The Sisters of Versailles Read Online Free Page B

and tense.
    When we were younger, Father would sometimes come up to the nursery, often when the rabble of creditors in the courtyard became too much for him. He would lounge around and flick through our books and abuse Zélie for educating us in matters that women didn’t need to know. Then he would make us sing for him, then make Marguerite, our prettiest maid, sing for him, and then he would finally stumble back down the stairs and we would all breathe a sigh of relief.
    “Her hair, her hair,” he repeated as he lolled unsteadily on Mama’s bed, the broken clock forgotten. “I must remember to get her hair.”
    He stared at us, his eyes blurry and his face high red. “I loved her, you know. Loved her! She was a fine woman. Even if she did only have daughters. Five daughters—a basket of rotten apples. What, I ask you, was God punishing me for?”
    Then he broke down and cried and I too started to sob, and soon we all were crying, even Pauline, who is generally very unsentimental. Papa stood up, whether to silence us or embrace us I know not, for his feet were unsteady and he fell back on the bed again.
    “You look like crows!” he cried. “Bad luck! Always my bad luck!” And then he ordered us all out, yelling that only Marguerite should stay, for she was the only one who could comfort him.
    We traipsed slowly back up to the fourth floor, all of us still sobbing. The nursery seemed smaller and shabbier than I remembered, the tapestries more moth-eaten, the floors more uneven and the rooms colder.
    “Agathe doesn’t have any mourning clothes!” wailed Marie-Anne, flinging her doll on the floor. Sometimes I would forget that Marie-Anne was the youngest, for she was often very quick and sure of herself, and never afraid. But she was only twelve and still a baby at heart. I hugged her to me, her little body stiff in her black mourning gown, shaking with sobs.
    “We can make her some out of our veils,” said Diane helpfully,pulling hers off and jabbing it with a hearth poker to rip it.
    “Oh! Tante Mazarin will be very angry,” breathed Hortense, forgetting to sob.
    “That’s a good idea,” said Pauline, taking her veil off as well and ripping it with her teeth. “No one will say anything, because everyone is sad for us. We are orphans .”
    “Not orphans!” I declared. “Our father still lives.”
    There was an uncomfortable silence.
    “Perhaps she will come back,” whispered Marie-Anne to me, Agathe now safely and properly wrapped in the black lace. Pauline snorted.
    “Pauline!” I admonished. “Don’t be so cruel.” I wouldn’t usually confront Pauline, but I was a married woman and felt a sudden responsibility for my little sisters. Whatever happened, I would take care of them. I gathered them all to me, even Pauline, who squawked in protest, and we embraced and cried again.
    After the funeral everything changed. Pauline and Diane entered the convent at Port-Royal on the outskirts of Paris, and Hortense and Marie-Anne were sent to live with Tante Mazarin.
    And I? Out of sorrow came my fortune, for my mother’s death meant her position at Court was secured upon me. I was finally to go to Versailles. It was not the way that I had wished or wanted, but that is how it happened.
    And now I am here in the center of the world, both hating it and loving it.

From Louise de Mailly
    Château de Versailles
    June 2, 1730
    Dear Pauline and Diane,
    Greetings, sisters! I trust you are well and enjoying life at the convent. I am sure the nuns are taking good care of you. Pauline, I hope that you are finally getting the education you always so desired.
    I received a letter from Zélie; she is now in Picardy and writes that she misses us most terribly. It is so sad she is not able to be with us. Do you remember her exciting stories of China and Québec?
    Life here at Versailles is wonderful. Yesterday I met the Turkish ambassador and last night the queen hosted a concert in her rooms—Couperin! Everything is