Hidden Huntress

by Danielle L. Jensen

  The door opened, and I stepped inside. The air was roasting hot and full of the smells of food, perfume, sweat, and smoke – the music and chatter of dozens of voices loud in my ear. My pulse raced. I’d been to countless parties in my lifetime where I had an agenda other than entertainment. I’d pretended to be someone who I was not for years. But never had I been so far out of my element, and the challenge both terrified and intoxicated me.

  “Monsieur de Montigny!” A booming voice caught my attention, and I turned, half in the process of handing off my hat and cloak, to see a short, crimson-faced man with an abundance of white whiskers bearing down on me. He stuck his hand out, and though the concept of shaking hands was entirely strange to me, I took it, clenching my teeth into a smile as he jerked my stiff wrist up and down. “François Bouchard,” he said, finally releasing my hand. “We are so pleased you could join us at our little fête.”

  “I was pleased to receive the invitation,” I said, following through the foyer. “This is my first visit to Trianon, and I confess to feeling much like a fish out of water.”

  “Well, you’re in good hands now.”

  A woman dressed in brilliant pink stepped out in front of us, her eyes widening as they met mine. “There you are, my dear,” Bouchard said. “Anna, this is Monsieur de Montigny, who’s just arrived from the south – from near Courville, if what I’ve heard is correct?”

  Thank you, Cécile.

  I smiled, kissed the woman’s outstretched knuckles, and said, “Your ears have not failed you.”

  “Good to know,” Bouchard said, and I only just refrained from blocking the arm he raised, reluctantly allowing him to slap me across the shoulders. “One can’t count on these things at my age.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur,” Anna said, keen to get a word in.

  “Of a certainty, the pleasure is mine,” I replied. “I was half-afraid I was facing a lonely dinner, but instead I find myself here, in your company, which is an improvement far beyond what I might have hoped for.”

  She laughed, and took a mouthful of wine. “The dark side of bachelorhood, I’m afraid. But you are here now, and it is far past time you were introduced. François will take you on the tour – there are a great many gentlemen who would like to make your acquaintance, and more than a few ladies, I’m sure.”

  “You’re in mining, isn’t that right?” Bouchard said, leading me off. “I’ve a number of clients in the business, so I was surprised not to have heard your name, all things considered.”

  Those things being in fact one thing: wealth.

  “My father takes great pains to protect the family’s anonymity,” I said, smiling at a cluster of young women standing together – I did have a part to play, after all. The girls all clutched at each other’s arms, heads pressed together as they whispered. “We conduct all of our business through agents known for their discretion. I’d be more surprised if you had heard our name.”

  “Your presence indicates you’re not of a like mind with your father,” he commented. “He can’t be best pleased at your decision to leave?”

  “He’s been surprisingly supportive of my adventure out into the world,” I replied. Supportive as long as I walked down the path he wanted. “He personally ensured I was well equipped to invest in my future,” I mimicked my father’s dry voice as he’d shoved the chest of gold through the barrier. “But now isn’t the time to talk business.”

  Which only made him want to discuss it all the more. I took the glass of champagne he handed me, discreetly looking around the room. Was Anushka here? I thought not. Cécile’s argument that the witch was under the protection of the Chasteliers had been compelling, and that would suggest she resided amongst a higher class of people.

  “I’d be happy to assist you in facilitating those investments,” he said, eyes bright. “Perhaps if you gave me an idea of the magnitude of investment you’re considering, I’d be better able to direct your introductions.”

  The question was crass, but given I was supposed to be some sort of back-country recluse, it was prudent that I not react. I leaned in and murmured a number.

  Bouchard’s eyes bugged. “Your options are many, Monsieur de Montigny.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “I’ll make an appointment with you as soon as it’s convenient.”

  And so it began, a whirlwind of introductions and small talk, with everyone clambering to meet me because I was young, attractive, wealthy, and most of all, new. Even if I’d been dull as a brick, my novelty would’ve made me shine.

  And I felt the same way. I’d spent my entire life surrounded by the same trolls, rarely meeting anyone new; and when I did, the barrier of power and class kept me from truly getting to know them. Cécile had been the only exception, and well I remembered the allure of her differentness. The appeal of knowing that so much about her was unknown. I felt a similar sensation as I walked through the party, full of humans who thought I was one of them, everything strange and different and exciting. It was a thousand times more intoxicating than the wine poured liberally into my glass.

  So I danced with all the young women and a few of their mothers, made ribald jokes with the men in the corners, flirted with the girls and discussed politics with their fathers. Time flew, and before long, I found myself in a room dark with tobacco smoke, a brandy in one hand, and cards in the other.

  “You’re either the luckiest bastard to ever walk the Isle or you’re counting, Tristan,” one of the other young men muttered, eyeing his cards.

  “I’m sure you’d do the same if you only had enough fingers and toes to manage the task,” I said, enjoying the laughter of the other men. I was counting the cards, I couldn’t help it, but I decided to throw my hand down rather than risk being thought a cheat. “I’m out.”

  “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

  Smiles grew on the faces of the other men, and looking over my shoulder, I saw Cécile’s mother. There was no mistaking her. Setting my brandy on the table, I rose to my feet. “Madame de Troyes, your reputation precedes you.”

  Her blue eyes managed to be familiar and foreign at the same time. “I should say the same of you. In the city not half a day, and already you have the gossip mills churning. You’ll have no peace.”

  I shrugged. “The only thing worse than being talked about is being not talked about.”

  Her mouth quirked, but her gaze was cool. “How clever.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take credit as the originator. My skill lies in repeating the words of those more creative than I.”

  “False modesty is unattractive,” she said, holding out a gloved hand. “It’s how a weak man earns his praise.”

  “And how does a strong man earn it?” I asked, kissing her fingers and wishing I’d been forewarned that she’d be here.

  “With his actions.”

  “Beautiful and wise, I see.” She must have heard Cécile’s half-invented story of meeting me in the summer and decided to seek me out. There was no other reason for her presence.

  She pulled her hand from my grasp, and then surprised me by running one finger along my jaw, the familiarity of the gesture unnerving. “Do you always run so hot?”

  “It’s in the blood,” I replied. “We Montignys have our curses, but clammy feet isn’t one of them.”

  One tawny eyebrow rose. “I suppose that has its advantages on a cold winter’s night.”

  The room burst into whistles and catcalls. I coughed, reaching blindly behind me for my drink, nearly knocking it over in the process. Genevieve laughed, the sound loud and clear as a clarion bell, and every man in the room echoed her as though on cue. My ears buzzed and my spine crawled with discomfort, which I hid behind my glass as I downed my brandy in a long gulp. Any doubt that Genevieve possessed a witch’s powers vanished from my mind, but I remained uncertain of whether she was aware. Cécile had used magic unknowingly, and her mother might well be doing the same.

  Her laughter eventually trailed off
. “Why don’t you pour me a drink.”

  “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Surprise me.”

  I went to the sideboard with its dozen decanters and splashed a generous amount of brandy into two glasses. It was well past time I was away from this party. Something about her made me uneasy, and it wasn’t that she’d just one-upped me.

  “A song for us, Genevieve?” Bouchard was watching from the corner where he stood with a few older gentlemen.

  “Later,” she called, taking the drink from me. “If I give it up so easily, you’ll lose your appreciation.”

  “Impossible,” he declared. “You are beyond compare, and there isn’t a man in this room who doesn’t know it. Or isn’t about to find out.” He winked at me and I raised my glass in response.

  Genevieve took my arm, leading me closer to the fire. The room was already hot, and the flames only made it worse. A bead of sweat ran down my back, and my shirt stuck uncomfortably to my skin.

  “So tell me,” she said. “Why have you come to Trianon?”

  “What do the gossip mills say?” The brandy tasted foul, and I wished it were water.

  “They say a great many things, but one can never be certain of their accuracy.”

  I chuckled. “That’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it?”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re not going to tell me?”

  I shook my head. “If I reveal my true purpose, I might have to follow through with it. I’m not sure I’m ready for that much commitment.”

  “And yet the rumors say you’re here looking for a wife.” She sipped at her drink. “Some people say that’s the ultimate commitment.”

  “I think you are not one of them.”

  She blinked. “You seem to know a great deal about me.”

  “I make it my business to be informed about the mothers of the daughters who interest me,” I said. “Cécile has a lovely voice. I was entranced from the moment I first heard it.”

  The glass in her hand shattered.

  She stared at the blood dripping down her fingers, seemingly as astonished as I was. In an instant, we were surrounded by the other men, Bouchard taking hold of her wrist and pulling her fingers open. The rest of the glass toppled to the ground with a muffled little clink.

  “What happened?” he demanded, examining the cut.

  “The heat from the fire,” she said. “It must have made the glass shatter.”

  Which was absolute nonsense. I’d intended to lure her in by mentioning Cécile, but I’d gotten much more than I’d bargained for. Anger? Fear? I found her difficult to read, so I wasn’t precisely sure. But what I did know for certain was that she wanted me nowhere near her daughter.

  “This should be seen to by a physician; it may need to be stitched,” he said, holding her palm out for me to see. I nodded in agreement, though I knew nothing about judging the severity of a human injury.

  “Nonsense.” She retrieved a handkerchief and wrapped up her hand. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll need another glass.” She waved away the onlookers, and then set her replacement beverage on top of the mantel. “Cécile has been quite reticent about revealing the details of where she was during the months of her absence.”

  “And you thought in seeking me out that I might divulge some of those details?”

  “What sort of mother would I be if I didn’t take an interest in my daughter’s comings and goings. And disappearances.”

  “An absent one, I suppose,” I said with a smile, not sure why I was provoking her when my aim was to win her over. “But that is neither here nor there. I’m afraid I’ll not reveal Cécile’s secrets. If you wish answers, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

  Her jaw tightened. “What of your intentions toward her? Will you divulge those?”

  “You’re forward.”

  “She’s young and naive. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “Ah.” I handed my empty glass to a passing servant. “Well, rest assured, Madame de Troyes, I’d sooner harm myself than your daughter. Nothing would please me more than to see her onstage unencumbered by such trivial concerns as finances.”

  “You wish to offer her patronage?” Her eyes narrowed. “In exchange for what?”

  “Is not the pleasure of seeing her perform payment enough?”

  She snorted softly. “Don’t patronize me. You could have that for the price of a ticket.”

  “Her company, then.”

  “You’re in the practice of paying for your… company? Or is Cécile to be first in a line of many?”

  “No,” I said, my voice chilly. I did not like this woman. The expression in her eyes was flat and calculating. None of her questions were driven by a desire to protect Cécile, but rather to determine whether the longevity of my interest was worth the investment. “But I am in the practice of using what means are at my disposal to make those I care for happy.”

  “I see.”

  Nothing would be gained from prolonging this conversation. I needed to leave, but any excuse would look like an attempt to flee her scrutiny.

  I was rescued by an approaching servant, his face dismayed.

  Coming close to my arm, he said, “Monsieur, I’m afraid there has been an incident.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Of what sort?”

  He grimaced. “I’m afraid your manservant has overindulged and passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor. What would you have us do with him?”

  I closed my eyes, my expression pained. “How terribly embarrassing.” To Genevieve, I said, “I hope your injury does not trouble you long, Madame. Perhaps we will cross paths again soon.” I hesitated before adding, “My proposal would benefit you as well. Please think on it.”

  I followed the servant into the kitchen, where Chris was indeed lying snoring, in the middle of the floor. “Don’t know what got into him. He was fine, then all of sudden he set to drinking as though this hour might be his last.”

  I scowled and nudged Chris with my foot, but he would not rouse. “Two of you get him up.”

  They took him round the back while I retrieved my hat and cloak, then the four of us went out to where a cab waited, the tired-looking horse standing patiently in the snow.

  “Put him in the back.”

  “It’s extra if he vomits,” the driver declared.

  “The Hôtel de Crillon,” I said, not bothering to grace the comment with an answer. I sat silently on the thinly padded bench until we were on our way, and then I said, “That was clever thinking.”

  Chris sat up, if somewhat unsteadily. “Heard Genevieve had arrived, and it was clear enough that you needed a way to escape.” He hiccupped.

  “Well, it worked. Did you learn anything of interest tonight?”

  “Might be I did.” Another hiccup.

  “Well?”

  “They were gossiping about you and Cécile. Apparently half the reason you’re in Trianon is to rekindle your love affair.”

  “And the other half?”

  “To take over the Isle with your frivolous spending of your father’s hard-earned gold.”

  I smiled. “Anything else?”

  “I…” Another hiccup, and his face went pale.

  “Don’t you…”

  He summarily threw the liquid contents of his stomach up all over the floor.

  “Dare,” I finished with a sigh, then dug an extra few coins out of my pocket.

  Forty-One

  Cécile

  I was stirring my breakfast around my plate when a knock sounded at the door. Dropping my fork with a clatter that made my mother start, I bolted to the door before the maid would have a chance to answer it.

  “A delivery for Mademoiselle de Troyes,” the boy on the stoop said, holding out a box embossed with the name of a popular and very expensive confectioner, along with a card.

  “Thank you,” I said, the smile on my face threatening to crack my cheeks. “If you could wait a moment, I’ll have you deliver a card for me.”

&
nbsp; Extracting a truffle from the box and popping it into my mouth, I flipped open the card and read.

  * * *

  Dearest Cécile,

  I hope this note finds you well and in possession of as demanding a sweet tooth as I remember. I have recently arrived in Trianon, but I find myself unable to enjoy the pleasures of this city for want of your delightful company. I’ve been invited to this evening’s performance of the ballet, but feel I must decline if I cannot attend with you on my arm, for to be in the theatre that is your domain without you would render the experience lackluster. Please say you will find space in your calendar so that I might retrieve you from your mother’s residence at 6pm.

  Yours,

  TdM

  * * *

  My skin flushed hot with pleasure and excitement – a welcome change from the frustration that had been eating away at me more and more each day. I knew what we were undertaking was serious – that we were deliberately attempting to incite a five hundred year-old witch into attacking Tristan, and in doing so, revealing herself. But it had been five days since I had seen him; I could not help the thrill of anticipation I felt.

  I’d never been courted. All the boys in the Hollow had known I was leaving and hadn’t bothered, and for obvious reasons Tristan had been unable to do so in Trollus. In my more indulgent moments, I’d felt a bit robbed, and that made me want to enjoy this moment, despite the underlying motivations.

  Eating another truffle, I went to the desk and extracted a card.

  * * *

  Monsieur de Montigny,

  Your taste in sweets is, as always, divine. It would be my pleasure to attend the ballet with you this evening. I shall see you at 6.

  Cécile

  * * *

  I gave it to the delivery boy with a coin and instructions on where to bring it. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it and closed my eyes, licking the traces of sugar from my lips.