Виктория Холт: Madame Serpent

‘Ah well,’ went on the Vidame, ‘it is a great temptation. The old Constable would rejoice to see his son make such a noble marriage. One understands.’

‘One understands the Constable’s feelings and those of his son. The latter is not the first to refuse a match that would bring him advantage.’

They exchanged smiles. Catherine was referring to the Vidame’s declining the hand of Diane’s daughter.

‘Madame,’ whispered the Vidame, ‘there is one here who greatly enjoys the Constable’s discomfiture.’

Again they could smile together, cosily, intimately. It was very pleasant to chat with someone who had proved that he had no wish to serve Diane.

‘How well they hide their enmity from the King!’ said the Vidame.

The Queen was silent, and he wondered if he gone too far. He was ambitious; he had not thought ageing Diane could hold her influence at court as long as this; and even now, he looked at her silver hair― though she was beautiful in spite of it― and he felt, as all did, that she would hold the King’s attention until she died, he was sure that he had done the right thing in winning the good graces of the quiet Queen instead of those of Diane. His was a waiting policy and the Queen was comparatively young. When he had looked into those dark eyes that could seem so mild, he had seen something which others had failed to see; he had discovered that Catherine was not the insignificant person many believed her to be. He remembered the death of Dauphin Francis which had made her Queen. Ah, Madame Serpent, he thought, could you solve that mystery? But sly she might be, subtle too, yet she was also a neglected wife; he was not rich, but his face, his breeding, his charming manners were his fortune, and he had always been a great success with women.

‘How beautiful she looks,’ said Catherine, ‘in her black-and-white. I declare it becomes that silvery hair of hers more it did the raven locks.’

‘Beautiful, yes. What health she enjoys! There must be sorcery in it. But even sorcery cannot hold off the years indefinitely.’

‘Yes; she has aged much since I first set eyes on her.’ He had come close and she moved slightly.

‘A thousand pardons, Madame,’ he said. ‘For one blessed moment, I forgot you were the Queen.’

She looked away with a hint of impatience, but he knew that she was not displeased. The Vidame began to wonder seriously about the possibility of a love-affair with the Queen. He was sure it would be a most profitable love affair, and the poor Bourbons with the King’s four sons standing between them and the throne, could not afford to ignore any opportunity.

Catherine, too astute not to read his thoughts and to suspect his motive, was wondering how she might use the Vidame. Diane was ageing. The King was inclined to simplicity. He had never thought of his wife as an attractive woman.

Would it be possible to gain his attention by letting him think that one of the handsomest men at court was interested in her?

It was a thought worth considering. Therefore she allowed the Vidame to stay at her side, and listened with apparent lightheartedness to his veiled compliments which he knew so well how to phrase.

She was watching the two lovers― Francis and Mary― on the window-seat.

Francis de Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine were still with them; the wily pair were talking merrily, and the children were going off into fits of laughter at their presumably witty conversation. Young Francis was staring up at the scarred face of Francis de Guise with adoration. Of what was the Duc de Guise speaking? Of Metz, where he had routed Spaniards? Of his entry into Paris, where the people adore him even as young Francis was preparing to do? Even that terrible scar on his right cheek which had earned for him the name of le Balafé ― hideous though it was― he had turned to advantage. The terrible Duc de Guise , the greatest soldier in France, the idol of Paris, the most scheming of a scheming family, the uncle of her who might one day be Queen! In that event it would be the Guise brothers who would become the power behind the throne. Now, as he talked, he was drawing others to him; and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, was there to help him.

The Cardinal was the cruellest of men, the most cunning, the most witty, the most ambitious and immoral man who ever strove for his own ends under the sanctifying robes of the Church. He was as ready with a quotation from the Bible or the classics as he was with a risqué story; he was completely unscrupulous. And this man, with Francis de Guise, stood behind the Scots Queen and the boy Francis awaiting the death of the King, that they, through these children, might rule France. And on whom did these men turn their flattery― on the pale-faced, delicate boy Dauphin or the girl with that shining mass of hair and the most charming smile in France? The wily uncles would direct their niece, for she adored them, and the girl in turn would rule the Dauphin since he was passionately in love with her.

Catherine stood up suddenly; she was determined to break-up the conference by the window.

‘Let us play a game,’ she said. ‘Let it be Pall-Mall.’

The ladies and gentlemen could all join in this, and better to have them playing than engaging in dangerous conversation.

Mary Stuart’s eyes met those of the woman who was to be her mother-in- law, and the girl’s mouth hardened. She knew that the merry conversation she was enjoying had been deliberately broken up.

So! thought Mary. She is jealous. I and the Dauphin surround ourselves with all the most important people in the land, and that makes her angry. The daughter of tradesmen is afraid that she will lose what little dignity she has! Catherine noted the girl’s pout, and laughed inwardly. Silly little Mary Stuart! She thought it was for her charming beauty that those uncles of hers flattered her. She did not realize that even to such rakes as the Guise brothers there were more important matters than beautiful women.

The King joined in the game of Pall-Mall, playing with enthusiasm which he gave to all games, and with that fine sportsmanship which made a game he played in as informal as any played without him.

How noble he looked at play! thought the Queen, and wondered when and if old age would ever ease her longing for him.

She passed among the players, and in doing so could not help but hear an ill-timed remark of Mary Stuart’s:

‘She likes not to see you gentlemen more interested in Francis and me than in herself. Is not that what one would expect from a daughter of tradesmen?’

Catherine’s face was impassive. Let the insult pass for the moment; it would not be forgotten.

But, watching the King, she had little thought to spare for the girl. She could not live without the hope of one day luring him from Diane.

Would it be possible to kindle a spark of jealousy? And if so, not might not slumbering passion be awakened?

Her speculative eyes sought the tall, handsome figure of the Vidame of Chartres.

In Catherine’s apartments her women were robing her for the wedding of her eldest son. She could hear the bells ringing out the city and the people were already shouting in the streets.

As they slipped her jewel-studded gown over her head, she thought of the events which had befallen this land thick and fast in the last few months — events which had culminated in marriage which neither she nor Diane and the King had wished to take place so soon. Francis and Mary were children only fourteen and fifteen. They were madly in love― at least Francis was, and Mary was ready to pet him and love him because of the eagerness with which he did everything she of asked him.

In these last months, those uncles of Mary Stuart had grown in importance.