Sitting in the garrison, the wine was flowing merrily and spirits were high. It had been another triumphant day for the musketeers; the criminals of Paris were defeated once again and their mission had secured D'artagnan's position as an official Musketeer- what was once three was now four, and their bond was stronger than ever. That is until a face from D'artagnan's made a surprise appearance.
"D'ARTAGNAN!" the voice boomed throughout the nearly empty garrison and caused the young man to turn violently in its direction. The wine had made his reactions slow and his balance unsteady, yet the bottle he was holding never left the grasp of his palm and despite having to blink multiple times to steady his focus, he knew instantly who the visitor was. The high spirits immediately left the musketeers as they could hear the malice in the scream. D'artagnan's smile had vanished and was replaced with shock and horror combined with concern. His wine consumption can be the only explanation as to why the next thing he remembers is being hurled against the wooden beam and feeling the stab of a pistol barrel pushed under his chin. Of course, his fellow comrades had surrounded the commotion and were ready to take action if necessary. Aramis' spirits were taking longer than Athos' to comprehend the seriousness of the situation and Porthos, although he wore the expression of concern well, felt it harder to convey it in his demeanour.
"Do not make any rash actions Mademoiselle. However D'artagnan has wronged you, an agreement can be made without any violence I'm sure." Athos, always the voice of reason had the enviable ability to convey sober thoughts and sentiments regardless how much wine he had consumed. The woman pinned to D'artagnan never broke eye contact but expertly drew a second pistol and pointed it at Athos. This was sufficient to pull Aramis out of his alcohol fuelled complacency and made a move to step forward, one look from Athos however told him to remain where he stood.
"Who are you?" She asked Athos not lowering either pistol.
"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers, and I feel compelled to tell you that should you shoot anyone of us, it would guarantee a noose around your neck by daylight."
She sneered at his attempt of reasoning and turned her attention back to D'artagnan.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now?"
"The noose for starters."
"Oh please, a reason I could care about." Concern flashed in D'artagnan's eyes but Porthos' voice distracted his thoughts.
"Before you do blow his head off, what has he done? "
"Everyone deserves a chance to repent Mademoiselle, regardless of their crimes. What did he do? Rob you? Made promises he couldn't keep? Left you at the altar without so much as a wave goodbye?" with each suggestion, Aramis was stepping closer and closer. Her resolve was faltering and they could recognise her strength weakening.
"What did he do to you?" Athos pressed, which brought her out of her reverie and she tightened her grip on both pistols ready to shoot with conviction.
"You think I'm his mistress?" She looked into D'artagnan's face disgusted and his silence was more than enough admission for his guilt. "Just what have you been up to since you left?" She turned her attention back to Athos, Aramis and Porthos and confessed, "My name is Evette D'artagnan... I'm his sister."
Porthos approached her almost silently from behind, threw up both arms causing the pistols to fire, he spun her under his own arm grabbing both guns as she twirled right into the arms of an expectant Aramis. D'artagnan made no action to move from the beam he had been held against, but Athos stood in front of Evette while she struggled to free herself from Aramis' grasp.
"Sister?" Athos asked.
"Didn't see that one coming." Porthos quipped from the sidelines as he stowed the pistols in his own belt.
"Oh, I see you've been telling all of Paris about the family you abandoned D'artagnan." She continued to push against Aramis' clutch to no avail, "did you not think about me at all since you left? The last time I heard your name was the same day I was told our father had been murdered by a Musketeer named Athos, and that you had left to avenge his death. Gone without so much as a goodbye, I thought you were dead. I lost everything in one day, and now I find you here, not only consorting with the man who killed our father, but a Musketeer yourself!" She finally lost the strength she had left and stood still. " A musketeer...just like you always wanted."
After a moment, Athos stepped forward and stood before her, "We can explain the events which allowed D'artagnan become a musketeer, and the circumstances surrounding your father's death clear my name and I assure you, it was not the doing of any of the King's musketeers. However, it is a long story and I feel that Aramis may tire from holding you so long. If you can promise that you will not attack again, then we will explain everything to you, and it would be much more comfortable for you if we were sat down."
She considered his proposal then looked up at the face of her holder, she was relaxing in the company of these supposed innocent men and with a playful glint in her eye said "I would much rather stay in this warm embrace. But I'm sure standing for so long would tire everyone, so unless there is a bed we could retire to" she winked at Porthos, which raised his eyebrows in surprise, "I suppose sitting will suffice."
Aramis loosened his grip on her while smirking and she moved away from him-dramatically slow. Porthos was sat at the table with the silent D'artagnan, wine was poured into everyone's cups and Athos began to tell the story of the Musketeer imposters who were the real murderers of their father.
Evette listened attentively to the story, secretly mesmerised by Athos' calming voice and manner and felt that when she had been focused too longer on his face than what was deemed appropriate turned her attention to Aramis and Porthos, both of whom would contribute to the events that Athos was describing. D'artagnan however, did not speak for the entirety of Athos' speech.
When Athos had concluded the story, still with no explanation as to why D'artagnan had abandoned his sister. Evette pondered for a minute longer.
"Well brother, you have been busy." He did not raise his head nor make eye contact with her once since sitting. "I can see my sudden appearance has shocked you and apparently has brought on a sudden form of mutism, but regardless of what you may think of me" and she looked pointedly at the three other musketeers, "I am not callous. He needs time and I'll give it to him." She touched D'artagnan's shoulder and said "I'll leave you with your thoughts" before making her way toward the exit. But before she left the shelter, she heard the question; "Where are you staying?"
D'artagnan stood before her. She told him that she had yet to find a room somewhere and he told her to go to the Bonacieux residence, and to ask if she could stay in the sewing room. He offered her the directions and she left his company. D'artagnan stood there in a state of indecision. On the one hand, he was too ashamed to face the musketeers but on the other, he had just offered his home, to the person he hoped to avoid just a little bit longer. Choosing the lesser of two evils, and deciding his wine was too good to go to Porthos, he turned around and rejoined the men. He had some explaining to do.
Evette knocked politely on the door in front of her, she would make a much more civilised first impression this time. When Constance opened the door, she simply greeted her with the phrase "D'artagnan sent me." It was enough to gain entry and Constance allowed her through without questioning. Once inside she said "My name is Evette D'artagnan, and I am here to ask for a room. I will pay of course."
"Evette D'artagnan?" Constance asked, " D'artagnan sent you?"
"Yes he did."
"And where is he now?" Constance began to busy herself with menial tasks, certainly none that warranted immediate attention.
"Drinking over at the Musketeer garrison I expect."
"Right."
D'artagnan joined his friends and made no attempt to tell his story, and the gentlemen that they are; they didn't press the matter. A comfortable silence fell upon them and inevitably their minds wandered to Evette.
Porthos recalled the passion in her actions and the anger she wasn't afraid to show. Aramis remembered the strength of her body when she struggled against his arms, and the flicker of playfulness in her eye as she joked with him. Athos thought of the intensity of her stare and the attentiveness of how she listened to his words. Each of them appreciated the softness of her features and her fearless nature; she was most definitely a lady they were not going to forget easily.
D'artagnan on the other hand, tried his very hardest to forget about his sister. He wanted to forget the anger in her voice, the strength when she pushed him and how she clung to Athos' every word wanting to know all about the brother who had abandoned her. Yet he was irritated, he saw how the others looked at her and how she was able to tease and flirt her way in their favour, but he wasn't surprised. She was like that.
An empty cup pulled Athos out of his thoughts and broke the silence. "D'artagnan you should speak with Evette." The mention of her name from Athos' lips felt wrong to D'artagnan, it sounded like a foreign language. D'artagnan merely nodded noncommittally and left the table. He sluggishly made his way to the Bonacieux house knowing that with each step he took, he was walking towards a life he thought he had left behind. Before he had the chance to open the door, Constance was pushing him back out into the night.
The cold sting of her slap sobered his mind. "How dare you send her here?" Slap. "You didn't even think of asking me first?" Slap. "How did you think that would be ok?" Slap. "You're married." She had run out of steam and waited for his answer.
He shook the pain from his face and re-focused his eyes. "Married?" he asked, "to who?" Since her last statement was not a question, he didn't quite know how to respond.
"Evette D'artagnan. It all makes sense now, why you've been sneaking around with me, all of the secrets and lies-"
"No, that's in consideration for YOUR husband."
She considered this for a moment and her anger seemed to fade slightly.
"Evette is not my wife, Constance, she is my sister."
Rather than wait for her reaction, he resentfully walked past her and entered the house. It was cold inside, unwelcoming and filled with unspoken words. He knew tonight wasn't the time to apologise to Constance. Not that he wanted to. He decided to sleep and face his problems in the daylight. Tomorrow would clear up today's confusion.