The Oracle Glass (56 page)

“Arrest your own mother, police dog!” cried a man.

“Archers!” called Desgrez. “Disperse, all of you, before you are shot as rebels. You interfere with the King's justice!” As the archers forced the crowd back, Desgrez and his companion forced La Voisin into the carriage. I stood paralyzed. How could it all end so quickly, so surely? La Reynie had won. Montespan had lost. There would be human bonfires on the Place de Grève. Desgrez, his face like cold iron, would sit on horseback beside them until the blackened cinders floated away on the wind. The greatest sorceress the world had ever known was finished.

Suddenly fear seized me. The account books: the thought burned through my brain. I fought my way through the crowd and found that my conveyance had vanished at the first sign of the police. Limping rapidly through the spring muck, oblivious of my shoes, I raced for the house on the rue Beauregard. Too late. The seals had been placed. Two guards stood at the front door. As I tried to go round to the side door, someone powerful grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth and dragging me into an alley.

“Quiet, you idiot. I knew you'd be here.”

“Florent,” I tried to mumble, but his hand stopped me.

“Don't mention my name,” he hissed. “The police are everywhere. The carriage is hidden in the next street. This way, and quietly.”

We hurried through the narrow alley and out onto the rue de la Lune, where he pushed me into the carriage and swung in beside me.

“The books, Florent…the contract…I'm lost.”

“Never mind. We'll leave anyway.”

“I can't, Florent. The police know me; my description is at the barriers. For all I know, they have orders to arrest me already. There's only one way. Take everything, and go without me. God knows, I won't be needing any of it anymore.”

“Geneviève, what are you saying?” His voice was shocked.

I clutched at him and wept. “Go right away. Don't lose your life for me. And when you marry again, name a daughter after me, and remember that I loved you—”

“Geneviève, my darling,” he said tenderly, embracing me, “I couldn't, I wouldn't, leave without you. I have the contract, and the
P
volume of her account ledgers. I went away this morning to buy them from Antoine Montvoisin for a hundred livres. When I heard you talking last night, I knew it was my best chance.”

“You
bought
them? You
have
them?” My heart began to beat hard, and I looked up at his face, unbelieving.

“Well, more or less bought. I bribed him and then broke into the cupboard. The locks weren't hard—remember, I'm a clockmaker's son, and have plenty of experience with mechanisms.”

“Then Montvoisin—he's fled? And Marie-Marguerite?” He shook his head.

“Both taken, I'm afraid. He was keeping watch outside her cabinet. When I heard the knock at the front door, I tied the stuff into my shirt and dropped out the window. I barely fit—and nearly broke both legs in the bargain. But it was just as well. It turned out the police were at the front, back, and side doors. The place was surrounded. I climbed over the neighbor's garden wall and left through the alley. See here? I've ruined my breeches.”

“Oh, Florent.” Even hearing of his narrow escape made my heart stop.

“Then as I was about to depart, I reflected: the way you've been claiming to see things lately, you might well try to come to the house to talk her out of the contract yourself—”

“I came to warn her—I saw her taken after Mass—”

“Same thing. Two equally foolish endeavors, and both the sort of thing you'd try, if you flew into a panic. What would have happened if you'd kept her from Mass? They'd have just arrested her at home. You can't change fate—Oh, look at this; we're almost home.”

Upstairs, I found Sylvie packing, while Mustapha sat in my big chair and criticized: “Too much, Sylvie, too much. We're not taking a wagon.”

“Two small trunks only, and the little chest with Madame's jewels. You need to leave room for the bird cage,” announced Florent.

“But Madame's dresses—”

“Leave all the Marquise de Morville's things, Sylvie. Just pack my linens, my court gowns, the rose dress, the crimson velvet, and the new one with the pretty blue stripes and flowers. I will just have to leave my old age behind me.”

“Very well, Madame.” She began to unpack the widow's weeds, the Spanish farthingale, the ruffs, and black veils. She shook her head; a pity, she seemed to say. All that money.

“Sylvie, has the message come from the Chevalier de la Motte yet?”

“Not yet, Monsieur.” Florent began to pace and fume.

“Florent, what's wrong?” I asked him.

“Nothing, nothing. Come away and I'll explain.” He took me into the antechamber and shut the door. “My plans have been disrupted, but Lamotte has vowed to do his best.”

“Lamotte?”

“Yes, Lamotte, who rises in favor daily, and who owes me rather more than he can repay. Oh, he had tears in his eyes when he promised. It's just that Lamotte's tears are plentiful and dramatic, but never quite reliable—Damn! If we could have waited until Easter, it would have been easy. His new play will be presented at court. He will have to leave Paris to supervise the arrangements, and he has been granted the use of one of the carriages from the stable of the Hôtel Bouillon for the trip to court.”

“Why, it's perfect. Carriages with the arms of great houses are never stopped or searched like common vehicles. They wouldn't even think to ask that the window curtains be opened. They never ask who's inside.”

“Exactly. But we have bought only a few days at best by absconding with La Voisin's records. We need to be far gone from here before her interrogation under torture begins.”

“But it's Lent—there are no plays.”

“I know. I have begged Lamotte to think of an excuse, and now I wait for his answer.” But that evening, a boy arrived at the door with a letter.

“My friend, I have tried everything I can think of, but I can do nothing. I have gone to light a candle for you at the cathedral. May God relieve your troubles with all speed.”

“Oh, that wretched André!” exclaimed Florent, crumpling up the letter and throwing it into the fire. “Everything his minuscule brain could think of! In short, nothing at all!” He paced ragefully up and down on the bedroom carpet. “Geneviève,” he announced at last, “there is only one way out. We must pass out of Paris separately, in disguise, and meet again in Calais.”

“But what about my servants, Florent?”

“You have to leave them behind, I'm afraid. They would identify you.” Then he saw my face and paused. “Or perhaps they could leave later, in disguise, too,” he added to mollify me.

“Florent, it's very hard to disguise Mustapha—or Gilles, for that matter. And Sylvie's always spouting off in that demon's voice at unexpected moments. She'd give herself away. You know if I leave them behind they are as good as dead.” Florent looked ashamed.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know it's selfish, but it has to be done. I can't bear to lose you.”

I thought, and I thought again. I remembered the basement of the Châtelet. Betray them to that for my own convenience? It would make me no better than La Voisin. At last I said, “I think I have an idea, Florent, but it's not very honest.” I went to the little desk in my
ruelle
and wrote a letter. “How soon can you get to Versailles to deliver this to Madame de Montespan?” I asked.

“I can take a horse tonight and ride by moonlight,” answered Florent. “But what makes you think that Madame de Montespan will assist you?”

“Oh, she will be assisting herself,” I said, somewhat evasively. “I tell her of La Voisin's arrest in this letter and offer the assistance of my oracle glass. Once I see her in person, I am sure I can convince her.” Florent called for his hat and cloak and vanished into the gathering dusk.

By the next morning he had returned and fallen fully clothed across the bed, where he went to sleep instantly. He was still asleep when Mademoiselle des Oeillets, dressed in traveling clothes, was shown in to my downstairs reception room. She removed her mask as Sylvie took her cloak. “Madame de Montespan has just returned from court to her house in Vaugirard. We traveled at full speed, as soon as she heard the news of La Voisin's arrest.” I acted calm, though I didn't feel that way at all.

“And how may I serve her?”

“She needs a reading.” Sylvie vanished from the room.

“Her future?”

“That—and she needs to find something that is lost.”

“What sort of thing? I don't have good luck with all lost things. Jewelry, corpses, I do better at those.” I feigned ignorance to draw her out.

“This would be well, ah, papers. A book, perhaps. Madame needs to know where they are.” Ah, good. The fish had taken the bait. Madame de Montespan wanted La Voisin's records of her ghastly commerce in poison and witchcraft. She had to know if the police had them.

“I will return with you immediately,” I answered. “Just let me retrieve my cloak from upstairs.” Upstairs, I found Florent lying on the bed, still only partially awake.

“Florent, Florent. Listen.” He groaned. “I will need your help in a deception.” His eyes flicked open. “Madame de Montespan has arrived from Versailles just this morning. I am going to promise to retrieve the
M
ledger from the police for her in return for smuggling us all out of Paris in her carriage. I want you to go ahead of us, so that in case anything happens, you will not be lost. I'll tell her I have bribed the police through one of La Voisin's contacts and have stolen it out of Paris. That way she won't have me waylaid and searched.”

“The
M
ledger?” said Florent, rubbing his head and sitting up. “But I have it, Geneviève.” He looked puzzled, the way people do when they are still half asleep.

“You
have
it, Florent? However did you get it?”

“When I broke into La Voisin's cupboard, I not only brought away the
P
volume, I took the
M
as well.”

“What on earth made you think of it, because only now did I think of asking for her help?” I fastened my cloak and pulled my hat on over my house cap.

“It was Astaroth's idea,” he said simply.

“
Astaroth?
” D'Urbec looked amused at my amazement. He seemed fully awake now and was rebuttoning his shirt.

“That Astaroth is one smart devil—smarter even than Sylvie, who guessed where I was going yesterday morning, and who never lets a chance go by for getting money. Once he had spoken, I saw his point immediately.” He got up and went to the mirror to inspect the stubble on his jaw. He poured a bit of water into the basin and then splashed it on his face.

“How should we do this, then?”

“Tell Madame de Montespan to send a trusted agent with you, or better, come herself to the Inn at the Sign of Saint Peter, which is two leagues out of Paris on the Calais road. There you will meet a man who has her papers, and she can burn them with her own hand, if she wishes.” Florent's mind was so swift and sure, I admired him utterly. His eye caught mine, and a look of appreciation passed between us, as quick as thought. Two halves of the same mind, working at full speed, in perfect coordination. “Remember,” he said, “don't let her think that you have them on you.” I took the key from my neck and opened the secret compartment behind the bookshelf in my
ruelle
.

“Of course not. But I'm sure I'll sound much more convincing now that I know it's true.” I stuffed my collection of little notebooks into the bag that I carried my oracle glass in. Last of all, I put in Father's little brown leather one.

“Good. I'll take my valet, the chest with your dresses, and the trunk with the silver out right away. Remember, Sign of Saint Peter. I'll expect you there with your people. I'll be waiting for as long as it takes.” I nodded, locked the cupboard, replaced the bookshelf, and headed for the stairs.

I returned with Mademoiselle des Oeillets to the mansion in Vaugirard and was shown into Madame de Montespan's presence immediately. She was pacing beneath an immense tapestry of Joseph and his Brothers in her green
salle
, wringing her hands. Strands of her usually flawless coiffure were flying loose about her forehead. Her clothes were dusty with travel. So tightly did she clasp her hands together that I feared her rings would cut her fingers.

“Madame,” I said, bowing low, “I believe I can help alleviate your troubles. You seek, ah, lost papers?”

“Yes, very special ones. They say you can find lost things. I need to know…where something lost is—”

“Could these papers be La Voisin's account books?”

She came close to me and grabbed my shoulders fiercely with a clawlike grip. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I can get them for you on certain conditions,” I said softly, so that we would not be overheard.

***

“I'll go myself,” she whispered, having heard me out. “I can't risk anyone else getting their hands on them.”

Her eyes looked calmer now, calculating.

“You are shrewd, Madame de Morville.”

“No, just fortunate in my, ah, connections. And I have now a powerful desire to retire peacefully in the country. I am planning to buy a little cottage and raise bees.” Let her think my connections were with the magistrates who kept the evidence sealed. They sold the stuff often enough. Why not let them take the blame this time? She laughed—a short, sharp little sound.

“I think you love beekeeping as much as I do, Madame de Morville. But, at any rate, I wish you good luck in your true plans—whatever they are. And…I want one more thing.”

“Your future?”