Written on Silk (2 page)

Montmorency family and the Constable of France
— a Catholic who sided with the Bourbons in the end

Machiavelli
— Niccolo Machiavelli, a cunning and cruel man; he was associated with corrupt, totalitarian government because of a small pamphlet he wrote called “The Prince” to gain influence with the ruling Medici family in Florence

Alessandro (the abuser)
— a brother of Catherine de Medici

Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggerio
— brothers from Florence, Catherine’s astrologers and poison makers

Rene
— a perfumer, also Catherine’s poisoner

Cardinal d’Este
— from Ferrara, Italy

Tasso
— a poet from Italy

Ronsard
— a poet who served the Valois Court, Chatelard

Hercule Valois
— the fourth and youngest son of Catherine and Henry Valois, little is known of him

Anne du Bourg
— a Huguenot man sent to the Bastille by Henry II. He was burned at the stake under the Cardinal de Lorraine when boy-king Francis ruled with Queen Mother Catherine. The Huguenots then felt betrayed and planned the Amboise plot.

Nostradamus
— a soothsayer in the Roman Catholic Church

Jacopo Sadeleto
— Archbishop of Carpentras

Chantonnay
— Thomas Perrenot de Chantonnay, Spanish ambassador to France

Alencome
— Monsieur Ronsard d’Alencome, French ambassador to the English court and spy for Catherine

Author’s Note

D
EAR
R
EADER,

For this series, I have researched period texts, both old and new. Though history cannot prove whether Catherine de Medici committed all of the murders attributed to her during her years in the court of France, even historians writing in her favor cannot deny that she was, indeed, a murderess on at least two occasions, and undoubtedly on others. In view of her known acts of murder, her own letters, and reports from her contemporaries, I feel confident in this portrayal.

Sadly, it is becoming acceptable in our culture for pundits and historians to defend the villains of history and to vilify the saints. Political correctness has even invaded Chris tian churches, permitting compromise in sound Bible doctrine in order for tolerance to reign over truth. Scripture warns of “those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness” (Isa. 5:20 NIV). We live in a culture that attempts to impress relative values upon us to the extent that we are becoming timid to say: “It is written.”

My main reason for choosing this historical period was to bring attention to the French Huguenots who stood uncompromisingly for “It is written.” They will surely receive the martyr’s crown from our Lord Jesus Christ at the future Bema seat (2 Cor. 5:10). Since Christ will reward our fellow brothers and sisters of this period for their faithfulness to Him, it has been a privilege for me to write about them. I wish I could have done it better.

This series could not adequately show the several centuries of events that unfolded, but I have tried to give a sampling of the Huguenot history. In order to show more of these events through the eyes of my fictional characters, I have compressed parts of the time period in which the historical people lived.

Thank you for your wonderful letters of support and encouragement. You are loved and appreciated. You can contact me through my website at
www.lindachaikinbooks.com
.

The Lord bless and keep you in these times.

LINDA LEE
CHAIKIN,
TITUS 2:13

A Gown for the English Queen

CHÂTEAU DE SILK, LYON, FRANCE

B
ENEATH THE UPPER WINDOW OF THE RENOWNED
CHÂTEAU
DE
SILK’S
atelier
, crimson blossoms on bougainvillea vines sprawled with languid grace along a wall that secluded the inner courtyard’s garden. The wind swept through the mulberry orchard, rallying the verdant green leaves into a chorus of praise. Roses, amorously tended to by the stooped gardener,
Monsieur
Jolon, offered their fragrance to the wind’s promise as it flowed over the wall, through the open balustrade to the window of the Dushane-Macquinet Silk House.

A burst of activity erupted as a scurry of voices announced the approach of horsemen.
Mademoiselle
Rachelle Dushane-Macquinet, who was unwinding a wooden spool of golden thread, looked across the atelier to Nenette, her
grisette
in training and her
amie
.

“Who is coming, Nenette?”

Nenette was already at the widow, drawing aside the Alençon lace curtains.

“A carriage, Mademoiselle. It is most dusty and ugly — ooh, but a most handsome man is stepping down. La, la!”

“You are at heart, most assuredly, a hopeless flirt, Nenette.” Idelette spoke wearily from her position at the cutting table, where she was measuring pink silk for the finishing touches on the surprise birthday dress for her
mignon
sister, Avril.

Rachelle laughed and looked over at Nenette. “I think you should marry Andelot Dangeau, a most fine and honorable young man.”

Nenette flushed until her freckles blended into her pert face.

Idelette, who was two years older than Rachelle, looked at her dourly.

“Andelot is a most serious young monsieur; he has no thoughts of marriage at this stage of his life.”

Rachelle covered a smile. She was almost certain her sister concealed an interest in Andelot.

“He wants to attend the University of Paris and become a scholar,”

Idelette said, slipping her gold thimble on with artistic flair.

“How do you know?” Rachelle asked with feigned innocence. “Has he been sharing his heart with you again?”

One of the other grisettes snickered, and then quickly ducked her head when Idelette gave a sharp turn of her fair head in the girl’s direction.

Rachelle set the wooden spool aside on the long cutting table and stood. “Do you suppose the arrival in the carriage is Sir James Hudson at last?”

“The monsieur did look very English,” Nenette said, tapping her small chin.

Idelette jabbed her silver needle into her velvet pin cushion and also stood, shaking out her dark blue skirts. “Such nonsense. One does not look very anything. How are the English supposed to look?”

“I beg to differ, Mademoiselle, but I can tell a Spaniard anywhere,”

Nenette piped, pursing her lips.

Idelette’s mouth tightened.

Rachelle looked at her sister, sobering. Idelette had not been with her at Amboise when over two thousand
Huguenots
were butchered to the satisfaction of Spain, though Rachelle had told her family what happened there, as well as the gruesome scene Andelot had unwittingly attended.

“If it is Monsieur Hudson,” Idelette continued, “
ma mère
will be most upset, I assure you. He was to arrive yesterday, as you know. In another hour it will be dusk and tomorrow is Sunday. That means Scripture reading tonight.”

It was the family custom to prepare their hearts for Sunday worship with a simple supper followed by an evening of prayer and Bible reading from the secret French Bible her parents kept hidden like gold coins in a treasure chest.

“If it is Sir James Hudson, he will simply need to adjust to the household,” Rachelle said, shrugging lightly. “I hope so; I can think of a hundred questions to ask him about the Huguenot immigrants at Spitalfields. I do hope
Père
agrees to open a dress shop there with the Hudson family.”

“I have reason to believe he will. There is even talk of transporting silkworms and mulberry cuttings by ship to Hudson land.”

“I wonder if the weather of the English countryside is warm enough.”

From outside the atelier door they heard hurried footsteps climbing the flight of stairs.

“Idelette! Rachelle!”

Rachelle whipped around to Idelette. “Hide the dress.”

Idelette snatched the pink dress and held it behind her as the door flew open.

Avril, who would turn fourteen in two weeks, rushed breathlessly into the room. She was almost a twin in appearance to her eldest married sister, Madeleine, in Paris, who was married to
Comte
Sebastien Dangeau.

Avril’s hair was dark and glossy, her eyes a deeper shade of brown. She looked jubilantly from Idelette to Rachelle.

“The Englishman is here. He told Mère his driver became ill yesterday and that is why he is so late. He was obliged to stop at an inn overnight. He has a new driver. He is coming up now with Mère. He has a satchel with a Hudson dress pattern and he asked specifically to meet the ‘Daughters of Silk.’ ”

Rachelle clasped her hands together and turned to Idelette.

“He has inquired of us?”

“Our reputation grows, sister, even apart from
Grandmère
— not that I wished it so.”

“You see?” Rachelle took hold of her shoulders and whirled her around the atelier until Idelette burst into a rare display of laughter.

“Cease, you
sotte
sister!”

“Did I not tell you that all we endured while humoring the spoiled
Princesse
Marguerite and
Reinette
Mary would bring blessing to us in the end? See how our work as
couturières
is well spoken of, even among the ladies in foreign courts.”

“I must admit you were clever to see it.”

Avril, too, danced about the atelier and then pretended to offer a deep royal bow. “May news of your talents travel to royal palaces, Mesdemoiselles, except for the King of Spain’s
Escorial
,” she said of the place where his throne was located.

Rachelle’s mind jumped soberly back to the Queen Mother, Catherine de Medici. Catherine had proposed a trip with Princesse Marguerite to Spain, and there was a real possibility that Rachelle would be called back to Court to attend the princesse.
May it not be
, she thought.

“Oh! What a
belle
pink dress! Who is it for?” Avril was looking across the room where Idelette had placed it over the back of a chair.

Rachelle glanced at Idelette.

Avril started toward the chair to inspect the dress, but Idelette caught it up and walked promptly over to her work table and laid it aside with apparent disinterest.

“Never mind. Do be serious now, all of you. We have work to do, and Sir James Hudson will walk in and think we are behaving like children — ”

Voices and footsteps announced the approach of their mère, Madame Clair Dushane-Macquinet, as well as the couturier from London’s famous shop on Regent Street, Sir James Hudson.

Rachelle calmed herself and was standing with shoulders back and chin tilted when they came through the doorway.

Sir James Hudson was not old as she had expected. He could be little more than twenty, lithe of body, and handsome, with dark hair and eyes, and a dapper way about him that declared a man of optimistic spirit. He was garbed fashionably as Rachelle would have expected of the son of one of London’s finest draperies. His chocolate velvet surcoat with subtle cross-stitch, in what looked to be a tangerine silk ribbon, showed his penchant for originality, as did the polished carved wood hook and eye enclosures. His dress presented innovation while still being far from gaudy or flamboyant.

After introductions by Madame Clair, Rachelle nodded gravely as he smiled at her, realizing she was staring.

“
Bonjour
, Mademoiselles,” he said in a friendly fashion. “I bring you greetings from your colleagues, the couturiers of fashion in London — ”he bowed toward Idelette and Rachelle — “and more specifically, from my father’s enterprise, Hudson and Crier Draperies of Regent Street.”