I met his steady gaze with my own. “Do you wish that the duke had left you behind when he went off to war? You might be free now. If not for your half brother, you might be riding through your own fields, supervising the harvest.”
Guy smiled slightly. His sea green eyes lost their forbidding look. “I was the one who persuaded Longueville that he should take me along on campaign instead of another of our father’s bastards, our brother Jacques. I wanted an adventure. Still, I cannot regret coming here. How else should I have found you again?”
“Was I truly supposed to be dead?”
“I fear so.” He took both my hands in his and his eyes twinkled in a way I remembered well from our shared childhood. “But I am beyond pleased to have found you alive and well.”
Tentatively, I smiled back. “It is a great mystery to me why anyone should have thought my mother and I had died.”
“That was the story on everyone’s lips. There was no reason to doubt it. You and your mother had gone off without a proper escort. No guards. No servants. I supposed that you had been killed by outlaws bent on robbing you.”
“You said there were other rumors.”
Guy released me to move to the window and stand staring out at the White Tower, the oldest part of the castle, and the temporary buildings erected in front of it to house court officials in need of work space after a fire the year before at Westminster Palace had destroyed their offices.
I crossed to him and placed my gloved hand on his arm. “Maman died shortly after we arrived in England. She never told me why we left France.”
I remembered her words to me that day at the inn in London: I will explain everything in good time. But she had not lived long enough to keep that promise.
For the present it is best that you do not know too much. She had said that, too. I had not known what she meant then and did not now. But now it seemed important that I find out.
“Tell me what people said about us, Guy. I have a right to know.”
“I do not want to upset you.” Turning, he placed his hand over mine. His grip was firm and somehow comforting, even if his words were not. “I remember how you adored your mother.”
I felt queasy but ignored the sensation. “Nothing you tell me will change my love for her or erase my fond memories.”
Reluctance writ large upon his face, he stared at our joined hands, thus avoiding meeting my eyes while he gathered his thoughts. “On the day after you disappeared, members of the royal guard—the gens d’armes—came to the house where you lived in Amboise.”
Inhaling sharply, I felt as if I had taken a blow. This news did not bode well.
“When they found only your servants in residence, they took your governess away with them.”
I struggled to recall the woman, but she had only been employed to look after me for only a short time. I could not bring to mind either her name or her face. “Why did they arrest her? And where did they take her?”
“No one knew. That is why there was so much speculation. Coming so hard upon King Charles’s death in the château above the town, there were some who said the two events must be connected.”
I stared at him, not only unwilling but unable to form the words to ask the next logical question.
Guy took pity on me. “That was sheer foolishness, I am certain. The king’s death was sudden, but it was an accident. He struck his head on a lintel. He was surpassing tall and the doorway was very low.”
I blinked at him, confused. I had never thought to ask how the king of France had died…or why my mother had left court immediately after his death. “He died of a blow to the head?”
Frowning, Guy released my hand and turned away. He stared out at the White Tower again, his thoughts clearly far away. “The accident brought on an apoplexy, or so I have been told. King Charles did not collapse at once. It was several hours before he fell unconscious and could not be revived.”
I was certain there was more to the story but I was hesitant to ask outright. I waited in an agony of suspense for him to continue. After a few moments, he did, his voice so low I could only just make out his words.
“He had eaten an orange that morning. Some said it was poisoned.”
My breath hitched. “P-p-poison?”
Of a sudden, I felt light-headed. I did not need to hear the words to know that the gens d’armes might have come looking for Maman because they thought she’d had something to do with the king’s death. She had been there in the château, in attendance on Queen Anne. I could not imagine why suspicion would fall on her, but clearly it had. Then an alternate explanation occurred to me.
“Mayhap Queen Anne sent the guards because she was concerned for Maman’s well-being.”
“I do not think so, Jane. Remember that it is the custom in France for a royal widow to lie in bed for six weeks in a darkened room lit only by candles, cut off from the rest of the world. Queen Anne was already in seclusion on the day after King Charles’s death and in no position to give orders.”
“Then perhaps it was the governess they sought all along and not Maman.”
But Guy shook his head. “They asked all the neighbors if they had seen your mother. She was the object of their search, Jane. There is no doubt about that.”
“But why? Maman was a good person. She’d never have harmed anyone.” Whatever I had thought to learn from Guy, this was not it.
He glanced at the curtained doorway to make certain there was no one in the next room before he spoke again. Even though we were alone, he kept his voice low. “You know what royal courts are like. Ambition and intrigue abound. I cannot say for certain, but it is likely your mother had some connection to Louis d’Orléans.”
“Louis d’Orléans? The duc de Longueville?” I was truly confused now, and again felt light-headed.
“Two men bore that name in those days.”
Guy guided me to the stool and left me there while he went to a nearby cabinet. The screech of hinges in need of oiling made me jump, and I gave a nervous, embarrassed laugh. When Guy produced a cup and a bottle of wine, I accepted a drink without demur.
“The Louis d’Orléans I mean is not the duc de Longueville, but rather Louis the Twelfth, king of France. Shortly before King Charles’s death, Charles was investigating his cousin Louis d’Orléans for certain actions he took as governor of Normandy. They were at odds, too, because Louis had refused to lead Charles’s army to Asti in a renewal of the French campaign against the Italian city-states. It seemed as if Louis was waiting for Charles to die, as if he remained close so he could more easily seize the throne.”
“Was he not the rightful heir?”
“He was one of them. François d’Angoulême had as good a claim, but he was a child of three at the time and no one wanted another regency.”
A few sips of wine had revived me and helped me think more calmly. “How do you come to know all this?” I asked. “You were scarce older than I was back then.”
“I kept my ear to the ground.” His gaze locked for an instant with mine. “And I wanted to know what had happened to you.”
“My mother had naught to do with King Louis, and naught to do with King Charles’s death.”
“Are you certain?”
“Did rumors suggest my mother acted on behalf of Louis d’Orléans?”
Guy winced at my sharp tone of voice. “I’ve told you as much. All manner of stories were bandied about. Most died away as fast as they sprang up, but Louis was nearby, at Blois.” He shrugged.
In my agitation, I stood and began to pace. Maman must have known Louis would be the next king. When she fled from court, had she been running from him? Had she somehow known he poisoned King Charles?
But no. That made no sense. Queen Anne had gone on to marry her late husband’s successor. She was married to him still.