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 has an interaction with the Comtes de
Wardes (Antoine de Gramont) with witty banter and possible innuendo.
* * * * *
Scene at the ball of “Mademoiselle de guise” (this name is used
later to recall their shared memory without giving away his mission details) –
in which de wardes flirts with Milady and wins her affection before she leaves
for England.
The ball really was splendid for all the political maneuvering it
attempted to conceal. The masquerade theme was exciting enough for the
young courtiers and they giggled and flirted throughout the entire
affair. Mademoiselle de XXXXX has selected just the right food to please
King Charles’ delicate digestion and supplied just enough wine to keep him
cordial with his wife, Henrietta Maria. The rumor around the court was
that King had plans to expel the young queen’s attendants back to their
homeland of France. What had seemed a
glorious union of two countries only a few years ago was quickly becoming a
cause for concern. King Louis had still
to provide the naval forces promised in his younger sister’s marriage contract. Milady was here to keep an eye on the Duke of
Buckingham and to attempt to recover from her previous failed missions.
Having already exchanged pleasantries with the Duke and spoken to
her informants in his household Milady de Winter retired to the
garden. The young lovers scrambled throughout the tall hedges and
fine landscaping; so selfish in their joy that they hardly noticed her as she
took up a silent reverie in a dark corner on the terrace and swirled the
Spanish Wine in her glass. She watched the legs of the draught ease down
the sides and back into itself. She was
tired of kowtowing to these useless men, if they had half of her strength of
will they would have already conquered the globe. If she had half of their opportunities she
would have been as great a Queen as Elizabeth had been. Undoubtedly, greater. Milady swirled her
drink again and then drained the cup.
“It looks like I have arrived,” a familiar voice whispered in
French near her ear, “just in time.” An arm snaked its way around her shoulder
presenting a new goblet of deep red liquid. The Comte de Wardes was
standing directly behind her, close enough that she could feel the slight
warmth of his body but not daring to touch her or trap her against the terrace
railing. In one smooth motion, she pulled the proffered beverage from his
hand and swung around to face him. His dark brown eyes framed by his dark
leather mask that gave the appearance of a raven with intelligence. His doublet was equally as dark and white
sleeves could be seen through the slashes.
If he had been an assailant, he would already have a dagger in his
belly. Her stance was not completely rigid but she was definitely battle
ready.
“You always happen to be in the right place at the right time,
Comte.” She raised the glass to him and took a sip. “How fortunate for
me.”
“I assure you, Madame, fortune has nothing to do with it,” his
dark eyes sparkled with mischief. He took a step back, slightly bowed at
the waist and, in turn, raised his glass to her. It put a comfortable distance
between them and she felt herself breathing a little easier.
“Pray, sir, what keeps you in England then?”
“Ask me questions I am
permitted to answer, Milady.”
“Very well, then, would you care to accompany me for a walk in the
gardens? I have often thought the
English Gardens far superior to yours.”
“I would be delighted.
Please show me how the talents of your native land surpass my own.” In a
few quick steps they were away from the light of the party and down one of the
more secluded paths.
“How do you find the
festivities, Comte?’
“The costumes are delightful,” he started in a mock tone, “and the
music is divine.”
“Oh yes, delightful indeed. Though I have still to puzzle
out what the Duke of Normandy is supposed to be.”
“I believe he is some kind of bull,”
“A bull?” Milady was surprised at his answer.
“Indeed, did not you see the horns worn about his
head.” The Comte waggled his own fingers
in mock horns at his crown.
“Oh, I begin to understand your meaning, for I do believe I just
saw his wife disappear over yonder in that hedgerow.” Milady laughed in spite
of herself. “And the King is quite commanding, do not you think so?”
“Commanding of his
cups, indeed, did not you see him with his servant?” Now it was his turn to laugh.
“And his mistress
is quite without equal, is she not?” he ventured.
“Madame Lucy is beautiful, is she? Then why are you not here
with her,” Milady’s tone was sharper than she had intended and she started to
pull away from his arm. It was a chink in her armor that she had not been
willing to share with this fool. He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled
her closer to him.
“I never said she was beautiful,” he whispered into Milady’s
ear. The warmth of his breath against her inner ear made her knees twinge
and she allowed herself to be pulled into the embrace. She eagerly kissed
him back, hungry for the human contact. She could hear footsteps on the
gravel on the opposite side of the hedgerows from them but wasn’t ready to
relinquish her quarry just yet.
Using all of her weight, she pulled on his doublet and rolled them into one of the alcoves
hidden in the shrubbery. They landed with her back pressed firmly up
against the column and the Comte started kissing behind her ear and then
trailed down her neck. She moaned softly and pulled him tighter against
her. His free hand found its way to her skirts and started pulling the
hem upwards. When the fabric was past her knee Milady raised her leg to
wrap it around his. She could feel his hand hesitate on the
naked part of her thigh between the top of her stockings and her
pantaloons. His fingers trailed along the top of the stocking and
his thumb lingered at the button on her garter. But the footsteps Milady had heard earlier were closer now to the
corner of the hedges and Milady knew they would have to stop or be
discovered.
“We will be discovered,” she hissed and she pushed him away and
smoothed her skirts back into place. Thankfully, the Comte de Wardes
understood the implications of being found in flagrante dilecto just as well as she did and backed away from her without
protest.
“Shall I escort you back to the party,” des Wardes offered.
“Do not be ridiculous, we cannot be seen together. Not here!”
“Yes, well, then,” he said crisply, “until some other time
perhaps.” She could sense she had committed some offense and regretted her own
words immediately.
“Indeed, Comte. I look forward to our next intercourse.” she
offered up a coquettish smile but doubted it would be seen to full effect in
this lighting.
“As do I, Milady. Your conversation is always
stimulating.” He bowed again at the waist and took his leave of her.
wanted to run after him and pull him into another hidden spot, but she
was being stupid. The Comte de Wardes, though also an agent of the
Cardinal, was too young and inconstant. No doubt she would pay for this
indiscretion. Milady was angry with herself and hot tears started to form
in the corners of her eyes. She cursed her own weakness and willed
herself to be stronger. Her breathing was still too heavy and her corset
was not making it any easier to calm herself. The impending footsteps
finally made their way to her hiding spot it would be too late to feign
ignorance now.
“Milady de Winter?” her brother in law’s voice spoke tentatively
into the darkness. “Are you well?”
“No, brother, I am afraid I am not.” her voice came out shaky and
she could see the surprise on the Lord de Winter’s face. She
reached for the only reasonable explanation, female frailty was always a
popular one with her brother in law. “I have been thinking on my
son, dear brother. I received a letter from him this morning and he
sounded so unhappy at his new school.”
“I have assured you many times,” he came to sit beside her and
patted her hand where it lay in her lap. “He is well cared for and if there is
any cause for concern they will contact us immediately.”
“I know you are right, brother, but a mother worries.” She
pulled herself together and feigned concern for her absent son. “Please,
escort me back to the party so that I may take my leave of Mademoiselle de XXXXXX.”
Within moments they had regained the party and Milady had made her
excuses to leave. Back in her carriage alone she had time to think over
the events of the evening. One thing was certain, if she chose to pursue
the Comte des Wardes it would be a dangerous game.
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady de Winter learns of Buckingham leaving
England and writes a note to the Cardinal.
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady receives a note back from the cardinal
regarding the diamond necklace.
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady de Winter cuts off the diamond studs
* * * * *
Scene in England – Milady attempts to leave for France and sees D’Artagnan
aboard a ship
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady returns the diamond
studs to the Cardinal
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady has an interaction with Comte de
Rochefort
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady learns of the failure of the Diamond
Scheme.
* * * * *
Scene in France – Milady attends a social gathering and muses on
the failure of the diamond scheme and her injured would be lover.
She had quietly accepted the blame for the Cardinal’s failure to
catch the Queen in her infidelity and she bore his constant reproaches while he
licked his own wounds and worked on devising a new plan. Without the
Cardinal’s protection, she could not guarantee her own
safety.
She had been smart up to this point, but eventually someone of
consequence would discover the secret branded on her shoulder; someone that she
could not easily manipulate or kill and it would be then that she would need
the Cardinal to intervene. So she accepted his abuse for now but
even that was starting to chafe on her patience. Without the ability to
go out on a mission and hunt down a target she was restless in this city; play
acting the part of a devoted sister in law to her late husband’s brother.
* * * * *
Scene in France
* * * * *
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.
Her residence was in the more fashionable Marais district of Paris
in the recently constructed Place Royale. It has been completed a little
over a decade ago to replace the gaping hole left by the Hotel des Tournelles
after Catherine de Medicis had had it pulled to the ground in her grief.
Milady could still remember the first time she saw the square and the uniform
brick houses outlining it. It had been at the celebration the Place
Royale had hosted to commemorate both its own completion as well as the
marriage of King Louis XIII to his Queen Anne of Austria.
The entrances into the square were slightly taller than the other
buildings and were aptly named the King and Queen Pavilion in honor of the then
recent nuptials. In her youth, she had passed through those arches with a
wonder she thought had been lost to her in childhood. The buildings
themselves had been unlike anything she had ever seen. The contrast of
the red brick with the white stone quoins had given the appearance of elegance
but the vaulted arcades atop the square pillars and the steep blue slate rooves
confirmed it was a place of quality. It was at the Carrousel that she had
caught the eye of Cardinal Richelieu for the first time and it was then that
she knew this would be her residence when she had finally established herself
in Paris.
And now she was installed at No. 6 Place Royale just as she had
dreamed all those years ago but it lacked the independence that she had imagined.
She was beholden to her idiot brother in law, Lord de Winter Barron of
Sheffield until he saw fit to marry and produce an heir that would diminish her
own son’s fortune. She would only be left with the meager portion of her
late husband’s estate as it was, her so called Widow’s Third that was expected
to sustain her until she remarried. No doubt this was foremost in
his mind when he had suggested she find a suitable prospect.
It was a little less than quarter of an hour before her ill
favored brother in law returned to her apartments. He was still red in the face over his
encounter with the young Gascon. He
upbraided her for leaving him alone on the street and for not intervening as
most gentlewomen should in such an instance.
He admitted, however, that it was for the best as the young man had
recognized him from XXXXX and accused him of a great many things
that were naturally untrue and defamatory to his character.
This was all the confirmation she needed as to the identity of the
boy, though there was no doubt in her mind that this was the very same fellow
who had dogged her steps since Meung. It
was no matter though for Lord de Winter had arranged to meet the upstart behind
the Luxembourg tomorrow evening and if he was not successful in killing the
boy, Milady would be.
* * * * *
Indeed, all of Milady’s hopes that been silently dashed. Not only had the boy continued to draw air
into his body but he had absolutely failed to kill her brother in law.
“And now,” she ranted to her servant, Kitty, “I have received a
note declaring that de Winter’s life was saved in thought of me. How ridiculous!” Milady continued to pace the length of her
bedroom. Kitty was busy with the
clothing in Milady’s wardrobe. She was
searching through the items for the perfect article of clothing for a visit
with Milady’s brother in law. The dress,
finally chosen, was then carefully laid out on the bed. Milady threw herself
down on the closest chair and affected a pout.
“And now I am to entertain this impertinent youth to reward him for his
lack of hutzpah.”
“This is naturally, very distressing mistress.” Kitty consoled her
mistress.
“If it had truly been in thought of me,” Milady continued while
Kitty carefully coaxed her mistress to a standing position and proceeded to put
on the undergarments necessary to support her embroidered dress. “the wretch would have been eviscerated at
the very moment when he had gained the upper hand over de Winter.”
“Perhaps you can somehow turn this to your advantage, Milady.”
“That is an excellent idea.
Kitty, you should never believe me when I tell you that you’re stupid.”
“I rarely do, madame.”
*****
Scene
in France: Milady de Winter Entertains
for the first time
*****
Scene In France: With cardinal Richelieu, discussing the
adventures of D’Artagnan
*****
Scene in France: Milady de
Winter Entertains for the second time
*****
Scene in France: Milady
talked with her servant while D’Artagan overhears it.
*****
Scene in France: Milady is
concerned she hasn’t heard from des wardes.
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