Chapter 8 - Found Out
Two days later, Annette trudged up the stairs to her inn room, still wearing her customary disguise as André. The fake moustache scratched at her lip and the wig was uncomfortably tight – she'd have the marks to show for it later. But Annette had no choice.
She could no longer appear as a girl anymore. Recent events had proved exactly how dangerous it could be to have the best of both worlds, as it were.
Milady was here.
And that spelled danger – danger in the extreme.
How had she gotten here, known to come here?
It had been seven months. Seven months since Annette had left her home in the south of France, traveling on foot, by carriage, by horse; purposely going nowhere in particular, never staying in one place more than once, the whole nine yards … just to keep a certain murderess off her tail.
Her own sister.
Her own sister was after her, to take away her life.
Never mind that they were look-alikes – that was a danger in itself. Being arrested because she was Milady's twin was just about the second worst thing she could imagine – next to finding herself in the hands of the heartless witch herself.
She could only hope they would not think to investigate the Musketeers. That would be the last place a proper lady would take refuge in … right?
But she wasn't a proper lady.
If only Milady didn't know that.
She couldn't leave, though. It was death both ways. Death for treason, for willfully withdrawing from duty as a Musketeer, for impersonation … or death in her own sister's arms.
There was no way out.
She stepped into the room and immediately caught sight of the small folded piece of parchment on the floor. Must be the map of Paris she'd dropped …
Annette picked it up, opened it … and gasped.
I know who you are.
It was written in messy black ink across the back of the piece of paper. Unsigned.
Her hands shook as she looked at the piece of parchment in her hands, silently reading and rereading the spidery scrawl over and over again, trying to make some sense out of it.
How could … how could anyone have known?
She'd thought she was safe from any suspicion ... But then, when you were a woman posing as a Musketeer, there was always room for doubt.
There could only be two possibilities. Either the writer was a Musketeer, in which case it might be Athos … or Milady herself.
She felt like her mind was about to burst. Why oh why did bad luck follow her wherever she went? She wanted to scream.
Calm down, calm down. Everything will be all right.
The gentle voice echoed in her head, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn't want to cry, she wasn't weak … she would not show weakness …
"Mother," she whispered, and the tears came at last.