Page 260 of A Column of Fire

The bailiff said: ‘No jewellery. I will inspect the bag as you leave.’

She made no reply, but turned on her heel and left the room with her head held high.

Pierre could hardly contain his impatience. Soon he would have this woman under his control.

The marchioness was no relation to the Guises, and stood on the opposite side in the religious war, but somehow in Pierre’s mind they were the same. The Guises used him as their advisor and hatchet man but, even now, they disdained him socially. He was their most influential and highly rewarded servant, but still a servant; always invited to a council of war and never to a family dinner. He could not be revenged for that rejection. But he could punish Louise.

She returned with a leather bag stuffed full. The bailiff, true to his threat, opened it and took everything out. She had packed dozens of pieces of beautiful silk and linen underwear, embroidered and beribboned. It made Pierre think about what she might be wearing beneath her green dress today.

With characteristic arrogance she handed the bag to Pierre, as if he were a footman.

He did not disillusion her. That would come, in good time.

He led her outside. Biron and Brocard were waiting with the horses. They had brought an extra mount for the marchioness. They rode out of the Nîmes estate, entered Paris through St Jacques Gate, and followed the rue St Jacques to the Petit Pont. They crossed the Île de la Cité and made their way to a modest house not far from the Guise palace. Pierre dismissed Biron and Brocard and told them to take the horses home, then he escorted Louise inside. ‘You have the top floor,’ he told her.

‘Who else lives here?’ she said anxiously.

He answered truthfully. ‘A different tenant on each floor. Most of them have done work for the Guises in the past: a retired tutor, a seamstress whose eyesight has failed, a Spanish woman who does translations occasionally. All very respectable.’ And none willing to risk losing their place by displeasing Pierre.

Louise looked somewhat reassured.

They went up the stairs. Louise was panting when they reached the top. ‘This climb is going to tire me out,’ she complained.

Pierre was pleased. That meant she was already accepting that she would live here.

The maid bowed them in. Pierre showed Louise the salon, the kitchen, the scullery, and finally the bedroom. She was pleasantly surprised. Pierre had said it was not lavish but, in fact, he had furnished the small apartment expensively: he planned to spend time here.

Louise was evidently confused. Someone she thought of as an enemy was being generous to her. Pierre could see from her face that nothing was making sense. Good.

He closed the bedroom door, and she began to understand.

‘I remember staring at these,’ he said, and put his hands on her breasts.

She stepped back. ‘Did you expect me to become your mistress?’ she said scornfully.

Pierre smiled. ‘You are my mistress,’ he said, and the words delighted him. ‘Take off your dress.’

‘No.’

‘I’ll rip it off you.’

‘I’ll scream.’

‘Go ahead and scream. The maid is expecting it.’ He gave her a powerful shove and she fell back on the bed.

She said: ‘No, please.’

‘You don’t even remember,’ he snarled. ‘Even in Champagne, they should teach young men to be respectful to their superiors.That’s what you said to me, twenty-five years ago.’

She stared up at him in horrified incredulity. ‘And for that, you punish me like this?’

‘Open your legs,’ he said. ‘It’s only just begun.’

*

AFTERWARDS,WALKINGto the Guise palace, Pierre felt as he sometimes did after a feast: sated but slightly nauseated. He loved to see an aristocrat humiliated, but this had almost been too much. He would go back, of course; but perhaps not for a few days. She was rich food.

When he arrived home, he found, waiting for him in the parlour of his apartment, Rollo Fitzgerald, the Englishman he had codenamed Jean Langlais.