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with family members and Sir James Hudson. She had dressed in Sunday silk and was sipping from a tall Viennese crystal glass of sweetened amber tea. The pink and white plate, scalloped with gold, held warm cakes dipped in whipped egg and fried in sweet butter. The silverware sparkled in the pleasant sunlight filtering in through the dining- salle windows.
    Her father’s cousin, Bertrand Macquinet, a pasteur who had recently celebrated his sixtieth birthday, was seated at the head of the large table taking the honored position usually reserved for Rachelle’s absent father, Arnaut.
    Bertrand’s face was angular like Calvin’s, his dark eyes sharp and bright. He was a man of bonne cheer and beloved by the family. Rachelle described Bertrand’s mustache as an upside-down V that grew into his short, pointed beard. His wide-brimmed black hat, used when he went to the teaching stand as the pasteur, sat on the hall table, dusted of any stray speck, for he was to teach this Sunday morning at the local assembly. His cherished Bible in the French language was cautiously out of sight.
    The young Sir James Hudson appeared to be studying Cousin Bertrand with a sharp but friendly eye. “Monsieur, I understand your knowledge as a biblical scholar was received at Geneva under John Calvin.”
    “An awesome man, I assure you, James. I oft felt that I should enter his presence on tiptoe, but he would have none of that. It was he who arranged for me to teach at the theological university there, which God permitted me to do for more than a decade.”
    Rachelle sipped her tea and remained silent, but Idelette seemed to want to convince James Hudson that their cousin Bertrand was a great man of God. Was she attracted to James? Rachelle concealed a smile.
    “Three years ago Bertrand was burdened to strengthen the Huguenots at Spitalfields. They had gone through so much persecution to get there that he sailed to London to hold prêches .”
    “And now you have established a French church,” James said, smiling. He looked at Idelette, then back to Cousin Bertrand. “I can see well enough, sir, how your young cousines are pleased with your ser vice to God, as well they should be. How did you first meet Monsieur Calvin, if I may ask?”
    Bertrand’s hawkish face took on a sober cast as though his mind traveled far in the past.
    “That I shall never forget, young James. Monsieur Calvin was forced to flee France to save himself from the wrath of King Francis I and the fiery stake. He journeyed to Strasbourg, where I too had fled. Calvin introduced me to the great minister LeFevre d’Etaples, translator of the first French Bible. I was most taken with both of them. Eventually Calvin went to Geneva, and I was given the privilege of attending him. Then, with the help of Reformers like Beza, Calvin established the grand Reformational center of Europe.”
    Bertrand had come to the Château de Silk from Geneva, where he had reported to Calvin on the work at Spitalfields. He had arrived bringing Madame Clair home to the château, leaving Arnaut in Geneva to conclude the work begun months earlier.
    The extent of the work was not discussed, and Rachelle had been wise enough not to ask. She understood the activity concerned the printing of Bibles in the French, Dutch, and German languages, to be secretly distributed in Europe. Cousin Bertrand was even now waiting for a shipment of Dutch Bibles that were somehow to be smuggled into Holland, a most dangerous endeavor.
    Rachelle looked across the table fondly at Cousin Bertrand. She had always been drawn toward his wise and grandfatherly counsel and admired his scholarly handling of the Scriptures. With her father away and her soul tender from Amboise and the death of Comte Sebastien, her frequent talks with Pasteur Bertrand had strengthened her in the midst of so much uncertainty.
    “Silk weavers, couturiers, and grisettes — the Huguenots are bringing the finest skills of their craft to London,”