about it.
Both Luke Blanchard and Helene were there before me and had already been introduced when I came in. I was greeted with smiles, and the rest of the family were presented to me. Henri and Marguerite had three children, all of them neat, quiet, and charmingly well behaved, as one would expect of Marguerite’s offspring. A very wizened elderly woman, who came in just after me, leaning on a stick and supported by a maid, proved to be Madame Antoinette, Henri’s mother.
“
Maman,
you should eat in your chamber. It is too much for you to come to the dining room,” Henri exclaimed, scolding affectionately, as the maid settled her in her chair.
“I desired to see our guests, especially the Seigneur Luke,” said Madame Antoinette. “I see that although he is so distant a cousin, there is nevertheless a likeness. I am pleased. We Blanchards are a handsome family.” Here, she gave my father-in-law a glance that verged on the coquettish, and briefly, I glimpsed the pretty and flirtatious Antoinette of half a century ago. She also added, with the outspokenness you often find in aging people: “Well, usually handsome,” and shot a glance at Helene. Poor Helene, I thought, didn’t fit into this household. Perhaps she would find her feet among the Faldenes. I had been miserable there, but Helene was very different from me.
I saw now that there was indeed a resemblance between Luke and his cousin. Luke Blanchard’s aquiline profile was not unlike Henri’s. Only, in Henri, it just looked strong and masculine, whereas in Luke, it seemed arrogant. I wondered what the female version would be like. Marguerite’s little girls were not yet old enough to display it, and Helene certainly hadn’t got it. Her nose was straight, pointed, and, alas, too long.
We had all changed our clothes. I had put on a favorite rose damask overgown, with a cream kirtle and sleeves and a fresh ruff. Luke, for once, was not in black but in dark blue slashed with crimson. Helene wore black velvet relieved by a deep violet kirtle and sleeves, and a white ruff edged in Spanish blackwork. I supposed that this represented mourning but it was so well done that it was also ornamental. I detected the hand of Marguerite in Helene’s choice of dress.
The fare was Lenten, but luxurious in its own fashion: grilled pike steaks with sorrel sauce, and a fish pie, tangy with verjuice. The conversation was in French. Luke was already being avuncular toward Helene and seemed to approve of her. He and Henri had made friends, and had apparently been talking together at some length.
“I hear that your guardian actually stayed at St. Marc on the way here,” Henri said to Helene. “Now, had I known he would come by that route, I would have left you in your convent and asked him to fetch you. St. Marc has stayed peaceful, so far. You could have spent a little longer with your nuns. Helene,” he added to Luke and to me, “greatly misses her schoolfellows and her teachers.”
“I was fetched away so suddenly,” Helene said in meek tones, with her eyes on her plate. “I hadn’t time to say a proper farewell to the nuns and the other girls, or to my confessor. I wish I could see them all again, just once.”
“Well, we will think about it,” said my father-in-law jovially. “But we hope soon to give your thoughts a new direction. Before leaving for England, we are to go to Paris, where Ursula has an errand. Ursula is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth and has been asked to visit the French court to present her queen’s compliments. We carry diplomatic protection. We shall take the opportunity to present you at the court of your own land, too, Helene.”
Watching him, I wondered if he did after all have sympathy for Helene, as well as regarding her as a source of profit. Probably he had. How could one not sympathize with an orphaned girl who was about to be wrenched away from all she had ever known?
“You would like to see Paris, would you not?” I
Both Luke Blanchard and Helene were there before me and had already been introduced when I came in. I was greeted with smiles, and the rest of the family were presented to me. Henri and Marguerite had three children, all of them neat, quiet, and charmingly well behaved, as one would expect of Marguerite’s offspring. A very wizened elderly woman, who came in just after me, leaning on a stick and supported by a maid, proved to be Madame Antoinette, Henri’s mother.
“
Maman,
you should eat in your chamber. It is too much for you to come to the dining room,” Henri exclaimed, scolding affectionately, as the maid settled her in her chair.
“I desired to see our guests, especially the Seigneur Luke,” said Madame Antoinette. “I see that although he is so distant a cousin, there is nevertheless a likeness. I am pleased. We Blanchards are a handsome family.” Here, she gave my father-in-law a glance that verged on the coquettish, and briefly, I glimpsed the pretty and flirtatious Antoinette of half a century ago. She also added, with the outspokenness you often find in aging people: “Well, usually handsome,” and shot a glance at Helene. Poor Helene, I thought, didn’t fit into this household. Perhaps she would find her feet among the Faldenes. I had been miserable there, but Helene was very different from me.
I saw now that there was indeed a resemblance between Luke and his cousin. Luke Blanchard’s aquiline profile was not unlike Henri’s. Only, in Henri, it just looked strong and masculine, whereas in Luke, it seemed arrogant. I wondered what the female version would be like. Marguerite’s little girls were not yet old enough to display it, and Helene certainly hadn’t got it. Her nose was straight, pointed, and, alas, too long.
We had all changed our clothes. I had put on a favorite rose damask overgown, with a cream kirtle and sleeves and a fresh ruff. Luke, for once, was not in black but in dark blue slashed with crimson. Helene wore black velvet relieved by a deep violet kirtle and sleeves, and a white ruff edged in Spanish blackwork. I supposed that this represented mourning but it was so well done that it was also ornamental. I detected the hand of Marguerite in Helene’s choice of dress.
The fare was Lenten, but luxurious in its own fashion: grilled pike steaks with sorrel sauce, and a fish pie, tangy with verjuice. The conversation was in French. Luke was already being avuncular toward Helene and seemed to approve of her. He and Henri had made friends, and had apparently been talking together at some length.
“I hear that your guardian actually stayed at St. Marc on the way here,” Henri said to Helene. “Now, had I known he would come by that route, I would have left you in your convent and asked him to fetch you. St. Marc has stayed peaceful, so far. You could have spent a little longer with your nuns. Helene,” he added to Luke and to me, “greatly misses her schoolfellows and her teachers.”
“I was fetched away so suddenly,” Helene said in meek tones, with her eyes on her plate. “I hadn’t time to say a proper farewell to the nuns and the other girls, or to my confessor. I wish I could see them all again, just once.”
“Well, we will think about it,” said my father-in-law jovially. “But we hope soon to give your thoughts a new direction. Before leaving for England, we are to go to Paris, where Ursula has an errand. Ursula is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth and has been asked to visit the French court to present her queen’s compliments. We carry diplomatic protection. We shall take the opportunity to present you at the court of your own land, too, Helene.”
Watching him, I wondered if he did after all have sympathy for Helene, as well as regarding her as a source of profit. Probably he had. How could one not sympathize with an orphaned girl who was about to be wrenched away from all she had ever known?
“You would like to see Paris, would you not?” I
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