Виктория Холт - Queen Jezebel

‘It has seemed so long,’ she said. ‘I had forgotten how wonderful you are.’

‘And you, my Princess,’ he answered, ‘are so wonderful that I shall never forget you.’ sighed Margot. ‘If only they had let us marry! Why, then you would not be another woman’s husband and I should not be close to the most odious marriage that was ever made. Oh, Henry, my love, if you only knew how I pray each day, each night, that something will happen to prevent this marriage. Is it possible, my love? Is there something which can be done?’

‘Who knows?’ said Guise gloomily. ‘There is that in the air of Paris which makes one wonder what will happen next.’ He took her face in his hands and kissed it. ‘There is only one thing certain in the whole world, and that is that I love you.’

She embraced him feverishly; her arms were about him, her lips warm and demanding. She never failed to astonish him, although he had known her and loved her all his life. He looked at her as she lay back, stretching out her arms to him, her black hair loose, those wonderful dark eyes glowing in her lovely, languorous face; she was already eager for their next embrace. She was irresistible and very beautiful; the heaviness of her nose which was an inheritance from her grandfather, and the thickness of her jaw which had come from her mother, were not apparent now.

‘Margot,’ said Guise, with passion, ‘there is no one like you.’

They lay content behind the locked door of the closet, happily secure. In tender reminiscence they recalled that night when they had been discovered—Margot in the fine clothes in which she had greeted her suitor, Sebastian of Portugal. They both recalled the fury of the King and the Queen Mother on that night when they had beaten Margot almost to death for her share in- the adventure; as for Guise, he had narrowly escaped with his life. ‘Ah,’ said Margot, ‘you emerged from that danger with a wife, but I came out of it with a broken heart.’ She had said that at the time, but now she knew that hearts which broke one day were mended the next; and the wife of Henry of Guise could not prevent his being Margot’s lover. There were other men in the world, Margot had found—not so handsome nor so charming, it was true—and she could not exist without a lover.

How pleasant it was to lie in this man’s arms and to lure him to fresh frenzies of passion, and to think sadly, when passion brought temporary—a very temporary—satisfaction: ah, how different it would have been had I been allowed to marry the man whom I loved. We should have been faithful to one another and ours would have been the perfect union! This self-pitying role was Margot’s favourite one; she would indulge her desires and then she would say: ‘But how different I should have been if I had been allowed to marry the only man I ever loved!’ She had only to tell herself that and she could, with a good conscience, indulge in any amusement.

There was a sudden knocking on the door of the closet and the voice of Charlotte de Sauves was heard. Margot smiled. Charlotte would know whom she was entertaining in her closet, and Charlotte would be just a little jealous. That was pleasing. Charlotte, because of her beauty and her importance in the Escadron , gave herself too many airs.

‘Who is there?’ asked Margot.

‘It is I. Charlotte de Sauves.’

‘And whom do you want?’

‘But to ask if you have seen Monsieur de Guise. The Queen Mother is asking for him. She grows impatient.’

Margot laughed. She rose and went to the door. ‘When I next see Monsieur de Guise I will tell him Have no fear, that will be very soon.’

‘Thank you. I will go to Her Majesty and tell her that Monsieur de Guise is coming.’

Margot turned to her lover, who had already put on his coat and was adjusting his sword. She felt angry at his impatience to leave her.

‘You seem very eager to be gone.’

‘My darling, that was a summons from your mother.’ Margot put her arms about him. ’Let her wait awhile.’ He kissed her, but she knew that he was thinking of the interview with the Queen Mother.

‘The ambitious head of the House of Guise and Lorraine first,’ she said lightly. ‘The lover second. Is that not so?’

‘No,’ he lied. ‘You know it is not so.’

Her black eyes flashed. There were occasions when she wanted to quarrel with him. With her, love was everything; and she could not bear to think that this was not the case with him.

‘Then kiss me,’ she said.

He did so.

‘Kiss me as though you were thinking of me and not what you will say to my mother. Oh, Henry, five minutes more!’

‘Dearest, I dare not.’

‘You dare not! It is always “I dare not” with you. It was “I dare not!” when you let them marry you to that stupid wife of yours.’

‘Margot,’ he said, will be back.’

‘Why do you think she sends for you now? It is because she knows we are together and it delights her to tease us. You do not know my mother.’

‘I know that when she summons me, I must obey.’

He had turned the key in the lock, but Margot still clung to him, kissing him passionately. ‘When will you return?’

‘As soon as it is possible to do so.’

‘You promise that?’

‘I promise.’

‘Then kiss me again . . . and again . . . and again.’

Catherine dismissed all her attendants; she would not even allow her dwarf to remain; she was preparing to receive the young Duke of Guise.

She watched him approach, thinking that it was not surprising that Margot found him irresistible. He was a handsome creature. Twenty-two was not very old, but in a few years he would be as wily as his father had been; and even now, since he had that old fox his uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, at his elbow, she must be wary of this man.

When he had greeted her ceremoniously, she said: ‘I have much to say to you, Monsieur de Guise. We are alone, but keep your voice low when you speak to me. It is not easy to talk secretly in the palace of the Louvre.’

‘I understand, Your Majesty.’

‘The presence of one at this court, I feel, must anger you as much as it does me, my dear Duke. You know of whom I speak?’

‘I think I do, Madame.’

‘We will not mention his name. I refer to the murderer of your father.°

He was very young and unable yet completely to hide his emotion. He looked a little tired, which was no doubt due to the hour he had spent with Margot. That baggage would tire out anyone! From whom had she inherited such habits? Not from her mother; that much was certain. From her father? Indeed not. He had been a faithful man . . . faithful to the wrong woman, it was true; but Margot would never be faithful. She had had many lovers, though she was not yet twenty. It must be her grandfather, Francis I, or perhaps Catherine’s own father. They had both been insatiable, so it was said. But she had sent for this young man to discuss important affairs, not his love-making with her daughter.

‘Yes, Madame,’ he said bitterly; he had always believed that Gaspard de Coligny had murdered his father, and he would never be completely happy until he had avenged Francis of Guise.

‘We cannot tolerate his presence here at court,’ said Catherine. ‘His influence is bad for the King.’

Guise’s heart began to beat more quickly. He knew that Catherine was hinting that he should help her arrange the murder of Coligny. His fingers closed over his sword and his eyes filled with tears as he remembered how they had carried his father into the castle near Orléans. He saw afresh Duke Francis’ noble face with the scar beneath the eye, which had earned for him the name of Le Balafré ; he remembered seeing that beloved face for the last time, and remembered too how he had sworn vengeance on the man who he believed had murdered his father.