Threads of Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  On a day not long after Marguarite had thrown the peach gown to the floor in disgust, Rachelle was in the atelier adding the finishing touch of embroidered silk rosebuds to the bodice of Marguerite’s third gown using Grandmère’s special needles, gold thimble, and chatelaine.

  What would Grandmère think if she were here now, knowing the family couturières were leaving France for London to carry on the family work? Rachelle did not think she would be pleased at the loss. The Château de Silk should continue, and while there was no word from her parents that they expected to leave it any time soon and return to England, Rachelle worried over its future.

  It will never be the same again. The four women of the Dushane- Macquinet calling were going their separate ways. She looked at Grandmère’s needle and thimble. Will another generation of sons and daughters return to Lyon to the château and carry on? Or would this branch of the family merge with the English line? If so, what then?

  As for her own future, Fabien had made no clear decision to remain in England even if they eventually took solace there for a time of safety. He had mentioned this to Bertrand when discussing Admiral Coligny’s old plan for a Florida colony, which had been postponed indefinitely.

  “Someday,” Fabien had said, “I would like to see Florida and the Caribbean.”

  Now, as Rachelle tacked on the final rosebud on Marguerite’s gown and mulled over these divergent thoughts, she wondered what the gracious Lord had planned for them all in the years ahead. Would they be together as a large family?

  No matter what happens I must not fail to safeguard what Grandmère has entrusted to me.

  She was blessed to be a recipient of old family trade secrets. The work they had such affection and passion for would continue as long as she and Idelette pursued it and passed on what they knew to the next generation of silk growers, weavers, designers, and grisettes.

  She held the gold thimble in her hand as the bridge to the future.

  I may have the honneur of being a member of the royal Bourbon family, but I am a Macquinet daughter of silk, and I will continue to be one wherever the Lord may take me.

  Nenette came running in, her eyes bright and a flush of excitement on her cheeks. Her red curls appeared to quiver.

  “Bonne news, Mademoiselle Rachelle! Pasteur Bertrand sent me to tell you the family has arrived. Monsieur and Madame Macquinet are here.”

  Rachelle was quickly on her feet, joy enlarging her heart.

  She left the atelier and rushed into the salle. Her father and mother stood waiting with Bertrand.

  “Daughter Rachelle,” her parents echoed. They came to meet her as Rachelle uttered a cry of delight and laughter and tried to embrace them both at once.

  “You are looking well, ma chère,” Madame Clair said. “Marriage has done you well.”

  “I am most happy, Mother — it could not be otherwise being married to Fabien. Happy, that is, except for my invisible chains, a ‘marriage gift’ from the Queen Mother.”

  Madame Clair’s expression changed, but she was always so self-possessed that even when she was worried or ill, she could mask it with a certain poise that made her seem to Rachelle a pillar of beauty and strength. She remembered her mother’s courage during the tragic horrors of Avril’s death and Idelette’s trial. Her hand squeezed Rachelle’s arm with tender motherly love. “Surely the Lord will come to our aid in due season if we continue in prayer and trust His grace. Your father has been making plans with the marquis.”

  “Is it safe to discuss such matters here?” Arnaut looked about the walls meaningfully.

  “Fabien is assured.”

  “And where is our new son-in-law? The buccaneer?” Arnaut gave a wink at Rachelle.

  “Arnaut.” Clair shook her head forbearingly as Pasteur Bertrand gave a dry chuckle.

  “I dare to wonder what my Geneva colleagues would think of me if they knew I had sailed as his chaplain to sink the Duke of Alva’s galleon.”

  Arnaut threw back his head and laughed, and Madame Clair put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.

  Rachelle said, “Fabien is in a council meeting with King Charles and the Queen Mother. He was given Sebastien’s seat at the table.”

  “A position he finds distasteful,” Bertrand added. “I have sent Philippe to let him know you both are here.”

  WHEN FABIEN ARRIVED, Rachelle grew composed when she saw how smoothly matters between him and her parents slipped into place. Fabien was his most élégant self, especially with Madame Clair. Rachelle’s heart heaved a sigh of relief. She saw the pride in Arnaut’s eyes as Fabien discussed the colloquy with him in knowledgeable terms, showing he understood spiritual truth and what was at risk for France and the Huguenots should the meetings fail.

  Later, when Rachelle was alone with Madame Clair in the salle on the damask sofa, they talked of all that had happened since last they saw one another.

  “Ma chère, I admit I was wrong about Fabien’s character. Any man who would risk what he has in order to protect and keep you is most chivalrous. I feel at peace with you in his care. I know your father and Bertrand feel the same.”

  Rachelle kissed her cheek.

  “And Idelette is adjusting to events and is much more at peace. She is happier now that Andelot Dangeau is corresponding with her so frequently. I do believe she may care very much for him. I must say I am surprised. I thought for a time that a strong relationship would develop between her and James Hudson.

  “We must not leap to conclusions. I am sure their relationship has not progressed so far as to mention marriage. Bertrand has told Arnaut that Andelot wishes to go to Geneva to Monsieur Calvin’s school.”

  “That will prove no stumbling block for Idelette,” Rachelle said. “Idelette is so dedicated that she will surely rejoice and encourage him. Why, she may even go with him. By then the bébé will be old enough to journey.”

  “If that were to happen I would daily give thanks to God for his mercy. You may not know how I have agonized over your sister. After what happened it looked as though her life would be destroyed, or at least irreparably damaged. But see how our Savior not only redeems us, but can make crippling events in our lives a door to wider horizons of His grace. Even sin and Satan cannot destroy Christ’s own sheep. ‘Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise,’ ” she said. “God can create blessing even when only ashes remain.”

  Rachelle rose from her seat and put her arms around her mother. And then they clasped hands and prayed that the Lord would bring His will for Idelette and Andelot.

  When Madame Clair told her the details of how Sebastien and Madeleine, with Idelette, had escaped Paris, Rachelle’s faith grew yet stronger.

  “Sebastien was recognized soon after escaping and stopped near the Louvre gate. They thought it was the end. The guards knew him. One was well aware of his imprisonment in the Bastille. Sebastien begged them to arrest him if he must but to allow his wife and bébé Joan and Idelette to go on. As it turned out in God’s Providence, the guard was a recent père himself, and seeing the two women with frightened faces and the bébé, he turned his back and told them to pass on quickly. They eventually arrived in Calais where the ship was waiting, all the while concerned the guard might change his mind and send soldiers to overtake them. Madeleine has said that while they were in the coach and Sebastien was pleading with the guards, she and Idelette were praying through Psalm 91.”

  I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler . . .

  Rachelle poured tea for Madame Clair and offered the silver plate of éclairs.

  “Fabien mentioned that the silkworms died . . .” Rachelle looked up at her, wondering how dismally her father was taking the loss.

  “Such a tragedy. The cocoons that hatched were less than a quarter of what we brought on the ship. They were weak and listless and eventually died. We purchased another group of cocoons that hatched
but the worms all had strange little spots on them and they too died. Arnaut believes it was some manner of disease rather than the climate. He remembers long ago that his grandpère mentioned something of this ailment. It destroyed an entire estate of silkworms. Even so, had the worms survived, we discovered the English weather is too chilly and damp to be beneficial, and the fog lasts for weeks at a time.”

  “So what will the family do?”

  “We have decided to keep the raising of silkworms to the south of France. The weaving of silk, however, is another matter, so is dress making. Both can be done most favorably at Spitalfields, so we are opening warehouses with the Hudson family and shops for the haute monde in London under James and Idelette.”

  “But if Idelette and Andelot marry and journey to Geneva?”

  “Madeleine has mentioned her interest in the ready-made dress shops, and we will be going to London at least once a year on business. And if you and the marquis go to London, then I am most sure the situation will be solved. James constantly asks whether you will come. He is training grisettes but desires some of our experience.”

  Rachelle thought of Nenette. She was anxious to sail with her and Fabien to England. She would be thrilled to work for Dushane-Macquinet-Hudson. It would not take Nenette long to become so proficient in the trade that she could be trained by James Hudson to teach or manage workers.

  “The future is very uncertain, Mother.”

  Madame Clair took her daughter’s hand. “It is. We know not what a day may bring. But we know the One who cares for us and plans our steps. It is enough for us to rest in that cradle of faith.”

  Oh, Beulah Land!

  THE GUSTY WIND ON THAT SEPTEMBER NIGHT AGITATED THE GARDEN TREES below the chamber window. Andelot felt besieged by events surrounding him.

  “Why am I being moved here?” he had asked Jaymin upon his arrival. His new chamber connected with Cardinal de Lorraine’s private bungalow at Fontainebleau.

  “Have you reason for complaint at receiving such a chamber? It is tenfold more luxurious than the bedchamber you had near Monsieur Thauvet’s study.”

  “It is most merveilleux, Monseigneur. I merely wonder why I should be so . . . blessed.”

  Andelot made a sweeping gesture toward the burgundy velvet drapes and rugs, the tapestries of gold and blue, the large bed with engraved headstand — and across the chamber toward a foreboding door that entered into the cardinal’s receiving chamber and office. On the other side of his new chamber was a second door that entered into Père Jaymin’s chambers.

  “It was Cardinal de Lorraine’s order. With the official opening of the colloquy next week, he thinks it wise to have you nearby. Moreover, you are now one of his official pages until you are sent on to the Duchy of Lorraine where, I understand, you will continue your studies. You are indeed favored.”

  “A privilege to be sure, Père Jaymin. Do you know when I will journey to Lorraine?”

  “The day has not yet been decided. Until then, you will also attend Scholar Thauvet’s daily lectures.”

  When Andelot had last seen Marquis Fabien, the day the golden bay won the race, little had he realized he would be handed the opportunity to spy on the cardinal.

  And for the cardinal’s staff to spy on me.

  Here he was in the middle of the Guise web. Père Jaymin, the cardinal’s chief secretary, kept him daily, if not hourly, in sight. How would he ever get word to the marquis should he need to?

  On this gusty evening with the chill of fall in the air, Andelot was seated at his new desk with what must have been fifty lettres to answer from the various secretaries of lesser dignitaries.

  Andelot saw Duc de Guise arrive at the cardinal’s council chamber, followed some minutes later by the wily Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay. As they spoke, their voices were undistinguishable to Andelot. He was about to get up and go to a bookshelf nearer the open door, when Père Jaymin walked in with a satchel of papers. Andelot bent over his work as though fully occupied. He felt Jaymin’s eyes watching him but behaved as though he didn’t notice.

  Andelot heard their low, conspiratorial voices in the next chamber, and then quite clearly — “the isle of Sardinia — ”

  Andelot glanced toward the cardinal’s chambers and saw shadowy forms on the wall. The robed figure left no doubt who was moving about. Every crackle of pinewood burning in the hearth caused him distraction as it snuffed out his ability to catch another word.

  Someone came to the doorway. “Monsieur Jaymin? The cardinal calls.”

  Andelot’s nerves were prickling.

  He heard their voices again. He got up from his desk and moved soundlessly toward the door only to meet Jaymin rushing back out with a paper in hand, his eyes eager. Or was he overwrought?

  “There will be little sleep for you tonight, Andelot.”

  “There is trouble, Monseigneur?”

  Jaymin’s eyes reflected the candlelight, and he was smiling as he leaned across the desk and placed the paper on the lettres Andelot was working on.

  “The cardinal and duc need a special map drawn up. All else must wait. Locate a map of the island of Sardinia and draw it anew according to these written instructions: You will be adding cities, bountiful mountains, and forests. You must have it ready for an urgent meeting tomorrow in the cardinal’s chamber.”

  “Sardinia?”

  “Yes. Make haste, Andelot. You will find old maps in the library.”

  Hours later, Andelot was seated at his desk, drawing the mysterious map of Sardinia. He must alert Marquis Fabien to this odd situation. He would wait until Jaymin retired to his bed, then slip out.

  During the windy night, with all asleep in the chambers about him, Andelot’s candles burned low. He worked doggedly on the new map from one old drawing he had found of Sardinia.

  He grew more troubled over each new addition he made, knowing it was a sham map. According to the list of instructions written by Ambassador Chantonnay, Andelot added rich pastures, rivers, and farmland where only rocky areas existed. And yet, he was also curious. This must be important. What will happen at tomorrow’s meeting in the cardinal’s chamber?

  ANDELOT ARRIVED UNEXPECTEDLY and with stealth, and this alerted Fabien at once. He left the appartement unnoticed, minutes before the discussion about Antoine was to begin in the salle de sejour with Monsieur Arnaut and Pasteur Bertrand.

  It was a chilly night for early September, with the winds gusting.

  You have news?”

  “Indeed, Marquis. Most suspicious. Can you walk with me in the garden while we talk?”

  “It is best we talk where we cannot be heard. I will send Gallaudet for a coach.”

  RACHELLE WALKED BESIDE HER MOTHER to the doorway of the salle. A discussion was in progress between her father, Pasteur Bertrand, and several Huguenot seigneurs garbed in the characteristic dark and sober dress of the Geneva Calvinists. She did not see Fabien.

  Madame Clair leaned toward Rachelle and whispered: “Let us not intrude.” She sat down on the settee near the doorway, and Rachelle did the same.

  “This news is grievous,” her father was saying, disappointment surfacing in his voice. “Antoine now encumbers the cause of the Reformation in France by playing false with his own honneur.”

  “Why are they bereaved over Prince Antoine?” Madame Clair whispered.

  Rachelle realized her mother must not have heard the sad news. She whispered, so as not to disturb the meeting, “Antoine has taken a mistress — that is failure enough, but she is a Catholic and holds great sway over his emotions. The news is bandied about court for all to snicker over. They mock what they call the ‘self-righ teous Calvinists’ who have descended upon them to preach against their errors. And all this is being disclosed just before the colloquy.”

  Madame Clair shook her head with grief. “I feel deeply for Queen Jeanne. She will be arriving from Navarre within days, I am told.”

  Père Arnaut’s voice drew them back to the discussion.


  “I would not be surprised to discover the house of Guise is behind Antoine’s fall. We know, do we not, that the duc is our worst foe? He is enraged against us with the contempt of Satan.”

  Pasteur Bertrand stood and walked to the hearth, his piercing eyes looking from one to the other. “Messieurs, regardless of Antoine, we cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated. We must be prepared to lay down our lives if called upon to do so. Let us go forward boldly, but not foolishly. We are the torchbearers for this generation, so that the generations to follow may recover the Scriptures. It is our duty, our honor, and our privilege to be about our true King’s business. If the Reformation fails in France — then I fear all is lost for us as a great nation in Europe.”

  Rachelle was stirred. For what is our life? It’s duration is like the fading memory of a June morn. What we do for Jesus, we must do now, while it is yet day.

  Rachelle watched her father standing grimly, hands folded behind his back.

  “For the Huguenots of France, for each of us here, so much depends on the outcome of this coming religious debate. In fairness to Prince Antoine, he believes that in compromising with the duc and cardinal, he is working for peace and tolerance.”

  Pasteur Bertrand shook his silver head. “But peace at what price? And what will be tolerated? The weakening of truth?”

  Silence prevailed.

  “I suggest we send word to Navarre to ask Queen Jeanne not to come to the colloquy,” one of the Huguenot leaders said.

  Pasteur Bertrand stroked his short, pointed beard. “There is not enough time. Word has come that she draws near the town.”