The Ruins of Lace

by Iris Anthony

  “Come out from there.”

  “So the count can gloat over all his coercion has cost us?”

  “No. Because you are worth ten thousand of him. It isn’t right that his presence should deprive us of your own. How else could we bear his visit otherwise?”

  The perfect gentleman. That’s what Alexandre had always been. He always smelled so clean, like the sunshine or the wind. And his flatteries somehow always seemed to sound like unimpeachable truth. I allowed myself a smile. And a hint of my old spirit. “If I come, it’s only because you’re the one doing the asking.”

  “And if I ask, it’s a selfish request, since it would benefit me the most.”

  As I departed my refuge, I brushed the dust and cobwebs from my skirts, shook the straw from my feet, and pushed back the curls that had sprung free from their restraining riband. I stepped into that errant ray of light, and the world went bright for a brief moment. Then I plunged back into the gloom.

  I eyed Alexandre as I began to brush past him.

  As a child, I always used to kiss him for his attentions in spite of his holding himself away from me. I had taken particular pleasure in doing those things I was not supposed to do.

  Such an impulsive, spoiled, and petted creature I was!

  Though I had imagined kissing him a thousand times since his confession, I held myself apart from him now. This impulse I would control. Alexandre could still marry well. If he put his mind to it, he might find an heiress far from here who knew nothing of Souboscq or our decline in fortunes. If he couldn’t save us, he might yet be able to save himself. He reached out a hand and brushed my cheek with his fingers.

  Pressing my back to the timbers of the doorframe, I slipped past him, hand to my cheek, as I added one item more to the list of those things I would not let myself desire.

  •••

  I loved the home of my birth. I always had, with its red tiled roofs and rounded towers, nestled in the heart of Gascogne. Though it had been a place of plenty, those in the King’s circle would have scoffed at those things we considered luxuries. Though nothing about the château was fashionable, everything in it was familial. From the sturdy, dark walnut furniture to the tapestries that had decorated the walls with scenes of the peasantry. From the blackened mantels above the fireplaces to the timeworn stone floors. But the presence of the count seemed somehow to have offended. It was all closed doors and dark corridors. What had, in the past, seemed so expansive and familiar, now seemed to have shut itself away.

  At the hour of supper, I descended into the hall as the count was conversing with Father.

  “We so enjoy our time here and always look forward to your generous hospitality.” The count’s companion, who stood beside him, snickered.

  Father’s face went red, and Alexandre’s hand moved toward the hilt of the dagger he kept hidden beneath his coat. As many times as I had begged, as a child, to see it, he had always refused me that honor.

  I stepped in front of them both to address the count, curtseying. “Please, my lord. Won’t you join us at the table?” No good would come from words spoken in anger. There was nothing to be gained by hostility. I tried to hide my bare feet beneath my skirts, though the shortness of the hems and the new, longer length of my legs did not allow for it. But just the same, I lifted my chin in honor of my father’s title.

  The count bowed toward me with a twist of his lips. “As you wish.”

  The only thing I wished him was far from Souboscq…and a gruesome death on the road back to whatever hell it was from which he had come.

  Supper was eaten in relative silence, save a belch or two from the count’s companion. The food did not reflect our decline. We had thrown ourselves upon the mercy of Providence. The stream could always be counted upon to yield a trout or two, and the orchard its apples and pears and noisettes. It was after the cheese had been served that Father began to speak. “I must tell you plainly, my lord, we have no money. The crops last year withered in the earth from drought, and this year’s harvest was also poor.”

  The count waved his knife in the air, as if to banish my father’s words. “Have no worries. I have not come, this year, for gold.”

  Father and Alexandre exchanged a glance. Father raised a brow. “No gold?”

  “No, my dear fellow. I’ve come to settle the debt.”

  Astonishment must have gripped us all, for Alexandre dropped his spoon, and Father’s brows nearly disappeared into his hair, while a wild sort of elation threatened to bubble from my throat.

  “I’ve no concern for gold, you see, for I’ve come to be repaid in lace.”

  Alexandre collected his spoon and then placed it carefully upon his plate. “The arrangement, I believe, was for us to repay you as we are able.”

  “No. The arrangement was that you would pay me for my loss, and I would keep your role in Chalais’s conspiracy to kill Cardinal Richelieu to myself. That was the arrangement. Unfortunately, however, I need the lace now.”

  “You will be paid as we are able to pay you.” Alexandre repeated the words as if the count hadn’t quite comprehended them.

  “Oh! I see. You misunderstood me. How can I put this plainly? I no longer want money. I no longer need it. What I need is what I don’t have. The lace.”

  “We don’t…we don’t have any lace.” My father seemed to be choosing his words with some delicacy, as if that might placate the count. “The King has forbidden the wearing of lace.”

  “I see how it might seem that way, with his edict and all of that nonsense, but the thing about kings is they so rarely say what they mean. You can hardly depend upon them at all. He said no lace, but everyone knows the lace he doesn’t see won’t disturb him. He’s very reasonable that way, you know. Or perhaps…I suppose you don’t know. Having taken part in that regrettable plot.”

  Father’s brows had now reappeared, hurtling toward his nose. “I…I don’t understand—”

  “Lace. It’s the lace I have need of now. Gold is no longer of any use to me.”

  “But I…we…I do not have your lace! It’s for that reason I have repaid you these many years.”

  “Ah! Tsk, tsk. There now, you have not spoken honestly. It’s for your abominable folly in joining that doomed conspiracy against Richelieu all those years ago you have paid me. We might as well be frank, you and I, since it seems we’re to be bound together for a while longer.”

  A sweat had broken out upon Father’s brow. “I have no lace.”

  “Yes. I know. That’s what caused all this trouble from the first. I suppose you’ll have to send to Flanders for some.”

  “To—? But…it’s forbidden! Lace has been forbidden by the King himself.”

  “True. But you are a clever fellow. I’m sure you’ll think of some way around it.”

  The count’s companion smirked as he listened.

  “To be caught with lace is to be subject to a six-thousand-livres fine. And exile. And the confiscation of estates.”

  The count raised a finger. “Only if you are caught.”

  “But…I can’t…I don’t know…I don’t even know how much it would cost…” Father had gone pale as he spoke. “And I’ve already paid you so much…”

  The count smiled as if his extortion had not cost us nearly everything we owned. “I can see my simple, reasonable request has taken you by surprise. Perhaps I should have stated my requirements more delicately.” He sniffed. “I’ve no doubt a night’s sleep will be…illuminating…for I’m convinced you’ll come to the same conclusion I have. It is my belief you have no other option.” He touched a cloth to his lips, nodded at his companion, and then stood. “Belles rêves.”

  •••

  Father and Alexandre talked long into the night. I lit a precious taper for them. When it had burned to a stub, sparking and sputtering in
a pool of its own wax, I lit a second.

  “We must refuse him.” Alexandre had not taken long to reach this conclusion. That he clung to it for so many hours was admirable. That he insisted upon repeating it often was less so.

  Father sighed and ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair. “As I have already said, we cannot refuse him.”

  Alexandre took to his feet and followed an already well-trod path in front of the hearth. “I say we must refuse him, only because we cannot honor his request.” His voice had risen by that time, as well.

  “We must. You know how Cardinal Richelieu is! He acts as the King himself. He has spies everywhere, and if the count breathed even a word of my involvement with the conspiracy, he would take my head in a minute. Just like the Marquis of Chalais’s. If he took a marquis’s head, what would he do with me? A viscount. What would be left for you? And who would care for Lisette?

  I sunk deeper into my corner, pressing myself against the cold stone of the wall as he said my name and as Alexandre’s gaze swung toward me. It must have taken great control on both their parts not to have thrown my mistake up in my face. It was no one’s fault but mine that the count had demanded from them such an impossible thing.

  Father continued with a sigh. “We must face the facts. The count can ask me for anything he wants, and I have no choice but to give it to him.” He shook his head when Alexandre tried to speak. “I am simply stating what’s true. If we sell the estate, then—”

  “No!” The word escaped my lips before I could think to stop it. They must not sell the estate. The estate was all that was left. As long as Father held the lands, then there was hope. With the estates as his promised inheritance, Alexandre might still marry. The weather might change—next autumn might bring a more generous harvest. And who knew when the count would die? We might, all of us, find relief sooner than we thought. But without the lands, we would be nothing at all.

  Father’s face seemed to crumple in upon itself as he turned toward me.

  I stepped farther back into the shadow.

  “Ma chérie…I do not have many choices. My past does not allow me that luxury.”

  “Please…don’t do it.” Then I would be responsible for his complete and total destruction. I stepped toward the light of the taper. Toward him. “Please don’t.”

  Alexandre joined me in beseeching him. “You must not. He has no right to demand it!”

  Father tried to smile. “Sometimes the past has the power to devour the future. If only I had known then what would be required of me now…but perhaps there is still some hope. If we can get a high enough price for the land, then perhaps we can keep the château…”

  “But…it’s not fair!” There was no use trying to hide the tears that seeped from my eyes. I had come so near him by that time, when he reached for me, his hand found my cheek. He cupped it there, just as he had done so many times before when I was a child. I wished, how I wished, I could be the daughter he needed. In spite of the slow deterioration of our circumstances, he had insisted I be trained in singing and dance and the playing of the lute. Somewhere he had found the money. He wanted me to have the same advantages Grand-père had given Maman. He’d always claimed me to be the picture of her person, but why couldn’t he realize I could never match her soul?

  Against all reason, he kept planning for my future. He kept asking me my opinion of this count’s son or that duke’s nephew. As if I still had the chance to marry and become some great lord’s companion. In truth, I had never wanted a great lord, and without a dowry I would never have one now. But my dreams, as well as his plans, were dead.

  I had only ever wanted to be the woman with a cool, gentle touch. I longed to speak in melodies and have hands that danced along to the rhythm of my words. To laugh without care and to offer grace without stopping to calculate the cost.

  I wanted to be like my mother. I wanted to be worthy of my father’s pride.

  But I had wanted overmuch.

  I had insisted on playing with a pair of lavish lace cuffs instead of contenting myself with memories. I had longed for the love and admiration of Alexandre instead of accepting the consequence of my sins. It seemed I was destined always to want more than I could have.

  And in the wanting, I had forfeited everything.

  My hand found his as I knelt before him, weeping. “It’s all my fault.”

  “No, mon trésor. Never. The fault is mine. I should never have taken part in such schemes. And I should not have sheltered so abominable a young man as the count. If only I had turned him away from our door that night…told him to pass on to Mont-de-Marsan.”

  His hand lingered a moment more on my cheek, a moment longer than I deserved, and then he dropped it with a sigh, turning toward Alexandre. “You can see, dear cousin, there is nothing else to do.”

  •••

  Was there nothing I could do? Nothing I could give in order that my father be allowed to retain the estates?

  The count wanted lace? Would that I knew how to make some, but I did not. I could do nothing. Nothing of worth or real value. What use was there now for lute playing or singing?

  There was a deep, profound, and abiding anguish that dulled Father’s eyes the next morning as he bid farewell to the count.

  “I will have my lace, then.” The man didn’t even phrase the words as a question.

  “You will have your lace.” Father’s speech was stiff, as if it caused him great pain even to speak.

  The count smiled, a wolfish baring of teeth. “How generous you are. To a fault one might say. If you would allow me a suggestion…?”

  Father inclined his head.

  “One can always count on the abbey at Lendelmolen to make a lovely length of lace at a price worth the effort.” He presented a letter.

  Father took it with a shaking hand. “The abbey at Lendelmolen.”

  “Yes. And I think six yards would suffice. Six yards of their loveliest lace.”

  Alexandre stepped forward, one hand at his dagger, the other balled into a fist. “You scoundrel! The length you lost was only three yards. You said so yourself.”

  He blinked. “Did I? Well…I must have been mistaken.”

  “Six yards will cost the viscount everything.”

  “And if I tell the King about his secret activities, it will cost him one thing more!”

  My hopes died within me. The estate would have to be sold. Better then to cease being the one thing that had always caused those I loved the most harm. Better to throw myself upon the mercy of a stranger. Then Father would be released from the debt, and Alexandre would be free to marry. “Take me. For pity’s sake!”

  The count regarded me through a narrowed gaze.

  I found myself falling at his feet. “Take me, and be done with it.”

  “No!” Alexandre’s strangled cry and lunge made me grab at the count’s feet. If he would just take me in exchange for payment, then all would be right. But the boots I had grasped shook off my hands and then took a deliberate step away from me.

  All was lost.

  “Take you?”

  I lifted my head, meeting a gaze from eyes so dark they reflected nothing at all. “Please. Take me instead. Instead of the lace. Take me and consider the debt paid.”

  He stretched out a hand toward me.

  Gathering my skirts about me, I sprang for it, grabbing at the certain freedom it would bring my father.

  He seized it and pulled me to standing. “Yes, I will take you. I’ll take you for safekeeping, for I have an idea that assuring your safety will assure I get what I want.” He put an arm about my shoulders and turned me to face my father and Alexandre. “Don’t you?”

  Shoving me before him into the carriage, he paused as he ascended behind me, turning to address my father. “I will take your daughter wi
th me, since she has so kindly offered herself, but only as a guarantee. I shall expect that length of lace directly…if you ever hope to see her again.”

  But…what? I had no other wish than to reach out for my papa’s arms. But I could not do it; the coachman had already put a whip to the horses. I scrambled toward the window, only to fall back as the carriage lurched forward.

  The count’s companion laughed at me.

  Trying once more, I reached for the window and pulled myself up to it. It was only then, as I saw something very much like despair stamped upon Father’s and Alexandre’s faces, I began to consider that I might have done the wrong thing.

  Chapter 13

  The Count of Montreau

  Along the road to the Château of Eronville

  I leaned forward, toward the opposite bench of the carriage, and lifted the girl’s chin with a finger. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  Her gaze met mine.

  “I must say I approve of your spirit. Your willingness to sacrifice…but I find myself inquiring as to whether you actually expected me to accept your kind offer as it was stated—your admirable self in exchange for your father’s debt and his unfortunate secret.” I pulled the gloves off my hands and then handed them to Remy.

  Her cheeks went flush.

  “You did?” I could not save myself from laughing at her. “Why, my dear girl, then you understand nothing about me at all!”

  She pressed her back against the cushioned seat, putting herself out of reach of me…although Remy was sliding looks at her from underneath his lashes.

  “What I am to do with you?”

  She was rather pretty in a provincial sort of way. All golden ringlets and fair complexion. Though the girl’s attire was shamefully ill fitting, her figure might have attracted the glances of many of the men at court. She was the kind of girl my mother would have called correct…the kind of girl my mother had once called me.

  There ought to be something I could do with her.

  Remy leaned over and whispered into my ear.