She leans against the worktable, feeling slightly sick. The argument with Lucien drained her. He has never raised his hand to her, but there had been times when she felt his fury as a heated blast, and knew he stalked away before he lost control. This had been one of those times.
She delays leaving her workroom, a private sanctuary where she prepares remedies for common ailments. She tidies the room, wipes off the worktable, organizes the vials by size, the pouches of herbs, seeds, dried flowers and leaves. She stacks the small bowls for grinding, spoons, small tools and instruments for measuring and places clean bottles, stoppers and stacks of clean linens within easy reach. She sits on the high stool, her hands resting on the family Bibles. A knock at the door and Constance peers inside.
‘I hoped I would catch you here,’ Constance walks into the room, ‘I am here for Elodie. Renee has a touch of fever. Do you have something to help?’
‘How bad is it?’ Sophia sets a pestle and mortar on the table and chooses several small boxes and jars. ‘Should I come?’ She looks worriedly at Constance. ‘No, I do not think that is necessary. The child is a little warm to her mother’s touch.’ Constance circles the room, inspecting the contents of the shelves. ‘We are all a little on edge.’
‘Yes,’ Sophia agrees. ‘Here,’ she hands Constance a small box with several small vials. Tell Elodie to soak the seeds overnight and drink the water. She can make tea of what is in here to drink immediately. Garlic broth is good. Cook keeps a pot simmering. I will fill a jug for you. I am sending ginger to add to it.’
‘Thank you,’ Constance says as she takes the packages. She does not leave but sits down on a tall stool and leans on the table. ‘How long do you think we can continue to live like this?’
‘Long enough to get to Glénay?’ Sophia suggests with a smile. ‘Hmm,’ Constance murmurs. ‘We have sorted our ‘habits’ and assembled the clothes for the children. The boys are in high spirits at what they think is a grand adventure, but Rayya has taken a firm hand with Samy, Olivier and my Alexander. They pester their fathers to be allowed to ride horses.’ For a moment Constance traces a circular pattern on the table. ‘The girls are more anxious.’
‘Hmm,’ Sophia murmurs. She has only to see Constance’s fixed impassive expression to know the struggle for her and Elodie to make the lives of their children normal, even as they are surrounded by unseen enemies biding their time before they attack. The men are soldiers, experienced fighters who do not flinch at the unexpected. ‘We are not soldiers,’ Sophia thinks to herself, ‘we are mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers…’ She leans across the table, ‘it might be a good idea to let the boys ride a little. It is a long journey to Glénay.’
‘I thought the same,’ Constance says straightening up, ‘thank you for these.’ She gathers up the vials and packets. ‘We leave in a couple days. Lucien has me reciting the order of villages on the routes.’ She recites in a sing song voice, ‘Orsay, Ulis, Corbreuse, Ormes, Chinois, Ver….’ She mimics his serious deep voice, ‘no! If you end up in Vernantes you have crossed the river again! Go back!’ She smiles, ‘I know those trails, but he and Charles insist…’
‘You will be fine,’ Sophia interjects encouragingly, ‘you are the one I trust to keep your wits about you.’ They walk out to the kitchen where Sophia pours a portion of broth into a small jug. She embraces Constance, ‘I will check in with Elodie later today.’
She watches Constance cross the gardens and take the path leading to the dower house. Now to find Lucien. He leaves soon for Glénay, along with Athos’ mercenaries to prepare the defenses and await the arrival of the families. The discord between them must be put to rest. She leaves the workroom. Cook is watching a young kitchen maid knead dough and looks up as Sophia enters the kitchen. She jabs a finger toward the ceiling…Lucien has gone upstairs, likely to their apartments.
But he is not in their apartment. Sophia wanders through the rooms and then sits on the edge of the bed thinking of where else he could be. In the stables, or the coach house preparing the carriage for Suzanne, or with Martin and Athos’ commander studying the maps, or sending messages to his ships … there was an unexpected sighting of a ship near the Wrecks, but she does know what that could mean.
She thinks about packing for her young twin sons, the clothes and the number of nappies that will need changing. Do the men think of these details? She lays down on the bed. Constance wondered how long they can live like this…the threat is renewed, and they must leave. The journey is dangerous, bad enough for the men and their wives to take the risks, but the children… She cannot bear the thought of packing her infant sons into a carriage to travel across the country. Suzanne’s health is fragile, and she may lose the child she carries. Little Bianca cries at night. How have they come to this? Lucien and Layla were at their investiture and now they and Athos and the others are running for their lives. She closes her eyes. The bed drapes dim the light and muffle sounds from the hallway. She closes her eyes…
Something wakens her. She listens … someone is here…but it is not Lucien. She breathes in a familiar scent and sits upright, swinging her feet to the floor, pushing the bed drapes apart.
‘Did he send you to make sure I did not do another ridiculous thing?’
A soft chuckle. ‘Kız kardeş, I have never known you to do even one ridiculous thing.’
On the far side of the room, Yusuf is holding a small pot over the flames in the fireplace. Sophia sniffs the air. ‘Persian tea!’ she exclaims. ‘How did you get it?’ She settles on the settee and watches him heat the water.
He smiles, ‘it comes by the Silk Road from China, as it has for three hundred years.’
‘Tsk,’ she scoffs, ‘you have not had any in a while.’
‘Obi sent it to me. A merchant he knew had some he was willing to part with.’ He tilts the boiling water into a porcelain cup, adds sugar and a spoonful of a fragrant spice. ‘Smells wonderful,’ she holds the cup in her hand gingerly and sips carefully, ‘delicious. Thank you.’
He smiles and sits back on his heels, ‘my mother loved this tea,’ he says, ‘it reminds me of her. I like to think of us when we drank tea together.’ He studies her for a moment.
‘He was afraid bacim. That is all.’
‘Yes, I know. But …’ She stops and sighs. ‘It does not matter now who is right or wrong. He must not go with it still between us.’
‘I am happy to hear you say it. The prophet advised, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.’
‘The prophets have wise words for all of us.’
Yusuf smiles at her, ‘perhaps you will meet him there.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
‘Raoul and I must leave soon Father. I want to see my sisters before we go.’ She leans up to kiss his cheek and then she is gone. Lucien clenches his jaw and paces back and forth in front of the fireplace, stops to brace his hand on the mantle and stares into the fire fuming at Layla’s words to him.
‘I did not do it for you Father, and I would have stayed with her.’
Why is he at fault for trying to protect his wife? Sophia had been reckless, driving around the countryside without a guard. She could have easily been accosted by the men Marchal has watching the estate. They must act as if Marchal has Royaumont under surveillance. And now she informs him she intends to stay! To protect her servants! He may yet change his mind about the plan Layla worked out – he can still bodily put his wife into a carriage and …
He breaks off that thought. He has never done anything remotely like that with Sophia or his children – not even with Alessandra although when they had been younger, he had been sorely tempted on several occasions. He should not be leaving so soon for Glénay. There are too many loose ends in Royaumont, one of them being his own wife. Who will ensure she leaves as she says she will. Layla is returning to Paris with Raoul, and the leave taking from Royaumont of the various combinations of children and adults is likely to be chaotic. Marie will travel with Suzanne, the midwives, baby Nella and his twin sons. The guard for the carriages includes Afonso and Yusuf. All those who have significant influence on Sophia will be gone. He resumes his pacing, stopping abruptly as a thought comes to him. There is one person he can trust to be more stubborn than his wife. He spins on his heel and strides from the room. He must talk to Marie first.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Lucien knocks once to announce himself as he opens the door. He never waits for his mother to invite him to enter, he is always welcome. She is usually working on her voluminous correspondence. She will put down her quill, put aside the lap desk, gesture to the table that holds flasks of wine and wait for him to settle himself. They talk of many topics, the children, politics in Paris, news from the colonies in the New World and her support for missions in the Mediterranean. His mother has a wide range of interests, reads books and has correspondence across the world. Sometimes they sit in silence and watch the fire, comfortable in the silence together.
But this time he is in midstride when he realizes someone else is already there. He stops abruptly.
Athos is sitting on the settee across from Marie, who is ensconced as usual in her large opulent chair. She has the fur blanket Lucien gave to her over her lap and another around her shoulders. They both turn their heads to look at him. Marie smiles, ‘come in love,’ she waves a hand. ‘I did not expect you.’
‘Obviously,’ he says curtly. What is Athos doing here? Athos has barely looked at his mother, has just managed to call her by her Christian name rather than one of her many titles. But here he sits. His older brother, the first born son who holds all the entitlements, and now sits in a casual posture as though conferring with his mother is something he has done every day of his life.
‘I must be intruding.’ He sounds peevish even to himself but cannot find a better tone of voice. Athos did not want Marie to be his mother. He held affection for the woman who adopted him and did not need Marie. So why does he seem so comfortable on the settee, one arm extended over the back, legs crossed and with a proprietary air about him?
Marie smiles at Lucien, the smile he knows so well when he comes to her in an irritated state as he does now. ‘Come and sit-down Lucien,’ she says in a gentle tone, nodding to the chair closest to her, which is where he usually sits when they talk together – alone. He wants to give Athos a look of triumph, but Athos bears an expression of forbearance, even amusement. What the hell does he find funny?
‘We were talking about Raoul,’ Marie says as though that is explanation enough.
‘Raoul and Layla just left for Paris,’ Athos adds.
‘Raoul?’ Lucien looks from Marie to Athos, ‘is something wrong with Raoul?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Marie says firmly looking at Athos. ‘There is no need for apology if that is what you were intending. I was responsible for interfering in his life. I could hardly expect him to forget what I did.’
‘Still,’ Athos interjects, ‘his behavior is not entirely acceptable.’
‘I am not offended,’ Marie replies, ‘he is my grandson, the grandson of Richelieu. That reality may matter more to him than it did to his cousins. It will take some time to sink in. The younger children, Samyar, Rayya, Rosie – they did not fully understand, nor did they care. Kayvahn and Asim will never know anything different than I am their grandmother.’
Marie looks pointedly at Lucien who is listening to her with a frowning expression. ‘A dead grandfather is of no interest to them, regardless of who he was. Your children never had a grandmother to love or be loved by and so I am enough for them.’
Lucien realizes the point she is making to him. The earliest memory he had was a gentle voice, the feel of cool silk under his cheek as he was rocked, his hair stroked. He had yearned for the woman in that memory, his mother, for as long as he could remember. Not understanding why, he had drawn Marie into their lives and when he discovered the truth about her, he thought he had always known it. He was happy and he did not think about a father. Richelieu was a distant figure, of no significance to him. He needed nothing more than his mother.
‘Layla and Suzanne have a better view of it,’ Marie continues, ‘Layla cares deeply for Raoul and she shows him patience. I can do so as well. What is your advice on my telling him that I have known his mother since she was small child.’
Lucien tightens his jaw. Why does Marie need Athos’ advice on the matter? She can well decide for herself. He looks between them and stays silent. It has nothing to do with him.
‘He is worried about his mother,’ Athos is saying, ‘as am I.’ He glances at Lucien, ‘as we both are worried about her.’
Hmm,’ Marie has a faraway look. ‘I knew your wife.’
‘You mentioned that,’ Athos says, ‘that first night we came back. You used a different name for her.’
‘Sandretta,’ Marie smiles, ‘a lovely name for a beautiful child. Bianca, her mother, was an extraordinary talent, her father a brilliant scholar. They were deeply in love.’ She laughs suddenly at a memory, sitting back in the chair, a hand covering her mouth as she giggles.
‘Sandretta’s father would carry her on his shoulders. You thought yourself big enough to carry Lucien on your shoulders. The two of you, pretending to be noble steeds gamboling along the beach, with your riders shrieking like monkeys. Bianca was always running behind you, worried Lucien would be too heavy for your young shoulders, but you never let him slip. How we laughed at the games you played with Lucien’s toy horse Xanthus. She chuckles again, reliving the scene in her memories. Athos and Lucien are quiet, imagining the picture Marie created for them. Lucien steals a glance at Athos – had they really played a game together?
‘They lived with you at Glénay,’ Athos comments. Marie nods, ‘yes, at Glénay and in the summer months we lived in my house by the sea. Bianca set up a studio and made many sketches of you and Sandretta,’ her look encompasses both her sons. ‘She did a portrait of us together among other paintings.’
‘I told Bianca, just before Richelieu took us away, that I wanted them to stay at Glénay. I think they did for a short time and then they went to live in Uzès. I do not know if they left of their own accord or if Richelieu forced them out.‘ Marie closes her eyes as her memories have turned dark and sad.
‘Richelieu made sure I learned their terrible fate. I begged him to search for Sandretta but he claimed he found nothing of her and she must have died and been buried in one of mass graves, unknown and unclaimed. Still, I sent people into orphanages and refugee camps. It haunted me, if that sweet child saw her father hanged and the soldiers assaulting her mother…’ Her shoulders shake with silent tears.
‘I regret to say that she did witness those events,’ Athos says somberly. Marie closes her eyes against the pain and takes a deep steadying breath.
‘All the years I worked with Daughters of Charity, I realized I was looking for her, although I never could imagine her other than as a child. And then, one day I did see her, and she was not a child, but an extraordinary, beautiful woman.’ She turns her gaze to Athos.
‘She was with Richelieu,’ she says regretfully. ‘I learned from him that she was one of his agents.’
‘He knew who she was?’
‘Yes, he knew.’
‘Did she remember you?’ Athos asks. Marie shakes her head, ‘no, she did not. I have been as close to her as we are now, and there was no recognition. She was a child and would not remember me. Richelieu never told her either.’
‘Why did you not?’ It might have awakened a memory,’ Athos persists. Lucien holds a curious expression, wondering if Athos believes another outcome might have been possible for him and Alessandra, other than the one where he hangs her for a killing she never committed – of a brother that was, in fact, not his brother.
Athos feels Lucien’s gaze and looks at him, ‘I know you met her too, but did not recall each other either.’ Neither of them explain the circumstances under how Lucien met and helped Alessandra. But now he sees why he and Alessandra became close friends, why he worried for her and she for him. They had known each other all along. He looks at Athos…
You, me and Alessandra he says silently to his brother…we have always known each other… our lives intertwined from birth …
Athos smiles at him and Lucien feels the tension leave his shoulders…
Marie is shaking her head slowly, ‘in truth, I do not know. But at the time, it seemed unlikely she would believe me or thank me for it. The world had turned, and those happy sunny days were long over. Nothing would bring that time or her parents back.’
‘Do you think it would help Raoul for me to tell him how I knew his mother?’
‘Perhaps,’ Athos says slowly. ‘I must leave that decision to him.’
‘Yes, that is for the best.’
Marie turns to Lucien, ‘when do you plan to leave?’
‘Two days,’ Lucien replies. ‘I will deploy men along the route we will take and work out how we will know which alternate is to be used if necessary. Gasparo has selected the men we take with us.’ He stands up.
‘I need to go find my wife.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
She is not in their apartments. Lucien runs down the stairs thinking to try the conservatory, the greenhouse, the stables… her workroom where they argued. Perhaps she is in the family mausoleum securing the family treasures. At the bottom of the stairs M Goux is conferring with two footmen and turns to bow to him. He carries a wrapped package.
‘Where is Her Grace?’ he asks the house steward. ‘Madame is in Your Grace’s library,’ M Goux replies smoothly, handing the package to Lucien. ‘Father Massey has arrived Your Grace, from Paris. He is with Cousin Francois and asked me to give this to you. Shall I send in refreshments?’
‘Not necessary,’ Lucien replies, pointing to one of the footmen, ‘you come with me.’ He tucks the package under his arm and walks swiftly in that direction, the footman trotting after him. At the door of his library, he turns to the footman. ‘Stay here, no one inside.’
Lucien opens the door quietly and steps inside. He leans back on the door. She is reclining on the large settee in front of the fire, her feet tucked up, her head resting on the side arm. She pulled his winter cloak over her and fell asleep.
Rascal chirps softly and Lucien holds a finger to his lips shushing the little bird. Rascal hops between the branches in his cage watching him intently. He crosses the room, going down on one knee next to his sleeping wife. How had he failed to see the dark circles under her eyes, the tired turn down of her lovely mouth. She has carried the entire estate on her shoulders as he has turned his attention elsewhere, thinking it the greater burden. Gently he pushes an errant strand of hair from her face. She stirs and opens her beautiful blue eyes, extraordinary in their opalescence, shimmering in the dim light.
‘It’s you,’ she murmurs.
‘Who else?’ he counters, ‘move over Rabbit.’ He lays down slipping his arm under her to cradle her head. ‘It is the middle of the day,’ she says. ‘The servants…’
‘Any servant in this house who values their life would never dare open that door.’ She raises one skeptical brow. ‘Besides that…’
‘A footman is outside.’ She chuckles and settles against him.
‘You have a terrible husband.’
‘Not terrible,’ she lays her hand against his cheek, ‘impatient, stubborn, irritatingly sure he is always right…’
‘He is usually right…’
‘He is sometimes close to being right…’
He smiles and reaches to the floor for the package, placing it on her lap. ‘What is it?’ she says.
‘Open it.’
Sophia unties the string and pulls a slim book from the paper wrapping. She reads the title and stares at him open mouthed. ‘You got the book for Rosie.’
He smiles, ‘she can be busy with her cutouts and figure arts and less worried about me.’ He looks hopeful, ‘am I still a terrible husband?’
‘Your words, not mine. Besides, how can I stay angry at a husband who does this for his daughter. I am completely charmed.’
‘Ah!’ he mocks a smug smile, ‘I am very good at that.’ He leans over her, brushing his lips over hers. ‘Allow me to demonstrate my charms.’
Twelve Years After 