Henri returned home to find his family decimated. His beloved Dominique had already been buried, his child dead and buried with his mother. Having never trusted the Abbot, Henri interrogated him as to his suspected part in her death. It was beyond the realm of possibility that she would have committed suicide. She had been so happy and hopeful about the birth of their son. Whatever danger she may have faced from the Inquisitor, Henri was sure that Dominique would have protected their son. That smug bastard had just told him that in Henri’s frequent absences, he had always stepped in to protect Dominique and Nicole. There was a part of him that felt such guilt at the thought that she had been alone at the end, that he had not been there to protect her. Sheer remorse and the absence of anyone on which to lay blame, other than himself, made Henri behave recklessly.
Henri never accepted the explanation that Dominique had taken her own life, not in his heart. He was like a dog with a bone and perhaps with disregard for politics, angered some very powerful people in his quest for truth. His investigation had given him cause to believe that perhaps his son was not dead, after all. But after two and a half years, he tired of the constant reminder of his loss—until he received an anonymous note indicating that someone at the Abbey was in possession of information that would satisfy his quest for answers.
Disregarding the warnings of his most trusted friend and fellow soldier that this was most likely a trap, they made their way to the town of his birth. As he hurriedly rode towards Loudun, accompanied by six trusted guards of his unit, they were ambushed and killed.
After Dominique’s death, Nicole, left to her own devices, found work in the local tavern. She found her skills as a manipulator to work in her favor. Men found themselves quite enamored with her. While the other barmaids threw up their skirts for them at the back of the tavern for a few coins, she managed to extract more from them by playing hard to get. Her skills worked to her favor most of the time.
One evening, about two years after her mother’s death, the Bailiff, Oscar Hurnst, and Louis du Plessis of Richelieu, entered the tavern. Noting the lust in their eyes, Nicole went to great lengths to play them, knowing full well that this particular gentleman, Monsieur du Plessis, was extraordinarily wealthy and was therefore full of potential. Dressed in a peasant blouse in a soft, crepe fabric hung low across her breasts, she delivered their beer to the table, making sure that he got a good chance to look at what she had to offer.
Oscar, knowing that she was a tease and that du Plessis would most likely go home unsatisfied, urged him to try his luck. He took the bait quickly and approaching her offering her a crown coin to bed her for the night. Offering such a huge amount for her services gave Louis some degree of confidence that she would comply. Instead, reaching up, she slapped him hard across the face. The sound rang out through the tavern, causing silence to fall across the normally noisy tavern.
Grabbing Nicole by the wrist, he seethed, “Who do you think you are?” Louis, humiliated, then angered, turned to his companion, the Bailiff. “I want this wench arrested and put in my Oubliette. Remove her now.” Having played this a little too far, an apology or a little groveling might very well have diverted her fate. But Nicole stubbornly stood her ground. She was arrested and thrown in the pit on Louis’ property that everyone referred to as the “Oubliette”. A perfect name as this was the place that those who displeased this man were put and forgotten.
As she lay dying, hallucinating from hunger and dehydration, she drifted between visions of demons and visions of her savior. When the demons quieted, her vision of her knight on a white steed coming to her rescue filled her with hope. Her knight was Henri, he had, after all, saved her once from the Abbot during the exorcism. He would come for her again, she knew that, perhaps now that her mother was gone, maybe he could love her. But that vision disappeared and the demons returned, screaming in her face—constantly screaming. When the light appeared, she laughed hysterically, what now? She thought. Her guardian angel held her in the light. The peace that had eluded her for all her life, was now upon her.
The Abbot, despite his conviction that his plotting had left him blameless in the death of Dominique, seemed unable to shake Henri from his constant questioning. Less than a year after her death, four brothers came to collect him for his new assignment. He was being sent to a monastery in the Alps. He was taken aback at first, but quickly thought that this would be a good move. He was ready for a quiet life and Loudun had no more to offer him. It was reported back to Loudun sometime later that he had died en route to his new posting.
Dafne did indeed become one of Queen Catherine’s Ladies-in-Waiting. She reveled in the sheer luck that had placed her in this glorious position. Surrounded by royals constantly and essentially treated like royalty, Dafne once again found that she could enjoy riding endlessly on the grounds of the Chateau, just as she had done as a girl in Tuscany.
About six months after her arrival with the baby, Dafne was out riding one afternoon. An expert horsewoman when she was young, she quickly became so again. Dafne urged her horse to full gallop so that she could fully appreciate the exhilaration of the glorious afternoon. Suddenly, the girth of her saddle came loose and she was thrown from her horse. Dafne died instantly. It was assumed to be an unfortunate accident.
For this first six months after Dominique’s passing, Helene lived her life cautiously and with fear. She told no one of that day and what she had witnessed. It wasn’t until the Abbot left Loudun abruptly for another assignment, that she was able to start letting her guard down. Her apothecary seemed to flourish in the absence of Dominique. Two years later, her man came back from prison and things were good. He stayed for about three years before leaving to work on one of Richard Collier’s ships. She never saw him again. Her son, William, died some time later at the age of fourteen.
Richard Collier was devastated by the sudden death of Marguerite. He was told that she had been kicked in the head by the Abbey’s donkey and did not survive the blow. He purchased an elaborate headstone for her in the Abbey’s cemetery – oddly, it was placed next to his wife Isabelle. Richard realized far too late that he had pursued the wrong goal. He admitted to himself that he pushed away his true love – only to keep material wealth. He never got over that fact and remained in poor health before succumbing to his grief a few years later.
After going to great lengths to eliminate the threat to Catherine’s secret, she rested easier. No one ever suspected that her first child, Francis, was actually Dominique’s. But with the pressure off of her to create an heir, her fertility returned. She gave birth to nine more children, but it was Francis who was to marry Mary, Queen of Scots and become King of France.
But secrets have a way of coming out. Dominique has proved determined to leave breadcrumbs so that her story would someday be told.