Robert meanwhile made much kerfuffle out of lighting the candles of the wrought iron sconces and unlocking the coach entrance door to attend to the unwanted visitors. He then tried to stall the soldiers further by discussing the legality of the operation.
‘Sir,’ he said, still holding his candlestick dripping with wax, ‘tell me where the law stipulates that one is not permitted to welcome a close relative into one’s house. Madame Delpech is my wife’s sister.’
‘I don’t care if she’s the bloody countess of Toulouse, she’s a Huguenot and I have my orders,’ said the officer, who bowled past the ageing lawyer almost knocking him to the ground.
Further into the spacious hall at the bottom of the stairs he was met by Jeanne Delpech, slowly descending the dimly lit stairway that led to the first-floor living quarters, cradling her baby in her arms.
‘Sir,’ she said calmly and with dignity. ‘I believe you would like me to end my social visit to my sister’s.’
‘Madame Delpech, I presume,’ said the officer, never impressed by high–minded bourgeois manners. ‘You should know that heretics are no longer permitted to mingle with true-blooded French folk faithful to their King. You have brought a hefty fine upon this household. You must leave these premises immediately, or this man will face prison.’
‘That is ridiculous, man,’ said Robert. ‘Can’t you see she has a new-born infant in her arms?’
‘Sir, you yourself have seen sense and have abjured, have you not? Then answer me this, is it not ridiculous, indeed scandalous, to obstinately choose hardship over comfort for one’s loved ones? Especially when your child’s life is at stake?’ It could have been Robert’s argument to Jacob. The officer turned to Jeanne. ‘You Madame, you know what you need to do for your hardships to cease. You simply have to sign the abjuration form, that is all, is that really so hard?’
‘Sir, I would rather die in my faith than find momentary comfort in deceit.’
Though he knew her answer was not aimed at him in any way, Robert felt nonetheless its sting of truth. He would have that minute reconverted had it not been for the fact that the only way he could help Jeanne out of the godforsaken city was as a free-moving subject of the King. And that evidently meant adhering to the Roman Catholic Church.
Jeanne continued, ‘My soul I surrender to God alone, to our King I do swear my allegiance.’
The officer, seeing there was no point trying to make this Huguenot see reason, directed two of his men to accompany her to the open front door.
Jeanne was marching calmly before a line of five soldiers when her sister came scuttling down the stairs.
‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I beseech you to allow Madame the decency of privacy. Please will you allow her to sit in the sedan chair in which she may at least be sheltered from the night? Or would you rather have the baby’s death on your conscience?’
The soldier showed no signs of relenting. Robert followed up, ‘Sir, the writ has no mention that Huguenots are not permitted to shelter in a sedan chair, has it not?’
‘Please, officer,’ implored Suzanne who then approached the soldier and pressed two gold coins into his palm. This had the desired effect. He gave the command to carry the chair a good few blocks from the house, despite Suzanne’s insistence for it to be deposited at place des Monges, which was just a stone’s throw away at the end of the street.
Jeanne took leave of her sister in their secret satisfaction that the commanding officer had not made any reference to the other children. No one but the soldiers was allowed to accompany her.
Once in the dark street, they did not progress more than ten paces when one of the men put down the sedan chair, provoking the other soldier to do likewise. ‘No one told us to carry the bleedin’ Hugo, did they?’ he said to his counterpart. Then pulling back the flap he said to Jeanne: ‘You can get out and walk, you lazy bitch!’
Jeanne, without a word and suppressing her fear, climbed out of the chair, which started the baby off.
‘Shut your brat up n’ all before I bash its brains against the wall,’ said the other soldier, manifestly proud to go one up on the previous rant.
It was under such harassment that Jeanne walked three paces behind the dragoons across place des Monges, now dark and secret, through the silent lanes where only cats’ eyes shone, and on to the main square where the uneven cobbles were empty and glistening in the moonlight.
This is where she would spend a sleepless night. But she was nonetheless relieved when her tormentors left the moment they set down the chair. She had been worried that, under the influence of their perverse diversion, their threats might spill into action just to goad each other on. Instead, while pursuing their conversation over the lack of proper whores in Montauban, they marched back the way they had come. It was already a quarter to the hour and soldiers were not permitted out after nine o’clock. Moreover, all street lighting would soon be extinguished.
Jeanne now sat inside the sedan chair, gave her baby her breast, and prayed in the darkness thanking God for their deliverance.
8
28 August to September 1685
The cold pale light of early morning brought with it the smell of fresh bread from a nearby bakery.
Alone in the sedan chair on the market square, Jeanne woke from her intermittent sleep. Slowly, she eased herself into a different position, her thoughts turning again to the looming shame of being on public display. Especially since below the chair a puddle on the cobbles, tainted with blood, still betrayed an unavoidable call of nature.
The creak and slap of wooden shutters being pushed open, and secured against the brick facades of upstairs apartments, announced the imminent opening of the gallery shops that surrounded the royal square. And soon the first market sellers would be carting their produce and poultry in from the country.
But she was not alone, she kept telling herself. She knew from experience that there are a great many horrid storms in life to bear up to, which, once overcome, inevitably lead to more clement days. Besides, she had her beautiful baby whose warmth and smell was better than bread, and she had God.
No, she was not alone, but she would still have to make a move before the bells chimed six o’clock when shoppers would start pouring onto the square. Where would she go, though? Place des Monges? The stone bench of her childhood was still there on the west side of the square, it had the advantage of receiving the sun’s warmth at the start of the day. She remembered travelling in the post office coach as a young girl and it hitting a bollard there and damaging a wheel. She had huddled with her sister on that bench, grateful for the pool of early morning sunlight, until help had been sent for and the wheel repaired. What would that little girl have thought at seeing herself now on that same stone bench, a lone woman with a baby in search of warmth?
But she was not alone, she kept telling herself as the neighing, mooing, clucking of animals and the chattering of country folk grew louder outside her modest wooden refuge. Again she prayed to God to give her strength to leave it before the crowds began to gather, before inquisitive heads started to peep in through the curtain. But after a sleepless, unclean night, she simply could not muster the courage to take the first, degrading step out. She could not face the shame.
Suddenly the flap was pulled aside, letting in a stream of light.
‘Oh, my God!’ said a man’s voice. ‘What in God’s name have they done?’
Jeanne looked up through silent tears. Monsieur Picquos, the draper, discreetly closed the flap and said, ‘Madame Delpech, please, forgive me, I had no idea you would be inside. I sent word to Madame your sister’s thinking the chair had been stolen. She has sent Antoine here.’
He called out to David, his lackey, then said to Jeanne, ‘I fear I cannot take you in, but do not worry, Madame Delpech. Antoine knows where to take you. David will help carry you there.’
Jeanne had by now calmed her emotions. ‘Thank you, Monsieur, you are most kind,’ she said as the sedan chair was lifted. A spla
sh of water chased away the bloody residue left behind her.
‘Madame,’ said Antoine after a few moments, ‘I have been instructed to take you to place des Monges. Once the guards have left the house Monsieur Garrisson will come to collect you.’
*
Elizabeth loved being at Aunt Suzanne’s. Aunt Suzanne treated her like a proper lady. Elizabeth liked to speak to her about all the things that passed through her mind, especially since her little sister Lulu had taken up more and more of her mother’s time, and now there was the baby to contend with.
‘Why can we not be like everyone else?’ she said to her aunt on the morning after her mother had been taken away. She was perched, prim and proper, on the large bed the children had shared in the third-floor bedroom. The curtains had been drawn back from around it, and grey morning light filled the room. ‘Lots of my friends have become Catholics, and they are still the same as before. I mean, they have not grown boils on their faces or grown devil’s horns or become mad or anything, except for mad Rose, but she was already mad, deaf and dumb, and now she is gone to the nunnery anyway.’
‘It is a question of faith, my darling,’ said her aunt as she finished dressing Lulu in her son Pierre’s murrey robe. ‘Your faith is your most precious gift from God. It is what carries your immortal soul to heaven when you die. If you lose it, then so too will your soul be lost.’
‘But Uncle Robert has forsaken the religion,’ said Elizabeth.
‘No, my dear, you must never say that,’ said Suzanne, a little taken aback, ‘he signed a piece of paper, that is all.’ Her voice then wavered with an emotion that gave pathos to her natural cheeriness when she said, ‘It is true, though, he has resolved to make a sacrifice to keep all of us out of harm’s reach, even though I fear it will prey heavy on his soul. But it may well be that God has chosen your uncle so that he may help your mama.’
Suzanne, having finished dressing Louise, clapped her hands to call everyone’s attention and said, ‘Come now, children, remember the plan.’
‘I’d much rather stay here, my aunt,’ said Elizabeth, ‘travelling makes me feel awfully sick at the best of times.’
‘No buts, Lizzy, my dear, you know your mother needs you. Remember, you must hide in…?’
‘The horrible trunk!’ said Elizabeth.
‘Yes. Only until you get through the gate. Your mother will give you the baby to look after while she takes Lulu on her knees.’
‘Why can’t Paul go in the trunk and me under the blanket?’
‘Your brother cannot be expected to look after a baby now, can he, darling angel?’
Lulu tottered over to her big sister. Elizabeth picked her up like a proper little mother, then whizzed her round, sinking her face into the crook of the child’s neck.
‘Lulu, you look like a boy, are you a boy, Lulu?’ she said to the child with a laugh.
‘Not boy, no,’ said the toddler pouting her lips.
‘You look splendid, my Lulu,’ said Suzanne. ‘Lizzy is only teasing, do not take any notice of her,’ she said making eyes at Elizabeth for her to be more complicit.
‘I was only playing, Lulu, you look splendid.’
‘Spendid,’ said little Pierre to his cousin. He and Lulu were the same age give or take a month. It was a good job he was not yet breeched, otherwise Louise really would have looked like a boy.
‘Let me put on your hat for you,’ said Aunt Suzanne, catching the child’s head with a bonnet that had a sausage of cloth around it for protection against bumps. ‘There,’ she said as she attached it beneath her niece’s chin. ‘Now, Lulu, if you really love Pierre you will be glad to wear his clothes for a while, just for a while. You do love him, don’t you?’
Lulu responded by scrambling down from the high mattress, jumping off the bed step, and giving chase to her cousin with lips puckered. Everyone laughed, even Paul, who was slumped in the armchair. He had been down in the mouth without his mother.
Suzanne had to tell them to hush for fear of alerting the guards three floors below at the porte cochère. Then she clapped her hands again and gave the three children one last rundown of what they must do: stay hidden in the coach either inside the trunk or under the blanket, except for Lulu who would sit on her mother’s lap and say nothing.
‘But what if the baby cries?’ said Elizabeth.
‘It is a risk, but we shall get word to your mama to make sure baby has had her fill before going through the gate.’
Elizabeth knew exactly what her aunt meant, she had seen her mother giving her breast before. She wondered how long it would take for her boobs to grow. She hoped to God they would not be as small as Anette’s.
‘That way she will be contented and sleep through,’ said Suzanne.
They heard steps on the landing. Pierre instinctively ran to his mother, Lulu to her sister. Then the door was pushed open.
‘They are gone at last,’ said Robert. He looked haggard, but managed a bright smile at the children. Turning back to his wife, he said, ‘I gave them my word Jeanne would not come back and a Louis d’or to each so they would leave us in peace early.’
He read love and gratitude in his wife’s eyes that needed no words. He took the hands she and Pierre held out to him as she said, ‘You’d better get going, Robert, before it gets too hot on the road. With the help of the Lord, you will be there by lunchtime. I only hope your back bears up and that dear Jeanne will be able to endure the bone shaking.’
‘Last week’s rain will have moistened the ground. The road will not be quite so hard. I just hope we make it through the gate.’
*
It was approaching eight o’clock when a coach, drawn by a magnificent pair of horses, stopped at Montmurat gate east of the town. It contained a lawyer, his wife and a little boy wearing a pudding hat and not yet in breeches, and was driven by a valet. Robert pulled down the window and told the guard he was taking his spouse and son to his country house. His eyes then stared in dismay before he quickly regained his composure, he had recognised one of the soldiers that had been quartered at his house before his conversion. The soldier approached the lawyer’s carriage which he fleetingly admired before looking inside.
‘I know him,’ he said, then glared at the woman and the child. Suzanne and Jeanne were from the same mould, apart from their age, it would be difficult to tell them apart in broad daylight let alone in the shadows of a bourgeois carriage. The children did not cough, the baby did not cry. After a moment’s pause which seemed to last an eternity, the guard said: ‘A new Catholic, he can pass.’
It was all Jeanne could do to keep from fainting, such was the flush of relief. ‘Thank God,’ she sighed as they rolled into the Bordeaux road that followed the river Tarn, glorious and luxuriant at this time of year. But Jeanne’s thoughts were already elsewhere: they were with Jacob.
*
The Marquis de Boufflers was exquisitely dressed as always. His blue damask justaucorps with gold trim reflected his high spirits. And his beautifully flowing periwig quivered dashingly whenever he jiggered his head.
He was having luncheon at the bishop’s palace and enjoying the chance to relate the news again of the King’s jubilation over the miraculous abjurations. The nation was no longer plagued by a state within a state, and Louis could reign proudly over a kingdom united in one faith. Both the bishop and the intendant solemnly agreed, reintegrating those who had been deprived of their Roman Catholic heritage for so long had made the kingdom wholesome again. They had at last found the right method, harsh but not violent. More humane and less costly than bloodletting, the dragonnades were the way to go.
For the bishop, the conversions constituted the summit of years of relentless hard work repairing the spiritual foundations of the city. He had not only carried out missionary forays throughout the diocese, but governed the construction of the Hotel Dieu Hospital, the episcopal palace, and the Jesuit College.
He was filled with inner satisfaction that his labours had so pleased his
majesty, not to mention Rome where the conversions of Montauban were the talk of the Quirinal Palace. He could not have prayed for a better reward. Now, to cap it all, he just needed a proper seat for his diocese brimming with new converts. He needed a cathedral.
‘I should strike while the iron is hot,’ said de Boufflers sitting on the opposite side of the great oaken table, ‘while the king is still under the exultation of having a thorn removed from his royal side!’
‘Actually,’ said the bishop, feeling his chin, ‘I was thinking of popping the question as soon as that abject edict is fully nullified. There is hardly a Huguenot in the kingdom, so it should not take long, should it?’
‘Now that the best part of the reformists has embraced the true faith, you can be sure the wording is being finalised as we speak,’ said de Boufflers who dabbed the corners of his mouth before drawing from his glass.
‘If I had any say in the matter,’ said intendant le Goux de La Berchère from the end of the table, ‘I should have it built not in brick, but in stone.’ He paused for two beats for those present to seize the full measure of his statement. Everyone knew that churches in Montauban were traditionally built of brick, which was the natural building resource of the generality. It is what gave the town and surrounding villages their cheerful peachy hue. The intendant continued: ‘It would stand as a statement of royal power.’
‘Indeed,’ said the bishop fervently brandishing a chicken wing, ‘and a reminder of Catholic prevalence over the Protestant congregation now defunct!’
‘Defunct but not quite eradicated,’ said the intendant. ‘Alas, there are still a few recalcitrant bourgeois who think themselves above the rest. Honestly, they are a thorn in my side: they are spoiling my conversion rate!’
‘Hmm, quite a predicament, I dare say,’ said the marquis with a frisson of the periwig. ‘The rabble, one can easily dispose of, but the bourgeois are a bit awkward, I must admit.’
Between two bites of chicken the bishop said: ‘It is such a shame, especially when everything else is going so well.’
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