Marrying the Musketeer (31 page)

She picked up the papers from the table and tucked them into her own jacket.
 
“The Palace will be in an uproar once they discover these are missing.
 
If they are discovered on me, I am a dead woman.”

Miriame grinned.
 
“I would like to see them all scurrying around like ants in an anthill when you poke a stick in it.
 
What a pity I shall miss the fun.”

How glad Courtney was that she and Pierre had furnished Miriame with a task that would keep her well out of the way of danger.
 
She had risked her life once already to steal the papers – there was no need for her to run her head into the noose twice over.
 
“We need you to ride off tonight directly for Brest, before Monsieur le Duc leaves on the south road tonight, and have the ship ready for us.
 
We will be there as soon after you as we can.”
 
As far as she was concerned, Miriame had more than done her share of the work already, but Miriame had been insistent that she join with them in the rebellion for her chance at more booty.
 
She wanted to be made a Count at the very least, if the Duc was successful in his rebellion.

Miriame clapped her hat on her head.
 
“Au revoir.
 
My horse is waiting for me at the gates.
 
I shall see you in Brest.” She turned on her heel at the door and grinned at Courtney.
 
“Don’t waste your energies worrying about me.
 
Save them for yourself and the Duc.
 
I haven’t had this much fun since I broke into the Bastille to rescue a dead princess.”

With a heart full of anxious foreboding, Courtney walked the streets to Pierre’s apartments.
 
She clattered up the stairs to his rooms on the second floor in her heavy boots.
 

He opened the door to her before she had even raised her hand to knock.
 
He let her in and shut the door behind them.
 
“We are ready?”

Without a word she handed him the papers.
 
That and the look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

He looked grave.
 
He, too, knew that this was the turning point.
 
If he accepted the papers, he would be committed to the endeavor and there would be no turning back.
 
“For the Duc?” he asked, as he took the papers from her and tucked them into his own shirt next to his skin.

She paced around the room, her boots noisy on the wooden floorboards, too agitated to sit down.
 
Pierre would be hanged if he was caught with those papers on him.
 
She did not mind running the risk for herself, but she hated to pass it on to another.
 
If anything happened to him, it would rest heavy on her conscience.
 
“The thief has done his part.
 
The rest is up to us.”

Pierre pulled on his leather boots and slung his jacket over his shoulders.
 
“I will take them to him at once.
 
The sooner we leave, the more chance we have to get him away without being noticed.”

She nodded.
 
“He will be expecting you.
 
Bring him to the south gate as quickly as you can and I will be waiting for you both there.”

He paused at the doorway, hat in hand.
 
“You have everything we need?”

She was a merchant through and through.
 
She might not be able to plan battles like he could, but she could purchase and make ready whatever was called for with an efficiency that had surprised him.
 
“Everything has been ready and waiting for days.”

“Jean-Paul has left for Brest?”

“He rode off before I came to see you.
 
The ship will be ready for us when we reach the port.”

“Then there is nothing else to do but go forward.”

Her mouth was dry.
 
She swallowed convulsively.
 
“Yes.
 
We can do nothing else.”

The Duc was in his bath when Pierre arrived.
 
He was made to cool his heels for more than two hours while the Duc finished bathing and was dressed and perfumed until he was ready for company.
 
He paced up and down in a frenzy of anxiety as the seconds ticked inexorably by.
 
Young William would have gone to the south gate long ago and would be waiting for them there.
 
He would be concerned for them for fear they had been arrested even before leaving the palace.
 
He was right to be worried.
 
As each minute went by and the Duc did not appear, the chances of their being arrested increased tenfold.

At last he was admitted into the Duc’s chamber.
 
The Duc was sitting up in bed, a velvet dressing gown draped about his shoulders, playing cards with a man in black whose face was hidden by a black mask.
 
Pierre gave a sketchy bow and opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah, Monsieur Musketeer,” the Duc cried, forestalling his attempts.
 
“Will you join me in a game of cards this evening?”

Pierre shook his head.
 
Was he really going to put this frivolous plaything on the throne in the place of his brother?
 
Never had he doubted the wisdom of his actions more.
 
“I’m afraid I come in haste, Monsieur,” he said.
 
“I have news for you that cannot wait.”

The Duc waved a hand laden with jewels in the air.
 
“I am in no mood for heavy news.
 
Come back in the morn when I am well rested and tell me then.”

He could not wait all night with evidence of treason on his person.
 
“But your Grace, it cannot wait until the morrow.”

The Duc stared at his effrontery.
 
“You dare to tell me what to do?”
 
His voice was a squeak of affronted dignity.

He would not back down and accept his dismissal.
 
The stakes were too high.
 
He stood his ground, refusing to leave.

At long last the Duc sighed.
 
“Go ahead then.
 
What have you to tell me?”

Pierre looked at the man in black.
 
Was the Duc a fool, or was the stranger another conspirator?
 
He did not want to take any chances.
 
“My news is for your ears alone, Monsieur le Duc.”

“Come now,” the Duc cried.
 
“Do not be shy.
 
We are among friends now.”

Still he hedged.
 
“My news concerns an item that a friend of mine was asked to procure for you.”

“Ah, the papers.
 
I had almost forgot about them.
 
Have you got them already?”

With a sideways look at the man in black, Pierre drew the papers out of his shirt and handed them to the Duc.
 
He felt no relief that they were out of his possession.
 
Indeed, he felt a sinking of his heart as he passed them to the Duc.
 
Such a man as he seemed to be could never keep a secret such as this.

He was right in that.
 
The Duc cast his eyes over them and handed them to the man in black.
 
“Read them to me, Brisson,” he said.
 
“The light is too weak for my eyes.”

Brisson took them and began to read.
 
Pierre felt a niggle of unease begin to grow at the base of his back.
 
He was sure he ought to recognize that voice, as false and affected as it was.
 
He listened carefully and racked his brains to think who the voice belonged to, but he could not place it.

After a few sentences, the Duc stopped him again with a languid wave of his hand.
 
“Good.
 
Very good.”

Then he turned his attention to Pierre, who was standing in incredulous astonishment at the Duc’s lack of spirit.
 
“You are dismissed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Duc looked annoyed.
 
“I said you are dismissed.
 
You have done your job.
 
Now go.
 
I will call for you when I need you again.”

“But I have horses and men waiting for you outside the south gate and a ship being readied for you at Brest.
 
Will you not ride with us tonight to England?”

“England?
 
Tonight?”
 
The Duc shuddered with intense distaste.
 
“Certainly not.
 
It will take my servants three days to sort out my jewelry and pack my suits of traveling clothes, and at least a sennight to have my carriage prepared to carry me there in suitable style.
 
The wheels are slightly chipped and need a good polishing, so the master of my horse informs me, and the seats need to be re-cushioned.
 
As they are now, I would feel every jolt and bump on the road.
 
I would be in agony before we had even left Paris.
 
I cannot possibly leave tonight.”

Not leave tonight?
 
Did the Duc not see that he was putting the entire rebellion at risk with his foolishness?
 
One did not ride off to make war on one’s brother in a newly-painted carriage as if to a picnic in the country.
 
This was a matter of life and death, not of newly upholstered carriage cushions.
 
“What will happen if the King finds out about the theft in the mean time?
 
Will he not suspect that you have had a hand in it and have you followed, if not arrest you and throw you into the Bastille?”

The Duc looked down his nose at Pierre.
 
“Is that any concern of yours?
 
Now go.
 
You are boring me with all your talk of prisons.”

He could not let go so easily.
 
He would argue all night if he had to.
 
Monsieur le Duc had to be made aware of the serious nature of their predicament.
 
He had to leave that very night or he would never be able to leave at all.
 
Their rebellion would come to naught and their cause would be lost forever.
 
“But...”

“No buts,” Monsieur said with a deep frown, “or I will turn you over to the King myself as a traitor.
 
Now leave me.
 
I wish to play another hand of piquet before I sleep.”

There was nothing else for it.
 
Throwing a look of intense disgust at Monsieur, Pierre turned on his heel and walked out of the chamber.
 
Their rebellion was doomed before it had even properly begun – doomed by the idiocy, the indolence, and love of luxury of the man who would be King.

With a heavy heart he rode to the south gate to break the news to William that Monsieur le Duc had abandoned them.
 
Wililam would be distraught at the news, he knew.
 
The young fellow had been pinning all his hopes on the Duc.
 
He hated to tell the lad that their cause was lost and that very probably they were both doomed.

William was waiting at the south gate with the horses as he promised he would be.
 
In the light of the half moon he could that that the young lad’s face was pinched and white in the cold air.
 
“At last,” he said as Pierre came up to him.
 
“I thought you were never coming.
 
I am well nigh frozen in my boots.
 
Where is the Duc?”

Pierre shook his head.
 
“He is not coming with us tonight.”

William’s mouth dropped open.
 
“Not coming?”
 
His voice was a sibilant whisper in the shadowy darkness.
 
“Has the King arrested him?
 
Are we betrayed?”

Pierre swung his leg over the pommel of his saddle and dropped down to the ground.
 
He looped the reins over a post and pulled William into a sheltered corner to talk.
 
“Nothing so dramatic.
 
The night was too dark and cold to leave his chamber, the way to England was too long, he had not packed his traveling suits, the carriage needed to be repainted before he could set out in it, and he preferred to play at piquet.”

William’s face drooped before his eyes.
 
“He is not coming at all?
 
He would rather play at piquet like a fool than tilt at a crown?”