Girl on the Golden Coin: A Novel of Frances Stuart

by Jefferson, Marci

  I waded to the shore, exasperated that Mortemart knew everything and shocked that both ladies wanted to be mistress to such a man. The flaps of Madame’s taffeta and silk tent waved in the light breeze as I entered. No one spoke as the maids pulled off my wet gown, dried me with diapering cloths, and dressed me in a gold-laced gown. Instead of leaving, I sat on a footstool, eating her strawberries and waiting.

  “Oh,” said Madame when she came in herself. “Are you not finished?”

  I noticed, for the first time, her shoulders were not exactly straight. I blinked, studying them, and realized her spine actually hunched forward a little below her neck. Why had I never noticed it before? “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “I see.” She entered and held out her arms.

  The maids untied her bathing gown. As they peeled it from her skin and she stood naked, I saw shadows of every bone in her body. I had seen her thus before. But in my love for her, I’d never realized how unhealthy she appeared. She never ate. She hardly slept. All she’d done since her marriage was chase King Louis.

  I cleared my throat, took a breath. “King Louis doesn’t love you.”

  “La-la.” She snorted. “I’m sorry we haven’t found a husband for you, truly. Why haven’t you taken up with one of the married men who would be happy to have you?”

  The suggestion coming from my cousin’s lips was even more insulting than Buckingham’s offer. “The sin, I suppose.” Because my mother is sure a scandal will expose a secret that will ruin our family.

  “My brother Charles says God won’t mind if we take a little pleasure along the way.”

  “But the rumors—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Your mother is coming here.”

  Her eyes widened for a fleeting second. Then she shrugged. “I finally have the passion I longed for all my life. I’ll never give it up.”

  * * *

  Her mother did not come. Instead, her husband and his mother, Anne of Austria, packed her belongings and forced her on a sojourn into the country. “You must watch de Mortemart while I’m away,” she said through clenched teeth on her way down the horseshoe staircase. “I don’t like how she looks at Louis, and who knows how long I’ll be gone?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Youth does not lend itself easily to reason.

  —MADAME DE MOTTEVILLE

  She’d only been gone a day when I received a summons from King Louis to meet him by the Diana fountain. I started to make an excuse to the page, but he informed me the king would take me riding to the falconry to check on our rescued bird. I was touched that he’d followed through. Perhaps he was not so careless as I’d thought.

  Though I was wary, I pulled new boots over silk stockings. The Spanish leather was as soft as my own skin. I tied the ribbon laces grimly, thinking that these boots would never hurt my toes.

  La Vallière was right. King Louis was handsome. And strong. As I breathed the jasmine-scented fountain water, he helped me onto a horse himself with one swift swing. When he touched me, I felt my cheeks burn.

  “The Goddess Diana,” he said, nodding to the statue in the sunken fountain. “Known as the Chaste Huntress. I wonder how she maintains her virtue so scantily dressed?”

  I glanced at the statue’s bare shoulders. Madame had stolen the Greek stories Father Cyprien kept in his library after he refused to teach them to us. “The divine have the power to rise above worldly desires.”

  “Unlike us mortals.” He whisked his horse to a trot and we rode from the garden, two of his guards leading with torches. At the falconry, the chief ran out with his assistants and bowed low. “My page brought you an injured bird some weeks ago,” the king called.

  The man nodded and gestured to a boy, who ran back in. “Oui, Your Majesty. The creature heals. Would you like to see?”

  The boy hustled out holding a shallow wooden crate.

  “Show the lady,” said King Louis.

  The nest was pushed to one side, and the bird, larger now, sat by it on a lining of straw. The boy coaxed it to perch on his finger and lifted it up for us to see. It fluffed its dark brown feathers and opened its wings. Just then the bird relieved itself. A little white smattering of waste landed on the toe of the king’s boot. His eyes opened wide with astonishment, and he looked at me. The falconer fell before the king, wiping his boot and apologizing, and the little boy flushed scarlet. I burst out laughing, felt my spirit lighten, and soon the king was laughing with me.

  We rode back to the palace by way of the forest’s edge. The full moon bathed the lawn in silver light and cast eerie shadows among the trees. The darkness heightened the whispered secrets of the rustling leaves, making the forest as mysterious by night as it was magical by day.

  “You and I are just alike,” he said.

  “Oh?” I grinned. “You enjoy tea and have no dowry?”

  He laughed. “We have both just been granted great opportunity.”

  “Forgive me, Majesty, but what could be greater than the kingship you were born to?”

  “My mother has been my regent for much of my life, and Cardinal Mazarin helped her keep France intact. To their credit, the Fronde is over, my parliaments have little power, and the nobility are weakened.”

  I smiled. He was setting out on his own much as I was.

  “I couldn’t surpass Cardinal Mazarin’s authority while he lived. God rest him, but with his death, I finally have absolute rule in France.”

  “Oh, I rule nothing. I may be out from under my mother’s nose for now, but she won’t allow it much longer.”

  “Are you close to your family?”

  “I miss them terribly. But I needed this time away.”

  “I wonder what it would be like to have a regular family. A king must always give his younger brother something to think about other than the throne. And things with my father were … complicated.”

  “But you were so young when he died.”

  He eyed me. “Can I trust you?”

  I nodded.

  “I meant Cardinal Mazarin. He and my mother loved each other deeply. Though my mother won’t admit it, I’ve come to suspect the rumors are true and that he was my real father.”

  Is this what he’d meant when he said we were alike? Does he know about my parents? “This must have caused you great conflict.”

  “I knew you would understand.” He paused. We were reapproaching the fountain. “It would do me great honor if you would ride with me again soon.”

  I didn’t respond but heeled my horse to move a little faster.

  “Ah. Diana will resist worldly temptation.”

  “I’m no Diana.” I was sorry the moment I said it.

  * * *

  Two days later, Monsieur stepped from one of Anne of Austria’s carriages wearing a lace robe over his traveling clothes and a sulky expression. He dutifully handed Madame out, then marched up one side of the horseshoe staircase to embrace the Comte de Guiche. They disappeared into the palace arm in arm. My cousin gestured for her ladies and led us in a promenade to the canal. “Tell me all that happened,” she whispered to me.

  “We are nearly prepared for the Ballet des Saisons,” I said haltingly, and gestured to the workers erecting a stage beside the lake.

  “Was there a ball? Did the king dance with anyone?”

  “There was none.” I turned my face. “Fontainebleau was perfectly boring without you.”

  She seemed to relax. “They think to control me, to make me the unhappiest creature in the realm, to make me the perfect little Catholic bride. It may be extremely useful to die in God’s grace, but it is extremely dull to live in it,” she said. “He will come to me again tonight.” She stooped to flick her fingers in the canal. The splash sent little ripples in every direction. “I will be the king’s mistress.”

  CHAPTER 7

  July

  King Louis said he loved Frances Stuart not as a mistress, but as one he could marry as well as any lady in France.

  —SAMUEL
PEPYS’S DIARY

  On the night of the Ballet des Saisons, the moon illuminated the lawn at the bank of the lake at Fontainebleau. Thousands of torches lit the tree-lined avenues and sparkled their reflection in the canal. Clusters of candelabra glowed at the edge of the stage where we danced.

  I formed a circle with ten other ladies. Clad in drapes of flowing green silk, we played the Muses and rounded Madame, tossing flowers at her feet and reciting verses. She played the goddess Diana in a frail white Grecian gown. With a silver crescent on her brow and her dainty bow and arrow poised, she looked majestic, innocent. A Chaste Huntress. I knew better on all counts.

  Rising on my toes, I turned in time with the swelling melody of the violins. I leaned gracefully toward Madame and tossed a rose at her feet. Beside me, La Vallière began her twirl. As we continued our wide circle around Madame, she gloated in the pomp. I hurled another rose at her feet and forced myself to look into the crowd.

  Queen Marie-Thérèse had emerged from her bed to sit a bit too close to the stage. With her dog in her lap and her dwarf and attendants at her sides, she did not watch the ballet. Instead, she glared at something with a severe frown.

  Curious to see what vexed her, I turned with my next pirouette and followed her line of sight.

  It was King Louis, offstage, draped in a cloak of woven flowers and wearing a diamond-encrusted crown. He stared intently at Madame with an unmistakable look of lust in his eyes.

  My heart thudded, and I hated the rush of heat it sent through me. I had been avoiding him. Every rehearsal, while he flirted with Madame and cast me surreptitious glances, I busied myself elsewhere. At dances, I flirted with every man, married or no, to be sure I was never without a partner. I might be envious of the way he looked at Madame, but I would not be tempted into a trap.

  We Muses pulled in quickly to Madame, fell to our knees, and lifted our hands to her in homage. The rest of the players danced onto the stage, skipping and circling around us in the final sequence. Then came the king’s cue.

  He was the best dancer at court. From where I knelt, it looked like his feet hardly touched the stage, and his silk stockings accentuated the muscles in his legs. At last, he dropped to his knees before Madame for his final line. “To you, the Queen of Beauty.”

  Queen Marie-Thérèse stood then. She yanked up her skirts, placed one hand on her burgeoning belly, and stomped away. Her attendants leaped and scrambled after her, glancing back at the stage and whispering.

  The remainder of the audience stood and applauded. Half of them watched the queen retreat. The rest whispered and eyed the royal lovers onstage.

  I looked back at the king and Madame. They gazed into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the pregnant queen’s anger. How could they be so heartless?

  The violins pulled their last notes, spiraling higher and cutting to the nerves. We bowed and the curtains fell mercifully closed. The players scattered offstage, muttering and peeking back at Madame and King Louis.

  I stepped up to them. “Your Majesties, please. People are talking. Your husband would be in a rage if he were not so preoccupied with—” I glanced at King Louis.

  Madame threw her head back, laughing. “The king already knows my husband is having an affair with the Comte de Guiche. Everyone knows.”

  “The queen looked very angry watching the pair of you tonight.”

  “Even a queen must submit to her king. And Louis loves me more than that short, fat dullard.”

  I held my breath, fearful of how he would respond to such disrespect.

  His features seemed carefully neutral when he met my gaze.

  “Right, Louis?” Madame looked from him to me, then back to him.

  At last, he turned to her. “She is nothing compared to you.” He stroked her cheek. “And I cannot bear to see you scandalized by the wagging tongues of malicious courtiers.”

  She shook her head. “You know I care not what—”

  King Louis placed a finger on her lips. “My brother grows jealous of my favor,” the king said to her in a soothing tone. “You will suffer at his hand because of me. Can we not throw them all off somehow?” King Louis leaned toward her. “Put it out that I am conducting a dalliance with one of your ladies. I can continue keeping company with you under the guise of visiting her.”

  “How clever,” Madame said. “No harm in a ruse for the days. And no one knows about your visits at night.”

  King Louis nodded. “Maybe Frances would agree to the task.”

  “No.” Madame snapped out of her trance. “De La Vallière.”

  “As you wish, my love.” Then he released her and slipped away.

  She eyed me. I bit my cheek, replaying all that had just happened. “I’m good enough to guard your chamber door at night but not to serve as a distraction during the day?”

  “Your beauty is a little too distracting.” She stepped to me and lifted one of my long curls. “Your hair has streaks of gold in it now, streams of sunshine. Fontainebleau has changed you.”

  And not all for the better.

  * * *

  Watching them during the banquet supper and then as they danced together in the hall became too much for me. Whispers about them burned my ears. So I wrapped my arms around myself and slipped away early. I needed no maid to pull off my costume, and I donned my chemise and robe de chambre in solemn quiet. Propping my elbow on the high sill, I pushed my window open. It creaked softly. The lawn was deserted but for a few servants cleaning the mess we’d left behind. Cloaked in silver darkness, the geometric courts and canals of Fontainebleau stretched, splendid and vast. I felt small in its complexity. The only element keeping me here was the blood Madame thought we shared, and friendship with her was one thing I never wanted to lose. The passage door inched open behind me, and King Louis slipped in quietly.

  “Pardon me,” I said, curtsying. “It is earlier than I’m used to—”

  “I love her as a tie to her brother the king. But it is you I truly want.” He wrapped his arms around me, a warming embrace that tempted too much.

  He kissed me so fiercely I leaned back under his weight. “Please.”

  He tugged the sash of my robe de chambre until it gaped open, and he pulled me closer. Our eyes locked and he put his hands on the shoulders of my robe and slid it down my back. He nipped my lips with his and pulled my hips with one hand. Without thinking, I ran my fingers across his cheek, stroked his curls. Our warmth grew hot, spreading, needing. He looked at my face for one agonizing pause, then pushed my robe to the floor, held me tightly and thrust himself into my hips. I did not stop him; I wanted to fall back onto the bed, let this be what it would. Then I saw the window, still open to the night air. No, my mind said. I would ruin myself and destroy her. I had to end this. I imagined the window inside of me. I pulled it until the diamond-shaped panes latched closed over my heart, separating us. “Stop,” I said loudly, pushing his shoulders.

  King Louis moaned into my ear and tugged my chemise strings, loosening it and exposing my breast.

  I never heard the door open. She didn’t make a sound. I only spotted her because I shifted to find my robe.

  Madame.

  I froze. Regret and my too-late resolve crashed around me. King Louis muttered some question, saw my horrified expression, and then followed my gaze. He released me. I nearly fell.

  She was ashen, barely breathing. The shock on her face seared me. King Louis stepped to her, put his hands on her arms, and tried to turn her away. She stood firm, staring me down.

  I lifted my rumpled chemise and held it in front of my chest.

  For one fleeting moment the shock gave way to hurt in her eyes. The worst expression I’d ever seen on her. Then it was gone. She started to tremble, and her color returned as if her blood seethed.

  The king gave up trying to turn her and just pushed. “Come away now. Come away.”

  She stumbled back but did not break her stare. I thought she would burn a hole right through my soul. I felt myself
starting to sink, slipping against the bed.

  He finally inched her out and started to pull the door behind him.

  She reached out to stop it with force. “I save you and this is how you thank me? You grab at my heart’s one desire for yourself? Pack for England tonight, you—you whore! If it is a royal lover you want, I will arrange one for you. Who will save you from your mother’s wrath when Charles is through with you?”

  “Enough!” King Louis pushed her back and slammed the door.

  Behind it, I heard her retching. Then wailing. “I will tell Charles you betrayed me; you are not to be trusted!” Her muffled cries mingled with his low voice. Her skirts swished in hurried steps and then they were silent.

  My knees hit the floor. What had I done?

  CHAPTER 8

  She opened, but to shut

  Excelled her power; the gates wide open stood.

  —JOHN MILTON,

  Paradise Lost

  The first summons came from King Louis. One of his guards appeared at my chamber the next morning commanding my attendance in the François Gallery. My hands trembled. I would tell King Louis, firmly, we must apologize to Madame and dally no more. I glanced around for something to hold and fished my mother’s rosary beads from the wooden chest. I said a quick prayer and followed the guard.

  Musketeers stood at the entry to the gallery and stepped aside to let me in. I squinted to accommodate the brightness. The carved wood and gilded stucco wall on one side of the deserted hall was awash in sunlight, streaming through the windows that lined the opposite side. Amber light bounced off the intricate details, statues, and paintings. It filled the room, the perfect setting for the Sun King to dwell in. I paced along the wall inspecting the frescoes and Italian paintings, lingering at one by Leonardo da Vinci, La Joconde. This palace was so unlike Palais Royal or Château Colombes. Here the art was intact. Here the walls did not peel.

  When I turned to the windows, I paused. There a table stood that I had not seen at first. A large gray parrot sat on a perch beside it. It examined me with its head cocked to one side. Its tiny eyes were like black glass beads framed in a circle of delicate white feathers. I went to it. “Pretty creature, bonjour.” I took an orange slice from a bowl and slowly lifted it to his beak. He cocked his head the other way and studied me. Then, gently, he lifted one claw, took the food from my fingers, and ate.