Prisoner Of Versailles

A Prisoner of Versailles | Golden Keyes Parsons, book 2 in the Darkness to Light series CHAPTER ONE “Go after her. Spare no expense. Go where you must, but bring Madeleine Clavell back to Versailles.” Captain Nicolas Maisson bowed to King Louis XIV. The musketeer’s blue tunic brushed the floor as he swept his hat around in a flourish. “Oui, Your Majesty.” “I want her oldest son as well.” The king rested against the front edge of his desk, his head lowered. The voluminous wig hid his eyes. He raised his head and stared past the soldier. He began to pace, and stopped to peer out of a window. “Is Versailles not the most beautiful palace in the world, not to mention the gardens?” “Yes, Your Majesty. None more enchanting in all the world.” “Why would one not yearn to be here?” The soldier did not answer. The king turned and with a wave of his hand dismissed the musketeer. “Be on your way. Take whomever you choose, and whatever forces you need. I would begin in Geneva, John Calvin’s bastion of Protestanism. That’s where most of the Huguenots flee.” The Catholic king’s lips tightened, and he clipped his words. “If she is not there, find someone who knows where she is.” Captain Maisson bowed and prepared to take leave of the king. “One more thing, Captain.” “Your Majesty?” “Unnecessary force is not to be employed. Not one hair of Madame Clavell’s head, nor of her son’s, is to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?”

Jacob Veron tied his horse to the hitching rail in front of the pub on the outskirts of Geneva and looked around to see who might be observing his arrival. The assistant to the pastor at the Cathedrale de St. Pierre preferred not to be seen here. He pulled the brim of his soft hat down around his face and entered the noisy scene. A few men looked in his direction, but didn’t appear to pay him any special attention. The air was thick with smoke and the odor of unwashed men, sweaty from travel. He found a secluded table in the back of the room and sat down. A young barmaid approached. “What’ll ya have?” “Just some ale.” “That’s all?” “That’s all.” “Don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. New in town?” “No … uh … well, actually yes. That is, I haven’t been here long.” The barmaid chatted as she wiped down the table. He wished she would take her leave. She went to the bar and returned with a stein of ale. The bodice of her dress was cut wide and low to reveal her ample bosom. She paused, bending over in front of him as she placed the goblet on the table. She was young enough that her teeth were still good, revealing a rather pleasant smile. “You wouldn’t be in the market for some company tonight, now would ya’?” Jacob stammered. “Oh … uh, no. I mean you’re very attractive, but I, uh, I’m here on business, or, uh, rather to meet a friend about a business, I mean … ” He hit the goblet and drops of the glistening liquor splattered on the table, before he caught it.

The barmaid swept it away with her towel, and laughed. “Didn’t mean to fluster ya. Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be around, chéri.” She smiled at him again and left. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief and gulped down the ale. You’d think I was a teen-ager. I must compose myself, or I’ll be discovered for certain. Presently Jacob watched two musketeers come into the room. He recognized them from when they sought him out at the Cathedrale. He stood so they could see him amidst the crowd. “Greetings, Monsieur Veron.” The taller man with a bulbous nose and squinty eyes spoke first and sat on the opposite side of the table. Jacob remembered his name to be Nicolas. The shorter man with the pock-marked face seemed to be on edge and did not sit down immediately. Jacob did not recall his name. “Did you bring the money?” “No offer of drinks for your new … ‘colleagues?’” Jacob stared at the two men. “Of course. How rude of me.” He motioned to the barmaid as the shorter man pulled up a chair. “Not nervous, are you, my friend?” Nicolas leaned across the table. “You are providing information valuable to the king of France. We’re not having second thoughts now, are we?” Nicolas’ penchant for asking rhetorical questions irritated Jacob. “Not at all. I just need to get back to the Cathedrale.” “Back to your pastoral duties?” The tense atmosphere at the table exploded in coarse laughter. “Tell me, Monsieur. Do all Huguenots exhibit such great loyalty as you?”

Jacob shifted in his chair. “My loyalty to King Louis surpasses my loyalty to any other.” “That’s what we like to hear. Give us the information we need and then you get the money.” He pulled a leather pouch from his tunic and threw it on the table. Jacob reached for the bag, and Nicolas’ huge paw of a hand clenched around his skinny arm. “Not until you give us the information.” “How do I know the full amount is in the purse?” “How do we know the information you are going to give us is accurate?” “It is. I guarantee it is.” “Bon! I guarantee the money is all there. I guess we are simply going to have to trust each other, non?” “Yes, I suppose so.” Jacob kept his eye on the money bag as he talked. “The king’s hunch is correct. Madame Clavell and her family did come to Geneva from their estate in Grenoble. They have found refuge in a small village about an hour north of here with a Pastor Gerard Du Puy and his family.” “What about her husband?” “You are in luck. He is ill, and from what I hear, close to death.” “Ah-h-h-h.” Nicolas voiced a sing-song response. “This is going to be easier than we thought.” “And her son?” “Which one? She has two.”

“The older one.” “Yes, he is with her. Appears to be around fifteen years old.” “Hmmm. That would be about right.” “Excuse me?” “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Nicolas shoved the money bag toward Jacob. “I remember Madame Clavell from the early days at Versailles, when she and King Louis were inseparable. It’s no surprise he can’t get her out of his head.” He paused “Well, ‘pastor.’ Enjoy your ‘thirty pieces of silver.’” The two Frenchmen scoffed and stood, as did Jacob. Jacob stuck the bag of coins in his belt. “Oh, one more thing that may be of interest to the king.” “What might that be?” “One of King Louis’ most trusted courtiers has been an accomplice in this whole matter.” Nicholas pulled his gloves from his belt. “That would certainly be of interest to the king. Who is it?” Jacob Veron looked behind him, his eyes scanning the noisy barroom scene. “It would be Pierre Boveé.” The larger man’s eyebrows arched in surprise. The smaller man spoke. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like drinking with weasels.” Once Jacob started regurgitating information, like a gossipy old woman, he didn’t seem able to stop his prideful revelations. “I have information from reliable sources that the Clavell

family is planning to leave Switzerland in a few days and make their way to Amsterdam to book passage for the New World. If you plan to, uh, ‘rescue’ her, that would be the time.” “Who will be with her? How many?” “Well, her husband, her three children. Her brother-in-law. A couple of servants, probably.” “What about Boveé?” “Maybe.” Jacob jabbed the air with his bony finger. “But, they won’t be able to withstand your attack. They’re not expecting trouble. I would stage it as a robbery. How many men do you have?” The musketeer captain narrowed his already squinty eyes. “We don’t need your advice on how to complete our mission. We will pick a time and place and use as little force as possible. The king does not want them harmed. He simply wants them back.” The two men pulled on their gloves. “And he will get them back. King Louis always gets whatever he desires, and he desires Madeleine Clavell. As for Monsieur Boveé, I predict his days are numbered.”

CHAPTER TWO The whispered words, “French spies” and “Huguenots,” halted Madeleine in her browsing in the Geneva market place. She paused, and lingered over a bolt of lace, in an attempt to be inconspicuous. Madeleine had shooed François and Pierre and the two Clavell brothers to the livery to look at saddles and bridles, so she could do some shopping. Vangie dawdled in front of the vendors and shops as they walked along the street. “Maman, where are we going?” “I would like to go to a dress shop.” She had searched the street. “I wonder what is in fashion these days. I feel so out of touch with the civilized world.” Madeleine looked at the coins in her hand. “It sounded like fun, just to be able to look.” “May I have a new bonnet?”

“Perhaps so. I would like to purchase fabric to make some things for you and the boys. All of you are growing out of your clothes. And would you like to find something for Suzanne and Armond’s little boy?” Vangie bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, Maman! Could we get him a toy?” “We shall see. And then, fruit. Madame Du Puy asked me to see if we could find some apples in the market place.” Madeleine had stopped in front of a small dress shop. “Let’s go in here, chérie. We have some time before we’re to meet your father and the boys.” “And Prince.” “Yes, and Prince.” “Why didn’t they come with us?” Madeleine laughed. “I think they prefer to look at saddles and harnesses than dresses and bonnets, don’t you?” Madeleine stuffed the coins in her draw-string bag, and hurried inside; the jingling of the bell on the door announced her entrance. Dark, highly polished wooden shelves reached to the ceiling on three sides of the shop. Hats and wigs rested on stands on the shelves, and bolts of fabric lay stacked on tables. She inhaled the odor of new fabric and dyes that echoed a more civilized time in her life. She touched the soft, silky fabrics, and lifted the heavy brocades. Madeleine tried on a bonnet with a ridiculously tall tower of ribbons, and looked in a wooden, framed cheval mirror and laughed at herself. She removed it quickly and replaced her own bonnet, tucking her hair around her face underneath the ruffle. She rearranged the curls to fall around her shoulders. Leaning into the mirror, she smoothed her dark eyebrows. She looked pale, so she pinched her cheeks

The conversation had come from two women in the corner of the store, as they tried on one hat after another. The milliner, a wiry, elderly woman with thick gray hair caught up under a lace cap, continued to bring new wares from the back of the shop for them. . Madeleine had sauntered through the store, and picked up a parasol. She opened it and twirled it around. Perhaps she could afford that. “Shhh.” The milliner glanced over her shoulder. Madeleine acted as if she hadn’t heard, and continued to walk back and forth between the bolts of material. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the younger of the two women show the shopkeeper a méreau, and they continued their conversation in hushed tones. The two women each purchased a hat, and exited the shop, leaving Madeleine alone with the shopkeeper. She bustled toward Madeleine, a gracious smile spreading across her face. “Does madame wish to purchase the parasol?” “Oh, why, yes, I believe I will.” Madeleine had almost forgotten she was still holding the apparatus. “Oui, Madame! It looks as if it were made for you. May I wrap it?” “Yes, thank you.” Madeleine shook some coins out of her bag. “How much will that be?” The shopkeeper quoted her a price, and as Madeleine counted the money, she included a méreau. The older woman looked at the coins in her hand, and shot a quick look at Madeleine. “I think you have given me too much.” “No, I don’t think so.” Madeleine picked up the new parasol along with the basket she had set on the counter. “Please, I’d like to inquire about the conversation I overheard with your two previous customers.” Before continuing, she located Vangie who was petting a kitty in the corner of the shop. In a whisper, she asked, “French spies? In Geneva?”

The milliner fingered the méreau in her hand and lowered her voice. “What I hear is that they are coming across the border, and paying our citizenry to expel Huguenots out of the cities. I understand the economy is suffering in France because so many of us … them … left the country and are setting up businesses in bordering countries. King Louis is livid, and is even reaching into other countries to try to lure the Huguenots back.” The lady scoffed. “But as soon as they are thrown out of a city through the front gate—at least in Switzerland—the authorities usher them back into the town through the back gate. The French are not gaining many sympathizers here.” She handed Madeleine back her méreau along with her change. “However, if those whom King Louis considers to be guilty of treason are caught, they are captured, and forced back into France to be taken to the Bastille.” Madeleine took the coins, and dropped them into her purse. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I will enjoy my new parasol, and I appreciate the information—more than you know.” The shopkeeper covered Madeleine’s hand with her own, and whispered, “God be with you.” “And with you. Come, Vangie.” Madeleine took her daughter by the hand and walked out of the shop, her mind reeling. She looked into the faces of men on the street as they swiveled their heads to look at her. French? Spies following her? A too-familiar sensation of panic began to overtake her. She picked up her skirt, and ran into the street, dragging Vangie with her. “Maman! Where are we going? You’re hurting my arm!” “Whoa, there, Madame!” Madeleine whirled around to face a horse rearing over her, and a buggy veering sharply to the curb. The skidding hooves narrowly missed Madeleine and Vangie, and clattered on the cobblestone street, as the driver slung his whip in the air, and struggled to bring the horse under

control. Vangie screamed. Madeleine scooped the child up in her arms and darted to the other side of the street. “Madeleine!” François appeared from behind a vegetable cart, and ran to her side. “Where are the boys?” Madeleine grabbed the ruffled sleeve of her husband’s jacket. “Where are my sons?” Her voice rose in alarm. “They are right there with Pierre. He pointed to an ornate iron bench on the sidewalk next to a fruit and vegetable cart. Pierre was talking to the vendor, as the boys chomped on bright red apples, oblivious to the close call their mother had just encountered. “What’s wrong? You nearly were run down.” Madeleine turned her back to Vangie, and leaned in to whisper to her husband. “I just learned from the owner of the millinery shop that Louis is sending spies into Switzerland to flush out the Huguenots.” François took Madeleine’s hands. “No wonder you are trembling. Calm down. We are safe for now. Here sit down.” Madeleine sat down on a bench and took a deep breath. “I know now we cannot stay here any longer. We must make immediate plans to leave—make a new home for ourselves somewhere else—somewhere beyond Louis’ reach.” “Where do you suggest? His arm is long indeed.” Madeleine’s bonnet had fallen off, and hung loosely by the emerald green ribbons around her neck. A breeze blew down the street, whipping up tendrils of her hair that had come unpinned. The moment seemed frozen in time. François reached toward her, and twirled one of the curls around his fingers. “Our destiny has taken a strange turn, has it not?” Vangie tugged at Madeleine’s skirt. François took Vangie’s hand. “Come with me,

Princess.” The nickname that Pierre had given her when he and Jean rescued her from the convent had stuck. “Let’s get the shopping done. Did you get a new bonnet?” Vangie continued to sniffle. “No. Maman scared me.” “I’m sorry, chérie. Madeleine stood and kissed Vangie on the cheek. “Maman reacted foolishly. Forgive me?” Vangie rubbed her eyes and nodded. The small party finished their errands with haste, and started back to the Du Puy’s farm.

The children sat in the bed of the wagon, comparing their new acquisitions—the boys fingering the harnesses and bridles, and Vangie, her new bonnet. The rocking of the wagon soon lulled Vangie and Charles to sleep, and Philippe munched on a piece of straw, leaning his head against the rough sideboards. Silence engulfed the adults. Only the clip-clopping of the horses broke through the late afternoon air. Madeleine and François stared at the horizon, the silence broken by one of François’ coughing spells. He reached into a knapsack and removed a flask. He took a swig of the potion, and his coughing slowed. Madeleine patted his arm. “The coughing seems to be worse.” François shook his head. “I’m fine. No need to worry.” They lapsed once more into silence. Pierre maintained the team at a steady, crisp pace, glancing at Madeleine and François as they made their way home. The hush was deafening. Finally Madeleine spoke. “Pierre, something happened in Geneva today that you need to know about. Something I overheard in the milliner’s shop.” Madeleine glanced back at the children. Charles and Vangie were still asleep. She related what she had overheard.

“I am not surprised.” The horses had slowed to a jolting pace. Pierre chucked the reins to speed them up. “What do you plan to do?” François spoke up. “It becomes more and more apparent that we cannot remain here. The New World or Germany perhaps. It will be a challenge, but I’m sure Henri will go with us, and Philippe is maturing before our eyes.” Philippe’s ears perked up at the mention of his name, and he leaned forward toward the adults. Madeleine smiled at her oldest son. “We are discussing our future, and your important part in it, but don’t concern yourself with it right now. There will be plenty of time for making plans later.” She reached back and patted his shoulder. “I’m ready. Life on a pastor’s farm is boring.” “Philippe! The Du Puys have been wonderful to us. We couldn’t have made it this far without them.” “I know, but … ” “I’m afraid the high sense of danger and adventure in our lives the last two years has placed its mark on you forever. You probably will never be content to live a sedentary life.” Madeleine turned to François. “Perhaps he is more ready than I thought.” He chuckled, and nodded. “I understand his young man’s heart. Consider all he has experienced: running for his life; protecting his brother from dragoons out to to murder them; hiding out in a cave for weeks; ambushing a contingent of soldiers and having to kill a man in the process; fleeing to another country. He’s been through more than most young men twice his age.” Young man? Philippe was Madeleine’s little boy, but observing the fuzz beginning to appear on his upper lip, she realized he indeed had begun to mature into a man. And he had earned the title. He was tall and muscular and confident, and had proved himself not only physically strong, but also hardy of soul. Charles was not far behind him, although Philippe still

considered himself much superior to his younger brother. Madeleine was proud of both of her sons. “You’re right. They are growing up.” The dusky dark of the day fell, as they returned to the peaceful farm that had been their refuge. Sitting between Pierre and François on the wagon bench, Madeleine felt safe, secure and sheltered. Pierre pulled the wagon around to the front of the house. “Let’s unload your purchases first, and then I’ll take care of the horses.” “Thank you, Pierre.” She reached back, and shook Charles. “Wake up, son.” Vangie sat up, rubbed her eyes and whimpered. François helped Madeleine down, and began to cough again. Pierre eyed the couple and approached the back of the wagon. “I’ll get Vangie.” He extended his arms. “Come here, Princess. I’ll carry you.” The little girl willingly allowed herself to be taken into the courtier’s strong arms. “I love you, Prince.” “I love you, too, Princess.” He kissed her forehead, and carried her into the house. François stood on the porch, bent over with his hands on his knees. Madeleine handed him a handkerchief. He covered his mouth and stood. “A drink of water, please? Could you get me a drink?” “Of course, dear.” Madeleine ran into the house. François took the handkerchief from his mouth, and dark blotches of blood oozed over the white piece of cloth. His wife returned with a tumbler of wine. “Here, this will help. Go on inside, mon chéri. I’ll get the packages.” She watched him struggle to catch his breath as he walked into the house. Charles continued to snooze in the wagon bed, even amidst the jostling of packages being pulled out from around him. Madeleine reached over the side of the wagon and shook him again.

“Charles! Wake up. We’re home.” He yawned and stumbled out of the wagon. She shoved the packages into his arms and pointed him toward the house. Home—not in reality. She knew now for certain that they would never return to France. Her husband was ill, desperately ill. The dynamics of their family were changing. They had no place of their own. Home, as they had known it, lay beyond their reach. France held danger for the Clavell family, and it appeared Switzerland did as well.