By the afternoon of the Duke's arrival, I knew from the moment the men returned that something had happened. I had known each of them long enough to be able to tell by their faces, and my brother's was particularly tense. For the time being, I did not interrupt them, instead going about my day and work as I would normally. If it was something I needed to know they would tell me, but of late I had decided that it may be better to remain out of the diabolical plots and schemes they were forever uncovering.
It was later in the day by the time I was free to go to Constance where I had arranged to help her with the fabrics and begin some new designs, only I found her not to be alone. She had another lodger, one brought to her by Aramis and d'Artagnan themselves. "They made no mention of it when I saw them earlier, who is he?" I queried with a flicker of a frown, looking towards the door of d'Artagnan's room where the lodger was said to be resting inside. Curious.
"They told me he was a cabinet maker, though I find that a little unconvincing if I'm honest," bustling about the house like a breeze, I trotted to keep up with Constance as I helped her shift the bolts of fabrics and prepare a workspace upon the table, threads and needles ready and waiting. "Didn't seem like a carpenter of any kind to me, but they vouched for him, so I let him stay. He seemed to be their friend."
"I do not much like this level of uncertainty in your tone, Constance," at this Constance smiled at me, cheeks rosy from her robust walking. With one eye constantly upon the man's door, I settled onto the bench at the table and began stitching a new design for a plain piece of fabric, drawing on a basic sketch and replicating it by marking the distance in equal measure. The birds sprang to life before my very eyes, as if they were already singing softly and rustling their wings in preparation to take flight. That is until I was interrupted from my focus by the arrival of our four most dashing Musketeers. "Brother," surprised to see Athos, I rose from my feet as he made his way inside.
"Madeleine, I did not know you were here." His gaze snapped quickly to the door where the man was resting and I immediately knew that my instincts had been correct to be wary. My brother's hand curled around my head as he kissed my cheek, holding me close to him as the stranger was brought before us. "I think Aramais and d'Artagnan have some explaining to do and apologies to make, Madame Bonacieux." Both looked uncomfortably ashamed of themselves. The pit in my stomach deepened.
"Indeed, our most humble apologies madame, but we were not entirely truthful with you earlier," Aramis began to explain as d'Artagnan avoided meeting Constance's stern gaze. The man himself appeared, pushed forwards by Porthos whereby he stumbled a little, unable to catch his balance as his hands were bound. A flare of anger rose in me.
"You left a man in Constance's home whom you deemed dangerous enough to require binding?" My entire body rose in indignation and my brother wisely kept a good grip upon me, otherwise I might have slapped both Aramis and d'Artagnan for their folly. "How could you do this?"
"Please, Madeleine, Marsac is no threat to Constance, he would never have harmed her," Aramis sought to soothe me, but I was too angry to even be flustered by him in that present moment. "He is an old friend of mine, a former musketeer. We were at Savoy together." This did cease my struggle against my brother, shocked into stillness as I blinked at them. They were at Savoy? "Allow me to explain." Taking us back to the events of Savoy, Aramis explained how their company had been ambushed in the night and how the musketeers had fought back bravely. During the course of this fight, Aramis sustained and injury which rendered him unable to continue, thus Marsac dragged him to safety then cowered out of sight whilst their brothers were slaughtered.
I did not judge the man for his cowardice. In such circumstances, I think I would rather run and hide too. He sat silently as Aramis recounted all he knew, all that Marsac had told him. As a man, Marsac was attractive to a certain extent, however regret and shame had aged him in a way beyond his body. I could feel the weight of his soul through the darkness of his eyes, bright in colour they may have been. Still I listened. Marsac had supposedly uncovered the truth, that Savoy were the true perpetrators behind the assault, and Marsac was determined to enact vengeance for his fallen brothers. Hence his attempt to assassinate the duke today upon his arrival at the palace.
Stunned by this fantastical sounding tale, I said nothing. Constance, however, had a great deal to say and in a rightfully outraged tone. "You brought a wanted man into my house? A deserter?" Her ire burned vividly as Marsac, Aramis and d'Artagnan all withered before her. At least they felt shame in their deception of her. It seemed too often they were using Constance and her abode for their convenience. I should have a word with my brother later.
"A deserter and assassin." Perhaps not the most helpful of things to clarify, given the situation. For that, I swatted my brother's arm.
"I'm guessing they didn't mention that part."
"Failed assassin, technically." Having a rather pitiful defence for himself, Marsac was swiftly chastised by Constance's lashing tongue.
"Oh, you can keep quiet. I don't want to know," silencing the criminal, Constance turned to d'Artagnan. Her voice remained heavily laden with anger, but now it was laced with hurt. Knowing her as I did, I sensed that this betrayal cut her far deeper than anything else as she settled upon him. "But I trusted you."
"D'Artagnan's not to blame. He behaved with honour." Rising to d'Artagnan's defence, Aramis attempted to placate Constance but she remained far too angry to be so easily swayed.
"Honourable people don't lie to their friends." To this Marsac apologised and assured her that he would leave immediately, making to rise. "You can stay," he froze, Marsac's gaze never once lifting from the ground. Constance turned upon d'Artagnan. "But you can pack your things." Then like a swift thundering cloud, she marched away. Even as d'Artagnan cried out the injustice, she slammed the door behind her.
"Shame on you," I finally spoke, shaking my head as I folded my arms. Looking at d'Artagnan who quickly looked at me, he did not hold my glower long before his eyes dropped once more. "Shame on you both," now I looked at Aramis, who at least had the decency to bow his head in acknowledgement. "Constance is our friend," I reminded them, stepping over the bench at the table so that I might go after her. "She is my friend. And you have used her ill." Discreetly squeezing my brother's hand before leaving, I followed Constance outside to where she was now attempting to murder a rug by beating it senseless.
Clouds of dust burst from each strike, dreary grey particles gathering into clusters until it seemed a storm had descended from the heavens. "Constance," attempting to gain her attention, Constance continued to beat at the rug. "Constance." Still it appeared she could not hear me, so I waited a breath before stepping within reach and catching her wrists, holding her still so that she had no choice but to look at me. There were tears in her eyes. "I am here," I assured her, taking the paddled from her and setting it aside. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and gave it to her, so that she might wipe her own tears.
"I am not crying, it is just…"
"I know, I know, it is only the dust," assuring her that I would not make a fuss, I brought her aside and had her sit behind the carpet so that when the men left, they would not see us. Standing guard, I ensured that there was no trace of them in sight before I dropped the carpet.
"Are they gone?"
"For now, but I imagine they will return if they take your offer to house that man again." I did not like it at all. "In the meantime, I will also stay with you. I do not trust strangers."
"Nor I, but beds mean coin, and we still need it."
"Well, in that case how about we return inside and I can continue those fabrics? We have orders to fill, do we not?" Knowing that perhaps the best thing for Constance to keep her from wallowing over her sense of betrayal was occupation, I pulled her to her feet once more. Her eyes were a little red, but the dust was an easy way to explain such a thing. Whether the true cause was the dust or d'Artagnan, only she and I would know.