‘But you didn’t know that at first, did you?’ I planted myself before her chair. ‘When she first told you she was with child, you had to act quickly. You consulted Jacopo about the prospect of legitimising the child by marriage. And you sent Léonie to serve Queen Louise. To poison her, little by little, so no one would suspect foul play. But Léonie threw your plan into disarray when she confessed it to Paul Lefèvre, who alerted the Queen. Then, when you learned the child might not even be the King’s, you realised you had risked everything for a deception.’
‘Where is your evidence for any of this?’ Catherine still appeared admirably unruffled; it was I who was sweating. ‘Henri, are you going to let this man interrogate me as if he were my judge and I a common criminal?’
‘Yes,’ the King said bluntly. ‘And I would like to hear you answer his charges, madam.’
‘I have asked him what proof he has beyond wild fancy.’ She sat back and looked at me, eyebrows arched expectantly.
‘The Queen’s recent illness began when Léonie came to serve in her household, two months ago.’
Catherine waved her hand. ‘That woman has always suffered from ill health, long before Léonie went near her.’
‘Not with the symptoms of poisoning. Then there is the scarf I found in the clearing where Léonie was murdered. It was embroidered with Queen Louise’s crest. I believe Léonie’s killer dropped it there after strangling her with it.’
‘Do you hear that, Henri? Louise’s crest. He will be accusing your wife of her murder next.’
‘No, but it was someone who has at some point had access to the Queen’s apartments and could have taken it from her.’
‘More speculation.’
‘Then there was this.’ I reached inside my doublet and showed her the silver penknife in my palm. I was gratified to see a flash of something – anger? fear? – twist her features. ‘You recognise this, Your Majesty, I’m sure. Antique Florentine craftsmanship, rare in Paris. You brought them with you when you first came to France as a young bride, I understand? And you have given them as gifts to those who have done you special service. I know Jacopo has one.’
‘What of it?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I found it by the naked corpse of Joseph de Chartres. He too was garrotted. His killer – who was also his lover – used the knife to twist the tourniquet, but fled in too much of a hurry to take it.’
I could see the muscles working along Catherine’s jaw as she considered her response. Henri’s gaze rested on me with a kind of wonder.
‘So – this lover killed both de Chartres and Léonie, at my mother’s command?’
‘I believe so, Your Majesty.’
‘I train my girls in many arts, Doctor Bruno, but garrotting is not among them,’ Catherine said, patting her hairnet into place. ‘Do not listen to any more of this, Henri. My physicians assure me the girl was not even pregnant.’
‘Then why did you give her the Queen’s wedding medallion with the dolphin?’ I shot back.
‘I did no such thing. Perhaps she stole it from Queen Louise.’
‘The Queen had already returned it to you, at your request. And you had Ruggieri draw up an astrological chart for the new Dauphin – I saw it in the library.’
‘You must have imagined that.’ She turned briskly to the King. ‘You look tired, Henri. Let me send for some food. This is too much for you while you are still unwell.’ She reached out a hand towards his face; Henri slapped it away.
‘You are saying, Bruno, that this lover is one of my mother’s women?’ he asked.
‘That seemed the obvious conclusion, Your Majesty. But I could not be certain until I found a match for the handwriting in the two letters I have from Joseph’s lover.’
‘And now you have?’
‘Beyond doubt.’
‘Tell me one thing. Is this lover among my mother’s attendants today? Out there in the gallery?’
I nodded. The King rose, his face dark. ‘Then bring them all in. See if she can keep her countenance with every gaze on her.’
‘Do not do this, Henri, I beg you. Do not repeat these foolhardy accusations to people who have only ever loved and served you and acted for the good of your throne.’ Catherine struggled out of her chair. She looked older suddenly, the emotion in her voice no longer within her control.
But Henri was already striding to the door; he flung it open and barked a command. They trooped in behind him, white-faced and anxious: Balthasar, Ruggieri, Gabrielle. I wondered how much they had heard. I caught Gabrielle’s eye and held her gaze for a moment, trying to convey a wordless apology, but her face was rigid.
I reached into the inside pocket of my doublet again and drew out the love letter I had found in Joseph’s cell.
‘I had been looking for a woman whose hand matched this,’ I said, addressing the King. ‘But it was only very recently that I realised where I had seen this writing before. I said it seemed an obvious conclusion that Joseph’s lover was a woman from the court. It would be logical – to seduce and win the confidence of a man with senior League connections. That is what your women do, is it not, Your Majesty?’ I added, turning to Catherine. She neither acknowledged nor denied it. ‘However,’ I continued, with heavy emphasis, and I felt my listeners strain forward, ‘once again, as with Lefèvre’s letter and the phrase “Your Majesty”, I realised that pursuing the obvious solution had made me
