“I forgot to fix my hair today. I had such a busy morning.”
“Busy in what regard? Has your mother grown worse?” His eyes narrowed sharply.
“No, not that. We had company earlier – my friend Constance.” Instinctively, she felt that Roland would be angry if she spoke about Gareth Eriksen. The last thing she wanted was for her brother to be upset with her now that he finally seemed to be taking notice of her and actually liked her. “Mama is resting, but I can send for her if you like.”
“No,” he interjected quickly, “do not disturb your mother’s rest. I want to talk to you. I will be traveling back to Paris for a few months. Our treaty negotiations with the English are nearly completed and the King has requested my presence at court.”
“Do you think that the King will want to talk to you about the Chevalier? Is he going to help Prince Charles Edward?” She could not keep the excitement out of her voice.
Roland’s expression was grim. “I know your mother has convinced you that the young Chevalier should be king, but, ma chere, it may not be in France’s best interest to support him. We are just ending one war with England and the King does not show eagerness to start another.”
Madeline lowered her head in dejection. “But Roland, he is the rightful heir to the throne. Mama says without King Louis’s help, the Stuarts will never be restored.”
“Your Mama is right, as always.” There was a faintly sardonic edge to his voice. “However, such decisions cannot be made by you or me. I do not have Papa’s influence on the King, and you should know that Louis did not welcome the Prince when he came to Paris. Louis remembers well that his grandfather, le Roi Soleil, financed the first Stuart restoration attempt in Ireland. You must know what a disaster that was. Your own grandfather lost everything after the ‘15.”
“The Highland clans rallied to James Stuart just as they have to his son now. They’re doing the fighting. Surely, King Louis could spare him some aid.”
“Le Blanc Chevalier arrived in Scotland with only a handful of advisors, none of them French.” Roland’s face was devoid of expression, a perfect mask, his voice flat.
“Perhaps if you were to see Madame de Chateauroux, she could help to persuade the King. Maman was a favorite of hers if you recall.”
Roland frowned deeply. “You have not heard, non, how could you? Madame de Chateauroux is no longer the King’s mistress.”
“Ciel, I don’t believe it! He adored her, and she is so lovely.” Madeline was crushed with surprised disappointment.
“He has a new favorite now.”
“How can that be?”
Roland smiled at her with an expression that betrayed self-satisfaction with his superior knowledge. “The King nearly died of the ague. When everyone was certain that he would not survive the fever, including himself, he swore to God that if he were spared, he would give up Madame de Chateauroux. He survived and felt he must keep his word. But a man like Louis does not exist long without a belle femme; he is a man of certain appetites. So it was necessary for him to choose a new amoureuse.”
“Who is she?” Madeline asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
“Jeanne Antoinette Poisson, the young and beautiful wife of La Normant d’Etioles.”
“Of course, I know who she is, the queen of fashionable society. But Maman had me in school by the time Paris began to feel her influence so I know little of her. What is she like?”
“She has great personal grace and beauty, excellent musical accomplishments. I understand she sketches quite well also. Madame Poisson completely charmed Louis when he met her at a ball last year. Since then, he has become subject to her influence and established her at Versailles. Louis bought her the estate of Pompadour and she now carries the title of Marquise de Pompadour. If one wishes to influence Louis, one must first establish himself in her good graces. All his important decisions are made from her boudoir these days.”
“Perhaps this woman will prove to be a passing fancy,” Madeline suggested.
“Louis is vain, handsome, lazy, profligate and also easily bored,” Roland remarked thoughtfully. “It is quite possible that he will select another mistress soon. In any case, I do intend to meet this Marquise de Pompadour for myself.”
“And you will return to tell me all about her?”
Roland laughed at her enthusiasm, taking her delicate hands in his own and kissing each palm. “Everything, I promise, ma chere. Of course, your mother would be outraged. But we will not tell her that I am educating you in the ways of polite society. You and she should return to France with me. She will not get better in the cold, damp English winter. Our lovely chateau in the South of France would be perfect for her, and then you would be free to spend the winter season in Paris with me. It is time that I introduced you properly to French society. You are a young lady now, no longer a child.”
“Roland, Maman will not go.”
“She wants you to make your debut here among the English, does she not? Ridiculous! They are barbarians without any semblance of taste.” He virtually spat his words.
Madeline cast her eyes downward, the thick, sooty lashes fringing her pale eyes, hiding her sad expression. “I do not think a single English aristocrat would offer for me anyway. Last night, I went to a ball with my friends, and no one seemed the slightest bit interested.”
Roland drew her into his arms. “Cherie, of course, not! They are savages. But you are une belle femme, and in Paris you will shine like an etoile and draw the homage you deserve. I will see to it personally. The English swine are our enemies. Never forget that. What they think does not matter. Tell me, do you still practice your singing and work at your painting?”
“Oui, Roland.”
He favored her with a warm smile. “King Louis himself has never had a mistress with your beauty and talents. In Paris, the court shall fall before you in admiration, and I shall be the one to present you. You are a confection worthy of a king. There are better days ahead, ma cherie, better days for both of us.” The gleam in his eye, was it ambition or love for her? She preferred to think the latter.
Roland gave her a hug and she felt safe and protected by him. “You are so kind and comforting.”
“Not in the slightest. When I come back to London, I will make arrangements for you to return to Paris with me. Your mother and I will come to terms.” Roland’s eyes were suddenly hard and cold, metallic as the blade of a sword.
“Roland, you know that she is dying. I must stay with Maman and tend to her as long as she needs me.” Tears welled in Madeline’s eyes.
Roland’s eyes softened again and he pressed her hand to his cheek. “My sweet, gentle girl, you are so full of compassion. Never fear for I will take care of you always. Is there anything I can do for you at present?”
Madeline was hesitant but then decided to ask her brother for a favor. “I much desire to go to the theatre tonight. They are doing Shakespeare and I thought perhaps you might consider taking me.”
Roland smiled and touched her cheek. “Would that I were able, cherie, but I have already made particular plans for the evening. Besides, I would not approve the English theatre regardless. Why would you want to see a play written and spoken in the language of the accursed enemy? I, for one, could not abide it. But we will have our evening together, in fact, many of them. When I return from Paris, I will take you to the opera – so much more civilized.”
Roland kissed her on both cheeks, caressed her, and then left her alone in the drawing room. Madeline sat thoughtfully on the settee for a time. She fixed her eyes on the elegantly carved marble mantle of the fireplace. Perhaps her brother was right, she belonged in Paris. But Maman’s needs were her first consideration, and Maman wished to spend her final days in Scotland. There was really no choice in the matter.
Madeline ran up the staircase as quickly as she could. She never walked when she could run. It was fun to see how fast she could manage to move in her voluminous skirts without tripping. In her bedroom, Maman
was resting but not asleep. The great emerald eyes were alert. Yet, Madeline could see the pain in them as well as the iridescent purple shadows which rung them. Maman was a brave woman. She never complained; however, Madeline knew that she was suffering. The wasting illness drained away her strength, and Maman had become nothing but a scarecrow, a shadow of her former vibrant self. Even her hair, which had been a lovely red gold, had now, in her fortieth year, turned pale with an intrusion of silver slivers.
“Roland is gone already?” her mother asked.
“Oui Maman, but how did you know that he was here?”
“Marie keeps me informed of everyone who visits. She is my liaison to the world outside my bedroom when I cannot manage to leave it. What did he want, ma petite?”
“He wants us to return to Paris with him. He is going back for a few months.”
“You did not tell him of our plans I hope?”
“Of course not. But he did remind me of how exciting Paris is, Maman. He wants to introduce me to court society.”
Her mother frowned. “I have kept you from being corrupted and I will continue to do so as long as I can. I fear Roland may wish to exploit you. You must be protected from those who would take advantage of your exuberant spirit.”
Her mother held out her emaciated hand, indicating the place beside her bed, and Madeline quickly joined her mother, taking the icy, outstretched hand in her own warm ones. She studied the pattern of blue veins that stood out against the pale wrists.
“It will be as you say.” Madeline sighed with resignation. She was certain that Maman was wrong about Roland, but she understood her mother’s mistrust.
“I would like to see you well married before I depart this life. I have given this much thought. I do not want you to marry into the French aristocracy. There are few men like your father. I was most fortunate. As to the English, I wanted you to have a season here in London, but I see now that would be a mistake. First, I have little time left. Secondly, I do not trust the English. A man like that Gareth Eriksen would only break your heart. You are loving and ingenuous. Only a rare man would understand or accept your independence of spirit.”
“I do not think Gareth Eriksen would have hurt me.”
“Not deliberately perhaps, but I fear that he has led a harsh life and has become a hard man, one who could be dominating and insensitive. Would he value your zest for life?”
Madeline did not wish to doubt her mother, still it was difficult to believe ill of the incredibly handsome Englishman. Yet, perhaps in her naiveté, she was judging him only by superficial criteria such as appearance rather than by standards of character and conduct.
Her mother smiled wanly, the face very pale against the fluffed pillows. “The Highlands are like no other place on earth, and you will soon find that out. Your cousin Andrew will make you an excellent husband. I have been corresponding with Annie, my cousin, who is Andrew’s mother. She wishes the match just as much as I do. He is a fine man and chieftain of a great clan. It is time you found out about your heritage, my girl. How I have missed my childhood home and family! When my father was attainted and banished from Scotland, the only good thing was that his estates were allowed to pass to his younger brother who had not participated in the war because he was too young. Otherwise, everything that belonged to the MacCarnan would have been forfeited to the Crown. A marriage between you and your cousin Andrew would restore all of us.”
“But Maman, I do not even know him. Perhaps I will not like him.”
“You will. We leave for Scotland in a few days. Your cousin is off fighting for Prince Charles, but with any luck, he will return safe and triumphant. And you’ll be waiting in the Highlands for him.” Her mother smiled happily, and Madeline knew that no matter what her personal feelings were regarding arranged marriages, now was not the time to protest to her mother.
Madeline ate dinner alone as she often did these days. Her spirits were low and she didn’t manage to eat very much. Afterwards, she decided to bring her mother a tray. Marie, her mother’s maid, sat beside Maman as she rested. Her mother’s translucent eyelids were shut like coffins.
“I brought you some dinner,” she said as her mother’s eyes opened.
Marie threw her a look that clearly said Madeline had usurped the maid’s duties. Maman also looked displeased.
“You should not have bothered. I have no hunger.”
“But you must eat.”
Maman shook her head. “Marie has given me something for the pain. That is all I need at present. I wish only to rest.” She turned her head with an air of dismissal.
Madeline left the tray of untouched food behind, feeling even more despondent as she quit her mother’s bedchamber. She decided to go to the library and select a book. Once in her favorite room, she glanced restlessly through a collection of Shakespeare’s plays. Perhaps if she could not see Othello, she would read it. But the thought brought only anger and frustration. Men could go wherever they wished, never worrying or waiting for an escort. Why must it always be so different for women? She raged at the injustice of it.
There must be a way for me to go where I want. I feel as though I am dying right along with Maman. If a man could go where he chose, then why couldn’t a woman disguised as a man do just the same thing? Some of Papa’s clothes were still upstairs in the closet of the guest room. But, she realized, they would be too large for her. How could she obtain men’s clothing that would fit her on such short notice? She was not willing to concede the impossibility. Yet if she went shopping for men’s clothing, questions would be raised. Servants always gossiped. It was necessary to be discreet.
Was she not of passable skill with a needle and thread? Certainly, she could shorten a pair of breeches, altering them so they fit reasonably well. She ran back upstairs and began going through her father’s old things. It was good that Maman had not given everything away. She looked for simple clothing, nothing too elegant or elaborate that would draw attention to her. Her only problem with the breeches was they proved too tight in the hips, but she could just about wriggle into a pair. The alterations proved less difficult than she had anticipated. The hose remained baggy and the shirt and outer vest were too large, but her appearance was acceptable. With a pair of paper-stuffed shoes, she looked like a young boy. She twisted her hair tightly and pinned it as flat as possible. Unfortunately, Papa’s hats looked wrong on her. She judged they showed too much of her face and were appropriate for a much older person, the kind of man who wore a full wig beneath. She nearly gave up in despair. Then came another idea, a stroke of brilliance, she decided with some self-satisfaction. She must obtain a cap, the sort worn by boys in the streets. It would surely make her look like a young apprentice, less of her face would be visible and no one would bother to observe her closely.
But obtaining such a cap would be impossible at the moment – unless… Johnny! The boy who did odd jobs for them had such a cap. She had seen him wearing it many times. Perhaps she could get him to loan it to her for the evening. Quickly, she changed back into her own clothes and hurried downstairs. The kitchen maids were busy cleaning up the counters and ovens for the night when she surprised them by entering the room. She rarely went into the kitchen since it was an area clearly designated as the servants’ domain.
She asked for Johnny, further surprising the girls, but one told her he was outside attending to the trash. She ignored the tittering behind her as she walked out the back way. She did not see the boy at first and had to call out his name. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw him coming toward her.
“Did you want me, Mistress?” His voice betrayed wariness.
“I want to make a request of you. Could you loan me your cap for tonight and not tell anyone about it?”
“My cap?” he sounded so appalled that she almost burst out laughing.
“Oui, your cap.”
“Whatever you say,” the boy agreed distractedly.
Madeline suddenly thought of something else. She
would need transportation to the theatre and she certainly was not going to ask for the coach since that would raise a considerable number of questions.
“Johnny, how do you get back and forth to work each day?”
“Why I walk, mistress.”
She lowered her head in dejection. “Is there no other way that you travel?”
“Well, sometimes Mr Smith, the stableman, loans me Old Bertie to run errands.”
She looked up again. “Can you borrow him for tonight?”
“That I can.”
Madeline felt a sense of elation. She was going to manage it after all.
That evening, she dressed carefully in her disguise and took whatever money she had in her room to use for the evening. Then she waited until she was certain that the kitchen would be empty, and with a large, hooded cloak drawn tightly around her, she hurried down the backstairs and slipped out the kitchen door. Her heart was pounding loudly with fear of discovery, but no one noticed her.
Her luck continued to hold, for Johnny was waiting with Old Bertie.
“Thank you,” she said with an air of dismissal, “I’ll bring him back safe and sound later tonight.”
Johnny seemed upset. “It’s not the horse I’d be worrying about. No, miss, I couldn’t let you ride alone through these ‘ere streets at night. Why it just ain’t safe.” He raised his chin with determination.
There was no arguing with him, she could see that. The boy helped her onto the horse and then seated himself in front of her so that she would hold on to him instead of the other way around.
She realized that he was trying to be considerate, allowing her to avoid the intimacy of his touch. He was scarcely older than herself but seemed to know so much more about the ways of the world.
Madeline could barely contain her excitement. She was acutely aware of embarking on an adventure, one that she chose to undertake. All her life, it had been impressed upon her that she must always be obedient and do what others told her. For once she was making her own decisions and it felt very good. She was not merely waiting for men to offer to escort her places but had taken matters into her own hands; that was most satisfying.
The Chevalier Page 5