Written on Silk (46 page)

Rachelle, still holding the royal summons in hand, excused herself and went up the stairs to tell Idelette of Maurice’s arrival.

As she climbed the staircase she frowned, for while she considered her call to Court to be fortunate, it would not seem fair to Idelette, who would enter a time of voluntary isolation. Rachelle would have the opportunity to make gowns for both Catherine de Medici and Princesse Marguerite Valois, but Idelette’s task was to persevere under trial while feeling unappreciated. Rachelle worried that by displaying her own sense of excitement for her purpose at Court, she might add to her sister’s sense of loss.

Their sisterly paths were separating, veering away into far different journeys. Would Idelette resent the open door the Lord apparently was giving Rachelle at Court again?

But I am walking into a field of thorns, and who can say whether
roses will bloom by the wayside? It is not only the work of a couturière that
beckons me, but Catherine de Medici’s poison closet and her secret poisoners
— who were they who did her evil bidding? I intend to find out.

A
GOWN FOR CATHERINE
de Medici! Rachelle’s nerves tingled with alarm, though her imagination was kindled as she thought of the possible style and color that would befit the Queen Mother.

“Rachelle?”

Rachelle turned toward the anxious voice of Idelette who stood in her chamber doorway further down the corridor.

“The retinue that arrived, do I recognize the banner of Beauvilliers?”

“Yes, Sebastien’s neveu, Comte Maurice has arrived from Fontainebleau. Idelette! I have been summoned to Court again by the Queen Mother. I will have no choice except to obey.”

Idelette’s fingers tightened around the collar of her bodice, and she took several steps toward her.

“Catherine de Medici asked for you? Rachelle, do not go. Go to Spitalfields with Père instead. I have a horrid feeling she means ill toward you.”

Rachelle was swiftly beside her, trying to calm her. Usually Idelette was the composed one. This time her cheeks were flushed and the lashes on her pale blue eyes twitched nervously.

Rachelle took her arm and led her back to her chamber.

“Do not worry, sister. She has no idea that I suspect her. This summons should come as no surprise. I never finished the gowns Princesse Marguerite wanted me to make for her at Amboise. The dreadful rebellion and massacre took place and stopped everything. Now there is a journey to Spain.”

“Spain!”

“Oui.” Rachelle restrained a shudder. “There is to be a meeting about Marguerite’s marriage. The Queen Mother also wishes for a gown to wear when she is received by King Philip. Not that he appreciates such things, I have heard. He is dour, always wearing black. Perhaps it is his conscience. He is responsible for so many deaths in the Inquisition, he looks as though he is at a perpetual funeral.”

For a moment, the brightness in Idelette’s pale blue eyes reminded Rachelle of her old spirit as she must have envisioned the creation of a gown for the Queen Mother of France. Then the look faded to concern.

“When will this journey to Spain take place?”

“She did not say in the summons. I suspect it will not be until after the colloquy this fall. Probably next spring.”

“Our parents will be most upset over this. You will be at Court alone.”

“Not entirely. Sebastien and Duchesse Dushane are at Fontainebleau, as is Andelot.”

At the mention of Andelot, Idelette’s mouth tightened.

“I will be able to visit you in Paris,” Rachelle continued. “You will be with Madeleine. And should she ever come to Fontainebleau, you could come with her. It is not often we can gather as three sisters.”

“I should rather die on my bed than show myself enceinte to — to anyone who knows me at Court.” Her breathing came hurriedly with emotion. “I shall never be able to look them in the eye.”

“It is not your shame. This came to you uninvited. You did not willingly play the fool.”

“It matters not to me. The results are the same. I am enceinte. Even if I went to stay with Madeleine, what then? In a few months everyone will see. Should I walk about Court growing big with a beast’s child?”

Idelette ran her palm over her stomach. “I used to dream of having enfants of my own, but little did I know it would end like this for me.”

She looked up, firming her mouth. She entered her chamber and walked to her bed and sank onto the edge. There was an urn on the table, and she poured herself a glass of water and sipped it.

Rachelle stood in the doorway, entered, and closed it. She stood for a moment, lost for words.

“Nenette has gone to the weavers’ huts for Père and Mère,” she said quietly. “Will you come down to greet the comte?”

“Non. He does not like me. I remember the way he looked at me when we were at Chambord. Undoubtedly, I am the only woman at Court he did not like. Why that was so, I cannot say, but I do not wish to be in his conceited company.”

“Perhaps you misunderstood Maurice’s look, sister. There is not a woman with fairness he does not appreciate.”

Idelette shook her fair head firmly. “Non, there was dislike in his eyes. I remember it well, and it was most unpleasant, I assure you.”

Madame Clair was right. Idelette did need to get away from the location of her ordeal, but she would never appear in public now, not even if she went to stay with Madeleine until after the birth. Idelette had begun wearing somber colors which made her skin appear sallow. Her once soft mouth was too often seen drawn into a tight molded line, pinched at the corners.

Rachelle’s anger festered at the thought of the selfish beast who had brought this change upon her sister. But then, if she began raising difficult questions about her own loved ones, why not also inquire why God allowed thousands of Huguenots to die at the stake, be torn limb from limb on the rack at the Bastille, or languish in a hundred other painful situations? Indeed, why only the Huguenots, why not also inquire of the Protestant Dutch? She could not pick and choose the situations that troubled her just because it was
her
sisters. They were all somebody’s sister, somebody’s brother.

She remembered what Pasteur Bertrand said. The earth was in rebellion against God, Satan was still loose, prowling about seeking whom he may devour, and the fruits of sin were rampant and would run their course until the final judgment. And God’s redeemed were not yet removed from the results of sin. As God’s rain and sunshine fell on the just and unjust alike, so the sufferings that were the result of man’s rebellion came to all. But there the likeness ended and the great divide began;for God gave a promise to His redeemed, that as their loving heavenly Father, He would make all things, good and bad, dark and light, work together for good for those who were His own.

“Where is the comte now?” Idelette asked.

“Hmm? Oh. Downstairs. Look, Idelette, he expects to speak with you while he is here. Can you not merely show yourself at dinner tonight?”

Idelette sank into the chair, pale and rigid. She shook her head firmly. “How can I? How can I possibly explain?”

“There is nothing to explain. He has no idea. How could he? And besides that, is it not better that the true facts come out about what happened than to allow ugly whispers that will surely come instead? Even if you hide away for nine months, you will not be able to hide the enfant once it is born.”

Idelette dropped her forehead into her hand. “I do not know. I am confused, afraid, so very angry — ” She clenched a fist. “My life is ruined.”

Rachelle hurried to her and dropped to her knees beside the chair. “If I were in your place, I would be more than angry, ma chère soeur. If you do not wish to see him, you need not do so. But is it not wiser to speak the truth of what happened? Let the shamefulness of the Duc de Guise’s men come to light.”

Idelette closed her eyes. “I cannot escape that shame. But there are ways for a child to be born in secret I have heard. They do it at Court all the time — a king’s mistress will have a child under a secret name away from Paris. Oh, why should this happen to me? It is unfair. Did I not pray every day? And did I not read our Bible in French, though I risked death?”

“Bien sûr! But yes, you were more faithful than I, sister. Oh, do not think such hurtful things against yourself as though God allowed it to happen because you had sinned against Him. What happened had naught to do with your lack of dedication to the Savior, but because we live in a time when Satan has great wrath against us. He wants to ruin those whose faith remains steadfast in Christ.”

“You are right. Oui! But oh, what will become of me, of this enfant?

Should I not just end my life and be done with such shame?”

“Idelette!” Rachelle rose to her feet and looked down at her sister.

“You are not well. That is why you are saying these things. It will turn out, you will see. The Lord will help you. Somehow, someway, He will.”

“How can this turn out for good? How?”

“I do not know. But God’s Word can be depended upon in the darkest circumstances of life.”

“What of my ruined honneur?”

“Your honneur is not ruined. You were violated. Your honneur remains.”

Idelette dropped her head against her hand again and let out a frustrated, angry breath. “What man will ever have me in marriage now?”

Rachelle folded her arms. “Many, unless they are fools.”

Idelette smiled ruefully. “My loyal sister.” She wiped her eyes and smoothed her ashy blonde hair away from her cheek.

“Andelot Dangeau is twice the galant as any at Court,” Rachelle said.

Idelette turned to her with a strange look. “Andelot . . . Oui, a fine boy.”

“He is no longer a boy, sister. He is quite handsome and dependable.

If a woman were looking for a husband, then Andelot would be a fine catch.”

“But, he is yours.”

“No, he is not.”

“He is too young for me anyway.”

“Only younger by a few years. Once you have the enfant and time passes, by then he would make a wonderful husband!”

Idelette actually smiled at her. “Ma chère sister, the matchmaker. Non, he is yours. He has always been yours. He is most attached to you.”

She was not the matchmaker, but her parents. She wondered what Idelette would say if she told her their mère wanted Andelot to marry Idelette.

“I confess, I want another,” Rachelle said wearily.

Idelette looked at her. “You ask far more than I, ma soeur; you ask for the moon and stars too.”

“Since we like to discuss impossible things, why not?” Rachelle smiled.

Idelette dabbed her eyes with her gathered handkerchief. “I am feeling sorry for myself, that is all.”

“I am hoping you will see how God has not changed just because your circumstances have. If God was faithful, true, and good a week ago — then He is so now. Bertrand always says God is not capricious.

Remember, Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Things turn out far differently than our plans, and there is naught we can do but trust and go on.”

Idelette was the calm, stoic daughter, the sensible one, the prayer warrior, the Bible student, the daughter who could sit with Père and the Geneva minister who came to call and discuss doctrine sensibly when they asked her. How often she had seen the pride in Père’s eyes as he looked at Idelette, and the minister showed his admiration. When Père had brought theology students home from Geneva, it was to Idelette he introduced them first. Idelette, who sat with them carrying on discussions about Calvin’s
Institutes
. It was sober Idelette who surged ahead in the spiritual race, growing in patience. How many times Rachelle had heard Père say that “Idelette will marry a pasteur, wait and see. The finest pasteur in all Geneva’s theology school.”

And now Idelette was the injured lamb, the perplexed saint who cried out in confusion and doubt.

“I thought I knew my Lord . . .” Idelette crumpled her handkerchief and passed it from one hand to the other as she frowned. “Then something like this happens, and suddenly I am a ship torn from its moorings, tossed by wind and storm. He allowed this nightmare to come upon me.

If anything more happens to us, I shall swear we are all related to Job.”