she had obviously heard more than I thought of the minder’s words. ‘Who can tell, my little one? It is a nasty noise anyway. But we can run away from it. Come with me!’
I gathered them up and swept them downstairs to Madame la Bonne’s abandoned chamber. Her big tester bed had heavy velvet curtains, which I drew closely around us. As we huddled together in the flickering light of an oil lamp, I made up a story pretending we were fugitives who had sought sanctuary in a secret chapel where only God could find us. The warmth and intimacy of the curtained bed with its feather pillows and fur-lined covers seemed to comfort them for, royal though they were, they had never experienced such luxury and at least the thick hangings deadened the noise from outside. There was no more mention of the manic laughter or the screaming man.
I could find no comfort myself however. When the children had fallen asleep and the lamp had spluttered and died, I lay between them in the stifling darkness, wide-eyed and rigid with fear. Echoes of the king’s cackle summoned nightmare images of the tavern stories Jean-Michel had relayed, of winged demons sent flitting through the night by sorcerers. I imagined flocks of malevolent creatures clinging to the bed hangings, carrying the taint of madness on their breath and infecting the black shadows. Convinced that their very breath could send me mad, I buried myself in the bedclothes muttering a string of Aves. It was hours before I slept.
The terrors of the night were nothing compared with the horror of waking. Jerked out of sleep by a loud metallic clang, I opened my eyes just as the curtains were hauled back by an armoured figure brandishing a naked blade. My shrill scream was underscored by the panic-stricken wails of the children who instinctively dived behind me into the protective pile of Madame la Bonne’s pillows. I am not brave, but in that instant anger overcame my fear and I reared up like a spitting she-cat to confront our assailant. What a pathetic sight that must have been – rumpled linen versus burnished steel!
‘In here, my lord!’ yelled the anonymous intruder, his dagger aimed at my throat.
I recoiled, clutching at the yawning neck of my chemise and demanding divine protection and information in one hoarse, garbled screech. ‘God save us – who are you – what do you want?’
‘Calm yourself, Madame,’ the man advised. ‘His grace of Burgundy would speak with you.’
Even had I dared, there was no opportunity to protest that this was hardly a convenient moment to receive the noble duke, for in that instant an even more terrifying figure parted the curtains at the foot of the bed with a movement so violent it tore the hooks from their rail. His grace of Burgundy, framed in blood-red velvet. I let out another scream.
Encased to the neck in black and gold armour, his presence loomed like an incarnation of the demons of the night. The very smell of him seemed to rob the air of life; not the natural odour of male sweat, but a sweet cloying scent, like rotting fruit. And his face matched his armour, dark in every way; expression grim, complexion swarthy, grey eyes deep-socketed, cheeks shadowed with several days’ growth of beard, black brows thick and bristling and a nose hooked like a meat-cleaver over a fleshy, purple mouth.
‘Where is the dauphin?’ this demon demanded, peering past me at the small legs and feet protruding from the pillows. ‘Who are you hiding there? Take a look, Deet.’
The man with the dagger flung me roughly aside and hauled Catherine from her refuge. The brave little girl kicked and fought, but she was as powerless as a fly in a web. Cursing, the knight dumped her at arm’s length and reached for Charles, who immediately set up a scream of astonishing volume.
‘That is not the dauphin,’ observed the duke, raising his voice above the din and eyeing Charles with distaste. ‘Too small. You, Madame, tell me immediately, where is the dauphin? Deet, help her to think.’
To my relief, I saw the dagger sheathed but then I felt my arm almost wrenched from my shoulder as I was dragged off the bed and thrown to the floor at the duke’s feet. The pain was no more fierce however than his basilisk glare. In that split second he seemed like evil incarnate and I did not believe that such an ogre could have the best interests of the royal children at heart, certainly not more than even the most neglectful mother, as the queen undoubtedly was. Inwardly I resolved to tell him nothing and, in any case, I was trembling with fear and tongue-tied.
‘Well?’ His gold-tipped metal foot tapped. ‘I know who you are, Madame, and your family is no friend to Burgundy, so it would be foolish to make me lose my temper.’
It was suddenly clear to me that the duke had concluded that I was Madame la Bonne. It was an understandable mistake, given that I had been found in the governess’ quarters and even in her bed, but it was not an identity I wished to own to, especially in present circumstances.
‘I am not Madame la Bonne, sir,’ I hastened to reveal, panic restoring my voice. No wonder the governess had fled. God alone knew how she and her family had offended Burgundy, but I did not wish to carry the blame for it. ‘She has left. I do not know why, but when I looked for her and the tutor yesterday evening they were nowhere to be found.’
The duke began to pace the floor. For a moment I feared he was not going to believe me, but something obviously convinced him of my ignoble roots. He began muttering, thinking aloud.
‘Left, has she? I am not surprised. She fled because she is corrupt and greedy, like all the queen’s ladies. However, she will be found and punished for abandoning her charges. But she is unimportant. What I need to know immediately is the whereabouts of the dauphin.’ His voice had risen and his pacing had brought him back to me. Almost casually, he grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head upwards, forcing me to look at him. ‘You can tell me that can you not, whoever you are?’
The burst of pain brought tears to my eyes and I thought my scalp would split. ‘No!’ I yelped. ‘I cannot. I am only a nursemaid. The queen came with the Duke of Orleans and took the dauphin and his brother and sister. I do not know where they went.’
‘I do not believe you,’ he snarled, hurling me away from him so that I cannoned into the steel-clad legs of the other man. I felt a fearful crunch in my neck as my head whipped back and tears of pure terror began to course down my cheeks.
‘Do not do that!’ Through blurred vision I saw Catherine hurl herself at the duke’s armoured leg, hammering at the gleaming metal with her fists. I shouted a warning and scrambled forward, but I could not reach her before he did, bending to snatch her up and hold her level with his face, her bare feet dangling helplessly. She was stunned into silence, mesmerised by his predatory glare.
‘You are a little shrew, are you not, Mademoiselle?’ he hissed, eyes glinting with anger.
‘Do not hurt her!’ I screamed in desperation. ‘She is only a child.’
The duke shot me a look of cold venom. ‘When the hawk swoops, it does not ask the age of its prey,’ he snapped. His eyes drilled into Catherine’s, his hooked beak almost touching her nose. ‘Now, little shrew, you tell me where your brother is. I take it you are the dauphin’s sister?’
Catherine stuck out her chin, her mouth clamped shut. His cruel treatment had brought out her stubborn streak and I feared the result. ‘She is not yet four, my lord,’ I protested. ‘How can she know anything? These two are only babes.’
The duke sneered. ‘I have children and I know that they understand a great deal more than you think.’ He shook
