Hoping that the chancellor has received news from the convent, I let the boy lead me to his chamber. The page knocks once on the door, then opens it. If Chancellor Crunard is ruffled by the disastrous estates meeting, he hides it well. “Come in, demoiselle,” he says as the page scampers away.
His desk is nearly as large as a bed and has a neat stack of correspondence on one side and three maps on the other; there is also a small pot of ink and a handful of quills. He does not offer me a seat. Instead, he rises and moves to the window. After a long moment of silence, he turns to face me, his expression impassive. "Where were you hurrying off to?”
I meet his gaze steadily. Only my promise to Duval of utmost secrecy prevents me from telling him of the duchess’s newest suitor and the hope he offers her. “To see if I could convince Mortain to give me permission to remove Count d’Albret.”
He blinks in surprise. whatever he expected me to say, it was not this. His face relaxes and I detect a glint of humor in his eyes. “By all means, search d’Albret for one of those marques. Then we can be done with him and move on to equally pressing problems.”
while I am surprised to learn that Crunard knows of the marques — he is even more in the abbess’s confidence than I realized — I am pleased that we are in agreement on this. He turns back to the window. “Have you learned anything further of Duval and his true motives?” he asks.
“No, my lord. I have found nothing to warrant your or the abbess’s suspicions.” I am aware that I must tread carefully here. “He seems most devoted to the duchess, and she seems to trust him above all others.”
“And does that not seem highly suspect to you?” he asks. “That she would trust her bastard brother above all her others? It speaks to me of undue influence.”
“Or perhaps he just puts her interests before his own,” I suggest, thinking of Madame Dinan and Marshal Rieux.
Crunard’s head whips around and he fixes me with a piercing stare. “As do we all.”
“I meant no disrespect, my lord, only that Duval appears to have her best interests at heart.”
“And you trust his word on this?”
“No, my lord. I trust my own eyes and ears. everything I have seen and heard speaks of his absolute loyalty to his sister.”
“But is that not the best way to avert suspicion? To profess deep and abiding loyalty?”
I do not know what to say to this. I have no words with which to convince Chancellor Crunard of what I feel in my heart to be true.
“Nevertheless, it is not wise to place too much trust in Duval.” His voice drips with contempt. “I know him to be an oath breaker.”
I bite back a gasp. That is no small thing. "What oath did he break?” I ask before I can stop myself.
The chancellor brings his steepled fingers to his lips and studies me. “The one he made to his saint,” he says. “I was there when he broke it, saw his blasphemy with my own eyes.” when I say nothing more, he nods his head curtly. “You are dismissed. Inform me as soon as you hear anything from the convent.”
For a moment, the briefest moment, I consider telling him of the wonderful new possibility Duval has found for his sister, but something holds me back. what if the chancellor fears that I, like the duchess, have fallen under Duval’s spell and sends me back to the convent? Instead, I promise him I will keep him informed, and then take my leave.
If the duchess is still up to the task, it is time for her to meet Nemours.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The duchess has withdrawn to her solar, surrounded by her ladies of the court. Her younger sister, Isabeau, is well enough to join them and reclines on a couch that has been pulled next to Anne’s chair. The atmosphere in the room is tense and nervous, everyone’s mind on the claims and accusations heard in this morning’s meeting. even though the duchess’s face is pale and the skin around her eyes drawn tight, she greets me as if we are old friends. “Demoiselle Rienne! Come join us and let us see your pretty handiwork.”
Would that I had thought to warn the duchess of my inept fingers. “Thank you, Your Grace. You do me great honor, but my handiwork is not worthy of such compliments.”
She pats the chair next to her. “Come. Sit. It cannot be that bad.”
From behind her sister’s shoulder, Isabeau gives me an impish grin, and I wonder if her sister has confided in her. I return the smile and take my place next to the duchess.
"What are you working on, demoiselle?” she asks.
"Well.” I pull the basket onto my lap and begin to rummage through it, looking for a suitable project. “Ah, here it is. An altar cloth for milord Duval, to thank him for sponsoring me here at court.” I stumble painfully through my words, like a toddler learning to walk. I have less talent for small talk than I do for embroidery.