Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Appearances by original characters and tweaking of historical facts.

Chapter 51 –Roses of Versailles

"You're resigning?" Cagliostro exclaimed as Milien piled his meagre belongings and Robespierre's into a chest. The young man nodded. He had recovered under Charlotte's tender loving care. Now, he was aching for action. First, he had to slip out from Madame Roland's surveillance. Charlotte had reluctantly gone out with Lorenza to purchase some linen-cloths. A letter had been sent to the duke and instructions left with the housekeeper to maintain the residence in their absence.

"It will not be good if the duke's clerk gets arrested while making speeches at a coffeehouse," he said. The duke and duchess had gone out into the countryside down south to get away from the polluted air of the city, on Dr Roland's recommendations. Milien suspected Madame Roland had a hand in that too. It was clear the duke had little intention of concerning himself with Master Robespierre, not when he was flush with the joy of impending parenthood.

Camile had offered him and his cronies lodging at his printing press. But Camile was a blabbermouth. He would be telling Charlotte about Milien's new residence in no time. He would have to make arrangements with Francois and his somewhat ghoulish wife. The idea of living under the same roof as human bones and other pickled body parts did not appeal to Lorenza or Cagliostro one bit. The last time he visited, Francois' wife was busy curing a human hand in brine to create an imitation 'Hand of Glory'.

"Maximilien Robespierre will be making a rousing speech at Café Chevalier d'Pointe this evening," Milien mused.

"But he's in prison!" Cagliostro exclaimed as he packed another bottle of the duke's finest red into his case. "No, he can't be in prison if he is still out railing against the king, right?" Milien chuckled.


A few weeks later in the Rochefort residence, a sorry quartet of men huddled over their drinks in the parlour.

"Sir Rochefort, I really do not know what I should do…" D'Eon groaned. "Natalia is too young and naïve to deal with Versailles… she's only sixteen!" he poured out another glass of claret. The elderly knight smiled. "Anna was fifteen when she became a lady-in-waiting."

"Natalia is not a lady-in-waiting. His Majesty is enamoured of her…" D'Eon continued. "And likewise she of him," Sir Rochefort added. "Natalia lacks the sophistication to hide her passions. Even Anna knew better than to toss her favours so freely, even to her own fiancé." In fact, had his daughter been as direct as Natalia, poor teenaged D'Eon would have fled for the nearest monastery.

"If His Majesty had tried to force his attentions on her, which I doubt is in his nature, we would be dealing with a very different problem," D'Eon admitted wryly. Natalia had shoved Robbie away whenever he got too familiar with her, and was not above kicking him off a barn roof.

"She wields much influence over him. His Majesty always consults her before passing a law or making any decision of state. The people's court idea the Duke of Orleans had been espousing, she finally got the king to agree to give the people of Paris that power. Some nobles are still rankling over having additional taxes levied on their estate for the war in the Americas and they can't tax their peasants beyond a fixed percentage of the harvest. And she had the prices of wheat and flour fixed…" Sir Rochefort related the latest news from Versailles. D'Eon had opted to shy away from the court in light of his niece's open relationship with the king. Even if Lia had influenced Empress Elizaveta and to some extent Queen Mary of England, she was careful to let her involvement be known only to select few.

"They call her the Grande Mademoiselle in Paris. Some say she should be queen in light of Queen Marie Antoinette's failure to produce a child. Even the nobles are talking of this," Etienne frowned. "Her Majesty is greatly distressed by such talk. She isn't particularly intelligent but she is starting to feel His Majesty's coldness towards her more keenly."

"And she has not asked you to warm her lonesome bed?" Robbie laughed dryly and kicked off his shoes. An uneasy truce had sprung up between the English servant and Etienne. "Naturally, it would be awkward if the next royal baby has a head of red hair. Sir D'Eon, Etienne, Captain Coon told me of a bird in Africa called an ostrich - a huge bird with the loveliest plumes. The problem with it is that it is said to tuck its head into sand at the slightest hint of danger. Methinks Their Majesties are both shirking their royal duties like ostriches and perhaps a good many nobles as well. They hide in Versailles away from the people. Her Majesty even has a private court of her own in Petit Trianon. The ostriches do not know when a lion is pouncing on them because their heads are buried in sand."

"Well said, Robbie," Sir Rochefort applauded the Englishman's insight. "They do not hear the inflammatory speeches Robespierre has been tossing about. Those who hear, choose to ignore. Would you believe that that man is free? He's been giving a discussion at Café Pointers every Wednesday night."

D'Eon breathed a sigh of relief at this revelation. News of Robin's arrest brought mixed feelings for him. On one hand, he was relieved that such a dangerous revolutionary had been removed from the streets of Paris. On the other, he felt concern for his former comrade. Robin's crimes could easily have him hung, beheaded or burnt as a traitor, provided he did not succumb to prison fever first before being brought to trial.

Their little gathering was interrupted by a knock on the door. With a hasty apology, Sir Rochefort excused himself and left with his valet.

The newcomer was waiting in the drawing room. Count de Mercy was young for his post but experienced enough as Austria's ambassador to France. His proposal was delivered coolly. "France and Austria cannot afford another war, which will destroy us both. My master, the Archduke, has given me orders to ensure that the union between our countries stand. Her Majesty, his sister must produce an heir to cement our alliance."

"I agree," Sir Rochefort added. "What do you propose?" It was common knowledge that King Louis XVI felt little affection for his queen and hardly shared his bed with her. They were two very different people whose only commonality was their woeful inadequacy to rule their kingdom.

"There are several options open to us. We propose to remove the current Royal Mistress. If she were to be married or to take holy vows…"

"It will be a loss to France if she decides to shut herself in a cloister," Sir Rochefort cried out. "As for marriage, she has broken off her betrothal with my son…"

"Then I fear that I must throw in my lot with the other nobles. Sir Rochefort, you are no stranger to court intrigues of the highest level…"

"Whatever you have planned, please remember that she is a loyal Frenchwoman and an innocent at that," Sir Rochefort added. "La Baronne Natalia would never allow France to go to war with Austria. Such a war will ruin France. Her only sin is that she is the woman loved by His Majesty."

"Or I could propose a little something in Their Majesties wine and a night in each other's company?" Robbie's voice chipped in. Unknown to the ambassador and the knight he had been eavesdropping on their conversation outside the door. "His Majesty is a man with a man's healthy appetites. His wife is the most beautiful if not the brightest of all the daughters of the Empress, no? Assuming their equipment is working, a stallion will definitely mount a mare…" Robbie added cheekily. Both ambassador and knight blushed crimson.

"Robbie!" Sir D'Eon exclaimed in horror at his servant's crude remarks in such esteemed personage as the ambassador. He was wondering why Robbie was taking so long to get another bottle. "Forgive me, sirs. I speak as a son of a horse trader," Robbie offered his apologies as his master steered him away.


In Versailles, Natalia de Beaumont studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. The mirror itself was framed in gold gilt, cherubs, lilies and vines curled around her image, topped by the royal crest. It was a gift from Auguste. Natalia never really thought of herself as being a beauty. However, with artists and sculptors clamouring to immortalise her in oils or marble, she was forced to reconsider. She was blessed with a complexion that was that of ivory or pearl. Her hair was a pale gold, the kind currently much in fashion. Her eyes were a piquant shade of blue-green which made her eyes so much larger in her face than they were.

With a tired sigh she loosened her corset. Court fashion demanded the tiniest of waists. Even though she was slender, she had to tighten her corset to a point where she almost felt faint. She was feeling a bit indisposed, so she told Auguste. Reluctantly, the king had taken her suggestion to spend the night with his wife. Her real reasons were more pressing. That morning she had seen the ghostly message from Max appear on her mirror.

"Lia?" she heard the hoarse whisper before Max emerged from his secret passageway. Her twin looked haggard. His hair was tied back with a scrap of ribbon. His blue frock coat was like a beggar's garb amidst the sheer opulence of her chambers. As always he had the Psalms held to his breast.

Wordlessly, she offered him an apple from her fruit basket and a platter of cheese and bread, which he devoured hungrily. Francois and Annamarie were terrible cooks and the coffeehouses and taverns had little dinner to offer a revolutionary constantly on the move. Finally, she poured them cups of tea brewed Russian-style in a samovar Auguste had ordered specially for her. Natalia always preferred her tea strong when the nights turned cold. In the day, she liked her tea with a dash of milk, English-style. Max liked coffee, strongly-brewed but she was unable to offer him any. The smell of burnt beans would cling to her chamber for days.

"Max, you have to stop," she finally spoke. The fire in the fireplace crackled and leapt.

"Why? If the king and nobles will not listen, I have to continue speaking for the people as Master Robespierre would have done."

"Max, why did you leave the Duke of Orleans? Through him you could influence the court…"

"The king does not listen to the Duke, Rochefort or any of those who really want the best for France. You only have his ear because you share his pillow most nights…"

"Max!" Natalia flushed crimson. She caught herself before she could strike him. Max was telling the truth. Poor Auguste was so stifled by the court that the only time he had to think for himself was either in his workshop or when they were in bed. No courtier would dare interrupt them when they were in bed. She took a sip of the brewed tea to calm her nerves.

"How is uncle?" Milien asked.

"I think he is embarrassed by me being royal mistress. He hardly shows up in Versailles, even when he does, he spends his time with Robbie in the stables."

"Ah, I was wondering where those rumours about Uncle, a page boy and a horse started. I would watch Robbie carefully. I believe he is an English spy."

"Robbie is not…" Natalia froze in mid-sentence. Someone was rapping on her door.

"Goodnight, Lia. Thanks for the cake and tea…" Milien kissed her on the cheek before grabbing his coat and book. He slid back into the secret passage. Natalia hurried over to the door. It was a young maidservant.

"Madame La B-baronne…" the girl stuttered. "H-her Majesty wishes your presence…" The girl's eyes darted about like a rat's in the dark, peering into the room behind the royal mistress. The fact that there were two teacups on the table did not escape her notice.


"Your Majesty…" Natalia curtsied before the queen. It was late. The walk from her rooms in the main palace to Petit Trianon was slow and torturous given the darkness of the gardens. There was no ball on tonight and thus no lamps were lit. The maid had a page boy to light their way with a lantern. Natalia was painfully aware of what a sight she must look with a shawl thrown over her dress. Her dress was a simple, almost rustic-looking one, without any jewels to decorate it.

Queen Marie Antoinette was dressed in a gown studded with seed-pearls. The skirt was a good deal smaller than her formal court gown. Still, it was extravagant enough so that the queen, a small dainty-built woman, was all but overwhelmed by the lustrous silks and rich velvets. The maids hung about her like moths around a flame, as if they could bask in her radiance. "I wish to speak to La Baronne de Beaumont alone," her voice was melodic. French was not her first language and she spoke it haltingly.

When the last of the maids and pages had left the parlour, only did the queen allow herself to slump onto a chaise lounge. "His Majesty has visited us earlier. However, we are indisposed and he has gone to his workshop," she added. "You, de Beaumont, have been affianced to Etienne, but His Majesty has chosen to bestow his favour on you. Have you broken of your engagement because of this? We hear from my ladies that the citizens of Paris adore you… Yet we cannot see why. When we first came as his bride, we knew everyone considered me an outsider. Why is it that you are liked while we are not?"

Natalia stood still without flinching as a feathered cushion hit her full in the face, scattering feathers everyone. The queen was throwing a royal tantrum. "You are nothing! Some half-bred bastard from goodness knows where! Tell me, is that chevalier you call uncle, your father or your lover?" It took all of Natalia's self-control not to speak back. Sir Rochefort and her uncle had warned her about that after her outburst before the archduke. Royalty is sainted and in God's grace. You simply did not harm or even speak back to them. Instead, she waited until the queen and exhausted herself into a fit of tears.

"It must be difficult being queen, or king. There is no room for 'I' in 'we'," Natalia said softly in German, choosing to use the queen's native tongue. "I did not choose to be born a princess…" Marie Antoinette ripped a silken shawl into two. "Mother was always disappointed with me. I am not as bright as my sisters or brothers. My brother said the only thing I am good for is to marry a fellow royal, birth princes and seal the alliance between Austria and France. All my sisters married princes, dukes and counts. I married a sovereign king, yet I feel I got the worst deal."

"No. You did not choose to be born a princess. Neither did Auguste choose to be king. He had to ascend the throne when Louis XV died and maybe he is still trying to figure out how running a country works. Being king is more than just balls and parties. He's got to make some difficult decisions. He needs someone to support him," Natalia added. "Under that crown, he is still a man. Perhaps some part of him is still the bewildered young prince who was crowned king at age six."

"You sound a bit like my mother, but not as imperious as her…" the queen dabbed at her eyes with a lacy hanky. "I am not a royal, just a poor lowly noble," Natalia curtsied. "Would Her Majesty like to drop in on His Majesty in his workshop? He was working on a toy carousel. Perhaps it is finished now…" Natalia suggested. "But first, we must have this mess cleaned up and have you dressed up properly. Autumn is nearing and it is getting cold…" Both king and queen had to be coaxed out of their shells. For starters, they needed to learn to trust each other.

Author's Notes:

Maixmilien Robespierre (Robin) is probably still in prison for rioting. D'Eon has no idea of that because Maximilien Robespierre Jr. (Milien) is going about giving speeches as Robin. Natalia's influence in court is growing and she seems to have won Her Majesty over for now.

Historical fact. Marie Antoinette hated attending the court in Versailles and chose to spend most of her time in Petit Trianon with a circle of her trusted friends, effectively forming an inner circle and separate court from the France court. The Petit Trianon was off-limits to all unless she granted permission. Other nobles hated that and thought of her as being overly arrogant. One nickname was the Austrian Ostrich for her habit hiding from her royal duties. Louis XVI was prone to fits of depression which greatly affected his ability to make court decisions.

Clarification – despite popular lore, Ostriches do not hide their heads in sand to escape danger. They would all have gone extinct long ago if they did. The large birds prefer running from (flight) or if need be kicking would-be predators (fight).