Abbaye de la Reine
September 2, 1792
I’ll not ask where Juliette can be found, Catherine.” Sister Mary Magdalene deliberately avoided Catherine’s pleading gaze as she turned back toward the chapel. “But I wish to see her in the scullery before the midday bell tolls or her punishment will be doubled. Do you understand?”
“I’m sure she never meant to miss morning prayers,” Catherine said anxiously. “When she’s painting she loses all track of time.”
“Then she must be taught to remember. God has given her a great gift, but appreciation for His gifts must be shown in worship and humility.”
Humility. Juliette? If Catherine hadn’t been so exasperated with her friend she would have laughed aloud. “Juliette strives always to improve her gift. Isn’t that a form of worship, too, Reverend Mother?”
Sister Mary Magdalene’s lined face softened as she glanced over her shoulder. “Your loyalty does you credit, Catherine.” For an instant a twinkle appeared in her fine gray eyes. “Consider it fortunate I don’t test your loyalty by asking where Juliette is hiding this time or you might find yourself on your knees scrubbing the stones of the scullery with your friend.” She shrugged. “Not that I believe the punishment will serve to teach her any great lesson. With scrub brush in hand she must have prayed her way over every inch of the abbey these last five years.”
“But Juliette never complains,” Catherine reminded her. “She serves the Lord joyfully. Surely that must—”
“I agree she suffers her punishment cheerfully enough.” The Reverend Mother was amused. “But have you noticed how true to life the stone walls and floors in her paintings have become? I believe she uses the time on her knees to study their composition and texture instead of praying.”
Catherine had noticed, but she had hoped no one else had. She smiled weakly. “You said the acquisition of knowledge is a blessing.”
“Don’t throw my words back at me. We both know Juliette has been most wicked. When the bell tolls!” She turned and vanished into the chapel.
Catherine ran to the south courtyard, then through the gates, all the while muttering imprecations beneath her breath. When she had seen Juliette creeping out of the abbey before dawn that morning, she’d sternly reminded her to be back in time for prayers. But would her headstrong friend listen? No, she must get them both in trouble with the Reverend Mother.
The dew-wet grass dampened Catherine’s slippers and darkened the hem of her gray uniform as she ran through the vegetable garden, then up the hill toward the stone wall bordering the abbey’s cemetery.
Straggly weeds caught on her long skirts as she streaked toward the column of ancient crypts at the rear of the cemetery. When she had first come to the abbey five years before, there had been no weeds, the cemetery had been well tended and money had been plentiful for the nuns to hire workers to keep the abbey in good repair. All that had changed when the Bastille was attacked. With the queen a virtual prisoner in the Palace of the Tuileries in Paris, her charities had ceased and the nuns were forced to rely on contributions from the parents of their students to keep food on the table and the abbey in minimal repair.
As Catherine approached the crypts she felt a familiar clenching of the muscles of her stomach. She would tell Juliette it was time to learn restraint and discipline. No one could go on forever doing exactly as they wished, and the Reverend Mother’s tolerance had been stretched to the limit.
The white marble crypt at the far end of the row had been weathered by time and the elements to a dirty gray; the winged statue of the angel Gabriel hovering over the door gazed menacingly down with blind, pupil-less eyes, Catherine thought. She paused to get her breath before the rusty iron door, steeling herself to go into the vault. She hated coming here. Blast Juliette! The bolt had been drawn and the door was open a crack, but it was terribly heavy and took Catherine a moment to widen it enough to slip into the crypt.
“You can close the door.” Juliette didn’t look up from the painting on the easel before her. “I’m doing shadows and don’t need the light for this bit. The candle will do very well.”
“I’m not closing the door.” Catherine shivered as she stepped gingerly around the marble sarcophagus with its upraised likeness of Sister Bernadette in serene state. Sweet heaven, the candle Juliette had mentioned had actually been placed between the folded hands of the effigy, casting a soft glow over the stern chiseled features. “How can you stay here for hours?”
“I like it here.”
“But it’s a tomb.”
“What difference does that make?” Juliette added a bit more yellow to the brown on her brush. “It’s quiet and it’s the one place I don’t have to worry about the sisters coming to find me.”
“Sister Mary Magdalene would call it sacrilege. The dead should be left in peace.”
“How do you know?” Juliette grinned at Catherine over her shoulder. “Peace is dreadfully dull.” She patted the smooth marble cheek of the nun. “Sister Bernadette and I understand each other. I think she’s glad I come to visit her after lying here alone for over a hundred years. Did you know she died when she was only eight and ten?”
“No.” Catherine was immediately distracted as she looked at the figure on the sarcophagus. She had been concerned only with the forbidding atmosphere in the crypt and never thought about the life of the woman whose remains it contained. What a tragedy to be forced to leave this earth for heaven when one had scarcely started to live. “How sad. So young.”
Juliette made a face. “I shouldn’t have told you. Now when you come here you’ll be all misty-eyed and doleful instead of scared. It’s far more amusing to see you big-eyed and trembling.”
“I’m not frightened,” Catherine said indignantly, the tears vanishing. “And even if I were, it’s unkind of you to be so scornful. I don’t know why I took the time to come after you. I should have told Reverend Mother where you were so that you couldn’t hide and—”
Juliette’s gaze returned to the canvas. “She noticed I wasn’t at morning prayers?”
“Of course she noticed,” Catherine said crossly. “It was different when there were more students at the abbey. Since our number has dwindled to thirty-six, it’s obvious when one is missing matins or vespers or meals. Sister Mathilde always makes sure Reverend Mother knows when you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”
“She doesn’t like me.” Juliette paused, looking unseeingly at the painting of the abbey. “Thirty-six. There were forty-two last week. Soon everyone will be gone.”
Catherine nodded. “Cecile de Montard’s father came for her just after matins. Even now they are packing her bandboxes and loading her other things into the huge berlin drawn by four horses her father arrived in. Her family is leaving for Paris. She said they would go to Switzerland.”
Juliette didn’t look at her as she said in a low voice, “I’m surprised Jean Marc hasn’t sent someone for you. He must have received the Reverend Mother’s message telling him the National Assembly has closed the convents. Perhaps he has already sent for you. Marseilles is a great distance. Someone may come for you at any moment.”
Catherine frowned. Juliette was speaking very strangely. “Nonsense. Jean Marc probably intends for me to stay at the abbey for another year.”
“Things have changed. Everything has changed.” Juliette’s tone became suddenly fierce as she said, “I thought I’d taught you to rid yourself of that blind stupidity.”
“And I thought I’d taught you not to be rude to me.” Catherine held up her hand as Juliette started to protest. “And don’t tell me truthfulness isn’t rudeness. I’ve already heard it a score of times and I believe it no more now than I ever did.”
A reluctant smile touched Juliette’s lips. “Well, it is stupid of you not to realize we can’t go on forever here at the abbey.”
“Not forever. But I don’t see why we can’t stay another year. The nuns can no longer give us lessons, but I’m sure they’d let us remain here anyw
ay. After all, I’m not of the nobility and there’s certainly no reason for me to flee the country.” Catherine glanced away from Juliette as she continued. “And you said your mother now has the protection of that wealthy merchant who can guarantee her safety in Paris. So she’ll surely not take you away either.”
“Undoubtedly, my mother has forgotten she has a daughter.”
“Oh, no.” Catherine’s eyes widened in distress. “I know she never sends for you, but perhaps it’s because she feels it wouldn’t be proper … under the circumstances.”
Juliette shook her head. “Stop looking as if you’re about to weep. I don’t care. I’m glad she never makes me leave the abbey. I like it here.” She blew out the candle. “Let’s get out of here. How do you expect me to work when your knees knock so loudly the sound disturbs my concentration?”
“I am not afraid.” Catherine moved quickly toward the door, sighing with relief as she crossed the threshold into the sunlight. “But we’d better get back to the abbey. The Reverend Mother said she’d double your punishment if you failed to report by the time the midday bell tolls.”
“Not yet.” Juliette followed her from the crypt, closed the heavy door, and shot the bolt. She sat on the ground and leaned comfortably against the wall of the crypt. “Stay with me for a while.” She tilted her head back, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight bathe her face. “I need to garner my strength. Heaven knows how many miles of stones I’ll be set to scrub this time.”
“Perhaps Reverend Mother will let me help you.”
“Why should you want to help me?” Juliette’s eyes remained closed but she smiled. “I’m rude and sacrilegious and cause you no end of trouble.”
Juliette was obviously not going to be hurried, Catherine realized resignedly. She dropped down opposite her. “Perhaps you’ve not rid me of my stupidity after all.”
Juliette’s smile faded. “Why?”
“When I had that terrible cough last winter, why did you stay up night after night and nurse me?”
“That’s different. You’re different. Everybody wants to help you.”
“It’s not different. Why do you pretend to be so uncaring? When that poor peasant woman ran away from her husband and gave birth at the abbey you refused to leave her and cared for the babe yourself until she was well enough to leave the abbey.”
“I like babies.”
“And the mother? You spent almost a year teaching her to read so that she could find employment in Paris at a decent wage.”
“Well, I couldn’t let Yolande go back to her lazy lout of a husband. He would have beaten her to death within days and the baby would have starved. Then I quite probably would have stuck a pitchfork in her pig husband and the Reverend Mother would have been forced to send me away from the abbey.” Her eyes sparked with sudden mischief. “So you see I was just being selfish. Give it up, Catherine. I’ll never be the saint you are.”
Catherine felt her cheeks heat. She gazed at Juliette in bewilderment, unable to remember her ever being in such a mood as this. “I try to do what’s right. I’m not such a saint as you make me out to be.”
“Close enough.” Juliette wrinkled her nose. “But I forgive you, for you’re not at all boring.” She glanced away, her gaze fastening on the abbey looming in the distance. “I shall miss you.”
“I told you I was—”
“You always think everything is going to be fine. We’ve been lucky we’ve had these years. At least, I’ve been lucky. I’ve liked being here at the abbey.” Juliette looked down at the paint-smeared hands folded on her lap. “When I first arrived I thought I’d hate it. All the rules and the kneeling and the scraping.”
Catherine chuckled. “You break nearly every rule, and most of your kneeling and scraping is done only when you’re caught.”
Juliette wasn’t listening. “And then I tried to find the ugliness in the sisters, but I found there wasn’t any. They’re … good. Even Sister Mathilde doesn’t realize she dislikes me. She thinks she’s punishing me only for the good of my immortal soul.”
“Perhaps she does like you. She’s often cross with me too.”
Juliette shook her head. “She’s younger and more clever than the other nuns. She can see how selfish I am.”
Catherine felt helpless. Juliette, who never needed anything, needed something from her now, but she didn’t have the least notion what it might be.
Juliette chuckled. “I see you give me no argument.”
“You can be wondrously kind when it pleases you. But at times you are so involved with your painting that you forget the needs of others.”
“And you think too much of the needs of others. It’s a dangerous practice. It’s much safer to close everyone out and live only for yourself.”
“You don’t close me out.”
“I probably would if I could. You won’t let me.” The fingers threaded together on Juliette’s lap suddenly contracted. “I closed her out.”
“Her?”
“The queen,” Juliette whispered. “I closed her out and refused to think about her. I was never happy anywhere before I came to the abbey. Don’t I have the right to be happy? I want to stay here with the sisters and paint wonderful pictures and tease you when you become too odiously prim and proper. I don’t want to have to leave here and go to help her.”
“The Reverend Mother said the National Assembly put the queen and the rest of the royal family in the Temple for their protection.”
“That’s what they said when they forced them to leave Versailles for the Tuileries. But that was to go to another palace, not to a prison. The tower of the Temple is so gloomy, so grim.”
“You couldn’t do anything to help her, even if you did leave the abbey.” Catherine added, “And they may not be quite as comfortable in the tower, but I’m certain they’re in no danger.”
“I may be selfish, but I’ll not lie to myself.”
“But the Reverend Mother said no one would hurt—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve already decided I won’t leave here until Jean Marc takes you away.” Her gaze returned to the rose-pink stone walls of the abbey and some of the tension left her face. “There are silences here. Beautiful silences. I didn’t know anyone could paint a silence until I came here.”
Catherine understood. Some of Juliette’s recent paintings possessed a tranquility as hushed as the stillness of the chapel at dawn.
“I have a present for you.”
“A present?”
Juliette fumbled in the pocket of her gray gown and handed her a paint-stained, knotted linen handkerchief. “I’ll remember you, but I thought you’d probably need something to remind you of me. You’ll marry your handsome Philippe and have ten children and—”
“You’re speaking foolishly. I haven’t seen Philippe more than three times since I came to the abbey. He thinks of me as a child.”
“You’re an heiress. He’ll change his mind.” Juliette bit her lower lip. “I didn’t mean to say that. You know my unruly tongue. Perhaps your Philippe is as honorable as he is comely. How do I know?”
“You’ll marry too. Most women marry except the nuns.”
“I shall probably never marry. Who would marry me? I’m not at all pretty and I have no dowry.” Juliette lifted her chin defiantly. “Besides, I see no advantage in being a man’s chattel. It seems to me Madame de Pompadour and Madame Du Barry lived much more interesting lives than mere wives would.” She suddenly grinned. “I’ll be no man’s slave. Instead, I shall become a famous painter like Madame Vigée Le Brun. No, much more famous.”
Catherine finally got the knot in the handkerchief undone. “You mean only a quarter of what you say.” She began unfolding the handkerchief. “And you delight in making me—” She broke off as she looked down at the circle of gold on which a single spray of lilac was exquisitely carved. She recognized the necklace immediately. Juliette had only one piece of jewelry, and Catherine had seen it on rare occasions throu
gh the years. “I can’t take it. You told me Her Majesty gave this to you for your eighth natal day.”
Juliette’s expression became shuttered. “I’m not sentimental. The queen has forgotten me. It was always my mother she loved and she never gave me a thought unless I was underfoot.” She shrugged dismissively, her gaze fixed eagerly on Catherine’s face. “Open it.”
“It’s a locket? I thought it only a necklace. The opening is almost seamless.…” Catherine stopped as the locket sprang open between her fingers. She stared down in disbelief at the painted miniature in the locket. She whispered, “It is I. It is … beautiful.”
“It’s executed well enough, I suppose. I’ve never worked on a miniature before. It was quite interest—” Juliette stared at Catherine in disgust. “Holy Mother, you’re not going to cry?”
“Yes.” Catherine looked up, the tears running down her face. “I’ll weep if I wish to weep.”
“I did it only because I wanted to learn how to paint a miniature and I wouldn’t have given it to you if I’d known you were going to blubber like this.”
“Well, I won’t give it back.” Catherine slipped the long, delicate chain over her head and settled the locket on her breast. “Not ever. And when I’m a very old lady I’ll show it to my grandchildren and tell them it was painted by my dearest friend.” She wiped her cheeks with the rumpled linen handkerchief. “And, when they ask me why she painted me as so much more beautiful than I could ever hope to be”—Catherine paused and met Juliette’s gaze—“I shall tell them that my friend was a little peculiar and could find no other way to tell me she loved me as much as I loved her.”
Juliette stared at her in astonishment for a minute before she shifted her gaze to the locket. “It’s nothing. I’m … glad you’re pleased with it.” She jumped to her feet. “I’d better get back to the abbey. Sister Mary Magdalene will be …” She trailed off as she plunged into the long grass and straggly weeds. Jumping over low tombstones, she hurried toward the gate in the stone wall enclosing the cemetery.
Juliette was running away. Catherine rose slowly to her feet, her palm closing caressingly around the smooth warmth of the golden locket at her breast. The locket’s warmth came from being in Juliette’s pocket, close to her friend’s body. How long had Juliette been carrying that paint-smudged, clumsily knotted handkerchief around with her? How like Juliette to do something thoughtful and kind, then claim it as selfishness. Juliette was so much braver than she when confronted with life and death but scurried away like a frightened squirrel at the slightest hint of sentiment. Affection swelled through Catherine, tightening her throat and bringing the tears Juliette so despised to her eyes again. She cupped her mouth with her hand and called to Juliette, who had now reached the gate. “Remember to wash the paint off your hands before you go see the Reverend Mother.”