She had promised to attend last night; she had forgotten.
Odelette’s soft breathing was the only sound. Hercules slipped in through the open window, leaving the curtain a handsbreadth open; he stretched and yowled, demanding breakfast. Gray morning light from the west-facing window woke Odelette. She blinked, her long lashes brushing her cheeks, beautiful even a moment out of sleep.
“Have you sat up all night, Mlle Marie?” Odelette whispered. “Come to bed, you can rest a little while.”
“It’s time to get up,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Help me change my dress — and you must do my hair. Mademoiselle wants you this morning.”
Sitting up, Odelette cried out. She drew her hand from beneath the covers. Blood smeared her fingertips.
“Quick, Mlle Marie, before I stain the bedclothes —”
Marie-Josèphe flung open her storage chest, snatched up a handful of soft clean rags, and took them to Odelette.
Odelette thrust the pad between her legs to soak up her monthly flow, then curled miserably beneath the blankets. She always suffered terribly from her monthlies.
“I’m so sorry, Mlle Marie —”
“You must stay in bed,” Marie-Josèphe said. She put Hercules beside Odelette and stroked his soft fur, the tabby stripes of two textures, till he gave up asking for his breakfast and snuggled warm against Odelette’s sore back. “In bed, with our bed-warmer.” Odelette smiled, though her lips trembled. “And I’ll send you some broth. You must drink it, but share a little with Hercules.”
“Mlle Marie, you must wear a towel today.”
She and Odelette had always begun their monthlies on the same day. They had been apart so long, surely that rule had been lost with distance? But when Marie-Josèphe counted, Odelette was right. Marie-Josèphe tied a rolled towel between her legs and struggled into her grand habit. She must not spoil another dress.
Poor Odelette, her women’s troubles pained her so. Marie-Josèphe kissed her cheek.
Marie-Josèphe unbraided her hair and dressed it simply, without lace or ribbons.
She looked like a naive colonial girl, but she could do no more without Odelette’s help.
In Yves’ room, she sat on the edge of his bed and shook him gently.
“Yves — brother, it’s time to get up.”
“I’m awake,” he mumbled.
Marie-Josèphe smiled fondly and shook him again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching.
“I am awake,” he said.
“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “I must fly, to Mademoiselle.”
She hurried down the attic stairs. She felt lucky not to suffer from her monthlies as Odelette did. If she had to keep to her bed, she would miss greeting His Majesty after his morning ceremony, she would miss following the King to Mass.
She would miss caring for the sea monster, and Yves might give her place to Chartres.
oOo
Lucien’s carriage flew along the Avenue de Paris and past the lines of visitors waiting to enter His Majesty’s gardens. The carriage followed the same route as Pope Innocent’s, all the way to the steps of the Marble Courtyard.
Despite the inconvenience — His Majesty seldom concerned himself with the convenience of his courtiers — the King permitted few carriages to enter the forecourt of the chateau. Lucien accepted the perquisite as the King intended, as a sign of esteem. He rode in his carriage more often than he might otherwise have done, to publicly take advantage of His Majesty’s favor.
His footman placed the steps and held the door. Lucien climbed down, leaning easily on his walking staff. He had not slept, but he had refreshed himself. Thanks to Sieur de Baatz’ salve, his leg had nearly healed; thanks to Juliette, thanks to the distractions of calvados and stimulation, the pain in his back was quite tolerable.
His eight matched coach horses stood rock-still, bay coats and harness gleaming.
“Return to my chateau and put yourself at the disposal of Mme la Marquise,”
Lucien said to his coachman. “She will wish to attend today’s picnic at His Majesty’s Menagerie.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucien crossed the black and white marble of the courtyard, entered the chateau through its central doors, beneath the balcony of the King’s apartment, and took his usual route to His Majesty’s bedroom.
Waiting by his brother’s bed, Monsieur stifled a yawn. The duke d’Orléans often rode to Paris after the King’s evening entertainments, for he found Versailles constraining. On occasion, Lucien joined him. Though he did not share all Monsieur’s tastes, he appreciated the duke’s ability to enjoy himself. But for Lucien, the events of the previous night had been more rewarding than any diversion Monsieur might imagine.