It had been with huge relief that she drew back her curtains on St. Stephen’s Day and saw that the winds had died down. After that there had been all to do packing her gear and making ready for her journey. Her brother Hal had been appointed her escort, with two of the Hever grooms to look after the baggage cart.
And now—at last—she was in Paris, a beautiful city that seemed to be abundant with opportunities. As she and Hal rode along the left bank of the River Seine, in company with the guide they had paid to escort them, they could see ahead of them the ?le de la Cité with its turreted palace, the soaring Sainte-Chapelle, and the mighty towers of the cathedral of Notre-Dame, their stonework painted in bright colors. The great bells were tolling, their clamor echoed by other city churches.
“Someone important has died,” Hal said, his dark features creasing in a frown.
Paris had spread well beyond its stone walls, but when they entered the old city, Anne found her senses assailed, for it was cramped and noisy, and it stank. She wrinkled her nose, trying to breathe through her mouth as they negotiated their way along streets teeming with people, who all seemed to be in an excitable mood. Passing around a corner, they glimpsed a procession of clergy wearing black robes.
“Something is definitely going on,” Hal declared.
Ahead of them were the towers of the Louvre, the royal palace, but that was not their destination. On approaching Paris, they had been directed to continue southward to the H?tel des Tournelles, where they would find the court. Anne could not wait to get there. But when they arrived, the stately building had a deserted, shuttered look about it.
Hal approached a porter lounging by the gatehouse.
“Is the court in residence?” he asked.
“Have you not heard?” the man replied. “The King is dead. The court has moved away.”
The news hit Anne like a blow. Hal looked at her in dismay.
“Where is the Queen?” he asked.
“Gone into seclusion at the H?tel de Cluny, across the river.” The man pointed and turned away.
“I’m sorry, little sister,” Hal commiserated, turning to Anne.
Anne’s stomach was churning. “I pray they do not send me home. Even a widowed queen needs attendants. I wonder what happened to the King.”
“Mary will tell us, no doubt,” her brother said. For once, Anne was looking forward to seeing her sister.
—
The H?tel de Cluny was a small medieval palace with fashionable classical embellishments. They were shown into a parlor, as if they had arrived at a religious house, and indeed an atmosphere of piety and silence did seem to cast a pall over everything. It was so quiet. The bustle of the streets seemed a world away.
A young woman entered. It took Anne a moment or so to recognize Mary, whose beauty had flowered in the nineteen months of their separation. Her face was a perfect oval, her eyes doelike, her mouth a rosebud. The black damask gown and halo-shaped hood became her delicate coloring and dark hair.
Mary held out her hands. “Thank God you are here,” she said, as Hal embraced her. She turned to Anne and kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner. “Sister, you have grown so! You are become a lady. Oh, I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you both. But Hal, you cannot stay long—this is a house of women now. No man may go near Her Highness.” She made a face. “She has to remain in seclusion for forty days, until it is known that she is not enceinte with the King’s child. A pretty storm that would stir up, I assure you.”
“Tell us what happened,” Hal said.
“The King died on New Year’s Day. They are saying that Her Highness wore him out by making him perform marvels in the marriage bed, but it is not true. He was ill, and she had shown much care for him. The truth is, he defied his doctors and ate foods that were bad for his gout. That brought on the fit of vomiting that killed him. When they told Queen Mary, she fainted. We had all to do to revive her and offer some comfort. She was distraught.”
“Is she enceinte?” Hal wanted to know. He had inherited Father’s interest in dynastic breeding.
“It is too early to tell, but I think not.”
“Then Louis’s cousin, the Dauphin Fran?ois, will be king.”
“He acts as if he is king already,” Mary said.
“I can see why an announcement that Queen Mary is pregnant would cause trouble,” Anne observed.
Mary sank down on a stool. “It’s more complicated than that. The Dauphin’s nose was much put out of joint when King Louis married our Princess, seeing his chance of a crown flying out of the window. He even had them spied on in their marriage bed, to see if Louis could sire children. But then—this, you understand, is a man whose brain is in his codpiece—Fran?ois began to take a blatant interest in Queen Mary, not caring what King Louis might do. She did nothing to encourage it; she does not trust him or even like him, but you should have heard the gossip. The word was that Fran?ois’s mother, Madame Louise, gave him a piece of her mind. She’s as ambitious as he is, and minds to see herself ruling France at one remove as the King’s mother.”
“He sounds a devil!” Anne cried.
“He is, and if he hears that you have been here, Hal, he’ll make something of it. You must go. We dare not compromise the Queen.”
Hal stood up. “Then I will take my leave, dear sisters. I have to be home for the Hilary term, though I had hoped to spend some time with you both first.”
They said their farewells, then, when Hal had gone to find his horse, Mary took Anne to see Queen Mary.
“I warn you, it’s very gloomy in there,” Mary said. “But I would not leave her service, the poor unhappy lady. Thank goodness she has been allowed to keep her English attendants—or rather, those of us who weren’t sent home after she arrived in France.”
Anne’s spirits sank. How she wished herself back at the court of the Regent. Leaving it for the French court had been bad enough; finding herself in a house of mourning was fifty times worse.
“My gown!” she said suddenly, looking down at her skirts; she had worn the wine-red damask for her presentation to the Queen. “It is not suitable.”
“You can change it later,” Mary said. “I trust you have a black one.”
She led Anne through an antechamber, opened a door, and pulled aside a heavy curtain. The room beyond was in darkness, even though it was full daylight outside. The only illumination came from a few flickering candles. As Anne’s eyes accustomed themselves to the dimness, she could see that the windows were shrouded in heavy curtains, blocking all the light, and that the walls and the great mourning bed that dominated the room were hung with black. It felt like being in a tomb.