Chapter 8

Irest in a simple bed. My body is sore and covered with dust and sweat. The corset of my silver coloured dress is ripped apart on the side, allowing me to breathe without difficulty.

I awake to see a masked face before me. It is a man. He hands a plate to me with wine, cheese and bread. My mouth is so dry; I have difficulty swallowing the bread, so I take a gulp of the wine. The wine tastes bitterly, but it allows me to swallow and eases the pain somewhat.

The man has a slender body, like that of a boy's, a page perhaps. He does not say a word but waits until I have finished eating. His face is protected by the black mask, and I am unable to see his features, only his eyes. He wears a simple white wig, with a small bun.

"Where am I?" I ask.

He does not reply.

"Answer me," I order angrily, as I struggle to leave the bed. Immediately, I feel very dizzy and I must sit down otherwise I will lose my equilibrium. The young man leaves the room, not answering my question. I hear his footsteps in another room, then a knock at a door. I hear the door open and close and then the sound of a key turning within a lock.

I take a deep breath. Slowly I rise and try to steady myself. Not far from the bed is a small table with two chairs. On the table is a single candle. I reach for it and grasp it with my hand. I move into the next room which is just a little smaller than the one I awoke in. The room is empty. There is no furniture. Both rooms are dark. There are no windows. What little illumination there is comes from the candle I hold in my hand. It is a dwelling fit for a stable boy or a kitchen wench of Versailles.

I touch the door and push firmly but to no avail. It is locked.

So, my fears have at last become a reality.

They have finally succeeded in kidnapping me.

*

I awake again.

After ascertaining that I was being held behind a locked door, I had returned to the small bed in the other room and quickly had fallen into a restless sleep. Now, slowly, I force myself to sit up. I listen but hear no sounds, nothing at all. I still wear the silver dress. Its components are cutting into my flesh. I shiver. While I slept my captors must have returned, for the light of candles illuminates the room. I am unable to tell the hour of the day, it could be in the middle of the night, early dawn, or afternoon. Pushing my emotions aside, I focus on what I have to do to find my liberty. I cannot allow myself to feel despair. First, I will have to find out where I am.

Now that there is sufficient light I am able to examine my surroundings more closely. Against one of the walls are several shelves of books. Perhaps, by examining the books I may discover some clues about where I am and who has captured me. The books indicate that the person who occupied this dwelling had a taste for plays. Molière, Racine, Beaumarchais, Corneille, Voltaire. Heureusement, I am still in France. At least I will be able to pass the time by reading.

Startled, I hear the key turning in the lock of the door in the adjacent room. I stand and move so that I can observe what is occurring in the next room. I see two men. One is a guard with a pistol in his hand and the other is the slender man in the mask. He carries a plate of food and a mug in his hands.

As the masked man enters, the guard secures the door behind him. I cross over to the table and stand behind one of the chairs. Holding onto it, I face my captor...

"You cannot hold me here," I tell him with much authority in my voice. "I will be missed. There will be no amnesty for those who have kidnapped the Queen of France."

The young man smiles a little but again, says nothing. He looks at my dress. I wish I had chosen other attire to wear, a dress less revealing. The side of my dress that was torn apart shows a part of my ribcage. My cleavage is so ample that he is able to have a clear view of a large part of my breasts. I try to maintain my composure. Nothing indicates that I am uncomfortable about the way he looks at my body.

"If I have to stay here… then provide me with a wardrobe, a bathtub with water and needlework. If not, I will refuse to eat," I insist.

The man smiles somewhat maliciously and puts down the plate that contains a small loaf of bread and a mug with some coffee. Breakfast, I presume.

It must be morning.

*

Time passes.

It has now been a week. Every time the young man gives me breakfast, I tear a page out of one of the books of Corneille, which I hide in the book "Le mariage de Figaro."
I was given a very old dress, which does not fit me well, but at least it does not cut into my skin and it hides my body from lecherous eyes.

What do they want from me? I do not understand. Why has no one come to my rescue? Perhaps nobody misses me because the other woman replaced me. I noted in the past that each time she performed a task she improved.

Has she perfected her ability to imitate me? Has she perfected …moi?

Sometimes I would catch her watching me in the garden near Le petit Trianon, when I played with my three children. I gave it no thought. Could I have guessed her intentions were to replace me forever?

She is such a cold and distant character. How is she able to disguise her true nature? Can she truly imitate kindness for long periods of time?

Disturbing thoughts appear in my mind. What if she shared the night of le bal masqué with my lovely Count? She had to step into my place from that moment on. Was she able to recognise the Count? Oh, non. Maybe all she had to do was to wait for Jean-Charles to address her. Of course he would have his intentions very clear. Why should he not? Pourquoi pas?

Will he be deceived or captured by her words? Did she allow him to make love to her?

Will she give her flesh to him, will she give herself to his caressing hands and his sweet kisses?

Will she love the way he touches her skin? Will he be mesmerised by the way she makes love to him or will he be disappointed?

Will she make him want more…like I did?

It hurts me deeply to think of these possibilities.

Pain is cutting directly into the core of my heart. How much I want him now.

When I think of his mouth on my flesh, my body begins to tremble with desire. The more I think of him, the more I love him, the more I miss him, the more I want him.

*

I weep.

For a month now, I am imprisoned in these two rooms and nothing has changed. I imagine how the other woman, this impostor, plays with the le dauphin, how she cradles petit Louis, mon chou d'amour, how she sings with Madame Royale, my serious daughter… She cannot sing. Her voice will no doubt betray her. Perhaps she does not sing but plays la harpe instead. She can play it as easily as I myself. The thought of this … this woman, acting as mother to my sweet children, it is more than I can endure. I cannot stop crying. How long can this woman play at her charade? How long are they planning to keep me here? I am desperate.

Dieu, have mercy on me and my children!

*

Distracted, the masked man stumbles over my foot, so that hot soup spills over his hand. He curses. It is the first time I hear the sound of his voice, and I am almost certain that it is a feminine voice. I gaze at the hands. Yes, they are the hands of a woman. Why did I not notice that before? I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I failed to see what was in front of me.

"Merci." I begin to eat my soup, trying to be completely indifferent to the woman standing so close to me. She always does, and it irritates me, but I am in no position to complain. So I try to ignore the woman. Or am I wrong? Should I try to engage her in a conversation? Who can she be? Suddenly I recall the presence of Lady B in the carriage, when I was kidnapped. Of course!

The woman who stands so close to me, who observes me, who watches me when I eat, when I sleep, can be no other then Lady B.

*

Morning sickness kills my appetite. Lady B looks at me, maybe she is worried, and maybe it is her duty to keep me alive. I am not well, but it is prudent not to give away what is wrong with me.

Lying in the bed, I say, "Something is wrong with my digestion. There is no need for concern."

Suddenly, she sits down on the bed, leans over and touches my forehead. Her eyes are very close. I look at her intently and she meets my eyes. I can see that it unsettles her. "You see? No fever. You may go now. Let me sleep," I say lightly.

Stubbornly she remains in the room for a little while longer. I turn my back to the woman. I have to find a way to make her admit that she is Lady B. But how?

*

If they planned to kill me, they would have done it by now. So they must want to keep me alive.

Why?

If the other woman replaced me then she will do whatever she can to sabotage the reforms Louis and I were planning to execute. She will spend all the money I intended for my charities. All that money I collected by safekeeping, she will waste it on expensive dresses, jewellery, festivities, and pensions for her friends. All that money … gone.

She will do everything to ruin my reputation, like she always does when she steps into my shoes.
However, this time she will have to be more careful, subtler. She must measure her actions. If not, Louis will become suspicious. He is well aware of the reckless behaviour of the other woman. He will see through her façade and this nightmare will come to an end. Oh, I pray to God, that he will become suspicious! I do not want to give birth to my fourth child under these circumstances!

*

Accidentally I step on her foot. She screams.

"Oh, pardon," I reassure Lady B, putting my hand gently on her arm. "I did not do it on purpose. I can be so clumsy at times. It is because I am so short-sighted."

Of course my action was totally intentional. If I had any doubts about the face behind the mask the voice only strengthened my conviction that its owner is indeed that of Lady B. Now all I have to do is to find a way to use my knowledge, to take advantage of it. For she is the only one who can tell me where I am. If I can persuade her to trust me, perhaps she will help me regain my freedom. How sad it is that I am dependent on the woman who betrayed me. I have to find a way to gain her sympathy. If not, surely I will never see my beloved Count again, nor my dear children and Louis. I will not be able to continue to serving the poor people of France again. Oui, I have to do everything in my power to make her believe that I am worthy of her trust. If I fail, this country will perish in bloodshed and violence.

*

The candles burnt down. It is completely dark around me. Wiping away tears from my face, I recall vividly a memory.

Assisting at Le Grand Couvert, I turned my head slowly to see Jean-Charles. His cheeks were glowing, and his eyes, a grey blue colour, betrayed his feelings for me. His hand trembled when he cut his food. Then he turned away to catch the look in the eyes of Lady B. I followed his example. But for an instant I could see anger and hate, just before she glanced down. It made me very uncomfortable.

Jean-Charles expression changed. His face hardened, he tried to conceal what he felt. "I will wait," he said to me, "until dawn. And after sunrise I will return to my castle and forget we ever met."

I knew that his words were not really for me, but to Lady B. We both looked at Lady B, and relief shadowed her face, thus confirming my thoughts.

She is jealous.

I hear the words of Jean-Charles in my head. "She does not satisfy me."

And I remember her voice, how she screamed when she stormed out of the kitchen. The dispute was over me. Now I understand. She is in love with Jean-Charles and he cannot return the sentiment, because he loves me.

So she has betrayed both of us.

*

I put on my silver dress. Two weeks have passed since I recognized the voice of Lady B.

I have studied her closely and have come to identify certain traits about her that I can use to my advantage.
Her interest in my physical appearance goes beyond her concern for my well being. Often I catch her glancing at my body. I can feel that she allows herself more and more to touch my hands, my back, my waist, …even my face. At first, this surprised me for did she not love the Count? Then I looked upon it as a blessing.

Comme moi, it has become apparent to me that she has a liking for women as well.

Voilà pourquoi I intend to use my feminine form to unsettle her.

I have altered the dress to hide the weight gain around my belly and waist. I also did some work on the neckline. The curves of my upper body are most impressive now. Perhaps I can seduce Lady B by a generous display of my corsage.

I am standing with my back to the door.

I hear Lady B enter the outer room with my dinner. She moves to the table, putting down the plate with food. I know she waits because I do not hear her move. So I decide to turn around slowly, thus revealing my attire. Her eyes grow wide with surprise. My hands behind my back, I take a deep breath trying to be very calm and authoritative at the same time.

I let her have a good look.

She is impressed. I can see that, even if the mask hides most of her face. She is unable to withdraw her eyes from my frame. I take another deep breath, pushing my flesh against the tiny silver plates of the corset.

She swallows.

My plan is working. I have her unsettled, so that her guard is down.

Then I shock her by asking, "Why, Belle de Thorigny, why are you doing this?"

Never had she expected this! "Comment…,"she starts. Realising she has made an error, she closes her mouth abruptly.

A moment passes. "Putain de Dieu," she thinks aloud, very angrily.

"Out of vengeance, perhaps," I continue as if I did not notice her outburst. "Because you love Count Jean-Charles de la Janvier, and you believe that I stole his heart?"

My cool demeanour enrages the woman. Unable to control herself, she approaches me, and with a violent gesture she takes hold of my arm. "You …you …I despise you. I hate every drop of your blood. When you showed up, my life became a life of misery."

She grabs a portion of my hair, and I try not to show how she hurts me. Her masked face is so close that I can feel her breath upon my face. "You think you can impress me with your manners, with your attitude, but I feel nothing but contempt. You are at my mercy and I want you on your knees, begging," she whispers.

"You will have to kill me before I will do anything like that," I reply calmly, avoiding to show any sign of emotion. "But what I will do is to tell you a little secret. Proof that you gave up your life with the Count for nothing."

Her grip begins to loosen but it still hurts. "I warn you, let go of me, or I will change my mind,"
I try in a menacing voice to convince the woman.

Her eyes wander again up and down my body. Her hand releases my hair.

She hesitates, I can feel that. I move my arm firmly around her waist. "Go on…" I whisper seductively. "I know that you are tempted."

She still hesitates.

Then I feel her hand on my naked shoulder.

What I am about to do next will be the most difficult part of my plan but to succeed I must go through with it and not falter. I pray to God that she will believe me. Oh Jean-Charles, pardonne-moi, toi à qui je dois ma vie, pardonne-moi.

"I never loved him. I never loved him they way you do," I state, feeling her hand linger on my shoulder. "You may proceed, if you want to touch me. I will not be offended."

She wants to withdraw her hand, but I take it before she can.

"I only made use of him." Firmly I move her hand lower. "Do you really think that the Queen of France would be romantically involved with an insignificant Count?"

Her eyes dilate. She gasps in surprise. Not only because of my words, but also because I guide her hand lower into my corsage so that her palm makes contact with the luscious forms of my flesh.

"I used him. I used him to provide me with information," I continue very seriously. "I made him believe that I loved him. I entrapped him so that I could assure myself of his trustworthiness."

She interrupts, "as you are trying to entrap me?"

I squeeze her hand a little, thus making her more aware of the texture of my naked skin. She holds my arm rather strongly. I step away, breaking free from her hold. Then I grasp her hand, and before she can protest, I guide her fingers along my neck.

"Pas du tout, I am telling you the truth," I say calmly, trying to sound very persuasive and convincing, "I never wanted his heart. He is yours. There is no reason why you can not be happy again if you wish."

Slowly, I guide her other hand to my other breast.

She lowers her gaze, appreciating what she sees. Swallowing heavily, she mutters, "how did you know it was me?"

Suddenly I withdraw my hands. Lady B leaves hers where they are, cupping my upper swells, but without actually caressing them. I can feel her hands tremble as if restless. It is almost as though, with every intake of breath, she must control herself not to lower her face and kiss the sensitive skin of my voluptuous breasts.

I take hold of her chin with my hand, and by doing so she has to lift up her masked head. She cannot avoid my eyes. "I cannot forget easily those who make a lasting impression on me … with their mind … or their body …"

"A lasting impression…?", she says nervously.

I lean forward, approaching her mouth. "Do not tell me that you are not aware how exotic your body is … as for the mind … I rarely encounter such a passionate creature like yourself."

She trembles. It is only a matter of time before I have seduced her. I sense her weakness, her desire. Soon she will urge me towards the bed, devouring my flesh with her lips. It is then that I will bend her to my will and make her dependent on me.

"Why not remove the mask, so that I can see you," I say softly.

I move closer, and she makes a sound from the back of her throat. She is struggling with her senses and the acute sensations of her body.

Her hands are lingering on my bosom, touching with her fingertips the nipples painfully. With a growl she says, "so you do not love him."

"No," I answer, closing my eyes, and trying to ignore the administrations Lady B provides rudely to my sensitive flesh. "He means nothing to me… Now … remove the mask…"

"I cannot do that."

She cups with the palm of her hand one breast more severely, measuring appreciatively the heaviness and the delicate, plump form of this part of my body, and I have to do everything I can to stay in control of the situation. A delicious sensation begins to run down my spine, even if I do not want it to happen, my body has a mind of its own. Or so it seems.

Suddenly, she withdraws her hands. "I cannot … I have to go back …"

I sigh and open my eyes. "So, you do believe me," I manage to say.

She does not answer my question. Instead she states with a defiant tone, "when I return, I want you to have finished the meal. You must stay healthy."

"I promise." I smile and raise my hand to touch her mask. "Do not be long. Now that we can talk, I look forward to it." I take her right hand and hold it against my breast. "And please let me make it up to you … Belle."

She withdraws her hand, but I can see by her attitude, that my words have made an impact.

Again her eyes linger on my body.

"We shall see."

Then she turns quickly around and leaves the room.

C'est un tour de force.

I begin to eat the soup with great reluctance, having no appetite at all.

Oh, my love, forgive me for what I have said, but I have to win her trust. It is my only chance to survive, to be free again.

My tears are dropping in the dish with the cold meal. How I hate to lie, even if it is for my own survival.

Will I ever see you again, mon amour?

I am desperate, but I try to swallow back the tears and to finish the soup. I have to be strong, not only for myself, but also for the child living inside me.

*

Why do they want me to be well?

I have contemplated this thought for days. After much reflection I have come to only one conclusion. I am kept alive so that I might one day experience the consequences that this fraud will spawn.

The longer the other woman is able to carry on this masquerade the worse the outcome will be.

When the common people rise against the Crown, when they begin to threaten the royal family, then and only then, they will release me. No doubt the impostor, her work complete, will disappear. By then, everything I have worked for will be undone. No one will believe my words. It will be too late and I will be powerless to act against the tide.

*

I can see by her behaviour that Belle de Thorigny is intrigued by my presence.

I know she would like to ask a million questions to me, the Queen of France, but undoubtedly she is bound by the ones to whom she swore allegiance, le clan du Duc d'Orléans.

Knowing that, I assume that I am being held hostage somewhere in the Palais Royal, but where exactly?

Just as the identity of Lady B unravelled many of the mysteries surrounding my imprisonment, so will she lead me to discover my whereabouts.

First, I must win the confidence of Lady B, but she rarely engages me in conversation.

Did she believe me when I said that I never loved the Count?

I am uncertain.

Perhaps I can try it once again with more flattery.

She loves the Count, yet she enjoyed touching my body. She rarely misses an occasion to look at me unnoticed. I sensed that it was not the first time she touched a woman.

Perhaps I can make her believe that I have grown strongly attached to her presence?

I stop my needlework and smile.

She approaches. Silently, she places a glass of wine and a plate with white meat, probably chicken, on the table.

I stand up and approach the woman. She is startled when I gently place my arm around her waist. Under her clothes I feel her body tense.

"Belle," I say in a very soft voice, "there is something in you that makes me think life has been hard on you and still is."

She shrugs her shoulders and tries to escape from my touch. But I hold her firmly against me, not allowing her to place any distance between us.

"Love…can make a difference," I continue with tenderness. "It can make all the difference. I am sure that you are aware of this. Am I correct?"

She turns her head away. Defeated she replies, "some are lucky, some are not. It is just the way it is."

I embrace her gently. "And which are you? I know that you still love him and that you have not given up on him yet, not after what I have told you."

Suddenly, she reaches for her mask, and she takes it off. I hold my breath in surprise, when she faces me, looking extremely tired.

"I cannot stay away for a long amount of time, and I am not allowed to speak with you, but you are right, completely," she admits. "I cannot get … him … out of my mind …"

She moves away from me, and I let her go. She sits down behind the table, pensive. When she does not continue to say anything, I move closer so that I can rest my hands on her shoulder.

"I am not your enemy," I whisper. "Perhaps I can be of service. Please, let me help you."

She starts to speak slowly, measuring each word.

"So … there was no love for him in your heart. It never mattered to you because you were indifferent to his love."

"That is what I have said." I move around the table so that I can look into her eyes.

My hands behind my back, I add very majestically, "je suis la Reine. All that matters to me is the welfare of this country. L'amour de ce peuple, le Roi et la France. There can be no other love in my life."

She nods, understanding me very well. I think I have convinced her by my little speech. "It was all … politics then?"

"You are correct," I reply.

She sighs. "Then I have made an error in judgement."

"Yes, you have," I say.

She sighs again. I can see that she is lost, her thoughts confused.

I have to make it easy for her to confide in me. I take the glass of wine, and with a soothing gesture, I put my arm around her shoulders again.

"Drink."

She sips from the glass. Her hand trembles. Her thoughts must be very disturbing. She starts to cry, and between her tears she bursts out, "I only wanted to separate you and …the Count! I did not want it to be like this! I do not want you to be harmed! They told me …that the only thing I had to do was to take you here…nothing else…And I did it for nothing…everything is lost…"

She continues to sob, and even though this woman betrayed me, I pity her. She is, like me, a victim of the other woman, the Duke of Orléans and his friends. The pressure must have taken its toll on her, and now she collapses.

Finally.

"Maybe there is a way to undo all this," I whisper, trying to sound very reassuring. I stroke her cheek with the palm of my hand. "Together we will find a way, so that you can earn the love of your Count again."

"There is no Count," she says, speaking in a haze, and looking exhausted.

"No Count?"

"The Count is a woman." Her eyes fill with tears, and she starts to cry desperately. "I betrayed her. I will never see her again. Everything is lost…"

Confused I hold Lady B in my arms and I try to move her to the bed where we will be more comfortable. I have to find a way to make her talk, to explain this to me.

"The Count … a woman?"

"Yes, a woman! She lives the life of a man, to seek out the true meaning of love, and to escape from her previous life," Lady B whispers, while she continues to cry. "I am the only one who knows. I have always kept her secret. I have loved her all my live…"

My heart begins to pound in my chest at an excessive rate. My beloved, a woman … I have to be alone, if not, I will betray myself, showing how this revelation affects the core of my being. But I cannot help myself. I have to know more.

My voice somewhat unsteady I ask, "What is her name?"

She lifts her head. Her eyes are bewildered.

I stand up, abruptly releasing Lady B from my hold.

Harshly, I say. "man or woman, Jean-Charles or…"

"… Catherine …"

"… Catherine. It is of no importance. I will help you regain her love." I hand the mask over to Lady B. "You have to go now. I do not want them to become suspicious. And please bring more milk or water the next time. I did not sleep well the other night."

She stands and puts back her black mask, hiding her tears.

"Of course."

"Thank you, Belle," I speak less harshly. "It is only your presence which makes this imprisonment bearable to me."

She nods and then quickly leaves the room. Only when the door is locked behind her, do I let my guard down.

"My darling Count … a woman!

Une femme avec ses cheveux couleur châtain, sa peau si douce, si blanche, si …

I quickly drink what is left of the wine. Then I feel the child moving inside me for the first time. I lay down on the bed and tears fill my eyes. It must be a sign. A sign that tells me that I am not alone. This child will be my friend, it will be a girl. Unlike my two other sons, who belong to la France, this child will be the joy of my existence.

*

Lady B opens the kitchen door and looks straight at my face. I meet her eyes in an instant and all that I can see is a pool of darkness. Then I look behind her to see the almost naked form of my beloved. With her bare back, only covered by her auburn locks, hanging loose to her waist and only her tights on, she makes me gasp with desire.

She does not turn around, but with one hand on her hips, and her head bent slightly to the ground, it is as if she is afraid to move. Her form is so beautiful, that it takes my breath away. It reminds me of a painting of a statue I once saw, I believe it was David by Michelangelo. The same softness of the curves, divine. A mélange, a mixture of feminine and masculine features.

What shall I do? I want to see her, I want to be near her, and close the distance between our bodies, between our souls. I want to feel her breath on my flesh, and hear her heart pounding in her chest while I make love to her. I want to feel the ticklish sensation of her auburn locks on my breasts while she explores my body.

I want all that and more. Much more.

I touch the door, ready to make my entrance.

I know she is waiting on the other side, standing still near the window in the kitchen.

She is listening, her heart racing in her body.

Waiting for me.

Oh my beloved one, I will join you. Then she turns around.

I awake once again. It was only a memory, a very lovely memory.

I try to imagine what she will look like. Her skin probably never exposed to the sun, will be white like the marble of Italy, a little rough maybe from scars and hard labour. I try to imagine what the fine muscles of her bare back and the exquisite soft skin just below her breasts will feel like under my hands. Those legs, so agile and yet so delicate, moving her compact form rapidly from one place to another. Those hips…La souplesse si ravissante…Oui, these are the movements of a nervous woman. Like me, when I am agitated, brushing against the walls of rules, presumptions, conventions, lies…

I encountered many men and many women to whom I felt attracted. Once there was a man from Sweden. Axel, was his name. I still remember his face with the very fine features. I was tempted to engage une liaison with the gracious man, but I thought it more prudent to keep a distance. I was young and le dauphin had yet to be born.

I appreciate the company of women as well, like ma chère Thérèse, with whom I shared my flesh, ou la Duchesse Julie de Polignac, who is a very beautiful woman.

When I think of Catherine, tears fill my eyes. How she fought to protect me, how she kissed me, her husky voice with un timbre si excitant…her courage, her eyes boring right into my soul, her tenderness. Never before I have met anyone before with so much power both in words and actions.

Now I understand why she wore those bandages. She must have been afraid. Mon amour.

How will she look clothed in a dress? With her long hair draped around her shoulders, her cleavage enhanced by the garment, her waist restricted in a corset, her belly clothed in multiple layers of silk and satin?

Oh, ma Catherine, ma douce. Now that I know that you are a woman, I love you more deeply. My sweet Catherine … mon amour …

*