Daughter of Silk Read Free Page A

bring the gown back to her chamber to complete tomorrow. The gown was but one of several in various degrees of completion, however this particular gown was mostly Rachelle’s work, and her future as a couturière depended on the princesse’s pleasure.
    Rachelle, a grisette from the Chateau de Silk in Lyon, was yet under
    the supervision of the grand couturière herself, Henriette Marie Loiselle Dushane, otherwise known to Rachelle as her adored grandmère, a dainty widow in unrelieved black satin, with silver hair and sparkling dark eyes. Rachelle knew her to be no easy mistress with the needle, nor did Rachelle wish her to be otherwise. It was her desire to follow in her steps.
    Rachelle stood on the terrace of the royal chambers facing Princesse Marguerite and her ladies-in-waiting. Her wine velvet pincushion with her initials, R.D.M ., was strapped to her wrist with a black velvet band, while a pair of specialized Dushane scissors swung from the chatelaine. Her measuring strip draped about her slender neck. She took the widths
    of sheer burgundy silk, draped gently over the cloth of gold, and with trembling fingers allowed it to fall gracefully over Marguerite’s dark hair. The garment settled softly around her feet, shimmering.
    “Ooh . . .” came the sigh of the ladies-in-waiting.
    “C’est magnifique,” Marguerite purred, holding a section of the silk to her cheek. “It is perfect. La, la, Rachelle, you will always do my gowns. I insist. You and your famous Grandmère.”
    “Merci, Mademoiselle Princesse.” Rachelle curtsied, dipping her head and offering a quick thanksgiving to God. “But the work, it is not yet finished. If it please my lady princesse, I would measure now for the hem and the addition of the Brugesse lace.”
    Marguerite stepped onto the small stool, and Rachelle knelt to smooth out the folds on the bottom of the gown.
    Marguerite spread her arms gracefully, lifting her face toward the March breeze and allowing the sparkling material to f loat. “Monsieur Henry should see me now,” she whispered, drama in her voice. “Ah, but he is not here . . .”
    Her ladies uttered sounds of sympathy.
    Rachelle admired Grandmère’s embroidery work on the burgundy silk. The tiny gold rosebuds were sewn with a secret stitch Grandmère had perfected at the Macquinet Chateau de Silk, and Rachelle was deter- mined to master the stitch as well. She was already practicing on leftover sections of silk. Each section of crafted rosebuds left a glittering mound of gold thread, yet the silk material around it lay smooth and unpuck- ered, a most difficult technique to master. Rachelle could only marvel. Not even Maman could make a perfect rosebud, and Maman too was a seasoned couturière.
    The gown shimmered with Princesse Marguerite’s every movement. Diamonds could be added to the bodice after the gown was finished, but only under the watchful eye of a guard. Rachelle had no desire to handle the diamonds. A tale had circulated at court of a certain grisette, who during the reign of King Francis I, had stolen rubies meant for the queen’s bodice. The grisette, believed to have swallowed them, was sent to the Bastille. Rachelle shuddered, imagining what had befallen the woman. As for Marguerite’s gown, Rachelle was of the opinion that any addition of diamonds would add little to its beauty, but the princesse insisted on jewels, jewels, and more jewels.
    To Rachelle, Grandmère represented the heart of the family silk enterprise, for she had carried with her all of the prized secrets of silk weaving, when as a Dushane, she had married into the Macquinet fam- ily, who had been their competitors.
    Rachelle was thrilled when Grandmère had first been summoned to court by Queen Regent Catherine de Medici to design and oversee the intricate cutting and sewing of gowns in the new shades of Macquinet lav- ender blue, rosy pink, and the deep burgundy that was Rachelle’s favor- ite. This newer cloth had been