The Runaway Royals - Part Fifteen
Danielle opened her eyes and looked around her. She was lying in an elegant bed in a luxurious bedchamber. She sat up so as to take in her surroundings. She was wearing a night-gown of blue China silk trimmed with white lace. On the walls hung paintings of beautiful landscapes and vases of fresh flowers covered every surface. It did not matter thought that these things were very fine, she knew that they were not her own and so they did not offset her uneasiness.
She pulled aside the covers and shuffled over, putting her feet on the floor. It was icy cold and sent a shooting pain through her warm feet. She quickly pulled her feet back under the warm sheets and looked around for a pair of slippers. There were none, This was definitely not her room. At Hautefort Henry insisted on a pair of slippers and a wrap being near her bed at all times. He could not bear the thought of her becoming ill because of the cold. Hautefort was a grand place but it was made of stone, all the fires in the World could not sufficiently heat that place in winter. Her whole body retreated under the warm sheets of her bed. She would have to dwell in her four poster prison until her prince came to rescue her.
She began to look more closely around the room. There were no distinguishing features around the room to tell her where she was. Her own bed carried the crest of Valois on the canapé, but all there was above her now was a blank canvas. A thousand questions began to flood into her head. How did she get here? Where did these clothes come from? Who did all of this belong to? Henry would be able to tell her everything when he arrived, for she had no doubt that he would be around somewhere. If she was sure of nothing else in this world, she did know that wherever she went, Henry would not be far behind her.
Just then the door opened and Hélène entered carrying a beautiful gown and a pair of shoes. "Oh thank goodness, I thought I was going to be stuck in here forever. This floor is so cold. Where are we?" But Hélène did not reply. It was as if she did not hear. She laid the gown across the bottom of the bed and turned to look at Danielle. There were tears in her eyes, but it was as if she did not see Danielle sitting there talking to her. Something very strange was happening. "Hélène what is the matter?" Danielle asked as the tears spilled down her face. Hélène left the room without speaking a word.
Danielle was puzzled. It was not like Hélène to be rude. She stood up on the bed and began to change into the new gown. Like the room and the night-dress, this was not hers, but she needed to get out of this bed, she needed to find Henry. The gown was a beautiful dark blue colour, like the night sky. It fitted her perfectly, perhaps Henry had it made for her and was a gift.
As she put her feet on the floor, the cold had disappeared and now heat was rising through the soles of the shoes into her feet. Things were not right, she was not in a place that she wanted to be. The only place she wanted to be was with her husband. When he wasn't right there with her, she felt like she was dead. She had always been free and a little wild, but it was Henry who brought all of the passion out of her now. Her life revolved around him.
She tentatively made her way over to the door and peered out into a dark, cold corridor, lit only by a few torches. She took one out of its holder and began to negotiate her way down the imposing passage. Where was she? There were no distinguishing features and no recognisable faces, in fact no faces at all. The whole thing was beginning to frighten her. She had no memory of coming to this place and it seemed like nobody had any memory of her.
At the end of the corridor was an unlit stone staircase. She tried to peer down to see if she could tell what was down there but it was too dark. She decided to continue and descend, she had to find somebody who could tell her what was going on. She tentatively felt her way down the spiral stairs. They just went on and on as if they were leading to a place deep underground.
Eventually she came to a large door which lead her into a grand dining room. There were servants running back and forth to a grand table in the centre of the room at which the King, Queen and Jacqueline sat. They were eating, or rather looking at, bowls of soup. They all looked so unhappy. The king had a dour look on his face
which transcended his usually severity and was more sorrowful. The Queen was silent
and her eyes were puffy and red as if she had cried as much as she physically could
and could no longer find the tears. Jacqueline was quietly sobbing to herself. Danielle could see the small convulsions rip through her body. It was quite obvious to anybody that this was a table in mourning.
"Mother, Father, Jacqueline what has happened?" She was now very worried. She had seen all of this sorrow and yet no Henry. Could it be that he had been hurt? There was no response to Danielle's question. "Please tell me what is wrong, you are frightening me!" Still they ignored her. It was like her experience with Hélène earlier, as if they did not see or hear her. She walked over to the table and slammed her hand down on the polished wood, but they still paid no heed of her, so she left the room. She was determined to find out what was going on.
She was now back in the ghostly passageways of this terrifying place. She had no idea of where she was going or what she would find. She just wanted to find something. Why did nobody acknowledge her presence. Were they all playing some sort of trick on her. If they were it was very cruel and one that she did not appreciate. She just wanted to be back at Hautefort in her bedchamber, with Henry, surely that was not too much to ask.
Now she found another door. It creaked loudly and echoed through the cavernous hallways as she pushed it open. Surely somebody must hear her. She now found herself in a block of stables. She found it odd that the stables be attached to the castle itself, but she did not question it. It must be real, she was there. She walked along the rows of pens, each with its own beast inside including her own horse, Persephone*, which had been given to her by Henry. He said that he named all of his horses with her in mind. He said that Persephone was, like Danielle herself, a maiden so fair, that the Gods would do anything to keep her.
All she could hear were the sounds of her own footsteps and the sobs of a woman. She came to a stall with the door open. She looked in and saw Steven and Hélène standing together in a corner. They did not notice her presence, so she just stood and watched. The sobs that she could hear were coming from Hélène. What could have happened to make her weep so? Steven was holding her in a comforting embrace. Her head was buried into his chest and his was in her hair. She could see neither of their faces, but she knew that they too were upset over something. She did not want to disturb them, they seemed to be deeply distressed, so she quietly left through another door.
Now she was back in the castle and walking along another corridor. This one was peppered with door ways, but she could see that one must be open as she could see a light flickering on the walls of the hall. She was amazed to find herself back at her starting point, the room she had found herself not an hour since. She replaced the torch she had been carrying and looked in. Sitting by the bed was Henry. Her delight on finally seeing him was indescribable. Seeing all of these gloomy faces around, yet not his, she began to worry about him, but he was here.
"Henry!" She called. He did not look up, he did not even acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the room. She ran over to him, determined to know what was going on. As she neared him he began to whisper something.
"I am sorry my angel."
"Henry what is it?" She walked to his side and placed her hand on his arm. He shuddered at her touch. He looked up right at her, but he was not looking at her, he seemed to be looking through her. She was now petrified of what might have happened. She looked down to his hands and saw that in his hand was another. It was small, delicate, feminine. She followed this to an arm, up to a shoulder and finally to a face. It was lifeless and cold. The skin was alabaster white and the lips pale. Had it not been for the tender way in which her prince looked at it, she would never have recognised that the person lying in the bed was herself.
She gasped and staggered backwards. Could it be possible? She had died and what she had been seeing was the mourning for her? She could do nothing but watch as Henry leaned over and kissed her eyelids and placed an under-ripe apple in her other hand.
"This is the symbol of our marriage my love. A sweet fruit, grown from a tiny seed and plucked from the branch before it could flourish. Take this with you and keep it, we shall enjoy it when we are together again."
Danielle could take it no more. She retreated from the room into the dark hall. It had changed though since first she saw it. Now it was covered in handsome portraits and the staircase was well lit. Candles and torches shone a brilliant, sparkling light, like the sun glinting off a river. She felt an inexplicable need to see what was there. Maybe this was her passage to another life. An eternal life. On stepping down onto the first step, she felt no fear. She suddenly knew that she was going to a place that would make her happy.
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Hélène looked over at her mistress. In slumber she looked so peaceful and more beautiful than she had ever looked. It was impossible to believe that within the day those delicate breaths that she now took would stop altogether. She had been in the room assisting the doctor, how could she have missed such a devastating wound? She knew that no matter how much she tormented Henry, the guilt for this tragic death would be on her head. It was her negligence in the Princess's care that had caused this. Laying across the bottom of the bed was a midnight blue gown which had once belonged to Duchess Emmeline. The Duke had suggested that when her time came, the Princess should be dressed in clothes befitting a woman of her standing, so that she might be taken back to her home with dignity before being committed to the ground.
What was really on Hélène's mind though was Henry. He had always been hot headed and irrational and prone to getting himself in trouble, but now was not the time for it. Danielle should not be alone in her final moments. Even if she knows nothing of what is happening, there should be somebody with her, to talk to her and hold her hand. If that person had to be Hélène then she would take the duty most seriously, but that should not be the case. She deserved to be with her husband one last time before she entered into immortality.
As Hélène removed the stopper from a bottle of scent she heard a voice behind her. She turned, expecting to see one of the Duke's servants, but there was nobody there except herself and the Princess. Then she hopefully looked down on the princess and saw that her eyes were open. She was speechless with joy as she saw her beloved mistress raise her hands from beneath the sheets and rub her eyes.
"Hélène, am I dead?" Danielle croaked. "Is this Heaven?" Tears began to stream down Hélène's face.
"No Your Highness, you are very alive," Hélène managed to blurt out.
"Oh that's nice to know," Danielle said. Hélène laughed. Such a blasé response to such a traumatising ordeal. She began to run over to the door so that she could shout out for the physician, but she felt Danielle's hand on her arm.
"Hélène where is Henry?" Suddenly she realised that Danielle may have been brought back from the brink, but that was where Henry was heading. What would she say if Henry got himself killed? How could she tell her something that would almost certainly kill her?
*Persephone was the Greek goddess of the underworld. She was kidnapped by Hades and made to eat six pomegranate seeds so that she would have to return to the underworld for six months of every year.