Marrying the Musketeer (13 page)

The old man slumped in his chair, weary with defeat.
 
“What would you have me do?”

“You have robbed the King of France of much gold.
 
He would have it back again.
 
Tell us where you have hidden your stores of gold, and your daughter’s honor will be safe.”

“My stores of gold?”
 
The old man gave a wheezy cough.
 
“I have no such thing.
 
My daughter is the greatest treasure I possess, and even her purity is now sullied and spoiled.”

“That may be so.
 
Yet she is the one who will suffer if you do not regurgitate your ill-gotten spoils – and quickly, too.
 
What honest Flemish merchant will take her as his bride – the daughter of a bankrupt and a criminal, and a Frenchman’s whore to boot?
 
She will starve in the gutter with no one to take pity on her.
 
You had best save her from that fate while you yet can.”

Indecision was writ large over the old man’s face.
 
His mouth opened as though he would speak, but then it closed again without a word spoken.
 
Contrary thoughts chased over his forehead, until at last his brow firmed and cleared with a decision.
 
“I have no stores of gold.
 
I cannot tell you where to find what I do not possess.”

Charent did not look impressed.
 
“You would swear that on your daughter’s honor?”

“My daughter’s honor?”
 
The old man gave a mirthless chuckle that made Pierre’s scalp crawl to hear.
 
It sounded like the death croak of a man swinging from the scaffold.
 
“You would have me swear on her honor, when I have just been informed she has none left?”

Charent’s face grew dark at his insolence.
 
“We have other ways of making you talk, old man.
 
Less pleasant ways than the gentle persuasion we have tried so far.”

“I have resigned myself to death.
 
You cannot hurt a dead man.”

“By the time I wring out of you the secrets you persist in hiding, you will long for death indeed.”

Pierre did not return in three days.
 
Or four.
 
Or five.

One after another the servants of the house scurried off to new places as fast as they could, like rats leaving a sinking ship.
 
By the end of the fifth day only Suzanne her maid was left to serve her.
 
All the others had left, fearful of the scandal that would attach to them if they stayed to work for a man taken to the Bastille.
 
No one would willingly live or work under the shadow of that vast home of madness and death.

On the sixth day, just as the day was darkening into twilight, the bailiffs came to call.

Courtney was sitting alone in her father’s study, staring out at the cold gray rain, shivering in her cloak of winter furs.
 
Though it was early in the autumn, the air was chill and she had no one left but Suzanne to light a fire or tend to her comfort.
 
She was too preoccupied to see to anything herself.
 
She did not even feel the cold of the chamber – the chill in her heart was all that mattered.
 
Her mind was bent only on how she and Pierre could best help her father as soon as her lover returned to her.

The bailiffs entered without knocking into the very chamber where she sat, hoping against hope that the steps she heard on the stairs were those of Pierre come to her rescue.

The leader of the pack gave her a feral grin and jerked his head at the door.
 
“Out.”

Courtney rose to her feet, her furs around her shoulders, and glared at him with all the venom lying dormant in her soul.
 
“I beg your pardon?”
 
Her voice was colder and more cutting than the winter wind.
 
“What excuse can you possibly have for intruding on me so rudely?”

The head bailiff wagged his bushy beard at her.
 
“Don’t try to play your lady’s tricks on me.
 
This house and everything in it has been confiscated and is now the property of the King of France.
 
You are to leave at once, by order of the King.”

Her father had been right.
 
She should have left immediately rather than waiting to be thrown ignominiously out of the house she had grown up in.
 
She had no time to prepare, no time to think what was best for her to do.
 
“Let me see the order,” she demanded imperiously, stalling desperately for time.

He thrust a dirty piece of paper under her nose.
 
“Satisfied?”

She glanced at it and looked away again.
 
There was no doubting the Royal seal that adorned it.
 
“I trust I may take my personal possessions with me.”

He looked almost disappointed that she had acquiesced so easily.
 
“Out of the goodness of my heart, I shall give you and any servants you have left fifteen minutes to gather what is yours – as much as you can carry and no more.
 
After then, you shall be trespassing – and will be treated as such.
 
Understand?”

She nodded.
 
She understood only too well.
 
Her father’s enemies were looking for any excuse to arrest her as a common criminal as well.
 
If she resisted, even poor Suzanne would share in her downfall.
 
She would not give her enemies the satisfaction of ruining them both.

She flew to the kitchen where Suzanne was stirring a pot of soup for their dinner.
 
The two of them ran upstairs as if the devil were nipping at their heels.
 
In a few moments she had packed her most treasured possessions – the miniature of her papa, her mother’s silver hairbrush, a lacquered box from her grandmother.
 
She threw in a jumble of jewelry, her best laces, a book her father had given her as a child, and then tumbled her favorite gowns in on top.

Just as she was stuffing the last one in, Suzanne, her eyes wide with fear, appeared in the doorway with her own sack of possessions.

In less than the fifteen minutes allotted to them, they were in the street, bags in their hand, with the front door of her childhood house closed forever behind them.

She stifled a sob as she stood in the street like a beggar.
 
She felt as though she had aged ten years in the space of a few minutes.
 
Her father was imprisoned, her lover was away in Paris and now she her home had been taken from her as well.
 
She wanted to break down and weep like a child for all the things she had lost.

Suzanne turned to her, her eyes full of tears.
 
“Where shall we go?” she wailed in distress.
 
“What shall we do?
 
I cannot walk far with my bags, but I dare not leave them behind or I will never see them again.
 
They are all I own in the world.”

She blinked back the tears she was longing to shed.
 
She had to be strong, if not for herself than for Suzanne and for her father.
 
“Monsieur Legros lives but a short walk from here.
 
He will shelter us this night for my father’s sake.”

Suzanne drew out a small cloth bag hanging around her neck.
 
“I have my savings here,” she said in a tremulous voice.
 
“They will feed us for a while.
 
You gave them to me in your prosperity, so it is fitting that you share them with me now you are in need.”

Courtney could not hold back her tears at Suzanne’s generosity.
 
She would never forget it.
 
“Put away your money,” she said.
 
“Thanks be to God and to my dear father, we are not paupers yet.”

By the time they reached Monsieur Legros’s house, the sun had well and truly set, her arms were aching and she wanted only to set down her bundle for long enough to rest.

Monsieur Legros looked troubled to see her, and Madame Legros positively scowled at the pair of them as they stood, begging for shelter for the night.
 
She was thankful that Justin was nowhere to be seen – her disgrace was hard enough to bear in front of her father’s oldest friends, but it would be nigh impossible in front of their handsome, spoiled, carefree son.

“I cannot turn you out into the gutter,” Monsieur Legros said with a sigh, as his wife scowled harder than ever.
 
“For the friendship I bore your father, you may sleep here this night, but no longer.
 
You must go in the morn as soon as the sun is up.
 
I dare not bring the wrath of the King down upon my own head by giving succor to his enemies, simple young girls as you are.”

Desperate as she was for a safe place to lay her head that night, she could not gloss over the insult to her papa.
 
“My father is innocent.”

Monsieur Legros drummed his fingers on the gilt arm of the chair he sat in.
 
“Be that as it may, the King has adjudged him guilty, and I will be found guilty by association if it were known you had fled here.”

She could not face heading out into the night again with her heavy bundle.
 
“I would be grateful for a bed tonight for Suzanne and I to share.
 
If you can loan us a horse, we shall be gone as soon as it is daylight.”

Madame Legros opened her mouth for the first time.
 
“Where shall you go?”
 
She spoke as though she wished them both a one-way trip to the bottommost pits of Hell.

Courtney shook her head.
 
She would not tell even Monsieur Legros of her plans.
 
She feared even his ancient friendship with her father would not survive his disgrace and imprisonment.
 
It barely stretched to giving her a night’s lodging.
 
She no longer knew who she could trust.
 
“To a place where I will not bring trouble on to the heads of my friends, you may be sure of that.”

“If we do not know where you are going, how can we be sure we shall ever get our horse back again?” Madame Legros asked with a sneer.
 
“You may be too like your father to want to return it once you have it in your hands.”

Suzanne gasped at the insult.
 
Even Monsieur Legros looked aback at his wife’s piece of needless spite.

Courtney felt her face grow hot, but she held her head up high.
 
Just a fortnight ago, this woman would have welcomed her as a daughter-in-law with open arms.
 
How her fortunes had changed in that short time.
 
No doubt the poor woman was terrified that she might still try to marry Justin, even though she was now disgraced and seemingly penniless.
 
She laughed to herself at the thought.
 
Pierre, her beloved Pierre, was only three days late.
 
He would come to her for sure to stand by her side, to shoulder her burdens and fight her battles.

If only Madame Legros knew how far removed her intentions were from wanting to marry Justin, she would not fear aught and might even be able to find some pity in her heart for her plight.

She drew a handful of gold coins out of her purse and laid them on the table – a generous sum of money for even the best bred horse.
 
She thanked her father’s foresight for ensuring that she would not starve.
 
“If it makes you feel more secure, I will purchase the horse outright before I go so you need harbor no fear that I will turn horse thief on you.”

Monsieur Legros, his face pink with shame at his wife’s petty meanness, gathered up the coins and handed them back to her.
 
“You may keep the horse and welcome.
 
I will not take your money.”
 
He sighed.
 
“You may well need it yourself before long.”

She slept ill that night, though the bed was soft enough and the blankets warm.
 
Suzanne stirred restlessly beside her, tossing about and muttering in her sleep.

The raucous cry of a pair of chattering rooks outside her window let her know when dawn was breaking.
 
With a sigh of weariness that spoke of a heavy heart and little sleep, she rose to her feet and dressed herself in the pale gray of the morning.

Monsieur Legros had saddled a fine horse for her, and a pretty brown donkey with sad, soft eyes for Suzanne.
 
He stood at the door to the stables as they set off, his face lined with worry.
 
“I am so sorry that I cannot shelter you for longer,” he said, wringing his hands with fear and guilt as they started off on their way.
 
“I have my own wife and son to think of, and in times like this no one is safe.”