The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

with a shawl of blue and green tartan pinned at her shoulder.

“Madame la Reine,” she said sweetly and bowed very low. “I have heard a rumor that you are with child. If so, I understand your joy, for I, too, am pregnant by His Majesty.”

Jeanne let go a hiss of outrage. Diane was too stunned to emit a sound. Fleming tossed her head, gloating.

Monsieur d’Humieres had come into the main chamber, his wildly gesticulating hands filling the air like a scattering flock of birds. “How dare you! How dare you, Madame, insult the Queen! Apologize at once!”

I gestured for Madame Gondi to attend the children and rose. With Diane close behind me, I caught Fleming by the elbow and guided her back to the nearest bedroom.

Once inside the door, I said, my voice low and not particularly pleasant, “It shows incredibly poor taste to discuss such matters in front of the children. You are an unmarried woman, and your condition is nothing less than scandalous.”

Fleming did not cower. She was tall, as were all the Scots, and she gazed down her pretty nose at me with contempt.

“You speak of scandal,” she said. “Yet you visit the children with the King’s former lover.”

Former lover… Diane gaped, incensed, at the words.

“You will regret that remark,” I said evenly. “And you are never to speak of your condition in front of the children again, or you will have me to deal with-and I am not so easily influenced as His Majesty.”

Fleming retorted, “Mary, Queen of Scots, is my sovereign, Madame. I answer only to her.”

Diane stepped forward and slapped Fleming swiftly, resoundingly. Fleming shrieked and pressed her hand to the offended cheek.

“Forgive my outburst, Madame la Reine,” Diane said, glowering at the startled governess, “but I will not suffer such heinous impertinence toward my queen.”

“You are forgiven,” I answered, my gaze fixed on the governess. “Madame Fleming, you are correct: You are Queen Mary’s subject. But I am her guardian, which makes me your employer. I would counsel you to remember that.”

I turned my back to her and called for Monsieur d’Humieres, who appeared, groveling. Fleming, her eyes filled with tears from Diane’s stinging blow, her tongue bristling with Scottish curses, hurried out of the room toward the common chamber and the children.

I said, “Monsieur, please make sure that she goes to her own room and remains there until I give orders to the contrary.”

“At once, at once, Your Majesty,” he said, and the three of us returned to the common nursery.

In keeping with her abysmal judgment, Fleming had gone directly to Mary, and as the puppy and the other children quailed, stormed, and wept in front of her. Mary at first stroked the puppy in her arms, but as Fleming continued her tirade, Mary grew quite still, her expression darkening.

When Diane and I approached, with Monsieur d’Humieres preceding us, the governess fell silent. Mary scowled at us.

“How dare you,” she said, her voice low and shaking. “Madame de Poitiers, how dare you strike Miss Fleming! Apologize at once!”

“There is no need for an apology,” I countered firmly. “Your governess gave ample provocation. Madame Fleming, go to your chambers and await word from me.”

Mary bristled. “She will do nothing of the kind. I want her to stay here.”

I studied the tableau-the furious girl, the weeping governess, Francois frightened into hiccups, Elisabeth hushed-and sighed. “Mary,” I said, “there can be no winner when two queens argue. But you are still a child, and I your guardian.” I turned to the agitated Monsieur d’Humieres. “Monsieur, please escort Madame Fleming to her room.”

“No!” Mary cried. She hurled the puppy to the floor with such vehemence that the poor thing yelped.

Elisabeth picked the little dog up and saw that it was not hurt. The temperamental act-involving as it did an innocent creature-set my teeth on edge. I whirled on Mary, ready to chastise her, but she let go a torrent of words.

“She will do as I say! I am twice queen, and born to it-not a commoner, a merchant’s daughter who made a match far beyond her station!”

Thus I learned how I was perceived-by the Scots and by the Guises, who were waiting for the moment their niece would take the throne of France. Suddenly fierce, I stepped up to Mary and, gazing deep into her hostile little eyes, said very softly, “Yes, I fought my way up from a lower station-all the more reason for you to fear me, my spoiled girl. I will win.”

Her lips pursed at that, but she recoiled without answer. I turned to Elisabeth and said, “The dog is now yours.”

In the end, I summoned one of my own guards to escort Fleming to her room and prevailed upon Monsieur d’Humieres to confine Mary to her own chamber. When my husband at last arrived in the nusery with the Guises, limping on his bandaged ankle but cheerful, I allowed Mary to come out so long as she agreed to behave.

Madame Fleming’s name did not surface in the conversation. But several times during that long morning, I caught Mary studying my face, her eyes narrowed by a yearning for vengeance.

Twenty-six

Given the unpleasantness in the nursery, I waited to share my news with Henri; that evening, I invited him to my chambers.

He arrived limping on a crutch, thinking that I had invited him to my bed despite his injury. Once the door was closed, I took him into my arms and returned his kiss. He smelled of wine and was flushed from having drunk more than usual, most likely to dull the pain from his ankle.

When I drew back from the embrace, I said, “Henri, before we become distracted… I have both happy and unhappy news to share with you.”

He tensed at once. “Well, then. Let me hear the unhappy news first.”

“The happy is better first this time, I think. I am pregnant again, dear husband.”

As eager as I was to tell him, I was also reluctant. Each time he had learned I was carrying a child, Henri had forsaken our marriage bed, underscoring the reality that he had relations with me solely to produce heirs.

He grinned, teeth flashing against his dark beard, and wrapped his arms around me. “Once more you delight me. And what a good mother you are; I saw, in the nursery, how well the children behave.”

He kissed me repeatedly-I giggled at the tickle of his wiry beard-then I pulled away and grew solemn.

“Ah,” he said. “Now the unhappy news?”

“Now the unhappy,” I confirmed. “Janet Fleming is pregnant as well.”

His eyes widened with shock in the instant before he turned his embarrassed gaze downward. He dropped his arms and took a step back.

I gestured at a chair. “Please sit, Your Majesty. This matter bears discussion.”

He sat down hard; the impact forced a breath from him. “How did you… How did you learn this? From Diane?”

“No. From Madame Fleming herself.”

His jaw slackened. “She said it outright to you?”

“She is quite boastful of it.”

“I had hoped you would never know,” he said, flushing. “I am not proud of it. I can only beg your forgiveness, and tell you that I promised Diane a fortnight ago that I would have nothing more to do with Janet Fleming. And I have kept my promise.”

My manner was infinitely calm. “I did not summon you to accuse you, although I can thoroughly understand Madame de Poitiers’s heartache. I ask rather for your help.”

He stared at me, astonished. “You’re not angry?”

“Only hurt. But there is a matter far more important than my personal unhappiness, or even Diane’s,” I said.