12. Confession Is Good For the Soul

Jacqueline, tense with fear, asked, "For what reason do you search for her?" She pried her fingernails out of the arms of her chair.

"Jacqueline is the daughter I shamefully abandoned. I have come to give her what she deserves—her title, wealth, and honor," the Duc took another long swallow of wine before refilling the glass himself.

"And how do you know she is alive and in Paris?" Jacqueline pressed, voice losing some of its pretended deepness in astonishment.

The Duc sighed. "If you want to know the truth, I must tell the entire story," he warned. Jacqueline made no protest, so he began.

"I was in an exile of sorts in the Americas for the past fifteen years. Most recently, I lived in Nova Scotia caring for an older priest who was dying of typhus. I was out in the nearby village one day when he had a visitor. When I got back, the priest was so agitated. He said that a young man had showed him the cross that I had told him about and said the cross belonged to his sister in Paris. Then the old priest died. I figured that the visitor was none other than Gerard Roget and tried to track him down, but he had disappeared.

"See, the old priest had been my confessor. I had told him about my sinful abandonment of my daughter and treatment of her mother, the Spanish beauty Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz. She sent the child to me shortly after she was born and hid herself in a convent on the other side of Spain. The only thing I had to give my daughter was the cross Arcelia had given me. I had a 'J' and an 'R' added to the back so that my daughter Jacqueline could know her parents were Arcelia and René.

"I called for my old friends to assist me. See, I was merely an abbé when this happened, and I was to become a Bishop. To hide my daughter's existence, I had Charles bring her to Olivier who placed her with a peasant family who lived on his lands. I sent Isaac money to bring to the Roget family each month to pay for my daughter's needs; a direct money line to them would have been suspicious to my enemies," he paused here, looking surprised to have revealed so much.

Jacqueline thought out loud, "So if your old friends are d'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, that would make you—?"

"Aramis, the third Musketeer, as I was known," he wore an ironic smile. "How long ago that was…"

"So you became a Bishop, hiding all this guilt?" Jacqueline prodded. The narrative seemed so unreal to her, like a story from a book; she could not believe that all these illustrious people were connected to her and that the man she was staring at could be her father.

"I allowed myself to forget about it for a few years, until this child came into my life. My servant bought two pitiful slave children, a French boy and his sister. The boy was after my own heart, it seemed, because he would sneak into my library and pour over books that were almost too heavy for him to lift. I found myself wanting to tell him stories and help develop his young mind. That child—Cirocco, I think he was called—was the brightest I have ever seen. Unfortunately, he was killed along with his sister in some strange confrontation… I never found out that whole story," the Duc's brow furrowed in thought.

"He made me remember my duty as a father, but by then, the peasant family loved Jacqueline too dearly for me to take her away, so I left all my worldly possessions to Jacqueline, via a dowry to Charles, promising her to marry his son. Then, I banished myself from Europe. I planned on staying to the day I died until I got news that the Roget's had died and she was in France alone… I figured God was calling me back to make things right."

Jacqueline stopped listening after 'promising her to marry his son.' I am promised to marry d'Artagnan? Ramon's sister is my mother? Siroc, since he is still alive, would be part of my dowry? Her head whirled from the absurdity of the world. How did I manage to end up in the Musketeer garrison with my uncle, my slave, and my betrothed?

"I take it you've never met her," René said sadly.

Before she could think about it, Jacqueline dropped to her knees in front of him. She looked up into the heartbreaking sadness of his eyes. She pulled the knot from her hair, ripped the beard from her chin, and spoke with her natural voice, "I am your daughter. I am Jacqueline Roget." She pulled her necklace out from under her shirt.

René took the cross gingerly from her fingers and traced the letters etched on the back. His eyes studied her face, and she saw them watering like her own. He touched her cheek. "You have your mother's face, I think." He started laughing softly.

Jacqueline laughed quietly with him, "And I have your eyes, Father." Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, burning with happiness. "Give me a moment, please."

Jacqueline stood, smiling at her father, and opened the door. She would show him a daughter he could be proud of.

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Elsewhere in Paris that night, more unexpected discoveries were being made. The masked man was again wandering around the palace, but this time he approached the Cardinal's rooms from underground. D'Artagnan had told him the location of Mazarin's secret escape tunnel exit in exchange for information on where to find his kidnapped lady friend. Now the assassin was feeling his way along the long stone tunnel, eyes searching for any hint of light ahead.

And there it was—a glow off to the right. The masked man quickened his pace and reached the grate in only a few strides. A heavy curtain covered most of the doorway, but the man could peer trough the tiny crack on the side and saw a large, empty dungeon-like room. He removed a glove to touch the barred door's hinges; they were well oiled, luckily enough. The assassin pressed the door firmly, and it gave under his touch, opening slowly and silently into the room. He slipped out from under the curtain and got the surprise of his life.

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Jacqueline returned to her father's room in a dress, a pinkish white one that she had been saving for a special occasion. Her cross hung down delicately around her neck. René stood leaning on the mantle, staring down into the fire, but he looked up immediately when he heard Jacqueline enter.

"My daughter, my Jacqueline," was all he could say. She went to him, and he wrapped her up in a bear hug. She held him back tightly; she had thought her whole family was dead, and now her father came walking back into her life.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her ear.

"It's all right. We're together now," she said for him as much as for herself. He released her to look back at her face. René took up her hand

"Tomorrow we will go to the King and declare your birthright. And I'll get these murder charges dropped immediately."

Jacqueline looked up confused. "How did you know about—"

"The murder?" he asked. "Charles told me today that my daughter was in trouble with the Cardinal. Don't worry, Mazarin won't be a problem anymore."

"What do you mean?" she asked, instantly suspicious.

René smiled down at her, "I made two mistakes in leaving France: leaving you behind and letting Mazarin control Louis. I am correcting the first one right now and the second will be remedied by morning." He pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

Jacqueline pulled away, "It was you, then. You hired the assassin that d'Artagnan was blamed for!"

"That is true, my dear. The only way to assure that Mazarin cannot harm anyone is for him to be buried under six feet of earth," he explained as though it should be obvious.

"No, that is not right," Jacqueline stated. "It would be too kind to cut his life short with a knife. Capture him; bring him to be judged. Let him rot in the Bastille where he has sentenced many innocents. Let that be his reward for evil."

René looked at his daughter in amazement. "You are right, my dear, but I am afraid that it is too late. By now the assassin must be in the palace."

"It's never too late," Jacqueline told him. "Let's go get the Cardinal, once and for all."