Hysteria Page 13

  Unlike most of the executions that took place in the castle, this one was not open for the people or members of court to attend. Only Francis, his guard, and his personal healer were present. Before them, the executioner sharpened his ax by the chopping block.

  “I’m not too late, am I?”

  There was one more attendee: Catherine.

  “Do you need to be here, Mother?” Francis asked, glancing at Mary, who kept her eyes trained straight ahead. “This is not a public execution.”

  Catherine looked aghast. “You think I’m here for titillation?” she asked, pressing her hands to her chest. “Francis, I am offended. This little urchin was found in my chambers, was trying to kill me. I want to make sure the job is done properly. If it were up to me, she’d have been drawn and quartered. An ax to the neck is no punishment for making an attempt on the life of a queen.”

  “Former queen,” Mary intoned, without looking at her mother-in-law.

  “Good morning, Mary,” Catherine said warmly. “And how are you on this beautiful spring day?”

  Ada leaned back, peering at Catherine from behind Mary’s skirts, still holding tight to her hand.

  “That must be the little sister,” Catherine said, offering a wave and a smile. Ada waved back, grinning. “Clearly it’s an odd little thing. That or she’s just relieved she isn’t bound for the chopping block as well. Or at least, not yet.”

  Across the courtyard, a tall gate opened and a dozen of the king’s guards marched in, holding Alys, her wrists bound, in front of them. Even though Mary had just seen her, just spoken to her, seeing the girl in the courtyard was unbelievable. She looked so small, so confused. Surrounded by tall men in shining silver armor, she was nothing more than a young girl, too scared to even speak.

  “Mary, I’m here.” Bash appeared at Mary’s side, squeezing her arm tightly and taking Ada’s other hand. Francis looked over at his half brother, a dark look passing between them, but Bash made no move to surrender his place beside Mary.

  “Any word on Kenna or Greer?” Mary asked, her voice thick but steady.

  Bash shook his head. “Their horses were missing from the stable. As soon as this is over, I’m taking a dozen men out to look for them.”

  Mary blinked at his words. “As soon as this is over,” she echoed.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That was thoughtless of me, I only meant—”

  “It really is going to be fine,” Ada said, her singsong voice cutting through the cold, dark morning. Even as Alys was led over to the chopping block and the blindfold tied around her head, Ada was still smiling.

  “It’s definitely an imbecile,” Catherine marveled.

  “Mother, be quiet,” Francis commanded.

  Flicking him a look, Catherine complied. There was no need to be quite so smug in the face of victory, she reminded herself.

  “Oh.” Ada pulled on Mary’s and Bash’s hands, excited. “This is when they come.”

  Their eyes met in confusion but before either could speak, the sound of hooves thundered through the courtyard, two horses rearing in front of the dozens of guards who blocked any potential escape route.

  “That’s Kenna,” Bash said, letting go of Ada’s hand and rushing down the steps into the courtyard.

  “And Greer.” Mary picked Ada up in her arms and followed Bash.

  “Stop!” Kenna shouted at the top of her voice, throwing herself from her horse and running over to Alys, already blindfolded but not yet unbound. “Stop everything, she didn’t do it!”

  Catherine turned to her son and sighed heavily. “I do wish you’d learn to control your little friends,” she said. “If it’s not Mary, it’s Lady Kenna. If it’s not Kenna, it’s Bash. Do something.”

  Francis looked at his mother, his mouth agape.

  “Do something,” she said again. “Are you the King of France or not?”

  “I am the King of France,” he replied. “And I will hear the evidence of my friends.”

  Leaving his mother fuming on the balcony, Francis jogged down the steps, praying that Kenna and Greer really did have proof of Alys’s innocence.

  “She didn’t do it,” Greer said, rushing to Mary and thrusting her leather satchel at Francis. “It was Duquesne. The village elder in Auxerre. He wanted to build a mill on Février lands. We went to his house and found all manner of notebooks and poisons.”

  “He was friends with Alys’s parents.” Kenna took over the story while Greer caught her breath and presented the notebook to the king. “But they wouldn’t let him build a mill on their land. And his son died and Henry took away his lands and he had nothing and he wanted the mill so badly.”

  “Are you all right?” Bash asked, holding his wife to him so tightly she couldn’t even speak. “I cannot believe you did this, you foolish girl.”

  “I did it for you,” Kenna said, pushing him away. “I did this to show you I am the woman you want me to be. You were right, someone had to prove that Alys was innocent, and we did that.”

  “Not before Kenna got herself locked in the prison and almost poisoned,” Greer said, embracing Mary and Ada. “Also, we might have had to injure one or two people to escape, but truly, Francis, it was for the greater good.”

  Bash looked at Kenna with wonderment. “I didn’t mean what I said.” He took hold of her shoulders and held her tightly. “I was angry and frustrated. You could never disappoint me. I love you, you brave, bold, wonderful woman.”

  Kenna sank into his kiss, the entire last twenty-four hours forgotten for that brief moment.

  “Kenna?” Bash asked as he broke away. “Why are you carrying a skillet?”

  She looked down at the cast iron frying pan and shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she said. “One I will share later. Francis, Your Grace.” She turned to the king. “Alys’s innocence is unquestionable. Duquesne gave away everything and what he didn’t tell us is in that notebook and stored away in those jars. Have your healers look at them; I’m certain they’ll confirm the side effects from overdosing on these herbs were the cause of the deaths in Auxerre.”

  Francis leafed through the notebook, scanning the pages marked in red with Greer’s encouragement. Mary looked on, her heart racing.

  “Guard,” Francis shouted, closing the book with a snap. “Untie the prisoner at once.”

  “Thank you,” Mary mouthed as Ada raced across the courtyard and the sisters embraced.

  “We must dispatch men to Auxerre immediately,” he said to Bash. “If this Duquesne knows Kenna and Greer escaped with this evidence, who knows what he will do.”

  Bash nodded. “I will lead them,” he said, to Kenna’s dismay.

  She clutched at his hand, pulling him away. “Please don’t go back there,” she begged. “He’s a madman. I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “He will come to court and he will answer for his crimes,” Bash promised. “Trust me, Kenna. This man imprisoned you. He tried to kill you. I will have his head for that.”

  “This is all well and good,” Catherine called down from the balcony, interrupting the happy scene. “But this execution had nothing to do with Auxerre. Are we to pretend two of our servants were not murdered while they slept?”

  “Not at all,” Mary said, turning to face her head on. “But I do believe the medic I asked to look at the bodies will have ascertained the cause of death by now.”

  Catherine paled visibly. “There was no cause of death,” she said. “My servants told you that.”

  “And Alys showed me how to make a poultice that will show whether or not someone was poisoned,” Mary said, truly smiling for the first time that day. “The results won’t be clear for another few hours. It couldn’t have saved Alys’s life but it would have cleared her name.”

  “If they were poisoned, there must be a poisoner,” Francis said. “But who would stand to gain from framing Alys for their deaths?”

  “Who indeed?” Bash turned to stare at the queen mother.

  �
�Well, it’s all quite obvious, isn’t it?” Catherine replied. “Any fool can see what happened here.”

  “Enlighten us,” Mary said. “Please.”

  Catherine shook her head as though they were all quite simple. “There must have been a second servant from Auxerre. They poisoned the first to take suspicion off the village and then the second to place it squarely on the girl,” she said. “Duquesne must have had people in the castle ever since Henry took his lands, just waiting for the opportunity to strike at us all. The poor girl was nothing more than a pawn.”

  Mary and Bash exchanged an incredulous glance. It was not by chance that Catherine had kept her head this long.

  “I shall have all the servants questioned,” she continued, sweeping out of the courtyard and back inside the castle. “We shall have the culprit on the rack by midday.”

  “Does that mean I’m not to be executed?” Alys asked in a small voice. Mary turned to see the sisters arm in arm, head pressed against blond head. In all the excitement, the adults had almost forgotten two lives were at the center of the story.

  “It means you are free,” Mary confirmed. “You will not be harmed now.”

  The executioner sighed and marched off through the gate. As he vanished from sight, Mary felt a flood of relief throughout her body.

  “I hope you will accept our deepest apologies,” Francis said, bowing low before both girls. “You are officially pardoned by the King of France and any charges brought against you in the village of Auxerre are to be revoked.”

  Alys breathed out slowly, a look of peace coming over her. “So no one will think I’m a witch if I go back to Auxerre?” she asked.

  “If you choose to return to Auxerre, I will send guards to ensure your safety,” Francis said. “But if you decide not to return, we could find a new healer for you to study under, if you would like.”

  Alys’s eyes lit up. “I would like that very much,” she said, curtsying before the king. “There is nothing for us in Auxerre anymore. I think we would like to try a new life. Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Francis smiled at the girl and then at Mary before turning to his brother with a far more businesslike expression. “Bash, with me,” he said, striding away toward the stables. “I want this Duquesne brought in immediately, and by dawn tomorrow, I want him on the rack.”

  “Your Grace?” Alys said softly as the queen, nursing a mixture of pride and relief, watched her husband walk away. “Mary?”

  “Yes?” Mary turned toward her new friend, still barely able to believe what had just happened.

  “You told Queen Catherine that I had shown you how to make something that would prove I was innocent,” she said, rubbing at her wrists where they had been bound. “But I didn’t.”

  Mary bit her lip and smiled. “Oh, that,” she replied. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  Alys eyed the queen carefully. “I still don’t remember how I came to be in her chambers,” Alys said. “But I knew her. I’ve seen her before, in Auxerre. For a while, I couldn’t remember her at all but now it’s all coming back.”

  “Yes,” Mary said, placing her arm around the girl’s shoulders and drawing her back inside. “I know. And I know she has done some terrible things, but what you must remember is that Catherine is not the kind of woman you want for an enemy. If I were you, I would let her believe that you still don’t remember anything. I think you would be safer that way. Sometimes it’s safer for all of us to pretend.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Catherine lay on her bed later that day, a cool washcloth on her forehead and her favorite Parisian chocolates at her side. She hated it when a day did not go according to plan.

  “Can I get you anything else, Your Grace?” asked Marthe, her maid. She was a slender redheaded girl who recognized her dark moods and as such, had long been a favorite of Catherine’s. But today the queen mother couldn’t stand to have anyone around her.

  “Just draw the drapes and give word that I’m not to be disturbed. Candlelight soothes my head,” she said, her brow creased with the unpleasantness of the morning. “And oh, Marthe, the new girl, Veronique?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Remind me where she’s from?” Catherine pressed tenderly against her temples. She definitely had a headache coming. “Is it anywhere near Auxerre?”

  “It could be, Your Grace,” Marthe replied, knowing full well that Veronique came from Bourdain, two days’ ride south of Auxerre, just like her elder sister before her. “I think perhaps she is.”

  “Excellent.” She gave the maid a polite but disingenuous smile. “Have her sent to the dungeons, I’ll deal with the rest later.”

  Marthe, checking that all the candles were lit and there was wine in the crystal decanter, left with a curtsy, and Catherine draped the cool washcloth over her eyes. Sighing, she made a mental note to have Veronique executed before Francis could ask any questions. It was tedious. Mary would hold this victory over her until the end of forever.

  “Some people have no sense of the bigger picture,” she muttered to herself as a cool chill swept through her room. “If you left that window open, you’ll find yourself on the rack next to the new girl,” she called to her maid, pulling the washcloth off her face.

  But instead of finding an open window, Catherine found visitors.

  Alys and Ada stood in front of her locked chamber door, their blond hair and pale skin illuminated by dozens of flickering candles.

  “What are you doing in here?” Catherine asked, sitting bolt upright on her bed. “How did you get into my chambers? Where are my guards?”

  Alys smiled kindly. “Don’t worry,” she said, picking up one of the ornate jars on Catherine’s dressing table. “We’re leaving now. Your secrets are all safe. We won’t ever tell.”

  “What secrets?” Catherine was unnerved. Although she tried not to show it, she was afraid. How had they gotten into her chamber without Marthe or the guards seeing them? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Opening the jar, Alys took out a dried leaf and rubbed it between her fingers. “Foxglove,” she said, sniffing the herb. “Stimulates but can cause the heart to fail completely,” she said. “As if the person who had taken it had just died for no reason.”

  “This is insanity.” Catherine suddenly remembered who she was. Rising from her bed, she stood by the window, her golden gown gleaming in the candlelight. “Leave at once,” she commanded. “Before I call my guards and have you taken back to the dungeon, where you belong. And this time, there will be no last-minute miracle.”

  “You’re perfectly safe,” Ada said, her voice chiming off the walls of Catherine’s room. Both girls looked amused and not the least bit scared. “No one will ever hurt you.”

  Catherine shrank back by inches as they stepped closer.

  “Sometimes I have special dreams,” Ada whispered. “More and more these days. Every day since my parents died.”

  “You see the future.” Catherine took a deep breath. Ever since she had lost Nostradamus, she had felt the lack of her magician, and here was another right in front of her. A young girl who could be molded, trained. But it was too late. She had already made her into an enemy.

  Ada nodded. “You’re going to live a long and healthy life,” she said. “No harm will ever come to you. You will always have power and you will be remembered for centuries to come.”

  “Is that so?” Catherine’s curiosity overwhelmed her fear. Nostradamus had prophesied that Francis would die a year into his union with Mary, and she would give almost anything to hear someone tell her that was not true. Of all her children, it was Francis she favored most. The thought of losing him was too much to bear. “What else can you tell me? What of Francis? Of all my children?”

  “I can tell you that your long and healthy life won’t matter very much,” the little girl said. “You will be powerful in France until the day you die but when you do, you will leave this life a lonely old woman without the comfo
rt of family or friends. All your children will die untimely deaths. You will outlive all but two and they will not be beside you when you pass.”

  Grabbing at the rosary she kept by her bed, Catherine shook her head violently at her visitors. “You’re wrong,” she said, smiling through her fear. “You’re trying to scare me. You know nothing of my future or the fates of my family. You’re just children.”

  Alys and her sister exchanged a glance. Another chill blew through Catherine’s room and every single flame guttered for a moment before extinguishing completely. Every flame except for the candle that Alys held.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “We’re leaving now. All your secrets are safe.”

  Ada reached up on her tiptoes and blew out the candle, leaving Catherine in complete and utter darkness. Unable to stop herself, she let out a scream, squeezing her rosary so tight around her fingers that she drew blood.

  “What is it, Your Grace?” Marthe threw open the door, nothing on her face but concern.

  Catherine looked around the room. The girls were gone. The candles were lit.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, gingerly peeling the beads from around her fingers and setting them back down on the nightstand. “I must have fallen asleep for a moment. Really, I’m fine.”

  Marthe gave her a look, hesitating by the door.

  “I said I’m fine,” Catherine repeated, her voice steady and commanding. Marthe nodded and closed the door. Holding the cool washcloth in her hands, Catherine looked over at her dressing table.

  The jar of foxglove was gone.

  It was almost sunset when Mary finally found herself alone. She sat by the castle lake, watching the evening draw while a pair of swans swept along before her. The sunset was far more beautiful than the dawn and with considerably less threat of wrongful execution. She had waved Alys and Ada off in her carriage, set for Chambord, to study under the healer at the royal family’s chateau. She had stood in the road, watching the carriage take the two girls away, knowing they would be safe in Chambord and cared for by someone she knew to be a close friend of Nostradamus and a loyal friend to Francis, having taken care of the king when he was a boy. Still, she was sad to watch them go.