Mary got out of bed and, putting a wrap about her shoulders, crept across the room to that small chamber in which Lady Fleming slept. She drew back the curtains of the bed. It was empty. Lady Fleming had not yet come up, although the ball was over.
Mary got into Janet’s bed to wait for her. She waited for a long time before she fell asleep; it was beginning to grow light when she was awakened by Janet’s returning.
Mary sat up in bed and stared at her aunt. She was wearing the costume she had worn at the ball, but it appeared to be crumpled and was torn in several places.
“What is it?” asked Mary.
“Hush! For the love of the saints do not wake anybody.” Janet began to take off the costume.
“But what has happened?” insisted Mary. “You look as though you have been set upon by robbers and yet are rather pleased about it.”
“You must tell no one of this, as you love your Fleming. You should not be here. You should be punished for wandering from your bed in the night. The Queen would punish you.”
“Perhaps she would punish you, too, for wandering in the night. I command you to tell me what has happened to you.”
Janet got into bed and put her arms about Mary. “What if another has commanded silence?” she said with a laugh.
“I am the Queen …”
“Of Scotland, my dearest. What if I had received a higher command?”
“The Queen… Queen Catherine?”
“Higher than that!” Lady Fleming kissed the Queen of Scots. “I am so happy, darling. I am the happiest woman in France. One day I shall be able to serve you as I should wish. One day you shall ask me for something you want, and I will perhaps, through the Kings grace, be able to give it to you.”
Mary was excited. Here was one of the mysteries which occurred in the lives of grown-up people; here was a glimpse into the exciting world in which one day she would have a part to play.
“There is one thing I will ask you now,” she said. “It is never to allow that dreary de Paroy to come near the nursery.”
“That I can promse you,” said Janet gleefully. “She is banished from this day.”
They lay together smiling, each thinking of the glorious future which lay ahead of her.
MARY FORGOT the excitement of the Court for a while. With her four friends she went to stay with her grandmother at Meudon. Her grandfather, Duke Claude, was very ill and not expected to live. She knew that soon her uncle François would be the Duke of Guise and head of the house. But she did not see him. It was her uncle, Cardinal Charles, with whom she spent much of her time.
They would walk about the estate together and the Cardinal’s eyes would gleam as they watched her. He studied her so closely that Mary blushed for fear he would find some fault in her. There were occasions when he would take her into his private chamber; she would sit on his knee and he would fondle her. He frightened her a little, while he fascinated her; her wide eyes would stare, almost involuntarily, at those long slim fingers which ceaselessly caressed her. She did not know whether she liked or hated those caresses. They fascinated yet repelled. Sometimes he would make her look into his face, and it was as though he were making her subject to his will. His long light eyes with the dark lashes were so beautiful that she wanted to look at them, although she was afraid; they were tender and malicious, gentle and cruel; and beneath them were faint shadows. His mouth was straight and long; it was the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen when it smiled—and it smiled often for her.
There was a delicious odor about his person; it clung to his linen. He bathed regularly; he was, it was said, the most fastidious gentleman of France. Jewels glittered on his hands, and the colors of those jewels were tastefully blended. Her grandparents were in some awe of him and seemed to have almost as much respect for him as they had for Uncle François.
“Always obey your Uncle François and your Uncle Charles,” she was continually told.
That was what they all wished to impress upon her. Even her new brother—whom she discovered in her grandparents’ house—the Duc de Longueville, the son of her mother by her first husband, hinted and implied that it was her duty.
Everyone was telling her that the most important thing in the world was the power of the Guises, and as she played with her Marys she could not completely forget it. She felt like a plant in a forcing house on those occasions in the perfumed chamber of the Cardinal when he talked to her of her duty and how she must make young François her completely devoted slave so that he gave way to her in all things.
“When you are older,” said the Cardinal, putting his hands on her shoulders and pressing her small body to his, “when you begin to bud into womanhood, then, my sweet and beautiful niece, you must learn how to make the Dauphin entirely yours.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Cardinal.”
He laid his cool lips against her forehead, and, when she received his kiss, for some reason she could not understand she began to tremble.
WHEN MARY returned to Court the excitement regarding the King and Diane had reached its zenith, for Diane was recovered and had come back to Court.
Mary overheard strange whispers.
“Now the fun will start.”
“While the cat is away the mice play.”
“And do you know that mice are very fertile?”
“My dear Duchesse!”
“My dear Count, I assure you, I have noticed!”
Lady Fleming, Mary realized, was more excited than ever.
One day when Mary was in her apartment, she heard her governess talking to one of the Queen’s ladies. Janet was saying: “Yes, it is true, and God be thanked for it. I am with child by the King and I feel honored. I feel so full of health. There is some magical property in the royal blood, I’ll swear!”
Mary was astounded. She decided she would seek out Lady Fleming and demand a full explanation; but when she sought her she could not find her. None of the attendants appeared to know what had happened to her. The King was riding with Madame de Valentinois who had returned from Anet. She was somewhat frail but more beautiful than ever, and the King was like a devoted husband who, after a long separation, is able to enjoy the beloved company of his wife. He could not leave the Duchesse’s side; he must spend every minute with her. Perhaps he wished to explain a little affair in which he had regrettably indulged during her absence; perhaps he wished to tell her that it should never have happened—and would not, had she been there—that it had been begun in a moment of desperate longing for herself.
And she would understand. She would tell him that she understood him now as she had when he was a shy prince with no thought of mounting the throne. She had shown him how to act like a great prince; now she would show him how to act like a great king.
Life would be as it had always been at Court. Queen Diane would rule through the King; those entwined initials H and D were as firm as they had ever been, as closely entwined. The foolish Fleming woman would have to be banished from Court and then forgotten. It was no indiscretion to bear the King’s bastard. The folly lay in boasting of the honor.
The Queen of France agreed with her husband and his mistress. She was eager to help. Would the King allow her to deal with this little matter? He knew how she abhorred scandal. The little peccadillo she accepted. It was inevitable. It was the flouting of Court etiquette that she could not endure.
The King and Diane were grateful to her. Neither of them wished to hear any more of the disposal of the matter, which they felt sure could be left entirely to the Queens capable handling.