Chapter 42

In the days that followed, three very different women had to find their place in courtly society and each did it in her own way.

Odette had an easy time of it, she was welcomed among the distinguished nobles and they gladly took her under their wings to please the cardinal. Elise was respected as a chambermaid after some familiarisation, even if she was not of noble blood and she was still easily becoming part of the furniture near Odette's light. In this she was no different from d'Artagnan - although, it was a gross insult to the pretended Dame de Sainte-Croix to treat her not only as equal to a simple servant of no origin, but even lower in standing.

Odette encouraged the society in this, having many kind words and polite attentions for Elise, which she, on the other hand, denied d'Artagnan and only showed indifference. D'Artagnan shrugged it off when Elise asked her about it once while morning toilette. There was no war between them for the favour of court and mistress; they remained friends, conspirators even, and did not envy each other their roles. They exchanged places by mutual agreement, Elise was now appointed female companion and d'Artagnan disappeared invisibly in the background to fulfil her task from there.

Odette was adored, Elise accepted and Charlotte disregarded - the status quo seemed unchangeable. Mademoiselle de la Nièvre was not even to be accused of malice in her behaviour; it was due to her self-image as a duke's daughter to consider herself a better person, more valuable and dignified. It was confirmed to her every day from the outside, a Marquise of Saint-Véran encouraged her in it, drew her away from Elise and gossiped hidden behind the fan about d'Artagnan.

Opportunity and reasons were always found to malign the dame d'honneur. What a horrible southern dialect that rolled off Charlotte de Chanlecy's tongue as soon as she opened her mouth! A language so non-French and uneducated, like a peasant, she sounded and thought. When Odette wanted to be distracted in the evening, her companion could not read to her from any book without faltering at the more complicated words. Instead, she recited obscene soldier songs and poems that brought a blush to the innocent damsel's face and made Elise giggle.

She was unladylike, coarse and hot-headed. She lacked any subtlety, instead she was... sarcastic. How could His Eminence tolerate a person like her near his grandniece?

D'Artagnan did not care about her reputation. She did not have to impress the royal court, she was not dependent on its goodwill and opinion. She was here to protect Odette. From the Baron de Grinchamps, in case he made a foolish attempt to approach his unruly fiancée without permission. From the Duc de la Nièvre's mercenaries, who would have stolen Odette by force and taken her back to her father as soon as they had an opportunity. From all the plans that Grinchamps, in alliance with Tréville, might concoct to cheat the cardinal. Odette from herself, her inexperience with the scheming court society and the seemingly well-meaning friends and confidants there.

They were all not tangible threats that d'Artagnan could have faced with her sword in hand in order to end the matter quickly. Rather, like a true agent, she had to watch out for more subtle goings-on around Odette.

An open attack would have been met by the guardsmen, their first lieutenant would not have had to order them to do so. The men kept a discreet distance so that Odette rarely saw her sentinels and would not feel harassed. It was the little freedom Richelieu granted her as long as Madame de Chanlecy was tolerated as Odette's silent companion.

Only Sorel was greatly missed, openly by Odette and secretly by Charlotte. When Captain de Luchaire was farewelled with great pomp and a parade in his honour, two women at once had eyes only for the spirited and handsome ensign of the Red Guard who led the manoeuvres. Otherwise, Sorel was so absorbed by his new duties that they rarely met - and never alone.

Over time, it became winter, the days progressively lost their light hours and any rain threatened to turn to snow. The weather fluctuated between slushy wetness and bewitching icy cold that painted pretty snow flowers on the windows. Life became sluggish and awaited spring even before winter had properly taken hold. The frost spread across the land and crept into the houses through every little crack. The trees along the avenues were no more than ghastly skeletons.

Paris prepared itself with fireplaces and warm conviviality, which also found its way into the Palais Cardinal. The common people enjoyed the dark season in the taverns with wine, women and song. The nobility passed the boredom with board games, conversation and music.

Just now, the delicate sounds of a trio sonata filled the music room and the hearts of the listeners. In front of the double doors, the sentinels could sense the dreamy reverberations that the strings coaxed from the instruments. An ensemble of violin, harpsichord and cello played in united passion, the musicians completely immersed in rhythm and notes to a ravishingly beautiful melody.

Even d'Artagnan could not escape the magic. Her ear was trained for marching music, but what Odette was doing there with her cello made every veteran be quiet and listen reverently instead of cheerfully reaching for his weapons and going into battle.

It was fitting for a woman of status and good education to be able to play an instrument. But Odette was not only fulfilling a duty, she was exceedingly talented. Not only did she play, she was in complete command of the cello in the way she had it clamped there between her legs and held just above the ground. Her fingers, otherwise so delicate and fragile, now gripped the strings powerfully, plucked, pressed, drove up and down the neck and vibrated in the trills with which she decorated the tune away from the rigid dictates. The sonata became more lively, more colourful, and Odette's accompanists struggled to follow her on the music sheet.

Elise stood behind the chair where d'Artagnan had taken a seat next to the Marquise of Saint-Véran, and listened with an enraptured smile. The audience formed a semicircle, the dames sat up straight with their hands folded, the gentlemen sat leaned back. The servants and maids stood in the background, the guards remained discreetly in front of the door.

Odette was completely absorbed in her play. She had her eyes closed and was swaying with the rising and falling of the notes towards a final climax. Elise felt beguiled, almost shaken to her soul by the music and Odette's heavenly passion. She felt goose bumps prickle on her arms and a quick glance at d'Artagnan showed that she, too, was carried away and impressed, for she seemed to have to hold her fingers tight to keep from drumming along on the armrest. Her foot was secretly tapping to the rhythm, as a barely perceptible movement of the hem of her dress revealed.

The Marquise of Saint-Véran also noticed the lack of fine restraint and had a contemptuous look for it over the edge of her fan. She leaned towards another noble dame beside her, whispered inaudible words and then attended back to the chamber concert as if nothing had happened.

The other dame glanced furtively at Madame de Chanlecy, wrinkled her nose and passed on quiet words to her husband. This went on in turn until everyone present knew of the odd companion's once again outrageous behaviour. Only d'Artagnan herself was unaware of it, but Elise was beginning to have a bad premonition and would have liked to warn her friend, if only she had known of what.

The last triad, the final chord distracted her. Almost tenderly, Odette let the note hover in the air, held it, stretched it, then it died away in silent longing. She lowered the bow, exhausted but with a fulfilled smile, and met the Marquise's approving, proud gaze. It meant as little to Odette as the polite applause of the rest of the audience. Elise's enthusiasm for the performance alone delighted Odette and she rose with a friendly greeting to the other musicians, leaned the cello against the chair and wanted to go to her maid and her dame of honour.

The Marquise de Saint-Véran intervened and intercepted her before Elise or d'Artagnan could react. She spoke to the duke's daughter, more or less openly overheard by the other women of the royal court who remained standing nearby. »A beautiful piece you have chosen, Master Boismortier himself would be delighted by your interpretation; and equally ashamed, since not everyone appreciates his art with the respect it deserves.«

At the last remark, she casually turned her fan so that it pointed randomly yet clearly at Charlotte de Chanlecy. D'Artagnan struggled to maintain a blank expression that did not show her thoughts against this snake in the grass, and pretended not to have heard the accusation.

Odette, on the other hand, fell for the poison and blushed angrily, at the same time embarrassed. The renewed misconduct of her companion fell back on her as well. »Oh, how unfortunate! It grieves me greatly not to have done justice to the Master, so that everyone would have recognised his greatness.«

The Marquise showed a smile that she thought was indulgent, but it was cold and dangerous. »Perhaps more understanding of his composition will arise if it is approached with personal experience?«

»You mean...?« Odette did not think long. The Marquise showed her a way out of the awkward situation and she took it without hesitation. She wheeled around, the cello bow in her hand shot up and pointed accusingly at the supposed art philistine.

D'Artagnan stared first at the bow, then at Odette. »Mademoiselle, I-«

»Play!«

The duke's daughter was unyielding. She had to know that her dame of honour, who was hardly educated to live among the courtiers, could neither read notes nor play an instrument. D'Artagnan's inability was to be demonstrated in order to humiliate her once again as a peasant. For the courtiers it was gleeful amusement, for the Marquise a poor triumph. Odette freed it from the suspicion of not having been good enough.

Elise was about to interfere, but before she could open her mouth and make things worse, d'Artagnan took the cello bow with a curt, military nod and complied. It was up to her to defend Odette's reputation, even at the cost of her own honour. Elise's worried and Odette's haughty looks accompanied her.

The courtiers turned their heads as apparently an encore was to be performed. Individual whispers faded into giggles as d'Artagnan was already clumsily trying to hold the cello with her legs, as she had seen Odette do. Somehow she managed not to let the instrument fall to the floor, even though she sat tensely. She had no idea what to do next. Everyone saw it and everyone knew it; the other musicians did not even take a seat to accompany her.

D'Artagnan placed the bow and was the least surprised herself that she could not even force a wry squeak out of the strings. She stroked and sawed, but not a single note squeezed out of the cello under the horsehair, whatever she tried. She could have stared at the instrument until it voluntarily played itself and would have achieved success more quickly by doing so.

Elise pressed her lips tightly together so as not to shout at the courtiers who were feasting on d'Artagnan's failure and seeing all their prejudices about her confirmed. In helpless anger she looked at Odette and something must be readable in her eyes, for the duke's daughter suddenly looked uncertain of the righteousness of her actions and of what was going on around her. Odette seemed finally to become aware of the Marquise's cold-heartedness in enjoying a ridiculous victory. She could hear the other women whispering to each other in the background, all snide remarks about Madame de Chanlecy, who was bravely pestering the pitiful cello, no matter how laughed at and ridiculed she was.

Odette blinked and strode determinedly to her companion. At first it looked as if she wanted to take the cello bow away from her to end this embarrassing affair. But she only pulled up another chair without a word, sat down, put her hand on d'Artagnan's and then guided the bow herself.

A melodious note vibrated on the strings, it escaped from the instrument together with a surprised sound from Madame de Chanlecy that, with a little help, she should have produced real music.

Odette smiled and repeated the gesture until d'Artagnan understood how to handle the bow. They were only single notes, nowhere near a melody, and yet the duke's daughter, dame d'honneur and chambermaid listened to them with satisfaction.

The Marquise de Saint-Véran let her fan snap and was soon no longer to be seen in the music room. One by one, the other courtiers followed her until Elise, Odette and Charlotte were among themselves.

The duke's daughter stood up. »It is enough of a lesson for one day.«

»Oh.« D'Artagnan blinked in sudden awakening and carefully set down the cello. »That was- I thank you very much, Mademoiselle.«

»We shall repeat that soon,« Odette determined, without the condescending reluctance she usually showed towards her companion. As wicked as the Marquise's intentions might have been, a gentle understanding had indeed grown out of making music together. Not for Boismortier, but for Charlotte de Chanlecy, whose courage in making a complete fool of herself before the royal court had impressed Odette. »A weekly exercise, be prepared.«

»With pleasure, Mademoiselle, if Elise will listen to us?«

»She will play, too, I decide thus.« Odette might seem imperious in her strength of will, but she was only thinking of the joy she would feel in teaching her two maids of honour.

Elise curtseyed devotedly and saw it pragmatically as always. What harm could it do to learn an instrument? D'Artagnan, on the other hand, was sceptical, Odette could tell by looking at her face.

»Daily exercises for you would certainly be more appropriate,« she said. »Your wrists are strong, terribly stiff. You hold the bow almost like a sword!«

»Ah, you mean... like this?« D'Artagnan jumped up and assumed a fencing pose. Standing up straight, she saluted the supposed opponent. Then she let her bow slice through the air and performed an exercise in shadow fencing. She danced agilely around a surprised Odette, thrust at Elise, who laughed gleefully and let herself be driven to the duke's daughter.

D'Artagnan presented an exaggerated spectacle to the dames, she fought against invisible attackers, her every move perfectly rehearsed, mastered, improvised in occasion. Her talent was obviously to be found here and not in music.

Odette was astonished at first, but then she joined in Elise's laughter, which spurred d'Artagnan on to exaggerate and send whole hordes of villains fleeing in disgrace. She became completely absorbed in the familiar exercises and the feeling for her body, which had threatened to become a stranger to her in the rigid dresses and conventions. She enjoyed her true self, which she had to hide from the court society, which she had discarded on command, and she forgot everything around her for a few moments.

»Look out!«

D'Artagnan whirled around at the warning cry, within the blink of an eye becoming the lieutenant of the guards, ready to fight and stand firm against any enemy. Her bow collided with an obstacle, another blade. She reacted instinctively to the opponent, broke free and struck back.

Only when the horsehair strained and her bow bounced back with no effect on the opponent did her mind resume. At first she only saw another cello bow playfully used against her. Then she recognised Sorel behind it, who was taking pleasure in assuming the role of a real opponent in the exhibition fight, indicating a feint, dodging her counterattack and teasing her into a further attack.

She danced with him, let him approach, beat him back, pursued him, confronted him and escaped his attempt to bind her.

He followed her stubbornly, did not allow himself to be put to flight, groped his way forward, withdrew and lured her out of her defensive walls.

Elise watched the two thoughtfully and wondered what Odette must be feeling at the sight. Whether she, too, could see more in the playful duel, in the evasion and pursuit, in the advance and defence, in ever-tightening circles at every charge and lunge.

But Odette seemed to read nothing between the lines, she followed with shining eyes her brave and dashing knight Sorel, who triumphed in the end because d'Artagnan stepped on the hem of her dress, stumbled and fell forward over her own feet.

Grégoire caught her and instinctively held her close. He asked so near her ear that her heart beat oddly, »Are you all right?«

»...huh?«

»That's a 'Yes'.« He grinned, taking advantage of the defenceless moment to disarm d'Artagnan, who was far too captivated by Sorel's closeness to even notice.

She only realised that she was standing upright again without being embraced and that her hands were empty when Ensign de Sorel bowed with a grand gesture to Mademoiselle Odette de la Nièvre and handed her the bow for the cello, which he had reclaimed at the risk of his life.

Odette's cheeks turned a soft rosé as she breathed a, »Thank you, my noble Sir,« and d'Artagnan held on to the back of a chair. She told herself the sudden weakness and her trembling hands stemmed from the fact that this was the first time in a long while that she had exerted herself in a battle and this damned dress made everything difficult for her, every step and every breath.

Elise turned her gaze from d'Artagnan to Sorel and threw at him a very loud yet mute 'Fool!' Grégoire just looked back uncomprehendingly, came up with no explanation and shrugged it off. Playtime was over, he was here for another reason, and he could finally dispose of his assignment now that his lieutenant was pacified and no longer missed every hint and call, self-forgotten in a skirmish against shadows. He turned after politely bowing to Odette and went to d'Artagnan.

She was noticeably pale and seemed to have to force her breathing to calm down so as not to admit any weakness. He saw through her nevertheless and eyed her with concern. But before he could ask, or perhaps take her hand and lead her to a chair, she waved it off. »Repo-« she began in her best officer's voice, interrupting herself with a clearing of her throat.

»Your dear cousin sends me.« Sorel gave her a letter with Rochefort's seal. »He would seek you out personally, he said, but certain matters prevent him.«

»Understood. Is that all he has to tell me?«

»He mentioned nothing else.«

»Then I will obviously not have to read this letter immediately and have a reply to him ready for you, Ensign.«

Grégoire knew when he was dismissed; when a private letter from Charles to Charlotte was none of his business. He bowed curtly to Madame de Chanlecy, turned on his heel and marched out of the music room. Odette seemed to want to stop him, but remembered her proper manners in time and did not call out after him.

Elise, for her part, suspected that there were all sorts of unsaid things between Sorel and d'Artagnan and that this would never change because they were both too stubborn. She sighed and joined d'Artagnan. »Do you want to read the letter alone, should we go?«

»Of course not, pardon me. With your permission, Mademoiselle de la Nièvre, I will withdraw.«

»Granted. I shall send for you.«

D'Artagnan smiled thinly. Odette has never sent for her before, willingly desiring her company. Perhaps today changed that. Perhaps they could be friends after all - if they no longer had to fight over the same man, because he has long since decided in favour of one of them; he was fighting in her name, that of Odette's, and Charlotte was only standing in the way...