Twilight of a Queen (38 page)

When he had clambered over the fence into this garden, curiosity and suspicion had overwhelmed her. Her guards had been startled by her command to halt. When she had insisted upon dismounting, they cast an uneasy look around and she knew they would have dissuaded her if they had dared.

Commanding them to await her in a nearby alley, she had drawn near the secluded garden and peered cautiously between the bars of the fence.

Now she almost regretted the decision. When she had set out riding from the Hôtel de la Reine, she had felt giddy, almost young again.

But as she had watched the two lovers through the webbing of her veil, her gloved fingers gripped the iron rails of the fence.
Lovers
. Despite the tension between the pair, Catherine had no doubt that was what they were. This Jane person could not disguise her looks of longing, nor could Xavier suppress a certain tenderness in his voice. Although Catherine could not imagine what attraction this prim, pale Englishwoman could possess for him.

Against her will, the years crept over Catherine again. Remembrance flooded back in a cruel rush of those long ago days when she would lie upon the floor of her bedchamber. Her eye pressed to the hole she had bored, she peered into the apartment below watching her husband make love to his mistress, the elegant Diane.

Mon Dieu, Henry, Catherine had longed to cry out in her agony. Diane de Poitiers was nearly old enough to be
his mother. How could Henry prefer this woman to his young adoring wife? Watching them together had proved a most exquisite torment to Catherine and yet she had been unable to help herself.

She had lowered herself by such behavior, just as she was doing now, spying upon Xavier. And this time not for a king, the husband she had so blindly adored, but for a trickster, a miserable scum of a corsair.

She sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, wondering why Xavier’s treachery should pain her so. She had never fully trusted the man. But she was dismayed to realize that she had wanted to. It would have been a comfort for once to have one ally she could reply upon.

She could not decide which was worse, overhearing him refer to her as a sick old woman or that other betrayal that ran far deeper than she could have imagined.

He had spoken of Ariane as his sister. Brother to Catherine’s great enemy, the Lady of Faire Isle. How was that even possible? Evangeline and her beloved chevalier had never had any son.

As yet as she observed Xavier raise his lady’s hand to his lips in a courtly gesture, the memory that had long eluded Catherine crystallized in her mind.

Beneath Xavier’s rough-hewn appearance, she discerned at last what had long nagged at her: the corsair’s uncanny resemblance to the Chevalier Louis Cheney.

And if Xavier was the chevalier’s by-blow, his mother could only have been Marguerite de Maitland. One of Catherine’s own women, a member of her Flying Squadron, familiar with Catherine’s inflexible rule. None of her courtesans were permitted to bear a child, to mar their usefulness
to her with the encumbrance of a babe. Yet somehow Marguerite had managed to do so and concealed Xavier’s existence, taking her secret to the grave.

Not only had Catherine allowed the bastard son to make a fool of her, but she had permitted herself to be deceived by the half-mad mother as well. At a time when Catherine had prided herself on being at the height of her powers.

Catherine’s hands trembled, but she checked her rage. At least Xavier had done her one good. That elixir, wherever he had acquired it from, had given her more command over her emotions.

Her anger coursed through her in its familiar form, a river of ice through her veins. She would have her vengeance, but nothing so crude as a knife to Xavier’s heart or a rope knotted round his neck. She would bide her time until she found a way to humiliate him as he had done her, crush him so completely he would consider death a blessing.

D
ARK CLOUDS ROILED ACROSS THE SKY, THREATENING TO
unleash a barrage of rain at any moment. But Jane found it an improvement over the previous day of heat and unrelenting sunshine.

The gray skies seemed better suited to her own mood and that of her companion at the kitchen table. She had succeeded in coaxing Abigail to dress and join her below-stairs, although Jane was now sorry that she had.

As they broke their fast together, Abigail did nothing but lament the loss of her fine plates and being obliged to eat from a wooden trencher.

“And the bread is stale,” she grumbled. “There is no butter and I so long for some fresh grapes.”

“There were none to be had, madame,” Violette said from her fireplace corner where she was busy darning hose. “The crops have all been very bad again this year.”

“You might have found some if you had looked harder.”

“I am sure Violette did the best she could. You can survive without grapes,” Jane said, her tone more acid than she intended.

Abigail nibbled at her bread and frowned at Jane. “You certainly have been in an ill humor these past few days. I have no idea why. I am the one who aches so that I am fortunate to snatch more than three or four hours sleep a night.”

That was four more than she had had, Jane thought. But she suppressed the retort. When Abby was in one of her peevish moods, she had no interest in anyone’s misery but her own. If Jane had complained of sleeplessness, she might have to explain the reason for it and she had no wish to do so.

She believed she had begun to reach some sort of center of calm, of resignation, when Xavier had erupted back into her life two days ago and completely overset her again.

Why he had done so, she was still uncertain. She supposed that his unique code of honor had demanded that he make certain she was not carrying his child.

Jane had been relieved to discover that he was no longer a fugitive, but the mere sight of him had reopened all her longings, all the heartache she had sought to suppress.

Since she could not deter him from his course with regard to the Dark Queen, Jane would as soon not know
what he was up to. She was no longer troubled by any wistful dreams or alarming nightmares. That was because she could scarce sleep at all for tossing and turning, worrying about Xavier.

It was far more than the man deserved, she had fumed as she punched her pillow, wishing she could have pummeled some sense into him. He had managed to get the price lifted from his head, so why must he risk his life by continuing to dupe the queen with his feigned magic?

Did acquiring another ship really mean that much to him? Apparently it did, far more than she had ever meant to him, Jane reflected bitterly. Otherwise he might see how afraid she was and pay more heed to her advice.

“Jane!”

Her cousin’s voice cut into Jane’s unhappy musings. She straightened in her chair and focused her attention back on Abigail.

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Abigail demanded.

“Yes, you said you do not like—” Jane racked her mind for something that Abigail had yet to complain about. “The weather?”

“As it so happens, I do hate all this rain. It does nothing but storm in Paris.”

“This is the first day the sun has not shone since I arrived,” Jane attempted to point out, but Abigail had already continued on.

“What I said was how much I have come to loathe Paris. But I have had a letter from the Margates. At least some of my old friends have not forgotten me. They have
asked me to come and stay with them in Calais. I am sure I could get them to invite you as well.”

“How good of you,” Jane murmured, but her dry tone was completely lost on Abigail.

“It would be perfect if we could but find a way to get there. Calais would be a convenient place to embark for England if the invasion succeeds.”

Jane stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“The invasion of the armada. Do you hear nothing of what goes on in the world on that witch island? If the rumors are true and the Spanish succeed in overthrowing Elizabeth …”

Abigail faltered before Jane’s icy stare. Apparently even her cousin was not so obtuse that she failed to notice the tension that had come over Jane.

“You would rejoice, would you not, Jane? You do want to go home.”

“I have no desire to see—” Jane began sharply, only to break off. Realizing that her cousin was staring at her, Jane amended, “That is, I see no sense in making plans for something that may never happen.”

“But—”

Jane stood up abruptly. If Abigail went on rejoicing at the prospect of England falling prey to the Spanish, Jane knew she would become angry and they would quarrel. And when quarreling with Abby over matters of politics or religion, one might as well shout at the kitchen cat.

“I believe I shall go out for a while, tend to the marketing. We have need of more bread and perhaps I shall find you some grapes.”

“Dear God, Jane, have you forgotten you are a lady? To go wandering about the stalls bartering for food like a common maidservant—that is Violette’s task.”

“Violette is already doing the work of ten servants and that footman of yours is of little use.”

“Scrubbing floors and washing linen is beneath a footman. It is Gerard’s task to—to run errands and to fetch things.”

“And to look fine in his livery,” Jane said. “The man is a lazy lout, Abby I suspect you hired him mostly because he has strong calves and fills out his trunk hose so well.”

Abigail’s cheeks reddened. “That may have been a consideration. A footman should reflect credit upon one’s household.”

Jane smiled wryly and went to fetch the market basket.

“It is going to rain. You’ll get soaked and catch your death,” Abigail called.

“I am not as delicate as you, Abby. I shall make haste and return before the storm breaks.”

“But what if I need you for something? My head—”

“You will be fine. I will be back directly.” Jane snatched up the basket and darted out the kitchen door before Abigail could raise any further objections.

She only slowed her steps when she reached the gate, half-fearing to be pounced on by more of the Bentons’ creditors. But perhaps the tradesmen had finally given up. The past two mornings Jane had been left in peace.

Mindful of the sky threatening overhead, Jane set off at a brisk pace. As she wended her way through the streets, Jane could not help recollecting how much her poor brother had adored Paris.

Ned had waxed almost lyrical over the city’s exuberance, gaiety and excitement. Glancing about her, Jane saw little sign of that Paris. The city struck her as being as sullen and dismal as the clouds gathering overhead.

The constant civil war, too many seasons of bad crops, and blighted livestock had taken their toll. There appeared to be far more beggars thronging the streets than there were housewives and servants patronizing the open stalls.

The wares offered by the greengrocer, the baker, the wine merchant, and the butcher were scant and overpriced. Jane paused by the poulterer’s, wondering if she could afford one of the scrawny hens on display.

The woman in charge of the stall was a hard-faced creature. When she quoted her price, Jane flinched. The woman watched unsmiling as Jane dug through her purse and pored over her meager amount of coin.

She had learned many valuable things about managing a large household when she had become the wife of Sir William Danvers, but bartering in the marketplace was not one of them.

“That—that seems terribly expensive,” she said.

“I cannot give my birds away, madame,” the woman huffed. “Do you want the hen or don’t you?”

“No, I—I am sorry, I—?”

“Yes, she does,” a voice cut in.

Jane whirled about, startled to find Xavier standing behind her. Small wonder he was able to convince the queen he was a necromancer. The man possessed the uncanny ability to spring out of nowhere.

Too confounded to say anything, Jane watched agog as Xavier swept past her. In a few moments, not only had he
persuaded the vendor to cut her price in half, but he had charmed a smile out of the woman.

Only when Xavier prepared to hand over his own coin, did Jane snap to her senses.

“No,” she said. “I can’t allow—that is, I don’t want the hen.”

Cheeks firing with embarrassment, she turned and walked rapidly away. She did not get very far when Xavier overtook her. Seizing hold of her basket, he plunked the hen inside.

“Stop,” she cried. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Keeping you from starving?”

“I—I am not. My cousin and I are doing well enough.”

“So well that you have milliners and tailors and boot-makers hovering outside your door, ready to snatch the last crust of bread from your table.”

“As a matter of fact, no we don’t. Only this morning—” Jane broke off, regarding Xavier with sudden suspicion.

“How do you know which tradesmen have been dunning us?”

“A logical surmise.”

But Jane was not fooled by his air of studied nonchalance. She regarded him with a mingling of dismay and mortification. “It was you. You have been paying them off. That is why they stopped hounding us.” She was struck by another realization. His arrival in the marketplace could have been no coincidence.

“You have been watching the house, following me.”

Xavier blustered, starting to deny it only to shrug and give over the attempt. “Someone has to look out for you if you persist in staying in this damned city.”

“But you have no obligation to me.” She looked around and lowered her voice as she added. “I am not carrying your child. You owe me nothing.”

“And you would as soon not be indebted to me either.” He heaved a vexed sigh. “You aren’t. As ever, I have my own selfish motives. I would like to be restored to my sister’s good graces. If you write and tell Ariane how generous I have been, perhaps she will no longer despise me.”

“I don’t believe that she does, nor Miri neither. But I also don’t think Ariane would approve of money that you acquired—” Jane bit down upon her lip, unable to give voice to the suspicion that troubled her.