Dueling with the Three Musketeers

by Lisa Samson

  As she was laying down the final hors d’oeuvre, a puff pastry filled with patè, Linus and Clarice entered the kitchen.

  Ophelia started. What was her brother thinking? And tonight of all nights! “Well, hello, Clarice.”

  “Hi, Ophelia. So, you’ll want to know why I’m here.” Direct as ever, she continued. “It’s because I have a question, and your brother might explode if he has to answer it.”

  Her tone hardly sounded critical. Obviously, she thought Linus’s inability to communicate was the sweetest, cutest thing ever.

  Clarice backed up to the counter, pressed the palms of her hands behind her and sprung up to sit with her legs dangling. “Oh, wow! Can I have some of those leftovers?”

  “Let me,” said Linus, springing to action. Boy would Aunt Portia and Uncle Auggie wonder where all the food went, because once Clarice got going, it was a feeding frenzy. Linus liked that about her.

  A word to you young ladies, the males of the species like females who eat. It lets us know you’re healthy. So go ahead and fill your plate with good things. We’d hate for you to starve yourself on our accounts. But do make sure you don’t leave your dishes hanging about for days. Some of us can’t abide the thought of that much bacteria building up. Not many of us, but some. Thank you very much for your cooperation.

  “What were all those lights about earlier? I saw them from the attic window.”

  Ophelia shot her brother a glare.

  He shrugged, a helpless expression plastered on his face.

  “Hold on, Clarice.” She grabbed her brother by the crook of his arm and dragged him to the dining room. “What should we do? Do you think she’s safe enough to let in on the secret?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then she’s not.”

  Ophelia entered the kitchen. “Okay, here’s the deal. Linus here has been doing experiments with the lab equipment that was left up there by the former resident.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Because he used to be made fun of for being so …”

  “Scientific?” Clarice supplied.

  “Exactly!”

  “But I love that you’re scientific, Linus!”

  Reddening, Linus handed her the plate of food, a heaping plate of food.

  Clarice picked up a tiny tart filled with caramelized onions and asparagus. She bit down. “Mmm! Okay, so I know you heard the last part of the conversation between Madrigal and her brother.” So Clarice was spying too.

  “Yeah.”

  “What conversation?” asked Ophelia. She knew she had to get the food up to Milady, but she couldn’t just leave. There was news. And Clarice knew her well enough to know that Ophelia was as curious —nosy —as Walter. It would raise a question or two in Clarice’s mind if she bolted just then.

  Clarice continued. “Apparently, Madrigal’s estranged brother returned from overseas where he’s been living for the past twenty years.”

  “How come?” asked Ophelia.

  “She hasn’t heard from him for ten years, and here he shows up so soon after the fire.” She popped another tart into her mouth, chewing it completely—making Ophelia want to scream in impatience—before swallowing and continuing on with the story.

  “Anyway, from what I could hear from the drawing room, he wants his share of the family home. Apparently, he met someone where he lives in Japan, and he wants to have the money for their marriage.”

  Ophelia said, “But then Ms. Pierce will be forced to sell the school. She loves that place.”

  “Yep. It’s her whole life.” Clarice hopped down. “So as I see it, we have to think of a way to scare Johann straight back to Japan.”

  “We?” asked Ophelia.

  Clarice tucked her arm into Linus’s. “We?” she asked him.

  “We,” agreed Ophelia. “We’ll set up a plan tomorrow.”

  When Ophelia entered the attic, Milady had fallen asleep, a copy of The Three Musketeers in her hand.

  ten

  The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men Are Most Likely Infinitely Better than the Best Laid Plans of Ophelia Julia Easterday

  The next morning, Walter and Ophelia, Linus keeping guard on Milady, headed across the street to All Souls Episcopal Church to have a conference with Father Lou and to check on d’Artagnan. The ponytailed, motorcycle-riding priest had been in on the enchanted circle since Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame, their first transport arrived.

  They filed into the rectory (the house provided by the church for its clergy) and sat down at the small kitchen table covered with a white cloth. Father Lou knows how to bleach a tablecloth, a quality much to be admired. The morning sun illuminated the linen like a spotlight, and already the room was warming up well above comfort level. Due to the heat, his usual pot of tea was lemonade.

  “Sorry about the heat this morning,” Father Lou said. “I’m trying to save the church money by keeping the AC off as much as possible.”

  The trio had been going to All Souls since June, and to put it nicely, they were by far the youngest people in the congregation. However, the elderly members doted on them, a nice thing to happen to anyone. They never sat through a service without candy being passed to them from all directions. It was like Valentine’s Day every Sunday.

  “Where’s d’Artagnan?” Ophelia added extra sugar to the sour lemonade.

  “He’s still asleep,” Father Lou said. “Probably for the best.”

  “No kidding,” said Walter.

  “How’s the other traveler?” Father Lou set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table and sat down.

  Ophelia spooned even more sugar into her lemonade, explaining all the while about Madrigal’s dilemma.

  “Oh, wow,” said Father Lou, lifting his glass and taking a sip. “I can’t imagine the neighborhood without the school around.”

  “Me either,” said Ophelia.

  “And if it closes, I’ll be sent back home.” Walter picked up his glass and traced rings with his forefinger in the condensation.

  Ophelia looked at Walter in horror. “I didn’t think about that! Oh, Walter!”

  Walter took a sip and sighed. “No use worrying about it—yet.”

  “So,” said Ophelia, “I’m wondering if we could use Lady de Winter and d’Artagnan in some way.”

  Father Lou scratched his tattooed arm. (He’d come to the ministry later in life.) “Let me think about it, Ophelia. I’m sure we can come up with something to scare Johann away.”

  “All right,” Ophelia said.

  Deciding that Linus shouldn’t be responsible for the countess much longer, they all left, and as they walked, Ophelia whispered to the priest, “She has that way about her.”

  “I realize how dangerous she is.” He patted her shoulder. Father Lou knew all about people who liked doing the wrong thing, being a former bounty hunter (That is, someone who goes after people who are wanted by the law and brings them in to the authorities. For a price, or, as the title says, a bounty.).

  “Because I don’t think the boys realize.”

  He laughed. “That stands to reason. It will be all right.”

  Ophelia nodded. But somehow, she doubted Father Lou’s optimism. It was never that easy when the enchanted circle was involved.

  “By the way, Father. How long has it been since you’ve had a date?”

  “You don’t even want to know.”

  She stepped out the door, shutting it just as Father Lou asked, “Why?”

  Ophelia heard Milady’s giggles as she trod up the staircase to the attic. Already busy charming the boys, she thought.

  On her way home from the rectory, she stopped at Ronda’s and borrowed some adult women’s clothing. She also talked about her visit to Father Lou. How kind Father Lou was. How good with children. And “He’s kinda cute,” she said. “For an old guy.” Best to start laying the groundwork. Truth was, Ronda and Father Lou would make a good couple, Ophelia figured. I suppose people who work in the English d
epartment at Kingscross University aren’t good enough for beautiful cosmetologists, eh, Miss Easterday?

  “Hello, everybody!” Ophelia said as cheerfully as she could.

  Milady, seated on the sofa, knit her brows. “What is this change of garb, Lady Ophelia?” She pointed to Ophelia’s skirt, her favorite, a flowing longer skirt of pink cotton. “Each of you seemed so familiar yesterday, and now look at you all! Peasants!” She glanced at the boys. “But delightful peasants I must add.”

  They laughed. Ha, ha, haaaah! Ophelia wanted to knock their heads together, but instead just muttered “Oh, brother,” underneath her breath, and who can blame her, really?

  “I have something to tell you. Something you may not believe,” Ophelia said.

  Walter’s gaze snapped to Ophelia. “Now? Really?”

  Ophelia knew they couldn’t keep Milady hostage forever. A woman like Milady was always in control. She hoped to flummox (confuse) her, to put her at odds with her surroundings, and so gain the ability to manipulate her more effectively.

  Yes, my dears, Ophelia can be that calculating. She is not a dullard. Never has been, and never will be. You know how I know this? Because she’s not in front of a glowing screen for numerous hours each day. I’m sure you’re not either.

  She sat down on the attic floor and reached for The Three Musketeers from where it sat on the experiment table. Both Walter and Linus looked worried.

  A strange scent, not unpleasant, hit her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  Walter dropped to the floor and did push-ups immediately.

  “Oh.” Ophelia laughed. He was wearing cologne. This could get drastic.

  This seems to be going well. Ophelia came toward the end of the story. “And so, you see, we realized we can bring characters from books to life. The mad scientist, Cato Grubbs, whose lab this used to be, left detailed notes behind, thank goodness.”

  “Well, I suppose I should be honored you chose me,” said Milady.

  “Oh, we didn’t! We thought we were just bringing d’Artagnan over!”

  “You chose d’Artagnan? That brash young man? Ha!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The musketeer has no idea what he wants, which makes him all the easier to use. Be wary. He will fall in love with you, and then when you aren’t as exciting, he will move onto someone else.” If she could have spat, she most likely would have.

  Suddenly, Ophelia saw a real woman behind the scheming eyes of the Countess de Winter. “So, you figured you might as well use him right back?”

  “A woman does what she has to do to survive, Lady Ophelia.”

  “Just call me Ophelia, and they’re just Walter and Linus.” She thumbed in the boys’ direction.

  Well, if she wanted to disconcert (freak out) Lady de Winter, she wasn’t doing such a hot job, was she?

  “So when do I go back, Ophelia, or do I? And you said I’m over three hundred years into the future. And am I actually real?”

  “Do you feel real?” asked Walter.

  She rubbed her right arm with her left hand. “Of course.”

  Ophelia breathed in through her nose. “Yes. You’re real.

  Well, here’s the way it works.”

  “I’m hungry,” said Linus.

  “Why don’t you get us all some lunch?” asked Ophelia. “Hot dogs?”

  Milady didn’t even blink. “I suppose I should not even ask what those are.”

  “Sausages,” said Walter.

  “Well, why don’t you simply call them sausages?”

  “Why do you call a cookie a Madeleine?” asked Ophelia.

  “What’s a cookie?”

  “Never mind. Listen, there’s more. If you don’t get back in the circle at 11:11 the morning after next, you’ll die.”

  Milady laughed.

  Well, that’s a new reaction, thought Ophelia. The woman was unflappable.

  “She’s serious, Milady,” said Walter. “It’s true.”

  She turned to Walter and batted her eyelashes. “Are you sure?”

  Ugh! Ophelia wanted to scream. The countess was clearly one of those women who only listened to men. Then again, from where she came, men were the only ones whose opinions counted.

  Maybe it was his accent.

  “Yes, ma’am. And according to the notes, it’s much like being thrown into a vat of hydrochloric acid. Very, very painful to melt away like that.”

  Milady didn’t ask what hydrochloric acid was. She got Walter’s drift and that was most likely enough.

  “So far we’ve been able to send everyone back on time.” Walter sat next to her on the sofa. “Let me give you a piece of advice. You’d be wise to listen to Ophelia. She’s the smart one among us and honestly, we can make the next few days a lot of fun for you, show you around Kingscross, or you can try to go it on your own and make life a lot more difficult and risk not getting back into the circle on time.”

  Ophelia pulled Ronda’s clothes out of her knapsack. “I’ve got some clothing in our style. We have a lot to show you. Your mind will be blown!”

  “Pardon?”

  “You won’t believe what it’s like now,” said Walter.

  Several minutes later, Linus entered, his hands full of hot dogs. “Let’s eat.”

  Now you might be thinking the Countess de Winter accepted the bizarre with an unrealistic ease. But if you’ve read The Three Musketeers, you might also be thinking she didn’t believe a word they were saying. And who, really, could blame her?

  eleven

  If a Villain Can’t Be Well-Developed, She Might As Well Be Well-Dressed

  Milady had to admit that a hot dog wasn’t a bad thing despite its name. But it took some real persuasion on Ophelia’s part to get her to put on Ronda’s clothing.

  “I’ll tell you one thing” — she held up a pink T-shirt— “you’ll be a lot cooler in this.”

  “It’s no better than a chemise!” Apparently, even a woman as dubious as Milady could be shocked.

  Basically, a chemise is a woman’s undershirt from olden times.

  “It’s perfectly proper these days, I assure you, Milady.”

  Milady sat on Ophelia’s bed. Walter and Linus had gone to meet Clarice over at The Pierce School to see what was happening with Madrigal and Johann. Ophelia wasn’t sure if she should let the countess in on what was happening, or just let her do what came naturally—allure men into thinking she was the most beautiful thing this planet had ever produced, and that included roses, snow-capped mountains majesty, and the perfect slice of New York pizza.

  She decided to let events play out naturally at first and step in later if necessary. Good advice to all of us. Most of the time, if we wait, the situation clears itself up and we did not make fools of ourselves.

  “This is indecent!” the countess cried when Ophelia held up a gypsy skirt covered with a light rainbow of paisley print. “Perhaps I should just stay where I am.”

  Never before had Ophelia had to convince a character like this to get out of the attic. Maybe she should just let her stay here. “You know, Milady, if you don’t put these clothes on, you’ll have to stay up here in the heat. There’s a lovely park across the street, with a river, and benches. It’s called Paris Park.”

  The blue eyes lit up. “Yes? Paris is wonderful.”

  “Yes. Now let me help you into these things and we’ll go over and sit in the breeze. If you can’t stand it, we’ll come right back. I promise.”

  The countess looked doubtful.

  For some reason, Ophelia felt sorry for her suddenly. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”

  “Will the young men be coming?”

  Ugh! Not again! “They’ll be joining us later.”

  She nodded once. “Well, then. Help me into this garb.” She lifted the pink shirt. “What do you call this again?”

  “A T-shirt.”

  “Oh! So we’re having tea at the park?”

  “No.”

  “Then why—” />
  “I don’t know.”

  It appeared there was much Ophelia didn’t know about her own world. She hadn’t realized it until now. She supposed she should be grateful to the wicked Milady for bringing questions to the surface.

  No. Let’s not get silly, Ophelia.

  “Would you like a bath first?” Ophelia asked. She remembered the time period from which Milady came, a time when people took baths once a year and used a lot of perfume in the between time.

  I shudder to think of it. Imagine the sweat collecting and drying, collecting and drying. And the clothing must have become stiff with—moving right along!

  “I might as well. These clothes leave everything out in the open. I should probably smell nice.”

  “Right.”

  It appeared one could teach an old dog new tricks. Either that or Milady was extremely adaptable.

  When reading novels, particularly those written long ago, we normally see only part of the character. After all, what novelist has time to really and truly think up an entire life, much less write it all down? All those days, all those months, all those years! Walking to the store. Going to movie after movie. And school—endless days of school. Doing the dishes. Tying shoes. Brushing teeth. Answering cell phones. Mopping. Sweeping. Scrubbing. My goodness.

  Nowadays, villains are portrayed with more nuances (angles or sides) so that at the very least, the reader can somewhat understand how they got to be so evil, the reader can somehow remember that the antagonist was once born a sweet little baby, as sweet as you once were to your own mother and father.

  However, on each page that Milady appears in The Three Musketeers, she is, simply put, a bad person. Never once does Dumas give us a glimpse of what series of events brought her to the point where she didn’t care who lived, who died, as long as she survived and did so with all she desired intact.

  The brand on her arm was for stealing the Communion chalice and patens from the local parish. Who steals from a church? But more importantly, why? Dumas never says. One must take it that he was trying to establish she was “born bad.” But Ophelia realized that even Milady was once a toddler with innocent blue eyes, running around the yard and trying to ride the dog or flushing the toilet over and over again, which is what Milady did when Ophelia showed her how the toilet worked. Oh, the luxuries we all take for granted!