Rose for Rose: Book Two in the Angels' Mirror Series (2 page)

But how would they have been able to get Governess Lourdes to go along with it, if that were true? That doesn’t make sense at all, but then again, neither did Edward’s sudden disappearance.

James had said they’d held onto the materials, consisting of a letter and several “photographs” – that’s what the letter called them – as well as documents that showed his cousin’s son, Prince Edward, was in dire health. Some of the photographs showed him with a family of his own… twin sons, a wife with child, a brother and sister-in-law.

There was even one with over forty people in it, all part of his new family. People of all sorts of coloring and ethnicities, from what he could tell, but….
Who ever heard of such absurdities? Je n'ai certainement pas! Why, it’s nothing but pure codswallop!

As for Edward’s health, a doctor had written a letter to the effect that he was about to undergo surgery and that the prognosis was not good.

They didn’t understand the medical verbiage of the letter but they knew it had to do with his heart, and Edward had written that, basically, it meant his heart was dying; it was aging ahead of the rest of his body.

How anyone could know that particular was beyond Louis, and that’s part of what had been stumping James and Mary, too, before they had finally relinquished the packet to him.

But why did they not show them to him before now? Why hold on to them for nearly three months before bringing them before him? After all, he was the king of this land, and his cousin a mere former monarch.

Thanks to James’ daughter Mary and her conspiring husband, William, James was seen only as a pretender living in the land of France.

It didn’t really matter what the Jacobeans thought at this point; a few had even returned to their homes, away from life at Le Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Perhaps they realized it wasn’t worth the fight any longer.

James would never be king again.

A knock at the door startled him, and once he was able to discern it was his wife, he sighed and permitted entry.

“Come,” he said.

Françoise padded into the room as though on tip-toe, and only when she was by his side did she begin to speak. “I’m as shocked as you are, Dear, but is getting angry about it all going to change what has happened? After all, it wasn’t in the last week; it was in 1692… it’s been nearly three years since Edward vanished.”

Her words did nothing to help.

Françoise and her Quietism! Bah!

The influence Madame Guyon and François Fénelon had on her were of no great help at all, in his opinion. She did much better to speak whenever she wished, whatever she wished, like when they had first married.

Perhaps Fénelon needs to be kept from my children
, he thought.
But then again… his tutoring has done wonders for young Louis. And this Quietist stuff isn’t hurting anyone, it’s just….

“How can you say that I should worry not, Françoise? The man was to marry the next day and welched on his God-ordained responsibilities to this kingdom and this family!” He gathered all the materials up and shoved them back into their enclosure.

“Welched, Dear?”

Louis ignored her as he continued his rant.

“And don’t forget, Edward didn’t just miss his wedding and end up with that… that red-haired woman with the odd family. He missed your birthday, and everything since the time he left St. Cecilia’s Day night! It’s enough to make my blood boil all over again, just thinking about it all.”

He
was King, after all, and how
dare
his cousin just… disappear and cause havoc for the rest of them?

Françoise had, of course, been present when James and Mary finally came and spoke to him, presenting the documentation. And since the written record of Edward’s life and existence had all been burned away, and they had spoken of him only within the family, most of the people had stopped asking questions.

One of the two guards that had witnessed the “mirror crossing”, as they were calling it in their tight circle of secrecy had died less than a month ago from pneumonia, and the other, William, in his mid-forties, wasn’t old, per se, but his health was less than stellar. Thankfully when they had been sworn to secrecy, they had kept their oaths, so far as the King knew.

He drew a deep sigh of relief at the thought before continuing on in conversation.

Now it was just a matter of studying the images and story
himself
before destroying the evidence that countered their well-concocted burying of the man’s reality.

While Louis missed Edward dearly, he had been angry for weeks, and then concerned. After two months, he had finally given in to James’ appeal to empty their mouths and hearts, as well as their coffers, of anything that reminded the people there had once been a near-prince – no, he had truly been a prince – named Edward Sven Randolph Charles Stuart, son of the “retired” King James II of England and Ireland, VII of Scotland.

Retired is so much better sounding than the term “booted out,” or “pretend,” Françoise had assured them, but the term “Pretender” just wouldn’t go away.

“Geneviève wrote to say Françoise Charlotte should arrive within the week, and we really can’t afford to have her nosing around here and finding this… this packet of information, can we, dear Sire,” his wife murmured as she leaned into him. “She is, after all, a curious little thing.”

Her hand went to the edge of the packet, touching it gently, and then back to the pearls at her throat. Always, a nervous habit, the clutching and fondling of her pearls.

For a moment, Louis didn’t know whether he wanted to schedule a quiet moment with his wife or to scream in frustration! Their private moments were so few and far between, and it wore at him to see her primarily for planning events, but not much else. Even then, there was often someone else present.

Sometimes he really hated propriety… and as much as he loved being King, with all its benefits and responsibilities, it had often brought him great pain, too.

With a shake of the head, Louis tried to refocus.

They had five masques to throw in the next eleven weeks, not including those they would attend elsewhere, and now Françoise Charlotte was coming
again
? He had a kingdom to run and a wife who insists celebrations are good for the soul. He didn’t have time for this nonsense! He didn’t want an extra ten-year-old in residence, and on top of everything else, Edward couldn’t still be alive, and living in another century….he just couldn’t!

It was impossible!

Wasn’t it?

They finally had news of the man who had not only ruined a perfectly good treaty, but who was also a loved part of his kin… and he had less than a week to make sense of and memorize whatever he could of these items before they must go the way of everything else that declared him alive.

They must be burned!

“Bah,” he nearly shouted, his frustration getting the better of him.

Françoise shook her head at him. “Why do you always get so angry when my niece comes? She stays out of your way pretty well, I would wager, since I’m doing all I can to make sure she’s ready to… to take over my estate when I’m gone,” she said.

“Woman, don’t you know this has nothing to do with Françoise Charlotte? She’s the least of my problems, but she certainly compounds things! How am I going to memorize in a week what James and Mary had for much longer? How can I believe that Edward… he couldn’t really have just…”

And finally running out of words, Louis just gave up trying to explain. Instead, he took his wife’s hand, kissed it, and walked out of the room without another word.

He fumed as he treaded toward the nearest exit, contemplating the conversation he’d just had with Françoise.

Why couldn’t women just stay out of the important business of life? If they didn’t meddle, then life would have so fewer complications!

Mary watched as James paced back and forth on the gravel near the linden circle out front. From her higher vantage point, she could tell he was in no mood to talk just yet.

How things had gotten so out of hand she didn’t know, and yet, she had an idea. But should she tell him about it?

No.

He’d only think her a silly, stupid woman and say it wouldn’t work.

Nevertheless, she’d secretly been taking notes on what he’d told her of Edward’s family… his mother’s side of the family, that is. And what could it hurt to try to get the information to him somehow… it isn’t as though the information could render harm to anyone, could it? If anything, it might bring some relief. Even if it wasn’t Edward who found it. If he had died and Paloma found it, then…

But she didn’t want to think about that.

Poor, sweet Edward!

She wished James had been man enough to tell his son about the family he’d never known; had at least introduced him to Randolph and Hulda, but… there was nothing to do about that now.

It couldn’t be fixed unless Edward somehow went back in time to his own birth. She laughed bitterly at the thought.

Why would someone want to go through that thing on purpose?

“Miss Mary,” she heard someone saying behind her all of a sudden.

She jumped; whirled around. How had someone snuck up on her like that?

“Yes, Governess Lourdes?”

The woman’s brown eyes were teary, and her hair uncharacteristically askew, even braided. She’d never seen her so out of sorts.

“I just wanted to say… to say… I’m sorry I was out pickin’ berries that day. We just wanted to… make something special for the evening while the berries were good and ripe. If we hadn’t been out there instead…”

“Now, hush. I don’t want you to keep blaming yourself. It’s been a shock to… all of us. But what’s done is done, and I’m actually glad for it. At least we know Edward’s… that he didn’t run off.”

“Yes’m,” the governess replied quietly, bowing her head. “I just…”

“I know. Now go check on the children, please.”

“Yes’m. I was headed back up there this minute.”

With a curtsey, the woman turned and headed up the long stairway to the second floor.

Salem, Oregon… July 24, 2002

The doors clanked shut, crashing behind him as he slowly walked out the final gate. A guard waved him toward the parking lot, making sure he had all the gear he came in with five years earlier.

“Looks like you just missed the bus heading downtown,” the burly man said once he’d passed him.

It didn’t matter.
Another few minutes won’ be like t’ kill me
, he thought wryly as he ambled his way to the stop.

He tried to look like a visitor, thankful he’d had a backpack when he’d been arrested. Maybe nobody would notice the hard glint that had turned to stone in his eyes the day he arrived at his parents’ place to find….

No, he wouldn’t think of that right now. He’d take care of it later.

All that mattered now was that he was finally free.

He could finally get back to his plan.

The upside was, he’d had plenty of time to ponder it; mull it over; study it for flaws.

It’s perfect
, he thought, smiling, as he strode down the trail, nodding here and there at men he knew from his time on the inside. These men were among the lucky ones; those who could care for the lawn and gardens had more freedom; lower restriction levels than he’d had. But that was over now.

He shook his head to clear it, repositioning the bag across his right shoulder. His long braids hung in neat rows like soldiers along his back, but close to his head over the top.

He’d need a haircut.

And a manicure.

Life’ll be perfect once… naw, I won’t think on that no more than I have to right now. Time will set it right.

A patrol car went by as he approached the stop, and his stomach tightened momentarily before he made his way to where the sign stood.

An off-duty officer carrying his denim prison-made bag, bright orange logo facing out, stood at the stop. The man was short… maybe only five foot eight, but barrel-chested and thick-thighed.

Did the guy actually like the design, or was it a statement of something else?

A petite Latina woman with large green-rimmed eyes and three young children were at the stop already, too.

Had she been visiting someone, or did she live in the area? Not that it mattered to him much. Probably never see her again in his life.

He was headed back to Portland, and didn’t plan to ever return again… no matter what his plans were for the next few months. He began to smile, then forced it away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an old Ford pickup, sparklingly clean blue with a small front fender dent. It slowly came to a stop in front of him.

The man inside rolled down the passenger window and called to him.

“Arthur, get in. I’ve got class in…” the man inside looked at his watch – a Rolex, or a knockoff – “About fifty minutes. I’ll drop you off at your Mom’s.”