They spent the first night in an inn north of Villefranche-sur-Saône. Dusk was falling as they arrived. Eriq stepped down from the carriage and then turned to help the women disembark as well. The innkeeper came out and assisted the driver in wrestling the trunk from the top of the carriage, nearly dropping it on the ground as they did. Eriq helped carry it into the inn, while Grand-Mère and Catherine followed.
After a dinner of lukewarm ragoût and dry bread, the two women retreated to their upstairs room while Eriq stayed down in the eating area, speaking with a friendly fellow who had introduced himself to the three of them earlier as a Monsieur Olivier, from Paris. Around forty, he was smartly dressed in a black wig, ruffled blouse, gold coat, and high-heeled shoes. Catherine imagined King Louis dressed in a similar, though likely even fancier, manner.
Grand-Mère insisted that Catherine wrap in her cloak to sleep instead of placing her body directly on the bed. Grand-Mère did the same, flicking something off the bed to the floor as she said, “Who knows when the bedding was last washed.”
When they descended the stairs the next morning, Eriq was again deep in conversation with the same gentleman.
Once they were back on the road, Catherine asked what the two of them had found to speak about that was so compelling.
“He is a businessman, dealing in property. He has quite a few contacts with noblemen and visits Versailles from time to time. His home is near your great-uncle’s. He is on his way to Lyon on business for a day or two, but then he will head back. He said I should look for him while we are in Paris.”
Catherine tilted her head. “Pourquoi? ”
“He might come in useful.” Eriq shrugged. “You never know.”
After a while, the rocking of the carriage lulled Grand-Mère to sleep, her head resting against the corner of the carriage. Catherine leaned forward to ask Eriq exactly what Monsieur Olivier did concerning property.
“He finds buyers. For example, if a nobleman is selling off part of his estate, Monsieur will find the right person to purchase it.”
“Why would a nobleman want to sell his property?” Unless he was a Huguenot. She knew the answer for that.
“There are many reasons. Maybe he doesn’t want to maintain it. Or perhaps he has fallen into debt.”
“Oh.” Catherine certainly did not think her family was in debt, although Jules had said their money was tied up. Perhaps there were things she did not understand.
Eriq leaned back against the bench, his eyes heavy, but Catherine was not finished with her questions. In a whisper, she asked, “Did you mention the properties of our families to Monsieur Olivier?”
He waved his hand in front of his face. “In passing only. I have no control over any of that.”
Catherine leaned forward again, her elbows on her knees. “But you are part of the business.”
Eriq leaned toward her until their faces were just inches apart. “I am the second son, Catherine. I stand to inherit nothing. And as things are now, everyone expects me to go to Switzerland as soon as possible to take care of our parents.” His face grew serious. “I want to honor my parents, but I have no desire to follow them to Bern. No one asked me my opinion about any of this.”
Catherine nodded. “I understand.”
He smiled, just a little, his gray eyes still heavy. “I know you do.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze before quickly letting it go. “If I could come up with a viable business plan on this trip, then I could earn a living and send money to help my parents instead of going myself.” He leaned back against the seat again. “That is what I hope to accomplish, anyway.”
“But in France, Eriq? Surely you do not think it will be safe to stay.”
“I would prefer to stay in France, but of course London is probably more realistic, with some sort of French connection.”
Intrigued, Catherine held his gaze for a long moment. So he had not come along solely as a protector. He was more complex than that—and more appealing.
She smiled. “Will you stay in the business of printing?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never enjoyed working in the shop. Printing does not interest me. And papermaking certainly does not.” He shuddered. “Have you ever been around a paper mill? The pounding of the cloth in that big vat of water is enough to turn a person into a lunatic.”
Catherine laughed softly. She’d heard it was a noisy proposition.
“Besides, I want something that is my own. Something separate from Pierre.” He spoke with conviction. “I respect my brother, but I need to become my own man.”
“I see,” Catherine said. And she did. Eriq’s relationship with his older brother was in some ways even more difficult than Catherine’s was with hers. Eriq was required to earn a living and support a family, while Pierre would be handed his future on a silver platter. At least Catherine would one day marry and be out from under her older brother’s influence.
Then again, she realized, if she married Pierre, that would not hold true at all. Pierre would always be aligned with Jules, which meant as Pierre’s wife, Catherine would never be out from under her brother. She found the thought nearly suffocating.
She was impressed with Eriq’s initiative and wished she’d realized earlier what it was like for him, always being in Pierre’s shadow. She did not blame him at all for wanting to break free and become his own person.
If she were a man, she would too.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Catherine
The journey continued on through the countryside. They passed vineyards, large manors, and fields of rye, oats, and barley. Despite the glass windows, dust from the road seeped through the cracks of the carriage. The next night they stayed in another inn. This time Eriq wrestled the trunk down by himself. He met another businessman, this one from Orleans, and spoke with him through dinner.
Catherine could not help but admire his gift of interacting with others and gathering information. Clearly, Jules and Pierre had both underestimated Eriq’s skills. She was sure he could be an asset to the business if they only gave him a chance.
The next day, Grand-Mère suggested to Eriq that he might prefer less confinement during the day and he should ride up top with the driver. He took her advice. “He used to be so annoying, but he has grown up after all,” Catherine said as the carriage lurched forward.
“Oui, most people do,” Grand-Mère replied. “But I want you to be careful with him.”
Catherine leaned back. “Have I acted inappropriately?”
“Non, not at all. I just… Jules has some concerns. He fears that the young Mr. Talbot may have a bit of a crush on you.”
Catherine laughed. “Why would he think that?”
“Apparently, Eriq was all too eager to step in as our protector and go on this trip with us. Your brother said the he was practically giddy at the thought. Such behavior seemed suspicious, is all.”
“Eriq was excited for Paris, Grand-Mère, not for me,” Catherine replied with a huff. She wanted to add that he had also been eager for the business opportunities he knew the trip would afford him. But he had shared that fact with her privately, and it wasn’t her place to tell his secrets. “Jules trusts no one.”
“He trusts Pierre.”
“Pardon?”
“Jules. You said he trusts no one, but that’s not true. He trusts Pierre implicitly.”
“Ah. That’s because Pierre does not think for himself.”
Grand-Mère shook her head. “Catherine, you know very well that Pierre is his own man. He simply trusts Jules’s judgment enough to go along with his plans and decisions for now.”
“Who can know for sure?” Catherine turned her head toward the window. Grand-Mère adored Pierre, not to mention Jules. Of course she would defend them both.
They continued on in silence, an emerald sea of wheat rolling gently in the wind. Beyond, a row of poplar trees swayed back and forth. Tears stung her eyes. She missed Pierre, the old Pierre who was more than just an
echo of her brother.
She missed his caring blue eyes. His strong shoulders. His quick smile.
A heaviness settled in her chest.
They continued on day after day until, on the third Monday of Easter, the seventh of May, they reached Auxerre, two-thirds of the way to Paris. As they drove through the village, Grand-Mère pointed to the temple. It was even simpler than the one in Lyon had been—but at least it was still standing. That was a good sign. “More than a hundred years ago, this village was captured by the Huguenots,” Grand-Mère said. “It has been a safe place ever since. I hope it still is.” Catherine heard about the Religious Wars through the years. She knew Henri IV had stopped them. It was all so long ago that growing up she could not imagine what they had to do with her—until now.
They stopped at an inn on the far side of the village. This time Eriq found a Huguenot man to talk with as they sat around the simple table. While Grand-Mère spoke with the innkeeper’s wife, Catherine found herself eavesdropping on the men. The Huguenot man spoke with Eriq about planning to sell his home and business, and the need to do so as soon as possible so they could leave the country for good. He was in Auxerre looking for a buyer.
“I wish you could convince my older brother of that,” Eriq told him, shaking his head, a mix of sadness and disgust on his face.
Catherine agreed, so wholeheartedly in fact that she nearly said so out loud.
“He is being so stubborn,” Eriq added. “Sometimes I wonder if something else is going on with him, if he has other motives.”
Other motives? Catherine did not know what he was implying, and the men’s conversation headed in a different direction, but the words rang around inside her head long into the night, even after the lights were out and everyone else was asleep. Other motives.
She would not question her fiancé’s character again in front of her grandmother—or anyone else, for that matter. But as soon as she had an opportunity to speak with Eriq alone, she was going ask him exactly what he meant.
They journeyed onward the next day. The sky was gray and ominous, the land around them bleak. But it was not just the weather and the terrain that weighed on Catherine. It was the thought of what Eriq had said the night before.
Eriq must have been thinking about the same thing, for at one point, as he gazed mindlessly out of the window, he commented on how difficult it must be, even once a decision had been reached, to actually make it all the way out of the country. “There should be places along the travel routes, safe places where Huguenots could seek respite without having to fear for their lives.”
“Oui,” Catherine replied, “but even if there were such things, how would one recognize them? A home that is safe and one that is dangerous look the same from the outside.”
Eriq turned his attention to her and held her eyes for a long moment, but she could not read his expression. “One might say the same of people.”
They finally reached Paris after several more days of travel, rolling into town at four o’clock on the third Friday of Easter. They had not been stopped by dragoons or by marauders or any other villains. Eriq had not had to use his musket or his sword and neither had the driver. It had been a successful trip all the way around.
The day of their arrival was bright and warm, almost too warm in the carriage. Both Catherine and Eriq had their noses pressed to the windows as they entered the city. First manors gave way to houses, and then the streets narrowed and tall buildings appeared, five and six stories high. “These are the medieval neighborhoods,” Grand-Mère explained. “They are overcrowded and dangerous. The people have little means of providing for their families and sometimes grow desperate. I used to come here with ma mère with baskets of food.”
A man dressed in rags slept against a post. Above him, a metal lantern hung.
“Night watchmen—archers—patrol through here,” Grand-Mère said, looking at Eriq. “This is miles from the home of my brother. Do not wander down here.”
Eriq nodded in agreement.
A man pushed a cart with a broken wheel, loaded with stones; a miller peddled bags of flour from a wagon; a young woman strung wash on a line outside her window, high above the street.
A little girl in a filthy frock held out a cup to a woman in a red dress, but the woman hurried on by without noticing her. A boy, nine or ten, darted through the traffic, chased by an older boy. It was clear they were not playing.
Catherine took her handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her nose. Dust was not coming through the chinks in the carriage now. Odors were. Open sewage. A vinegar plant. A butchery.
“How many people live in Paris?” Eriq asked.
“Last I heard, around five hundred thousand,” Grand-Mère answered. That explained the smell of unwashed bodies also coming through the openings of the coach.
Grand-Mère pointed out the other side of the carriage. “Look, the Seine.”
Catherine followed her grandmother’s hand and sighed in relief at the sight, her mood growing remarkably better. The dwellings changed again. Single homes made of quarried stone now lined the streets. By the time they reached the river, the gowns of the ladies strolling along the sidewalks had grown more and more elaborate. The dresses were made of bright colors—green and sapphire, yellow and pink. Catherine glanced down at her drab dress. Janetta had been right.
“Across the river is the Palais du Louvre,” Grand-Mère said, squinting as she spoke. Catherine strained her neck to see. The massive building went on for blocks. Beyond she could make out the spire of a church.
“Is that Notre-Dame?”
“Oui,” Grand-Mère answered. Joy had slipped into her voice.
At the next street the carriage turned right and made its way down the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter, filled with carriages and handcarts rolling over the cobblestones. Boutiques, butcheries, and pastry shops filled the bottom levels of the buildings. Flowers spilled out of pots on the balconies.
Catherine glanced at Grand-Mère, who held her head high, her hands folded in her lap.
“Have things changed since the last time you were here?” Catherine asked.
“Oui. There are more bridges on the river. There are more flowers. More beautiful clothing on the street.”
The carriage turned right onto a main street and then left, along a park.
“Is this Jardin du Luxembourg?” Catherine asked.
Grand-Mère nodded. A block later, the carriage stopped. Eriq descended first and then assisted Grand-Mère and Catherine. They stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs to the three-story house before them, la maison Delecore, Grand-Mère’s childhood home. It was large but not as big as the Gillet residence in Lyon. It was made of quarried stone, as were all the houses opposite the park. The whitewashed shutters were flung wide, the windows open to the warm day.
A butler stepped onto the stoop and then opened the door wide, saying to Grand-Mère, “Madame.” She led the way to the entry, with Catherine following her. Eriq waited behind to help with the luggage.
The butler paused in the front hall to hand Grand-Mère a letter that had come for her and then led them up to their rooms. The suite for Catherine and her grandmother was ornately decorated and filled with light, thanks to numerous large windows that lined two walls.
Grand-Mère went to the biggest window and Catherine joined her there.
Jardin du Luxembourg spread out before her. The palace. The pond. The gardens of flowers. The trees, planted in groupings.
“Did you not first see Grand-Père by that pond?”
“Oui. Every day after that for a week I met him there.”
“And then you visited the temple with him.” It was a story Catherine knew, but she loved to hear it over and over.
“And I learned about the Lord in a new way. A way that touched my heart. I was doubly blessed that week.”
“But was it not hard to leave Paris?” Catherine asked. She could not imagine.
“Non, chérie. I never look
ed back. I enjoyed the few visits I made through the years, but I was always ready to return to Lyon. That was my home. That was where my family was. That was where I learned even more about my Saviour.”
She sat down on the edge of the brocade settee and handed Catherine the letter. “Would you read this, please?”
“Of course.” Catherine opened the envelope and pulled it out, reading quickly. It was from Suzanne, saying she would not be able to see them for another week.
Catherine relayed the information to Grand-Mère. “I see,” she said, clearly disappointed. Catherine did not share her disappointment, but she withheld comment.
After bathing and dressing in their best gowns, Grand-Mère and Catherine headed downstairs. As they passed through the foyer, Eriq’s voice came from the next room.
Grand-Mère led the way into the lounge. A bouquet of lilies sat on the table, along with a bottle of wine and four glasses. Behind the table stood an older man and Eriq.
The man turned. “Yvonne!” he exclaimed, moving toward her around the table.
He kissed both of her cheeks and then hugged her as she said, “Laurent.” Catherine could tell her grandmother was genuinely pleased to see her brother.
Once he released her, he said to Catherine, “And my grandniece.”
Catherine nodded and curtsied. He kissed both of her cheeks, “Enchanté,” he said. He was a stocky man—or maybe just well fed. Though he was shorter, something about his bright eyes and long face reminded her of her father, who had been this man’s nephew. Unlike her father, however, her great-uncle was wearing fancy clothes and a white wig.
After asking about the trip and the rest of the family, he glanced from Grand-Mère to Catherine to Eriq and asked why they were still in their traveling clothes.
Grand-Mère smiled and said with dignity, “This is our dinner attire.”
Uncle Laurent shook his head. “Surely not.”
My Brother's Crown Page 22