The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) (25 page)

“Really, it’s all right. I shall need a clean shirt, though.” Manu held out his uninjured hand and the girl sat next to him, her tiny weight reassuring against his side.

“Your mother is coming. She was waiting for a palanquin to bring her down, as she is overset. Is everyone else here? Ah, not Dom and Aurore. Paul.” The baron signaled to a footman. “Would you tell the Comte and Comtesse de Bures—”

The door flew open, and Aurore rushed in. “Manu!” she cried and lifted her skirts to scurry across the room to him. She lifted Françoise to take her seat and slid the girl onto her lap. “They wouldn’t let me go down to see you in the surgeon’s quarters. Dom said you would be all right. Oh, my poor Manu! How are you?”

She hugged him fiercely from the side and tears sprang to his eyes. Aurore had become his de facto mother when he was thirteen, and her sort of noisy, open affection had been exactly the love he needed as a boy. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, reassuring her as she dabbed at her tears. “I’ll be fine, Aurore. It’s only a scratch.”

Dom’s voice came from behind Manu. “For years, I taught you to block with your sword, not your arm. Years.”

Aurore laughed. “Oh, hush, Dom.”

Manu smiled. “I was lucky we were dueling only with fencing foils and not sabers, or I might have cut my nose off with my own sword.”

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.”

****

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.