What's in a Name?

Chapter 8

Hidden Agendas

Aramis sat in the back room of the Café sipping his coffee and listening to his friend of nearly forty years talking, only hearing part of what the senior D'Artagnan was saying. His thoughts kept drifting back to the young lady that had just left their company; how different, yet the same, she had appeared when compared with their meeting earlier in the morning. He wasn't surprised that D'Artagnan hadn't realized the comparison, knowing that the son of his closest friend had never felt the ability to confide in the same man Aramis did.

Thinking back, he had barely taken notice of the tall, slender blonde that had walked up to them at the bar and started talking with D'Artagnan. Being used to this occurrence whenever he traveled with his friend, Aramis paid little attention to them, lost in thoughts of what he would say to the son when he joined them later. It wasn't until the topic had turned to the younger D'Artagnan that Aramis realized who this young lady was and turned his head to look at her. When their eyes met, he saw a quick look of recognition pass across hers before she lowered them. Glancing around the Café, he suggested that they retire to the adjacent room, which would offer them some privacy; a suggestion readily agreed to by the others. Once inside the room, he kept candid the fact that he knew who she was; he would leave it up to Jacqueline to disclose this secret, if she chose to.

"I see introductions apparently aren't needed for you two, but I'd like to introduce myself." Holding out his hand to her once again, he continued, "I'm Henri d'Aramitz, fondly known to my friends as Aramis." He smiled at the look of stunned shock that had come over her.

She remained rooted to the spot, unable to move, for what seemed like several minutes before she finally regained her senses. Her mind was racing as fast as it had been the night she'd met the renowned father of her best friend; and now, she was in the presence of two of the greatest men in France. Gerard would never have believed this, she thought. "I am honored," she finally said, taking his hand as before.

"And you are?"

Recovering her composure, she replied, "Jacqueline. I'm a friend of D'Artagnan's….the younger one."

Both men smiled; Aramis, because he understood more than she knew, and D'Artagnan, because he was happy to see that his son had finally met a woman with some character. Maybe there's hope for him yet, he thought.

"I'm pleased to meet you. I believe I met your brother in church this morning," As soon as he said it, he saw a change come over Jacqueline's expression and realized he had just made a mistake. Trying to remedy the situation, he stammered, "I take it he is your brother; you and he look very much alike."

Afraid to meet Aramis' eyes, she replied, "Yes, he is. And we do."

"Your brother?" asked D'Artagnan, feeling as though he was missing something in their conversation.

"Jacques LePonte, he's a Musketeer."

"And he made quite a disturbance during the service this morning."

"He told me it was you that made the disturbance," she said, finally meeting his eyes again, trying to read what was in them.

"Well, I have to admit, I did help a little." Grinning at her, Aramis saw her relax, thinking the situation well handled. He knew he would face more than just Jacqueline's wrath if he let it slip that her confidant had told him about her.

"So, where were we?" asked D'Artagnan, motioning for Jacqueline to take a seat at the table. "Ah yes, we were discussing my son and the plans for tomorrow."

Remembering how adamant D'Artagnan was about his father's absence while he was growing up, she was surprised at how many stories the older D'Artagnan had told her about his son, Aramis adding things from time to time. She learned that while much of the son's attitude was inherited from his father, some was also learned from his relationships with the other three, each teaching him a different way to view life: Porthos instructing him on the value of using his influence to get what he wanted, especially with the ladies; Athos, on how to choose those he could trust; and Aramis teaching him empathy. His tenderness, D'Artagnan had added with a touch of sadness in his voice, was inherited from his mother.

The two gentlemen had put her so much at ease that she found herself recounting events in her own childhood as well. They were not as interesting of stories as her friend's, but both men listened attentively as though they were, laughing especially at the accounts of Jacqueline and Gerard's portrayals of their 'heroes'.

Jacqueline couldn't remember a more relaxed and enjoyable time than the one she was having with the two men she never thought she would ever have the luck to meet. They were no longer larger than life to her, but two ordinary men living their lives doing what they thought was right. She went from idolizing them to having a deep respect for them, beginning to look on them as friends.

After leaving the men, she returned to the garrison storeroom and changed back into her alter self. Sometimes I really hate this masquerade, she thought, as she folded her dress so it would fit back into the small carpetbag purchased for this use. Making sure her wig was tucked into the bag as well, Jacqueline checked her refection in a small mirror, adding the goatee as a finishing touch. The bag was then concealed behind a barrel.

Being a Musketeer had been a dream of hers ever since she had first heard the stories, but more and more lately she wished to be one as herself, instead of as someone she wasn't. It was a constant strain not to let her voice and actions slip to reveal that she was not a man; the looks of her comrades suggesting at times that she had not yet mastered the mannerisms of the opposite sex. She was also afraid that one day D'Artagnan would accidentally call her by name while they were in the company of others; a fear that was stronger than the one of her being caught dressed as a woman. How much longer could she succeed in fooling everyone? Trying to push the worry to the back of her mind, she thought about D'Artagnan's offer to help clear her name. There had to be a way, they just needed to find it.

Walking into her quarters, Jacqueline closed the door and crossed the room to her bed. Laying down on it, she let her mind drift back to the conversation in the Café. The time had passed quickly and she had been reluctant to leave, but she knew that her friend would be returning from his patrol and did not want to face the questions he would ask if he found her there. Smiling, she started imagining him as the child in the stories they had told her. Then quickly sitting up, she remembered their telling her about the next day. Her thoughts started feeling jumbled as she tried to think of what her friend would like. Think, Jacqueline, there has to be something. But nothing was coming to mind. She pulled her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them, remembering all the items she'd seen in the mercantile. Suddenly an image came into her mind; it was something that meant a lot to her, but would he feel it was worthy of him? She'd have to take that chance, but first she had to get it.

She had been gone only a short while when the subject of their conversation walked through the door of the room in the Café, causing both men to look up. Aramis quickly leaned over to his comrade and whispered something to him, the latter giving him a curious look, then a slight nod of understanding. Standing, each in turn gave their nemesis a hug of welcome.

"It's good to see you again, Aramis," said the younger D'Artagnan. "And you, Father."

"Well, now I feel special," said the father, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"But I saw you not too long ago, if you remember. So, what's going on?"

His father and mentor glanced quickly at each other. "Nothing," they said in unison.

The son watched suspiciously as the other two retook their seats, then followed suit. "Then what was that whispering for? What are you two up to?"

"He's a bit paranoid, wouldn't you say Aramis?"

"Yes, I would say so."

"When you two are together, I have reason to be paranoid."

Aramis grinned at his friend, "You know, the older he gets, the more he sounds like Athos. Are you sure he's…"

The older D'Artagnan smiled. "Yes, I'm quite sure. He has my…feet."

The son closed his eyes for a moment, beginning to wish he was anywhere but there. "Ok…so, what are you two doing here?"

"Having some coffee."

"It's rather good, too. Would you like some?"

The younger D'Artagnan rested his chin in his hand. They were up to something, he just knew it. "Why did you come to Paris?"

Leaning back in his chair, the older D'Artagnan replied, "I always liked Paris. It's such a quaint city, always something to do here."

"Yes it is, and it's grown so much over the years. At times I've been tempted to move back here, if it wasn't for my work…"

"But certainly you could do your work from Paris. Another thesis?"

"Of sorts. You know, I never did finish that one I started back when…"

"Alright you two, I want to know why you're here!"

"You're being very impatient, son."

"Impatient and paranoid, not a good combination…"

Pushing himself up off his chair, the younger D'Artagnan sighed. "I'll be at the garrison whenever you two decide to let me in on your secret."

"Oh, now sit down, son. We've been discussing tomorrow."

"What about tomorrow," he asked, the suspicion returning. "You didn't tell anyone about tomorrow, did you?"

"Well…not really, just Duval."

"And there were those two ladies down by the livery."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about them."

"You didn't!" the younger exclaimed. They wouldn't, he thought. On second thought, yes they would! Great, how long before it was all over Paris? "I don't believe you two!" He turned and stormed out before he could say something he might regret.

The older gentlemen rose and followed him out of the room and the Café, standing just outside the door for a moment.

"That didn't go as badly as I thought it would," stated D'Artagnan.

Aramis frowned, watching his young protégé walking toward the garrison. He knew he still had to confront the questions asked of him, but until a few more pieces fell into place, he didn't have all the answers to them. Feeling a friendly hand on his shoulder, he looked over to his companion, realizing what had been plaguing his mind since Jacqueline had left them. He returned the gesture, deciding what they needed to do. "Well old friend, what do you say to a visit to the Prince?"

"Any particular reason? I get the feeling you're hiding something."

"I'll explain on the way."