“I have a great duty to ask of you.”
He frowns in response. “I had hoped to accompany you. Perhaps make my return to England.” “I will grant you that wish, in time.” “What, then?” he asks, “Remain here. With her. Mary.” “And do what?” He remembers himself. “Madame?” “You are her most loyal servant. The rest of them, they are…” “French? As are you, Madame.” “No, Sir, it is that they are loyal to the king, or his dauphin. Not to my daughter.” “Her governess-” “She is - how do you say it? - fucking the king.” Pike’s face creases into a broad smile at this crudity. “And you think I will be a good guardian? I can barely speak your language.” She eyeballs him. “You are a poor dissembler, Monsieur. I know you understand all that you hear.” He smiles again. “That is true. But I find it hard to make myself understood, all the same.” “No, William,” she returns, and now she is smiling herself, and it is when she smiles that the resemblance between her and her daughter is striking, “it is the people here that refuse to understand you.” “Then I am without power to protect her.” “You will find a way. I have watched you.” Leave a Reply. |
Andy RichardsonWhen to the sessions of sweet silent thought Archives
March 2022
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