Chapter Twenty-Five: Venin
Composure threatened to leave Louisa when the door was opened by a bleary-eyed Porthos.
In the moment she saw him, barefooted and wearing only his breeches, she wanted nothing more than to fold herself into his arms and try to forget that she had just lost her closest friend and mentor. She wanted him to understand that she did not blame him, that for some reason her only concern had been that he had not met Perrault and suffered the same fate. She wanted him to be silent and not interrogate her about the plans, about her well-being, about her intentions now that Perrault had murdered yet another man. And she wanted to cry, to succumb to the nigh overwhelming feeling of despair and foreboding that had crept over her as soon as she removed the shroud from the body on the cart.
Instead, she damned the deluge in her eyes with sheer resolve and entered the room followed by Athos.
'Louisa?' Porthos queried, his probing expression shifting sideways to the former Comte, in search of answers.
Athos closed the door and offered the slightest shake of his head.
'Are you alright? How did you escape Le Chatelet?' The larger musketeer began, a noticeable crease in his brow as a thought crossed his mind and he turned to his comrade, 'Does she know?'
Athos gave a nod in response, but he had no time to speak before Louisa's voice summoned Porthos' attention.
'She does.'
'Louisa, I am sorry; I should have been there sooner. I could have saved him.'
'No. No you couldn't have.' With a breath, the woman crossed the small chamber, cast her gaze to the waking Garrison courtyard below, 'Perrault would have killed you too, just for being in the way. In truth, I am glad that you were not there to face him.'
Their eyes met unintentionally and for a second or two there was nothing but the muffled sounds of musketeers and stable boys from beyond the casement.
Ultimately, Athos cleared his throat and broke the quietude that had descended, drawing the pair's focus with his well-spoken tone and words of reason and logic.
'How did you escape Le Chatelet?'
'I didn't...I was released.'
The musketeers shared a fleeting glance, the next question on both their lips.
'By who?'
This collective expression unnerved Louisa and she offered the answer dubiously, trying to fathom the reason behind such apprehensive façades.
'Cardinal Richelieu.'
The answer seemed to lay a heavy weight upon the two men before her, their shoulders sinking in defeat.
'So he knows about the plans…' Porthos surmised, anger curling around the words.
'Of course he knows.' Louisa began, matter-of-factly, 'Gaspard…he met with the Cardinal. He seemed the one most likely to buy the plans quickly…'
The musketeers did not miss the hesitation in the woman following the late Red Guard's name. Porthos grimaced at the prick of guilt in his stomach suddenly and sought something he might offer in way of apology or comfort. He could find no words that he considered worthwhile.
'And what were the conditions of your release?' Athos asked.
'He wanted me to bring the plans to him by this evening.' She paused a moment, taking in the shaking heads and fearful, somewhat angered expressions on the faces of Porthos and Athos, 'But I told him that was not possible, that I needed more time. So, he assigned me an escort of two Red Guard and instructed me to go and fetch them back for him.'
'I must advise against retrieving the plans for the Cardinal.' Athos responded.
'We don't know what he'll do once he has them, but I'm not sure I want to find out.' Added Porthos, 'Please reconsider...'
'For your safety and for the sake of Paris.'
Louisa shook her head, her heart suddenly sore as well as heavy, 'I had every intention of honouring my pact with Richelieu, but my first thoughts were of my release so I could make sure Gaspard was safe…'
She let her voice trail off, blinked away the moisture in her eyes and turned her gaze away from the musketeers so that they wouldn't see if any tears should fall. She heard her name, almost whispered with no small amount of empathy. The voice was Porthos' and it was accompanied by the sound of bare feet on floorboards as he approached in a gesture of consolation. Louisa turned, half lifting a hand to halt the advance, before continuing.
'But, now I see...there is only one way to proceed; the plans must be destroyed.'
'But what about you? And the child?' Porthos' gaze found Louisa's stomach involuntarily and the woman shifted beneath it.
'Nothing is worth all this…all this death.'
'So what will you do now?' the former Comte spoke, watching as the woman took a deep breath and gave a nod in resolve.
'I will make arrangements to destroy the plans.'
'I'll go with you.' Offered the larger musketeer.
'No. You'll stay here and forget that I ever brought any of this down on you.'
'Louisa…'
'Porthos, please. This is my responsibility…and mine alone.'
The musketeer in question narrowed his eyes and an uncomfortable silence hung heavy in the air around them. This was broken suddenly by a thought crossing Louisa's mind. She turned her attention to Athos.
'You said you had something to show me?'
And with an instructing nod from the former Comte de le Ferre, Porthos reached into a pocket and plucked out a tangled mass of leather cord and old gold. He watched Louisa's reaction attentively, his stomach lurching at the ill-concealed fervour as she took it from his palm.
'Where did you find this?'
'It was on Gaspard's body.'
Though both Musketeers trained their eyes on Louisa's face neither were able to easily read the woman's expression. Porthos thought he caught terror, sorrow, a note of anger. Athos was sure he saw thoughts of revenge behind her brow. But whatever thoughts had indeed crossed her mind at the revelation of this newest clue, she had no intention of revealing them. Instead, she slowly lifted the necklace, draped it around her neck and clasped a reverent fist around it. She pivoted, made for the door, was halted by fingers curling around her right wrist. She turned, took in the furrowed brow of Porthos.
'Where are you going?'
'I told you; to destroy the plans.' Louisa replied, her willpower faltering at the concern she recognised in the musketeer's dark orbs. She wanted his help, knew that was she was about to attempt would likely spell misery for her, but she knew she could not ask for it, could not risk Porthos' wellbeing or that of any other Musketeer.
'Not alone, you're not.'
She considered submitting, giving a nod and folding herself into Porthos' embrace, if only to shield her softening heart from the mounting terrors of the world outside. But something in her gut encased her heart in stone, chased away the self-pity and held her alone to account for the actions that had brought her to this moment.
Wrenching her wrist from Porthos' gentle grip, she narrowed her eyes and spoke with all the venom she could muster. Inwardly, she prayed it would be enough.
'I ask neither for your help nor your counsel, Porthos and I would thank you to leave me be…' She paused a moment, searching for what she might say that would halt him completely, that would see him stay in this room and not to follow. She found the words, held them sour on the tip of her tongue, strode for the door and turned to face the wood in the hope to hide the momentary grimace that pre-empted them.
'Besides, what good would you do? You couldn't even protect Gaspard.'
And with this, she swung open the portal and swept down the corridor. A door opened in her wake and the dishevelled figure of Aramis turned miscomprehending eyes in the direction of his two comrades, who now, both at the door frame, stared after the woman until she rounded a corner and vanished from their sight.
