Chapter Nineteen: Dans.
She had heard stories about the Chatelet and the place did well to live up to its reputation.
She had imagined it would be cold. It was.
She imagined it would be dimly lit and devoid of anything that might be construed as comfortable. It was.
She imagined the halls echoing with the desperate wailing of the inhabitants whether they be genuinely guilty or merely misjudged. They were.
She followed the gaoler down a series of narrow corridors shrouded in darkness. Porthos and the prospective musketeer (whose name she had since learned was D'artagnan) followed closed behind, preventing any attempt on her part to double back and escape. She had no inclination of doing so, but she knew they had to take precautions.
The dank darkness summoned a chill to her frame and, even though, she had been allowed to keep her cloak, she found herself shivering as the warden's sickly lantern light brought a nigh impenetrable door into view. The man took a moment to survey the cell through the grate in the wood, lined vertically with thick iron bars. Once satisfied that the wanting space was very much unoccupied, the gaoler retrieved a heavy set of keys from a loop at his belt and inserted one into the door's lock. After a wrenching twist and a loud series of clicks the door grated inwards.
The man stood aside and she spared her escorts a last imploring expression before crossing the threshold. To her surprise, Porthos followed her into the wanting space, whilst D'artagnan remained outside, speaking with the warden, though, whether or not this had been planned, she could not say.
She took a moment to survey her surroundings, her gaze resting a while on the high square window that was only a little larger than the tome that Athos had dropped in the alleyway the night before. Much of the opening was taken up by yet another bar; a superfluous measure of security. She couldn't see herself squeezing through the window even in the absence of the iron baton. This was partly because she doubted she would be able to fit, but mostly due to the fact that she had ascended several flights of stairs to reach the room. She was most certain that a deadly drop would greet her should she try to escape that way.
Aside from the window, the only other things that might hold her focus were a barrel which could serve as a surface on or in which to place her personal effects, a small cot bed set with a threadbare blanket and a thin straw mattress and a candle pressed into a small, stone dish. The candle, shortened already by hours of use, stood on the barrel and was not yet lit given the daylight that still filtered in through the window.
After familiarising herself with the room in which she would be staying for the foreseeable future, she turned a searching gaze to Porthos, his disdainful focus conducting its own survey of the chamber. She watched as his eyes scrutinised the cell, settling on each item in turn before finally coming to rest on her.
They shared silence for a moment or two, neither one knowing what, if anything, they should say.
'How long will I be here?' she asked, suddenly taking note of a minute movement in the musketeer before her. She could handle her new accommodations (it was not the first time she had been locked away in such a place), but she found herself unable to bear the thought of Porthos leaving her.
The musketeer heaved a sigh, gave an unknowing shake of his head, 'Athos and Aramis were heading to Purcell's to verify what you said of the body. Even if you didn't kill him, Captain Treville will still want to speak with you…'
Her eyes narrowed momentarily and she found herself suddenly perplexed. She opened her mouth to speak, the word 'why' on the tip of her tongue, but then it dawned on her. The real reason behind their inquiry at Levesque's, the actual motive behind their interest in Gaspard.
When she had come to Paris, she had come with the vaguest of notions. Her goal had been money, her means to get it hinging on something that she alone could offer. It had been Gaspard's idea to spread the rumours, his suggestion that she bide her time and await the highest bidder. However, it seemed as though Gaspard's whispers had spread further afield than he had hoped, somehow reaching the ears of the musketeers. She knew the reason for this now and her countenance darkened as she recalled the culprit's name, the bruising cheekbone aching at the recollection.
She took a breath, swallowed back apprehension, 'Porthos…I want you to know that I have never lied to you.'
She watched his brow furrow. A defiant shake of his head followed.
'What about your name?' he pressed, fixing her with an expression that denoted a belief that he was right, that he could see clear through her tricks.
She offered him a knowing smile, answering calmly, 'I gave the name 'Richelle' in error; I had meant to take the name of 'Raine', one that has no attachment to me, what so ever.'
Porthos eyed her dubiously, bewilderment settling upon him, 'That's still a lie, then.' He countered defensively, 'And what about the carving? What does 'LB' mean if you're name is Richelle?'
'My full name is Louisa Richelle Beauforte.'
She studied Porthos a moment, unable to tell if he had accepted her explanation or not. Even as he spoke, she could not be certain.
'Why are you telling me this now?'
'Because...because, I need you to know that I cannot lie to you, that whatever you ask of me, I shall answer with the truth.'
She paused a moment. Taking a step towards him. He did not withdraw at the action and remained steadfast, though his brow was still creased with doubt.
'And because I need to ask a favour of you.'
He gave a shake of his head jumping to conclusions, 'I can't have you freed…not unti-'
'That is not what I was going to ask.'
'What then?'
'I want you and your friends to protect Gaspard Renaud.'
Disbelief crossed Porthos' features and he responded with an incredulous laugh.
'Why?'
'I fear for his life…' She allowed her voice to trail off and unabashedly employed a tactic she was certain would illustrate her point; she gestured gingerly to her reddened cheek, '…and I cannot trust Levesque to defend him, should the need arise.'
She caught the flash of guilt in the musketeer's burnt amber orbs. He felt responsible for her injury. He was the one who had insisted on the shackles. She might have been able to defend herself, had her hands been free. True it had been Levesque who had struck her, but he could not help but to feel fault in having placed her in such a situation in the first place.
Silence swirled in the damp air around them and it pleased her to think that he wanted to apologise (even though she did not blame him), but could not find the words. Instead, he broke the silence, turning his focus to the reasoning behind her wanting Renaud protected.
'And who would we be protecting him from?'
She faltered, the name coming instantly to her mind, swiftly followed by the face she hoped she would never see again. An irrational terror swept over her, trickling down her spine. For moments she was lost in memories she had hoped never to revisit, the petrifying recollections of what she had already endured and the harrowing visions of what might be still to come.
These thoughts lapped at her consciousness, encircling her like the swells of the Seine. They overtook her thoughts and there she was mired until Porthos turned to her with apprehension and concern suddenly in his brow.
'Louisa?'
His voice grounded her, chased away the haunted reverie. She steeled her resolve, inwardly chiding herself for having been so weak.
'I am being followed by a man: Capitaine Jean Perrault.'
'A soldier?'
'A pirate.'
'How can you be sure he's in Paris?'
She dropped her gaze, slowly moved her bound hands to her hip, worried at the knot there. After a few seconds the scarf fell away at her waist. Porthos had not noticed it before and even had troubled recalling whether it had been present in the tavern, but he nevertheless accepted the garment when she pressed it into his leather clad palms.
'That belongs to him.'
'How can you be-'
'You see that stitch there?' the shackles clinked at her fervent direction, 'That was sewn by my hand...' She paused a moment, hoping that Porthos would take note of the uneven stitching, the few loose loops in the thread, '...My hands were shaking when I stitched it.'
Porthos felt his brow crease at Louisa's explanation. He could imagine the reason behind her shaking hands and ragged darning. He wished he couldn't. The musketeer remembered Levesque's attack and how she had remained silent, defiant, almost as if such an assault had become commonplace to her.
'I found it on Purcell's body. It's a warning, a threat…He wants me to know he's here.'
Something overcame the woman then, a sudden paling of her skin or perhaps a subconscious withdrawal at an unwelcome thought, but whatever it was it weakened her, made her appear abruptly fragile. She was all-at-once devoid of the spirit and the anger that he had so admired in her before and this frightened the musketeer.
He wondered at what he might say to restore her, but could think of nothing. In the end, he settled for another question.
'Why is Perrault following you?'
'He believes I have stolen something from him.'
'The plans.' Porthos concluded, fighting the urge to afford the woman a triumphant nod. The fear had been a trick. The harrowing look in her eye, a ruse. The scarf in his grip, a prop. She was a thief, nothing more. A thief who had picked the wrong target and was about to pay the price for it.
He half turned, expecting an avowal of surprise, of defeat. She answered him with something altogether different.
She lifted her ironclad wrists, placed her palms one atop the other on her stomach.
She offered the musketeer only three words then, but in them Porthos heard notes of fear and injustice, evidence of a fate forced upon her.
And they struck him like musket shots.
'No…his child.'
I hope this little author's note doesn't detract from the impact of this 'dun, dun, dun!' moment, but I had to add one to say thank you to those of you who are following and reviewing this fic.
Thanks go to: guest, pallysd'artagnan, greenlips24, helensg, beeblegirl and sweetsmile07 for your continued support! Your reviews and follows mean the world to me and may actually result in me finishing this fic. You guys are epic! Don't ever change!
Thank you so much!
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