The Sun King Conspiracy
Page 23
‘Are you missing your actor friend, Mademoiselle de La Vallière?’
The ironic question made her jump for the second time that evening, and looking displeased, she turned towards its author.
There in front of her stood the master of the house, Nicolas Fouquet, wearing a slightly mocking smile. Surprised, Louise got to her feet and curtseyed, at the same time thinking that the gibe had been only partly incorrect: she was indeed missing Gabriel, despite that absurd jealousy …
‘Youth is inconsistent, don’t you think?’ went on the Superintendent. ‘You are bored in Paris while he is bored at Vaux, if I am to believe what I see. If you were there you would see him moping about with that languid air of his, fretting. He daren’t give too much away because he has been well brought up, but he’s as easy to read as an open book, even though he’s an actor.’
Detecting a glimmer of wariness in Louise’s eyes, Fouquet came closer.
‘Don’t worry, Mademoiselle. When he placed himself under my protection, Gabriel did me the favour of confiding in me to the extent that I know what unites you, that is to say his name, his parentage and his youth. I only wish him well. But apart from the dangers which surround him, making it preferable for him to stay away from Paris, I fear that Monsieur Colbert’s manoeuvring with regard to that ungrateful wretch Molière may have considerably damaged his professional situation. I don’t yet know what is afoot that should make his activities so interesting to such powerful individuals, even if he is Gabriel de Pontbriand. But I shall find out. From now on, he had better be careful.’
A note of urgency entered his voice.
‘That applies to you too, Mademoiselle. It is said that the year 1661 is a perilous time for newcomers to Court. Take care,’ he urged her, his tone serious. ‘One is not always aware that one is playing a dangerous game until one steps on a nest of vipers …’
Perplexed by this enigmatic phrase, Louise looked at him questioningly.
‘What do you mean, Monsieur?’
‘Monsieur Superintendent!’
As he was swallowed up by a group of guests, Fouquet gestured vaguely to Louise that he was unable to answer that. She watched him move away with an unpleasant feeling of apprehension in her heart.
Why did he say that? she wondered, knitting the slender eyebrows which arched above her large blue eyes. And what exactly does he know?
She had no time to arrive at an answer before a hand was laid on her bare arm, making her jump for the third time that evening.
‘My dear, how nervous you are,’ said the voice of Olympe Mancini softly.
Louise bowed, trying to suppress the blush she could feel rising in her cheeks.
‘What do young girls dream of?’ Olympe continued, sitting down beside her. ‘Shall we talk for a while? You are young and new to these surroundings; I should like to talk to you as I would to a friend. The Court is a cruel world and above all a world that is difficult to understand, full of codes and manners which set traps for the newcomer. It is best not to venture into it alone; it would be far too easy to believe that the moon is made of green cheese … or of charming princes,’ she commented with a feigned air of detachment.
Louise’s mistrust sprang into life. She could feel Olympe’s eyes on the back of her neck, on her cheek. She must not allow her feelings to show.
‘People are like seasons,’ went on Olympe, ‘ever changing and unpredictable. It is better to start from the basis that one has no friends apart from those with whom one shares a common interest. I know this must seem sad and cynical to your childish heart, but it would be wicked of me not to put you on your guard.’
Louise felt Olympe’s cold fingers on her wrist.
‘I can be your friend; I have to be your friend. A friend who is extremely dependable, faithful and useful. A friend capable of keeping your secrets and protecting them. Believe it or not, they do not interest me,’ she said, her voice suddenly curt.
Louise listened in silence as the words accumulated, adding to her feeling of unease. She took a deep breath and turned to face Olympe.
‘That would be a most precious friendship,’ she replied slowly, making an effort to control her intonation. ‘I fear I do not have the means to afford it.’
Olympe hesitated for a moment before replying.
‘Do not be foolish. What interests me is what you see, what you hear, no more. You will talk to me, and that is all.’
‘Secrets are like perfumes,’ said Louise, pulling her hand away. ‘They cannot bear to be spilled …’
‘Precisely!’ Olympe exclaimed, her voice almost menacing and tinged with the fear that her prey was about to escape.
‘… and besides, I cannot answer your proposition on my own. Do I have your permission to put it to His Majesty?’ Louise enquired, fleeing without waiting for an answer, as though frightened by her own boldness.
‘Damn her!’ swore Olympe between her teeth. ‘She will pay for this.’
Louise ran towards the garden and came out onto the terrace, almost knocking over a servant carrying a salver. The cool, flower-scented air filled her lungs. She realised she was trembling.
The festivities were coming to an end. Guests were leaving the house in small groups, travelling back down the avenue where the footmen had once again taken up their positions. The cold air slowly reclaimed the deserted grounds. Jolted about by the wheels as they trundled over earth that was still muddy from the previous day’s rain, Louise drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. Aude was already asleep beside her, her head slumped to one side and threatening to fall onto her shoulder at every jolt. The shrill grating of the wheel hubs resounded in Louise’s ears. She tried to relax, but was unable to forget her encounter with Olympe. The woman’s words seemed to stick to her skin like the over-sweet juice of those grapes she had once pilfered with Gabriel: What a long time ago, she reflected … She shivered again as she recalled the threats barely veiled by Olympe’s honeyed words; she had made it known that she was aware of the bond uniting Louise with the King, and that people with evil intentions could take offence at it and seek to harm her. Olympe had hinted that she needed protection, and that it would be so easy for her, so innocuous, to ensure the recognition of powerful people by telling them what the King said, and what his concerns were.
Louise wondered if she had been right to say no; perhaps she should have held her tongue. Whatever the answer, the lightning bolts that issued from Olympe’s eyes as she had fled left her in no doubt that there was no way back.
‘Tomorrow, we shall see tomorrow,’ Louise murmured again, feeling sleep overwhelm her.
A moment later, as the coachman urged the horses along the road to the Paris toll-gate and the Vincennes keep had already vanished over the horizon, there was only silence and darkness inside the carriage.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Saint-Mandé, Nicolas Fouquet’s residence – Sunday 10 April, after the festivities
THE last guests had left the Superintendent’s house. The servants were all bustling about, moving back furniture and clearing away china to remove all trace of the buffets laid out in the house’s numerous reception rooms. Nicolas Fouquet had no desire to go to bed, particularly as his wife’s pregnancy meant that pleasures of the flesh were out of the question. He had brought François d’Orbay and Jean de La Fontaine to his office to sample some port wine he had ordered by the case. The conversation was relaxed and merry. After weeks of uncertainty about the Cardinal’s health, then the establishment of the new governmental structure imposed by Louis XIV, the Superintendent had the feeling that things were settling back to normal. His approach at Fontainebleau and the sovereign’s pardon seemed to have dispelled all the suspicions that Colbert had been working perfidiously to instil for months.
‘Did you see him when he was taking the oath?’ said La Fontaine, ‘He was all puffed up like a bullfrog trying to make himself as big as an ox.’
The comparison made Fouquet burst out laughing.
‘Monseigneur, beware of snakes which appear to be asleep in the sun,’ d’Orbay went on, savouring his port. ‘Those creatures are more treacherous than frogs!’
‘You are right, my dear d’Orbay.’
The Superintendent sank back into his armchair, thinking of Mademoiselle de La Vallière’s gentle beauty. He regretted not having been able to continue his conversation with her.
‘I wonder what Olympe Mancini wanted with young La Vallière.’
One might have thought François d’Orbay could read Fouquet’s mind.
‘Nothing good, no doubt,’ replied La Fontaine. ‘The poor little thing looked extremely uncomfortable when Olympe was gripping her arm.’
The Superintendent’s eyes were closed and he seemed not to hear what was being said around him. At last he sat up and began speaking again.
‘I have to leave for London in a few days’ time to settle some highly important financial matters. In my absence I am counting on you, Messieurs, to see that our projects at Vaux continue apace. My dear Jean, you will need to reprimand Le Brun; he hasn’t delivered the tapestries he promised, and a large part of the chateau’s decoration is being delayed as a result. And you, d’Orbay, your task is to supervise work in the gardens: I have the impression that the supply of water to the lakes is falling behind schedule. Damn it, one can’t keep using wintry weather as an excuse in April! One other thing – please see to it that the plants and species I showed you are planted so that they mature by the summer,’ finished Fouquet, exchanging a look of complicity with his architect.
As soon as he heard of the Superintendent’s imminent departure for the English capital, François d’Orbay had an idea.
‘Don’t worry, Monseigneur, I shall personally ensure that we double the size of the work teams and motivate everyone to make up for the delays that have built up over the winter,’ said the architect. ‘I was at the site again yesterday and I promise you that they are making good progress. What worries me at Vaux, if I may make so bold, is something else.’
‘What do you mean?’ the Superintendent asked with a frown.
‘It’s young Gabriel, whom you have taken under your wing. I have the feeling that he is quite miserable.’
‘Are you sure?’ Fouquet queried, realising that d’Orbay was trying to send him a message without alerting La Fontaine. ‘What has happened?’
‘It’s probably down to Molière’s betrayal, which has deprived him of his theatrical dreams. But I imagine that he is also unhappy to be so far from Paris. What can one say, Monseigneur? At his age, the joys of the countryside are soon exhausted! You should let him have a change of air,’ the architect added subtly, his eyes suddenly brighter.
‘Why don’t you take him with you to London?’ La Fontaine suggested to Fouquet.
This suggestion was exactly what the architect had been hoping for. He could already imagine his old master’s joy at rediscovering his son.
‘An excellent idea!’ said the Superintendent with a laugh, delighted at d’Orbay’s shrewdness. ‘I shall take the young turtledove to London then. But I cannot guarantee that the Thames fog will bring back his smile!’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Palais du Louvre, Colbert’s office – Friday 15 April, six o’clock in the evening
WITH his hands clasped behind his back, Colbert had been pacing about gloomily for almost twenty minutes, mechanically following the border which ran around the edge of the large Gobelin tapestry laid on the floor in front of his desk. Seated on either side in two bright-blue wing-back chairs were the King’s brother, the Duc d’Orléans, and Olympe Mancini. Both of them were equally preoccupied, and the Duc d’Orléans was fiddling with the green ribbons adorning his white silk jacket with podgy, be-ringed fingers.
‘All the same,’ he went on plaintively in his falsetto voice, ‘all the same, when I abandoned my plan of going hunting with my brother today, I was expecting other news; news more in accordance with our hopes …’
‘I’m pleased that you speak of “our” hopes, Monseigneur,’ Colbert interrupted, still pacing and taking a deep breath to mask his irritation. ‘First because that word flatters me, unworthy as I am of the way you generously associate me with your worries. Second, because I see that we have arrived at the same opinion by differing paths. You believe that Mademoiselle de La Vallière is encouraging your future wife’s complaints about you, and might do you the disservice of conveying these calumnies to the King. I fear this too, and the fact that it wounds you upsets me. What is more, you think that this young girl is uncontrollable. I am convinced of that too. These young women of the Court often have their heads turned. So much the worse for her. We gave her an excellent opportunity,’ he added, turning back to Olympe, who was silent, ‘yet she did not wish to take it. So much the worse for her. But I have to say,’ he added, finally ending his circular walk and turning his gaze upon Olympe, ‘that I fear something worse.’
‘I can confirm that I saw her speak at length to the Superintendent at Saint-Mandé,’ declared the young woman, as though prompted.
‘And she even uttered the name of that young man Gabriel,’ cut in Colbert, ‘whose propensity to find himself amongst known conspirators against the State is beginning to disturb me, all the more so since he disappeared without trace just after a private meeting with … Superintendent Fouquet! You are right, Monseigneur.’ He raised his voice. ‘This has gone on too long. We have discussed the facts, tiresome facts. We must now act. Immediately. We must put an end to this. My men have been instructed to find Gabriel and to get hold of …’
Colbert broke off, signalling that a full account would take too long.
‘Well, that’s another story. Anyway, they are trying to find him. Meanwhile, no one must be allowed to reach the King through Mademoiselle de La Vallière. She must be put out of action,’ he concluded grimly.
The King’s brother was still for a moment.
‘What exactly does that mean?’ he asked anxiously.
‘It means,’ said Colbert, approaching Olympe, ‘that the messenger who offered security will now deliver the opposite.’
The prince frowned, dumbfounded, making Colbert smiled.
‘You were not yet born, Monseigneur, but you will certainly have heard about what happened to your mother the Queen, may God watch over her.’
When the prince did not react, Colbert continued in a professorial tone.
‘When your father Louis XIII, King of France, discovered that she was informing her Spanish relatives by letter about what he had said and done, he wanted to dissolve the marriage contract and send her away. She was fortunate in having the active support of the late Cardinal Mazarin, God rest his soul. Well, what has happened before may happen again. Except that Mademoiselle de La Vallière will not have an advocate of the Cardinal’s stature to defend her!’
‘Imagine if she was conspiring!’ the King’s brother exclaimed enthusiastically, suddenly catching on.
‘Indeed,’ Colbert encouraged him. ‘Anyway, I have found this conversation most constructive,’ he said for Olympe’s benefit.
Olympe got to her feet and bade the two men farewell with a curtsey before heading for the door.
‘So you think the problem will soon be resolved?’ the prince asked.
‘I do not think; I know,’ replied Colbert reassuringly.
‘Monseigneur, the greatest virtue of women like Olympe is that they understand without having to be told explicitly, or in any great detail … the
y just go where their hatred leads them. She’s so practical, as many women are.’
The King’s brother merely nodded.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
London, Palace of Whitehall – Friday 22 April, five o’clock in the afternoon
GABRIEL was waiting by Fouquet’s side in the ambassadors’ stateroom. As he looked up at the lintel of the imposing mantelpiece, supported by two bearded giants, he stifled an exclamation of surprise.
‘Look at that!’ he said, pointing to the coat of arms carved into the stone.
Fouquet smiled and looked up.
‘Why are you surprised, young man?’
‘Er … well, it’s in French, Monsieur Superintendent,’ Gabriel said, showing him the motto. ‘It says, honni soit qui mal y pense!’
‘That hadn’t escaped me,’ Fouquet said phlegmatically. ‘Particularly since it’s the heraldic motto of the King and his family. In fact it’s one of the things his opponents and his father’s murderers held against him … Anyway, you are amazed by everything; I have a schoolboy for a secretary,’ he chided Gabriel affectionately.
The doors opened to admit the royal entourage, led by the King of England, Charles II. Gabriel was fascinated by the force of character emanating from the King as he slowly mounted the purple-draped dais making his way towards the throne, above which hung an escutcheon embossed with the lions of England.
How young he is, thought Gabriel, almost as young as the King of France. Almost as young as I am.