“Oh,” she said, a sound of peevishness, not of surprise. “My father had all of us excellently educated, boys and girls alike. He said a well-trained mind was the best weapon in the world and he did not intend to send any of his children out unarmed.” She frowned at him, dark eyebrows brought low over golden brown eyes. “But it is very provoking of you to call yourself after a mountain. What is your real name?”
Athos thought that, had he not enough reason to be weary of women, reason that had trained him as a dog or a horse could be trained, through severe pain instilling aversion, he would be in some danger now. There was to the woman a combination of peevish childishness and sharp reasoning which would doubtless prove the downfall of better men than himself.
As it was, and because he knew better than to court Madame de Comeau’s-or indeed any woman’s-favor, he permitted himself to grimmace and bow again. “That, madam, is known to my confessor and to very few other people in this world.”
She set her embroidery aside and stared at him. “It is a noble name, that much I know,” she said. “From your way of standing and your address. So why would you hide it? Have you done something to so displease the King that… But no.” She flicked the thought away with a careless gesture of her fingers. “No, of course not. If you’d displeased the King, you’d not be in his musketeers.” She frowned again. “But it is some great wrong here, something you very much wish to hide.”
He bowed again, in silence.
She slapped the sofa by her side, with some energy. “Oh, you are a very trying man. Why wouldn’t you tell me? It’s not as though I’m trying to interrogate you so that I can babble it at court.”
He bowed yet again and she sighed. “Very well,” she said, and from the tone of her voice she might have been a queen dispensing a high favor. “Very well, if you must be that way. Please sit down.”
He chose an armchair not too far from her, and sat down. And she sat primly now on her original reclining perch. Her hands folded on her lap spoke of a careful upbringing, as did the attentive glance she bent upon him. “You wish to see me,” she said.
“Yes,” Athos said. “Very much. I’ve asked your husband some questions, but I wish to ask them of you as well. Your husband… might not have apprehended the situation as well as you will.” He’d meant to say this all along, knowing that flattery was a good part of questioning people about things they might not, otherwise, wish to share. But in this case, it might very well be true.
“Oh, my lord…” She shrugged, a gesture that effectively and tactfully dismissed her husband’s discernment. Then she looked at Athos, giving the impression of turning her whole mind to his speech. “Very well. Tell me what you wish to talk about.”
It had an odd effect of his being interrogated but, lacking Aramis’s interest in and ability to speak to women, Athos felt it was just as well if he progressed quickly to the matter at hand. “I don’t know if you ever even heard of this person, though your maids, apparently think you talked to him. However, there was a young boy, thirteen or so, with auburn hair, who used to come and-”
“Guillaume,” she said, quickly, with no attempt at disguise. “From the Hangman.”
Athos inclined his head, partly to avoid showing her his expression of surprise. “Your husband told me that Guillaume tried to get him to give him a stipend and claimed that he was your husband’s natural son.”
Madame de Comeau put her head a little sideways, a clear expression of doubt that didn’t necessitate her saying anything about her husband.
Athos smiled a little. “I don’t know if he told you the truth.”
The little hand rose and fell in what seemed to be her peculiarly dismissive gesture again. “Oh, as to that, he might very well have. The whole thing is the sort of foolishness that Guillaume would contrive and that Monsieur de Comeau might even find amusing. He has a soft spot for rogues and cheats.” She shrugged. “But you know, he never could be my husband’s bastard. There are plenty of those around my lord’s domain, and they are all, like my lord, small and dark. Guillaume is, as you say, auburn haired, and tall and rawboned enough that you know he’s going to be a great hulking man when he’s done growing.”
Athos, amused by her attitude towards her husband’s profligacy, nodded. “No. He isn’t your husband’s siring. But your husband had him beat and thrown out nonetheless. ”
She nodded, approvingly. “Well, it wouldn’t do for him to go about thinking he had the power to force my husband to dance to his tune, now would it?”
“But he didn’t prevent the boy from coming and hanging around the yard again.”
“Which was his folly,” Madame de Comeau said, her gaze merry. She seemed to view all of this as much of a game. “Because he found out my husband’s secret.”
“That your husband trades in horses?”
At this she raised her eyebrows. “If it is an open secret, then my money was ill spent. Or did Guillaume tell you that? Are you perhaps his attempt to extract more from me? Have a care sir. I neither have the money to give you, nor the disposition to submit to constant fleecing.”
Athos shook his head. “I have no intention of fleecing you.” This idea actually got a smile from him, but it vanished as soon as he realized what she had said. “You gave Guillaume money?”
She shrugged, a very expressive gesture. “What else was I to do?” she asked. “Otherwise the horrible boy would bruit it all around town that Bernard… Monsieur de Comeau deals in horses. And while I couldn’t care much where our money comes from, the rest of society is so tiresome about it.”
Athos raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. How much did you give Guillaume?”
She shook her head slightly. “Tell me, first, how did you come to find out about Bernard’s dealings?”
Athos smiled. He guessed very well that there might be some wifely loyalty there. In fact, thinking of the Lord de Comeau, with his single-minded interest in horses, his tolerant deference to his wife’s attempts at civilizing him, he guessed that the man might, very well, be a good match for this woman who seemed to observe social proprieties as some other people said rote prayers-something done for the others, not oneself. “My friend Porthos found out,” he said. “And please, don’t alarm yourself. I don’t think he’ll be in the least likely to divulge it to people.” Not the least because to divulge it, Porthos would need to explain how he’d come by the knowledge, which would involve confessing Athenais’s husband’s profession. Athos was so sure of this that he was able to meet the lady’s eyes square on, with every expression of reassuring honesty.
“Oh, but it is vexing,” she said. “What if… Why is your friend Porthos concerned in this at all?”
“For Guillaume’s sake,” Athos said.
“What’s the brat to do with it? With the money the wretch got from me, and a good velvet suit besides, which he forced me to choose, and only secondhand, he should be admirably provided for. Why would anyone concern himself with him?”
“He’s disappeared,” Athos said.
“Ah,” Madame de Comeau said. “As to that, the brat seemed intent on becoming a gentleman or a counterfeit of one. I wouldn’t put it past him to have gone to quite a different area of Paris and there impose on some unsuspecting nobleman to become his squire or what not.” She shook her head. “He’s a bright boy and seems capable of any degree of deceiving and extortion. He’ll do well for himself.”
“Well… perhaps,” Athos said, and here he couldn’t meet her eyes. “But… you see, he disappeared a few days ago and we are all very anxious for him.”
“All?”
“My friend Porthos and I and a couple of other people in our close acquaintance.”
Madame de Comeau wrinkled her perfect brow. “Athos… Porthos… Oh. You’re two of the inseparables. You must be, for no one else would have such odd names.”