But, at least, he had not committed the ultimate folly. For a moment, as she had looked up at him, he had the insane impulse to take her back with him to Paris.
Why not? Perhaps it was not so insane a thought after all. She had no money and he could provide handsomely for her. According to Catherine, both Juliette’s mother and the queen evidently had forgotten herexistence since she had left Versailles. She was more vulnerable to him than she dreamed and could be made to realize the seductive nature of the bond forged between them those two years earlier. He knew the skills to make a woman want him, and she would be a superb mistress and a challengeextraordinaire. He had seen a foreshadowing of the woman Juliette would become, but now that flowering had almost come to pass.
Almost.
Merde, and he was not such a libertine that he seduced an innocent from her nunnery, he thought with self-disgust. Whatever lay ahead for the two of them must wait until she was an adversary worthy of his steel. Until that time he would be content with the challenges offered by the Jeanne Louises of the world.
Yet, for the first time, he had the odd feeling the victory he would wrest from Jeanne Louise would provide neither contentment nor satisfaction.
FIVE
Abbaye de la Reine
September 2, 1792
I’ll not ask where Juliette can be found, Catherine.” Sister Mary Magdalene deliberately avoided Catherine’s pleading gaze as she turned back toward the chapel. “But I wish to see her in the scullery before the midday bell tolls or her punishment will be doubled. Do you understand?”
“I’m sure she never meant to miss morning prayers,” Catherine said anxiously. “When she’s painting she loses all track of time.”
“Then she must be taught to remember. God has given her a great gift, but appreciation for His gifts must be shown in worship and humility.”
Humility. Juliette? If Catherine hadn’t been so exasperated with her friend she would have laughed aloud. “Juliette strives always to improve her gift. Isn’t that a form of worship, too, Reverend Mother?”
Sister Mary Magdalene’s lined face softenedas she glanced over her shoulder. “Your loyalty does you credit, Catherine.” For an instant a twinkle appeared in her fine gray eyes. “Consider it fortunate I don’t test your loyalty by asking where Juliette is hiding this time or you might find yourself on your knees scrubbing the stones of the scullery with your friend.” She shrugged. “Not that I believe the punishment will serve to teach her any great lesson. With scrub brush in hand she must have prayed her way over every inch of the abbey these last five years.”
“But Juliette never complains,” Catherine reminded her. “She serves the Lord joyfully. Surely that must—”
“I agree she suffers her punishment cheerfully enough.” The Reverend Mother was amused. “But have you noticed how true to life the stone walls and floors in her paintings have become? I believe she uses the time on her knees to study their composition and texture instead of praying.”
Catherine had noticed, but she had hoped no one else had. She smiled weakly. “You said the acquisition of knowledge is a blessing.”
“Don’t throw my words back at me. We both know Juliette has been most wicked. When the bell tolls!” She turned and vanished into the chapel.
Catherine ran to the south courtyard, then through the gates, all the while muttering imprecations beneath her breath. When she had seen Juliette creeping out of the abbey before dawn that morning, she’d sternly reminded her to be back in time for prayers. But would her headstrong friend listen? No, she must get them both in trouble with the Reverend Mother.
The dew-wet grass dampened Catherine’s slippers and darkened the hem of her gray uniform as she ran through the vegetable garden, then up the hill toward the stone wall bordering the abbey’s cemetery.
Straggly weeds caught on her long skirts as she streaked toward the column of ancient crypts at the rear of the cemetery. When she had first come to the abbey five years before, there had been no weeds, the cemetery had been well tended and money had been plentiful for thenuns to hire workers to keep the abbey in good repair. All that had changed when the Bastille was attacked. With the queen a virtual prisoner in the Palace of the Tuileries in Paris, her charities had ceased and the nuns were forced to rely on contributions from the parents of their students to keep food on the table and the abbey in minimal repair.
As Catherine approached the crypts she felt a familiar clenching of the muscles of her stomach. She would tell Juliette it was time to learn restraint and discipline. No one could go on forever doing exactly as they wished, and the Reverend Mother’s tolerance had been stretched to the limit.
The white marble crypt at the far end of the row had been weathered by time and the elements to a dirty gray; the winged statue of the angel Gabriel hovering over the door gazed menacingly down with blind, pupil-less eyes, Catherine thought. She paused to get her breath before the rusty iron door, steeling herself to go into the vault. Shehatedcoming here. Blast Juliette! The bolt had been drawn and the door was open a crack, but it was terribly heavy and took Catherine a moment to widen it enough to slip into the crypt.
“You can close the door.” Juliette didn’t look up from the painting on the easel before her. “I’m doing shadows and don’t need the light for this bit. The candle will do very well.”
“I’mnotclosing the door.” Catherine shivered as she stepped gingerly around the marble sarcophagus with its upraised likeness of Sister Bernadette in serene state. Sweet heaven, the candle Juliette had mentioned had actually been placed between the folded hands of the effigy, casting a soft glow over the stern chiseled features. “How can you stay here for hours?”
“I like it here.”
“But it’s a tomb.”
“What difference does that make?” Juliette added a bit more yellow to the brown on her brush. “It’s quiet and it’s the one place I don’t have to worry about the sisters coming to find me.”
“Sister Mary Magdalene would call it sacrilege. The dead should be left in peace.”
“How do you know?” Juliette grinned at Catherine over her shoulder. “Peace is dreadfully dull.” She patted the smooth marble cheek of the nun. “Sister Bernadette and I understand each other. I think she’s glad I come to visit her after lying here alone for over a hundred years. Did you know she died when she was only eight and ten?”
“No.” Catherine was immediately distracted as she looked at the figure on the sarcophagus. She had been concerned only with the forbidding atmosphere in the crypt and never thought about the life of the woman whose remains it contained. What a tragedy to be forced to leave this earth for heaven when one had scarcely started to live. “How sad. So young.”
