Chapter 8

I took a deep breath in as I looked around the room. It was lit by candlelight, and I was glad not to have a big spotlight shining in my face. All around were mostly faces I didn’t recognize and some that were becoming familiar. There were the king and the queen sitting on their thrones, looking all regal as only nobility can. Although, I was beginning to think it was really just the chairs that made them seem more noble than the rest of us. Well, that and the crowns. Prince Charles stood beside his mother’s chair. Next to him was Genevieve of the Sour Face. OK, that’s my own description, not a real title, but hey, if the face fits and all that. A cluster of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting were next, most whose faces I could recognize as we’d sat together through dinner. They were mostly nice. Nicole was in the center of the pack, throwing an encouraging smile my way. She reminded me a bit of Anne, my dear friend I’d somehow left in the 21st century. If she were here, she’d be giving me the double thumbs-up sign. I skimmed around the rest of the room, nodding to the audience; some seated, some standing, all eyes on me. Slowly, I let out my deep breath and felt the calm wash over me. I looked down at the instrument sitting in front of me, what I would have called an antique harp. Except, as I’d learned, it was in perfect condition and had been made by commission of the king only a few years before. Here goes nothing, I thought. I lifted my hands from my lap, brushing the iPhone still in my pocket for luck, and placed them in the ready position on the harp. Then, I began to sing.

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All day I had practiced in the music room with the various instruments, trying to accustom myself to each one. They were strange, fascinating and familiar all at once. I could see how they would evolve and become the instruments I knew how to play by heart. The harpsichord was easy enough, though it was small and didn’t have as many keys as the piano I was used to. It also had a funny, tinny-type sound. Not sure how else to describe it! But it was workable. I spent more time with the lute, and then the cittern and its sister the mandolin, then a really cool violone which was basically a stand-up bass. Some had more strings than I was used to, and some hadn’t been played in a long time, if ever, so I’d had to keep stopping to tune them.

However, it was the harp standing in the corner of the room that really drew my attention. Come on, a harp? How cool is that? I’d always wanted to play one, but it’s not exactly the type of instrument you take lightly. I was pretty sure I could figure out how to play it, though, knowing the piano. This harp wasn’t all gold and glittery like you imagine every harp is, or like the one’s you might see in an orchestra. This one was beautifully carved wood that seemed to flow with scrolls, leaves, and even a tiny cherub (you know those fat little babies with wings you see in paintings?). I didn’t know what kind of wood it was. Maybe cherry? It had sort of a reddish glow to it, and it was polished beautifully. It was about a medium size, not really tall, and as I sat down to figure out how to play it, I realized it was almost like playing a piano by its strings alone, without the keys hammering down on them. Instead, I had to use my fingers to do the work of the keys. With my left hand I could strum a chord, and with my right, I could pluck out a tune. It was so amazing! Next, I had to figure out how to adapt a song I knew and be able to sing along to it without thinking too much about where my hands were on the harp. Not to mention, it couldn’t sound too modern. I mean, I certainly didn’t know any 16th-century music. I wondered if they even had popular music?

From what I remember my dad telling me, the musicians who traveled from castle to castle brought with them their own songs and told stories through the music. So I had to flip through the repertoire in my head to find a good storytelling song. For instance, I didn’t think “Payphone” by Maroon 5 or “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepson were going to be well received in the 16th century. Can you imagine? I tried tune after tune, becoming frustrated at not finding the right one for the harp. Eventually I leaned my forehead on the cool wood of the harp, eyes closed, and hoped for inspiration of some sort. I was wondering, questioning, fighting the overwhelming feeling that I was all alone in this strange new, er, old world. Where were my parents? Anne? Zeke? And suddenly, I started picking strings with my right hand, and my left hand joined in. Then I was lost in the music and had no idea how long I’d been in that room, but jumped when the door swung open and I heard my name.

“Isabelle! Have you been in here all day?” It was Nicole. She was already in a different dress. How many times does a person need to change in one day? I thought. Glancing at the window, I noticed the light had changed and thought the sun must be setting. The room was near dark and I hadn’t even noticed.

“Nicole, what time is it? I seem to have lost track.”

“Why it’s time to get ready for dinner is what time it is!” She answered, sounding appalled. She snapped her fingers at me. “Come, quickly! We must get you dressed!” I’m pretty sure every sentence she uttered had finished with an exclamation point. She grabbed my arm as I neared her and linked it in her own as she led me out of the room. Ack, it felt good to walk. My legs felt numb from sitting for so long.

“Tell me,” Nicole started, “Do you feel ready to perform tonight? I cannot imagine doing such a thing. In front of all those people? No, no, no!” She shook her pretty curls back and forth emphasizing her horror at performing in public.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I think I’m ready. I’ve been performing for many, many years. I never think about the people I’m singing to. Just the story I’m trying to tell.”

“Oh I cannot wait to hear you tonight! After last nights performance? Oh my!” She fanned herself, just thinking about it. Then she started chattering on about how she passed the day bored to tears in the queen’s quarters doing some kind of cross stitch and watching Genevieve continually look toward the door hoping to be rescued by Charles. Who never came. So she sat angry and sullen until the queen dismissed them all for the day, telling them to take a turn in the gardens for air.

“You would not believe the conversation I had with Genevieve in the gardens!” she exclaimed.

“What do you know about this Isabelle Blanchett?” Nicole said, stifling a giggle while trying to imitate Genevieve’s voice. “I told her I didn’t know much. Which, my dear,” she stopped and patted my arm, “we’ll have to remedy immediately. I do hope we’ll be great friends!”

“I can’t imagine another person I’d like to be friends with,” I told her honestly. Which made her smile and bounce and give me a big hug.

“Oooh, I knew it the minute I saw you!” She could hardly contain her excitement, and I’ll admit, it was infectious. I was glad she wanted to be my friend; I so needed one right now.

“Anyway,” she went on as we continued walking down the corridor again, “she was as jealous as can be I can tell you that!” This time I tried to keep track of where we were going so I could make it back to the music room when I needed to.

“Why in the world would she be jealous? She has nothing to be jealous of!” I asked incredulously. I mean come on, I’d only been here what, not even twenty-four hours?

“Truly, did you not see the way Charles looked at you last night?” Nicole went on.

“That again? No, you have it all wrong. He doesn’t trust me. That is why he looks at me like he does.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I saw. Believe me, I know Charles.” She was obviously going to believe what she wanted to believe here. “Also, when I found him this noon and told him you were in distress, he didn’t even think twice. Off he went to find you like a man who’s been smitten!”

Oh dear. This was getting embarrassing again. Smitten? Do people become smitten? What does that even mean?

“Again,” I tried explaining as if I were talking to a child, “he probably came out looking for me because he thought I was snooping around the castle or something. He thinks I’m a spy, Nicole. He told me himself that he doesn’t trust traveling musicians. Add the fact that I show up here with no parents and no belongings to my name. Well, I admit, if I were in his position, I’d be suspicious too. Although...” I suddenly remembered that brief second in the orchard when he held my hands and we looked at each other in wonderment. I could feel that shock in my arms just thinking about it and it sent shivers down my spine.

“What?” Nicole inquired. “Although what?” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently when I didn’t immediately reply.

“Oh nothing,” I told her, trying to brush it off. Seriously, it was really nothing. Right?

“That’s not nothing!” She wasn’t giving up. “You don’t get that dreamy look on your face and shiver over nothing!” She looked around the hallway to make sure we weren’t being overheard. There were people bustling all about, going to and fro, lighting candles and wall sconces, taking wood to the fireplaces. From far off I could smell the faint scent of food wafting from the kitchens. Which only made me realize I was crazy hungry. I hadn’t eaten since noon out in the orchard. With the prince. I really needed to stop thinking about him. Nicole motioned to be quiet and we walked quickly until we reached my room. She opened the door, checked to make sure no one was in it, shut the door, and then whirled on me.

“Alright, now. Every detail!” She pulled me to the chairs in front of the fire, which seemed to have recently been lit, lighting up the room.

“Wait, don’t I have to get dressed for dinner?” I tried a stalling tactic. Looking around the room, I really didn’t know what I was going to get dressed into. Maybe my dress from last night?

“Pshaw,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Marie will be here momentarily to dress you. Right now,” she said, leaning forward, “I must know if the prince looked at you again like he did last night. Surely you won’t deny me that detail?”

“Well,” I hesitated. I really didn’t know how he looked at me last night. I had to think about it. I conjured up his face in my mind. Oh man, he really was startlingly good looking. Good thing he had a horrible personality. I remembered him looking at me with an annoyed face, a face of distrust, that classic sour face (maybe he and Genevieve really were made for each other). But then, when I actually thought about it, there was that gaze of deep blue eyes on an unreadable face in the music room and then the face of wonderment in the gardens. Ack, my heart did a little double-tap. I don’t know what that was, but I’m sure it was nothing. It had to be nothing. I shook my head.

“To be honest,” I continued saying to Nicole (I had to tell her something at any rate), “as I said this morning, he is very nice to look at. But I’m afraid that’s about all where I’m concerned. I told you, I have a beau back home.”

“Oh, yes!” Nicole exclaimed. Again. “You must tell me about him. Are you engaged to be wed? What is he called? Is he a prince as well?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. His name is Zeke. And no, we are not getting married.” I was going to add, who gets married at age sixteen? But then I remembered that sixteen was a very marriageable age in this century. Then a stab of pain hit me somewhere in my mid-section just thinking about Zeke. Were we in a parallel universe? Was he even alive yet? These sorts of questions only gave me a headache as I had no way of finding the answers.

“Well then,” Nicole waved her hand away as if swatting a fly, “you’re not promised to anyone, which means all is fair in love and war.”

“Nicole!” I was shocked. “You can’t be serious. Why does all this matter anyway? Why don’t you fall in love with the prince?”

“Me?” she asked, mirroring my shock. Then she broke out laughing. “Oh dear. I must have forgotten to mention a small detail. I am the prince’s cousin! Granted, we could marry someday should the king decide, but that would not be advantageous for France. Anyway, we have been as brother and sister since we were but children. I like to tease him relentlessly, and I confess, I cannot abide Genevieve in the least! If he marries her, she will ruin him, I am sure.” Just then, Marie knocked and entered the room, a beautiful gown held out in her arms.

“Pardon m’moiselles, would you like me to dress you for dinner?” She said with a curtsy.

“Yes, yes, come in.” Nicole ushered her in and took the gown from her arms to hold up and show me. “Look Isabelle, won’t this gown be beautiful with your hair?”

It was beautiful. A shimmery gold fabric flickered in the light from the fire. The dress was a showstopper for sure. I had to admit, I was kind of excited to wear it. And yes, a little part of me wondered how the prince would look at me in such a dress. Even though I shouldn’t be thinking that way. Not at all.

“Is this another one of yours?” I asked Nicole.

“No my dear sweet, new friend. It is yours. For I have never worn it and you will do it much more justice than I ever could. I told Charles I sent for the dressmaker to come tomorrow to make you some gowns of your own while you’re here. He told me your parents had been waylaid along with your belongings. So don’t you fret, we will care for you as best as we may while you reside with us.” I was so touched by her openness and friendship. I was near to tears at her kindness that was like a big old Band-aid over my century-confused heart.

“Nicole, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough for your kindness. Except,” I added, “if we’re to be best friends, as I feel sure we are, you must call me Izzy.” A smile spread across her face and she grabbed my hand.

“Izzy,” she said, “I am so glad you have come.”

Then it was a flurry of motion getting me out of one dress and into another. Thank goodness the new dress went over my shift and I didn’t have to have another conversation about my strange bra and underwear. These poor women would be scandalized if they walked into a Victoria’s Secret! It was hard to even imagine that. But then I was dressed and my hair was meticulously done again for the second time that day. I was whisked off to the king’s hall once more, where long tables were set up and people were gathering for the evening meal. As we entered the room, I could immediately feel Charles’ eyes on me. He was probably surprised I hadn’t run off with the king’s gold or something. I looked at him in answer to his stare and felt a jolt as his eyes met mine. I saw his eyes travel down the length of my gown and felt the heat of a blush that I swear started in my toes and traveled back up with his eyes to mine. I was having a hard time breathing, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d managed to rattle me somehow. So I gave a slight nod of my head in his direction and followed Nicole to sit at a table with the rest of the ladies-in-waiting. Not without noticing the heated glare coming from Genevieve who clung to the prince’s arm.

The dinner was an elaborate affair, which I had to try to eat with a knife and my hands. I never realized that I’d spent my whole life taking the simple use of a fork for granted. What I wouldn’t give for my warm-vanilla-sugar hand sanitizer from Bath and Body Works too. Luckily, between each course, a servant would show up at my elbow with a bowl of water and a linen towel to wash my hands. More sanitary than I thought it would be!

Nicole kept nudging me every time she saw Charles look my way. I elbowed her back and told her to stop it. Then couldn’t help but smile as she tried to control her bout of giggles by hiding behind a napkin. Geez, best friends were still a pain no matter what the century! Although, I did catch him looking my way once myself, but ignored him the best I could. And all too quickly–OK, not that fast. Dinner in 16th-century France takes a really long time. Well, that hasn’t changed too much actually, except the utensil part and such–Still, before I knew it, the tables were cleared away, people made a circle with their chairs and long benches, and the servants continued going around the room pouring wine into cups when they were raised to ask for more.

I saw Prince Charles directing servants to the center of the room with the harp I’d told him I’d be playing tonight. Feeling the buzz around the room, I could sense the excitement. Apparently, Nicole told me, I’d made quite an impression with my cups song. Which to my horror, I now realized I’d played with the king’s real goblet. Yeah, lined with real gold on the inside and real jewels on the outside. Did I mention, it was real! Oh gosh, I could feel the blush start in my cheeks just thinking about it. No wonder everyone gasped. I probably could have lost my head for that or something. Good thing the king liked it. Also a good thing that the lighting in the room was dim as it didn’t seem my blush was going to go away anytime soon.

The prince brought a chair over and placed it in front of the harp, looked me in the eye, and waved his hand toward the chair. Guess I was up. Slowly, I walked to the center of the room, curtsied to the prince, and turned to the king and queen and took a bow. I would call it a sweeping bow, but I don’t really know what that is. Although my dress did make a swishy-sweepy sound, so maybe it was sweeping? The King motioned for me to rise and called everyone to attention. Not that they needed to be called to it. All eyes were already on us.

“And now,’ he started, “we will be pleased to be entertained by our new court musician.” He nodded my way, as he raised his goblet to me in toast. Yes goblet, that goblet. Still reeling a bit from the fact that it wasn’t a fake, I was about to take my seat and get started when I heard the prince whisper out of the corner of his mouth, “Curtsy.” What? I was supposed to curtsy to the king after I already bowed? Sheesh, would I ever get the hang of all this? I quickly curtsied, and then sat on the chair the prince was still holding out for me. Then he walked away and I could hear his shoes tap-tapping on the floor, the sound receding as he got further away. I took a deep breath.

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The room was hushed and I could feel the anticipation. My voice rang out, a capella at first.

The story of Les Miserables. A story that wouldn’t have been written for another 200 years. No worry. For all intents and purposes, they needed only to hear of love; a longing for love, love found, love scorned, love lost, and love conquering all. I had put together a medley of songs from the great Broadway play. The harp was perfect for it. This was the kind of music that didn’t need a full orchestra to feel its meaning. As I sang, I could see the characters on the stage in my head and tried to bring them to life for my audience. At least I hoped I did. When I closed my eyes now and sang Jean ValJean’s moving “Bring Him Home,” I thought of my childhood, snuggling next to my mom, wrapped in a cozy quilt while she and my dad took turns reading the great novel by Victor Hugo. They read it to me in French, as they thought it would help me with the language, but also because they believed it should only be read in French. I silently thanked them now for my education in French. Oh my parents, my heart pained for them. I threw that heartache into the music as I finished with my favorite solo sung by Eponine: “On My Own,” perfect for the way I was feeling. All alone in the Middle Ages.

Again, I lost myself in the song. I became Eponine, walking the dirty streets of Paris, singing of a love that would never be. Trying to portray that angst and longing as I brought the song to its climax. Singing out Eponine’s love for a man who would never be hers. The sound of my voice resonated through the great room, bouncing off the stone walls. I opened my eyes and found the deep blue eyes intent upon my face. At that moment I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room. I plucked a last chord on the harp and slowly finished, professing Eponine’s unrequited love.

The sound of the harp faded. The room was quiet. I sat, still transfixed by the eyes that held me captive, my heart beating fast. I sensed a movement out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly, the king was on his feet clapping and stomping his foot in approval. I broke eye contact then and looked at the king. The Queen followed him to her feet as well, clapping and drying her eyes. Around the room, I noticed others sniffing and wiping away tears as they too added to the applause. I got to my feet then, and bowed to the king and queen once more, then turned and curtsied to the audience. The applause was deafening and I felt an odd sense of triumph, like I should start singing “Do You Hear the People Sing” and wave the French flag high in the air. But of course, I didn’t. Instead, the ladies-in-waiting descended upon me, still sniffing and drying their eyes.

“Izzy!” Nicole got to me first and flung her arms around me. “That was so beautiful, so truly touching. You are magical!”

The others were all in agreement, grasping my hands and telling me how moved they’d been. I felt a huge chunk of relief fall off my shoulders and I began to smile back in earnest. It was almost like getting more subscribers on YouTube. Almost.

“Mademoiselle Blanchet?” Someone said my name, a voice I didn’t recognize. So I turned and found myself face to face with Genevieve of the Sour Face. Only, she was, smiling at me? She reached for my hand and held it in her own. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” Her eyes flickered toward Nicole as if to blame her for the slight. “I’m Genevieve Touraine. So pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied, not quite sure what to do with her sweet demeanor. I didn’t trust it, but still, I guess I could be nice.

“You are a very talented musician,” she continued. “We’re so lucky to have you here at court. And where were you before Amboise? You do travel, do you not?” I didn’t miss the tone of her voice underneath the sweet smile on her face, and the underlying message. I believed the question she was really asking was when would I be on my way again. If only I knew the answer.

“Yes,” I began to reply, stalling for a bit of time so I could come up with a plausible story. I knew I had to come up with some kind of reason for my existence here, but I hadn’t had time to think something up. Ugh, what was I going to say?

“Pardon, M’moiselle,” someone tapped my elbow. Saved by the bell. Or in this case, the prince. I turned in his direction, but noticed Genevieve’s eyes blaze with anger, though the smile stayed set in place. Man, she really was a witch! “The King and Queen wish to speak with you,” he said, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his arm to lead me away from the group. Whew, that was close.

“What do they want to talk to me about?” I asked, more concerned about a round of questions from the king and queen than I was by the glare of the eyes I felt sure were burning holes into my back.

“I cannot say,” he replied. He glanced at me and must have felt my nervousness. “But you have nothing to fear. With a performance like the one you just gave, I can only guess that they are nothing if not pleased beyond measure.” I felt the blush start to heat up my face once again.

“Am I mistaken,” I teased–I couldn’t help riling him–”or was that a hidden compliment from the prince?”

“Do not flatter yourself, m’moiselle. When I pay compliments to a lady, she knows it.”

“Hmmph,” was all I could reply to that. “Be sure I won’t be waiting for it with bated breath,” I threw back at him. Geez, how can he be so nice one minute and so mean the next? I wrenched my hand from his arm and walked ahead of him the rest of the way to the dais where the king and queen stood talking with a group of people.

“Your Majesties,” I bowed, waiting for their signal to rise. The King motioned for me to do so and was the one to speak.

“Mademoiselle Blanchet, may I commend you on your performance tonight. It was unlike anything I have heard before. You do our court great honor sharing your gifts with us.” And then, before I knew it, he took my right hand, bowed over it and kissed it. Er, I just got kissed by King Francis. Surreal, anyone? Kind of in a daze, he turned me to Queen Claude.

She added, “My dear, so moving. So very moving. I do hope you plan to stay the season. And please, join my ladies-in-waiting in the queen’s quarters on the morrow. We would be honored by your presence.” She had a sweet sparkle in her eyes and I liked her at once.

I was dismissed after that and turned to go. It was late and it had been a very long day. I suddenly felt drained. The prince was still standing behind me, watching my exchange with his parents. He still didn’t look too pleased. Whatever. I brushed past him and went to find Nicole. Thankfully, she didn’t mind helping me find my way back to my room.

“Thank you so much, Nicole,” I said as we approached my room. “I didn’t mean to make you leave so early. It’s just been a long day.”

“No apologies needed, dear friend!” she replied. “It must take a great deal out of you to perform as you have. I am amazed you have not yet fallen over.” She opened the door to my room and the light from the fireplace spilled out into the corridor. Its coziness was a warm welcome. I turned to thank her once more and saw a look of horror on her face. She stood transfixed, staring into my room.

“Nicole! Are you okay?” I asked in alarm, turning to see what she was looking at. I gasped.

My bed. Its draperies slashed to pieces and scattered all over the floor. The white down coverlet was covered in streaks of blood and a warning:

Be gone.