The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows)

by Philippa Lodge

  Dom snorted, and the boys looked incredulous.

  The door opened on Cédric and Sandrine, and then a minute later came a sharp rap and the baronesse exited her palanquin in the hall, to be supported by Henri and Cédric to a chair.

  “Family council,” said Papa. “Where’s your companion, Gabrielle?”

  Manu opened his mouth to point out his mother’s companion was not Gabrielle, but then remembered Gabrielle was his mother’s name. He wondered if he had heard it more than once or twice in his life, as even her friends called her Baronesse or Madame. He wondered if she had any true friends. His parents must truly be reconciling if his father was calling his mother by her first name. He shook his head to keep his mind from staggering off drunkenly.

  His mother sniffed. “Her maid, Marie, said she went for a ride.” She looked at Manu, eyebrows raised. “She seemed upset.”

  “Alone?” Manu asked, stung. Was she out being courted by yet another young gentleman? Did she think so little of him that she was out enjoying herself while he was still in pain? Though why should he expect Catherine to anxiously await his return? Perhaps she was riding to clear her head, like he did.

  “She probably took a groom, Manu.” His father’s voice was worried. “But your mother’s maid, Anne, seems to have wandered off, too. Marie said she left while we were walking in the gardens. Poor little thing—Marie that is—looked quite frightened. I don’t think any of this was her idea of adventure when she left la Brosse to see Paris and Versailles.”

  Manu shook his head. The maid was little more than a girl. She seemed kind, though not terribly intelligent.

  The brandy had made his head heavy, so he wasn’t really listening and instead was staring at the ceiling, thinking of Catherine and of sleeping.

  Aurore nudged him. “Do you suppose they were in league?”

  Manu shook his head and had to concentrate to make his eyes focus on his sister. “Who? In league to what?”

  “D’Oronte and whoever was poisoning Maman, of course.”

  He blinked stupidly at her, then looked around at his family, most of whom were shaking their heads at him. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well after all.”

  Henri smirked. “All the eau de vie?”

  Manu nodded. “And the loss of blood. I haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

  Sandrine signaled to her son, Alexandre, and whispered to him. He waved his brother over, and they slipped into the corridor. Cédric patted his wife’s hand. Manu smiled; his family would take care of him.

  “But do you think d’Oronte was working with whoever was poisoning your mother?” his father asked.

  Manu shook his head as he thought. “She fell ill several times over the past year, non? D’Oronte, other than through his grandmother, Madame Philinte, had nothing to do with any of us until a week ago. He might have known Catherine as Maman’s companion, but did he pay any attention to her before the last few days?”

  His father repeated the last words to his wife, who was sitting still, closed in on herself, looking afraid of having most of her family around her. Manu wished she had sat next to him, but he didn’t have the energy to say so. She looked at him, her eyes somehow bleak. “He never did. I wish Catherine were here to tell us.” She sat up a little straighter and glanced around the room in challenge.

  Manu struggled to his feet. “I’ll put on a clean shirt and go to the stables to see if she is back.”

  Aurore chuckled and pulled on his arm. “We’ll send a servant. You should rest.”

  He almost sat down, but the back of his brain told him something was wrong. Maybe the brandy relaxed him so much he was able to see what he would not usually have seen. “No, I need to check on Catherine…Mademoiselle de Fouet. I am afraid she will do something rash.”

  His mother sniffed and shook her head. “Catherine never does anything rash. Or at least didn’t before she knew you.”

  Manu nodded. “She’s quite levelheaded, but with the poisoning and d’Oronte’s accusations today, I’m worried about her. At the least, we should reassure her.”

  His father was staring at his wife, nodding. “Or something has happened to her. With the maid, Anne, missing, and with d’Oronte or his friends possibly looking for revenge, I think we have reason to worry.”

  Manu’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t thought of d’Oronte’s revenge. And what if she were attacked by robbers? Or worse?

  His mother scowled, but his father squeezed her hand. “Besides, I want her opinion on the maid. She might be able to fill in the details about Anne. Mademoiselle de Fouet is observant.”

  Manu strode into his room before realizing he wasn’t going to be able to undress himself. All the servants had been sent next door, and he didn’t have anyone to help with his shirt.

  His door opened, and Henri stepped in. “If you permit, I’ll help you.”

  Manu grimaced but didn’t see any way to get out of it without offending his brother and, what? Getting another brother to help?

  “I’ll just help get the shirt off, you clean yourself, then we’ll put a clean shirt on. For chasing down a missing lady, you don’t need to be elegant, correct? You should probably change the bloodstained breeches, though. Smears are considered de trop this year.”

  Manu glanced at the spots and smears of his own blood on his brown breeches, and his head turned.

  Henri deftly untied Manu’s cravat and the laces holding the neck of his shirt closed. He helped him ease the shirt off his left arm and over his head before untying the sling. Manu grunted as his wound throbbed. Henri dropped the tattered, bloody remains of the shirt to the floor with a look of distaste.

  “With a new sleeve and cleaning, that’s still a good shirt,” Manu said.

  “For a peasant, perhaps.” Henri sighed.

  Manu scowled. “I can’t afford to buy new clothing all the time.”

  His brother shrugged. “I will give you one of mine if you are too poor. I don’t like the thought of you wearing a reminder of your brush with death.”

  Manu was silent.

  His brother caring about his death was a new idea to him, one he would never have believed. In his weakened state, he thought he would cry.

  When Henri turned back to him, he looked like he might cry, too. He dropped Manu’s clean clothing on his bed. “I’ll wait outside for you to wash up. We’ll find your Catherine.”

  My Catherine.

  When he came out a few minutes later, his clothes tied and hooked and arranged by his brother as if he were a baby, most of the family had dispersed, taking the ladies and children with them but leaving him a tray of meat and cheese. The baron and baronesse remained, and Marie, the maid from the country, slumped on a low stool, weeping.

  Between her sobs, Manu understood that his mother’s maid, Anne, had said she found a bottle of poison in Catherine’s room and was notifying the Mousquetaires. Marie had searched for the evidence herself, packed a few of Catherine’s things, and was sure the lady was running away.

  She had sent Manu wishes for his recovery. She wouldn’t say where she was going. She said she was sorry. She said she would never poison anyone. Her purse had been missing, but she had the few coins she carried in her pocket.

  Manu forced himself to be calm. It wasn’t Marie’s fault. It was Anne’s fault. He sat down, the anger subsiding to shaky grief.

  “And yet, Anne said nothing to the Swiss guard outside the door? And she never returned with the Musketeers, did she?” Manu’s father’s face was pinched with worry, but he managed to speak softly to Marie and hand her his handkerchief.

  Maman, though, was trembling, her face more frightening than he had ever seen it. “Anne,” she whispered. “She’s never been the same since I turned off the footman. She’s been sneaking out at night, too.”

  His father, seeing her state, put his arm around her, a little tentatively at first, but more firmly when she leaned against him. “I will do everything I can to keep you safe, Gabrielle.�
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  ****

  When the de la Brosse grooms brought their horses and a crowd of men on horseback, Manu’s friend and head groom, Jacques, confirmed that Mademoiselle de Fouet’s horse was gone. The baronesse’s groom had not seen her go, but he tracked down another groom, who had said the lady had expressed a wish not to be accompanied and had ridden toward the north side of the park. He had buckled a small bag on behind her saddle, which seemed odd, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

  It was better the man asked no questions, Manu thought, as the scandal would spread more slowly without adding kindling.

  Manu had to use a lady’s mounting block and Dom’s steadying hands to get into Vainqueur’s saddle. Even getting to his horse had meant a war of wills with his family. When appealed to, Dom had glared for several seconds down his noble nose before silently shepherding Manu to the door and waving off the others, who argued that he should be left behind.

  Once in the saddle, he was comfortable for the first time in hours. He had practiced riding left-handed and even hands-free. “It will be good to be seen riding. I can’t let d’Oronte think he beat me.”

  Henri snorted derisively from his own saddle. “On the other hand, the suit you bring against him will go nowhere if you are not thought to be truly injured.”

  “Suit?” He hadn’t thought to sue. “Would it help get him exiled?”

  Their father stood between them. “I think public opinion is going to do it for you, mon fils. But if you wish to bring suit, we’ll back you. Of course, this whole affair is going to ruin your chances with most of your list of possible brides.”

  Henri smirked and Manu shrugged. He had never been interested in that list, only in Catherine and his horses. His only plan a few days ago had been to return to Poitou. He wondered if Catherine would wish to live in Poitou.

  Dom trotted up and took charge. As usual. “Manu, with me to the north, Henri and Cédric together through the park. Jacques, take some men to quarter the town outside the palace grounds. Grooms and guards with each group to carry messages and inquire in shops. The baron will stay in the palace, directing the household staff, questioning servants and nobles. Some of our allies are keeping an eye on d’Oronte and his friends.”

  Within minutes, they were trotting over the cobbled courtyard and then cantering on the crushed gravel of the horse path. At each gate, Dom questioned the guards, none of whom had seen a lady pass through alone. Manu hoped Catherine was safe somewhere within the grounds until they came to the Allée Saint-Antoine. A lady had passed through the gate with no escort not two hours ago, a circumstance odd enough to draw their notice. And their gossip.

  Manu rode ahead, searching the road. “She’s two hours ahead of us, Dom.”

  Dom waved his hand at the five grooms and guards. “Spread out,” he ordered. “You stay on your horse, Manu. Don’t jostle your arm.”

  They advanced slowly, men dismounting to jog from shop to tavern. They had reached the end of the inhabited area a half hour later, and two of the guards were doubling back down the side streets. Manu paused, looking at the road toward the north. “What’s the next village after Le Chesnay?”

  The groom next to him said, “La Celle-Saint-Cloud.”

  “Dom, I’ll ride ahead and meet you there. She’s alone and moving quickly. Unless some evil has befallen her, she’s almost to Saint-Germain-en-Laye by now.” It was an exaggeration, but with every moment, she was farther away.

  Dom nodded. “The others will be coming this way now that we have a direction. We’ll move faster. We’ll find her, Manu.”

  Manu hoped so.

  ****

  Catherine knew quite well how to order a meal for the baronesse and a flock of servants. She had, however, never entered an inn completely alone and ordered a meal only for herself. There were other nobles and upper bourgeoisie, judging by their clothes and the livery of their servants, but no one she knew by more than sight. Alone, without a maid or groom, she drew speculative looks from the innkeeper and his staff. One woman glared at her venomously, and she heard her mutter to the innkeeper, who shrugged. They probably had nobles conducting trysts there all the time, as they were a mere three leagues from Versailles. She had ridden for only two hours at a comfortable trot, with some slow cantering in the uninhabited stretches. She wanted to point out to the innkeeper that her father had always stopped there on his approach to Versailles. It was probably the same innkeeper, though almost ten years later. But on the other hand, her father might have carried out his trysts there. The idea hurt her stomach.

  The angry woman led her to a table by the back wall. Catherine took a seat where she could lean forward and see the door without being immediately visible to anyone entering. She wished they had a private room free.

  It was late afternoon and she hadn’t eaten since early morning before the walk, before the bout, before d’Oronte had hurt Emmanuel, before Anne had claimed to find evidence against her. She wanted to cry but instead ate everything the glaring woman brought her. She was safer here than eating with the baronesse, she thought with a wry smile. Maybe they had discovered the culprit. Probably Anne. Why else would the maid have stolen her money? Catherine wished the maid had left her mother’s brooch.

  Even with a full stomach she felt shaky, as if she had been crying, though she had so far held back her tears. She wanted to sleep for several days, the way she had when her parents and fiancé died. She stayed in her seat after she had finished eating, considering her future.

  A man loomed over her table, and she jerked back sharply. The groom, one of the baron’s men, grinned. She looked for an escape, but there was another man halfway between her and the door. Trapped. The groom waved at him, and he scurried out.

  The groom turned back and bowed. “The whole family’s frantic for your safety, Mademoiselle.”

  The Comte de Bures strode in, causing quite a bustle among the inn staff. His face eased from stiff pride to stark relief when he saw her. He bowed and waved his hand, making a servant with a chair appear as if by magic. He sat and gave orders for dinner for four men and about twelve servants. He leaned forward to speak softly to her. “Manu will be along soon. He was inquiring at the inn just down the road. The others were on the other road and will be along in a while.”

  When he sat up, he said, just a little louder for their audience of inn workers, nobles, and servants, “What happened to your groom, Mademoiselle?”

  She opened her mouth to say she hadn’t ridden with one, but he raised an eyebrow, and she knew he didn’t want the truth. Yet. “His horse threw a shoe just down the road. But since we had plans to all meet here, I rode on without him.”

  Monsieur de Bures nodded, approving her lie. He went on softly, “Surely you know by now how protective our family is.”

  She felt herself shrink. They would arrest her for poisoning the baronesse.

  He leaned back in his chair and looked around casually, nodding at a tableful of gentlemen nearby. “Including you.”

  She shook her head.

  He pursed his lips. “And Emmanuel, of course. He’s part brother, part son to me. When Dario was little, he thought Manu was his brother. When he was four, he asked why he was to inherit everything if Manu was older. Why did Manu have to go away to start a horse farm? All the rest of his uncles were old and had children, and Manu was just a boy. A large boy, very nearly a man, but still a boy. You knew he lived with us?” He tapped on the table with one finger and looked around again. “Manu has always been good with children and horses.”

  She smiled, still not sure she wasn’t going to be arrested, but distracted by her memories of Emmanuel and Colonel de Cantière’s children, sounding like a herd of horses in the attics. And by the thought of Emmanuel as a father.

  She glanced up at the comte’s face, only to see him smiling at someone entering at the door of the inn. He waved. Emmanuel wove between tables, his face dark with a scowl, eyes boring into her, coat on one arm and draped around his other sho
ulder like a cape, sleeve flopping. Her heart leapt to see him and the burden of fear lifted from her. He had come for her.

  She shivered.

  He was furious.

  He sat next to her but looked at the comte, who patted him on the shoulder. “Her groom’s horse lost a shoe outside of town, so she decided to press on without him, as we were all to meet here anyway.”

  If anything, Emmanuel’s scowl became more pronounced. He turned his face back to her. “Do you have any idea how frightened I was?”

  “We all were,” muttered the comte.

  Catherine stared into Emmanuel’s clear blue eyes, wanting to apologize, wanting to throw herself at his feet and sob. He is here.

  Two more men approached the table. “Are we in time for the declarations, Dom?” Monsieur Henri bowed and sat languidly across from her as Monsieur Cédric laughed and circled the table to sit to her right. There really wasn’t room at the table for five. The grumpy serving woman approached with an adolescent boy hefting a small table. The gentlemen stood as everything was rearranged, Emmanuel still glowering at her.

  He looked even more like he was going to shout. She reached out to put her hand on his arm, but as she was on his right, she didn’t want to hurt him. She clenched her hands in her lap instead.

  He placed his left hand on the table, palm down, and spread his fingers before clenching them into a fist. “So frightened.”

  “That’s as far as he’s got?” asked Monsieur Henri lightly. “You’ve at least ordered us some wine, Dom?”

  Emmanuel growled, which made them all jump. “This would be a lot easier without an audience,” he complained, his voice low and harsh.

  Monsieur Cédric leaned back and looked toward the kitchen door. “Make it quick, Manu, I think our soup’s coming.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Taisez-vous,” he grunted at his brothers, who grinned at each other but stopped talking.

  This time, when he set his fist on the table, Catherine covered it with her hand. “I’m sorry. I panicked. I was about to come back.” Even though she hadn’t made the decision yet when the comte arrived, she knew she would have. It might not have happened until the next day, but she would never have gone alone to Normandy, and not just because she was low on funds. She could never have left Emmanuel. She wouldn’t have left the baronesse thinking she was guilty, either.