The Lady and the Unicorn. Tracy Chevalier

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СКАЧАТЬ orange peel I have a liking for, saying it would settle my stomach. I insisted that she go all the way to a stall near Notre Dame for it. She rolled her eyes at me but she went. When she was gone I let out a big sigh and ran to my room. My nipples were rubbing against my underdress and I lay on my bed and pushed a pillow between my legs, longing for an answer to my body’s question. I felt like a prayer sung at Mass that is interrupted and left unfinished.

      Finally I got up, straightened my clothes and head-dress, and ran to my father’s private chamber. The door was open and I peeked in. Only Marie-Céleste was there, crouching at the hearth to light the fire. When I was younger and we were at the Château d’Arcy for the summer, Marie-Céleste used to take me and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève down to the river and sing us bawdy songs while she washed clothes. I wanted to tell her now about Nicolas des Innocents, about where I wanted his hands to go and what I would do with my tongue. After all, it had been her songs and stories that taught me about such things. But something stopped me. She had been my friend when I was a girl, but now I am growing up, soon to have a lady-in-waiting and prepare for a husband, and it was not right to speak of such things with her.

      ‘Why are you lighting the fire, Marie-Céleste?’ I asked instead, even though I knew already.

      She looked up at me. There was a smudge of ash on her forehead, as if it were still Ash Wednesday. She always was a messy girl. ‘Visitors coming, Mademoiselle,’ she answered. ‘For your father.’

      The wood was beginning to smoke, with flames licking here and there. Marie-Céleste grabbed onto a chair and hauled herself to her feet with a grunt. Her face looked fatter than before. In fact – I gazed at her body in growing horror. ‘Marie-Céleste, are you with child?’

      The girl hung her head. It was strange – all those songs she had sung about maids getting caught, and she must never have thought it would happen to her. Of course every woman wants a child, but not like that, with no husband.

      ‘You silly thing!’ I scolded. ‘Who is he?’

      Marie-Céleste waved her hand as if batting away the question.

      ‘Does he work here?’

      She shook her head.

      ‘Alors, will he marry you?’

      Marie-Céleste scowled. ‘No.’

      ‘But what will you do?’

      ‘Don’t know, Mademoiselle.’

      ‘Maman will be furious. Has she seen you?’

      ‘I keep away from her, Mademoiselle.’

      ‘She’ll find out soon enough. You should wear a cloak at least to hide it.’

      ‘Maids don’t wear cloaks, Mademoiselle – can’t work in a cloak.’

      ‘You won’t be able to work soon anyway, by the look of you. You’ll have to go back to your family. Attends, you must tell Maman something. I know – tell her your mother’s ill and you must tend to her. Then you can come back after the baby’s born.’

      ‘Can’t go to the mistress looking like this, Mademoiselle – she’ll know straight away what’s wrong.’

      ‘I’ll tell her, then, when she comes back from Nanterre.’ I did feel sorry for Marie-Céleste and wanted to help her.

      Marie-Céleste brightened. ‘Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle. That is good of you!’

      ‘You’d best be off as soon as you can.’

      ‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you. I’ll see you when I come back.’ She turned to go, then turned back again. ‘If it’s a girl I’ll name her after you.’

      ‘That would be nice. If it’s a boy will you name it after the father?’

      Marie-Céleste narrowed her eyes. ‘Never,’ she sneered. ‘He don’t want nothing to do with it, so I don’t want nothing to do with him!’

      After she left I had a look around Papa’s chamber. It is not a comfortable room. The oak chairs have no cushions on them, and they creak when you shift about. I think Papa has them made like that so no one will meet with him for long. I’ve noticed that Oncle Léon always stands when he comes to see Papa. The walls are lined with maps of his properties – the Château d’Arcy, our house on the rue du Four, the Le Viste family house in Lyons – as well as maps of disputes Papa is working on for the King. The books he owns are kept here in a locked case.

      There are two tables in the room – one that Papa writes at, and a bigger one where he spreads maps and papers for meetings. Usually that table is bare, but today some large sheets of paper had been left there. I looked down at the top one and stepped back in surprise. It was a drawing, and it was of me. I was standing between a lion and a unicorn, holding a parakeet on my gloved finger. I was wearing a beautiful dress and necklace, with a simple headscarf that left my hair loose. I was glancing sideways at the unicorn and smiling as if I were thinking of a secret. The unicorn was handsome, plump and white and rearing up on his hind legs, with a long spiralling horn. He had turned his head from me, as if trying not to become spellbound by my beauty. He was wearing a little cloak with the Le Viste arms on it, and the wind seem to whip through the drawing, blowing out his cloak and the roaring lion’s as well, and my headscarf and the Le Viste standard held by the lion.

      I gazed at the drawing for a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes from it or move it to see the drawings underneath. He had drawn me. He was thinking of me as I was of him. My breasts tingled. Mon seul désir.

      Then I heard voices in the hall. The door swung open and all I could think to do was drop to the floor and scramble under the table. It was dark under there, and strange to be on the cold stone floor alone. Normally I would hide in such a place with my sisters, and we would giggle so much we would be found out immediately. I sat with my arms wrapped round my knees, praying that I couldn’t be seen.

      Two men entered and came straight over to the table. One wore the long brown robes of a merchant, and must be Oncle Léon. The other wore a grey tunic to his knees and dark blue hose. His calves were shapely, and I knew even before he spoke that it was Nicolas. I had not just spent so many days thinking of him for naught. All of my thoughts had filled in the details of him – the width of his shoulders, the curls of his hair brushing his neck, his bottom like two cherries, and the taut line of his calves.

      My thoughts would have to fill in more details now, for as the men began to speak I could see nothing of them but their legs. I could only imagine the looks on Nicolas’ face – his smooth brow crinkling, his pinched eyes staring at me in the drawing, his long fingers tracing the rough drawing paper. All this I filled in as I sat in near-darkness, listening to them.

      ‘Monseigneur will be along in a moment,’ Oncle Léon said. ‘Let us consider a few things while we wait.’ I could hear paper rustling.

      ‘Did he like the designs?’ Nicolas asked. ‘Was he full of praise?’ The sound of his confident voice went straight to my maidenhead, as if he had touched me there.

      Léon didn’t answer, and Nicolas became insistent. ‘He must have said something. Surely you can see that these are superior drawings. He must be overjoyed with them.’

      Léon chuckled. ‘It is not in his nature for Monseigneur Le Viste to be overjoyed by СКАЧАТЬ