Queen's Ransom by Fiona Buckley Page A

her curious, guarded manner, had seen trouble enough, in losing her parents, and the brisk, sophisticated Marguerite had perhaps not been the best person to take charge of her. Whatever Marguerite had suffered in the past, I thought that she possessed the kind of personality that is toughened by adversity. Helene, perhaps, did not. I could only hope that what lay ahead for her wasn’t more and worse adversity.
    We were both on the window seat by now; two young women, side by side, talking, and I wished that Helene would not hold herself so stiffly. She seemed reluctant to let even our skirts come into contact. In my most friendly voice, I said: “The Faldene family, into which you are to marry, is also my own family. Faldene House, where you will live, is in some ways similar to Douceaix, and there is no lack of money.”
    “I am sure of it,” said Helene. “I am mindful of all that is being done for me. I will be as biddable as anyone could wish.”
    “I hope you will be happy in England,” I said.
    “I think not.” Helene folded her hands in her black woolen lap. “It is a heretic country. I would rather stay here. But no doubt my mother’s death and this journey to England and this marriage are the will of God for me and one must accept the will of God. I have been educated, madam, at the Abbey of St. Marc, where there is a community of nuns. I would have chosen to stay there and take the veil myself had I been allowed. My mother had already nearly agreed to it. But then she died and Cousin Henri brought me here, and said that under my mother’s will, which she made when my father died and had never altered, I must pass into the care of my English uncle. Now he has come to take me to England. Well, the nuns taught me that obedience is a virtue, above all in women. You, and my guardian, and my husband when I am married, can be assured of my obedience. But willingness, happiness; these I cannot command and would not if I could. I belong to the true faith, and to live where an untrue faith holds sway will for me be exile.”
    I was staggered, as much by the exquisite phrasing as by the uncompromising sentiments, which were those of a woman much older than sixteen.
    “The Faldene family,” I said, “hold by what you call the true faith. You will not be cut off from it.” I tried to lighten the atmosphere. “You put your views very well, even melodiously. Do you enjoy poetry? There is a tradition of poetry in England that you may find gives you pleasure.”
    “There is a tradition of poetry in France that has long given me pleasure,” said Helene. “No other can compare.” She slipped from the seat and curtsied again. “If you will excuse me, madam, I must change my dress. My maid Jeanne awaits me. Jeanne, alas, does not wish to come to England. I shall miss her. You and I will meet at supper. We understand each other, I think. I will give you no trouble, I assure you.”
    She went out, closing the door after her, and Dale, who had stopped unpacking and sat back on her heels to listen to all this with wide, shocked eyes, gazed at me in wonder.
    “No trouble? Biddable? Ma’am, that is trouble with a stiff neck, if I may say so.”
    “You may. I couldn’t put it better myself. Well,” I said, “Master Blanchard is her guardian, not me. I wish him—and Edward Faldene—joy of her, I must say!”
     
    Supper was taken formally, in a gracious dining chamber adjacent to the tusked and antlered hall. The table was set in a wide window bay and was a work of art, with a great silver salt in the middle of it, which instantly brought back to my mind the spectacular salts, silver and gold, which must still lie under the floor of that warehouse in Antwerp. One day, I supposed, that floor would grow rotten and need to be replaced, or someone would drop a valuable coin or a precious ring down a crack in the floorboards and have them up to get at it, and come across treasure trove. I wondered if I would ever hear