Why Kings Confess

Chapter 47

Claire Bisette came to see Hero shortly before eleven that morning.

The Frenchwoman was pale and wraithlike, with hazel eyes set deep in a gaunt face and dull, dark blond hair drawn back in a severe knot. Her old-fashioned dress was hopelessly faded and darned at the elbows, cuffs, and collar, although she’d obviously tried hard to present a clean, neat appearance. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten in a fortnight.

She brought with her the names of “respectable” people who could vouch for her integrity, honesty, and trustworthiness, although she admitted she had never held such a position as the one for which she was applying. Her only qualification was having cared for her own two children, both of whom were now dead.

Hero took the list of names, sent for tea and sandwiches, and slowly coaxed the anxious, stiff woman to talk. They spoke not only of children, but of Voltaire and Rousseau, of the concept of limited monarchy and the recent attempts to launch an expedition to the North Pole. After half an hour, Hero said, “I’ll have Morey show you to your room in the nurseries. You can make arrangements with him to have your things brought over.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “But. . you can’t mean to engage me without checking my references!”

“I will check them, of course. And if they tell me you are a charlatan, I shall let you go. Only, I hope I am not such a poor judge of character.”

Claire Bisette was surprised into a soft laugh. It was the first laugh Hero had heard from her. Then the woman cocked her head to one side and said, “The child is due when?”

Hero’s hand tightened around her cup, but she said calmly enough, “Soon.”

“There is a problem?”

When Hero simply stared at her, Claire Bisette hastened to say, “I beg your pardon, my lady; I should not have asked.”

Hero shook her head. “No. As it happens, you are right. The babe is lying breech.”

“Ah. My first child, Henri, was stubborn in that way. But a good friend of mine turned him in the womb.”

“Do you mean Madame Sauvage?”

“I do, yes.”

“And what she did worked?”

“It did, yes. I knew the instant he turned-it felt just like a giant fish flopping inside me.”

Hero set aside her teacup. “How long have you known her?”

“Madame Sauvage? We were children together, in Paris.”

“So you knew Damion Pelletan, as well?”

“No. My family had moved to Nice by the time Dr. Philippe-Jean brought Damion home.”

Hero shook her head, not understanding. “What do you mean, brought him home?”

“Damion Pelletan was Alexi’s half brother. She didn’t know he existed until she was nearly grown.”

“When was this?” Hero asked sharply-more sharply than she had intended.

Claire Bisette frowned with the effort of memory. “I do not recall precisely. It was sometime after the Terror. The summer of 1795, perhaps?”