Murder on High comes out in January 2027!
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Below is a scene from the majestic Château d'en Haut, the real Champagne castle where the murder took place. A young gentleman, the Chevalier de Bassigny, has approached the castle with a bold claim--that he is the bastard son of a Regent of France, but by order of the Chancellor he's now been legitimised. However, the chevalier is dead: killed on the day he arrived. How does the royal mistress of the Château d'en Haut feel about his death, when she herself is the widow of the very Regent of France who fathered the unfortunate young victim?
The most impressive room in the long, elegant Renaissance building where the guests were housed was on the upper storey, with deep window casements looking down on the town of Joinville and beyond to the wide, cultivated valley of the Marne. Émilie du Châtelet stood there with the Duchesse d’Orléans, having obeyed the summons to the chamber to see how the hostess was going to handle the assassination of one of her guests. Notice of the chevalier’s murder had been sent to Chancellor de Fleury in Paris. Assuming until further notice that the chevalier was a certified member of the Orléans family, the duchess had commanded his obsequies and burial, which would take place at Saint-Laurent the very next day, on Wednesday, 13 August.
The duchess stood for a while with Émilie by the windows, away from her other guests. ‘In heat like this,’ she said, inclining her head towards the sundrenched landscape below, ‘there is no cause to linger. For the comfort of the living, his body must join those of his ancestors without delay.’
Émilie studied the short, plump figure before her and reflected that during the Regency this had been the most powerful woman in France. The young Françoise-Marie de Bourbon had been a beauty, her looks doubtless inherited from her mother, Françoise-Athénaïs de Montespan, Louis XIV’s most spectacular mistress—and she was known for her wit, which came down from the king himself. Traces of both could still be seen when the duchess was at her ease in surroundings of her own choice, and today she presided over the company with regal complacency. Émilie had the fleeting impression that the elimination of the Chevalier de Bassigny had rather cheered her than not.
Émilie said, ‘At what hour does the obit take place?’
‘The dean tells me that obsequies in Saint-Laurent follow the service of prime, which is of course at dawn. Rather early for us all, but at least it won’t go on too long.’ There was the tiny glint of a smile. ‘I’ve not commissioned a solemn obit: the simple form will do—psalms, three lessons and a high Mass. If I could be sure that the chancellor announced the chevalier a prince ad successionem, I might arrange things differently. But the royal rescript has not been found amongst his affairs, and for all we know he may have only been made prince for his lifetime, on his majority.’
Émilie said, ‘And since he died before he came of age, can he even be considered as a prince at all?’
‘I have no idea,’ the duchess said, ‘but I’m certainly hesitating whether to call his widow a princess! I’ve lodged a request with Chancellor de Fleury for a copy of the rescript to be sent to me, so we all know where we stand. Meanwhile I’ll do my best for the girl. She’s in a sad position, but she bears it with humility. She’s pretty, but not outlandishly so, well-behaved, and answered all my inquiries without fuss. She’s going to Paris as planned, at the end of this visit, but I detect no grandiose ambitions. At the same time I’m sure she’ll make a creditable showing in her way—she’s agreeable and quite harmless.’
Émilie did not argue with the duchess’s dismissive comments, because she knew why they were made. Françoise-Marie de Bourbon had but one obsession in life: her prestige and position as a daughter of Louis XIV. Legitimised at the age of four and married at fourteen to her first cousin, the king’s only legitimate nephew, Philippe d’Orléans, she had spent her life maintaining the exalted importance of her family. She clearly thought that the obscure Madame de Bassigny, briefly married to a bastard of Philippe d’Orléans, had scant qualifications for admittance into that august company, and Émilie could see her point of view. Émilie herself, however, did not underestimate the young widow’s beauty and accomplishments, and she was by no means sure that Madame de Bassigny, once in Paris, would underplay her connection with the Bourbons. Meanwhile it would be intriguing to see whether she made any headway with the duchess at the Château d’en Haut. Being thought agreeable and harmless was perhaps a good start.
Considering this, Émilie said without thinking, ‘Who was the chevalier’s mother? Is that known?’
‘Not generally, no!’ The duchess’s eyes flashed: her husband’s mistresses had been legion, but she did not relish their being named before her.
‘But you know it, Your Serene Highness?’ Émilie looked at her steadily. ‘Events like this give rise to rumour. I’m inclined to think that the best way to quell rumours—and inappropriate ambitions—is with facts.’
The duchess glanced away, her thin eyebrows haughtily raised. In profile her face was less attractive, because of the double chin that her self-indulgent life had bestowed on her, but her personality and sumptuous clothes kept her looking like the princess that she was. She expected to be addressed as Serene Highness but, unlike her oldest sister, the Princesse de Condé, she signed herself Duchesse, a title that left all the glory of the line to her son Louis, heir presumptive to the throne. Émilie had never met him; known as Louis the Pious, he was Governor of the Dauphiné, Grand Master of the Order of Saint-Lazaire and Jerusalem—and more interested in theology than in court politics. In this rather tricky moment, Émilie could almost pity Françoise-Marie: no matter how high one’s birth, upholding one’s position in the top echelons of the monarchy did not promote peace of mind.
At last the duchess said, ‘Very well. I have this from Madame de Bassigny in confidence, but I suspect she’ll be telling everyone before long. The mother was Sophie de Sallières: never met her or heard of her but she was a gentlewoman. Young enough and foolish enough to attend soirées at the Palais-Royal, with an even more foolish brother, I believe. When her pregnancy could not be concealed, she appealed to the prince my husband but he declined to assist her. She was repudiated by her family and banished to the nunnery at the Abbey of Septfontaines in the Bassigny.’
‘And the son?’
‘Through the influence of the nuns he was adopted at the age of two by the childless Chevalier de Bassigny and his lady, who never divulged his origins to him or anyone else. He had a quiet upbringing and went into the army young. Both adoptive parents died while he was abroad. He did not know who his real parents were until this year, when he received a letter from his mother. She was dying from a painful illness, and wished to see him before she breathed her last.’
‘What a tragic request!’
‘Unfulfilled, as it happened. The chevalier did not consent to give his mother the meeting—he sent his fiancée instead. Far more productive for him, because the girl listened to all the lady’s shameful confessions and gained her confidence. The mother then decided that to redeem her misdeeds, if not her disgrace, there was a last act she could do for her son, and a fine legacy to provide: she could write a letter to the king, begging for the chevalier to be legitimised. Her plea was successful, with the results that we all know.’
‘The lady has since died?’
‘Two days after she wrote the letter,’ the duchess said, with a look that Émilie could only read as satisfaction.
‘Have you seen it?’
‘No, of course not. It rests with the king and chancellor, who for better or for worse have put faith in it. And so do I, at least as far as the funeral is concerned. I doubt whether I would have done a great deal for the Chevalier de Bassigny during his life, but I will bury him with honour.’ She gave Émilie a shrewd smile. ‘That is a fact no one can deny.’
