Worse, Alençon had now left Gascony to return to Paris, taking his master of horse, her darling Champvallon, with him. Margot was desolate. How could she live without her Narcissus? She felt so low that she took to wearing black like a widow in mourning, and would sit for hours in her apartment writing long, heartrending letters to him.
And all the while Fosseuse continued to strut about court like the proverbial cat who had swallowed the cream.
Henry came to Margot one day to inform her that he was planning a visit to Pau. ‘Fosseuse is suffering from a slight colic, so I have promised her a visit to Aigues-Caudes to take the waters, and then on to the chateau at Pau for a change of scene. I would naturally have you accompany us.’
‘I think not,’ Margot snapped. ‘You know how I have disliked that place of penitence ever since the incident over the Mass. They lack any tolerance for my religion. It is like a little Geneva, far too Puritan for me. I have no quarrel with your taking Fosseuse, but leave me out of your plans.’
Navarre was annoyed. ‘You know full well that I cannot travel alone with my mistress, it would only give rise to unnecessary scandal.’
Margot laughed. ‘It is no secret that you bed her.’
Henry winced. ‘Pray show some restraint, Margot, at least in your language if not your behaviour.’
‘Do not you start preaching at me, I will not tolerate it. Rebours, your former mistress, could act as chaperone. The woman will welcome taking the waters for the headaches which constantly beset her. And I would be rid of the pleasure of her company for a little while.’ Having settled the matter to her satisfaction, Margot marched away in a huff.
But it hurt her that they were becoming so estranged. They had used to be such good friends, and now they were forever bickering.
Mademoiselle de Rebours, together with several other maids of honour and gentlemen of the court, duly accompanied the small party to take the waters. She wrote regularly to Margot, keeping her mistress informed of the spiteful comments which Fosseuse was saying about her, and how disrespectful the girl was.
Margot took little notice, knowing that Rebours herself was furiously jealous of Fosseuse, having lost her own place in the King’s affections. She did not trust the woman, who was two-faced enough to be likewise slandering her mistress to Fosseuse.
Mademoiselle de Rebours was indeed bitter over the treatment she had received at Margot’s hand, and had continued to keep a close eye on her rival. Now, being in the girl’s company every day as they took the waters, her suspicions deepened, and she rather thought she understood why Fosseuse had changed.
One wet afternoon, when Fosseuse deigned to join the other ladies for needlework, Rebours watched with interest as she reached down to pick up a skein of silk that she’d dropped. Her movements were awkward, the girl instinctively resting a protective hand upon her belly, and even though she was still as slender as a reed, Rebours knew, in that moment, that the King’s mistress was pregnant. A great surge of envy shot through her. It should have been herself in that condition, not this silly child. And it would have been so, had not Queen Margot ejected her from the King’s bed out of revenge for that incident over Mass in Pau.
But Margot herself would surely suffer more, were these suspicions proved to be true. Rebours smiled, for she would take great pleasure in seeing the Queen brought low and humiliated by such a scandal.
She made it her business to engage empty-headed little Fosseuse in conversation as they plied their needles, bathed in the warm waters, or sipped the foul tasting beverage that was supposedly good for their health. She pretended to be her friend, and, as the ladies were changing for dinner one evening, offered to lend Fosseuse a pretty cap which matched her new gown.
‘You are so enchantingly beautiful I am not surprised the King is besotted. Allow me to fix the cap for you and pin up your lovely hair. It will suit you much better than it does me.’
Fosseuse was vain enough to accept these compliments in good faith. ‘How very generous you are.’
‘It is nothing. I too was loved by the King once, but confess I was secretly relieved when the liaison ended. I suffer badly with my health, as you know, headaches and the like, which are most trying. You can be assured that I feel no jealousy at having lost him to you, for you deserve to be loved by a king.’
Fosseuse looked at the older woman, wide-eyed and innocent, believing every false word. ‘You are most kind.’
‘And you are so young and healthy.’ Rebours smiled, stepping back to admire the result of her labours. ‘There, you look utterly radiant, as if lit by a glow from within. I might almost suspect that you were … but dear me, no, it is none of my business. Forgive me, I should not have spoken.’
Fosseuse blushed enchantingly, and again instinctively rested a hand on her stomach as she gave a light laugh of delight. ‘Oh dear, you have guessed. Is it so obvious? I thought I had disguised my condition so cleverly by loosening my skirts.’
Rebours smiled through gritted teeth, almost faint with the heat of her rage. There was nothing clever about this silly chit. ‘Then it is true? You are indeed enceinte?’
Fosseuse nodded, looking suddenly shy and afraid. ‘It was meant to be a secret.’
‘Do not worry, no one but myself has guessed. Does the King know?’
‘Oh yes, I could not keep it from Henry. He has promised …’
Rebours was instantly alert. ‘What? It is all right, child, your secret is quite safe with me. What has the King promised?’
Fosseuse’s lips curled into a complacent smile, preening herself slightly as she smoothed a hand over the tiny mound of her belly. ‘It is still a secret, although it will be known soon enough, I dare say, for he has promised to stand by me.’
‘My goodness, what can you mean? You surely aren’t suggesting that he means to divorce the Queen and marry you?’ The jealous fury that roared through Rebours’s veins at this news was almost unbearable. This was too much. A bastard child was one thing, being offered a crown quite another entirely. And it could so easily have been herself.
Fosseuse pouted. ‘Why should he not? The Queen has not done her duty by him, chooses instead to cavort with her lovers.’ The foolish creature did not seem to recognize the irony of this remark. ‘Although, I confess I am terrified of telling her. The King refuses to do so, saying it is my responsibility, since I am officially still in her suite.’
Rebours saw her chance and snatched it. ‘We return home soon, would you like me to break the news to Her Majesty for you, my dear? She might take it better from one who has been with her longer.’
Tears welled in the young girl’s eyes. ‘Oh, I should like that above all things. Thank you so much. What a dear friend you are,’ and as they embraced, Rebours allowed herself a secret smile of satisfaction. This was the moment she had dreamed of ever since Pau. This was her opportunity for the sweetest revenge.
Margot listened to her lady-in-waiting’s tale with sinking heart. She had never liked Rebours, who was a born liar, and it was plain the woman could scarcely hide the delight she felt in informing her of that chit’s condition. Margot, however, being the queen she was, held fast to her dignity.
‘So, it is true that Mademoiselle Fosseuse is enceinte. It does not surprise me. If you take your vessel to the well it will come back full.’ There was a small silence, for that had not been true in her own case. Margot saw by the smirk on Rebours’s face that she too had recognized the slip.
Margot felt utterly humiliated, filled with resentment that this girl could so easily fall pregnant, while she had tried so long for a child. She could also see that the thoughts of her lady-in-waiting mirrored her own exactly.
Where then did this leave the Queen of Navarre?
Rebours continued the tale, her face solemn, while inside she could barely contain her glee. ‘Fosseuse has openly boasted to me that the King means to stand by her.’
‘Stand by her? In what way?’ Dear God, would Henry demand a divorce and act
ually marry the silly creature? Surely even he could not be so reckless?’
‘Apparently, she imagines he might marry her.’
This confirmation of her worst fear fell upon Margot’s ear like a stone.
‘You think my husband might choose a silly young girl over a Daughter of France?’
‘It is not my place to surmise what the King means or might choose to do. I repeat only what the girl believes. Mayhap she has misunderstood his promises.’
‘Or you are misrepresenting them to me. Send her to me at once, Rebours, and remind her to loosen her skirts well to disguise it. We must at all costs avoid a scandal.’
‘Your Majesty.’ Rebours dipped a curtsey and hurried away, for once content to do the Queen’s bidding.
Fosseuse showed no sign of contrition. She stood before Margot, Queen of this small kingdom and wife of the man whose child she carried, smiling with a radiant beauty as she sank into a deep curtsey. For once in her life Margot was consumed with envy. Why had she never quickened with a child? In all these years, and despite several lovers, there had been no sign. Was she barren? Would Henry ultimately put her to one side for that very reason?
‘Do you have something to tell me, child?’
‘I know not what you mean, Your Majesty.’
Margot was finding great difficulty holding on to her patience, even as she smiled kindly upon the girl. ‘You have for some time estranged yourself from me, and, I am told, done me many ill offices with the King my husband. Yet the regard I once had for you, and the esteem which I still entertain for your family, makes me wish to help, for I know you are in trouble. I beg you, therefore, not to conceal the truth. It is in both our interests that you are open and honest with me. You are still under my protection, and I would help you as if I were your mother. Is it true that you carry the King’s child?’
Fosseuse gave a careless shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘It is true.’
‘You are sure?’
‘I am certain.’
Margot rose, wishing to avoid the girl’s insolent gaze, and walked over to the window. ‘Then we must decide what is best to be done.’
‘Is that not up to the King?’
Margot would very much like to have slapped her. ‘The King will need my support in this, as will you, my dear, if we are to avoid a scandal.’
Suddenly brisk and businesslike Margot returned to her seat, clasping her hands loosely in her lap, rather as her mother the Queen would do when faced with a difficult interview.
‘What I propose is this: that I take a brief sojourn from court, ostensibly to avoid the contagious disorder that has broken out in the town. I will go to Mas d’Agenois, a house belonging to the King my husband that is situated in a quiet spot, and you must come with me. We will stay there until you are safely delivered of the child. Meanwhile, the King will go off hunting in some other part of the country. In this way we can put a stop to the scandalous reports which are already rampant about court.’
Fosseuse had been listening to all of this with increasing alarm. The prospect of being confined in a strange house in a remote region with this queen, the wife of her lover, and daughter of Catherine de Medici, filled her with terror. She had heard of the Italian methods, and she had no wish to find herself, and no doubt her child, poisoned and done away with.
‘No, no, I will not go! You cannot make me.’
‘Would you risk scandal? Do you intend to have your bastard in full sight of the entire court, as if he were a royal child, a future king?’
Fosseuse started, her face a picture of guilt, revealing all too clearly that was exactly what she intended. ‘The King will stand by me. He has sworn it. I will not go with you!’ And turning on her heel she ran from the room.
Margot remained where she was, in shock for some long minutes. It seemed that on this occasion Rebours had spoken nothing but the truth. The question of marriage must indeed have been discussed between them, and her own future was now in jeopardy.
The court was soon alight with the scandal. Fosseuse begged the King not to send her away, swearing that the Queen had threatened her very life. Seeing her fears, Navarre could not find it in his heart to do so. Besides, how could he live without her? He went instead to his wife.
Never had Margot seen her husband so angry.
‘Fosseuse claims you threatened to kill her. How could you be so cruel?’
‘What nonsense! The girl is hysterical and exaggerates. I suggested only that she and I spend a little time away from court, somewhere quiet until after the child is born. How else are we to avert scandal?’
‘You must have put it badly and frightened her. You can be far too brusque and insensitive at times, Margot, and she is but a sweet, innocent girl.’
‘Not quite so innocent,’ Margot bitterly remarked.
Henry’s face darkened. ‘If anyone claims otherwise, or that she is even with child, I will brand them as liars.’
Margot laughed in disbelief. ‘You cannot seriously expect to hush this matter up? It is the talk of the court already.’
‘I will have my way in this matter. I will not have it talked about. Do you understand what I am saying, Margot?’
The subject was never again mentioned. In the long months that followed, Navarre blithely went about his business at court as if his mistress’s belly was not growing more rotund by the day. Her condition was plain for all to see, yet everyone looked the other way and pretended not to notice.
The pains began just before dawn. The physician brought the news to the King, ordered to do so by Fosseuse herself as she was in a state of terror. Henry, greatly embarrassed, was at a loss to know what to do for the best. He slept in the same room as his wife, although they occupied separate beds, and he could not think how to own up to the reality of something he had so long denied. How had he ever imagined he could get away with this? Henry still nursed a dread of discovery and scandal. On the other hand, without proper assistance there was a very real danger of losing the child, or worse, the mother, whom he adored.
There seemed no help for it but to admit to the truth at last.
Henry drew back the curtains of his wife’s bed, and gently woke her.
Margot sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. ‘What is it? What has happened?’
‘My dear, I have concealed a matter from you which I must now confess. I beg you to forgive me, not to chastise me for never having agreed to discuss it.’
Fully awake now, Margot sighed. ‘Dear, foolish Enric. You are referring to Fosseuse’s pregnancy, I assume? I cannot think why you have been so coy and obstinate about this matter when the girl’s condition was plain to see. But what has occurred now? Has she had the baby?’
‘She is in labour at this very moment. Will you oblige me so far as to rise and go to her? She is very ill. You know how dearly I do love her, and I beg you to comply with my request.’
Humiliating and exasperating though the situation undoubtedly was, Margot did not hesitate. Nor did she rail or upbraid her husband for his foolishness. He was but a man, and therefore always shrank from emotion. Reaching for her robe de chambre, she slipped out of bed.
‘Out of respect for you, mon Enric, I will go to her at once. I will care for her as if she were my own daughter, for your sake. But if you would avoid any further tittle-tattle, get you gone on a hunt, and take all your people with you.’
‘Bless you, my love,’ he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. And this time he did listen to her wisdom and quickly left the court.
Margot dismissed the chattering maids of honour who were in a flurry of panic and indecision, and moved Fosseuse to a chamber in a quiet part of the palace. She saw that the girl was provided for, with everything necessary for her comfort and the child’s safe delivery, including a doctor, the assistance of a good nurse and two ladies-in-waiting to tend her.
The birth seemed to take hours, and all the while Margot paced back and forth, hovering anxiously close by. The screams and cries of
Fosseuse were an agony to her, as if she suffered each one herself. She wished the girl no ill. Yet if it were to be a boy … What then? Would she find herself set aside so that her husband could marry this silly chit? The King of Navarre needed a son, an heir to follow him, something which she had failed to provide. Margot strained her ears for any sound of a baby’s cry, knowing that this night would seal her fate.
The doctor came to her at last with the news. ‘It pleased God that the child should be stillborn. She brought forth a daughter, but she was dead.’
Margot murmured some appropriate remark, which she could never afterwards recall, while relief flooded through her. She was safe. There would be no divorce. She would not be cast off or sent to a nunnery. They could go on exactly as before.
Margot found Fosseuse in great distress, her lovely face haggard with grief. The girl clung to her, crying, and begging for her help. It was all terribly tragic, and yet the irony of the situation, that she, the spurned wife, should be the one to whom Henry’s mistress turned for support, rather appealed to Margot’s wicked sense of humour. But this wasn’t a moment for triumph, there was still much to be done if scandal and further humiliation was to be averted.
Once her ladies had washed and dressed Fosseuse in a fresh nightgown, Margot saw to it that she was taken back to her own chamber. It was imperative that it appear as if nothing untoward had taken place. Sadly, this proved impossible. News of the night’s business was soon circulating around the palace. When the King returned later that afternoon from his hunting expedition, he went at once to his petite fille, as always, and found her in floods of tears.
‘They are all talking about me. Everyone knows,’ she wailed.
Poor Fosseuse had seen her dreams crumble. With no live son to offer him, her hopes of catching a king were as dust. She also realized that her entire reputation and hopes for marriage of any sort could be equally destroyed if the tittle-tattle were not stopped before it spread too far.
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