Chapter 20
Even one day later, at the morning roll call, the gap between Cahusac and d'Artagnan was very obvious, where Sorel usually stood. A wound had been torn in the Red Guard, not the first of its kind and yet this time particularly painful. Sorel was not missing because he had fallen in battle, because he had been injured while carrying out his duties. He had been the victim of an insidious attack, he had never had a chance.
Yesterday, d'Artagnan had missed the morning roll call and had been excused to Jussac. The lieutenant had not demanded any explanations when, after her visit to the Hôtel de Tréville, she had appeared an hour later and reasonably composed at the Palais Cardinal for the late start of duty. Bernajoux had kept his word to explain her absence with a sick bed visit to Sorel. Today, d'Artagnan closed the back row again and yet there was this palpable void next to her, a cold draught that made everyone shiver.
The whole regiment was noticeably in disarray. D'Artagnan felt reminded of her first day, when she herself had been the disruptive element - but there was a difference, for today they did not distance themselves from her and made her feel guilty. No one ignored or was hostile to her when she had entered the courtyard to await morning roll call. On the contrary, she had been asked by Cahusac to join a group of his closest friends. They had talked quietly about Sorel's condition, d'Artagnan had last seen him yesterday and she assured the comrades that he would pull through and was in good hands.
In her presence, no one sworn revenge aloud to the Musketeers, but there was talk of strengthening the patrols and standing up for each other even after duty hours. D'Artagnan was not reproached in any way, it seemed completely forgotten who she had once been. All that mattered was that she was now and here one guardsman among many, that the attack on Sorel had also been directed at her and thus at the whole troop. She was truly accepted and it relieved her all the more because she had made the break with Tréville yesterday unalterable. They may have parted in friendship, but the additional support in the Guard was very welcome to d'Artagnan, it made her heart a little lighter.
Jussac held the morning roll call as usual, received reports and issued orders. The lieutenant appeared no different than usual, no more tense or furious about the incident involving Sorel. He brought order to the regiment by directing everything with an equally calm and stern hand. There was only one difference he made in order to put a stop to all speculations and wishes for retribution right from the start; Before dismissing the men to their tasks for the day, he passed on the news that Sorel's recovery was progressing well and that the culprit was in custody. That there would be an indictment and consequent punishment.
The tension almost visibly fell from the corps, they murmured quietly, nodded contentedly and relaxed hands that moments ago had been clenched into fists. D'Artagnan glanced sideways at Cahusac. There was no stir in the face of the longest-serving guardsman, but his eyes spoke eloquently of satisfaction. The feud between Musketeers and Red Guard has been averted.
The morning roll call was over, everyone set off on their duties according to the schedule. D'Artagnan, too, wanted to turn to her tasks, but before she would have taken a step out of the courtyard, the lieutenant called for her in his usual authoritative manner. She followed the order without hesitation and, for the first time, without fear of being reprimanded or punished.
Jussac awaited her in the portico around the courtyard and took note of her dutiful salute against him with an ironic twitch in his countenance. It was not to the quip that a musketeer of the king would have saluted a guardsman of the cardinal, but to the fact that two officers of equal rank were facing each other and d'Artagnan did not have to bow.
The cardinal was now stretching out the probationary period for a very long time, despite d'Artagnan having passed the trial, and Jussac seemed to have decided that she had proved herself sufficiently. He gave her a curt sign to accompany him and she immediately walked beside him instead of following submissively. He took that for granted too and made his way to his study aside from the guardroom.
As they left the courtyard behind and took the stairs to the upper floor, Jussac noted casually, »Tréville is behaving in an unusual peaceful manner considering that one of his men is arrested and charged.«
»He has given way in a matter which no captain can tolerate. There is nothing unusual about it, it is only consequent,« d'Artagnan replied seemingly unaffected, but guessing what Jussac was actually getting at. He did not disappoint her.
»Consequent maybe, if we were not talking about the Captain of the Musketeers and a quarrel with His Eminence.« He eyed her with a sideways glance. »Someone seems to have put a gun to Tréville's head yesterday.«
»That would have required that 'someone' should have gone to see him at headquarters.«
»Your sick bed visit to Sorel took a great deal of time; you did not reappear at the palais until noon.«
D'Artagnan turned her head and met Jussac's gaze with an impassive expression. »Do you suspect in me the one with the gun? I did not set foot in the Hôtel de Tréville yesterday. Rochefort's agents would tell you nothing else.«
The lie was easy for her, because in fact at most a Mademoiselle de Batz-Castelmore had entered the headquarters. She fervently hoped that she had not been observed by Biscarat again. Had he possibly seen her change of clothing, which had taken place between two visits?
Jussac merely snorted and relieved her of that worry. »There is no need to send an agent after you for the obvious. A gun may as well have been a letter or a courier with a message.« He stopped abruptly and waved aside any objection with a curt gesture. »I don't care how you did it. By now I know you well enough to be able to judge correctly your stupidity in always falling between two stools and bring off the worst possible bargain.«
The lieutenant would no longer have believed her excuses, so d'Artagnan merely shrugged, without confessing or deflecting anything. Jussac shook his head and then gruffly pushed open a door beside him. He gestured for her to enter the study. She walked past him somewhat hesitantly, taking in the room with a quick glance.
Behind the unadorned door, Jussac's little kingdom was revealed. Here he could retreat and do some concentrated paperwork without being disturbed by the concerns of the guardsmen. If he could be spoken to, he sat in the guardroom; only in urgent cases was he consulted in his study. It was furnished according to usefulness. A desk stood by the window, a cupboard offered storage space, a shelf held various documents and Jussac's private book collection. D'Artagnan recognised the slim volume the lieutenant had read when she first came on duty. He gave her no opportunity to gather more than these brief impressions, but closed the door emphatically and stood in front of it as if to cut off any escape route.
»God knows why you have enough influence on Tréville to make him sing small,« he said with a snort. »It can only be you behind it and I don't want to know what exactly was discussed between you. You wouldn't want to reveal it even under the threat of torture, I can guess that too by now. But remember for the future; I am still in charge. As your superior, I will not tolerate another time that you decide to storm into the lion's den without my consent. When you are to throw yourself into battle is for me to decide! Are we clear?«
»Yes, Sir!« D'Artagnan stood at attention and had to struggle to suppress a narrow smile. This rebuke was less reprimand than gratitude and praise for her efforts. So well did she, for her part, know Jussac by now to understand his nuances. He was a better superior to the guardsmen than Captain Luchaire would ever be and was in no way inferior to a Monsieur de Tréville.
He gave her a last, admonishing look. Then he stepped up to the desk and pushed aside a little, wooden horse on it. It was attached to a rolling board, a child could pull it behind him on a cord. One wheel was broken. Jussac probably brought the toy with him from home to devote a quiet minute to repairing it. Now, he prepared an inkwell with a quill and added some blank and written papers. D'Artagnan immediately recognised the sentry schedule and Jussac confirmed it.
»I'll leave the tedious paperwork to you today.«
»I can hardly wait,« she replied dryly and at the same time astonished that her duties were to change.
Jussac gestured to the shelf. »You'll find everything you need there.« With that, he strode to the door and seemed surprisingly eager to leave d'Artagnan unattended with the regiment's affairs. Apparently, by saving his life and subsequently pacifying another conflict, she earned a fair advance on trust.
Jussac guessed an unspoken question and said, »You shall soon have your commission back. It is time for you to familiarise yourself with these things and perform duties befitting your rank.«
»I see.« D'Artagnan took the seat at the desk, not thinking for a moment about Jussac bringing her up to be his second in command. As soon as Captain Luchaire took his leave, a new command team would take over. They had to be able to rely on each other, and that meant that Jussac had to share the responsibility and that d'Artagnan had to prove herself reliable. Besides, she could not cause much devastationvery in the study, who would have been interested in the list of posts or the payroll? Nevertheless, it was another step forward.
Jussac nodded curtly. »I'm in charge of the weapons exercises. You have two hours.«
It almost sounded like a request to scour the room for useful information in two hours. D'Artagnan brushed the thought aside; she had clearly been in Rochefort's company too often. No, she had two hours to familiarise herself with the organisation of the regiment and to write a proper schedule.
She wasted no time and took the lists of the last guard changes to get an overview. The work came easily to her, it was routine. Only the names of the soldiers were different, the posts were not at the Louvre, but their division was hardly different from that of the Musketeers.
D'Artagnan transferred the list of the previous days and changed it where a sick call or a time overlap made it necessary. She made fast progress and decided to give the list a final check for completeness. She looked on the shelf for the payroll and found it among the other documents related to funds. Jussac kept order, you had to give him that. He had everything necessary ready to hand.
With the list of wages, d'Artagnan had a complete overview of all the men who served in the Red Guard, so she could not forget to assign anyone. She quickly noticed that the names on both lists matched. Except for one; a Grégoire de Sorel was not among them. A Grégoire Vicomte de Ventadour, however, was.
D'Artagnan frowned and took another look at the sentry roster. The guardsman she knew as Sorel had also been assigned as such two days ago and was now replaced. Only his name was different on the payroll.
A suspicion grew in her and she skimmed the list for herself. Charles Chevalier de Batz-Castelmore d'Artagnan, it said there, fully named. Fortunately, Jussac did not seem to have noticed that the maid at the wash house had also called herself 'Batz'. Perhaps he had not read through the list of soldiers so thoroughly, he knew all his men and thought he was familiar to d'Artagnan either. Well, her name was almost right, but that could no one know any better.
The full name proved that Captain Luchaire was rightly known as a careful administrator who paid attention to every detail. Even to the titles of nobility that some guardsmen could boast. D'Artagnan had learned in the last half hour that an Auguste de Jussac and a Guillaume de Biscarat were allowed to call themselves Chevalier, like herself, and that a Robert Baron de Bernajoux was their best friend.
Among themselves as soldiers they were all equal, names and titles did not matter. Would that also be true if a Chevalier turned out to be a noble dame?
D'Artagnan shook off the thought and concentrated again on the inconsistency she had noticed about Sorel. He was only seemingly missing from the soldier list.
A war name. It was not unusual at that time and for a man of status to choose a nom de guerre. Grégoire had apparently chosen 'Sorel'. Perhaps with the intention of not carrying around the burden of his family name. »Being a son«, Sorel's most outstanding quality, as he had self-deprecatingly confessed to her. The respect of one's comrades was not gained by an inherited name, but by feats of arms and faithfulness. There was nothing reprehensible about earning your worth under a name of your own choosing.
Had Sorel become a guardsman because there were other siblings standing between him and the heritage to all the estates and titles? Perhaps he was in Paris to make future connections with the royal court and to gain political experience before he could fulfil his role as vicomte. Perhaps it was also a tradition in his family to serve for a while as a soldier and be trained at a befriended court.
In any case, 'Sorel' had achieved something; the guardsmen were upset and worried because of him as a person. That was why they would have fought with the musketeers and not only to avenge the attack on the Vicomte de Ventadour as political issue. He had rendered service to the Red Guard beyond his origins and had become a valuable comrade.
The sentry roster was done to Jussac's satisfaction, as he noted an hour later, dismissing d'Artagnan to an early end of duty. She accepted the generous gift gratefully and Jussac suspected that she intended to use the time off to look after Sorel again. He would have liked to do so himself if duties had not tied him to the palais until the evening.
So he sent his second in command and it seemed natural to them both to divide the duties between them and jointly take on the responsibility.
»You stay in bed!«
Sorel froze in mid-motion and looked up at Elise with his best puppy-eyed gaze. The young woman folded her arms and wrinkled her nose, a fire in her eyes that blazed in competition with her copper-coloured hair. Well, she was right; he really shouldn't overtax himself yet. »But-«
»I promise you, if you set one foot over the edge of the bed, we'll part ways and you can find yourself another place to live!«
The threat was severe and even if Elise did not mean it and only forbade him any unnecessary movement out of concern, Sorel obeyed for the moment. He sank back into the pillows, very carefully, so as not to strain his injured shoulder. It still hurt like hell, his whole arm felt stiff, but the skin around the wound burned and itched sensitively as if under a thousand pinpricks. There was a slight inflammation, but the doctor who had been called in, had only changed the bandage and said that everything was healing well and that this warmth was normal as long as Sorel did not suffer from a fever again.
Right now he was suffering from something completely different and mumbled half aloud, »But I have to pee...«
Elise fell silent. Then she turned her head to d'Artagnan, who had not yet taken a step over the threshold into the room after her arrival, because Elise had suddenly rushed past her to prevent Sorel from getting up.
D'Artagnan put on an altogether stoic face and acted as if she had known before her visit that Sorel would surely need help. Male help. Because of the embarrassment of barely being able to stay on his own two feet when he had to give in to human needs.
She stepped out the doorway, telling herself that all she had to do was prop Sorel up so he did not fall over with weak knees, and she would just close her eyes. »Where's the chamber pot?«
Elise lapsed into her pragmatism, which helped her in all situations. She pulled the pot from under the bed and passed it to d'Artagnan, who exchanged it for a souvenir of her own in her hands. On the way here, she had passed a cookshop and decided to bring Sorel a proper meal of vegetables and lots of fatty bacon, for she knew of his hearty appetite.
The stew waited well tied up in an earthenware jar and Elise ignored a quiet voice inside her that a criticism of her own cooking was to be read into the guest gift. D'Artagnan certainly was not meaning it that way, even if a slight blush now appeared on the former musketeer's cheeks, as if something was unpleasant. Elise had her own thoughts on the matter and asked, »Shall I help?«
A stifled squeak was heard from the bed. »No!«
Elise and d'Artagnan looked doubtfully in unison at Sorel, who pulled the duvet up to his chest as if it had just dawned on him that he was completely unclothed and dealing with at least one woman in his bedroom. Not that he would have been able to defend himself if Elise... wanted to help. But since she really did not care about him in that way he preferred not to use her assistance. For the time being. As long as someone else was around.
D'Artagnan said to Elise, »If your help is needed, I'll call.«
»Oh, I'm sure you two can manage without me. After all, it's a perfectly normal thing, it all works naturally, you won't need more hands,« Elise replied with a sharp tongue and left the room with the stew in her hands to the kitchen one floor below. There she filled the food into another bowl, fetched cutlery and prepared a new herbal brew for Grégoire.
He was already feeling much better than yesterday. Well enough not to want to let Elise help him and act like a fool. As if there was anything, she had not seen yesterday when she had to put calf compresses on him! But if he wanted to be all alone with d'Artagnan, fine, she certainly was not going to interfere!
The water on the cooker boiled after a few minutes and Elise prepared the medicine. Grégoire would need the chamber pot more often and, knowing him, sooner or later he would get out of bed and help himself. He would also be able to clean the floor afterwards on his own, Elise would tell him that clearly.
She put the stew and the cup of herbal brew on a tray and carried everything upstairs. They would probably be finished by now, time enough had passed, so she pushed the ajar door open with one foot. Inside, she found a somehow relieved looking Sorel in bed, with d'Artagnan standing by the washbasin, drying the hands on a towel. At least one person, apart from Elise herself, who kept things clean and tidy! She liked d'Artagnan for that, a pleasant character, if rather secretive and inscrutable.
Sorel peered at Elise and the tray with the stew. »Did you cook this?«
»No,« Elise replied indignantly at the question, which sounded far too surprised that she should have cooked something that well smelling, and set the tray down by the bed. »It was brought by Monsieur d'Artagnan.«
She fluffed up a pillow and stuffed it into Sorel's back so he could sit upright. Pale as he still was, his strength was already enough to grin cheekily. »Thanks, d'Artagnan! You save me from being poisoned!«
D'Artagnan raised the hands defensively and Elise noticed that there was still a certain blush on the guardsman's cheeks that had not been washed away with the cold water from the wash bowl. Elise shot a huffy look at Sorel. »Choke on it!«
With that, she took the chamber pot, as she did every morning anyway and long since found nothing disgusting about it anymore. She would have had to change a child's nappies just as easily and wash the cloth later. Life had hardened Elise in some respects. At the door, she looked back over her shoulder and, with the tone of a reigning housewife, said to d'Artagnan, »You might as well change his bandage.«
Elise disappeared somewhere in the house, perhaps outside in the street, to empty the chamber pot. Sorel, meanwhile, had already snatched the spoon and was about to greedily devour the stew, but d'Artagnan reached forward and pulled the bowl away from him.
»Oi!« He blinked in surprise.
»You've heard the young dame.« D'Artagnan found it surprisingly easy to deal amicably familiar with Sorel - not solely because they had just spent an intimate moment together, which the unsuspecting guardsman thought quite harmless, even if his weakness made him uncomfortable. Sorel had fortunately been able to do everything on his own and only needed some support to stand up. From a friend he accepted the help without discomfiture.
For a long time, d'Artagnan had not called a comrade also a friend and she liked doing it now. It also distracted her from the loss of another man close to her who had cowardly shied away from any intimacy, even though d'Artagnan would probably have even confessed to him in return a few months earlier, if he had told her.
How strangely simple it was for her to think about that and finally admit the truth to herself. Now, that it was too late. Now, that ranks and hierarchies no longer had any meaning. »I dare not contradict Mademoiselle Perrault.«
»Elise is a harmless and kind soul. It's just that she acts so stern and unruly.«
»Nevertheless, she's right. I'll change the bandage.«
»If you must...« Sorel sighed in surrender and gestured to the clothes chest at the foot of the bed. D'Artagnan found fresh bandages and alcohol in a brown apothecary's bottle to clean the wound. Thus equipped, she returned and carefully relieved Sorel of the old bandages around his chest. If he noticed that she seemed to have practice at it, he said nothing about it, but squinted hungrily every now and then at the stew, which was steaming deliciously. His healthy appetite was a good sign.
D'Artagnan was able to take a closer look at the wound for the first time. It had been closed with three stitches, neither pus nor blood seemed to have collected in the last few hours. The skin was irritated and red from the healing, but dry and not inflammatory hot, as she could tell with soft touching fingertips.
Sorel winced at the touch and d'Artagnan pitilessly dabbed at the injury with the alcohol. Sorel gritted his teeth and tried not to let on. It had to be burning his skin and d'Artagnan said wryly, »That'll be a nice scar.«
»Too bad no one will ever see it under my doublet.«
»You think scars a proof of bravery?«
»When you're not collecting them on your back.« Sorel grinned at his own joke and leaned forward a little to make it easier for d'Artagnan to change the bandages. This gave him his first close-up view of her face, without her immediately turning away and avoiding any inquiring gaze. A strangely shy behaviour that other guardsmen too had noticed, and Sorel remarked in wonder, »You've got a scar on your cheek yourself.«
D'Artagnan unconsciously raised a hand and stroked the rough spot, the dead-straight thin line that stood out pale on her skin. »A graze shot, caught in Versailles.«
»What happened?«
D'Artagnan remained silent and folded a compress to cover the wound before applying the bandage. What could she reveal from the past? In this case, it was not only her secret alone that she had to keep, but also the knowledge of an intrigue against the cardinal, devised by the king himself as a trial of loyalty for his best captains Tréville and Essarts. Everything was still as vivid in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. »Seven years ago, the bullet was aimed at Richelieu. An assassination attempt and I stood in the way. It was coincidence, not bravery, to almost get my face shot off.«
Sorel eyed her doubtfully. Apparently the gap in that succinct summary was too big for him to believe only in coincidence and not heroism. »I could brag far less about my story,« he said.
»The only reason I can still brag is because I fall in with a poor shooter at the time. You were damn lucky, too!« d'Artagnan snapped at him in sudden anger, not knowing whether her ire was more for Sorel's thoughtlessness in being proud of scars or for the sneak attack that was meant as a warning to all guardsmen. She had once trained Pauger herself to inflict more than harmless shoulder injuries on his opponent in a fight. If he had really wanted to... »You could be dead.«
»It's not your fault.« Sorel seemed to know exactly what was going on in d'Artagnan's mind and his words were accompanied by one of those encouraging smiles he always seemed to have at the ready for her, however gloomy her mood.
This time d'Artagnan did not fall for it. She fastened the bandage with a clip and said tersely, »But it is.«
»How so? It was just a coincidence, as drunkards are.«
»Drunkards!« D'Artagnan snorted contemptuously and got up to take the old bandage to Elise in the kitchen, leaving Sorel to his stew. He knew damn well who had attacked him, and d'Artagnan knew that the reason was all down to her. She had allowed someone to fall in love with her and because of that a man had committed a fatal stupidity that had ultimately led to the attack on Sorel. At the door she promised grimly, »It won't ever happen again.«
Whether Sorel still wanted to say something, whether his thoughts were written on his face, d'Artagnan did not find out. Too quickly she went out of the room and down the stairs.
Elise came towards her from the kitchen. D'Artagnan would have liked to pass the landlady by with only a brief, polite greeting, to escape into the chill evening and be alone with herself. But firstly, she still had the bandages in her hand, and secondly, Elise was blocking her way with an unbending expression. Sorel's landlady really watched over him like a she-wolf and now she seemed to suspect a quarrel that must have taken place between him and the former musketeer. D'Artagnan prevented every question by holding out the bandages for washing to Elise. »It's all right. The wound looks fine.«
»I know. You, on the other hand, do not look fine at all.« Elise left the bandages untouched and gestured with her head towards the kitchen. »Take them over there.«
Only reluctantly and out of politeness did d'Artagnan obey the landlady's command, intending to throw the bandage on the kitchen table and then to take her leave. Elise did not give her a chance. She followed d'Artagnan and closed the door behind her. »Sit down!«
»Mademoiselle, I-«
»You will drink a cup of herbal tea with me now, or milk, or well-water, or whatever you prefer, and then we will talk.«
»About what?« asked d'Artagnan, less than taken with the idea, wondering if she might climb out through a window.
She discarded this silly plan the moment Elise took a pot from the cooker and poured hot water into two mugs containing a mixture of peppermint and lavender flowers. »About you, of course, what else?«
The way she said it so casually and yet quite firmly made d'Artagnan freeze in place. She watched suspiciously as Elise separated the herbs from the water with a sieve and then placed the cups on the table. Elise repeated her request with a friendly gesture towards the bench. She herself took a seat on a chair opposite and blew the hot steam over the rim of the cup.
D'Artagnan hesitated, then she pulled herself together. She could have just left and never found out what Elise wanted to talk about. Or she could have found out a day later, if unflattering rumours about her started to spread. She could have risked turning Elise against her. It wasn't worth it, maybe the young woman just wanted to discuss a banality, or she was simply curious about how a musketeer of the king had become a guardsman of the cardinal. So d'Artagnan settled down on the bench. »I prefer wine in the evening, but a herbal tea will do.«
»Lavender soothes, you know?«
»I've heard of that.« D'Artagnan left her cup untouched and tried to judge Elise. The younger woman smiled, which brightened her pretty face and deepened the dimples in her cheeks. For her part, she eyed d'Artagnan very closely and in a way that betrayed some curiosity. Gruffly, d'Artagnan asked, »So what do you want to talk about?«
»About you, I already said that,« replied Elise in a jovial tone, as if she thought her counterpart a little dumb. »How long have you been in disguise by now?«
»Pardon?« D'Artagnan was caught completely off guard by the question and hectically looked for an evasion. »I am a guardsman, not a musketeer in disgui-«
»Hogwash, not about that!« Elise waved it off, glanced at the door and listened for the familiar sounds in the house. »Grégoire won't overhear us. If he should come down the stairs, we'll notice it in time. So we're all alone, like two conspirators.«
D'Artagnan resisted an instinctive impulse to run away to save herself from discovery, even though it was already too late. Her heart was pounding like mad and she counterattacked all the more fiercely to distract Elise. »Do you want to be part of an imaginary secret out of boredom, to feel like a conspirator rather than an insignificant maid?«
»Maybe?« Elise sipped her cup, unimpressed, and continued to eye d'Artagnan, more thoughtful than curious now. »It must be hard. So many years unrecognised and that among nothing but men. If they ever figure that out!«
»Do you want money?«
»Don't you dare make me such impertinent offers!«
»Then tell me what you really want!«
»I only want to know if I am right; You're a woman in men's clothes.«
D'Artagnan turned ash-pale, time seemed frozen as she thought feverishly. It was not the first time that she had been involuntarily in this situation, that someone had found out her secret. For the first time, however, it was not a friend or an ally, but a stranger.
What would Elise do with this knowledge? Gossip, let everyone in the palace and the town know what she had learned? D'Artagnan gripped her cup with both hands so tightly that her knuckles stood out white. She hardly felt the heat that slowly crept from the vessel into her fingers. Instead, she heard her own heavy breathing and saw her thoughts fly without finding a steady hold they could cling to and calm down.
Elise was suddenly sitting next to her. D'Artagnan had not noticed that the young woman had stood up and changed seats. An arm lay reassuringly around her shoulders now and Elise whispered from close by, »I'm sorry, oh, I didn't mean to. It's all right, do you hear? I won't tell, I promise!«
Elise stroked her back comfortingly, as if they had been good friends for years. The overpowering urge to run away, to hide from an unpredictable enemy, ebbed away very gradually. Finally, d'Artagnan nodded, barely perceptibly, that she had regained her composure and Elise moved a little away from her. She seemed to be sincere in not wanting to threaten or blackmail the other woman, but to have simply given in to her curiosity in a rather brash way.
That was far more than could be expected from most other people and d'Artagnan asked quietly, without really bringing the truth to her lips herself, »How have you been able to see through so quickly what no one else has been able to?«
Abashed, Elise tugged at her apron. She had certainly not intended to dismay her guest so badly, nor had she expected it, as d'Artagnan seemed to her like a very cold-blooded, tough-minded person who could easily withstand any injury or attack. But all that was probably just a façade to be able to hold her own in a man's world. »It's not only your appearance that seems a little too petite next to a man. The disguise is impeccable, your gruff behaviour no less so. Quite a rough shell you are.«
D'Artagnan laughed bitterly; at least she had not immediately burst into tears before Elise, but had only reacted in complete shock. »As you can see, truly!«
»I'm sorry, I really didn't mean- Oh, it's just that I noticed the soft core too. When you visited Sorel and he woke up, when he was writhing in pain and you were dealing with fear for him. When you called out to me. For a moment you were not in control of yourself, of your voice. It was not just cracked by panic, but sounded true.«
»So that's what it's like?«
»That made me wonder, but then I started thinking.«
»About what?«
»Well, the servants at the palace are gossipy, especially the washerwomen. Word spread quickly a few days ago that a Mademoiselle Batz had been cajoled into doing penal duty for Monsieur d'Artagnan. She never showed up again after that.«
D'Artagnan turned pale. What Elise was revealing to her was nothing but extremely threatening and again she did not have her voice under control enough to hide a tremor. »The rumour is already spreading? People suspect something about me?«
»No, no!« Elise quickly assured her, »I put it all together because Sorel told me about the note you found. Where he was supposed to meet Biscarat. He carried the note in his uniform and figures it must have fallen out of his pocket somehow.«
»But actually Mademoiselle Batz found it when she was washing his tunic. It's... true.«
Elise scolded herself, and not for the first time in her life, for not only being able to think, but also to reflect. By reflecting, she had stumbled upon a truth that would have been better kept secret. But now it was out in the world, and Elise had not only snubbed someone, but even scared her. She gently put a hand on d'Artagnan's arm and tried to convince her with a joke that she meant her no harm. »And then you came to visit again today and you didn't feel at all comfortable helping Grégoire.«
A tiny smirk stole onto d'Artagnan's lips, even if it remained rather mirthless. »No man would have felt comfortable either, I know from experience. Sorel is not the first injured comrade, I told you.«
Elise chuckled and d'Artagnan took a deep breath. She still could not gauge if her secret would be gossiped about. She would not have been able to stop it, not with threats and not with pleading. She could only hope and implore Elise, »Mademoiselle, don't tell anyone else, I beg you. Not even, and especially not, Sorel.«
»My lips are sealed, I promise faithfully! Besides, I owe you for keeping your own promise.«
»You know, among all the other secrets, that I spoke to Tréville to end this feud?«
»I know that Lieutenant Jussac spoke to you, of the fact that you must have spoken to Tréville.«
»The servants at the palais, I see. In future I shall be even more careful with whom I talk about what and where.«
D'Artagnan sighed and finally regained some colour. The conversation left her exhausted, even if it was not the first time she had survived similar ones; the last time it took place was before she moved in with Madeleine a few years ago and it had not been easy for her, even though they had long trusted each other. D'Artagnan's heart never beat more wildly than in such moments. Not even in the trenches on a battlefield, with death everywhere in sight, did she feel more fear than of the viciousness and unpredictability that even people she thought she knew well were capable of.
So far she had only been outrageously lucky. Would Elise let her get away with it, too? »Are you satisfied and have learned what you wanted to know?«
»Oh, I have a thousand more questions! But I won't press you with them. And I will not say a word about this. Please believe me and... forgive me.«
»It's all right.« It had to be. Anything else would have been d'Artagnan's ruin. She had to carry on as before, relying on Elise's secrecy. Fortunately, the landlady did indeed seem to be a kind soul. Not quite as harmless as Sorel claimed. But a good person whom d'Artagnan wanted and needed to believe. »I hope to have made a valuable friend in you, Mademoiselle.«
»Call me Elise and, yes, let's be friends!«
»As you wish.« D'Artagnan agreed without offering her first name in turn. She was not so careless that Elise might call her 'Charlotte' on a visit one day and Sorel might overhear it after all.
If the young woman was disappointed about this, she did not let on, but accompanied d'Artagnan to the front door to bid her a heartfelt farewell until the next time.
D'Artagnan knew that she was always welcome here and yet she resolved to limit her visits from now on, excusing it on a strenuous daily routine full of duties in the service of the cardinal. Outwardly composed, yet troubled within, she made her way home. The fresh evening air did her good, each step calmed her thoughts a little more and when she finally reached her home and Madeleine opened the door to her, it was no longer apparent that 'Monsieur' d'Artagnan had endured a great fright.
If d'Artagnan had been more attentive and less self-absorbed, she would have noticed the vase on the kitchen table containing a pretty bouquet of fresh flowers. Madeleine plucked at the leaves with a dreamy smile on her lips and sniffed the blossoms. But it escaped d'Artagnan's notice that a strong gale-force wind must have mussed Madeleine's flaxen hair and ruffled her lace collar.
Both women overlooked the details and traces of an exciting day at each other and were grateful for it.
