Written on Silk (22 page)

Grandmère was trying to speak once more. Rachelle, too, noted it and raised her head. Andelot saw a note of recognition in Grandmère’s eyes and Rachelle leaned close, putting her lips to her ear.

“Grandmère,” she whispered, “can you recognize me? Can you squeeze my fingers?”

Andelot felt compelled to move up beside Rachelle and kneel. Bertrand, too, had come up and stood with the forbidden Book open in hand. A short time ago Andelot had wanted the bishop, but now he was glad the bishop was not present to observe. Even at this emotional moment he could not keep from making curious glances toward the forbidden Bible in French, as though he half expected to see a serpent slithering from among its pages.

Should he say what troubled him? Yes! This was no time to be timid. He leaned toward Rachelle and whispered.

“Ask if it was the apples that made her sick.”

“Poisoned apples, Grandmère?”

Grandmère made a throaty moan. Then — “Non, non — ” came her weak voice. Rachelle exchanged glances with Andelot and Bertrand.

Andelot agonized, listening, watching her lips, while Rachelle kept her ear close. Bertrand, too, bent over Grandmère, laying a hand on her forehead. “It is me; Bertrand, Grandmère. Were you poisoned?”

Andelot looked down to see Grandmère’s fingers barely taking hold of Rachelle’s. With a great effort and drawing of breath, a word slipped through in garbled syllables.

“Gla — glu. Glau — ” Grandmère’s voice struggled.

Andelot heard Rachelle’s quick intake of breath.

He glanced at her. Did Rachelle understand? What could it mean . . .if anything?

Bertrand continued to quietly pray, his voice calm and confident.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil: for thou art with me . . . Into thy hands I commend my spirit . . . Today
shalt thou be with me in paradise . . . ”

Andelot frowned and gave him a sharp look. A strange irritation goaded him.
What gave him such confidence! Who does this man think he
is to take so much authority upon himself? See how he gives confidence to
Rachelle and Grandmère. Who gave you this authority — not the bishop,
not the mother Church. It is She who has been given all authority! Yet look
at him with that forbidden Book, as though he has access to the living God
of heaven!

Andelot was hardly aware as the docteur came swiftly to the bedside to attend Grandmère.

Andelot stared at Bertrand. As if he felt the intense gaze, Bertrand turned his silver head and looked straight down at him where he knelt.

Bertrand’s dark eyes flickered with what Andelot took as firm confidence.

Embarrassed by his own hasty indignation, Andelot lowered his head and fingered his heavy silver cross, saying a prayer.

Andelot felt his neck and ears burn.
What came over me?

The ways of the so-called Chris tian Reformers were known to him.

He held much respect for this Huguenot family, and for that matter, he even felt
bonhomie
toward Bertrand. It was as though something dark had taken hold of him that he could not explain.

He heard Rachelle say: “I understand, Grandmère.”

Grandmère sighed and her breathing softened.

Andelot stood and looked down at Grandmère, then drew back from the bedside toward the window, his mind active. Grandmère had meant to say something important to Rachelle with those syllables, and he believed Rachelle had understood.

If not the apples, what was it that had made her deathly ill?

Madame-Duchesse had come to the bedside to kneel, praying words that Andelot had never heard before. It took him a minute to understand she was saying words from the French Bible, but were they the words of the true Bible the bishop owned in Latin?

Nevertheless, they were pleasant words in French and he liked them.

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them and they follow me: And I
give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any
man pluck them out of my hand.”

Who spoke those words? Jesus?

Several minutes passed, and then the docteur spoke: “It is over, Madame, Messire. She has departed from this world.”

Grandmère was gone.
Wherever she went, she would not return to
inhabit that poor, aged body again
, Andelot thought, glancing over to the bed.

Muffled crying sounded, coming mostly from the ladies gathered along the far wall. Andelot was about to leave the chamber when he noticed a change in Rachelle. She stood, looking intently about the chamber. He could see by her narrowed eyes that she knew something.

She looked determined, even angry. He followed her gaze to a chest of drawers. On top of it sat a pretty red box with the initials in gold:
C M.

Rachelle stood staring at it. Andelot’s gaze dropped to her hands. They were clenched.

C M
, Andelot mused.
Catherine de Medici, bien sûr!
Andelot stared at the red box. He saw Rachelle move over to the chest, her rigid back toward him.

“Messire?” the docteur’s voice interrupted.

Andelot turned quickly, nodded, and was about to leave the chamber when Rachelle brushed past him entering the main salle, carrying the red box in her hand.

He swiftly followed.

O
NCE IN THE OUTER
chamber, Andelot saw that Duchesse Dushane and Rachelle had entered a private chamber. He followed and spoke to one of the ladies.

“It is urgent I speak with the duchesse and Mademoiselle.”

“Madame and Mademoiselle will not speak to anyone now. They are in grief.”

“It is most urgent. Go now and tell her so, s’il vous plaît!”

The ladies looked at one another in bewilderment, and at last the woman went to inquire. In a moment she returned and stood aside the open door. “They will see you now.”

Andelot followed her through a second chamber into a small sitting room. Rachelle held the red box and was standing before the duchesse who sat in a large cushioned chair, her head leaning back wearily.

“Andelot,” said Rachelle, “where is Cousin Bertrand?”

“He remains with le docteur.”

“Call him, if you please. He must hear what I have to say.”

Andelot bowed toward the duchesse, for he had noticed her looking thoughtfully away from him to Rachelle.
Had he given away his feelings
for Rachelle?

A few minutes later, all were seated except Rachelle, who stood facing them.

“This box came from the Queen Mother,” she said. “I was in her royal chamber when she handed it to me, along with two others. It was this box that Grandmère was trying to draw to my attention.”

“Caution, Rachelle,” Cousin Bertrand admonished. He looked at the duchesse. “Madame, you are certain we go unheard?”

“All of my ladies and pages are trustworthy, Messire Bertrand, but you speak wisely in asking. I am sure there are no listening tubes or closets connected to this chamber. That is why we meet here. Sebastien went over it inch by inch when he came here several years ago with Madeleine.

And Madeleine is very cautious about such things. I believe she checks every chamber at least once a year.”

“Bon. Then, the box came from the Queen Mother?”

Andelot stood, restless.

“I believe Madeleine received one also,” the duchesse said.

“As did we all — except Idelette,” Rachelle said, “which seemed most unusual in itself, for Idelette did most of the dressmaking work for the Reinette Mary Stuart. The engraved boxes were bestowed before we — Grandmère, Idelette, and myself — left Chambord. Grandmère came here to Paris for the birth, as we know; Idelette returned to the Château; and I was called to Amboise in ser vice to Princesse Marguerite.

“The Queen Mother said the boxes were gifts for our
par excellent
work on the silk gowns.”

“But Madeleine was not involved in the gown making at Chambord,”

Duchesse Dushane said.

“The Queen Mother stated that Madeleine’s box was in celebration of the coming birth of Sebastien’s first child. She made it most clear it was to be opened only after the successful birth.”

“Are you saying, ma petite, that you think Grandmère was poisoned?” Bertrand asked, his tone quiet, but blunt.

Andelot looked quickly at Rachelle. He saw her mouth tighten.

“Oui,” came her firm reply.

“But not by the apples?” Andelot asked.

“Non.”

“Nevertheless, I have asked the docteur to make a test on the apples,”

Bertrand said.

The duchesse frowned. “This is quite difficult to believe, Rachelle.

Why would Catherine wish Grandmère to die? But nonetheless, proceed with your hypothesis.”

“You may think me mad, Madame, but I, along with Andelot, believe that Grandmère was poisoned, and I now believe that the poison was inside this box. Madame, we are all witnesses as I open it.”

Andelot looked from Rachelle’s taut face, to the duchesse, who looked shocked. Bertrand merely looked grave and thoughtful.

Rachelle lifted the lid —
it was empty
.

Andelot refused to be disappointed, but Rachelle fell silent and stared in bewilderment.

Madame sighed.

“I would not have been surprised had you found poison,” the duch-esse said. “It has been done before, though even the mention of it could put us in danger.”

“Is that not expected?” Bertrand said, making his way to the fire. “The marquis warned me to be aware of the Queen Mother. He does not trust the upcoming colloquy to be held at Fontainebleau this fall. I confess the thought of poison crossed my mind. I have discreetly mentioned this to le docteur. He will consider an autopsy upon Grandmère, in strictest secrecy, you understand.”

“If not in secrecy, there is no telling what may become of those who meddle,” the duchesse said darkly. “I know Catherine de Medici very well, and le docteur knows the secrets of this infamous court, I assure you.”

Rachelle retained a thoughtful silence. Andelot, watching her, was not satisfied with the empty box, and he did not think she was either.

“Mademoiselle, was your box also empty?”

Rachelle shook her head. “The boxes themselves were gifts, but mine had a jewel inside. I have worn it on two occasions and received no ill effects.”

“Madame, do you know what this box contained?” Bertrand asked the duchesse.

“Mais certainement
. A merveilleux pair of gloves from Catherine’s special maker on the quay,” the duchesse said.

Rachelle looked up. “Oui, and that is what I thought Grandmère was telling me,
gloves
. But I expected them to be inside the box.”

Bertrand turned from facing the hearth. “Tell me, Madame, can you recall whether or not she may have worn them?”

“Oh well, bien sûr, I remember distinctly that she had them on when she returned from the market — ”

Andelot raised his gaze sharply, as did Rachelle.

“Ah . . .,” Bertrand murmured, frowning.

The duchesse’s voice had suddenly gone flat as the implication of her own words appeared to have left her shaken.

“Gloves,” she reiterated.

Rachelle nodded. “I am most sure she tried to say the word
gloves
.”

“Just so,” Andelot agreed. “Not apples, but gloves. The apples were eaten at about the same time as the poison was working, for several hours, through her skin.”

Rachelle sprang to her feet and took a turn about the chamber. “Poor Grandmère. If only I had been here! I should not have taken refuge at Vendôme but come straight to Paris!”

“You could not have stopped what took place,” the duchesse said. She clenched the handkerchief she held upon her lap. Her face was pale.

Rachelle sank onto a rose settee, head in hand. Andelot walked up beside her.