I do not know what drove me to do what I did next. Perhaps I was only acting upon basic impulse at that moment, shock and upset having so rattled my senses that I could not have hoped for a sensible thought to cross my mind. After my brother had struck me, I had run all the way back to the barracks, drawn to the one place of safety I knew, only to arrive and feel desperately outnumbered. Men everywhere, all of them musketeers, and in the back of my mind, I knew that my brother would find me here. He would come looking for me, and right in that moment, I only wanted to keep fleeing him.
There was nowhere in the city I could hide safely. He would know to look at home, as well as to call upon Constance to seek me out there. Constance would not betray me and refuse him entry, but I knew Athos. He would not force his way inside, but he would shout for me or wait outside in the bitter cold just to wait for me. I did not want to be near him, not whilst I could still feel the burning imprint of his hand upon my cheek. As I gasped for air, I realised that I was crying.
What a dreadful sight I must have appeared, running into the barracks clutching my cheek, sobbing uncontrollably like a wailing shrew. Thankfully the late hour meant that there was no one about, the men were either in their beds or out drinking. My mind thought quickly, and my sight strayed to the stabled horses. I knew it to be a grievous error in judgement, but as I stated before. My mind was not in its right state. Before I knew what I was doing, I was throwing a bridle onto a horse and did not even bother to saddle it, only threw a blanket over its back. Next I knew, I was charging out of the barracks and into the streets of Paris.
I flew through them without even really thinking of where I was going, only thinking that this was better than running on foot, as a horse could carry me faster and further than myself alone. All I wanted was to hide and to be far away from this place. From my brother. So I bent myself low over the horse's neck, winding my fingers into the mane whilst gripping the reins, and urged it out of the city. It was dark, but the moon offered enough light that once my eyes had adjusted, I could navigate the roads.
This was the most dangerous action I had ever undertaken, and in my youth I had not been known for my caution. I had climbed trees, jumped rivers and chased wild animals aplenty, enough to cause the adults around me enough frights to render them speechless. This, however, was by far the most severe lack of judgement I had ever displayed. Alone at night on a barely tacked horse, racing away from Paris with no cloak or provision…it was a foolish thing to do, but even as the cold wind bore against me, my cheek still stung.
It ached seemingly for hours, even as I shivered against the cold. Of all the roads, I took the only one I knew. The one which would lead me back home. It was only a few hours away, though everything looked different in the dark and it had been years since I had last traversed it. I did, however, possess excellent bearings, and knew how to read the stars in the sky. So I used them as my map, and sure enough, they did not steer me wrong. I was glad when I found the familiar village which had once been under the care of my family. This at least had not changed greatly.
It was silent and quiet, the small hours of the morning having seen everyone to their beds, allowing me to pass through quietly with only the horse's hooves and snorting breaths to disturb the rustic silence. My stomach was a mass of twisted knots as I rode onward towards the great house which had once stood as the valley's pride. The light was starting to rise, but even against the gloom I could see the remnants of smoke in the distance. I was prepared, not allowing myself to hope that there could not have been such excessive damage as to render the building unsalvageable.
I was prepared for ash and cinders, rubble and charred stone. My preparedness meant that I did not find disappointment for dashed hopes once I saw the house for myself. The once bright walls were now blackened with soot and ash, half of it completely swallowed and broken with blackened beams jutting outwards like broken bones. The glass windows had shattered or suffered damage from the smoke, and the front door creaked and groaned where it stood open, scorched and scarred.
A dry sob rose to the surface, but I was too tired to cry any longer. Dismounting, I did not even maintain my grip on the horse's reins, letting them slip through my fingers as I stared at the abomination before me. The horse did not go far, simply sought out a place to rest and graze, whilst I cam face to face with my new reality. What hopes I had once had of returning home and picking up the old threads of my life were vanquished. The tapestry of my life which I had begun to weave as a child here would remain forever unfinished, burned and decayed in this monument of destruction.
I did not even dare approach. In my head, I began to reimagine the house as it had once stood, recalling every door and every room and the contents as they should have been within, everything Athos and I had left behind when we had fled. Everything, absolutely everything, gone. My father's study, his quills and the smell of parchment, gone. My brother's harpsicord, kindling. My mother's gowns and powders, smoke. Suddenly, I was exhausted. My head hung itself in hallowed disappointment, grieving all over again the life I had once possessed and now grieving its eternal loss.
There was nothing I could do now other than accept what was. My life was not so bad, truly, but I yearned for more for myself than working until the day I died just to put food on the table. This fire was a mockery of my dream, and the ruins of my childhood now seemed to cackle with every shift and groan of the still collapsing structure. Turning aside, I dimly walked towards the horse to take hold of the reins once more and began to walk away. The storehouse. That, perhaps, was at least untouched. It was a building separate from the main house, and thankfully the flames had not jumped across whilst they had raged. The wind must have been blowing the opposite way last night, meaning at the very least, there was somewhere to claim as shelter. It was locked, secured with a chain and padlock, but I pulled a pin from my hair and soon had it worked free. I had learned a great many unladylike skills these past five years.
Pushing open one of the doors, I led the horse inside as I could taste rain in the air. Another cruel jest, no doubt. Had the rain come but one day earlier, then perhaps more of my home would be left standing. It did not matter now. Resigned and exhausted, I looked around the storehouse to find what one might expect. Broken furniture, a wagon and cart, empty ale barrels, boxes and chests of unwanted nonsense…the grand fortune of my inheritance. I laughed bitterly at the notion. Still, it was dry and I was able to tether the horse safely as the heavens opened and rain came hammering down from the skies.
Rooting through the collection, I found several sheets and even a few old furs which smelled musty but were warm and heavy. At the very least this place could provide me with shelter and the means to make myself a comfortable bed. I climbed into the back of the wagon and made my bed there, making it as comfortable as comfortable with the sheets and furs until I all but collapsed upon it, hearing the dull thudding of rain upon the roof until I could hear it no longer. The silence was bliss and thankfully my sleep was dreamless, so when I awakened sometime later I felt a little refreshed.
After everything, I felt I was owed at least that much. Sleep was the best restorative, and so when I crawled from my little haven, I drifted over to the patient horse which had also been dozing and gently touched its neck. Its head jerked, but it settled upon recognising me, allowing me to pet its face as I thanked it for behaving so well. I had stolen it, after all, and no doubt was hungry for breakfast as much as I. Part of me was tempted to go into the village, but I feared I would be recognised. I did not think I could bear the shame if the villagers recognised me as the young lady of the house. Former house, I should say. There was nothing left of it now.
Untethering the horse, I went to the door. The rain had stopped. In the air lingered the fresh, dewy scent of rainfall and damp earth, a scent I had never much cared for in the past, but compared to the stench of smoke and charcoal, it was welcomingly refreshing. I brought the horse to where it could drink, thinking it might be thirsty. At least there were now plenty of puddles for it to choose from. It drank contentedly, and once it was done I began to lead it once more. I had no sense of where I was going, not this time. I simply walked around the smouldering remains of my home.
Eventually Athos would realise that I had come here, in fact I would have expected him to have come by now. Yet it was quiet, and I only had a horse for company. The air was chilly from the rain so I used the blanket I had thrown over the horse's back to cover myself as I walked, finally deciding to walk around the grounds and woods of the property. If this was to be my final farewell, I wished to make it a nostalgic one. So I tethered the horse once I had found a safe place to put it in reach of water and grass where it could graze, then went about my way.
My feet churned into the mud as I took off, heading directly for one of my favourite walks from my childhood. In springtime, the meadows and woods would be bursting with wildflowers, filling the air with their sweet scent. I would come and spend hours embroidering every flower I could find, practicing until I had perfected the art. Sometimes I would stay out so late that it would be dusk before I wandered inside searching for supper, trailing in mud and twigs whereby my nanny would scold me furiously. Athos and Thomas had always only laughed. I recalled the times we would go out hiking together, and I would chase them on my little legs as they danced just beyond my reach. It was a fun game for us all until I would grow distressed and upset of their avoiding me, but always just before I could truly become teary eyed, one or both would linger just long enough for me to capture them.
I only realised may years later that they would do so purposefully to allow me the sense of victory. They would cheer and praise me for being so quick and sweep me up into their arms to carry me the rest of the way so I could rest. The memory brought a smile to my face, but the moment I did so, my cheek throbbed in protest. Athos must have struck me with more strength than he intended. This seemed to make my cheek sting all over again, but I could not bring myself to rue my brother for it.
He had acted impulsively, and I had said something very unkind. I should know better than to accuse him of being unfeeling. My brother had more heart and soul than most men in the entire world possessed in their little finger. He simply did not show it as openly as others might. Whatever had happened to start the fire, there had to be good reason why he did not want to tell me, and more reason still why it had affected him enough to be so stirred to anger and violence. He had never struck me before. Each time I recollected the moment, my stomach churned and threatened to roil.
Still I surged onwards, finding the familiar paths which had been left untrodden for several years. I could still remember the last time I had walked this very path with both Athos and Thomas, the last time he had been alive. I had made them carry flowers for me as I picked them, intending to press them and make gifts with them. My brothers had carried their bouquets diligently, never once complaining even when I returned with more. At that time, I had never thought to carry the flowers myself. I had never been expected to carry my own things, having been raised preciously by my brothers after our parents' passing. I hardly remembered them.
Athos, in truth, was the only father figure I knew until Captain Treville. Between Athos and Thomas, they had ensured that I had wanted for nothing. I had the best dresses, the newest fashions and new accessories every spring. They filled my library with books and hired only the best tutors and governesses for the sake of my care and education. They bowed to my every whim, showered me with their love and affection…until Athos's love one day became divided, between myself and his wife. Anne.
I recalled her face vividly. So beautiful, so elegant and fashionable. I had wanted to hate her on principle for stealing Athos away from me, but she had been so glamorous and worldly that I had fallen under her enchantment as readily as Athos had. Only Thomas had not taken to Anne, wary of her even to his last day, and I wish I had heeded him when he warned me of her. Poor, sweet Thomas. Regret crushed my windpipe and refused to allow me air for several long moments as I thought of my dear brother.
What I would not give to go back to such days. Before I, the spoiled little lady, knew anything of grief and hardship, who had never once dirtied her hands for the sake of toil or had to become the caregiver and provider for her elder brother in his place when he no longer functioned as a human being. Such blissful ignorance. Such peace and happiness. Now they were gone. Ashes in the wind like the remains of my home. Needing a moment to rest, I leaned against a tree. A drizzle had started again which clung to me, gradually seeping through my blanket and clothing. I would catch my death if I stayed out here. I had to think about returning, or at least staying somewhere warm for another night.
There were no more happy memories here. Perhaps I should not have come back, now I cannot even fool myself into a blissful dream when the evidence lay before me. I started to shiver, cold seeping into my bones. Not good. I had no choice now, I would have to go the village and stay at the inn for a little while. A fire and some hot broth would fix me up for the journey back to Paris, so long as the rain let itself up. I would not hold my breath, though. Luck was never a friend of mine.
All the same I mounted the horse once I had returned, using the fence to push myself up onto its back before guiding it around. At least I was a fair rider and bareback was no issue for my capability. I could only imagine the screams my former nanny and governesses would have made were they to see me now, drenched through, skirts lifted above the ankles and riding astride without a saddle. They would have fainted from the shock. This amusement was enough to cheer me through the ride to the village, where I was able to pay for a meal with the few coins I had on my person.
No one asked questions, but I could feel them looking at me curiously and some began to whisper. I ignored them, merely dried myself by the fire and ate every last helping of my food until I was running my finger around the bowl and licking it clean. This seemed to dispel some of the whispering. Perhaps the villagers reasoned that no lady of the great house on the hill would ever display such terrible table manners. They would be right. However, that lady was as good as dead now. She died the day Thomas did, the way Athos died when his wife was hung for his murder.