‘Messieurs, I am here to propose a solution.’
The men are standing bearing polite expressions, their eyes shifting to Lucien and Athos as the ones to acknowledge the Duchess and speak first. Both men hesitate, exchanging a considering glance, uncertain as to her inclusion in this meeting. In that interim, the Duchess d’ Aiguillon stands, serene, patient, her eyes traveling over the men in the room, pausing at Layla and coming to rest on her two sons. She is an imposing figure, tall and regal, the significance of her dress is not misunderstood. She intends to be taken seriously, her opinions heard and considered.
‘Your Grace,’ Martin is closest to her and speaks quietly, ‘may I show you to a chair.’ He shoots a look at the men, who quickly resort their seating arrangements so a comfortable chair by the fireplace is vacated for her. She sits, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. Athos glances irritably at Lucien who is shuffling through a stack of maps on the table. Athos clears his throat and speaks first.
‘Madame, please continue.’
‘I propose that we move everyone to my ancestral home, Glénay,’ Marie addresses herself to the entire room. ‘There are several advantages that make Glénay …’ and stops as Lucien is holding up a map.
‘I’ve got it!’ Lucien announces. ‘Lucien…’ Athos frowns at his interruption. Lucien looks quickly at his mother, ‘apologies Madame,’ and then to Athos, demanding, ‘do you know where it is?’
‘Show me,’ Athos replies and moves closer. Together, they smooth the map and lean over it. Lucien taps the map. ‘Here.’
‘Yes,’ Athos leans closer, ‘yes,’ he repeats with a note of interest. Lucien nods, ‘ten days travel,’ Lucien murmurs and Athos nods, ‘ten days and we must cross the Loire,’ his finger hovers above the map. ‘Here?’
‘Hmm,’ Lucien studies the course of the river, ‘or here. The bridges?’ He looks up at Athos questioningly. ‘These are good,’ Athos taps the map in several places.
‘That could work. Or more easterly. I see two possible routes, but this one perhaps too close to Blois?’ Lucien asks as Athos nods, ‘we do not know if Marchal has pulled him men from that area. We cannot risk it with the children. What about through Le Mans?’ he suggests.
Lucien nods, ‘good! We need options if circumstances on the ground change.’
The others are listening intently, craning their necks at the map to follow the debate between Athos and Lucien on routes, river crossings, and where they might find shelter or even friends. Marie quietly waits for the questions that will require her answers. She looks at Layla who is watching her father and her uncle with a curious expression, surprise mixed with satisfaction. Marie follows her gaze to her sons, understanding Layla’s expression. Layla feels her grandmother’s eyes and turns to Marie, her hazel eyes – Lucien’s eyes – hold a knowing smile. She is the link, Marie thinks. She is so like her father and a musketeer – like her uncle. She connects them.
‘Monasteries,’ Lucien announces approvingly and taps the map in several locations identifying the locations of monasteries. ‘That can help us.’ He looks at Marie, ‘you know the families at d’Oiron and Ranton?’
‘I do, and more,’ Marie confirms, ‘I also count among my friends the Abbots and Abbesses in the monasteries. Accommodations would be available to us. I have given some thought to a travel plan for my granddaughter. Suzanne would be made comfortable along with her attendants. Athos and Lucien exchange a glance with Afonso. Suzanne’s attendants are the two midwives that must travel with her. Afonso looks at the duchess, ‘I would be much relieved Your Grace.’ Marie smiles warmly, ‘as would we all dear Afonso.’
‘Two or three days to La Rochelle,’ Lucien murmurs still studying the map. ‘Less if we use these coves north. I know this coastline. ‘We can anchor a ship, beach longboats.’ He looks around at the others, ‘should it become necessary.’
‘Whose lands are these?’ Gasparo asks. Athos and Lucien look at Layla. ‘Your husband’s lands,’ Athos says frowning. He raises his brow at Marie. ‘You do not think the King would send his guards into these lands.’
‘Louis is not yet that King,’ Marie replies. ‘The danger lies in the travel, when Marchal’s guards could intercept us. But as you have already pointed out, there is more than one viable route and few monasteries where orphan children and priests accompanying them can find refuge and not attract any attention.’
‘Ah!’ d’ Artagnan gasps, realizing the opportunity, ‘we have a good way to disguise the children and move them as a group with their ‘guardians’. Constance and Elodie used the same ploy when escaping Paris. This can work,’ he assures the others.
‘As I understand it,’ Porthos breaks in, ‘we do not have time to make a reconnaissance of Glénay’s defenses and report back. We need an advance party, but we must assemble the children, our wives and guards and get them underway as soon as possible.’
‘I agree,’ d’ Artagnan and Aramis nods. ‘I suggest the advance party include M Gasparo and a contingent of his men. The rest must accompany the carriage and the children. Lucien, you should go also, you know Francois and have been to Glénay. Many preparations will be needed.’
‘We need a messenger sent to Glénay immediately,’ Lucien says. Marie waves a dismissive hand, ‘I sent one to my brother Francois, by pigeon yesterday. I also sent to Paris for Father Massey, he knows the monasteries in the local area well and can lead the ‘nuns’ and ‘orphans’. He is quite capable.’ She slides a look at Lucien and Afonso, ‘a comfortable carriage should be arranged immediately for my granddaughter. She and I, with the midwives, can begin the journey as soon as possible.’
‘Ten steps ahead as usual Madam,’ Lucien murmurs to his mother. She smiles and rises from the chair. ‘Messieurs, I am glad to be of service. I must go now and help the others prepare.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Sophia wraps the remaining jars of preserves in cloth and carefully tucks them next to the box with kitchen implement and small tools. Shoes, wool jackets and other clothing are folded and packed in a different box. ‘Alban, this one is ready to be loaded.’ She straightens up, stretching out her back and watches the boy lift the box and carry it outside to the waiting wagon. He soon in a few minutes, ‘M Guiot is fixing the cover and ropes. Ready when you are Madame.’
‘Good,’ Sophia surveys the room, the few remaining crates and sacks. ‘Agnes, I could not have done this without you. Usually my daughters help me, but that has been complicated this year.’
‘I am glad for the work. You were right, staying busy has helped me.’ Agnes watches Sophia settling her winter cloak around her shoulders. ‘Do you wish for me to go with you? Is it wise to be without a guard?’
Sophia shrugs, ‘we are not going far, and will be well within our own lands. All the men are busy with our leaving. I dare not ask for one to accompany me on what might seem a frivolous trip.’ She makes a mischievous face at Agnes. ‘What do you say Agnes? Instead of one woman and a boy, we shall go in force – two women and a boy.’
‘I would like to come,’ Agnes says smiling.
‘Good, go and get your warmest cloak and climb up onto the bench. I will get an extra blanket.’
‘Alban,’ Sophia calls to the boy, ‘go and see if Cook has a packet of food for us.’ Alban perks up looking hopeful, ‘I hope she will add cookies.’ He dashes off to the kitchen.
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Although I am a country lass,
I think myself as good as those
That gay apparel wear-a;
A lofty mind I bear-a,
My coat is made of homely grey,
What though I keep my father’s sheep
A thing that must be done-a
A garland of the fairest flowers
Shall shield me from the sun-a
And when I see they feeding be
Where grass and flowers spring-a
Close by a crystal fountain stream
I sit me down and sing-a.
They sing as Sophia steers the horses and wagon around the worst of the frozen ruts and potholes. The trees extend their skeletal bare branches, allowing the bright sun to filter down and warm their backs. Alban hands out chunks of bread, cheese and apple slices. They pass a flask of fresh spring water and agree to share the cookies on their return to the estate.
‘This has been a glorious day!’ Agnes Bernard adjusts the thick lap blanket over her and Sophia. She looks up at the sky, ‘it could be a little warmer.’ Her smile fades a little. ‘I wonder at the last time my Henri saw the sun.’
‘Hmm,’ Sophia murmurs sympathetically and glances at Agnes. ‘I remember how hard it was to think of my husband in a prison cell.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We petitioned, sent letters. Marie spoke to friends in the court and went every day to the Chatelet, sometimes twice a day bringing clothes and food. We never knew if anything was given to Lucien. Yusuf had the best idea. He found the bakery that made the prison’s bread and paid their boy to sneak a small packet of cooked meat to Lucien.’
‘Did that work?’ Agnes asks, admiring the daring of it. Sophia nods, ‘yes. It was also the only way we could get any information about his condition.’ She squeezes Agnes’ hand, ‘I know the others are trying everything they can for Henri. He has friends Agnes – be assured of that.’
‘Yes,’ Agnes replies in small voice, ‘I know he does.’
‘Here we are,’ Sophia says and turns off the road onto a smaller track. ‘Our last farm for the day.’
They ride past fallow fields glistening with melting ice and pass through an open gate into a large dirt yard. A young boy pauses his work in the kitchen garden, leaning on the hoe. Several small children tumble from the house followed by a smiling woman wiping her hands on a cloth.
‘Your Grace,’ the woman calls out, ‘welcome! Elouan!’ she calls to the boy. Fetch your father.’ The boy throws down the hoe and races towards the stable. Within minutes, M Tanguy is striding towards them, calling, ‘is M Lucien not with you Your Grace?’
‘Not today, M Tanguy,’ Sophia sets the reins. She does not hesitate to grasp M Tanguy’s proffered hand, rough and permanently stained from hard work, to climb down from the bench.
‘We are a little early this year.’ She laughs lightly at the children who are dancing with excitement at the arrival of the Noel boxes. She signals Alban to unload the wagon, handing a crate or sack to each child to carry into the house. ‘Allow me to help,’ M Tanguy hefts a crate to his shoulders and supervises his children.
‘May I introduce my friend Madame Bernard. She is staying with us for a while.’ Sophia gives a small bag of candies to Madame Tanguy. ‘You may want to keep these treats.’
The farmer’s wife laughs, ‘or they would be gone in a minute.’ Sophia also hands her a second packet. ‘I made potions for winter coughs, fever and injury along with a few other ailments. How is your mother? I included a rub that will help the soreness in her hands.’
‘She cannot manage on her own. We persuaded her to come and stay with us. My husband would like to talk to M Levesque about his brother Bren taking over my parents’ farm. He has been working in Brussels, but a farm of his own would allow him to marry.’
‘I will advise M Levesque of his interest,’ Sophia replies. ‘How nice for you if your family could be closer.’
‘You are generous Madame,’ M Tanguy joins them and for a few moments chatting about the farm, the weather, a few tidbits of local gossip. ‘Thank you again Madame,’ M Tanguy says as he helps her and Agnes back onto the wagon bench, ‘we are grateful and for the extra coin too. Our chickens cannot lay eggs fast enough for your Cook.’
‘We have had our share of visitors and family,’ Sophia says lightly, lifting the reins. ‘I regret we will miss the services at the Abbey this year, but I do wish you a wonderful Noel.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Martin and Gasparo follow Marie from the room. They will meet with their men and determine the groups for the advance party and those to accompany the carriages and the disguises needed to ride with the children and women. As the room empties, Lucien sits down, his brow deeply furrowed. Athos watches his brother steeple his fingers under his chin and gnaw on his fingers. He wishes there were a different way.
‘Rayya, Rosie and Samy will be with me,’ Athos puts a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. ‘But I think you must go. For Marie’s brother, the men and the families arriving are total strangers. That includes me. You and Gasparo must set our defenses as you see best. The men arriving on your ship will need your direction.’
‘Lucien, I must agree with Athos,’ Aramis says with reluctance. ‘I understand your wish to accompany your own family. Now what is your plan for the Duchess and your daughter?’
‘The carriages with …our mother, my daughter, baby Nella, her nurse and the midwives will leave immediately. Yusuf, Martin and Afonso will accompany them with an armed guard. They can move slowly, stopping every night at a monastery or with Marie’s friends.‘
‘Good,’ Aramis says, ‘once you are satisfied that the arrangements at Glénay are underway, if they have not arrived, you can start back to meet them or the children’s wagons.’
‘We will use the same disguises from the escape from Paris,’ d’ Artagnan says, ‘Constance and Elodie dressed as nuns. Brother Ignazio and Father Massey will lead us. Athos, Martin, Porthos and I will be fully armed and drive the wagons. I trust your men will be close by in the forests if we need more.’
‘Hmm,’ Lucien grunts. Athos is right but he hates being from his family. ‘Could I stay?’ Layla asks, already knowing the answer. Both her father and Raoul shake their heads. ‘It could draw Marchal’s attention. We do not want him wondering where you are.’
‘What does Sophia say?’ Athos asks, ‘will she go with Marie and Suzanne?’ Lucien pauses, for in this moment he realizes that Athos no longer refers to their mother by her titles, using her Christian name. He does the same for his new female relations as is his privilege within the family. Without thinking, Lucien smiles, and Athos looks quizzical. Lucien shakes his head as though dismissing the reason for his smile. He will not draw attention to it. He glances at Layla who regards him steadily. She noticed it too. But Layla’s real concern is that she cannot help them with this relocation. She must return to Paris with Raoul. Her absence is too risky for all of them.
‘I will talk with Sophia,’ Lucien stands up, signaling Martin, ‘go into the village and leave a message for Duval. I need to see him as soon as possible.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
The conservatory is empty. He walks past the remaining piles of goods scattered on tables and the floor. Early each year, Sophia starts collecting clothing, household items, and small tools valued by the farmers and their wives. She adds candy and other sweets, books, and ribbons for the girls, meat, salt and sugar. In previous years, he and the children worked with her to assemble the Noels box and make the deliveries as a family. But not this year. Sophia did the work herself, helped by Agnes Bernard and a few servants that could be spared.
Lucien walks outside to look for the wagon. He frowns as he sees Christian walking with Martin and hurries toward them. ‘M Gasparo has selected the men he will take with him to Glénay,’ Martin greets him.
‘Good,’ Lucien’s tone is abrupt. ‘Where is …’ He stops as a wagon appears, Sophia driving the team into the yard and stopping. She and Agnes Bernard climb down from the bench and Alban jumps out of the wagon bed and starts to unhitch the horses.
Christian frowns, ‘Her Grace told me she was going to the dower house to help move some things. Did she go somewhere else?’
‘Apparently so,’ Lucien scowls and stalks toward the house, fuming as his wife has clearly disobeyed his admonition to not travel from the house without a guard.
Inside the kitchen Sophia is conferring with Cook. She looks up as Lucien enters, frowning at the thunder in his expression. He jerks his head in the direction of the storeroom and walks away. She smiles at Cook and follows him. He slams the door shut after her and stalks to the worktable where several small boxes are stacked.
‘What is all this?’ he demands flipping a lid off a small box. He lifts out a wrapped package, unfolding the cloth to reveal an ancient leather-bound Bible.
‘I am hiding the family Bibles and my mother’s jewelry in the family mausoleum, specifically in my brother’s sarcophagus. There is a bench as part of the…’
‘I know what your brother’s sarcophagus looks like Sophia. Is this really necessary? Marchal wants to arrest people, not plunder a house.’
‘Now you know Marchal so well?’ she snaps angrily at his dismissive tone of her family heirlooms. She yanks the Bible out of his hands, carefully rewrapping it and placing it back into the box. ‘I do not need your permission to safeguard my family’s treasures.’
He regards her steadily for a moment clenching his jaw to temper his frustration. ‘Why did you drive out without Christian?’
‘He was with Martin and Athos’ men, looking very busy. I was on my own lands Lucien,’ she appeals to common sense. ‘Marchal is not lurking along the track, waiting to accost me on my way to the farms. I must get the Noel boxes to the families. They are my responsibility.’
‘Do not lecture me on responsibility!’ he fumes at her, ‘you are my responsibility, and since when do you know Marchal so well Madame?’ He cannot stop the sneer in his accusation that brings the past hurtling toward them – of a discovery he made one night in a moonlit garden. But he should know better, because she does not retreat, she is not chastened. Sophia draws her herself upright, her eyes are blue ice. He jabs a finger at her.
‘I do not make assumptions about Marchal Sophia. Do not finish the deliveries without a guard, I insist you promise me that.’
‘You insist…’ Before she can say more, he startles her by raising a placating hand and putting his hands gently on her arms, ‘I regret my words. But this is not the time for discord between us. You must be sensible. We are firming up the plans for departure. Carriages are being prepared to take Suzanne, the midwives and Marie. I want you to go with Suzanne. Marie is planning a route to allow them to stop each night at the home of a friend or a monastery. But you will be with her so …’
‘I am not going.’ Sophia shrugs off his hands and folds her arms together.
‘What? I thought you would want to be with our daughter at this time. She may well deliver this child before…’
‘Madame Bourgois is experienced, and she has her apprentice. Marie will ride with Suzanne and Afonso will be with the guards. Rayya can go with them if that seems necessary.’
Lucien rakes a hand through his hair, trying to temper his anger. ‘How long do you wish to delay your departure?’
‘I am not going.’
‘This is ridiculous! You cannot stay at Royaumont!’ he storms at her, ‘Marchal is coming.’
‘I am responsible for the people here. I will not abandon them to Marchal and his men.’
‘In what part of your irrational thinking do you believe I will allow you stay?’ Lucien face is dark with fury. She steps closer to him, her voice hoarse. ‘I decide for myself. Royaumont is my family home, her people from families working here for generations. I will not run away and leave them to their fate.’
‘This is ridiculous …’
‘Yes! You have said that already!’ she cries, ‘I am ridiculous! But I am still not leaving!’
Lucien squeezes his fists and steps back. He is too angry, and he knows it. He paces back and forth, kicking at the barrels and sacks on the floor. He stops, hands to his hips and looks at her. She stares back at him unflinchingly. He braces his hands on the table and tries to modulate his voice. He fails.
‘Are you planning to confront Marchal and protect them by yourself? I do not have time to deal with your temper tantrums. We have difficult…’
She slams her fist on the table between them, ‘get out! I will not tolerate your browbeating.’ She thrusts her arm at the door, ‘go! Now Lucien!’
‘Damnation! What is wrong with you?’ he shouts, yanking open the door and storming out of the room. In the kitchen, Cook and the maids keep their eyes on their work. He stomps through the kitchen and almost careens into Layla in the hallway.
‘Father!’ Layla cries in alarm. ‘What has happened?’
‘Your mother is what has happened,’ he rages at her, ‘I cannot reason with her! She has lost her mind!’ Layla watches him stride away, completely astonished and winces as the door to his library is slammed shut. She turns around and slowly walks into the kitchen. Cook points silently toward the storeroom.
Layla carefully opens the door and slips inside. Her mother is leaning against the table, looking at the floor. It is the same table in the same room that Raoul had carried her into and laid her, bleeding and almost dead. The same room where her mother had convinced her father that she was their lost daughter. It is now her mother’s storeroom for her dried herbs, fruits and vegetables. There are shelves of small clean vials and bottles, mixing bowls, fresh linens and utensils for grinding and mixing. Light comes from a window her father had enlarged. The same window he sat under singing softly to her as she fought for her life.
Her mother raises her head. ‘I thought you and Raoul we be gone by now.’
‘Not yet,’ Layla says. Her mother wipes her eyes and smooths back her hair, her hands trembling. The argument with her father must have been fierce.
‘What happened here Mother, I passed Father and he…’
‘Is furious with me,’ her mother finishes her sentence. ‘I refuse to leave Royaumont. The people here are not safe.’
‘You mean to stay here, with everyone gone.’ Layla’s voice rises in disbelief.
‘Not everyone!’ Sophia’s temper flares again. She blows out a frustrated breath and squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I am sorry. Not everyone,’ she repeats in a calmer tone, ‘the servants, the stables, the grounds, the daily help, the dogs, the livestock – everyone is still here. What if Marchal burns the barn? Takes the horses and heaven forbid, Atlas.’
Layla watches her mother pace anxiously, ‘I cannot simply leave.’ She stops and appeals to Layla, ‘‘Marchal is not looking for me. I could delay him here, give more time to the others. I must at least send the maids away. Marchal’s men could be rough…’ her voice trails away.
‘They could get rough with you too Mother.’
‘No, Marchal would not abuse me. My family name and Marie’s connections in the court … I do not think Marchal would go that far.’ She straightens her shoulders, ‘It does not matter, I am not leaving.’
Marchal would certainly go that far Layla thinks, looking unhappily around the room trying to find the right words to convince her mother. She knows and is certain her mother knows that her father will not allow her to stay. If necessary, he will force her into a carriage and lock the door. Another confrontation is inevitable.
She thinks about the last few weeks, the work that has settled on her mother’s shoulders, her strong sense of duty to the farm families and the people who work at the estate in the kitchens, stables, gardens and orchards, with the livestock, young women or boys from the villages who come early in the morning for day work and are never turned away, maids in the house – the list is endless. Her mother loves to tell stories of her girlhood growing up on the estate – how the elder M Eduin taught her to care for her first pony and she carried a small water bucket, trundling after an aged M Guiot in the garden, splashing water on plants. Their sons taught her children to care for their ponies and the gardens. A daughter or a niece will replace a maid, a son or nephew assumes the role of a footman. When a hungry orphan boy broke into the kitchen to steal food, it was Cook’s mother who intercepted the house steward and allowed Lucien to escape. These are not just workers – the people on the estate are family.
‘How many more Noel boxes are there to deliver?’ Layla asks.
‘Only a few, those closest,’ Sophia answers in a tired voice. ‘I thought to do them later or perhaps tomorrow.’ She sighs heavily, ‘I will not leave.’
Layla takes her mother’s hand, ‘then neither am I.’
‘That is impossible,’ her mother states in a flat tone. ‘Our roles are not the same dearest. You and Raoul must return to Paris.’
‘I cannot return to Paris if I know you are here alone trying to take care of everyone. Mother, may I suggest we work out a different plan.’
⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
A brief knock and Layla steps inside her father’s library, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The fire’s glow and a lit candle on her father’s desk are the only lights. He is a large figure in deep shadows, motionless in his chair behind the desk. He turns his head to watch her walk to a large chair closest to the fire. He grunts but gets up and takes the chair opposite her. His face is set in hard lines, his eyes dark and unfathomable. He spreads his hands and waits for her to speak.
‘Mother and I will take the remaining Noel boxes to the families. After that, we will…’ She summarizes the plan she and her mother agreed to. It takes a few minutes to provide enough detail to answer her father’s questions, but eventually she finishes.
‘Good,’ her father says, getting up to pour himself more wine. ‘There is one more stipulation,’ Layla says. Her father lowers his glass, bristling at the word stipulation.
‘Mother will be among the last to go.’ Her father shakes his head, ‘absolutely not!’ Layla tightens her jaw but speaks calmly.
‘Father, please listen. M Levesque and Cousin Francois will also be with her. Cook too as she wants to be sure her girls are safely away. The footmen and maids are the last to leave and as soon as the footmen take all the maids to the village, Mother and the others will leave. It’s a matter of hours or at most, a day.’
‘Hmm,’ her father grumbles as he considers the plan presented to him. He sighs heavily but concedes the argument. ‘I thank you for reasoning with your mother. She could not be convinced.’
‘Mother is loyal to those who are most loyal to her. Few of her rank ever see servants, but she does.’ Layla stands up, ‘now I must go and talk to Raoul.’ At the door she stops and turns around.
‘I did not do it for you Father, and I would have stayed with her.’
Twelve Years After 