urgent that I must speak to you about. You won’t know yet, but Jean Guy and Marc are home from the Orient. They arrived a few days ago. Jean Guy is at the farm now, and we’ve invited Marc to the dinner on Saturday. I felt I should warn you.”

“Oh, that’s exciting.” Her heart skipped a beat. She hoped her father would not see that she was somewhat shaken by the news. “Are they both well? It’s been a long journey for them. Did Jean Guy say whether or not he liked China?”

“Jean Guy loved everything about it. I feel definitely, that it’s his destiny. I must ask you something, though, Louise. Please don’t be angry with me. Do you still think about Marc? I mean other than as a family member?”

“Why, I don’t know, Papa,” she replied, rather stunned. “He helped us so much in clearing Paul’s name over the coining. And he saved me from whatever Martin Mercier had planned. I’m sure I owe him my life. But all the time Paul was alive, I never thought about Marc as anything but my dear cousin.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but it would be difficult to explain to her father what she had discovered about herself the night Paul was shot. She continued, “I mean—things are different now with my situation. However, I don’t know what his thoughts about me are now. There was all that talk about him and Lady Elizabeth before he left.”

“Well, Jean Guy gives me to understand that Marc still cares a great deal for you. It’s not quite that simple, though. There’s another problem. And I don‘t want you hurt by him any more than you have been.”

“Another problem? Why? Are he and Lady Elizabeth already married then?”

“No, no, not that. But he has brought a little boy home with him. He’s part Chinese or some type of Oriental and Jean Guy tells me, he’s Marc’s son.”

“Marc has a son! My goodness, Papa!” They’d been standing until now but, at his words, she dropped into a chair. Pierre also took a seat just as a maid appeared with a cup of coffee and some warm biscuits. He helped himself and began to eat.

“Does he have a wife then—in China?” she finally asked.

“Jean Guy says not—at least, not a legal wife. Apparently, on his first trip there, his friend, Li Jang, took him up the mountain to where the tea grows; and he had a—a—liaison—I guess you would call it—with an oriental girl.”

Pierre looked so uncomfortable telling her this; she had to suppress a smile, even though the news shocked her.

“I see,” was all she could say aloud.

“It appears that the boy’s mother died, and Li Jang brought him down to his home to look after him. He would have seen to the boy’s education, so I don’t know why they didn’t just leave him there in his own culture. However, Jean Guy says the women in the household were not kind to the boy—knowing his background, I guess—and Marc decided not to leave him.”

“Well, Marc has already given up one child. I can see why he would want this one—his own flesh and blood.”

“I suppose so, but I don’t know what will happen to him here in England. People don’t take kindly to these sorts of mixed children. Anyhow, Louise, it’s not something in which you should get involved. There’s been enough controversy in your life. That’s what I wanted to tell you. When you’re ready, you’d best look for a husband elsewhere. It wouldn’t do the goldsmith shop any good if society finds a reason to look down on you.”

“Papa,” she said, feeling quite angry with her father. “We can’t think like that—it’s not Christian. First, we aren’t even sure Marc is interested in me anymore. But the poor little boy. We must consider him. Never knowing his own mother; and being ill-treated by those women; and then having to make that terrible sea voyage with a father he doesn’t really know; and to come to a place where everyone and everything is so different.”

She stood again and walked to the window, looking out at the dreary weather. Turning back to him, she continued, “It’s so sad. Let’s not make Marc’s life any more difficult than it is. Let’s welcome him, with open arms. I think he has more than made amends to our family for any harm he ever did to us.”

“If that’s the way you feel.” His tone sounded slightly chagrined. “But I thought I would warn you what to expect when you see him. Now at least you know.”

Her tone softened. “I understand, dear Papa. You always want to take care of me and I thank you for that. Well, we’ll see how it goes when we meet. Don’t you and Maman worry about me. I’m all grown up now, you know.” She laughed, and, walking over to him, bent down and kissed him on both cheeks, not wanting to offend him.

“But you know how the French feel about their children? You’ll under-stand when Peter and Alice are adults. Well then, I’ll bid you
adieu,
daughter. We’ll see you tomorrow then. You’re coming a day ahead?”

“Yes, I’ll leave early in the morning. I’ll be there before dinner.”

He stood up to go; however as she followed him to the front door, she remembered his lengthy trip home. “But what about you? You should have a proper meal. It’s a long trip home. Don’t you want to stay here tonight?”

“No, no. I have to meet our solicitor in The City. I’ll eat dinner with him and then I must return to the estate this evening. Don’t worry. I can sleep in the coach. So, I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Taking a long look at her, he added, “The party will be good for you, dear.” Then, giving her a hug, he swept on his large feathered hat and went out the door.

After watching her father’s departure, she ran up the stairs to her room. Strangely, she now felt full of energy, and the party began to be important to her. Her heart pounded like a drum, and she could hardly get her breath. “Oh, Marc,” she whispered. “Why do you always affect me like this—even after all these years?”

Hannah was busy elsewhere, so she went into her wardrobe and took off the black dress, which didn’t complement her delicate colouring. She took out some of the new frocks her father had ordered made for her. Her year of mourning would soon be over, and she could soon wear colours again. She certainly had no plan to wear black forever as some widows did. Finally, she settled on a stylish, deep plum coloured silk that gave a superb effect with her green eyes and translucent skin.

It’s dark enough to be suitable for a widow of almost a year, she reflected.

She twisted the little curls over her ears the way Hannah did her hair; and applied some powder to her cheeks, and then pinched them until they were rosy. Her eyes sparkled and the frown on her face relaxed. Already she looked years younger.

Yes, she thought, there’s no doubt I still have strong feelings for Marc. But be careful, Louise. He may care nothing at all for you except as a dear cousin, and you don‘t need another broken heart.

The Alston Manor house glittered with a festive atmosphere. It was the family’s first social gathering since Paul’s death and Claudine, along with Catherine and the household servants had worked wonders with the decorations and the menu. In the large entrance hall, a hired flutist played Baroque music.

Claudine permitted the children to stay to see the guests arrive; then they would go upstairs for their own small party. Young Andre had taken Alice and Peter in tow and acted every bit the gracious host, although it was actually Peter’s house. Fourteen-year-old Jeanette, looking astonishingly like a young version of Louise, was allowed to stay with the grownups for the first time. She confided to her sister how delighted she was, as she secretly held romantic feelings for Lucien Robard, the handsome, young goldsmith.