Daughter of Silk by Linda Lee Chaikin

very nest of serpents, Idelette read the Scriptures, which if it were known, could mean imprisonment in the Bastille or even death, especially now with the arrival of Cardinal de
    Lorraine. Yet her sister persisted, and none could quell her.
    “Here, mignon,” la duchesse said to Idelette, suddenly removing a pearl ring set in gold from her little finger. She placed it on Idelette’s palm.
    “Oh, but Madame Duchesse, I could not —”
    “A mere token of my affection.”
    Idelette dropped a curtsy and murmured her delight.
    Rachelle looked on. Such actions as la duchesse had just taken were oft done at court by members of the highest nobility, who sometimes were extravagantly generous with those who pleased them in some way which they deemed should be publicly rewarded. Since Duchesse Dushane was a great-aunt through marriage, her presentation was all the more venerable, so Rachelle believed.
    Idelette took her place again. Rachelle noticed that she avoided look- ing her way. Idelette embarrassed easily when praised.
    “You hinted coming adversity, Madame Duchesse. A scourge upon Christ’s own sheep here in France,” Grandmère said in a quiet voice, her fingers intertwining tightly on the lap of her black moiré skirt. “What convinces you it is so?”
    Duchesse Dushane’s broad face tightened, and she glanced about the salle de sejour as if making certain they were alone, though she had dis- missed all of her retinue. She leaned forward in her velvet chair, hand clasping the head of her cane, and whispered: “Henriette, I saw who was behind the mask. This messire’s cooperation with le Duc de Guise brings danger and possible death for Huguenots here at court.”
    Tension dried Rachelle’s throat. She leaned forward to catch every word.
    “Ah!” Grandmère breathed. “I see, yes, I see . . . a Huguenot then?” A Huguenot! Rachelle opened her mouth to protest and ceased when she saw la duchesse nod her head affirmatively and shut her eyes against
    obvious disappointment.
    “A Huguenot,” la duchesse repeated, “one of our own. A messire who knows the names of those among us who are under-shepherds of Christ. How much else he may know — who can say?”
    “But is he a betrayer or a prisoner?” Rachelle inquired.
    “One wonders . . . but even if he is not a betrayer, the cardinal will gain the information he wants at the salle de la question, the place of inquisition.”
    Grandmère groaned. A small intake of breath came from Idelette.
    “I confess, Madame Duchesse,” Idelette said, “I was of a mind to think the mask was but a humorous ruse for the ladies of court, stirring up their festive spirit for the upcoming masque.”
    “A jester, you thought? If only that were so, ah, but no. The divert- essement , it has been canceled. Messire’s arrival with the duc and the cardinal is not at all benign. No such comfort can be taken.”
    “And what messire is this, Madame?” Grandmère asked, pale and worried of countenance.
    “Maître Avenelle. A trusted messire among the Huguenots in Paris. His arrival is a harbinger of sinister treachery. Would God I knew pre- cisely what it is that he has told the duc and the cardinal.”
    “But why would they bring him here to Chambord?” Idelette whispered.
    La duchesse widened her eyes. “They brought him to Catherine de Medici for some dark reason, bien sûr! What that is?” She shook her head. “Ah, that is what we do not know, mignon Idelette. We must find out.” She looked evenly at each one of them in turn. “Yes. We must dis- cover what is being planned.”
    Rachelle struggled to keep her own fears from surging forward like a pack of foxes.
    Grandmère sat with her back erect, her frail hands still clasped together. “We know the House of Guise is our enemy; Arnaut believes they are legates of Spain.”
    “And they are,” Duchesse Dushane said. “The Guise brothers are two of the most powerful men in France.”
    Rachelle recalled that both her