The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [22]
They were forever criticizing me. They objected to the way in which I was bringing the Provenal way of life into the Court. The songs my minstrels sang were about love, just as they had been in the Courts of my father and grandfather. My grandfather was referred to as a man who had lived immorally and died excommunicated, who had abducted another man’s wife, living openly with her and actually allowing his son to marry her daughter.
And I was the child of this union! “Bad blood,” said my mother-in-law, Adelaide.
Her disapproval was more obvious than that of Suger. His criticism was spoken in prayers directing God to be lenient with me, to remember my youth. I supposed old Suger thought he was important enough to give God instructions. I was always amused by the prayers of the saintly. “God do this, God don’t do that.” I thought God probably laughed at them too, unless He was a little annoyed by their temerity.
My mother-in-law began gently in the beginning. “My dear Eleanor, you are so young . . . and so is Louis. Two children, in fact. Do you think that dress is just a little too revealing?”
No, I did not. I had always worn such dresses.
“What a color you have, my dear. You haven’t a fever, have you?”
“I find color becoming, Madame.”
She was such an old hypocrite. She pretended not to know that I had put it on.
Petronilla and I used to laugh at her. I thanked God for my sister. She was enjoying life at the French Court, although my mother-in-law’s disapproval extended to her.
I heard her murmur once to one of her ladies: “Dear God, how were they brought up in that licentious Court? One must not blame them. They are only children.”
I think that to be referred to as a child annoyed me more than references to the family’s licentious Court. It was not true in my father’s case, but I suppose it might be an apt description of my grandfather’s.
It was inevitable with one of my temperament that the little niggling annoyances which I suffered from Adelaide should eventually become more than I could endure.
One day she came unannounced to my apartments. Petronilla was there, and we were trying on new gowns. Petronilla was in her petticoat when Adelaide appeared.
She said: “I heard you laughing . . . quite immoderately . . .”
I had had enough. I was bolder in Petronilla’s company than I should have been alone. My sister was too. We gave ourselves courage. I said: “Is there a law in France against laughing?”
“What a thing to say!”
“You seemed to object.”
“I was just passing. . . .”
“And listening to our discourse, I doubt not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you had not been listening, you would not have heard.”
Petronilla was looking at me with shining eyes, admiring, encouraging, urging me on.
“I prefer not to be spied on,” I said, “and I ask you to desist from the practice.”
“You forget to whom you speak.”
“Do not forget that you speak to the Queen of France.”
“You . . . you . . .” she spluttered.
I drew myself up to my full height. “You may go now,” I said haughtily.
She stared at me in amazement; her face turned white and then red. She turned abruptly and went from the room.
Petronilla collapsed onto my bed and covered her face with her hands, her body shaking with mirth.
I was not amused. I wondered what I had done. She was after all the Dowager Queen and I was a newcomer.
“‘You may go,’” said Petronilla imitating me, between gusts of laughter.
“There will be trouble now,” I said.
“Oh, you only have to talk to Louis. He’ll be on your side. He’s madly in love with you.”
I wished I had been more dignified. What had taken place had bordered on a brawl.
Louis was upset. He said: “My mother is unhappy. She says you don’t want her at Court.”
“I have never said that,” I told him.
“She says she thinks she should go away.”
“Did she really say that?”
He nodded wretchedly. “I have tried to persuade her to stay but she is adamant.”
It seemed too good to be true. But it was not. A few days later Adelaide of Savoy left the Court. She said she thought there was no place for her there.
What a triumph!