by Jean Plaidy
Cosmo bowed and led them along a corridor and up a short staircase to a small apartment. As they entered this room, Henriette gripped Margot’s arm and Margot smiled at her scornfully, noting her superstitious fear. Margot herself was merely enchanted with what lay before them.
They were in the laboratory of the Ruggieri brothers. Its walls were panelled and strewn about the room were strange and gruesome objects,. On one bench lay a human skeleton from which Henriette found it difficult to take her eyes. The signs of the Zodiac adorned the ceiling; and on the wooden panels were carefully drawn cabalistic signs. A huge murky mirror hung on one wall and the two young women saw their reflections, grey and ghostlike beneath two human skulls which seemed to be hanging from the ceiling. Over a fire a cauldron was steaming and the smoke swirled about the room, so it appeared to Margot and Henriette, in fantastic shapes. On a large table were pictures of the stars and the planets, a balance, strange instruments, wax figures, several jars in which could be seen the bodies of small animals, or parts of their bodies, in various stages of decomposition. The light from two oil lamps which were fixed on brackets in the wall did not succeed in lighting the corners of the room, so that it seemed to extend farther than their eyes could see. The scented oil in the lamps fought, not quite successfully, with the unpleasantly odorous objects in the room.
Cosmo opened a door in the wall which had been so cleverly made that it had not appeared to be a door at all.
‘You may wait in there,’ he said. ‘I will show you the shutter which will enable you to see and hear what is said in this room.’
They stepped into the cupboard and he shut the door on them. He touched one of the panels to open the shutter. Henriette was giggling with excited pleasure; and she and Margot whispered together during the twenty minutes they had to wait for the arrival of La Mole.
Cosmo had meanwhile sought out his brother Lorenzo.
‘The Queen of Navarre and the Duchess of Nevers are here,’ he said. ‘They are waiting in the cupboard in the small laboratory for a young man, who I gather is a lover of the Queen’s. It may be just another of her love affairs, but the Queen Mother will expect to be informed. As soon as the interview is over, I will go to the Louvre and tell her all that has taken place.’
Cosmo was smiling as he brought Boniface de la Mole into his laboratory. Margot watched him with delight. He was more handsome than she remembered; and how elegant he looked against the gruesome background of the alchemist’s workshop.
Cosmo said: ‘You wish to consult me about the future, Monsieur?’
‘I wish you to work some magic for me,’ said the Count.
‘Ah! First I must know your name.’
‘Is that necessary?’
‘It is indeed, Monsieur. We are secluded here within four walls, and you will be telling none who would bring it against you that you dabbled in magic for the sake of love. It is for love, Monsieur?’
‘It is for love,’ said the young man mournfully.
‘Do not be so sad. I have no doubt that we shall be able to ensure your success. Your name, Monsieur?’
‘Comte Boniface de la Mole.’
‘And the name of the lady whom you wish to influence?’ ‘That I cannot tell you.’
‘Very well, sir. We will see what can be done without her name. Your wishes?’
‘I wish you to use your magic to ensure that I see her tonight. There is some entertainment at which I wish her to be present.’
Cosmo stirred what was in the cauldron and, looking into the rising smoke, said: ‘You will see her tonight. She will be at the entertainment.’
The Comte’s melancholy lifted. ‘That is wonderful. That is delightful.’ But he was soon sad again. ‘She is of high rank. She will never look my way.’
‘You give up too easily, Monsieur. There are ways of touching the heart of the hardest female.’
‘You mean? . . .’
‘Let us make an image of your loved one. You may pierce her heart, and then I think you may be sure of success.’
‘I beg of you to make this image quickly.’
‘It is easily done, Monsieur le Comte. Pray be seated.’ Cosmo took a piece of wax, melted it in a pot he kept for this purpose, and moulded it into a human shape.
‘Now, Monsieur le Comte, that is not really like your lady, is it? May we add some distinguishing feature? We must be sure that you pierce the heart of the right woman. Tell me, how shall I distinguish her from other ladies?’
‘There is no one so beautiful.’
‘Beauty is not sufficient, I am afraid. In the eyes of the lover the one he loves is always the most beautiful in the world.’
‘But there is no mistaking this lady’s beauty. She is . .
‘Words seem to elude you, Monsieur. Perhaps I could distinguish her by some garment. . . some ornament. Look. I will put a royal cloak about her. I will put a crown on her head.’
‘Monsieur,’ cried the Count, ‘you are truly a man of magic.’
Cosmo laughed whilst he moulded the cloak and crown.
‘Now we have our lady. I will take this pin.’ Cosmo took the pin and gripping it in a pair of tweezers, thrust it into the fire. ‘It will take very little time to become red hot. Now. Yes, it is ready. Take it, thrust it into the lady’s heart and whisper your wish to yourself.’
La Mole took the pin and thrust it into the waxen figure. ‘There, Monsieur. That is all. Keep the figure. While you have it with you, the pin safe in its heart, you cannot fail.’
La Mole wrapped the figure in a silk kerchief and slipped it reverently inside his jacket.
‘I am deeply indebted to you,’ he said.
‘Then let us go to my sitting-room and discuss payment,’ said Cosmo. ‘I am a poor man and cannot give my skill for nothing.’
Five minutes later Henriette, led by Margot, slipped into the street; and shortly after that Cosmo went to the Louvre and asked for an audience with the Queen Mother. It appeared to be a matter of little importance, he told her when he was alone with her, but as she liked to be informed of what went on about her, he had thought it wise to let her know who had come to his house this day. The Comte de la Mole was deeply enamoured of Queen Margot and had been given a waxen image of her which he had pierced to the heart.
‘Another lover,’ said Catherine with a spurt of laughter. ‘Jesus! That daughter of mine astonishes even me. And Boni-face de la Mole! He is, I believe, a gentleman of the Duke of Alençon’s suite. Thank you, Cosmo. A matter of slight importance doubtless, but you are right to assume that these gallant little matters amuse me.’
Margot was happy. She was in love. The supper party had been a great success, and had been the forerunner of many meetings. She was kept fully occupied; there were so many clandestine meetings to be arranged, so many love letters to be written.
Catherine was less contented. The King continued to live and she was uncertain what to do. It was very unfortunate that Henry should be in Poland; when she thought of that, her anger against Charles, who had insisted on his going, was so great that she felt inclined to diverge from her habitual caution. But that even was difficult while Charles was surrounded by his three meek guardians.
Charlotte de Sauves had not had the great success which Catherine had expected in the Navarre-Alençon affair. The little Duke was enamoured of the woman, as. Catherine had guessed he would be, but the ultimate desired effect had not been realized. Though the two men were both attracted by the same woman, their friendship seemed to remain unimpaired. It might be that there was something in progress, something so vital that it could not be touched by jealousy concerning a love affair.
Guise had been right to be suspicious of Navarre. There were two sides to the latter’s nature. One showed a pleasure-loving young man, lazy and amorous; but there was the other side to be considered. Was it ambition that secretly fermented behind those shrewd eyes? His love affairs were light-hearted. He cared deeply for no one and he had no religion. Catherine fancied
that she saw some of her own characteristics in the King of Navarre, and that made him seem formidable. For what did he hope? After Henry and Alençon—if they had no children—Navarre would certainly be King of France. Could even a lazy provincial be indifferent to such a prospect? Was it likely that a son of Jeanne of Navarre could be nothing more than a pleasure-loving fool? What did he plot with Alençon? It was safe to assume that Alençon was up to mischief, for mischief was as necessary to a man of his nature as women were to one of Navarre’s. Catherine was certainly uneasy on account of this friendship.
Margot fortunately was fully occupied with La Mole. Catherine felt that she understood her daughter: give her a lover and she was content. Margot was clever, perhaps the cleverest member of the family; and she could learn quickly; she was sharp-witted, but her sensuality betrayed her with its incessant demands, and she misused her ability by scheming and intriguing with her numerous lovers. Margot was a little wanton—as shameless now with La Mole as she had been with Guise. She exercised no restraint. She should have made some attempt to keep this new love affair secret. Those notes she sent to her lover were very revealing, as everything Margot wrote seemed to be. Margot ought to know by now that her mother liked to see all notes which passed between people of the court, even if they were only the outpourings of lovers.
Catherine had her spies in Alençon’s suite; she had her spies among Margot’s women. She had, as a matter of routine, read all the notes which had passed between them ever since Ruggieri had told her of La Mole’s infatuation for her daughter.
One of her women who had been a mistress of Alençon’s, and was now—since Alençon’s growing infatuation for Madame de Sauves—courting one of Alençon’s men who took messages from La Mole to Margot, came to her and asked if she might have audience with the Queen Mother.
Catherine granted it and when they were alone, the woman put several letters into Catherine’s hands.
‘More letters!’ said Catherine. ‘Our melancholy Hyacinth is as enamoured of his pen as of our daughter.’
‘Madame, my friend was given some of these letters by Monsieur de la Mole and some by Monsieur de Coconnas. There is one for the Queen of Navarre from La Mole, and one for Madame de Nevers from Coconnas. The others are to be taken to people outside Paris.’
‘What! Have our young gallants involved themselves in other love affairs! It will go ill with them when our two young ladies discover their infidelities. I will look through them and return them to you, resealed, in a very short time. You may go now. Let nothing, however seemingly trivial, be allowed to pass without my scrutiny.’
‘Everything shall be brought to Your Majesty.’
Left alone Catherine started on the letters. It was a pleasant pastime—reading letters which were intended for other people. Here was a letter from La Mole to Margot, professing undying devotion and hope for the future. She was to meet him this afternoon at a house on the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie and the Rue Monton. He was all impatience. And here was another letter. This was for Madame de Nevers from Coconnas, expressing his undying devotion, his adoration, his hope for the future; he begged Madame de Nevers to remember that she was meeting him at a house on the corner of Rue de la Vannerie and the Rue Monton this afternoon . . .
Catherine laughed. Ah well, let the foolish creatures frivol their time away. It kept them from meddling in state affairs.
And now for the letters which were to be taken out of Paris. These too were in the handwriting of La Mole and Coconnas. Catherine broke the seals and read, and as she did so, a cold fury took possession of her. She had been foolish; she had read their stupid love letters when letters such as these must have been passing out of the palace without her knowledge. It was clearly due to a little carelessness on the part of the lovers that these letters had fallen into het hands. How long had they been deceiving her? These were not the outpourings of lovesick suitors, but the clear, concise phrases of conspirators; and they were not addressed to foolish young women, but to none other than the Marshals Montgomery and Cossé.
She read on, and although her expression did not change, there was murder in her mind. This was treason. This explained that friendship between Alençon and Navarre which Charlotte could not break. Those two were together in this. They were plotting—those two whom she had kept in semi-captivity—to escape, to join Montgomery and Coss& and to get together a Huguenot army to march on Paris.
Conceited Alençon no doubt thought that his brother could not live long and, with Henry away in Poland, here was his chance to seize the throne. Navarre doubtless was prepared to play a waiting game and meanwhile ally himself with Alençon.
Catherine’s anger cooled. This was great good luck. How grateful she was to her dear Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggieri, who had aroused her interest in the lover of her daughter!
Margot and Henriette, wrapped in their cloaks, slipped out of the Louvre to the house at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie and the Rue Monton. They took off their masks as soon as the concierge let them in.
‘The gentlemen have arrived?’ demanded Margot of the woman.
‘No, Madame. They are not yet here.’
They went upstairs to a room in which a table was laid for four; on this were the choicest delicacies, and the best wines that France could offer. A banquet fit for a Queen and her friends. Margot looked at the table with pleasure, but she was uneasy.
‘There is no message to explain why they have been delayed?’ she asked of the woman.
‘No, Madame.’
When Margot had dismissed her, Henriette said: ‘Margot, you don’t think they have ceased to love us!’
‘If they had,’ said Margot, ‘they would have been very early. They would have been most chivalrous, most eager to assure us of their fidelity.’
‘They were most eager to assure us of that last time we met.’
‘I cannot believe my Hyacinth could deceive me. Something has happened to detain them . . . nothing more.’
‘Your brother would not detain them. He knows they come to meet us, and he is most friendly to you and eager to please you.’
‘It may have been some other small matter. Come, drink a cup of wine, and you will feel better.’ Margot poured out the wine and handed it to Henriette.
‘I shall be most piqued when they do come,’ said Henriette. ‘Margot, you do not think, do you, that it is your husband who may have detained them?’
‘Why should he?’
‘Jealousy.’
‘He does not know the meaning of jealousy. “Do not stand in the way of my pleasure,” he says, “and I will not stand in the way of yours!” ‘ She turned to her friend. ‘Perhaps the Duke of Nevers . . .’
‘But he would have stopped only Annibale. That does not excuse La Mole. They are both late. Could it be Monsieur de Guise?’
Margot was pleasurably excited at the possibility of her former lover’s jealousy. She dismissed such thoughts hastily. Must it always be so? Must she always wonder how her actions were going to affect that man!
‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘That is finished. Listen. Someone is coming up the stairs.’
‘They are very quiet, Margot.’
‘Hush! They creep in order to surprise us.’
There was a tap on the door.
‘Enter!’ said Margot; and to her intense disappointment and also that of Henriette, it was the concierge who entered, not their lovers.
‘Madame, there is a lady downstairs who says she must speak with you at once. Shall I allow her to come up? She says it is of the utmost importance. She has news for you.’
‘Send her up at once,’ said Margot; and in a few seconds one of her attendants came into the room. The woman’s face was pale and it was obvious from her expression that the news which she brought was not good.
She knelt before Margot and cried: ‘Madame, I regret to be the bearer of such news. The Comte de la Mole and the Comte de Coconnas cannot come to you.’
‘Why not?’ deman
ded Margot. ‘Why have they sent you instead?’
‘They are prisoners, Madame. They are already in the dungeons of Vincennes, whither the Duke of Alençon and the King of Navarre have also been sent. It is said that the Marshals Montgomery and Cossé have been arrested. There is said to have been a plot which the King discovered.’
Henriette fell on to a couch, covering her face with her hands. Margot stared blankly before her. Why, why could they not leave their foolish plots; why could they not be content with love?
Margot lost no time in driving to Vincennes. She knew that she would not be allowed to visit her lover in the dungeons below the castle, but it would be a simple matter to have a word with her husband, who was lodged in apartments there.
Navarre was nonchalant.
‘What could have possessed you to be so foolish?’ she demanded.
‘My dearest wife, it was not I who was foolish. It was those lovesick idiots of yours and Henriette de Nevers. It was through their carelessness that notes, not intended for her, reached your mother’s hands.’
‘Do you think you can escape punishment this time?’ ‘That question gives me cause for reflection.’
‘What a fool you were to attempt escape a second time!’ ‘There might have been no need for a second time but for your interference. Your brother and I might be free men now but for you.’
‘You are so irresponsible, both of you. You have involved these two men in your schemes, and they will be the ones to suffer for your misdeeds.’
‘Dear Margot!’ he said. ‘Always so solicitous on behalf of your lovers! You make me wish that I were one of them myself.’
‘Do not let us waste time. What can we do?’
He shrugged his shoulders and she stormed at him. ‘Do not stand there smiling as if this was of no account. Other people have been led into danger.’
‘Say “La Mole”, not “other people”. It is so much more friendly . . . and is after all what you mean.’
‘You must admit that you and my brother are responsible for this.’