CHAPTER XXI
"No! Michel! Stop!" cried Charlotte. "It's me!"
"Who is with you?" came a suspicious voice with a bit of a slur to it.
Brilliant, thought Athos. This is my introduction to the charming Michel that Porthos and Aramis told me about. And as luck would have it, he is drunk and holding a weapon.
"Just a friend," answered Charlotte calmly. "We were merely saying good night." She slowly detached herself from Athos, but stayed close to him.
"Is that so?" Michel's voice was cold and sarcastic, and he advanced slowly towards them, aiming his musket at Athos. "I said, hands up, Musketeer!"
Athos slowly raised his hands, and gave Charlotte an imperceptible nod of the head, imploring her with his eyes to move away. She shook her head slightly, and stayed by his side.
"Monsieur," said Athos quietly, "I believe you misunderstand the situation."
"You believe I misunderstand the situation?" mocked Michel. "How stupid do I look? I know exactly what was going on." He turned to Charlotte. "I must admit, Charlotte, you play the innocent virgin very well. You almost had me convinced—all those times you put me off with your holier-than-thou attitude. Clearly that was because you were keeping yourself busy with the garrison. What is he, the third you've had this week? Or the fourth? I've lost count of the number of men who have showed up here," his voice lowered to a sinister growl. "And all this time, you were laughing at me while you were giving yourself to men like this…."
As Michel lunged for Charlotte, Athos swiftly kicked the musket out of his hands, then ducked as the apprentice swung at him wildly. Michel turned over a small table, roaring in anger. "Fight like a real man!"
"If you insist," replied Athos dryly, seizing a chair and knocking Michel off balance, throwing him to the ground. An instant later, his foot was on Michel's chest, while his blade was at his throat. "But if you can suggest a real man somewhere in the vicinity for me to fight, that would be extremely helpful."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Fifteen minutes later, Athos rejoined Charlotte in the main room of the shop. "He won't bother you again," he said in a composed voice. "At least not tonight."
"But how did—"
"Trust me, you don't want to know," replied Athos in a wry voice. "Now," he said softly with a charismatic smile, comfortably resting his hands once again at her waist, "Where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?"
"You were just about to marvel at my ability to display self-control," replied Charlotte impishly, running her finger slowly across his lips, then executing a deft half-turn to spin out of his grasp. "After all, my first duty is to my patient, and you must not overexert yourself quite yet. However, I will save you from having to concede that you have been beaten, because I am a gracious winner. Remember that, Monsieur." And with a sweet smile, she ascended the stairs, leaving Athos in the darkness, vaguely realizing that he had been bested.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
On the morning of December 31st, Charlotte awoke to find the glass on her window frosted with ice. A strong wind was driving around the corner of the apothecary shop, causing her to wonder if the weather would be an impediment to getting to the palace. Athos had assured her that he would arrange for a carriage to be sent for her at noon. She would be conveyed to Constance's for a last fitting, then on to the Palace.
"Will I see you in the afternoon?" she had asked, a bit nervous about the prospect of having to navigate the palace on her own.
"Unfortunately, most likely not," he had answered regretfully. "But I do intend to find you before the ball begins, as I promised you a dance lesson, and I am a man of my word."
The five hours until noon seemed to drag on forever. Charlotte reorganized the storeroom and swept the shop not once, but twice. When she could find nothing else to do downstairs, she wandered back up to her room and knelt in front of the small oak chest at the end of her bed. She opened the lid carefully, gingerly easing it back in order to reveal the contents. She lovingly ran a hand over the simple white baptismal gown that was laid on top. Charlotte had been christened in that gown, as had her mother before her. Perhaps some day it will be used again.
Laying the little white garment on her bed, she drew out a tiny black velvet bag that was adorned with a worn golden drawstring. Gently opening the bag, she emptied the contents into her palm, gazing at all that was left of her mother's jewellery. There had once been several gold rings, but these had been sold in order to pay for her mother's funeral.
What remained were Charlotte's most treasured possessions-a small sapphire pendant on a delicate silver chain, along a pair of matching earrings. She stood up slowly, and walked over to the small cracked mirror that lay propped against the wall on the wash stand. Placing the earrings carefully on the edge of the stand, she drew the pendant around her neck and fastened the clasp. The earrings came next, and as she peered into the glass, Charlotte was suddenly struck by how grown-up she looked. Most customers assumed she was several years younger than her actual age. It was her custom to dress simply, and she never wore jewellery in the shop, having long ago determined that it was much too impractical with the messy work that was often required of her. I will make the most of this night, she thought with determination. After all, it will be my last chance to have an excuse to see Athos...unless, of course, I give him a reason to remember me.
When Charlotte arrived at the Bonacieux residence, she was happy to see Constance waiting for her. "I can't wait for you to see your dress!" exclaimed Constance. "Madame Arlene has really outdone herself." She grinned at Charlotte. "Athos must have made quite an impression on her…..she's very anxious for you to be pleased." When they reached the door of Constance's bedroom, Charlotte was made to cover her eyes, then was led into the room.
When she opened her eyes as directed, her vision rapidly was impaired by tears of joy.
"Am I really going to wear that?" she whispered. Constance squeezed her hand. "I told you that Athos will not be able to keep his eyes off you." To her surprise, Charlotte did not dismiss her teasing, but slowly walked towards the gown, her eyes shining.
The dress was displayed in all its glory on a hanger suspended from the big four poster bed. The tailoring was exquisite, and when Charlotte slipped it on over her head, she was amazed to find it fit like a glove. The material was a golden champagne silk, with a corset-style bodice embellished with tiny sequins of the palest blue, which sparkled in the light.
"It even makes me look like I have a bosom," said Charlotte wonderingly, gazing at the mirror to see her breasts swelling on display above the bodice. She blushed as Constance laughed. "Of course you do, silly. You have a lovely figure."
The dark form of Madame Arlene suddenly scurried from behind the large wardrobe. "Just be sure you heed my advice when you are around that handsome musketeer, young lady. I cannot be held responsible in any way for indiscretions committed while wearing clothes of my design. And there is no way—," she looked critically at Charlotte's small waist, "—that even a seamstress of my level of accomplishment can let out the waistline on that dress. So consider yourself warned."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Meanwhile, at the palace, Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were busy reviewing security measures for the evening with Captain Treville.
The Captain spread a map of the palace grounds over a large table in a room that was set aside for the platoon of musketeers that was always on duty. "As is the case for all state occasions, entry to the palace grounds will be tightly controlled from noon on. All gates will be closed, with the exception of the east entrance.
"Why not leave the main entrance open?" asked d'Artagnan, puzzled.
"Look more closely at the map," prompted Athos, trying to get his young protégé to think strategically. "If you were going to defend the palace, where would you choose to control the traffic flow?"
D'Artagnan studied the map a moment longer, furrowing his brow, then looked up to meet his mentor's eyes. "The east gate."
"Because?" asked Treville.
"The avenue leading to the gate narrows down to barely half the width of a normal boulevard, and a branch of the east wing flanks the approach, with multiple windows that would make it easy for the positioning of snipers if we needed to fend off an attempt to breach the grounds."
"Well done," murmured Athos in an undertone, nodding approvingly.
"We may make somethin' of you yet, eh?" grinned Porthos, clapping his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.
"The next priority is the King's safety. Fortunately, as the guest of honour, Athos will be in a position to make that detail his priority."
"Understood," replied Athos soberly, realizing that despite the fact that Charlotte would be at his side, this evening would be about duty for him, not diversion.
"Given recent events," Treville looked at his men intently, ensuring they were all focused on the mission, the safety of the Dauphin is of the utmost importance. I will need two men to guard him without fail during the course of the evening."
"I'll do it," said Aramis immediately, his face uncharacteristically serious and grim.
"D'Artagnan, I'd like you to be stationed with Aramis," stated Treville, eyeing the two closely and walking over to them with the cold stare that he assumed at times of crisis... "Now, I am going to be crystal clear with the two of you—not that I doubt your sense of duty or your attention spans—but no matter what, you do not move more than ten feet from the Dauphin all night. I don't care if a melee erupts in the ballroom, or if a bomb explodes in the courtyard…you do not under any circumstances leave the heir to the throne undefended."
Aramis' face had steadily grown stormy during this lecture, and he regarded the Captain with barely concealed fury. "Captain, I resent your implication that I would give allow anything to distract me from my mission. I will guard the Dauphin with my life. If anyone wishes to get to him, they will have to get through me first."
"Good," replied Treville shortly. "I expect no less from you. Don't disappoint me this time, Aramis."
Porthos sensed Aramis about to explode, and cut in smoothly. "What's my assignment, Captain?"
"We will personally inspect all invitations to make sure they are genuine. We will also personally vet all the entertainers. I have their letters of recommendation here for us to look over one more time."
"Surely these people are all known quantities?" asked d'Artagnan incredulously.
"For the most part," Treville replied evasively. "The King was rather insistent that we expand the entertainment beyond the usual."
"Such as?" inquired Athos, his mind already sorting through the possible problems that could present themselves with unknown persons roaming about the palace...possibly in costume.
Treville sighed. "Well, there is the group of gypsy acrobats...supposedly very talented. And the juggling bearded ladies-" Porthos shot him a look of horror. "Sorry, Porthos, I imagine they're all taken," Treville said with a grin. "You don't find a woman like that just anywhere. And the-," he stopped for an instant, then uncomfortably cleared his throat, "—dancing bear."
"The dancing bear?" echoed Porthos disbelievingly.
"Yes," murmured Treville. "I understand he came as a package deal with the jugglers. The King expressed particular interest in seeing that performance."
"Why would anyone think it is a good idea to have a bear at a ball for the King and his heir? No matter how tame?" asked d'Artagnan, shaking his head in consternation.
"Gentlemen, ours is not to reason why," stated the Captain ruefully.
"Ours is but to do—or die," concluded Athos gloomily. "So much for a night of revelry."
Next time-what has Milady been up to? It may involve Michel...