Isola

Chapter 40

40

A month was scarcely long enough to furnish chambers with new beds, to paint and plaster, and to set in supplies. Lord Montfort purchased cloth of gold and silver. Lady Katherine hired new maids to wait on visitors. She ordered wine and sugared almonds, and fresh herbs for scenting the Queen’s rooms. Nor did she forget my audience but sent her seamstress up to measure me for my court dress. The seamstress said Louise herself would oversee my gown.

Servants scrubbed the stairs, villagers prepared to board courtiers’ servants and their horses, and all the while, the chateau filled with pigs and capons, pheasants, geese—even peacocks for the table. Hunters brought fresh venison, and butchers slaughtered calves, and every day the kitchens received baskets of nuts and figs and dates, vines of raisins, oranges from Spain. The chateau overflowed with grapes, and even on the stairs we could smell cloves and nutmeg, fragrant cinnamon. The cooks hired extra hands for pastry making. Jesters and minstrels appeared to entertain the Queen, her ladies, and her knights.

When luggage carts appeared, Lord Montfort’s steward ordered fresh loaves from the villages. When outriders arrived, the minstrels tuned their instruments, and from our tower rooms, we heard citterns, viols, horns, and drums. Ysabeau could scarcely keep from dancing.

“Come now,” I said.

“But she is here! Her Majesty is here. She is arrived downstairs!”

“See how your sister works her needle,” Claire chided.

Reluctantly, Ysabeau took up her embroidery. “She has thirty wagons and six carriages.”

Suzanne corrected, “Nine.”

“We saw her ladies,” Ysabeau said. “And I almost saw her face, except she turned away. She has a bird, bright as an emerald, and two men just for carrying her books.”

“Her library is wonderful,” said Madame D’Artois.

“Have you seen it?” Suzanne asked.

Madame D’Artois said, “Yes.”

“And will you see Her Majesty?”

“I think not.”

“Don’t you wish it?” Ysabeau asked in her impulsive way.

Madame D’Artois demurred. “What I wish hardly signifies.”

“She has a hundred horses,” Suzanne said.

“Two hundred!” said Ysabeau.

Suzanne said, “You can’t count.”

“Do you know what queens enjoy?” Madame D’Artois interrupted.

Both girls turned to her.

“Fine stitching.”

“Then she will like me best,” said Suzanne, who was indeed the better needlewoman.

“No, she won’t,” said Ysabeau.

“No arguing,” Claire told the girls.

We read to them and kept them quiet as we could—but even before lessons were done, Ysabeau begged Claire, “Won’t you come down with us?”

“I cannot,” said Claire.

“Why?”

“I am not invited.”

“ I invite you,” said Ysabeau.

“No,” said Claire, “I cannot go.”

“No one asks for us,” Madame D’Artois said easily.

She did not mention my own summons to appear.

After we released the girls, I sat with Claire and her mother. Then I stood and paced the room.

“Are you anxious?” Claire ventured.

“What do you think?”

“Forgive me. I should not have spoken.”

“I wish that I could stay with you.”

Clear-eyed, Claire said, “Then you would miss your chance.”

“Do not request anything directly,” advised Madame D’Artois.

I said, “So Damienne would tell me.”

“Ask nothing for yourself.”

I stood at the window and gazed out on fields and farms. “You mean, ask nothing at all.”

“Speak simply,” Madame D’Artois said.

The voice of a young maid startled us. “Lady Katherine is waiting.” Then I knew that it was time for me to go down and dress.

“God be with you,” said Madame D’Artois.

Claire embraced me. “You wear your mother’s ring on your right hand. Now wear mine on the left.” She slipped her gold ring onto my finger. “Wear it as you did upon the sea and on the island—and remember that the Queen gave it to me.”

—

I heard a hum while I was on the stairs. A rustling of conversation. Descending to the chateau’s first floor, I tried to keep from staring, but I had never seen so many gentlemen and ladies. The gallery was open and courtiers filled this vaulting space. Ladies crowded in their silks and velvets, their pearl-trimmed mantles and their sweeping sleeves. Men walked with swords at their belts, gold buckles on their shoes, and capes like folded wings. For a moment, I saw seabirds thick upon the ground, fencing with their beaks and jostling for place. I blinked the birds away, but the sight was strange, unsettling. Not just the riches but the carelessness of gentlefolk—the way they moved, as though they did not notice their own jewels. No one even glanced at me in Claire’s blue gown.

I followed Lady Katherine’s maid with careful steps. “I beg your pardon,” I whispered when I brushed a lady’s skirts, but she did not acknowledge me.

I was invisible to all but one—a gentleman in black. His gaze drew mine; his presence chilled me. His eyes were shrewd. I shrank from him but could not escape. He was my guardian.

He seemed thinner, paler, his frame narrow. His clothes were unadorned, as though his fortunes had narrowed too—and yet he walked with confidence. When had he arrived? I’d thought him with the King at Blois. But Roberval was here, as he was everywhere. He went where he wished and wove between the courtiers easily. Catlike, calculating, sleek.

When he looked at me, he showed no surprise or anger. On the contrary, he seemed well pleased. “Cousin!” he hailed me.

My heart plummeted. For a moment I was captive again, without a future, without hope. He had found me and I could not escape. And yet I had returned. I was alive.

To see him now! To hear him call me cousin. My face burned. Not with shame but with fury.

“My lady,” Roberval said.

“How dare you speak to me?” I quickened my step.

“And yet I must.”

I was almost running, and still he followed me down the gallery into a passageway, where Lady Katherine’s maid turned back to look for me. I hurried toward her—but my guardian was close behind. He reached; I was too quick. The maid opened a door; I darted after her. I escaped into Lady Katherine’s chamber, where no man could follow without invitation.

Here I was safe, albeit briefly. I was secluded, facing Lady Katherine in crimson, Louise in rose silk, Anne in dazzling white.

“We have been waiting,” Lady Katherine said.

Louise said, “You see, the maids have laid out your gown.”

But Anne looked at me closely. “Are you ill?”

I took a deep breath. “No, not at all.”

“Come and sit.” Louise beckoned me.

“Give me a moment. Let me stand,” I murmured as I tried to steady myself, grasping the back of a great chair.

“You will not speak before the entire company,” Lady Katherine assured me. “Only for the Queen and her own ladies.”

“Take heart,” said Anne.

I forced a smile. “Thank you. I will try.” They assumed I was feeling timid. In truth, I felt murderous. I longed for knife, and gun, and powder, although at court I could not use them. I wanted vengeance—but I could not let my anger show. Patience, I told myself. Be still. Be brave. Be careful.

“Are you ready now?” Anne said.

“Yes.”

“You will do well,” said Lady Katherine. “You have only to tell Her Majesty what you told us.”

“And you will look the part,” said Louise.

Is it a part, I thought, to play myself? And yet I knew it must be.

Two maids lifted off my gown so that I stood in Claire’s shift. How plain it was! Lady Katherine’s daughters glanced at each other, but graciously Louise said, “Sit here to begin.” Then her own hairdresser, Collette, unpinned my hair.

Slowly, perfectly, Collette combed me. She repinned my hair and I remembered Damienne. Each morning, she had combed and pinned. Each night, she had untangled me.

When Collette held up her glass, my tresses shone. But my freckled face! The ladies looked pityingly at me.

“We will paint,” Louise decided.

“Not so it shows,” Anne instructed the hairdresser. “Paint her so lightly that in candlelight no one can tell.”

Artist that she was, Collette painted my freckled cheeks with the thinnest glaze of white. My skin was tight now. I was afraid to smile as the hairdresser touched my lips with scarlet.

“How beautiful you are!” said Louise, once I was transformed.

My face was porcelain, my lips like petals of a rose. No one who saw me could have guessed where I had been or how I’d lived.

“Now we will dress you,” Louise said, and she called upon her own young maids.

Careful as a pair of novices, these girls helped me into an underskirt of shimmering gold. I was almost afraid to touch such gossamer. Even the ladies stepped delicately to avoid treading on my hem. One maid held the skirt as the other tied it at my waist. Then they changed my shift for a chemise of the same sheer gold.

After this, I stepped into a skirt of heavy gold brocaded in a pattern like a labyrinth. And I had sleeves fashioned of this gold brocade. These were fitted on my upper arms, but at the elbow they ballooned to my wrists, where the material was gathered tight again. Here the maids drew out the gossamer chemise in fluted cuffs.

Over my gold garments, the maids dressed me in a skirt of crimson brocade. This fabric was so rich, and its fastenings so strong, it weighed like armor. Only in front did this skirt part to reveal brocaded gold, and such was the effect that all the ladies stood back to admire it.

My bodice was the same crimson brocade, the neckline square and edged with pearls. The maids laced the bodice on each side underneath my arms, and when they were done, I felt like a knight in a breastplate.

“Hold out your arms again,” Louise instructed me, and the maids fastened crimson sleeves with hidden pins. These sleeves were three-quarter length and funnel-shaped, turning back to reveal the rich gold sleeves beneath.

Was I the same woman I had been in rags upon the island? Only in my heart.

I stepped into gold slippers and Collette coifed me with a crimson band embroidered gold and edged in pearls. At last, with her own hands Lady Katherine fastened a girdle of gold and pearls at my waist, and a gold chain around my neck. From this necklace hung a pendant ruby.

I was freighted so I could scarcely move. My steps must be small, my actions limited. Although I stood armored, I was unarmed. How might I defend myself, if I couldn’t run?

“Come,” said Lady Katherine. “And you shall see my reception room.”

Maids opened a door, and we entered a chamber hung with Lord Montfort’s cloth of gold.

“How well she looks against the hangings and the cushions,” Lady Katherine told her stepdaughters.

“Very well indeed,” said Anne.

“Stand here.” Louise led me to a place before the largest chair. “This is where Her Majesty will sit.”

Then Lady Katherine smiled, and I knew why it pleased her to dress me. Not for rank, and not for honor, not for the tale I would tell, but for the room. She and the young ladies walked about, admiring my clothes, and I understood that while they wondered at my journey and pitied my privations, I was to them an ornament and curiosity. They would present me to the Queen as they might a monkey or a rare bird. Even so, I knew that I was fortunate. This night was Lady Katherine’s gift. A chance to speak—if my guardian did not prevent me.

He would not. He dared not. He could not treat me as before. I had no fortune left, and I was only an expense; he would not claim me. So I reasoned as I followed the ladies into the great hall set for banqueting. He cannot hurt me now, I told myself.

Gazing at tables set with damask cloths and silver plates, I thought, I am a guest here. Although I have lost the house, I am welcome in this hall tonight. In the light of a thousand candles, I stood with all the court waiting for the Queen.

All watched for her, but I scanned faces for my guardian. Not here. Not here. Perhaps he had gone. Perhaps he had never come, and I had conjured him from dread and fear.

Lord Montfort stood before the company, and his wife joined him. As Montfort raised his hand to greet the court, his eyes were bright because he was ascending to the heights. The Queen would enter, and in her presence he would rise in honor. Heavy, ruddy-faced, he beamed. “Welcome,” he began.

A touch on my shoulder, and I whirled to see Roberval behindme.

For a moment, he was speechless as he took in my jewels, my gold and red brocade. He gazed at me with wonder, curiosity, and caution, realizing that I had a benefactress. For the first time, I saw apprehension on his face—and then the moment passed.

“Cousin. Let me have a word,” he said with great civility.

“No.”

He smiled. “And yet I must speak to you.”

I turned my back and walked away. My skirts repudiated him. My sleeves, my pearls. My perfect face. I felt defended—until he seized my arm.

I tried to shake him, but his grip was iron. I wanted to protest but dared not scream before the company. I could not mar the Montforts’ triumph, and Roberval knew that.

Silently, he swept me from the hall into the gallery and then into shadows beyond candlelight. Swift as a current, he pulled me into darkness. There he held me, even as he spoke courteously. “I want only a moment.”

“I do not have a moment for you,” I told him.

“Even after all this time?”

“Especially.”

“Cousin,” he chided in his mocking tone, “I come to welcome you.”

“Why?”

“Because you have returned, and I am glad of it.”

“You are glad.”

“Of course.” He let go but stood close enough to capture me again. He blocked the light, and in the shadows, my jewels dimmed. My crimson gown was nearly black as his black clothes. “You are magnificent,” he said.

A rustling and a fanfare in the hall. I could not see the Queen but heard her entering. “What does the Lord do to flatterers?” I asked Roberval.

“I do not flatter. I speak truly.”

“To speak truly,” I said, “you did not expect to see me again.”

“I never know what to expect.”

“That surprises me.”

Lord Montfort was greeting Her Majesty. “Our humble thanks.”

I turned to go, but my guardian said, “No. Stay.”

“Do you expect me, even now, to stand and listen to you?”

“You have lost your manners,” he observed.

“You wished me dead.”

“If I had wished you dead, I would have killed you,” Roberval said simply.

“You left us to perish in the wilderness.”

“You left yourselves with your own crimes.”

“Do you speak of crimes?”

“Hush.”

I whispered furiously. “You who sold my lands?”

“They were mine by right.”

“In trust!”

He threw back his head. “Oh, will you ever stop your whining?”

I flew at him.

Half-laughing, he caught my wrists and held me at arm’s length. “Would you fight?”

My voice broke. “I would destroy you.”

“And yet I have been merciful.” He released me.

“Not by your mercy did I survive, but by my own will and the grace of God. I will declare it to the Queen.”

“And this is what I wished to tell you.”

“How dare you tell me anything?”

“Be careful what you say.”

“Oh, do you worry now?” I asked. “Are you afraid Her Majesty will find out what you are?”

“She knows who I am,” my guardian said. “She has known me many years.”

“And you hope I will not disabuse her.”

“I hope you will not play the fool.”

“I do not think it foolish to say where I have been and what I have done.”

He warned, “Don’t make yourself a martyr when you are not a saint.”

“What do you know of either?”

“I know God hates a liar,” he said evenly.

“But I am not a liar. Therefore I am unafraid.”

I heard fine melodies and talk and laughter, even as Roberval spoke into my ear. “You have been bold, and you have been deceitful. You seduced my own man, plotting against me.”

But I, who had been his student, parried. “You stole my inheritance and then stole me away.”

With exaggerated patience, he said, “If you would but listen.”

“Do you imagine I will listen now?”

“You should.”

“Why?” I looked him squarely in the face. “Would you turn me out? I can sleep upon the ground. Would you starve me? I know how to hunt. Would you break my heart? You have done it—and I do not have another heart to break. There is nothing more that you can do to me. I will not listen.”

With this, I turned away. With these words, I would have swept past him triumphant—but my guardian stopped me, not with anger, not with force, but with two words. “She knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her Majesty already knows your tale.”

My breath caught. “You spoke to her.”

“Of course,” he said. “I told her everything.”