Bride of New France by Suzanne Desrochers Read Free Book Online

moves to her desk and begins filling in documents without uttering a word to Laure, who remains standing beside the chair Madame Gage vacated. A servant carries in a tray of cakes, which the Superior leaves untouched beside her while she works. Finally Madame du Clos arrives in the office from the basement. The Superior extends a hand to the chair, and Madame du Clos takes a seat although she cannot sit still. Her nervous hands flutter, fixing her bonnet, straightening her skirt, twisting her fingers in her lap as if she is tying knots.
    Laure can’t imagine how Madame du Clos, whose cheeks areflushed red, can possibly help her out. She has brought with her a sample of Laure’s point de France . It is the finest piece Laure has so far made and is destined to adorn the collar of a noble garment. It is more time consuming than the coarser bobbin lace the less skilled girls work to make, but will not unravel if one of the bars is broken. Only a girl with a fine imagination and the hands of an angel can attempt to create such an elaborate item using only a needle, scissors, and thread. Madame du Clos’ voice trembles as she raises the piece to the light. Laure knows that this strip of lace she has been working on since last fall is one of the finest ever produced in Madame du Clos’ workshop, but she doesn’t understand how it could possibly be useful to show this to the Superior. Using both hands, Madame du Clos passes the lace to the Superior. “It is not good to bring the lace from the basement,” Madame du Clos says. “The colour might spoil. I will need to return it soon.”
    The Superior holds the material up over her head to examine it. She studies the stitches, the swirls of foliage and tiny silk bars linking one flower to another. Her fingers trace over the pattern, as if counting the many parts. Laure watches the Superior’s face and detects a flicker of emotion in her eyes as her fingers move across the pattern. She turns to Laure. “Do you know how much this is worth?”
    Laure shakes her head.
    “It is better for the poor souls that they not know. Better for the craft,” Madame du Clos says.
    “Well, of course the value of a piece depends on the hands that make it. Also on that woman’s reputation.” The Superior turns to look out the window at her garden. “Last month nine coaches on the road to Versailles were attacked by criminals. Did you hear about that? Do you know what the thieves weretaking the time to steal? An elaborate plot to make away with fifteen headdresses made of lace much like this.”
    Laure nods. The story of the stolen headdresses had travelled through a church service. The girls had found it funny picturing the men on horseback coming up behind the ladies bound for Paris and plucking their hats from their heads. Laure had laughed at the thought of these foolish women. How could a girl who spends her day in a basement workshop wearing grey flax be expected to feel sympathy for women dressed in fineries riding in coaches?
    “Did you know that some of the women who lost those headdresses are now paupers?” The Superior runs her fingers over the months of Laure’s work. “If you are a smart girl, with the right reputation, someday someone might give their entire life’s fortune, just as those women did, to buy this piece.” She hands back the long strip of lace to Madame du Clos and turns to her garden. “I expect that both yourself and Madame Gage of Sainte-Claire will keep a special eye on this girl. It is always the way that those who cause the most trouble also have the greatest talents. We never know how such girls will turn out.”
    The Superior informs Madame Gage that Laure is not to be given any food tonight. “If I so much as hear that a crumb of bread or a sip of water has passed through her lips, then this runaway will end up in a worse state than when she first came here.”
    The Superior then addresses Laure. “Women are now advised to turn their backs to the