The Musketeer's Seamstress - By Sarah D'Almeida Page 0,16

lady at all hours.”

“And stayed for hours too,” Porthos said.

“I’ve often told you, Aramis, that associating with a woman in that way only gives her power—”

Aramis didn’t think that he could listen to Athos’s ideas on women and men’s best way to interact with the female of the species. In the five years Aramis had known Athos, Athos had been involved with exactly one woman and that brief and disastrous. “They say I killed Violette?” he asked D’Artagnan, unable to believe it. “Who says it?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “It’s the talk of every tavern,” he said. “I went to a lot of them this morning, you know, to gather the talk, and it is the talk in every tavern.”

“By name?” Aramis asked.

D’Artagnan nodded. “It is said everywhere that you stabbed her, and then jumped from her balcony and were brought to Paris by accomplices, just ahead of the pursuers.”

“But it can’t be very serious talk,” Porthos said. “The guards of the Cardinal have not come by to arrest you, have they? And surely they would not fail to do it, and would rejoice in it, given the excuse? Besides the Cardinal thinks it is his duty to keep peace over all of Paris.”

“This is true,” Aramis said. He shrugged. “If it’s just tavern gossip . . .”

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” Athos said. “This morning, before coming here, I went to visit Monsieur de Treville, our captain, to set his mind at ease should he hear rumors . . .”

“And?” Aramis asked.

“The rumor mongers had been there ahead of me. He’d already heard of the events of the night, only—knowing us a little better than most people—he guessed we helped you escape.”

Aramis felt a groan leave his throat, heard it echo in his ears with a sound of despair. “Monsieur de Treville believes me guilty then?”

Athos started to shake his head, then shrugged. “He did not weigh on his belief of your guilt. But he said the case looks bad for you, since the lady is well born and well above your station.” Athos reached into his doublet and pulled out a filled leather pouch. “He sent this, which he says is an advance on your wages, which you can earn after you return when your name is cleared.”

“Return?” Aramis asked.

Athos nodded. “Monsieur de Treville says he lacks the ability to protect you and, as such, must advise you to get out of Paris and stay out till your name should be cleared and you are no longer at risk for arrest.”

Aramis took the pouch from Athos’s hand and squeezed it in his right hand. The leather was soft, the heaviness of the parcel betrayed a quantity of money inside. “But how am I to be cleared if I leave town?”

“You leave us behind,” D’Artagnan said. “And you must know we’ll work to clear your name in any way possible.”

Aramis nodded. He knew that, but it still seemed wrong for him to leave when he’d done nothing to deserve exile. And it seemed even worse for him to have to depend on others to clear his good honor.

Athos had walked away from the group and was looking out the window, a frown on his face. “I think, Aramis, there is a patrol of guards up front even now. They haven’t emboldened themselves to knock at the door, but I’d wager they’re bold enough to arrest you if you should step outside. Is there another way out of this place?”

Aramis nodded. “There is the coal delivery trap,” he said. “But—”

“Then I advise you head that way now. Fast. Before they can knock and question your landlord on your whereabouts.” He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. I know of a country estate where you can stay. It’s near Ruan. I can give you a letter to my—To the steward there, who will—”

Oh, this was rich. Aramis was sure the estate that Athos spoke of was Athos’s own. Some rural idyll where the servants would obey the lord’s orders with no question. Even after the lord had been missing for years.

But if it came to that, Aramis also had an estate he could return to, and where the inhabitant would keep him in secrecy and protect him from the Cardinal’s guards if it came to that. “I thank you,” he said. “But I know of an estate where I might stay, with a widowed gentlewoman.”

“Oh, not another of your women, Aramis,” Porthos said impatiently. “They will say that you killed the other for