I promised I would, but now that Catherine was back in her chamber I thought it safe to slip down the stair to check on Bonne, whose silence I considered more ominous than her anger. As I descended, I encountered a page wearing the Armagnac cross of Lorraine climbing the stair towards me. ‘I have a message for the Princess Catherine,’ he announced.
I held out my hand, my heart racing, certain this was the first sign of Bonne’s backlash. ‘Her highness is indisposed,’ I said. ‘I will take it to her.’
He removed a sealed letter from the purse on his belt and gave it to me before retreating down the stair. I was sorely tempted to destroy the letter there and then, but prudence prevailed for I reasoned that if Bonne was working against me the sooner Catherine knew of it the better. When I re-entered her bedchamber, she made the sign of the cross and rose from the prie-dieu. The Virgin gazed benignly down from the candlelit triptych revealing nothing, but I noticed that whatever intercession had been asked of Her, the creases had not been smoothed from Catherine’s brow.
Silently I handed her the letter and, when she broke the seal and opened it, I saw that it contained several lines of script. I waited while she read it, imagining I could already hear the stamp of the guards’ heavy boots advancing up the stair to arrest me.
When she raised her head, Catherine’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘It is not from Bonne, it is from her father the count,’ she said, re-folding the parchment. ‘In view of the failure of the English treaty, Armagnac and Orleans have decided that the marriage between Bonne and the duke should take place immediately. The count deeply regrets that his daughter’s duty in this matter takes her away from my service, but he hopes I will understand and wish her well.’ Catherine laid a gentle hand on my arm. ‘So you can stop twitching, Mette. Mademoiselle of Armagnac is no longer a member of my household.’
My sense of relief was short-lived as I realised the news was bad as well as good. ‘But very soon she will be Duchess of Orleans,’ I pointed out, ‘more powerful and even more alarming.’
‘And much too busy and important to concern herself with us,’ Catherine reasoned. ‘Meanwhile, she is not here so let us sit together, while I tell you about my meeting with Louis.’
I stirred up the fire and we sat by the hearth, this time with her enthroned under the canopy and myself on a stool. Outside the wind howled and driving rain rattled the shutters, but the candlelight and blazing logs enfolded us in a flickering intimacy.
‘Thank you for leaving the wine and the sweetmeats in your chamber, Mette,’ Catherine began with a smile. ‘You certainly know the way to Louis’ heart.’
I shrugged. ‘I remember how he used to fall on the pastries I brought in from my father’s bake house. He was always hungry as a boy.’
‘That has not changed. He consumed everything you left.’ Catherine made a face. ‘He is so greedy!’
‘It is making him ill,’ I commented. ‘He has too much black bile.’
‘Is that so? It is a pity because he needs to be fit and healthy. France has suffered too long from an ailing monarch.’
There was a pause while she considered the dire truth of this.
‘Perhaps I should not ask, but what did you pray for when you returned?’ I probed gently. ‘You seemed so troubled.’
She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I felt confused. Sometimes when you pray, things become a little clearer.’
‘Yes,’ I said, unable to think when prayer had done the same for me. ‘And did they?’
‘No. Not really.’ Her eyes found mine then and I saw that they were full of tears. ‘Oh, Mette! I feel so lost.’
Impulsively I took both her hands in mine, feeling the prick of tears in my own eyes. But I did not press her to confide in me. Instead I tried to be reassuring. ‘You can never be entirely lost when I am here.’
She squeezed my hands then let them drop, settling back and clearing her throat. ‘I have to make a decision, Mette. Telling you about my dilemma might make it seem less daunting.’
I nodded encouragement and gestured towards the triptych. ‘You know that I will remain as silent as the Virgin.’
Catherine’s brows lifted in mild censure. ‘I think sometimes that you are too irreverent, Mette,’ she said reproachfully.
I occurred to me to remind her that I did not have the advantage of a convent education, but instead I tried to look contrite and receptive at the same time and said nothing.
‘I was never happy at the convent,’ she observed, as if she had read my mind. ‘But I am grateful to the nuns for showing me right from wrong. It is a shame that no one did the same for my mother and brother.’
I must have looked surprised at this outburst because she went on hurriedly. ‘It is true. They are as bad as each other. At least, I think they are. I am not absolutely sure about Louis yet. I know he is not being straight with me, but I feel I should not judge him until I know why. I was praying to be shown the reason.’
A log shifted on the fire, throwing up a cloud of sparks and heralding a rush of words from Catherine.
‘He told me that he had stopped my marriage to King Henry because he did not want to see me tied to a godless libertine. Stories had reached him from England that Henry lived a debauched life and he, Louis, wanted to save me from shame and humiliation. Well, of course, I thanked him very much, but I also asked if Henry’s demands for land and money had nothing to do with it. He looked irritated and said that these had been only minor considerations. When I expressed concern that the failure of the treaty might spark an English invasion, he laughed and told me that Henry would never dare to invade France and, if he did, he would be chased back into the sea. Then he said: “England is a paltry little country and Henry is an apology for a king. His father was a usurper and he will pay the price for it. I would not give him a parcel of tennis balls, never mind my sister in marriage!”
‘I could not believe my ears, Mette. I was there when he told our mother that he sabotaged the treaty because Henry was power-crazy and only wanted to marry me in order to claim the French throne. There was no mention then of saving me from the clutches of a libertine. It was more a case of saving his own inheritance. Not that I blame him for that, but why is he not consistent?’
‘So did you tell him of your suspicions about the queen?’ I asked.
‘No, not in so many words, but I did formally pledge my allegiance to him as the heir of France, and he seemed very touched when I knelt and kissed his hand. He said he understood that as a female I was obliged to obey my mother, but to remember that he always had my best interests at heart. I think he has his own suspicions about the queen. It is clear that he does not trust her, but then he obviously does not trust anyone. What a mess! It seems that everyone is working to their own secret plan, but all of them involve me in some way or another. I feel like one of Louis’ tennis balls, being hit in all directions with no power over where I will land.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘I can only say that wherever you do land, Mademoiselle, if you call me I will come to you.’
I felt her arms go around my neck and her soft kiss on my cheek. ‘Oh, Mette, you are more to me than mother, father and brother! I will always want you with me no matter where I go. I wonder what England is like. To be honest, I am beginning to believe that any marriage, even to “an apology of a king”, would be better than having to live in the perfidious House of Valois!’
Bonne’s marriage to Charles of Orleans was the social event of the spring season, taking place immediately after Easter. Lacking the charisma of his dead father, the young bridegroom was