The Silk Weaver's Daughter (36 page)

Mark looked at her as if to make sure she meant what she said. Then, bent his face to hers. This time their lips met and the pent-up longing for each other overwhelmed them both. When they pulled apart, they were breathless.

“Louise—girl, I love you so much.” He sounded ecstatic. “I can’t offer you a title or extreme wealth. Until I can get my money out of France, I’m little better than a middle-class merchant.”

“Do you think I’m concerned about those things? I told you the night of Paul’s ball that I don’t care for the
beau monde.
He strived so hard for wealth and prestige in the world, and in the end, where did it get him. No Mark. All I want is you—to wake beside you—every morning for the rest of my life, and to bring up our children together in our faith. It’s a good way of life.”

“Then it shall be. Now I know you will be mine, I have something I have longed to give you. I found it in China on my first trip, and I’ve kept it all these years. I hope you will wear it now.”

He pulled a small case from the pocket in his coat and opened it for her. It was a magnificent smooth, royal blue stone with tiny, white embedded fragments. She had never seen a gem of that shade. It was set in beaten gold and surrounded by diamonds.

“It’s exquisite. It’s so different—what is it?”

“It’s lapis lazuli—from Afghanistan. The story is that Marco Polo took it to China as a gift to Kublai Khan. I suppose it could be true. It’s unique enough to give to a goldsmith’s widow, I think.” His smile held just a tinge of sadness as he slipped it on her finger.

“It’s a wonderful ring.” She held her hand out to see the effect of the light. “I’ll love wearing it. Shall we tell the family right away?”

“Of course, my love. In fact, I already let your father know what I planned to do, and he was quite calm about it. He truly gave me his blessing. You know, Pierre is quite a different person than the one we grew up with in France. I think Paul helped him to see the amusing side of life. He is far more understanding than he used to be. But still, I had to make him a solemn promise that I will never again do anything that would hurt you in any way.”

She laughed merrily. “And I suppose he said that, after everything we’ve both been through, it must be that you are my destiny after all.”

“Yes,
Cherie,
he did say that.” He smiled down at her, drawing her once more into his arms. “But then, don’t you think, just this one time, he might be right?”

Epilogue:

Oxfordshire May 1696

P
ierre stood beside Claudine at the door of Alston Manor as their oldest daughter and her new husband drove down the lane away from the house. Their two grandchildren, along with young Andre and Marc’s son, Lee, chased after the coach, shrieking with laughter and excitement, trying to throw flower petals at the couple.

The children at length gave up the pursuit and returned to the house where the dancing was still in progress; however, Pierre and Claudine lingered awhile in the twilight, mulling over the events of the past decade. He had resigned himself to the fact that Marc and Louise belonged together.

“Well, Claudine.” He turned to his wife with a smile. “I’m sure this is a particularly joyful day for you. You always wanted Marc as a son-in-law, didn’t you? Even before those troubled days in France. Well, he has turned out to be a far better man than I ever dreamed he could be.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that Pierre. I’ve worried a little that you would not see the changes in him. Can you feel the least bit happy for Louise in her new life?”

“I’m not so pigheaded that I can’t admit when I’ve been wrong about someone. There’s no doubt that Louise loves Marc fervently. She looked radiant today. I expect she never stopped, in spite of what I tried to do about it.”

“Yes, she tells me that, as much as she adored Paul for his great kindness to all of us, she has always loved Marc with her whole heart and soul. I think a devotion like that will help them through life’s challenges, don’t you, Pierre.” She slipped her arm through his.

“I can’t deny Marc has good qualities. He was always a bright young man and no one could accuse him of cowardice. In fact, he seemed to crave adventure and danger. Probably that’s what put me off him in the first place. Well, I hope that he is finished with all that now he’s married. I don’t fancy my daughter chasing half way ‘round the world after her husband. Although, I expect if she decides to do it, we’ll go along with it.”

“And I’m not so sure that won’t happen. Louise is also inclined to be adventurous.” She laughed and throwing her arms around her husband’s neck bestowed a kiss on his lips. “So you and I had better get used to the fact that we might have another young family to raise.”

“I’m glad we have been blessed with two healthy and happy grandchildren; and now there’s Catherine’s child on the way; and Marc’s son as well. We’ve not done too badly in this strange country, would you say, my dear? Can you agree that life here in England has been good to you after all?”

“Yes, husband, I can,” she admitted. “Much better than I ever imagined on that day you told us, we’d have to leave France. That was one of the worst moments of my life. I think we have much to be thankful for, and especially to those two splendid men who did so much for us.”

“But of course—Jacques and Paul. How I miss them both. In some ways they were much alike, those men. Their wealth didn’t deter them from putting others’ welfare ahead of their own. I imagine that was what they were destined to do.”

“Oh, Pierre, will you never agree that we have freewill to determine what we make of our lives.”

“I have given it some thought. It seems rather haphazard to me. How do explain what has happened to us then?”

Claudine gazed up to the sky with a far-off look in her eyes. It was a few moments before she spoke. “I see the design of our lives rather like one of your tapestries. When you start the pattern, there are certain threads already in place—the warp. The weaver stretches them tight across the loom, parallel to each other. Once those warp threads are in place, they move up and down, but they never change, do they?”

“Well, it’s a lot more complicated than you make it sound, but I suppose basically that’s true.”

“You could liken them to the things in our lives that can’t be altered— the way our body is made; the colour of our hair and eyes; even our character to some extent. And most of us can’t change the world we are born into either. We ostensibly go up and down with its flow. For example, we couldn’t change what King Louis decided to do.”

“No, we couldn’t—most likely because it was his destiny. But go on.”

“On the other hand, the weft threads are wound on spools or bobbins, and the colours you pick, and the way your work them through the raising and lowering sequence of the warp, determines the weave structure or pattern you want.”

“Claudine, I know how to weave. What are you trying to say?”

“The weft threads are like the choices we make and the things that happen by chance—time and unforeseen occurrence. Those things can change the pattern of our lives. We could call it ‘destiny’s weave.” All these things working together make up our final life’s pattern, our destiny.”

“Hmm. It’s an interesting comparison. To some extent, it appears you are right. However, I’ve remembered a proverb by an old French poet. It goes like this: ‘one meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it.’”

“And what does that prove?” she asked.

“Do you not see? I went to all that trouble to get Louise away from Marc and,
voila!
Now they are married. So don’t you think there are events that, no matter what you do to try and change them, they will turn out the way they are meant to be?”

He smiled playfully at his wife knowing what her reaction would be.

“Pierre, you can be such a stubborn man…”

“Well, who really knows,” he cut in with a laugh, as the sound of dance music wafted out from the ballroom. “Perhaps Jacques and Paul were right. Perhaps I am. In any case, my dear, we have the rest of our lives to argue about it. For now, I suggest we go in and see how our guests are faring. Me—I think it is destined to be a very long night.”

Author’s Notes

M
uch of the information for life in the city of London in the last half of the 17
^th
century comes from a book entitled “Restoration London” by Liza Picard and published by Phoenix, an imprint of Orion Books Ltd. published in 1997.

The information on the British East India Company and the incident in Canton comes from a book entitled “The Honourable Company” by John Keay and published by HarperCollins Publishers in 1991.

“A Chaste Maid in Cheapside” is an actual comedy written in 1613 by English Renaissance playwright, Thomas Middleton. It is considered among the best and most characteristic Jacobean comedies.

My ancestor, Pierre Gastineau was a Huguenot who made the decision to flee to London from the Poitou-Charentes region of France in the late 17
^th
century. He was a silk weaver, whose family apparently did quite well in Spitalfields. I discovered his son’s last Will and Testament, in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, which is a reliable indicator of a person being well off at the time. His grandson married into a prominent, upper-middle-class family.

Some of the characters in my story, such as the brothers, Sir John and Sir James Houblon; the banker, Sir Richard Hoare; and the doctor, Hugh Chamberlen, are actual historical figures who were all of Huguenot descent. Dr. Chamberlen’s family is credited with inventing the forceps as far back as the late 1500s, but for some reason used the instrument in secret until the end of the 17
^th
century. However, I have taken the liberty of also crediting Dr. Chamberlen with the knowledge that boiling water was useful in the birth of babies. Sadly, that wasn’t realized until a much later time.

Of course, King Louis XIV, Queen Mary, King William of Orange, Sir William Bentinck, and Elizabeth Villiers are all well-known historical figures. The opinions expressed about these characters can be backed up by history.

However, all the Garneau family members along with Paul Thibault, and most of the characters in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. While many of the things in this novel did happen to some Huguenots, the story is a figment of my imagination. The premise came to me when I happened to ‘meet’ on-line a descendent of my ancestor’s brother living in France, who was also researching his ancestry. His family decided to risk staying in the country they loved, but remained secret Huguenots—a very brave and dangerous thing to do. He was able to give me several generations of the Gastineau family going back as far as the 16
^th
century. With that in mind, I began a series of “what ifs” and came up with the idea of Pierre Garneau and his cousin, Jacques, and the heart breaking choices they each had to make.

Above all, dear reader, please understand that writers of historical fiction are allowed to use a certain amount of verisimilitude, which means the ‘appearance of truth,’ and forgive me if you feel I have done an injustice to history, in any way.

Author Biography

E
lizabeth Kales began her career by writing television and radio advertising for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Later, she worked in the travel industry for many years and had numerous travel articles published in newspapers and trade journals. Five years ago, at age seventy, and after spending time in France and England, she began to research and write her novel based loosely on the Family History she has done for over twenty years.

She currently lives in Western Canada with her husband and their cat.