Judith Rock - Plague of Lies

Charles suddenly felt a draft and turned to see who had come in from outside.

“What is it?” La Reynie said.

“Someone came in from outside, didn’t you feel the wind?”

“Oh, the wind. The smallest breeze from outside gets into this salon without anyone opening a door. They say it’s something to do with the glazing, but no one seems able to fix it. In the winter, you can’t sit in here unless you’re wearing furs.” He glanced at a servant shifting from foot to foot by the wall. “I think they’re wanting to move our table.”

As they rose, Charles said, “I forgot to tell you that I saw the Condé child just now on the terrace. She admitted that she put Fleury’s mémoire in my saddlebag. And she wanted to know what had taken me so long to return and save Lulu. When I told her there was nothing I could do, she called me a coward. And gave me to understand that she, on the other hand, is not. What do you make of that?”

“Twelve-year-old bravado. Come, let’s go up to a balcony; it’s a good place for watching the vestibules.”

A sweet-chimed clock struck nine as they reached the top of a staircase to the second-floor corridor around the octagon. La Reynie led the way to a floor-to-ceiling window. As they stepped through it onto the south balcony, they heard the musicians begin to play.

“Remember,” he said, “the vestibule to your right is the east entrance from the main court. The other vestibules, including the one straight under us, open onto the gardens and walks. If Montmorency is here, he’s likely to come in through one of those, not by the main court.”

Below them, the salon filled quickly, a storm of talk and laughter above a rustling sea of satin, damask, brocade, silk, and lace, most of it in brilliant colors, much of it covered with embroidery and sparkling with gems. Wigs hung in swags of curls, fontanges bloomed with ribbons, and perfumed fans added to the breeze wandering through the room. The music broke off, and then the musicians played a brief fanfare and the inner doors of the east vestibule were thrown open. The king appeared and everyone sank into deep curtsies and bows as he walked to the regal armchair set for him in front of the east doors. To Charles’s surprise, Madame de Maintenon was with him, sober in brown velvet, black lace preserving her modesty from bodice edge to neck and veiling her hair. The Dauphin, the king’s brother Philippe and sister-in-law Liselotte, and the older Polish ambassador, who wore a long coat of deep blue silk over breeches to the ankle, all seated themselves on either side of the king. La Chaise came in and placed himself behind the king’s chair. He raised his eyes briefly to the balcony where Charles and La Reynie were, and then let his gaze roam over the crowd.

Charles said in La Reynie’s ear, “The girl’s mother has not come?”

“One comes to Marly only by invitation. I imagine it’s too small to hold La Montespan and Madame de Maintenon together.”

They watched those chosen to dance take their places in the Ring’s first row, while others entitled to sit found places in the seats behind them. Charles was glad to see that Anne-Marie de Bourbon was among the dancers, a thick cushion set in front of her chair to keep her feet from dangling. Then Lulu came in, escorted by the younger Polish ambassador, and sat in the center of the Ring’s first row, facing the king. Her pink-gold skirts spread around her like a sunset cloud and it seemed to Charles that she moved with a new dignity, her face smooth and serene beneath its powder and rouge. La Reynie was watching her, too.

“Her gown is a pretty color,” he said. “It’s called aurore .”

Charles gaped at him.

“My wife told me,” he said sheepishly, seeing Charles’s look. “I think dawn is a good name for it-the sky does look like that in the morning.”

“It’s lovely,” Charles said, grinning. “And so is she.”

“And wearing a very nice little fortune, too,” La Reynie said. “If Montmorency shows up and rides away with her, they can live for a long time on it.”

Charles looked again and saw that in addition to the heavy ropes of pearls he’d seen Lulu wear at Versailles, the front of her bodice was set with flashing diamonds. More diamonds circled her wrists and sparkled among other gems on her fingers. She was indeed wearing a portable small fortune. But it seemed more and more likely that Poland was the only place it was going.

The ball began with the customary branle , and then the Prince of Conti, wearing dark green wool and satin, danced a grave loure with a beautiful young woman Charles didn’t recognize.

“His widowed sister-in-law,” La Reynie said. “Another source of rumors about our prince.”

Instead of resuming their places in the Ring when the dance ended, Conti and the pretty widow acknowledged the king and went out by the south door, followed by the Duc du Maine and several others.

“Where are they going?” Charles said in alarm, as they passed beneath the balcony and disappeared from view.

“It’s all right, I was told they’d leave.” He smiled slightly at Charles. “They’ll be back.”

The dancing went on, and when everyone in the Ring had danced except Anne-Marie and Lulu, the doors of the salon burst open and the courtiers who had left returned, masked and costumed as a gaggle of Italian comedy characters: Harlequin, Scaramouche, Flavio, the Doctor, Isabella, Brighella, and a comically limping, wide-eyed peasant. A fast-moving love story unfolded-more decorously than the real Italian comedians would have played it-and the love of Isabella and Flavio won the day and was duly blessed. The Poles shone with satisfaction, laughing and nodding as they watched. But Lulu watched gravely, when she watched at all. She mostly looked down at her lap and twisted her half dozen rings. Finally, all the characters danced a gigue , bowed low to the king, and withdrew to the edges of the salon to watch the rest of the ball. When they were gone, Anne-Marie took the floor with a handsome little boy, whose deep blue coat and breeches matched well with her blue-silver.

“Who is he?” Charles said, as the pair began their sarabande .

“Lulu’s brother, Louis Alexandre, the Comte de Toulouse,” La Reynie murmured. “The king’s youngest son by La Montespan. He’s nine or ten, I think.”

“He and Anne-Marie do well together.” Charles laughed. “But I’m surprised she’s left her other Louis behind.”

“Her dog? Yes, I had the same thought.” Suddenly, La Reynie laughed, too. “Look, even in her finery, she’s clearly been outside chasing the dog. A leaf just fell out of her hair. And there’s another!”

Which made three leaves fallen from Anne-Marie’s hair. A tiny frisson of unease flickered through Charles. He told himself not to be absurd. Anne-Marie chased her dog everywhere, and Marly was even more dense with leaves than Versailles. But tonight, anything out of the ordinary put him on the alert.

Seemingly unaware of the dropping greenery, Anne-Marie eyed her younger partner as a governess might, to be sure he did her credit. But whenever the dance took her past the chair where Lulu sat, all her anxious attention went to the princess. The sarabande ended; the children made their honors to the king and returned to their seats. Then it was Lulu’s turn, the moment for which all the rest had been prologue.

“Ah,” La Reynie said quietly, looking straight down over the balcony’s rail. “There’s the duchess. Late as usual. And with Conti.”

Charles looked, too. As Margot jockeyed for a better view of the dancers, her servant followed her and Charles took a long moment to study the man’s back. “That’s him,” he said in La Reynie’s ear. “The man who met Bertamelli at the tower and threw the stone at me.”