She hoped he could maintain the ruse for another few moments, or things might be about to get more interesting than either of them had really prepared for.
Taking charge, she beckoned the girls forward. “Come here, my dears,” she said, drawing them to stand with their backs to the door, ostensibly so that the light from the lamp would better illuminate them.
She positioned herself to the side, near the Madam, and shot Aramis a meaningful look. To her relief, he kept control of his expression and nodded at her almost imperceptibly. She eased another half step closer to the middle-aged woman even as Aramis circled the girls as if examining them from all angles.
When he was behind them, standing between them and the guard at the door, he murmured, “We’ve come to rescue you. If you want to get out of this place, hide in the corner while I overpower the guard and run out of the door as soon as you get a chance. We’ll take you to safety.”
Several things happened at once. The Madam gasped and stepped forward, but Milady caught her by one arm, spinning her around while pulling her dagger from her skirts with her left hand. Twisting the woman’s arm up behind her, Milady brought the wicked little blade up to press against her neck, dimpling the skin.
The man at the door and Aramis unsheathed their weapons at the same time and squared off. The guard’s sword was short and double-edged, while Aramis had his old rapier. This gave the priest a greater reach, but the guard’s short blade was more appropriate for fighting indoors.
One of the girls gasped in surprise or fear and spun around once, taking in the scene. The other continued to stand as if frozen, her gaze distant and unfocused. Making a decision, the first girl grabbed her dazed companion by the arm and practically dragged her to the corner nearest the front door, where they hovered, clinging to each other.
“You lying bitch!” hissed the Madam, her hand gripping, claw-like, at Milady’s left wrist. “I should have let Guillermo skewer you last night when you first tried to leave with the girls.”
“Yes, you should have,” Milady said, twisting her captive’s other arm a bit higher, the dagger never wavering. “But you didn’t.”
Guillermo, meanwhile, was trying to make up for lost time, or so it seemed. The other prostitute who had been sent to retrieve the girls screamed and ran for the stairs as the bull of a man lunged at Aramis. Aramis sidestepped neatly, but was hampered by the profusion of furniture filling the receiving room.
He was rusty, Milady realized with a frown. Of course, he had essentially admitted as much to her earlier, but she should have taken it into account more than she had. Aramis was largely on the defensive, but was still leading the guard purposely away from the doors, and the girls. Twice he was forced to parry vicious blows that came within an inch of piercing his ribcage, twisting clumsily in the cramped quarters.
The priest shot darting glances at his surroundings every few seconds as he retreated around the circumference of the room, and Milady silently urged him to keep his mind on his damned opponent, as Guillermo’s blade sliced a neat tear through Olivier’s much-despised doublet. Ignoring the close call, Aramis spiraled in toward the center of the room, forcing Milady to drag her prisoner a few steps back to stay out of his way.
His destination became obvious a few seconds later when he swept the heavy tin betty lamp that illuminated the room into his free hand, flipping the lid open and throwing the hot oil contained within directly into Guillermo’s face.
The guard raised his hands instinctively and Aramis kicked him viciously in the ribs. When he doubled forward around the blow, Aramis swung the lamp at his left temple, metal impacting flesh with a sharp thud. The huge man collapsed slowly against the back edge of the chaise longue, and from there, onto the floor.
“Come on,” Aramis called, slightly breathless, gesturing to the girls still huddled in their corner. “Everybody out. Quickly, now!”
Still dragging her dazed friend along by the arm, the first girl ran for the door. Milady jerked her wrist free of the Madam's hold and shoved the older woman as hard as she could into the edge of the heavy table that had, until recently, held the lamp Aramis used to brain Guillermo.
Aramis ushered Milady out ahead of him and slammed the door behind them. They skidded to a halt, face to face with a foppish young man who was looking back and forth between them, the girls, and the door, his mouth opening and closing silently.
Client, Milady thought. She turned quickly to the two girls.
“Have either of you ever serviced this man?” she asked.
The quiet, dazed girl did not respond, but the other one shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve seen him before, but he likes the older ones.”
Milady nodded tersely and shoved past the shocked young man. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy.
“We need to run,” she said. “We have horses waiting nearby.”
She grabbed the hand of the less frightened girl, trusting her to keep a hold on her friend. Lifting her skirts out of the way with her other hand, she set as quick a pace as the young girls could manage in their impractical, pointed shoes, with Aramis covering their retreat from the rear. She heard the door behind them crash open and risked a look back; the Madam was braced against the doorframe, steadying a small pistol in front of her.
Chapter IV: November 18th, 1640
MILADY DODGED TO ONE SIDE, dragging the girls with her even as Aramis dodged the other way. A shot rang out, whistling through the space where they’d been. The girl whose hand she was holding shrieked and flinched, but kept running. Behind them, she could hear the Madam shouting curses and calling for help.
Ignoring her, Aramis and Milady shepherded the two children around the corner, to the mouth of an alley that led back to Rue Sainte-Beauve, a few buildings away from where the horses were tethered. At the prospect of entering the darkened, slightly sinister alleyway, the girl Milady was leading balked, trying to jerk her hand free.
Milady let her.
“If we wanted that from you, we could have had it at the brothel,” she told the girl, who stood hovering with her friend at the edge of the light. “We’re after information about the men who’ve hurt you, and we’re willing to take you both to safety as payment for getting it.”
“Safety where?” asked the girl.
“To a family of our acquaintance,” Aramis said. “The man is a Musketeer of the Royal Guard. He has two children, and his wife is one of the kindest people I know.”
“I doubt that either of them have ever set foot inside a brothel in their lives,” Milady added dryly. “Much less made use of one.”
She watched the girl waver, feeling a moment’s pang that one so young should be forced into making such a weighty decision—and not just for herself, it seemed. Milady was coming to believe that the other girl had been damaged mentally by her ordeals. She had not spoken or made a sound in their presence. Were it not for the white-knuckled grip she maintained on her friend’s hand, Milady would have wondered if her wits had fled completely, leaving her merely the empty husk of a child.
“All right,” said the first girl eventually. “Where are your horses?”
“This alley leads to the Rue Sainte-Beauve,” Milady said. “The horses are tied near the Hôtel. Now, come quickly, both of you. There will be people after us by now.”
She led the way into the shadows, not trying to take the girl’s hand again. This seemed to reassure the child further, and she pulled her friend along, following closely behind them. Aramis went first to confirm that the coast was clear when they reached the other end, and motioned them out. Rather than run, the four of them walked purposefully toward the Hôtel like any other family on an evening outing.
The street was not crowded, per se, but there were still plenty of other people around. It was only a couple minutes’ walk to the alley where the horses were stashed. They strolled casually around the corner and were greeted by a low whicker from Aramis’ mare. In the distance, Milady could hear shouting as t
heir pursuers entered the street they’d just left.
“Just in time,” Aramis said, his voice a bit strained.
“Aramis,” Milady said, unable to help herself. “Are you out of breath after that little jaunt? Why, I may never let you live this down.”
She could only make out the flash of his eyes in the darkness, but it wasn’t hard to picture the glare behind them.
“I’m not as young as I used to be,” he said, “and teaching Latin is a relatively sedentary pursuit. Just be glad I still remember which end of a sword is the pointy one.”
She let it drop as he untied the horses and led them forward. The girls were still standing warily behind her and she turned her attention to the outspoken one.
“One of you will have to ride with each of us,” she said. “Would it be better for your friend to ride with Aramis, or with me?”
“With you,” the girl said promptly. “She might panic with him—she goes all strange sometimes with men lately. I ain’t afraid of him, though.”
In the dim light filtering through the buildings, Milady saw her level a challenging glare at Aramis.
“Very well,” Milady agreed. “Aramis, help me up and hand the girl up to me. She can sit in front of me.”
Aramis gave her a leg up into the saddle and lifted the girl up. Milady heard her give a faint gasp of fear when his hands closed around her waist—the first real reaction she’d given. She sat stiff in the tight space behind the pommel as Milady wrapped an arm around her to steady her, but did not fight.
“S’all right, Bebette,” the other girl reassured her, patting her on the leg. “I bet you always wanted to ride a horse. And now you are, just like a proper lady!”
The shouts were getting closer. “Aramis,” Milady warned.
Aramis nodded, and lifted the other girl onto Rosita’s withers, climbing up behind her quickly and leading the way further into the alley, the horses’ hooves echoing strangely on the cobbles. They made their way north and east, trying to keep to the smaller roads and shadowed byways. The sounds of pursuit faded behind them as they put more and more distance between themselves and the brothel, but Milady did not relax until they reached the cheerful red door of the d’Artagnan residence on Rue Férou nearly half an hour later.
Aramis dismounted, handing his reins to Milady before knocking on the door. A moment later, d’Artagnan answered. His eyes flitted over the strange assemblage of persons at his doorstep, finally settling back on Aramis.
“Hello, Aramis. I like the new look. Very secular,” he said. A frown crossed his face. “Hang on, isn’t that Athos’ doublet?”
“Long story,” Aramis said on a sigh. “And one perhaps better related inside.”
D’Artagnan seemed to shake himself. “Yes. Sorry. Of course.” He moved forward to help the girls down. “Come right in, and allow me to take care of your horses. Constance is in the sitting room.”
In fact, Constance met the four of them in the entryway, and immediately started fussing.
“Oh!” she said, taking in the girls’ appearance and their lack of outerwear. “You poor girls must be freezing! Come in and sit down by the fire.”
The girls let Milady chivvy them forward into Constance’s care, visibly overwhelmed by events. Constance quickly installed them in chairs by the crackling hearth fire. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I have some stew left from dinner. What are your names?”
“I’m Clémence,” said the first girl shyly, her bravado visibly draining away now that the night’s adventure was over. “Nobody knows what her name is,” she said, indicating her friend, “so everyone calls her Bebette.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Clémence. Bebette,” Constance said with a kind smile. “Now, would you like some food?”
Clémence nodded hesitantly. Milady shot Aramis a brief look and followed Constance to the kitchen. When they were out of earshot, Constance turned to her, blocking the way.
“Explain this, please,” she said. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Milady recounted the details as efficiently as possible, watching with fascination as Constance’s eyes grew more and more fiery.
“... and so I’m afraid we must prevail on you to watch over them until a place can be found at a nunnery, or elsewhere,” she finished.
“A nunnery?” Constance said, her voice rising slightly. “No. I’ll not hear of it. They’ll stay right here. We’ve plenty of room.”
Milady was taken aback, though perhaps she should not have been. God had not seen fit to bless Constance with children of her own, but she was still the most motherly person Milady knew. Of course she wouldn’t let two ruined girls be shunted away somewhere cold and heartless.
“You are a truly good person, Constance,” Milady told her, meaning every word.
Constance sighed as if she were being ridiculous, waving off the words. The two of them spooned up generous bowls of stew and took them back to the sitting room, where Aramis and the girls had been joined by d’Artagnan and the twins, who must have snuck out of bed upon hearing the commotion. Clémence took her bowl of stew eagerly and sat watching the room with a wary gaze as she ate. Bebette also accepted a bowl, but seemed more fascinated with the other children than anything else. The six-year-olds stared at her with wide, curious eyes, and she stared back silently.
Leaving Constance to keep a weather eye on the four youngsters, Milady crossed to where Aramis and d’Artagnan were speaking quietly together.
“... and you really rescued them from a brothel?” d’Artagnan asked, his features deeply troubled. “They must be, what? Eleven years old? Maybe twelve?”
“Such things are not nearly as uncommon in Paris as we would wish to believe,” Aramis said, his own expression no less troubled.
“Need I remind you that your own Constance was a married woman by the age of fourteen?” Milady asked.
“No,” said d’Artagnan, the furrow in his brow deepening. “You needn’t.”
Milady raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of Constance, you should probably be aware that she’s plotting to add the girls to your brood. Aramis and I had discussed sending them to the Carmelite nuns...”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” d’Artagnan said. “Of course they can stay here... as long as they need to, and assuming they are willing, obviously. Now, though, what is our next step? Aramis was a bit ambiguous about exactly why the two of you were out rescuing little girls from brothels tonight.”
Once again, Milady was taken aback by the selfless hearts of these people surrounding her. Again and again she saw it, yet each new instance seemed to come as a surprise. It kept her off balance, and she floundered for an instant before replying, “I need them to identify someone I can blackmail.”
D’Artagnan quirked one finely arched brow, and looked slowly from her to Aramis, who shrugged.
“It seemed the quickest way to gain access to the people and places we need to see,” he said. “Besides, you can’t honestly tell me you’re offended on behalf of a man who rapes children for pleasure.”
D’Artagnan let a breath out slowly. “No. When you put it that way, I can’t say that I am, particularly. So... what, then? You’ll threaten to expose this person?”
“Unless he vouches for us and helps us gain entry to some of the more exclusive salons, where we may be able to identify the owner of the brass seal, yes,” Milady said, having regained her equilibrium.
D’Artagnan nodded. “I see. Well, remind me to stay on your good sides, both of you. I don’t know if anyone has told you this before, but you two are utterly terrifying when you collaborate.”
Aramis threw her a brief glance, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It has been mentioned on occasion,” he said mildly. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Now, as it appears the girls have made inroads into their meal, perhaps we should speak with them sooner rather than later. I can’t imagine they’ll be able to relax without knowing the details of what we want from them.”
“Indeed not,” Milady agreed. “I should take the lead, I think. Clémence does not seem overly frightened of you, Aramis, but I’m not sure of the other girl’s mental state.”
Aramis nodded. “Agreed.”
The girls were shyly handing their empty bowls back to Constance when Milady returned to them and crouched down in front of their chairs.
“I told you earlier that we needed information from you,” she said without preamble.
“About the men who visit us,” Clémence said, giving her a shrewd look. “Madame always told us that if we ever talked about them, we’d be whipped. She wasn’t messing around when she said it, neither.”
“She cannot reach you now,” Milady said. “You are safe in the home of a member of the Royal Musketeer Guard, where no one would dare try to harm you.”
“And here you’ll stay, for as long as you need shelter,” Constance added, having set the bowls aside and taken up a position behind Milady’s left shoulder. “Do either of you have family to return to?”
“My family died of the plague,” Clémence said. “I’ve got no one. Dunno about her.” She indicated Bebette with a jut of the chin.
D’Artagnan spoke from his position leaning against the wall. “You both have my word as a member of the Royal Guard that we will protect you. I trust everyone in this room with my life, and you can trust them with yours, as well.”
Clémence mulled this over for a long moment before turning her attention back to Milady. “What d’you want to know about them?”
“I need to know the names of as many of them as possible,” Milady said. “Specifically, the ones who came for you and Bebette. I’m not interested in the ones who liked the older girls.”
“They never told us their names,” Clémence replied immediately. “Not their full names, anyway.”
Book 4: The Queen's Musketeers, #4 Page 5