But she had her babies now.
‘Madalenna!’ she said. ‘Bring me my baby.’
Madalenna rose and went to the cradle― a magnificent affair of cloth of silver, decorated with ribands and laces. Catherine’s face softened as the child was brought to her. She held out her arms and took the little Elizabeth into them.
‘Is she not a beautiful child, Madalenna?’
‘She is indeed,’ said Madalenna.
‘I fancy she has a look of her father about her.’
‘It is too early to say yet,’ said Madalenna.
‘Oh, come, Madalenna, look at her nose.’
‘You think it is the Valois nose?’
‘Do you? Perhaps. But I am sure those are the Medici eyes.’
‘’Madame la Dauphine, it will be well for her beauty if she has the Medici eyes.’
Catherine kissed the small face. ‘It is to be hoped also that she has the Medici nose,’ she said, ‘for I declare, Madalenna, the Valois nose is impressive and noble for a man, but somewhat overpowering, do you not think, for a little girl?’
Madalenna laughed gaily. How happy she was talking thus to her mistress.
It seemed to her now that the Dauphine was just a happy mother, not that cold, frightening mistress who sent her on secret hateful missions.
‘Go to the nursery, Madalenna, and bring young Francis to me. I would have both my children with me. Go and tell him his mother wishes to show him his little sister.’
Madalenna went, and in a few moments returned with the little Prince. He was just over two years old, small for his age, with a delicate air. He was rather a pampered little boy, for his great glittering grandfather, whose name he bore, had taken a fancy to him; and that meant that everyone else at court must do the same.
‘Come here, Francis dear,’ said his mother; and he came and stood by the bed, his great eyes fixed on her face. He seemed to regard her with awe; she would rather it had been with affection, but the awkwardness which she felt with the father seemed to come between her and the child.
‘Look my little one,’ she said, ‘here is your baby sister.’
But he could not keep his eyes on his sister: they kept coming back to his mother’s face.
‘Is she not a beautiful little baby, my Prince?’ demanded Madalenna; and Catherine noticed how naturally the boy could smile and nod at Madalenna.
Why was it that he was at ease with others and not so with herself? Perhaps she was spoken of with awe in the nursery. Was she not the Dauphine? But that was not the reason. Young Francis had no fear at all of his father; he would climb all over Henry and chuckle with glee as he pulled his beard. The child was equally at home with the King himself. Catherine had seen him try to pull the jewels off his grandfather’s coat, for which he had received a friendly tap on the cheek, and had been thrown to the ceiling with a ‘Ha! My young robber! So you would steal the Crown Jewels!’ No! There was something strange in the child’s feelings for his mother, something she could not understand.
‘Madalenna, lift him on to the bed.’
He sat there uncomfortably, she thought; as while she fascinated him, he was afraid to get too close.
‘Why, Francis,’ she said, ‘it is pleasant to have you here like this. You― and your sister― and your Maman. Is it not, my little one?’
He nodded. He was staring at the ruby on her finger, ‘Ah! Is it not beautiful, Francis? It was a gift from your papa.’ She took off the ring and gave it to him.
Now he smiled. ‘Pretty!’ he said; and tried to put it on his little finger.
‘You must wait, must you not, until you are a grown man. Then, my son, you will wear many beautiful jewels.’ She saw him, a grown man, loving his mother. She could not bear to see him as the King of France, for that would mean that Henry was no longer King. She could not imagine a world that did not contain the joy and agony of loving Henry.
She took off more rings and he played with them on the bed. She thought:
he is not really afraid of me. I could soon make him love me. He was laughing as the rings slipped from his fingers into the bed.
‘Too big,’ he said. ‘Too big for Francis.’
And she seized him and kissed him suddenly and passionately, until she noticed that he had stiffened. She released him at once, while she wondered bitterly why it was she found it so hard to make people love her― even her own children.
She must remember not to be too demonstrative with young Francis.
‘Try on this one,’ she said; and she pulled a sapphire from her finger.
He was chuckling over the jewels when Diane came in.
‘You will forgive this intrusion, Madame, I know,’ she said.
Catherine’s face was set into the fixed smile she had always to show Diane.
Fierce hatred was in her heart. How dare the woman come intruding into her private apartments! How dare she? That was easy to answer. Every bit of happiness that Catherine knew was doled out to her by this woman. ‘Your husband shall make love to you tonight.’ Make love! There was no love-making, only child-making. ‘ I will insist that he comes!’
I am nothing to him, thought Catherine; and she is all. What I would I not give to see her lying dead? ‘It is a pleasure to see you, Madame,’ said Catherine. ‘How well you look.’
Diane rustled regally to the bed and kissed Catherine’s hand. ‘And you, I am sad to see, do not look so well. You have overtired yourself.’
Diane glanced at Madalenna. ‘I had given instructions that Madame la Dauphine was to sleep this afternoon.’
‘You must not blame Madalenna,’ said Catherine. ‘She obeyed her mistress and brought my son to me.’
Diane was playful and firm all at once. She clicked her tongue. ‘It was so very wrong of you to so tire yourself. And young Francis was to stay in his nursery. He has not been well these last days, and I did not wish him to be carried through the corridors. Hello, my little one.’
The boy smiled. ‘Look!’ he said; and he held out a ring.
‘That is beautiful. And what are you doing with Maman’s rings, eh?’
Catherine felt as though she wanted to burst into tears, for Francis looked at Diane as though she were his mother.
‘Come along,’ said Diane. ‘We are going back to the warm nursery; and if you are very good I will tell you a story. Madalenna, cover up your mistress, and put the baby in her cradle. Madame la Dauphine must not tire herself so. Oh yes, I know she is feeling better.’ This was to Catherine. ‘But we want no ill effects to spoil our pleasure in Madame Elizabeth’s arrival.’
She picked up young Francis, and Catherine noticed how willingly he left the rings to go to her. She longed to snatch him from her arms, to shout: ‘You have my husband! Leave me my child!’
But instead she smiled and murmured: ‘You do too much for me― and my family.’
Diane, if she saw subtle allusions, knew when to ignore them. ‘Indeed no. I count myself favoured to serve you and the Dauphin. Now say Au revoir to Maman― there is a little fellow.’
Was it Catherine’s imagination or did young Francis say Au revoir with something like relief?
As Diane and Francis left, Madalenna obediently took up little Elizabeth and laid her in her cradle.
Catherine lay back on her pillows. She set her mouth into a smile while she thought of her hatred of Diane.
Madalenna stitched quietly in the window seat; the baby slept, and as the afternoon wore on, Catherine lay still thinking of how much she hated her enemy.