National Novel Writing Month - Day#2

The coach rumbled along the road behind its two horses through the dirt streets of rural France and toward that godforsaken hostelry in Mueng.  Inside the heavy coach, Milady de winter was seated on the dark red cushions, absently fingering one of her platinum blond curls.  Her unfocused gaze aimed on the cushions in front of her.   Every once in a while the carriage would jolt her out of her thoughts and she would turn her languishing blue eyes to the scenery but her introspection would soon claim her attention again. 

To the casual observer, she appeared to be about twenty two years in age with strikingly beautiful features almost too perfect to be real.  The blue satin overdress she wore brought out the hue in her eyes to great effect and the contrast of the white petticoat underneath her skirts could also be seen in the slashes of her virago sleeves.  The stomacher was heavily embroidered and decorated with glass beadwork that had been delicately stitched by hand. She lounged slightly against the back of the carriage though the stays in her corset would not allow for any real relaxation.  The lace collar with its supportasse was normally the largest hurdle to true comfort so she often left it behind on these long journeys or carefully packed away, if it was a formal occasion, until she reached her destination.  Thankfully, there was no real danger of being recognized this far out of the city, so the casualness of her dress could be overlooked.

Milady had been summoned outside of the city of Paris on a matter of great importance to his Eminence, the Cardinal.  One of Richelieu’s agents would be meeting her to deliver instructions on her next mission.  She had returned from England only a few days earlier and had yet to report in person to his Eminence.  This day’s trip out of the city for a clandestine meeting had not made debriefing any easier.  Of course, she had written a few lines before her departure and knew it would not bode well for her.  His displeasure at her failed mission, however, was not her real cause for melancholy.  She could easily handle the Cardinal as she could most other men.  Her real trouble was with the blasted Duke of Buckingham and his foolish loyalty to that twit, Queen Anne.  

For all of Milady's efforts, she was no closer to the Duke than she was right now in France.  Certainly, he had received her politely enough and she was always invited to his social gatherings, but he had rebuffed every one of her advances.  It was really unreasonable of him.  After all, the Queen was not nearly as powerful as Milady would have been in her place.  The insipid creature was always one emotional breakdown away from a nunnery and here she had somehow won over the Duke of Buckingham causing Milady to fail in her most recent mission.

The carriage lurched and Milady was pulled once again to reality.  She stared daggers through the roof of the carriage in the direction of the driver but opted not to shout at the fool just yet.  Her real quarrel was with the Comte de Rochefort and his sudden request to meet him at the Jolly Miller in Mueng.  The Comte de Rochefort, she knew, was under strict orders from his Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, and had only just returned from Brussels himself after a two year sojourn from court.  Milady had not been privy to the details of the mission but she had heard snatches of the story in the rumors around Paris the last few days.  His own stepmother claimed he had been in debtor’s prison but that only served to protect his cover and he had made no attempt to correct her even though that was far from the truth.  The Comte had been posing as a capuchin monk of all things and those damned musketeers were already ferreting out the information before she had even had a chance to reacquaint herself with her contacts in Paris.  She hated being the last to know.

They were nearing the Jolly Miller and she could see the Comte de Rochefort on horseback, just at the back of the inn, awaiting her arrival – this was most unusual.  The Comte de Rochefort rounded his horse at the approach of her carriage – he was clearly waiting for her and she felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle.  It was an odd choice for a meeting spot and the name of the establishment had already given Milady pause when she had received his summons; had he somehow discovered this hidden part of her history?  It was always possible that it was coincidence, but there were few of those when Rochefort was concerned.  His network of informants was by far the largest contributor to the Cardinal’s success in espionage.  She never fully trusted the Comte, or any man she couldn’t control, and he was another of the minority who could somehow withstand her charms. 

"Comte de Rochefort, " Milady cooed, "how I do love you in purple." He was dressed from doublet to hose in the same aubergine color.  She waited for him to open the carriage door as decorum dictated, but instead when he dismounted his horse he climbed aboard the carriage step – firmly blocking her exit.  Now, she cursed the driver and his negligence that put the other carriage door too close to the garden wall for a quick escape.  She forced her appearance to remain neutral and willed her eyes to convey nothing but innocent surprise at the unexpected change in plan.  "But why do we not go to the Inn and talk over a nice bottle of Madeira."

"Milady," he touched the brim of his hat in a small gesture of respect, "we have been discovered!"

"What is this?!"  she sat up straight and her eyes searched the fields around them.  The Comte’s use of the plural left no doubt as to what had presently been discovered and temporarily relieved the anxiety she had previously felt about Rochefort’s impropriety and suspicious nature.  But the lingering doubt regarding her own secrets was still hovering around the edges of her consciousness.

"A young Gascon with a letter from Monsieur de Treville in his pocket," he produced a letter from his own pocket and handed it over to Milady.  “He provoked a quarrel with me, no doubt to prevent us from our mission.  How Treville discovered it, I will never know.”

“And where is he now?” she demanded, her eyes focused on the crumbling hostelry.

"I have subdued him for the time being and he is laid out in the landlord's apartments.  We must make this quick before he regains consciousness."

"Indeed," she agreed. “His Eminence, then, orders me – "

"To return instantly to England, and to inform him as soon as the duke leaves London."

“And as to my other instructions?” she asked.

“They are contained in this box,” he tapped his breast pocket, “which you will not open until you are on the other side of the channel.” 

“But I have only just returned from that horrid country,” she protested.  “What reason could I possibly give for returning so soon?”

“You are a clever woman, I am sure you will figure something out.” Rochefort pulled the small box from his waistcoat and passed it to Milady with a slight of hand that had ceased to amaze her but would have been nearly imperceptible to those milling about "The slightest delay could ruin everything."
“Very well,” she sighed.  It was then that she noticed a disheveled youth emerging from the rear entrance of the hostelry.  He was without a doublet and looked to be no more dangerous than a farmer’s son playing hooky from his chores.  But even at this distance she could recognize that Gascon swagger and knew it could be none other than their foe. “And you – what will you do?”
“I – I return to Paris.” Rochefort retorted.  His tone suggested she should somehow have already known his next actions and was ridiculous for even asking the question.  It was his arrogance more than anything else that caused her to utter her next words.
“What,” she cooed at him again, “without chastising this insolent boy?”  The Comte de Rochefort gave her a quizzical look and opened his mouth as if to speak when the aforementioned boy rushed forward.
“This insolent boy chastises others,” the Gascon cried; “and I hope that this time he whom he ought to chastise will not escape him as before.”
"Oh, I though you took care of him?”  Milady chided Rochefort in a voice low enough so the boy couldn't hear her.  "Hurry, or you may not escape him a second time."
"Will not escape him?!" roared Rochefort. 
"No, before a woman you would not dare to fly, I presume?" the boy goaded him.
"Remember," Milady said in a mocking tone, "the least delay may ruin everything."  Rochefort sighed in exasperation at his own words.
"You are right," he cried, "be gone then, on your part, and I will depart as quickly on mine."  He bowed to Milady and raced back to his horse. 
Her taunting had not made his duty an easy burden to bear.  She could see the struggle on his face as he turned his horse to head towards Paris.  Thankfully, Rochefort followed the Cardinals instructions over his own impulses to pummel the boy.  Of course, it could also turn out to be an unfortunate thing, Milady mused to herself. It was difficult to know at this juncture.
“To Calais!” she shouted to the driver and her carriage lurched forward on the two days ride north to the seaport.  Thankfully, she had enough packed in her trunks to make the trip safely.  She had been unsure of the purpose of the meeting or how long she would be away from the city so she had prepared for the worst case scenario.  In this case, it was that she would have to murder the Comte de Rochefort for discovering that which she had wished to remain unknown and find new patronage outside of France.
In retrospect, Milady pondered, it really was not prudent of her to needle Rochefort about the boy.  With his network of Bohemians as far North as England and as far South as Spain there was very little he could not accomplish when he set his feet down a certain path.  In their brief association together he had proven himself to be formidable in battle and cunning in his profession.  She would have to make it up to him somehow.  If only so she could determine how much he really knew before she silenced him forever.  But she had learned in her long history of espionage that it was better not to jump to hasty conclusions without proper intel.
Milady then turned her attention to the box that had been secreted to her at Meung.  It was not particularly large or overly ornate.  The box was made of Oak and was certainly something she would have passed over in a market.  It had been smoothed and rounded on the edges until it was nearly an oval shape.  The lid and base of it had been kept a natural color with a simple clear varnish and only the Cardinal’s seal had been painted on the top.  The box fit neatly in her hands and wasn’t large enough for a pistol or a dagger though the weight was heavier than mere note with instructions would have been.  Milady moved the box closer to her ear and gently gave it a shake.  An item inside thudded gently against the sides of the box indicating that it took up nearly the entire space within.  She had been hoping for the sound of coins but realized the Cardinal was far cleverer than that.  If the box did contain any currency for the pains of her journey it would have been wrapped up tightly to avoid causing any temptation by would be thieves on the road to London.
With her curiosity satisfied as much as it could be until she was on the other side of the channel, as Rochefort had instructed as the time and place to finally open the mysterious item, she placed the box into a secret pocket in the folds of her dress.  Her thoughts then turned back to London and her recent failure to seduce Buckingham away from the Queen of France.

* * * * *

Scene in England – Milady sends word to the Cardinal when Buckingham leaves England.

* * * * *

Scene at the ball of Madame de guise – in which de wardes flirts with Milady and wins her affection

* * * * *

Scene in which Milady received instructions to go to the church of st. leu- possibly from the Cardinal, possibly to hear of her intended lover des wardes.

* * * * *

Scene in the Church with Porthos – what she thinks about Porthos playing his mistress for a fool, etc.
Milady has just knelt upon her red cushion at the front of the church of St. Leu and raised her head heavenward in the imitation of piety when her servant leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“Madame, he is not here.”
“Is there any news, Kitty?” Milady could feel the disappointment creep into her chest.
“I have heard it from Marie – “
“And who is this Marie?” she demanded
“She is a servant in the Comte’s household, Madame.”
“Very well, Kitty, go on.”
“Marie has reported that the Comte has been gravely injured.  Perhaps his wounds –”
“Temporarily detain him from attending services,” she hissed. “Yes, Kitty, thank you!”  The girl resumed her post behind her mistress having been sufficiently dismissed.  Milady had feared this might be the case.  The Cardinal had warned her of the duel in Calais and how her love had been found by the Governor of that port tied to a tree.  Whenever she found the villain who had left the Comte de Wardes for dead he would regret the day he had ever crossed swords with such a man. 
Milady had hoped to arrange a meeting with des Wardes but with that impossibility, it now made the whole morning seem like a wasted trip.  The small church was very crowed on this particular day and Milady could only guess that there was some particular priest the masses were clamoring to hear in the pulpit.  She was personally surprised every time she crossed onto holy ground that she did not erupt into flames right then and there.  But then this was a religion for the superstitious and she had no cause to fear anything but a knife thrust in the dark.  She glanced around the room and spotted a tall, handsome soldier.  She guessed him a soldier by his bearing for he could be nothing else with that posture and haughty countenance. 
He was leaning against a pillar near the back of the church and he kept sneaking glances at a woman seated on a bench just beside him.  The woman was somewhat past her prime and her beauty was fading a little around the edges.  Milady well knew that soldiers were nearly always more concerned with a woman’s wealth, or should one say her husband’s wealth, than with her individual age or beauty.  Still the woman was not undesirable and the black hood that adorned her head was of a decent quality. Both of these undoubtedly made her a fine target for this gentleman’s particular needs. 
The lady’s complexion was a suddenly a little flushed, presumably from the recognition of the man in her proximity, but when she attempted to catch his eye he would avert his gaze to another woman in the room.  On the third attempt, Milady noticed that the soldier’s gaze landed on herself and the effect on the targeted lady was beyond measure.   Milady was flattered that her presence had produced such an affect and she silently applauded the gentleman’s cunning.
Of course, there was by no means any reasonable chance that this gentleman would catch Milady’s eye even in her most desperate days.  Undoubtedly, he was well awre of this fact and, yet, the soldier’s mission had been achieved – his mistress was significantly jealous. It made Milady chuckle inwardly to herself and a slight smile found its way to her lips.  If nothing else, the amusement of watching this cat and mouse game had seen Milady through the length of the Sermon and she only had to go through the motions at the holy water font.
Milady stood from her cushion and willed her knees to regain feeling.  Her servants immediately set about their work collecting her things and preparing for departure.  As Milady approached the font she observed the tall soldier rush past his lady love to dip his hand in the water on her behalf.  The act was too much for Milady’s tastes and she was about to knock him down in her assessment of his game when, to her astonishment he presented his hand to her.  It was an ingenious move for one at this level of manipulation.  There was nothing else to do at that point but to accept the holy water and move on with her day. She had to admit that the whole scene had been masterfully played and she sincerely wished this gentleman good luck in his quest
“Madame,” Kitty whispered in her ear again, “I have word that the Comte des Wardes is recuperating in his apartments.”
“So he is in residence?”
“Indeed, Madame.”
“Quick, go after the girl and tell her to leave a servant outside for the next quarter of an hour.”
“Right away, Madame.”  Kitty was off in a flash and soon returned to Milady’s carriage just as the mistress herself was climbing aboard. “All is arranged.”
“Excellent work, Kitty.” Milady was starting to feel better about her day, it may not be a wasted trip after all.  “Pierre, take me to St. Germain.”

* * * * *

Scene in which Milady sends Kitty to give a message to des Wardes lackey and it is mistakenly given to Planchet.

* * * * *

Fight with Milady’s Brother in Law – Lord de Winter, Baron Sheffield: Perhaps he is encouraging her to leave Paris due to the war with England and she is refusing, or maybe he is accusing her of mistreating her step-son.  OR maybe he saw her servant give the note to des Wardes supposed lackey and is chastising her for courting another so soon after his brother’s death.

* * * * *

She has lost all patience with her brother-in-law at this remark and proceeded to beat him with her closed fan.  He cowered under her fury as her abused accessory fell to pieces in her hand.  This only enraged her more and she would have done far worse had a strange voice from the opposite side of the coach not interrupted the remonstrations.
“Madame, will you permit me to offer you my services?” the stranger said in French.  She whipped around at the first sound and was surprised to see a young musketeer on horseback beside her carriage.  She was so surprised, in fact, by the intrusion itself that she lost all sense of her anger and waited agape for the young man to finish.  “It appears to me that this cavalier has made you very angry.  Speak one word, madame, and I take upon myslf to punish him for his want of courtesy.” 
“Monsieur,” Milady replied in French lest he think her initial vacant stare was one of ignorance, “I should with great confidence place myself under your protection if the person with whom I quarrel were not my brother.” It suddenly occurred to her how this scene must look to an outsider.  Two foreigners, English to say the least, fighting openly in the streets.  Thankfully, it appeared that this young gentleman did not understand a word of their argument.
“Ah, excuse me, then,” said the stranger.  There was something familiar about this man and Milady couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “You must be aware that I was ignorant of that, madame.””
“What is that stupid fellow troubling himself about?” cried her brother in law in French as he stooped down to the height of the coach window.  He was looking for a fight, otherwise he would have continued in his native tongue.  “Why does not he go about his business?
“Stupid fellow yourself!” said d’Artagnan stooping in his turn on the neck of his horse and answering on his side through the carriage window.  “I do not go on because it pleases me to stop here.”
There it was; that insolent tone to his voice!  She knew where she had seen this gentleman before, though he had not been so well established on their first meeting.  It was the Gascon boy from Mueng; the one that had caused all that trouble for a mere letter of introduction.   She wondered if Rochefort had found him out yet or if he had been keeping an eye on him all along.
“You should go on ahead sister,” her brother in law said in English, “it will not take me but a minute to teach this infant a lesson.”  This was all really ridiculous in Milady’s opinion; having a contest of machismo in the middle of the street and through her carriage windows no less.  But the young musketeer could be of some use if he was that eager to prove himself, as most of these soldiers were, and as he had shown himself to be in Meung.
“I speak to you in French,” said the stranger; “be kind enough, then, to reply to me in the same language.  You are Madame’s brother, I learn – be it so; but fortunately you are not mine.”
Milady could barely contain her glee at the gentleman’s statement.  No doubt he would challenge the present Lord de Winter to a duel and seeing as the challenger was now a musketeer, he would bring along worthy seconds.  So, even if Lord de Winter was successful in the duel her brother in law would surely perish at the hands of another.  This could easily solve all of her problems and give her a bonus to hand the Cardinal. When she reported that her brother in laws death was not only at the hands of the King’s Musketeers but that she had managed to wrap up their loose end in Mueng his Eminence would surely reward her for her efforts.  She threw herself back in the carriage to keep her joy from being seen.
“Go on – home!” she shouted to her driver with as much fury as she could muster under these pleasant conditions.  If those fools wanted to destroy themselves she would be the last person to stand in their way.  She did not even cast a glance backwards to see the surprised expression on de Winter’s face as the last impediment to the duel sped away.

          * * * * *

Milady descended from her carriage with a feeling of satisfaction she had not experienced in quite some time.  All of her disappointments with the Duke of Buckingham and that ill-fated scheme with the Queen’s diamond aiguillette were temporarily lifted from her alabaster shoulders in anticipation of her son becoming the sole heir to the de Winter fortune.  Three hundred thousand livres!  Not only had she secured the future for her son, and consequently her own, but she was sure to receive a favorable response from the Comte des Wardes regarding her note.

She could not be mistaken in his behavior at the ball thrown by Madame de Guise.  She had played this game for far too long to become someone’s pawn.  How she longed to feel his arms around her again.