Chapter Nineteen
Troyes 1617
Over the next weeks Anne noticed more turning heads in church, more murmuring, and more pointed fingers. Anne began to feel her presence was making Bridgett vulnerable. Was the suspect Anne? Or Bridgett? How could she best help her rescuer and healer? She was indebted to her and could not abide the concern she was harming her benefactor by any means.
On the feast day of Saint Anne, in late July, Anne and Bridgett went to church, marking Anne’s seventeeth year. Anne began to stand a little straighter after she had prayed for Saint Anne’s intercession with her daughter the Virgin, and her grandson Lord Jesus Christ. She needed help and so did Bridgett.
As they walked home from church, avoiding the summer sun by staying in the shade beside the road, in answer to Anne’s query, Bridgett said, no, the suspected fault was not Anne. Bridgett had been hearing accusations of witchcraft since she became a widow. She was known as a healer. It was not surprising; a single woman, skilled in the arts of herbal medicine, was a target in troubled times like these.
Bridgett pointed out, there were no direct accusations, nothing to fight against. It was as smoke, just a feeling or a sense of agitation around her reputation. Isabeau begged her mother to be careful. She needed protection. Should Isabeau return to live here too? Although her job at the Chateau brought in a little cash it was not much, and with Anne’s help, the increased sales from the herbs might just be enough to support them all. Although, thought the women, perhaps it was this very success that fomented the suspicions? Could it be that other herb growers, jealous of her good income, wanted to minimise her gains? Could they go so far as to spread rumours and malicious tales to destroy her? It seemed far-fetched and yet the pressures of business could be cut-throat, as Anne knew from discussions at the Chateau’s dinner table.
Both Anne and Isabeau thought the obvious answer was to accept Monsieur Allaire before he came to believe these scurrilous accusations. Bridgett would gain the respectability of a husband and have nothing more to do with herbs. Any taint of witchcraft would fade like a bruise.
If Bridgett married Gilo Allaire, and she would not say she would and she would not say she wouldn’t, then what would be Anne’s plans? ‘I should like to find my brother. He is in Paris, at the seminary.’
‘But, no, not Paris! Did you not say the Comte might be there?’
‘It’s possible he sought a situation at court. He was friends with the King.’
‘You must think of another place.’ Bridgett guessed, ‘People in Germany or Sweden won’t know what the brand means.’
‘Yes, they will,’ said Anne. ‘The Holy Roman Church is everywhere in the entire world.’
Anne did not give up the idea of going to Paris, not to find him … Or did she even think privately, yes, perhaps to find him?
But, at least in Paris, she would be lost in the crowd. It was a big city. She could get work weaving, perhaps, or as a ladies’ maid. But what if she found him? She would not look. She would not go to court. She would stay covered. She would hide. She could watch him from a distance and know what he had become.
There was word in the marketplace that the Queen mother, Marie d’Medici, newly departed from Paris, was looking for staff at Blois. Again, this was exactly the sort of place that the Comte would be likely to go. If the man was seeking war then either Louis’s court or Blois would provide ample conflict.
Bridgett looked at her. ‘Why seek out someone that wants to destroy you?’
Anne hung her head, recognising that Bridgett, of all people, who had worked so hard to see her live, did not want her efforts wasted so quickly.
‘I’m sorry, Bridgett.’ Anne tried not to think of his face full of disgust but could not stop herself from seeing him repulse her every day. She couldn’t help herself. She still longed for him even though her head, full of reason, told her she was wrong.
‘In a way, Anne, you’re lucky. You’re dead to the world. You can start afresh.’
‘You’re saying I must live a quiet life?’
Bridgett looked at her with one eyebrow raised. ‘You, my dear, will never be able to live quietly. There will be men. Women such as you, my dear girl, are honey. The flies will come. The bees will come. There will be sweetness but there will also be stinging, bitterness and jealousy. Climb, young lady, climb as high as you can. That’s my advice to you.’
The summer green fractured with red, yellow, and orange. The autumn tinge brought plenty to their garden and bright flowers to their market stall. But Bridgett’s friends sent warnings that church elders had mentioned her in meetings. A friend told her there was a possibility of arrest and exorcism. No witches had been prosecuted in Troyes for years but there had been reports from different places, England, the Basque Country, and northern France, of terrible trials and suffering. Anne urged Bridgett to leave with her, but Bridgett did not want to leave Troyes. The graves of her children and her husband were there. Anne thought it too dangerous to stay. Bridgett hoped the fuss would die down naturally, but Anne felt more and more uncomfortable as she went about her business in the town. The murmurs did not die down.
When Monsieur Allaire came to call one late autumn morning, Anne was pleased. Perhaps this would be the moment Bridgett would accept this respectable husband-to-be. She invited him inside to wait for Bridgett. She sat back at the loom and carried on with her work. She was still reluctant to speak and made only the shortest replies to his pleasantries. She felt him approach and felt his shadow fall across the loom. She looked up to see him gazing down at her with far too great an interest, realised she was uncovered, and this must be the first time he had seen her face. She stood up quickly, confused, thinking to find the veil she normally wore out of doors, but he stopped her from moving. She could see the veil, on the back of a nearby chair. He stood in her way and looked at her intently. His question did not relate to what his eyes told her, ‘Where are you from, Anne?’
Anne could barely remember how she had been introduced to him previously. She replied she was born in a small village called Breuil in the North. She had no place to turn, he was too close, was that a noise? She looked to the door, thinking perhaps Bridgett might arrive there very soon. But the door remained shut. The black cat walked across the room and sat down in front of the fire. His yellow eyes regarded Anne with some amusement. The cat thought she was a traitor and deserved the worst that life had to offer. Anne realised she was in trouble. The panther seemed to laugh.
She looked back at the man. He was taller than her, with grey hair and a light beard. He was more than Bridgett’s age, broad and strong. He looked kindly upon her, or rather, he had approval in his eyes, but he looked at her with such intense interest Anne realised she must escape, quickly. She excused herself, saying she thought to seek Bridgett, but he stepped in front of her. He said he liked the look of her. He was too close.
Anne flustered and said, ‘Bridgett is a fine woman.’
‘She’s not so fine as you.’
‘She is much finer. Much. And very skilled. And, Monsieur, she is due here very soon.’
‘I do not think I have ever seen such eyes as yours.’
‘Monsieur, I beg you, give me space!’
‘Why have I not seen you before now?’
‘You have seen me many a time, Monsieur and, rightly, you had eyes only for your betrothed.’
If anything, the man seemed to take another step closer and Anne began to gabble, ‘I am sure Bridgett will return soon. She is a wonderful woman. She will make you very happy. Is that her? There at the door?’
Anne could smell him, and she did not like it. He did not seem a clean man, for all that Bridgett admired him. He did not seem a decent man, for all that Isabeau approved of him. Anne felt suffocated and could not bear it as he reached around to touch her. She pushed him back, hard, heard him topple, and thought, afterwards, he had fallen into the loom. But she did not stop to look as she crashed open the door and rushed away out of the building. She ran out into the chilly morning, confused, upset, and frightened. She only wanted the best for Bridgett but how could she tell her that the only man they approved of in Troyes was just the same as all the others?
She ran to the nearby small church and waited in a pew until she could get her breath. Quickly she realised she did not have a warm shawl, nor covering for her face. She waited until her heartbeat slowed and started to look around her. She watched a family of grey-brown mice play in the cushions at the front of the Virgin’s chapel. There seemed to be a lot of them, their beady eyes glinted with light stabbing through a large window featuring a lamb. She had not been to confession since her wedding. When the priest walked through the nave she rose by instinct, thinking to ask if it were possible for him to listen to her sins. But she could not speak. She swung her hair over her face and sat back down again. He was not a kind looking man like Father Vincent. He was not a younger priest like Father François. He was middle aged, with a belly that suggested he savoured the taste of good food and wine regularly. She could not be sure she trusted him. She’d met a wolf-priest before. She watched him collect the bible from the pulpit, guessing he’d lock up the valuables as the doors remained open to the church, and sank into memories and the rut of the past. If only those tempting chalices had been locked up in the Chapelle Sainte-Marie. If only …
She sat silently in the empty church and confessed to herself. She told herself she must repeat ten Hail Marys and seek to help others and go forth knowing she was loved by the Holy Virgin Mary and the Most Holy Lord God on High. She did straighten her back as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
The following day Anne insisted it was time she moved on, giving no reason, preferring to be practical. Reassured to see no damage had come to the loom, she supposed Monsieur Allaire, experienced in fabric manufacture, was skilled enough to rebalance the machine and fix any problems. At least she could see nothing obvious wrong with it. She heard Bridgett’s news that she had accepted the man’s proposal at last, presuming his guilt had worked to facilitate a change in attitude, with relief. Bridgett understood his standing in the community would protect her. Rumourmongers and troublemakers must be curtailed if immediate changes were seen to be made. The healing business was too dangerous. She would become the wife of a wealthy Troyes fabric trader.
Anne could not help but feel sad, for Bridgett deserved better, but she also needed the protection that the elevated status would bring. And Monsieur Allaire was rich enough to hire servants to wash all their stockings.
She and Bridgett sorted through the trunks Isabeau had packed over a year before. Anne tried to picture what best to take and what Bridgett should keep. There would be one splendid outfit with a large handsome leather container of pins to bring it all together, in case she should ever be expected to face society. But in the main it was the practical issue of travel, clothes with side or front lacings that she could fit herself. She should not need assistance with simple garments. She had a good safeguard to protect her skirts, and one warm travelling cloak.
As they worked through the trunks, packing the valuables and examining beautiful garments that had belonged to Claudine, the Comtesse who loved piquet, Anne suggested Bridgett and Isabeau come with her to Paris for a holiday? To see the sights? Or perhaps Monsieur Allaire might fund a little trip before the marriage? Bridgett might buy some modern clothes…
But like Anne, Bridgett was impatient to commence her new life. Once the decision had been made to make the move into her second marriage she thought it best not to hesitate. She would make use of some of the glamorous pieces of clothing that Anne no longer wanted, for the Comtesse de Fère was dead, and Anne did not need so much.
In return, Bridgett gave Anne a ring. Anne took it with surprise and looked up at her benefactor, puzzled.
Bridgett said, ‘Do you not like it?’
‘I do, but Bridgett, this is too valuable ... ’
‘Listen. It looks to be a small ruby on the surface but not so valuable as it might appear. Apart from one secret. Look, let me show you.’ She took the ring back and showed Anne how the stone was embedded into the lid of a small compartment. Inside was a black powder. ‘Have a care, that is highly potent.’
‘Bridgett! Where did you get it?’
‘We talked of this before. You must be careful. There is some good reason for you to be alive.’
Anne nodded, ‘Apart from the Lord making it so.’
‘Apart from God. May he watch over you.’
Anne slid the ring onto her finger and looked up at Bridgett. ‘I’ll never need it.’
‘Know this, Anne, by having it near, you never will.’
Anne was careful to remain covered, and disappear, when Monsieur Allaire came to call.
Bridgett helped her buy her ticket to Paris. Anne planned to go directly to Saint-Nicolas du Chardonnet and rejoin François. She wasn’t sure how she could explain what had happened, but she knew she had to be with him. She would help him in his life no matter where he was, and he understood her better than anyone in the world. She longed to discover what had made him leave Berry. She also wanted to hear Father Froger’s advice. She thought if she stayed amongst priests she would be safe and able to plan a respectable future.
She would take one trunk and a small bag; she only really needed small things, like the jewels Olivier had given her and basic pieces for decent warm clothes. Knowing that she needed the support of a man, Anne chose François. He was her only family.
Anne said nothing about Monsieur Allaire’s licentious approach. She wished Bridgett, her healer and nurse, all the very best for her coming nuptials. Anne was sorry to leave without seeing Isabeau and she blessed her maid for saving her, and the trunks of clothes, for giving her a future. She suggested Isabeau leave the chateau and live with her mother, for the sake of family and companionship. And, she thought to herself, protection from grief when, inevitably, the scoundrel’s real character was exposed.
After all, enough time had elapsed. If the Comte should return to the chateau it was only natural there be a change in staff. He himself may be changed.
Bridgett supposed they would never know. As she saw her climb into the carriage bound for Paris, Bridgett clasped her arm with her gloved hand and whispered to her, ‘Remember Anne, if a man wants to use you, he’ll have to get past your dagger to do it.’
Anne, shocked at first, looked at the small knife Bridgett had just slipped into her hand. It nestled into an elegant carved leather scabbard festooned with strong ties. Bridgett held her hand around the knife. ‘Do not give him a chance, Anne. Cut his throat. Be decisive.’
Then smiling, Anne nodded agreement, closed her full hand around the knife and tucked it into her pocket. She would tie it around her leg when she was able, but never use it. Insurance. She grasped Bridgett’s forearms and thanked her sincerely for all she had done. She twisted her secret ring around so that Bridgett could see it too. She was now well prepared for any eventuality. She exhorted Bridgett to take good care of herself. May the Lord bless her and all her children.
And, as the driver shouted at his horses, Anne suggested the black cat move to live in the church.