Judith Rock - Plague of Lies

“Charles.” A hand gripped Charles’s shoulder. “Charles. Get up now. Come, I’ll help you.”

Blinded by tears and wondering dimly at La Reynie’s calling him by his Christian name, Charles let the lieutenant-général help him to his feet. The two of them lifted Montmorency and steadied him, one on either side.

Numbly, Charles wiped his face on his cassock skirt and, half carrying Montmorency, they made their way back to the path along the river, the guards following. Down on the bank, a huddle of men were shaking their heads and gesticulating, and looking out at the place where Lulu had gone into the water.

La Reynie saw Charles looking and said, “Those are the men who run the Machine. Can you manage Montmorency? I’ll go and see what they’re saying.”

Charles walked Montmorency slowly to the riverside path and spoke to one of the torch-carrying guards, who went for horses. La Reynie came back from talking to the Machine operators. He shook his head.

“They say the currents where she went in are too treacherous for any hope of finding her. And too strong. She’s probably been carried downriver, but she went in so close to the Machine that she could be-” He swallowed and sighed. “Come, let’s get Montmorency back to the chateau.”

The guard had brought horses for all of them. They helped Montmorency mount, but he slumped dangerously in the saddle.

“You’ll have to get up behind and steady him,” La Reynie said to Charles. “I don’t think he can ride alone.”

The guard, also mounted, led them up the slope. Charles rode with an arm around Montmorency’s waist, listening to the fading noise of the water wheels moving the river from where God had put it to where the king wanted it. The wind had died and the clouds had passed by. Charles let his head fall back and looked up at the moonlit sky powdered with faint stars, but for once, the stars failed to comfort him. His mind circled around and around a single question: Where had she gotten the poison?

When they reached Marly’s entrance court and dismounted, Montmorency was better able to walk. The three of them, followed by the guard, made their slow way in without speaking.

As an elderly footman hovered, the guard took charge of Montmorency, and La Reynie said quietly to Charles, “I will tell the king what happened. But he will want to question you, too. And him.” He jerked his head grimly at Montmorency, who was staring indifferently at the vestibule floor.

Charles nodded in silence.

La Reynie looked at him worriedly. “Are you-can you see him now? Do you need something to drink?”

“I’m all right.”

The footman conducted them to the anteroom of the king’s apartments, where the Duc du Maine and Anne-Marie de Bourbon, both with pale faces and reddened eyes, stood close together against the red damask wall. They watched solemnly as the dirty, sweat-soaked men came in behind the footman, who stopped short when he saw them.

“Your Highness, shouldn’t the child at least go to her bed?”

Maine lifted his chin. “Madame de Maintenon gave us permission to stay. To find out what has happened to my sister.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” The footman bowed to Maine. He went to the inner door, spoke to the footman who answered, and withdrew.

Anne-Marie launched herself at Charles and fastened both fists in his cassock. “Where is Lulu?”

Charles looked helplessly down at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Maine burst into tears. Anne-Marie’s lips quivered and she bit them hard. “She’s dead?”

He nodded, and she let her hands fall and drew in a shuddering breath. She went to Montmorency, who still stood blankly in the middle of the room, and took his hand.

“I am sorry, monsieur ,” she whispered, looking up at him with full eyes. “You were her true knight.”

Montmorency seemed not to hear her. He sank onto a footstool and put his head in his hands.

Another footman came with wine. Charles drank deeply. When some of his wits had returned, he said to Anne-Marie, “I know you loved her.”

“You tried to stop her going! You tried to bring her back,” Anne-Marie lashed out at him, still standing beside Montmorency. “Why couldn’t you just let them go?”

“Lulu tried to kill the king.”

The little girl’s dark eyes flashed. “The king drove her to it. She pleaded and begged for weeks, for months, and he cared nothing for her suffering, nothing!” She glanced at the door that led deeper into the royal apartments. “And I don’t care if he hears me. I hate him, I hate fathers!” She began to sob. The horrified Duc du Maine led her to a chair by the wall, patting her back and trying to hush her.

The lieutenant-général drained his wineglass and sat down gratefully. “Your Highness,” he said to Maine, when the little girl had quieted, “some questions, if you please. And forgive my not getting up, if you will. I am three times your age and very tired.”

“Of course, monsieur ,” Maine said, becoming his usual politely anxious self. “Don’t trouble.”

“Was it you who took the Comte de Fleury’s mémoire from his rooms?”

“Yes. My sister-Lulu-” he swallowed hard. “She wanted to know what was in it about her. And I took her silver box. But Fleury’s book is gone.”

“Yes, we know where the book is. Don’t worry about that.”

At the mention of the box, Anne-Marie had raised her tear-drenched face and was looking warily at La Reynie.

Charles watched her thoughtfully. “What I am wondering,” he said, to no one in particular, “is where Lulu got the poison. Which I assume she’d had for several days, at least. Because I also assume she used it on the footman Bouchel. For refusing to help her out of the trouble that was partly his doing.”

Anne-Marie and Maine froze, but La Reynie’s head snapped around. Charles said nothing and waited.

“The poison was in her silver box when I brought it back from Fleury’s room,” Maine said dully.

“But she thought it was only a love philtre, I swear it! We all did, maître .” Anne-Marie got up from her chair and came across the room to Charles. “Everyone knew that old Fleury used love charms. He even wrote about it in his mémoire .” Sudden color came and went in her face. “He said he had a love philtre to make some court woman give in to him. We thought that was what the little packet in the box was-his love philtre. Lulu wanted to keep it, but she was afraid someone would find it in her room. So she put it-” She looked quickly at Charles and away. “Where she could get it when she wanted it.”

Suddenly, Charles understood. “And then she started praying in front of Madame de Maintenon’s reliquary,” he said softly.

Anne-Marie said nothing. Charles was silent, too, remembering the night Lulu had quarreled with Bouchel and run to the dark chapel. He’d stood in the chapel doorway and heard a small metallic sound. He’d found Lulu bent over the altar where the reliquary stood, and she’d shown him a supposedly dropped earring to explain the sound he hadn’t asked about. The sound that must have been the reliquary chamber in the cross snapping shut.

“What do you mean?” La Reynie said brusquely.

“I think she hid the little packet there,” Charles said. “In the reliquary. And when Bouchel said he’d done all he could to help her, she went to get her ‘love philtre.’”

Anne-Marie nodded. Her hazel-gold eyes were wide and pleading. “She thought it would make Bouchel do more to help her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She cared about him. She never meant to kill him.”

The Duc de Maine sighed. “When she realized what she’d done, something changed in her.” He bit his lip, trying to find the words he wanted. “I think she felt already damned because Bouchel died-so it didn’t matter anymore what she did.”