The Honorable Officer

by Philippa Lodge

  He held her hand as she worried about her poor Ondine and at least as much about Jean-Louis. Bernard had no reason not to hurt him.

  The baron was still talking about their plans, but she said, “I’m sorry. I cannot concentrate. I will go in and do what I can to make Bernard release everyone else.”

  “No, no, no,” said de la Brosse. “Jean-Louis would never forgive me if you were left behind. I would never forgive myself. I am your father now.”

  Hélène nodded. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Jean-Louis or Ondine.

  The carriage left her at the front door of the factory and drove off as a rough-looking man let her in.

  “Where is Ondine? Where is my niece?” She stood up straighter, squinting at the man through her eyeglasses.

  The man muttered something nasty, but she was hardly listening. “Take me to Ondine. Now.”

  The man stepped back, scowling, but pointed her toward a door. Opening it, she found it led to a dark, narrow staircase. She inched down it, unable to see her feet in the darkness. At the bottom, she waited until her eyes started to adjust, listening for noises.

  She spotted a flicker of light to her right just as Bernard stepped around a corner with a candle. He smirked. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

  “I had to order a carriage since I cannot ride. I had to sneak out so that the de Cantière family wouldn’t come with me. I did as you said.” She had never been a good liar, but she didn’t have the slightest qualm in lying to Bernard.

  Bernard offered to take her cloak, but she said it was too cold and she would keep it.

  “We must check it for hidden weapons,” he said.

  She handed it over, then wrapped her arms around herself as he checked the pockets. There wasn’t anything to find as long as he didn’t insist on checking the pockets of her skirts.

  Finally, he handed the cloak back. “The eyeglasses are hideous. Give them to me,” he said. “You are ugly enough without them.”

  She looked down, trying to react the way she would have a few weeks before. She eased the glasses from her face and handed them to him. She hated being blind. She would never get used to it again.

  “You will need them to sign the marriage contract. Otherwise, I would break them,” he said.

  “Marriage contract?” she said, looking up sharply at his indistinct outline. She had to pretend to be surprised; that was part of the plan. She was to pretend to be as cowed and dull as before—before she had rescued herself and Ondine, before she had gained confidence, before Jean-Louis had said he loved her.

  “Of course. It will all be mine. And since you disappeared for so long and your birthday has arrived, it became pointless to just kill you. I will marry you now and kill you later.”

  “Do you think the de Cantière family will let you get away with that?” She was defiant in spite of—or maybe because of—the shiver of fear that went through her. “They already think of me as Ondine’s mother, and I am engaged to the colonel.”

  “Well, maybe I will let you live for a few weeks. I might even consummate the marriage, as long as I can do it in the dark. Then, there will be a sad accident.”

  She shuddered again. At least there is a hope I might escape… But she was already married. That information would save her, if she introduced it at the right moment. She wished she could consult with Jean-Louis on strategy and Fourbier on subterfuge.

  “Let me see Ondine. I will not agree to anything at all until I see that she is all right,” she said.

  Bernard turned his back on her. Did he really think her helpless? Going to a door on the far wall, he opened it and waved her in before slamming it behind her and locking it.

  Someone grabbed her and hugged her hard. She tried to shove whoever it was away until Jean-Louis said, “Mon Dieu! You should not have come. I would have saved Ondine. I almost have the window grate loose.”

  She went up on her tiptoes and whispered, “The others are outside,” before wrapping her arms around him.

  “Where is Ondine?” she asked as she pulled back.

  “Asleep in the corner. They closed her in here alone last night, since they arrived at about four this morning. She was icy cold when I got here with your charming aunt and uncle at about seven.”

  Hélène couldn’t see anything. She had become dependent on her eyeglasses and now felt exposed, though in the dim light the eyeglasses would have made little difference anyway. “Could you take me to her, please?”

  Jean-Louis led her across the cavernous room, ignoring her aunt and uncle’s questions.

  She knelt next to Ondine and touched her head. The girl opened her eyes and said, “Nénène?”

  “Oui, chérie,” said Hélène.

  The girl held one arm up to be picked up. Hélène kissed her all over her face, but took the arm she was cradling and felt it. It was hot and swollen.

  “No, Nénène. Booboo!” said Ondine with a wail.

  Hélène took the arm and pulled it slightly as she twisted it right and then left, and Ondine screeched. Hélène picked her up, and Ondine threw both arms around her neck, howling.

  Jean-Louis was just behind her. “You will have to show me how to do that when this is over.”

  She looked up at him, unable to see his face but smiling at his reassuring presence. He leaned down and steadied her as she stood.

  Reaching into her pocket, she whispered, “Take my knife.”

  “They let you keep a knife?” Jean-Louis whispered back, astonished.

  “He didn’t check my skirt pocket, only my cloak.”

  She pressed the knife into his hand, hoping her aunt and uncle would not see what she was doing.

  “You should keep it to defend yourself.” Jean-Louis tried to give it back.

  “I have a smaller one in the other pocket. I cannot see. I might stab you or your brother or…anyone.”

  “Is it sharp?”

  “It’s pointy. I haven’t sharpened it since I cut through the tents with it.”

  “It was sharp enough then.”

  “What are you saying?” demanded Hélène’s aunt from across the room.

  “Whispered endearments,” said Jean-Louis, his face so close to Hélène she could see his smile.

  She kissed him, gently.

  The lock scraped and the door opened.

  “Tell him goodbye, Hélène, and come,” said Bernard’s voice.

  After squeezing the girl to her tightly, she handed Ondine to her husband and leaned against him one more time.

  “Drag her out,” Bernard said.

  Someone grabbed her arm. The hand was old and wrinkled—her uncle.

  Out in the narrow underground hallway, she felt the breeze from the door swinging shut. Bernard said, “And now we wed.”

  “What?” said Jean-Louis’ voice, and then there was a thump on the storage room door just as the key turned in the lock.

  “Is the priest here?” Hélène asked. “I will need to confess before taking such an important sacrament.”

  Bernard laughed snidely. “What does an ignorant girl like you have to confess to?”

  She looked at him—the vague blob that was him—and raised her eyebrows. “More than you know. And certainly less than you have done.”

  He dragged her by the arm to the base of the stairs. “The priest has strict orders to marry us, no matter what you say. He has been told that you are reluctant, but that you are underage and have to do what your uncle says.”

  She stared straight ahead, concentrating on the stairs and then on weaving through the unfinished furniture, Bernard walking much too quickly and knocking her into things.

  When they reached the front showroom of the manufactory, Bernard released her. “My bride wishes to make her confession, mon père.”

  Hélène was left stranded in the middle of an area cluttered with what appeared to be desks. She took a deep breath. The plan. “Is there a place where we cannot be overheard?”

&
nbsp; Bernard grunted. Her uncle took her arm and shoved her into his office. She sat in an armless chair, taking deep breaths to keep her panic down. A form in black sat across from her, and she smiled slightly. The priest leaned forward, and she squinted until she could see him better. Her faint hope that it would be their own parish priest was dashed, though the man looked friendly enough.

  “Isn’t it irregular to have a wedding in a manufactory?” she asked.

  He sighed. “If the donation is big enough and the family eager, we can bend the rules. Especially with a license from the bishop. And they tell me you have been, ah, compromised by a long voyage with another man.”

  She smiled slightly. “Bernard tried to have me and my niece killed, so I took her to her father.”

  The priest shook his head. “He said you would say something like that. He is eager to marry you, and your uncle is your guardian, is he not?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” Hélène said, honestly. “Does he stop being my guardian at midnight at the beginning of my birthday? Or at the moment of my birth? Or at midnight at the end of the day? My father’s will frees me from them on my twenty-fourth birthday.”

  “Now, Mademoiselle…”

  “Madame. I am already married.”

  The priest took a deep breath. “Now this is getting outrageous.”

  “But you can’t make me marry someone else if I am already married, even if I did so without my uncle’s approval, right?” she said.

  “They said you would lie,” said the priest, though he didn’t sound as sure of himself as he had before.

  “In any case, I can produce the proof. I didn’t bring it with me when I got the note from my husband. He is being held here.”

  “Held? Here?”

  “He and my niece are prisoners in the basement. They had my aunt and uncle down there, too, but I guess Bernard wanted this to look as normal as possible. Why do you think there are rough men with knives and muskets hanging around?”

  “This is beyond ridiculous. You should be locked up, not married,” said the priest, standing up suddenly.

  “You still haven’t heard my confession,” she said, smiling up at him. “And even if you wish to make me a bigamist, I certainly don’t want it. I haven’t been to confession since this all started almost two months ago.”

  “You’re delaying the inevitable,” he grumbled.

  She sighed and he sat down, sighing also.

  She proceeded with her usual confession of her sins but broke off after a few moments. “Is lust a sin? When one lusts for one’s own husband?”

  “You are not married,” said the priest, angrily.

  “I am. He’s the son of le Baron de la Brosse. His sister is la Comtesse de Bures. And he’s a colonel in the army. He was in Franche-Comté when I took Ondine to him. He didn’t believe me either, at first, about Ondine’s life being in danger.”

  “Lying to a priest is most definitely a sin, Mademoiselle,” said the priest, warningly.

  “Madame. I have never lied to a priest,” she answered.

  He was just starting to talk when she heard a crash in the showroom. Finally, they had come to save her.

  She stood up as the priest went to the office door and threw it open.

  Rushing to the door, she saw shadowy people jumping around, running around, and she heard the noises of furniture breaking, and then a musket went off and she screamed.

  A hand grabbed her arm, and a knife flashed past her face and poked her throat.

  “Now,” said Bernard, right by her ear. “You will all witness my marriage to Hélène de Bonnefoi.”

  The priest stuttered something, and Bernard turned toward him, pricking her neck slightly with the knife. “Now, mon père.”

  “We will have to stand at some sort of altar.” The priest’s voice wavered. “I need a place to set my prayer book.”

  Someone brought a writing desk, and someone situated them in front of it, with their side to the rest of the room. Bernard held her arm so tightly she knew she would have bruises. His other hand held the long knife to her ribs.

  Hélène’s uncle appeared at her shoulder. She squinted to make out his sour expression. There was a movement past his shoulder, and she thought it was Henri, judging by his height, hair color, and dark brown coat. She wished for her eyeglasses, then smiled at herself, since wishing to see was not the highest priority at the moment.

  She glanced toward Bernard, not caring so much about his expression but hoping that someone from her new family would grab him away.

  The priest began reading the ceremony, and after a minute or two Bernard said, “Jump to the important parts.”

  The priest paused, then said, stuffily, “It isn’t official unless I do it right.”

  There was a movement past Bernard, but when Hélène leaned forward to try to see who it was, Bernard jabbed the knife against her, poking the point between the stays and into her side.

  The priest read on, droning slowly. He stopped altogether just before the part that Hélène realized was where they would actually be married to one another.

  The priest took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded.

  A voice said, “Release her, Ménine. I have better aim than your thugs, and the barrel is three inches from the back of your head, so I don’t think I could miss if I tried. I only do not want to get blood on a priest or my wife.”

  Jean-Louis.

  Bernard dug the knife into her ribs a little further, and Hélène gasped at the pain.

  “Keep reading, mon père,” said Bernard. “If she has to die, it will be after I marry her. I will inherit her part of the manufactory, and then I will kill your daughter, Monsieur le Colonel, so she cannot inherit from her grandfather. Then I will kill her grandfather, whose will leaves his portion to my father. And my father is ill.”

  Ill from too much wine, or from poison? Hélène wondered.

  The priest stared at Hélène, at least she thought he was staring. He cleared his throat nervously as she felt a trickle of liquid run down her right side. Blood. Her head spun. Her field of vision—already blurred and warped without her eyeglasses, narrowed.

  “Read on!” shouted Bernard.

  Hélène heard the pages rustle, and then the priest leaned across the table. “I will not go forward until you stop poking the poor girl with that knife.” The priest’s voice shook.

  Bernard eased the knife out of her dress just slightly, and the blood flowed more freely down her side. Her head spun. She thought of how Ondine went limp when anyone tried to pick her up against her will. Hélène took a deep breath and collapsed away from Bernard, half willfully, half fainting. She flopped sideways as Bernard’s hand grasped her arm tighter, and then she slid away from him and thumped to the floor.

  Shouts and bangs erupted all around her.

  She didn’t quite faint. In fact, as she lay on the floor and took a deep breath, she felt stronger. Someone grabbed her, and she swung her free arm and smacked him hard in the face.

  “Come here, ma fille. Under the table,” said the priest.

  She crawled with him, her side burning and her skirts tangling around her legs.

  She shivered and peered out, trying to see what was happening.

  “I am so sorry, ma fille,” said the priest. “I should have locked the door of the office.”

  “He told you I was going to lie,” she said, only half paying attention to him.

  A glint of glass on the floor brought her attention down again and she realized her eyeglasses were lying just a foot away. She grabbed them and put them on. The movement made the cut in her side throb, but she reached into her pocket, pulled out her tiny knife, and opened it. It was silly and puny, but she felt better with it in her hand as she scanned the room.

  Henri and some grooms were tying up two assassins.

  Jean-Louis rolled on the floor with Bernard, the latter’s knife clutched between them. Fourbier stood over them, trying to grab Bernard and aiming kicks
at him, but connecting half the time with Jean-Louis.

  Hélène crawled out from under the table, yanking her skirt away from the priest, who tried to hold her back. Her head spun, but she lunged forward anyway.

  “No, Hélène!” cried Henri, but she had already reached Bernard, who was forcing the knife down toward Jean-Louis.

  She tried to shout, “No!” but it came out as a whisper. She stabbed blindly at Bernard’s back with her tiny knife. Once. Twice. Three times. He twisted away, yelping, allowing Jean-Louis to punch him and wrench the knife away. The others moved in, knocking her out of the way as they grabbed Bernard’s arms and subdued him.

  She sat on the floor, staring at her bloodied knife. Her hand shook, and she dropped it.

  Jean-Louis lay on the floor, gasping for breath. She crawled toward him, afraid he was hurt. He scrambled toward her.

  “Hélène,” he gasped as he gathered her close, his harsh breathing and pounding heart reassuring her.

  “Oh, Jean-Louis,” she said, shaking all over.

  He fumbled with the hooks and ties of her dress, crying, “Fourbier! To me!”

  She tried to hold up her bodice, but he soon had it open and the side of her chemise torn to reveal the area where Bernard’s knife had cut her.

  Fourbier touched it gently, dabbing away the blood. She whimpered.

  “Shhh,” said the valet. “It’s just a scratch, mon colonel. I’ll dress it as best I can here, and we can care for it better in your father’s home.”

  “Where’s Ondine? Where is she?” Hélène asked.

  “Monsieur Emmanuel has her in the carriage,” said Fourbier. “Your husband tied ribbons and lace on the window bars to signal us. We pulled the bars off, and he lifted the girl out and climbed out after.”

  “Manu will be sorry he missed a fight,” said Jean-Louis, his voice sounding more normal.

  “He can have my place next time,” said Hélène, acerbically.

  Jean-Louis clutched her closer and laughed. Fourbier managed a grin, and Hélène finally smiled slightly, too.

  “I’ll destroy you, de Cantière!” shouted Bernard Ménine from where he lay face down on the floor, his hands and feet bound. “The company should be mine! Amandine was mine. I was meant to inherit it all.”