This chapter is a bit hardcore on the abuse front. So be aware. It was quite acceptable to beat women in the 17th century, in fact there were actually written guidelines as to what a master could inflict on a servant (both male and female) depending on the misdemeanour. Female servants also frequently became pregnant by their masters, (a good deal of the sex was non-consensual) and whilst that meant disgrace for her, there was no stain on the character of the protagonist. So in the context of the story, I feel it's acceptable to write it. I in no way wish to offend anyone, so if you have any issues with these topics, please don't read the chapter.
CHAPTER FOUR.
I WILL TAKE.
The hour before dawn, everyone in the Residence was still sleeping. The house, where Richelieu kept his mistresses, was in a smart district of The City. It was known as The Residence to all, it was no secret who lived there.
Minette crept from her bed, dressing quickly and throwing on a heavy cloak. Pulling the hood well over her face, she tucked a bundle under the folds and slipped silently from the house.
The streets were almost deserted at this hour and she hurried on her way, glancing behind her nervously from time to time.
The poorer districts were a sprawling conurbation of run down houses and tenements, filthy streets and dubious characters. Keeping her bundle clutched tight to her chest, under the cape, she made eye contact with no one, head down, hood concealing her identity.
Reaching the door that was her destination, she knocked and was immediately admitted, a final glance around to check she'd not been observed. Half an hour later, she was out again, running now, as the light began to seep across the night sky and the first orange glow of the sunrise could be glimpsed.
Once back inside the house she called home, she replaced her clothes as they had been, folded over her chair, and hopped back into bed, falling into a grateful sleep.
It was evening before the carriage arrived.
As usual she was shown into The Cardinal's privy chamber.
Normally he would be at his desk, writing, or sipping a cup of wine, but today he was pacing up and down, hands steepled in front of his face. Brows furrowed, mouth a tight line, jaw muscle working.
One glance and Minette knew something was wrong. Keeping her eyes lowered, she began to loosen her clothing, as he usually required her to do.
"DON'T!" He barked.
A frisson of fear passed through her. She shuddered involuntarily.
He came to stand in front of her, close. His breath against her face. His voice was measured, but there was an undercurrent of anger, barely concealed.
"Do you have something to confess to me?"
"No, Your Eminence." She answered. Not daring to look up.
His hand came back without warning, striking her across the face. She reeled against the blow.
"LIAR!" He cried.
Hand to her face, eye watering from the sting, she sank to her knees at his feet.
"Do you know what happens, when you lie to me, when you disappoint me?
Minette did not reply.
"You are punished." He continued,"What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Nothing, Your Eminence."
"Did you think I would not discover your late night liaisons? I have spies everywhere. The man you met with will be punished too, he will learn what it is to be on the receiving end of my wrath, and so will you."
A sharp intake of breath was the only emotion she betrayed.
His body was shaking with suppressed anger, he grabbed her arms roughly and hauled her across the room, throwing her down in the corner, where a metal ring hung, fixed to the wall.
"You are a whore, a harlot, and you will be treated as such." He shouted, venom in every word.
Pulling her arms together in front of her, he tied her wrists roughly, then passed the rope through the ring, bringing her to her feet.
Viciously he ripped down her clothing, exposing her back and buttocks, she could see his face, a mixture of rage and, oddly, hurt and betrayal. He had threatened this before, but never delivered.
With the first thwack of the birch, she cried out. He hit her again and then again, jaw tightly clenched, eyes blazing. After her initial cry, Minette, bit her lip, closed her eyes and didn't make another sound. Not a murmur, not so much as a whimper. The pain and sting of the blows washed over her, she floated above it all. Silently she prayed to God for it to be over.
"Who do you belong to?" He yelled, between strikes.
"You...I belong to you, you are my Master." She whispered.
"Again! Say it."
"I am yours."
The beating ceased, and she sagged to her knees, arms jerked upwards by the rope. He released her and she fell forwards, laying on the floor.
"Get up!"
She staggered to her feet, and this time he looked into her face. There were no tears in her eyes now, her look was resolute, determined but not defiant. Richelieu couldn't make it out at all. She'd as much as admitted her guilt by her silence. She made no effort to defend herself, make excuses; nothing...just silence, and acceptance. It was unnerving.
Still, he couldn't be lenient, she must be taught a lesson, had it been any other woman, he would have cast her off immediately. But she had soothed his headache, when nothing the physicians gave him helped, she seemed such a devoted little thing, so pliable. No, she would be punished, she would not transgress again, he would hang on to her for a while yet.
Minette swayed on her feet, and he caught her in his arms as she fainted.
When she came to, she was laying on his bed. Her back and buttocks were on fire, searing, stinging pain. His hands were warm against the insides of her thighs, before she had even come fully to her senses, he was parting her legs and pushing inside her roughly.
"Take this, little whore," he grunted, " I am your Lord and Master, no one shall have you but me."
He was still clothed, his breeches open, boots still on. Her dress was torn, her chemise too, her skirts hitched up by him as he took her. She closed her eyes, each stroke was hurting her, but she knew it would soon stop, he wouldn't last long, so aroused was he, by the sight of her, torn and dishevelled, fresh from his discipline.
He finished, throwing back his head as he pulsed, riding his peak.
He rolled away, and stood up, tucking himself into his clothes with satisfaction. Minette lay still, breathing heavily.
"Clean yourself, then go!" He said, without looking at her. "Tell your maidservant to lock you in the harness again, you are no longer to be trusted."
"Yes, Master." She replied.
Gathering her things, she stood, on shaky legs. As she passed him, she suddenly fell to her knees at his feet, her hands around his ankles, her face against his boots.
"God bless you, Master." She said, and rising again, she left the room.
Her maidservant tended the welts on her back, with great care. Minette knew she had betrayed her, but she was in The Cardinal's employ, she too had to be loyal, to preserve herself, she bore her no ill will for that. He could so easily have discarded her, cast her out, taken a new mistress, her life would have been over, thank god he'd been merciful, she thought.
Richelieu's faithful retainer entered his chambers.
"I have the information you required, Your Eminence." He bowed low.
"Tell me, who is the fellow, whose skin I need to flay from his body?"
"There is no man, Your Eminence."
The Cardinal turned sharply, eyebrows arched in surprise.
"It would appear the address is the domicile of the young Mademoiselle's sister." He continued, his voice quavered slightly.
"Her sister?"
"The house is a brothel, Sire. It seems both the young women in question were cast aside by their father, following their mothers infidelity."
"I knew all about that," he snapped, "but a sister was never mentioned. Mademoiselle D'Auvergne was sent to court, to see if she could secure a husband, or a benefactor."
"They were sent together, Your Eminence. It seems the sister, wasn't so successful. The father gave them nothing before he died, but their wits to survive on. Her name is Sophie, she has recently given birth to a child."
"Is that why Mademoiselle was visiting, in the dead of night?"
"My sources tell me, she was providing them with food, Your Eminence. Stolen from the kitchens at The Residence."
"I see...you may go, and thank you."
"Your Eminence." The manservant bowed again and left the room.
Richelieu, sat back in his chair. Thoughtful. So, she had not defended herself because she was protecting her sister. She would rather take a beating and be branded a slut, than betray a loved one and tell the truth. She, who had ample food herself; food provided for her, by him, would rather go without, to give to her sibling, who would otherwise starve.
This was a singular young woman.
When she told him, 'I am yours,' she meant it. She had not betrayed him. He had punished her, almost forced himself upon her, and she had endured it all, without complaint, without a word to save herself; so compliant, so accepting, and yet, inwardly, so strong and undaunted.
So certain, was he, that he had bent her to his will. Now he could see, this was not the case at all, he had only made her more stoic.
