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Authors: Linda Lee Chaikin
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man be a heretic, I cannot believe the God of heaven would ever approve of such cruel deeds by his servants. And the petite Avril — ” Then the stoic Docteur Lancre was unable to finish.
He shook his head, and begging pardon, paused and recovered. He went on to discuss his remedy for shock. Idelette was to rest and stay bedridden for the next several days, then he would see her again. He spoke of something to keep her quiet and sleepy.
“And you as well, Madame,” he said soberly, looking at her over the bridge of his nose, “must be given a sleeping potion.”
“I cannot, Docteur Lancre, I must keep all my wits at hand. There are correspondences to write, and I must arrange for my husband to come home as soon as he feels he can — ” she stopped short.
Rachelle glanced at her. Madame Clair had almost mentioned the work Arnaut was doing in Geneva, which could easily have brought his arrest, and even the fiery stake if he did not recant. Rachelle looked at the docteur, seeing he had not suspected anything, but was writing his instructions for Idelette and for herself — though Rachelle wasn’t sure she was willing to comply.
Rachelle knew there was little else she could learn, and she slipped away.
The wall sconces shimmered with lamplight even during the day, for the corridor would otherwise be dim. The château, though most belle, was usually chilly in winter and spring. Even now she felt a draft about her ankles as she walked wearily across the carpet, faded from generations of wear in some places. The wear on the carpets and furniture seemed to make the château more cherished to Rachelle. It connected her emotionally to family who had been here before her with dedication to the silk enterprise.
She passed Cousin Bertrand’s chamber but did not wish to disturb him now. She would see him when she visited at dîner . As for Sir James Hudson, it was not respectable for a young woman to venture into the bedchamber of a young man alone, even though Hudson had proven himself a Christian and a gallant gentleman.
Rachelle’s mind jumped back to the duc. Everyone claims they are Chris tian. A prayer uttered, a ritual performed, a confession of belief, but what did it all mean when a heart remained the same, even justifying murder?
After Docteur Lancre departed and Idelette slept, Rachelle waited in the main salle for Madame Clair. Clair descended the stairs appearing tense and pale and sat in the red velvet chair below magnificent tapestries that showed a garden scene from the Fontainebleau palais-château in Orléans.
Rachelle knelt beside Clair and laid her forehead against her shoulder, taking solace in her mother’s consolation.
“I should be helping you instead of taking comfort . . . you have only so much strength to expend . . .”
“Hush, not so. Your presence consoles me. There is no shame in our tears, nor to our need for comfort. We all need an encourager when the way grows so long. There is a time to weep and a time to laugh. Now is our time for tears. How can we not? My youngest, your petite sister, is lying in the antechamber covered over with white linen; and Idelette, my lily, so serious, so dedicated, and now — ”
“Oh, ma mère . . . Idelette, it is she who worries me the most.”
“Yes. She may carry this burden for a long journey before seeing green pastures.” She looked off across the salle, thoughtfully.
Silence descended. Rachelle had expected her mother to allay her fears, but she now accepted them as her own. On the tables, the candles burned and flickered. Now and then, one of the servants lost control of their feelings and a sob was heard from the kitchen area or another part of the house. They had been with the family so long, they also were sorrowing.
“We are as Job this night,” Madame Clair said after a long silence. “The Lord has given, and the Lord has permitted the ruthless and the blind of spirit to take away what we cherished.”
“It is as le docteur
He shook his head, and begging pardon, paused and recovered. He went on to discuss his remedy for shock. Idelette was to rest and stay bedridden for the next several days, then he would see her again. He spoke of something to keep her quiet and sleepy.
“And you as well, Madame,” he said soberly, looking at her over the bridge of his nose, “must be given a sleeping potion.”
“I cannot, Docteur Lancre, I must keep all my wits at hand. There are correspondences to write, and I must arrange for my husband to come home as soon as he feels he can — ” she stopped short.
Rachelle glanced at her. Madame Clair had almost mentioned the work Arnaut was doing in Geneva, which could easily have brought his arrest, and even the fiery stake if he did not recant. Rachelle looked at the docteur, seeing he had not suspected anything, but was writing his instructions for Idelette and for herself — though Rachelle wasn’t sure she was willing to comply.
Rachelle knew there was little else she could learn, and she slipped away.
The wall sconces shimmered with lamplight even during the day, for the corridor would otherwise be dim. The château, though most belle, was usually chilly in winter and spring. Even now she felt a draft about her ankles as she walked wearily across the carpet, faded from generations of wear in some places. The wear on the carpets and furniture seemed to make the château more cherished to Rachelle. It connected her emotionally to family who had been here before her with dedication to the silk enterprise.
She passed Cousin Bertrand’s chamber but did not wish to disturb him now. She would see him when she visited at dîner . As for Sir James Hudson, it was not respectable for a young woman to venture into the bedchamber of a young man alone, even though Hudson had proven himself a Christian and a gallant gentleman.
Rachelle’s mind jumped back to the duc. Everyone claims they are Chris tian. A prayer uttered, a ritual performed, a confession of belief, but what did it all mean when a heart remained the same, even justifying murder?
After Docteur Lancre departed and Idelette slept, Rachelle waited in the main salle for Madame Clair. Clair descended the stairs appearing tense and pale and sat in the red velvet chair below magnificent tapestries that showed a garden scene from the Fontainebleau palais-château in Orléans.
Rachelle knelt beside Clair and laid her forehead against her shoulder, taking solace in her mother’s consolation.
“I should be helping you instead of taking comfort . . . you have only so much strength to expend . . .”
“Hush, not so. Your presence consoles me. There is no shame in our tears, nor to our need for comfort. We all need an encourager when the way grows so long. There is a time to weep and a time to laugh. Now is our time for tears. How can we not? My youngest, your petite sister, is lying in the antechamber covered over with white linen; and Idelette, my lily, so serious, so dedicated, and now — ”
“Oh, ma mère . . . Idelette, it is she who worries me the most.”
“Yes. She may carry this burden for a long journey before seeing green pastures.” She looked off across the salle, thoughtfully.
Silence descended. Rachelle had expected her mother to allay her fears, but she now accepted them as her own. On the tables, the candles burned and flickered. Now and then, one of the servants lost control of their feelings and a sob was heard from the kitchen area or another part of the house. They had been with the family so long, they also were sorrowing.
“We are as Job this night,” Madame Clair said after a long silence. “The Lord has given, and the Lord has permitted the ruthless and the blind of spirit to take away what we cherished.”
“It is as le docteur
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