Goodness, I cannot believe that you have so generously posted over 200 comments now! Thank you so much, everyone; your continued support and encouragement is wonderful and I am delighted that you continue to follow the story. Today is a calm before the storm, or should I say a slight squall before a tempest! It's not quite as long as I anticipated as I decided to break events down a bit more. I also succumbed to a little sentimentalism at the end too - comes from re-watching two series one episodes last night, I expect!
CHAPTER 35
Athos did as he was bid and was not even aware that he was holding his breath as the key turned easily in the well-oiled lock and the door opened inwards to reveal a little panelled room hardly larger than a walk-in closet. Against the wall opposite the door was something that Athos had not expected to see - a small altar with a pristine white cloth and an ornate crucifix flanked by two metal candlesticks with candles. Before it was a prayer stool and Athos wondered how frequently it was used. Although Treville, like his men, attended a range of church services in the line of duty when accompanying the royal party and was expected as part of the King's regiment to defend Catholic doctrine and tradition, he was not a man who lauded his personal beliefs.
Having been raised a strict Catholic himself, Athos had turned his back on the way of life and God when his brother was murdered and he sentenced his wife to death. He would never be able to bring himself to deny God's existence but in recent years, he and the Almighty had followed divergent rather than convergent paths and he could not perceive that ever changing. Sometimes, he envied Aramis' unerring ability to balance the life of the believer with that of the soldier and he knew that the pull of the former was sometimes very strong to the point that, if he were honest with himself, he could envisage his friend one day answering that higher calling. He had lost count of the times when he had awoken from a drunken stupor, regained consciousness after an injury or tossed in a fevered state to hear Aramis softly intoning a Latin prayer over him and he had to admit that he found it strangely comforting.
Now he was intrigued by the presence of the altar, not that he would ever presume to question the relationship between a man and his God, but he was reassured by the sight of the tortured features of the crucified Christ rather than the simple, empty, symbolic cross that might hint at more Huguenot sympathies given the reality of the hidden room.
His thoughts were fleeting for, as he took a step further into the room to enable himself to see it in its entirety, he saw the chest carefully positioned behind the door. Like the room, its dimensions were not big - barely two feet in length and one foot in depth and breadth - but it was ornately carved from walnut and boasted a small lock amongst the intricate decorations of hunting birds and trailing foliage. With a slight gasp, he dropped to his knees, inserted the key, heard the satisfied sound of the lock clicking and then he raised the lid to inspect the chest's contents.
On the top were some loose documents that, on closer inspection, were personal or related to the running of the house and Athos took care not to linger over the minutiae. Another folded parchment bound with ribbon proved to be the will which Athos had alluded to earlier. Beneath some more paperwork was a cloth-wrapped bundle which, when unwrapped, revealed a leather-bound volume. Athos sat back on his heels and opened the book to peruse the opening page, and then the next … and the next… It did not take him long to realise the importance of the handwritten text that he held, all of which had been penned by Treville in his unmistakable cursive style. If the remainder of the book followed in the same vein as the opening pages, there would be more than enough evidence to bring about the downfall of Richelieu. Treville had documented incidents, dates and sources with his characteristic precision and detail.
"Have you found what you need?" Pière suddenly asked, appearing unexpectedly at Athos' side.
"I've found exactly what I need. Captain Treville has been his usual organised self. This is invaluable."
"Is it what that Delacroix has been looking for then?"
Athos' face darkened as he stood up. "He has been searching here then?"
"He started in the Master's study but that took him a couple of evenings and well into the night. Then he went through the other reception rooms. I heard him goin' through stuff in here last night, throwin' the cupboard doors open and the like. Went out of here this mornin' with a face like thunder, 'e did."
"I rather think I have done nothing to improve his mood either."
"I don't want 'im 'ere but there's nothin' I can do about it , is there?"
"Sadly no, not at the moment but bear up, Pière."
"You really think the Master can be found?"
"In my heart," Athos said quietly, "I believe he is still alive. In truth, I don't know how much longer it will stay that way but I promise you I will find out what has happened to him if it takes my dying breath to do so."
"I know you will, young Master, and I thank you for it."
Athos shook his head. "Pière, I am no-one's master; I gave up on all that years ago."
"Forgive an old man his turn of phrase. It was the way I was raised to do my job an' how to address folk. You deserve the respect. I know the Master thought highly of you an' that's proved by him givin' you the keys; that's good enough for me. That other one'll never have my respect."
"Nor mine, Pière. We are united in that opinion."
Their musings on Delacroix' worthiness - or lack thereof – were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and noisily closing.
Pière froze in alarm as a voice slurred with alcohol bellowed throughout the building.
"Why's the place in darkness? Can't see a thing. Bring me some light, old man and hurry up about it. Where the hell are you? Get a move on!"
Even as the first word was uttered, Athos recognised that it was Delacroix.
"How does he have a key to the house?" Athos asked.
"He took mine. He must think that the Captain had his key with him," Pière explained.
"Come on, you lazy idiot! Earn your keep or I'll have you out on the street before morning," came Delacroix' threat from the floor below. Even as Athos bristled at the insult levied at the old retainer, footsteps suggested that the Captain was slowly ascending the stairs.
As Pière began to panic, Athos grabbed his shoulder to refocus his attention. "Is there another way out of here?" The words were nothing more than a harsh whisper but the terrified man heard him and shook his head in reply.
Several thuds and a series of expletives indicated that Delacroix had lost his footing and fallen down several stairs but, to Athos' horror, another muted, conciliatory voice indicated that he was not alone.
"Lock yourself in the hidden room. I'll smooth the tapestry and answer to his needs. Perhaps he won't stay long," Pière said, recovering himself.
Reluctant to leave the old man to face the drunken Delacroix, Athos re-entered the small room, pulling the door to behind him and locking it. He heard the old man on the other side of the door and imagined him straightening the tapestry before moving towards the door. A hand automatically went to his belt for his pistol and found nothing; cursing himself for the worst kind of stupidity, he recollected that he had been unarmed when he had gone to see Delacroix to give him Fallon's news and had subsequently stormed out of the garrison. He only hoped that when his friends had gathered up his belongings along with theirs, they had retrieved his weapons for him. Now, though, he had nothing with which to defend himself. He was distracted by an outbreak of noise in the room beyond his hiding place and was intrigued to discover that with his ear pressed close to the door, he could hear most of what was being said, thanks to Delacroix' strident voice.
"What are you doing skulking around here, you old fool?" he demanded.
"I was doing my rounds of the house, Sir, like I do every night. Force of habit, you might say," Pière explained.
"I'm going to change my shirt. Go and get me some water and a cloth so I can wash this blood off and then bring us some brandy and a couple of glasses," Delacroix insisted.
Athos heard the old man mumble a response and the cupboard door opening and Athos, with an indescribable burst of anger, surmised that Delacroix was retrieving a shirt; he had either moved in some of his belongings already then or he was helping himself to something left by his predecessor!
"How did you get a cut lip?" the second voice asked and Athos identified it immediately as belonging to Bertram.
"Richelieu had the audacity to strike me," Delacroix complained. In his semi-drunkenness , it sounded more like a schoolboy whine.
"Strike you? What for?"
"Some tell-tale had rushed to inform him about Athos and the others leaving."
"Well," came the sober voice of reason, "he was bound to find out sooner or later; better the sooner if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you!" came the petulant response. "And there was me thinking that Maline was the informant. I obviously got that wrong or else there's someone else now who's turned traitor."
"One of the hazards of taking on a leadership role; there will always be those coming behind who want to further their own careers and if they perceive a leader to be either incompetent or ineffectual, they will seek to replace him."
Athos' blood ran cold. As he listened to Bertram's cold pronouncement, he was fairly sure that he had realised something to which Delacroix remained oblivious – Bertram was the new informant. Although he had no time for Delacroix and hated him for recent events, he still felt some sympathy for the man for it was painfully obvious that he had no-one whom he could seriously call a friend and certainly no-one on whom he could depend.
It was not that he had never realised it before but something came back to Athos in very sharp focus. The Comte de la Fère may have turned his back on his title, wealth, property and responsibilities but he had to consider himself an exceedingly rich man in what mattered most – one of whom was waiting in the street and the other two who were rallying to meet him outside the city.