gold cross hung. She kissed the cross, and then she left the same way she had come. And no, Aramis, the woman was neither a product of our imagination, nor a prank played upon us by someone. Only by the most fortunate coincidence were we there to see her, but . . .”
“Woman?” Aramis asked.
Porthos shrugged. “Athos says it was a woman, and though we can’t trust Athos on the character of any woman, we can probably trust him on the appearance of femininity in a stranger. I’d say a woman or a very young man, and the gestures were not those of a young man, nor do I think a young man could do what the murderer did, get away undetected, come back, steal something and get away undetected again. That takes self control and planning, neither of them natural qualities of young men.”
Aramis nodded. “A plain cross and a chain?” He shook his head. “I think I remember what you are talking about. Violette never wore it, but once, when I was going through her trunk, looking for a jewel I might borrow, I came across it. She said it was given to her in her early childhood, in the convent.”
“The convent?” Porthos asked. “Your mistress lived in a convent?”
Aramis shrugged. “I assume she was brought up in one.” They’d left behind the narrower streets of the working class and had entered broader streets. The houses were bigger, though they still abutted directly to the sidewalk. And there were gardens behind each house, often vegetable plots too.
“What do you know about her?” Porthos asked. “Her family?”
Aramis shrugged again. “She was not from a family far above mine, but early on, her sister and she became play-mates to Anne of Austria. I believe the Princess chose them herself, and enjoyed their company above all other mates. So when it was decided that the Queen would marry the King, the Queen decided that a French marriage should be arranged for Violette, also, so that Violette could accompany her to France and be her companion in her new life. So the marriage with de Dreux was arranged. And the Queen supplied the dowry required by the Duke’s family. I don’t think they’ve ever even lived together.”
Porthos nodded. “And her sister?” he asked.
“The Queen’s sister?”
“No, you fool, not the Queen’s. Your . . . Violette’s.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said and then, remembering the babble of Lida in the chapel at his mother’s house. “Wait, I do. Her sister is a nun in some monastery near the border with Spain, and is developing a reputation for sanctity. At least that’s what I heard from . . . one of my mother’s protégées.”
Porthos looked inquisitively at Aramis, but said only, “Did she have a miniature of her sister? Or a painting? Or some other means by which we might recognize her?”
Aramis shook his head. “No. In fact, she rarely spoke of her sister. Though I know she wrote to her, now and then.”
He had no idea why Porthos would want to see a portrait of Violette’s sister. Except that this was Porthos. He might very well have the idea that the quickest and most expedient way to cure Aramis’s shock and grief over Violette was to find the convent where Violette’s sister was professed and kidnap her for Aramis.
Aramis smiled, at the thought. And though it would be insane, he would likely still be grateful to Porthos. Oh, not for the woman, but for the thought, and the desire to make Aramis feel better. Right now Aramis wasn’t sure he ever would.
Porthos stopped in front of a somber house, and lifted his hand to knock, but before knocking, he whispered to Aramis, “Remember, once anyone comes, that your last name is Coquenard, and that you’re Monsieur Coquenard’s distant cousin. Your poor old mother died, and you have come to Paris to apprentice as a clerk. You were brought up in a convent. That will account for—”
“Porthos, I could not have been brought up in a convent.” And to Porthos’s quizzical look. “I am still male, Porthos.”
“Oh,” Porthos said. “You were brought up in a monastery. We were speaking of convents and I got confused. The monastery will account for your fine hand and your knowledge of Latin. You do not know me and only asked me to escort you across town in the dark of night, because you were afraid of robbers or murderers.”
“Then perhaps you should keep this,” Aramis said, undoing his