Dragonfly in Amber - Diana Gabaldon [230]
I smiled at him. “I think so, too.”
He nodded, smiling, but then grew serious as he resumed his story. “Just so, Madame. Still, he corresponded with du Carrefours from Geneva; I know this, for he told me so himself—he supplied various substances to order: plants, elixirs, the dried skins of animals. Even a sort of fish—a most peculiar and frightening thing, which he told me was brought up from the darkest depths of the sea; a horrible thing, all teeth, with almost no flesh—but with the most horrifying small…lights…like tiny lanterns, beneath its eyes.”
“Really,” I said, fascinated.
Pastor Laurent shrugged. “All this may be quite innocent, of course, a mere matter of business. But he disappeared from Geneva at the same time that du Carrefours came at first under suspicion—and within weeks of du Carrefours’s execution, I had begun to hear stories that Master Raymond had established his business in Paris, and that he had taken over a number of du Carre-fours’s clandestine activities as well.”
“Hmm,” I said. I was thinking of Raymond’s inner room, and the cabinet painted with Cabbalistic signs. To keep out those who believed in them. “Anything else?”
The Reverend Laurent’s eyebrows arched skyward.
“No, Madame,” he said, rather weakly. “Nothing else, to my knowledge.”
“Well, I’m really not given to that sort of thing myself,” I assured him.
“Oh? Good,” he said, hesitantly. He sat silently for a moment, as though making up his mind about something, then inclined his head courteously toward me.
“You will pardon me if I intrude, Madame? Berta and Maurice have told me something of your loss. I am sorry, Madame.”
“Thank you,” I said, staring at the stripes of sunlight on the floor.
There was another silence, then Pastor Laurent said delicately, “Your husband, Madame? He is not here with you?”
“No,” I said, still keeping my eyes on the floor. Flies lighted momentarily, then zoomed off, finding no nourishment. “I don’t know where he is.”
I didn’t mean to say any more, but something made me look up at the ragged little preacher.
“He cared more for his honor than he did for me or his child or an innocent man,” I said bitterly. “I don’t care where he is; I never want to see him again!”
I stopped abruptly, shaken. I had not put it into words before, even to myself. But it was true. There had been a great trust between us, and Jamie had broken it, for the sake of revenge. I understood; I had seen the power of the thing that drove him, and knew it couldn’t be denied forever. But I had asked for a few months’ grace, which he had promised me. And then, unable to wait, he had broken his word, and by so doing, sacrificed everything that lay between him and me. Not only that: He had jeopardized the undertaking in which we were engaged. I could understand, but I would not forgive.
Pastor Laurent laid a hand on mine. It was grimy with crusted dirt, and his nails were broken and black-edged, but I didn’t draw away. I expected platitudes or a homily, but he didn’t speak, either; just held my hand, very gently, for a long time, as the sun moved across the floor and the flies buzzed slow and heavy past our heads.
“You had better go,” he said at last, releasing my hand. “You will be missed.”
“I suppose so.” I drew a deep breath, feeling at least steadier, if not better. I felt in the pocket of my gown; I had a small purse with me.
I hesitated, not wanting to offend him. After all, by his lights I was a heretic, even if not a witch.
“Will you let me give you some money?” I asked carefully.
He thought for a moment, then smiled, the light-brown eyes glowing.
“On one condition, Madame. If you will allow me to pray for you?”
“A bargain,” I said, and gave him the purse.
27
AN AUDIENCE WITH HIS MAJESTY
As the days passed at Fontainebleau, I gradually regained my bodily strength, though my mind continued to drift, my thoughts shying away from any sort of memory or action.
There were few visitors; the country