I permitted the chief serving man entry to dust and clean only on the night of your arrival.”
“The chief serving man?”
“Henri has served you for years, Monseigneur. He would — ”
“Call him.”
“At once!”
The chief serving man returned to face his seigneur with twitching hands, his eyes fixated on the chest as though he expected a cobra to slowly raise its head.
The chamberlain spoke for them both. “The two of us will lay our necks to the chopping block, Monseigneur, if I thought for even one moment that either of us failed in our duty to guard the inner palais château during your courageous absence.”
“I do not doubt the loyalty of either of you, so there is no need to carry on about chopping blocks. Just tell me when someone might have had undue access to my chambers. Mademoiselle believes there may have been a singular time when the Comte Beauvilliers entered. Do either of you recall this?”
The chamberlain was adamant in his denial, but the serving man looked at Rachelle then at Fabien, smoothing the front of his tunic with uneasy movements.
“Mademoiselle is correct, Monseigneur de Vendôme. She came here to take refuge for a few days after the Amboise rebellion, and Comte Beauvilliers was with her.”
“Yes! So it was,” she said quickly, remembering.
“Did either of you allow Beauvilliers to enter my chamber?”
The chamberlain exchanged a frown with the serving man.
“I saw him come out of this chamber, Monseigneur,” the serving man said, moistening his lips.
The chamberlain drew in a breath. “What! And you failed to tell me so?”
The serving man shot him a glance then focused on Fabien.
“When I asked le comte what he was doing in the Marquis de Vendôme’s chambers, he called me a prowling dog. He had merely entered the wrong chamber, he told me.”
“He had the key?” Fabien asked, arms folded, looking pointedly at the chamberlain, who was in charge.
The chamberlain blotted his forehead with a kerchief, looking at the chest. “He received no key from me, Monseigneur. Is — are there family jewels missing?”
“And I have no key, my lord Marquis,” the serving man hastened to say, looking pointedly at the chamberlain. He continued, “When I began to press Comte Beauvilliers on how he entered, he insisted the door was unlocked.”
“Did you notice if he carried anything, a book perhaps, a cloak?”
“No, my lord Marquis. Whereupon he insisted I bring one of your best wines to his guest chamber. I fear the event slipped away from me once the dark news of the slaughter of the Huguenots at Amboise castle came to us here.”
The chamberlain’s mouth tightened as he looked at the chief serving man. Fabien dismissed the two men, telling them the fault was not theirs. Even so, Rachelle saw that Fabien could not easily put the matter from his mind.
“Here is one more grievance against Maurice,” he said when they were alone. He scowled to himself, walking about, then after a moment, as the silence grew, he looked at her.
“My apology, belle amie.” He came swiftly to her and offered a smile, but she could see he fought inner anger over Maurice.
“This has not been the romantic atmosphere I had in mind when I brought you here to choose your wedding ring.”
He brought out the box of jewels. She sat down at a low table where a gilded lamp burned. He opened the box.
She drew in an audible breath. “Fabien, I have never seen such beauty.”
Her fingers caressed rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, topaz, pearls — all set in gold rings — as well as pendants and bracelets.
“So many to choose from!” she murmured, putting a hand to her forehead.
“There are more — but not here. Which one suits you for the ceremony?”
She laughed. “Which one? All! All are stunning.” She glanced at him.
“You must give me your opinion — which means the most to you?”
He did not hesitate to lift out a small gold box and open it. A ruby and diamond
“The chief serving man?”
“Henri has served you for years, Monseigneur. He would — ”
“Call him.”
“At once!”
The chief serving man returned to face his seigneur with twitching hands, his eyes fixated on the chest as though he expected a cobra to slowly raise its head.
The chamberlain spoke for them both. “The two of us will lay our necks to the chopping block, Monseigneur, if I thought for even one moment that either of us failed in our duty to guard the inner palais château during your courageous absence.”
“I do not doubt the loyalty of either of you, so there is no need to carry on about chopping blocks. Just tell me when someone might have had undue access to my chambers. Mademoiselle believes there may have been a singular time when the Comte Beauvilliers entered. Do either of you recall this?”
The chamberlain was adamant in his denial, but the serving man looked at Rachelle then at Fabien, smoothing the front of his tunic with uneasy movements.
“Mademoiselle is correct, Monseigneur de Vendôme. She came here to take refuge for a few days after the Amboise rebellion, and Comte Beauvilliers was with her.”
“Yes! So it was,” she said quickly, remembering.
“Did either of you allow Beauvilliers to enter my chamber?”
The chamberlain exchanged a frown with the serving man.
“I saw him come out of this chamber, Monseigneur,” the serving man said, moistening his lips.
The chamberlain drew in a breath. “What! And you failed to tell me so?”
The serving man shot him a glance then focused on Fabien.
“When I asked le comte what he was doing in the Marquis de Vendôme’s chambers, he called me a prowling dog. He had merely entered the wrong chamber, he told me.”
“He had the key?” Fabien asked, arms folded, looking pointedly at the chamberlain, who was in charge.
The chamberlain blotted his forehead with a kerchief, looking at the chest. “He received no key from me, Monseigneur. Is — are there family jewels missing?”
“And I have no key, my lord Marquis,” the serving man hastened to say, looking pointedly at the chamberlain. He continued, “When I began to press Comte Beauvilliers on how he entered, he insisted the door was unlocked.”
“Did you notice if he carried anything, a book perhaps, a cloak?”
“No, my lord Marquis. Whereupon he insisted I bring one of your best wines to his guest chamber. I fear the event slipped away from me once the dark news of the slaughter of the Huguenots at Amboise castle came to us here.”
The chamberlain’s mouth tightened as he looked at the chief serving man. Fabien dismissed the two men, telling them the fault was not theirs. Even so, Rachelle saw that Fabien could not easily put the matter from his mind.
“Here is one more grievance against Maurice,” he said when they were alone. He scowled to himself, walking about, then after a moment, as the silence grew, he looked at her.
“My apology, belle amie.” He came swiftly to her and offered a smile, but she could see he fought inner anger over Maurice.
“This has not been the romantic atmosphere I had in mind when I brought you here to choose your wedding ring.”
He brought out the box of jewels. She sat down at a low table where a gilded lamp burned. He opened the box.
She drew in an audible breath. “Fabien, I have never seen such beauty.”
Her fingers caressed rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, topaz, pearls — all set in gold rings — as well as pendants and bracelets.
“So many to choose from!” she murmured, putting a hand to her forehead.
“There are more — but not here. Which one suits you for the ceremony?”
She laughed. “Which one? All! All are stunning.” She glanced at him.
“You must give me your opinion — which means the most to you?”
He did not hesitate to lift out a small gold box and open it. A ruby and diamond
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