Redemption: Supernatural Time-Traveling Romance with Sci-fi and Metaphysics (23 page)

“Take care, young Isabelle,” he
says, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“You too,” she replies, meaning
to say more, but finding herself too overwhelmed with sadness for him. Despite
his faults, she could never have gotten so far and she knows that he is
heart-broken to see her leave. But Lucie has promised to take care of him and
no doubt she will help him find a replacement mistress.

Jean-Pierre bangs on the side of
the carriage and the driver spurs on the horses. As she looks back at the house
Isabelle says goodbye to her former life. Then she sits back in the seat,
heading to a new life in the King’s court.

~

“Mademoiselle, your voice grows
more glorious with each passing day!” says Giuseppe du Luca, clapping his hands
in delight. He is reputedly one of the finest singing teachers in Europe and he
has been teaching Isabelle for the last two months.

Her singing lessons are just one
part of her hectic life in court, which turns out to be far busier than she
expected. Every day is filled with non-stop routine and the various official
procedures of the palace. In addition to these and the daily singing lessons,
rehearsals and concerts, she manages to steal a little time here and there to
see Albert. Remembering Lucie’s golden rule not to spoil men, however, Isabelle
maintains a certain distance between herself and her lover, insisting on
meeting him no more than once a week. And Albert is not her only lover. In her
time at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, His Majesty the King has already made two visits
to her bedchamber. These are not at all arduous, though, as the love-making
does not last long and Louis does not hang around afterwards nor waste much
time on foreplay. He does, however, always offer her a curt bow before leaving
her room and Isabelle is well aware that she is not the only woman in the
palace seeking the King’s affections.

All the same
, she thought as Louis
closed the door behind him after his first visit.
It’s still like being caught in some kind of dream. I can’t really
believe that I just made love to His Majesty the King of France!
Her heart
quickened at the thought and, in her excitement, she took a long time, that
night, to get to sleep.

A few times, she has spied her
friend Babette, but even on those occasions where they manage to exchange a few
words, there has been no time to tell her just how grateful she is that Babette
gave her this golden opportunity. Life is just too busy!

~

“Tell me,” Giuseppe continues,
looking thoughtful. “Have you ever considered performing in one of the King’s
operas?”

Isabelle raises her perfect
eyebrows in surprise. “Opera? No, I didn’t think I was opera material.”

“Pah! But you are the ideal
material, mademoiselle. Ideal! You are a natural.”

“Really?” She looks unconvinced. “Do
you mean that?”

“Do I mean it?” Giuseppe raises a
hand to his face as if she has slapped him. “Do I mean it? I never meant
anything so much in all my days!”

“Louis… I mean, His Majesty loves
opera, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” says Giuseppe,
waving his arms expansively. “Oh, the opera is one of the King’s greatest
passions!”

“And you think I could get a part
in one?”

“I do not
think
it, mademoiselle… I
know
it!” He claps his hands to show that the matter is decided. “Very good! I will
speak Jean-Baptiste Lully today and make the necessary arrangements.”

Sure enough, Giuseppe manages to
secure her a small part in Lully’s latest opera,
Atys,
that is to be performed on the King’s birthday, and he works
hard with her to ensure that she is ready. Outside of her singing lessons,
Isabelle spends any free time she has finding out everything she can about the
opera, the scenery and set designs, the costumes and the props, the orchestra
and the music. During rehearsals, when she is not required on the stage, she
sits in the wings, listening to the other parts, studying them, learning them,
until she knows each one word-for-word and note-for-note. She delights in every
aspect of the opera and she feels like she is a part of something grand,
something great, something truly significant. As the date of the premier draws
closer, Isabelle enjoys standing on the stage long after everyone else has
left, imagining the auditorium filled with people, the King seated in pride of
place, all listening to her sing in awed fascination. She pictures their
delight, their applause, their adoration, and feels the excitement welling up
inside her.

~

But two days before the
performance, something terribly unexpected happens. The prima donna falls sick.
At first it is thought she has only caught a cold, but it soon becomes clear
that she has angina with an inflamed and swollen throat. She will not be able
to perform any singing in the coming opera.

Although the opening performance
is still two nights away, many guests have already arrived at the palace. Then
His Majesty the King and his entourage show up in auditorium.

“What the devil’s going on,
Jean-Baptiste?” the King calls to Lully and he hurries over, trepidation
written all over his face.

“It’s Fleurette, Your Majesty,
the prima donna,” Lully explains, bowing so low his wig slips down over his
eyes. He stands and shoves it back into place.

The King narrows his eyes. “What
about Fleurette?”

“She is ill, highness. She will
not be able to perform the part of Cybele.” He shrinks back and continues in a
frightened whisper. “And I have no understudy for her.”

“What!” Immediately, Louis flies
into a rage, kicking over chairs and knocking Lully’s wig clean off. “How can
you have let this happen, you fool!” Behind him, the courtiers chatter in
alarm, buzzing like an angry beehive.

“Your Majesty?” The words are
spoken in such a calm, gentle voice that it cuts through the buzzing and rage
and everyone turns in silence to face the speaker. It is Isabelle. “Your
Majesty,” she repeats, “I know the part of Cybele perfectly. If it pleases Your
Majesty, I can stand in for Fleurette.” Isabelle makes a low curtsey in front
of the King. His Majesty
stares at her for a long moment, clearly considering
the offer. “Very well,” says the King and turns to Lully. “I have heard
Isabelle sing a number of times and Giuseppe de Luca has nothing but praise for
her. Besides, we have no other option. You will give her the prima donna role
and ensure that she fills it well. I hold you responsible.” He jabs a finger at
Lully before turning on his heel and stalking away, followed by his train of
courtiers.

So, a mere thirty minutes later,
Isabelle finds herself in the leading role for the dress rehearsal. And after
hours of practice with both Giuseppe and Lully, and a little alteration to
Fleurette’s costume, Isabelle sings for the King and hundreds of his guests at
the opening performance of the opera.

It is a tragic love story in
which Isabelle plays the prima donna role of the goddess, Cybele, and her love
for Atys. Her performance is exquisite, full of drama, desire and vengeance
and, as she sings, she looks out at the audience. They are paying rapt
attention. His Majesty is seated in front. The King is known for his unmoved
expression at such times, but as she catches his eye, the faintest of smiles
curls the edges of his mouth. His Majesty is pleased! And so he should be. The
music, the scenery and the elaborate costumes all work together perfectly.
Whatever Isabelle imagined, while standing alone on the stage, it was as
nothing compared to the reception at the end of the show. The applause is
deafening, and across the auditorium people jump to their feet calling her name
and throwing flowers. Even
His Majesty
the King
stands
and offers her a bow. As she
gazes out
at them
, a
glamorous
smile on her face, she feels once again as though she is
in
a dream, as though she might wake at any moment and find
herself still in dirty rags, lying in the
stinking
slums
by the river.

As the sound of the crowd’s
adulation dies away behind her she heads to the private dressing room to change
for the evening’s celebrations. Waving away her maids, she slips herself out of
the dress and is beginning to unlace her corset when the door opens. She spins
round to see the King pulling the door closed
behind
him.

“Well, mademoiselle,” the King
says, walking up to her and pulling her body tight against his own. “What a
performance! I hope for many more operas to be graced with your beautiful
voice. Simply magnificent!”

She looks down, flattered by this
praise. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Call me Louis,” the King
whispers into her ear, one hand groping her hip and the other exposing her
breasts.

Chapter Twenty-one

C
hampagne, my dear?” says Louis, as they lay together naked on the
chaise longue. Isabelle’s chest is still heaving from their love-making, a far
more passionate affair than the previous times she has been with the King.
Reaching towards the bottle he placed on her dressing table, Louis fills two
goblets. “I have something for you, Isabelle,” he says, as they drink their
champagne, and he rummages through the clothes that have been discarded across
the dressing room floor. Eventually he finds what he is looking for and hands
her a small wooden box, intricately carved and inlaid with ivory. “Here,” he
says, “This is for you, my dear.”

Isabelle takes it, opening it in
breathless anticipation. “Your Majesty!” she says as she stares at its
contents. “It’s beautiful!”

Louis reaches over and lifts out
the gift, a white gold pendant with a crystal clear,
velvety
blue sapphire set within a circle of diamonds.

Such exquisite work,
she thinks,
having taken the opportunity to study some of the fine jewelry the palace has
on display.
And what a gemstone!
The
pendant is suspended on a blue silk ribbon and His Majesty ties it gently
around Isabelle’s neck, the jewels sparkling in her cleavage.

“It’s a locket,” he says, and
gestures for Isabelle to open it. Carefully, her fingers shaking slightly both
from the love-making and her excitement, she pries open the delicate gold clasp
to reveal a miniature portrait of the King wearing a long, black wig and a
white jabot blossoming from the neck of a red waistcoat.

“Thank you, Louis,” she says,
somewhat stunned by the gift, but still making sure to smile at the King. “You
are too kind.”

He smiles back. “It matches your
eyes perfectly, Isabelle.”

What a wonderful present
, she thinks.
And it’s not just the present. This is more
than just a beautiful locket. It’s a totally new status in the King’s court. A
status which any woman in France would kill for!

~

Though this is by far the most
thrilling gift Isabelle receives that evening, and she is very excited by the
new favor bestowed on her by Louis, it is by no means the
only
thing she receives. No sooner has the King left and she’s put
on a new dress than palace servants begin to queue up at her dressing room door
with baskets of flowers, perfumed letters and even a pair of star-shaped silver
earrings. Sitting at her dressing table more out of curiosity than looking for
something special, she opens a couple of the letters to read. As she expects,
they are from gentlemen admirers praising her performance and making requests
for assignations that are little more than thinly-veiled invitations to their
beds.

A year or so ago, this would have
been a dream, she thinks, sighing and laying the rest of the letters to one
side, unopened. But now I have the favor of the King and a wonderful lover in
Albert. These other admirers simply don’t interest me.

A knock at the door makes her
jump and she calls out, “Not more flowers, surely?!”

“No flowers, I’m afraid,” says
Babette, opening the door with a smile. “But you’d certainly deserve them if I
did. What a show! You were wonderful, my dear.”

Isabelle gets up and embraces her
friend. “Thank you, Babette.”

“The King certainly seemed
fascinated by your performance this evening.”

“That wasn’t the only performance
he enjoyed,” she says with a sly wink. “He came to visit me in here afterwards.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes, he did and he gave me this.”
She lifts the locket that is still hanging from her neck and flicks it open.
Babette leans close to examine the portrait.

“Impressive!” she says, though
her smile seems oddly frozen. “A personal picture of His Majesty himself. You
truly are favored, my dear. Which reminds me why I came to see you.”

“What is it?” Isabelle asks,
frowning slightly.

“Only that you are invited
to sit
at the King’s table for tonight’s
Grand Feast. Of course, it’s no surprise after your performance. Or should I
say, after your performances!” She raises her eyebrows in mock disapproval, but
behind the playfulness, Isabelle notices her friend is not looking at her as
she usually does. There is something slightly off in her manner. “Come on. I’ll
help you get ready.”

~

As Isabelle enters the palace’s
great hall, adorned in an elegant dress by another of the most innovative
designers in Paris, decorated with white swan feathers contrasted with the best
black pearls available, the size of the room takes her breath away.
How does such a place exist,
she
wonders, gazing at the chandeliers and ceiling with its intricate paintings.
I’ve never seen, or even imagined so vast a
room. And where should I go?
She looks up and down the hall, which has been
filled with tables around which hundreds of people stand and chatter with one
another.

“You’re over there,”
says Babette, nudging Isabelle and
pointing towards a raised dais at the far end of the hall where a long table
has been set up. “I’ll come with you.”

Together they walk up the hall
and as she passes each table, the heads of many of the men turn to watch her
with admiration
. This pleases Isabelle, though she also is
aware of many women watching her,
whispering
to each other
with the
expressions of envy and dislike. They arrive at the King’s table at the same
moment that the King and his entourage enter the room. A courtier sounds a
fanfare, signaling everyone to attention.

“You may be
seated
, my lady,” a servant whispers in Isabelle’s ear. “At the
request of His Majesty, King of France.”

“Thank you,” says Isabelle,
sitting down in one of the few chairs as requested. This breach of court
etiquette raises a few eyebrows from those with the King and they begin to
point and gossip. Babette makes her way to her own table, pausing to share a
few words with the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a young woman whom Isabelle has met
only once before. As Louis takes his seat, only a few spaces apart from her, he
claps his hands for the Grand Feast to begin.

The table is beautifully laid out
with an emphasis on gold—gold platters, gold cutlery, gold goblets and
gold candelabra. Even the tablecloth and napkins are made from gold thread. As
before, there are almost as many servants as there are guests, and all around
the room there is a steady stream of food and drink to each table. To start
with there is light soup followed by roast meats of all kinds accompanied with
perfectly cooked vegetables and delicious-looking salads, and red, white and
rosé wines from the best vineyards across France. Although Isabelle is not
especially hungry, she eats everything she is given all the same, but in very
petite portions, a trick she learned from being invited to many dinners. For
dessert Isabelle is given ice cream, a rare delicacy she has only ever heard
about but never actually seen, let alone tasted. As she takes a first spoonful she
is stunned by its texture, sweetness and mouth-numbing chill. Her delight is
marred, however, as she catches the eye of the queen’s lady-in-waiting, who is
glaring at her with undisguised dislike.

Oh no!
Isabelle thinks, immediately
guessing the reason for the women’s disfavor.
No! Babette told her about the present, the King’s portrait.
Isabelle tries to smile at the lady-in-waiting, but the woman’s lip curls into
a snarl and she turns away.
This is not a
good sign!
Isabelle finds herself disturbed by this brief encounter and
hardly touches the dessert wine, fruits and cheeses that end the feast.

When the meal is over, the King
and his guests make their way out of the palace and gather in the gardens,
which, although they are still under construction, are breathtaking all the
same, lit with huge torches from the palace all the way to the Grand Canal.
Isabelle finds herself on the edge of the crowd as the fireworks begin,
bursting in huge glittering fountains of light that are reflected in the water
and light up the gardens in red, white and blue.

As she stands and stares at this
display, she senses someone walking up behind her.

“Mademoiselle,” says a deep
voice, and Isabelle turns to see a man standing close to her, his face shadowed
by his large, black hat. He bows to her. “May I expresses my great admiration
for you. Your performance was a delight, the best I have seen and, of course,
heard.”

Holding out a hand for him to
kiss, she asks. “And who might you be, milord?”

“I am Duke Henri Bernard de Mondo,”
he says, taking her proffered hand and kissing it gently. As he does, Isabelle
catches sight of his snow-white lace cuffs and the elegant fingers with their
two beautiful
rings, and
she knows immediately that she
has seen him before.

It’s him,
she thinks, her heart
skipping a beat as she realizes who he is.
The
man I was dreaming about so much and for so long! The man who kicked off my new
life stream! I know it’s him, without a shadow of a doubt!

“It’s a delight to get to meet
you, Isabelle,” he says as he straightens up. She looks into his eyes for any
sign of recognition, but there is nothing. Not even a glimmer.

“You too, your grace,” she replies,
giving him a flirtatious look and pushing him away. “Though maybe not so close.”

He steps back a little. “Forgive
me, mademoiselle. Did you not get my letter?”

“Your letter?” she asks,
surprised.

“Indeed. I sent it with the roses
this evening.”

“Ah. I see.” She thinks back to
the pile of unopened letters. “But I’m afraid I received so many…”

“Oh.” He takes off his hat and
fiddles with it, looking embarrassed. “You are so popular, my dear.”

She smiles self-confidently. “But
of course, your grace.” She pauses, enjoying the concern in his face. Then,
with her most seductive smile, she continues, “But let’s not allow my
popularity to get in our way, Henri.”

He bows to her again, and as he
does so Isabelle looks over his head to see the lady-in-waiting’s jealous eye
boring into her again. And not only hers, but those of the three young women
gathered around her.
What’s going on?
An
unpleasant chill runs down her spine.
I
wish I knew what the story was with these women. But I know nothing about
palace intrigues and the gossip of the King’s court. Nothing. I don’t even know
anyone on the inside, except Babette, and I’ve had no time to talk about such
things with her. And why didn’t I find the time to give Babette a present to
secure her favor?

“Let’s walk a moment,” she says,
slipping an arm through Henri’s in a determined effort to distract herself from
this worried train of thought. “So, how long are you staying here at the
palace, milord?”

“Unfortunately not for long,” he
replies, as they begin to walk around the outside of the crowd. “I have to
leave Saint-Germain-en-Laye in the morning. I have urgent business with Louis
de Bourbon, the King’s general. However,” he squeezes her hand gently to press
his point, “it would be a wonderful pleasure for me to meet with you again,
mademoiselle.”

Pretending to stumble, Isabelle
grips his arm. “Oh!” adding after a moment, with coquettish
smile. “Anything is possible, Henri.” She is pleased to notice his cheeks flush
and she judges this is the time to leave him… for now. As Lucie would say,
Once you’ve got them hooked, let them swim
for a bit so you can reel them in all the easier.
She stops and lets go of
his arm. “If you will excuse me, milord,” she says curtly. “There are some
people I must meet with this evening.”

“Of course,” he bows and, as she
turns and walks away, she can feel his eyes still watching her and smiles
contentedly.
I’ve got him hooked! And I’m
not even sure I really need him anymore.

“Isabelle!” She turns at the
sound of her name and it takes her a moment to spot Babette waving to her a
short distance away. “Come here!”

Babette is standing in a company
of two other magnificently dressed
women.

“I want to introduce you to Lady
Aurora de la Maume.” Babette indicates a tall, middle-aged woman with large teeth
and a face that reminds Isabelle of a short-sighted horse. “And Lady Colette de
Dallos.”

Isabelle turns to look at this
second lady and a chill runs through her again as she finds herself staring
into the face of the queen’s lady-in-waiting.

“Lady Aurora,” says Isabelle,
getting a grip on herself and nodding to the horsey woman before turning to the
other with another nod. “Lady Colette. We have met before, though only briefly.”

“But of course,” says Lady
Colette with a charming smile that fails to reach her eyes. Isabelle examines
her carefully, taking in the pleasant features and her skin as pale as the moon
reflected in the canal. “And may I say what a wonderful performance you graced
us with in this evening’s opera.”

“Thank you,” Isabelle replies,
conscious that both these ladies are busy examining her in return, no doubt
looking for a point of weakness they can exploit.