The Three Musketeers

by Alexandre Dumas

  But the weather didn’t permit: the winds were contrary, the sea rough, and the ship had to beat to windward to avoid being cast on the lee shore. Nine days after leaving the Charente, Milady, pale with rage and frustration, saw they had made it no farther than the blue coast of Finisterre.

  She calculated that to cross this corner of France and return to the cardinal would take her at least three days. Add a day for landing, plus the nine days at sea, and she would have lost thirteen days— thirteen days during which any number of important events might have taken place in London. She thought it likely that the cardinal would be furious at her return, and consequently would be more disposed to listen to complaints against her than to her accusations against others. So she let Lorient and Brest pass without insisting on being put ashore—and the captain, for his part, was careful not to remind her of her earlier demand. Milady’s ship stayed on course, and the ambassador of His Eminence arrived triumphantly at Portsmouth on the very day that Planchet took ship from that same port to return to France.

  The entire town was a whirlwind of activity. Four great vessels, all brand new, had been christened and launched into the harbor. Buckingham could be seen standing on the jetty, encrusted with gold brocade, glittering, as usual, with diamonds and precious stones, his hat topped with a white plume that drooped nearly to his shoulder, surrounded by a staff decked out nearly as brilliantly as he was.

  It was one of those rare and beautiful days when England remembers there is a sun. The day-star, pale but still splendid, was slipping toward the horizon, gilding the sky and sea with bands of fire, and outlining the town’s towers and old houses with a final gleam of gold, reflected from the windows like a shower of sparks.

  Milady, inhaling the ocean air that is so much more refreshing when approaching the land, contemplated the vast array of preparations for war that it was her task to destroy, all the mighty power of an army that she had to face alone—she, a woman, with nothing but a few sacks of gold at her disposal. She compared herself to Judith, that terrible woman of the Jews, when she penetrated the camp of the Assyrians and saw the enormous mass of chariots, horses, men, and arms, which a single stroke of her hand was to dissipate like a cloud of smoke.

  Their vessel entered the roads, but as they hove in to the shallows where they could drop anchor, a cutter, small but formidably armed, approached the merchant ship. This cutter was apparently the coast guard; it put out a longboat, which pulled directly toward the brig’s ladder. This boat contained an officer, a mate, and eight rowers. Only the officer came aboard, where he was received with all the respect due his uniform.

  The officer spoke a few moments with the captain, and handed him several documents to read. Then, at the order of the merchant-captain, everyone aboard was called on deck, both sailors and passengers.

  This summons completed, the officer loudly inquired the brig’s point of departure, its route, and ports of call, and to all these questions the captain responded with neither hesitation nor difficulty. The officer then passed in review before every person on the ship, one after another, until he came to Milady—and stopped. He considered her with great care, though without saying a word.

  He returned to the captain, spoke a few more words to him, and then, as if he was now in command of the ship, ordered a maneuver that the crew executed immediately. The brig resumed its course, escorted now by the small cutter, which sailed beside it, menacing its hull with the mouths of its six cannon. The longboat followed in the wake of the ship, dwarfed by its enormous mass.

  While the officer was inspecting Milady, Milady, as may be imagined, was inspecting him. But whatever skill this woman with the eyes of flame had at reading the hearts of those whose secrets she wished to divine, this time she found a face so impassive that her scrutiny told her nothing. The officer who had stopped and silently studied her with such care was twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with a pale complexion and clear, deep-set blue eyes. His mouth, regular and well defined, maintained its immobility with the rigor of strict propriety. His prominent chin denoted the force of will that, in the more vulgar Briton, manifests as mere stubbornness. His brow was broad and slightly receding—typical of poets, soldiers, and fanatics. His hair, thin and trimmed short, was, like the beard that lined his jaw, a striking, deep chestnut color.

  Night had fallen by the time they entered the port. The darkness was deepened by fog, which formed glowing circles around the ship’s lamps and the jetty’s lanterns, like the ring that appears around the moon when the weather threatens rain. The air they breathed was heavy, humid, and chill.

  Milady, that woman of iron will, shivered in spite of herself.

  The officer demanded that Milady’s things be identified, and then had her baggage handed down into the longboat. This operation completed, he invited her to descend by offering her his hand.

  Milady looked at this man, and hesitated.

  “Who are you, Monsieur,” she asked, “who have the kindness to concern yourself so particularly with me?”

  “As you can see by my uniform, Madame, I’m an officer in the English Navy,” the young man replied.

  “But is it customary for officers in the English Navy to tender such assistance to ladies when they disembark in British ports, and to be so gallant as to personally conduct them ashore?”

  “Yes, Milady, it is customary, from prudence rather than gallantry, to conduct foreigners in times of war to designated hotels, where they stay under governmental surveillance until their identities and purposes have been fully ascertained.”

  These words were pronounced with perfect civility and complete calm. Nonetheless, Milady was unconvinced.

  “But I’m no foreigner, Sir,” she said, with an accent as pure as any ever heard between Portsmouth and Manchester. “My name is Lady Clarice, and this precaution . . .”

  “This precaution is general, Milady, and it’s useless to try to evade it.”

  “Then, Sir, I will follow you.” And accepting the officer’s hand, she began to descend the ladder, at the bottom of which the longboat waited.

  The officer followed her down. A large cloak was spread in the stern of the boat. The officer asked her to sit on the cloak and placed himself beside her. “Shove off,” he ordered the sailors.

  The eight oars plunged into the sea with a single sound, and with one stroke the longboat seemed to fly across the surface of the water.

  Five minutes later they reached the land. The officer sprang onto the wharf and again offered his hand to Milady.

  Beyond him, a carriage was waiting. “Is that carriage for us?” Milady asked.

  “Yes, Madame,” replied the officer.

  “The hotel is far, then?”

  “At the other end of town.”

  “I see,” said Milady, and she climbed resolutely into the carriage.

  The officer saw that her baggage was fastened carefully onto the rear platform, then took his place beside Milady and shut the door.

  Immediately, without any order being given or any destination named, the driver departed at a gallop, plunging right into the streets of the town.

  This strange reception gave Milady plenty to think about. And as the young officer didn’t appear disposed to conversation, she leaned back in her corner of the carriage and considered, one after another, all the possibilities that came to mind.

  However, after a quarter of an hour, surprised at the length of the trip, she moved to the window to see where she was being taken. Outside no more houses could be seen, only trees dashing by in the darkness one after another, like great black phantoms.

  Milady shivered. “Why, Sir, have we left the town?” she said.

  The young officer remained silent.

  “I must advise you, Sir, that I will go no farther unless you tell me where you’re taking me!”

  This threat evoked no response.

  “This is too much!” cried Milady. “Help! Help!”

  No voice replied to hers. The carriage r
olled rapidly onward. The officer was as still as a statue.

  Milady glared at the officer with one of those imperious looks of hers that rarely failed to be obeyed. Her eyes flashed with anger in the dark.

  The young man remained impassive.

  Milady tried to force open the door and throw herself out.

  “Take care, Madame,” the young man said coolly. “You’ll kill yourself if you jump.”

  Milady sat back down, seething. The officer leaned forward to look at her, as if surprised to see that face, beautiful only moments before, so distorted now by rage as to be almost hideous. The cunning creature realized she was jeopardizing herself by exposing her inner soul. She regained control of herself and said, in a piteous voice, “In the name of heaven, Sir! Tell me if it’s you, or your government, or some enemy who’s responsible for this violence being done to me?”

  “There will be no violence, Madame. What’s happening to you is the result of a simple precaution we’re forced to take with all who disembark in England.”

  “Then you don’t know who I am, Sir?”

  “This is the first time I’ve had the honor of seeing you.”

  “And, on your honor, you have no reason to hate me?”

  “None—on my honor.”

  The young man’s voice was so calm, cool, and even mild, that Milady was reassured.

  Eventually, after traveling for nearly an hour, the carriage paused before an iron gate, beyond which was an avenue leading to a castle, massive, grim, and isolated. As the wheels rolled onto the fine gravel of the lane, Milady heard a vast roaring, which she recognized as the sound of the sea crashing against a rocky coast.

  Entering the castle, the carriage passed under two vaulted gates, then finally stopped in a dark, angular courtyard. Almost immediately the door of the carriage opened. The young man sprang lightly to the ground and offered his hand to Milady. She accepted it, and succeeded in maintaining her calm as she descended.

  “I see I’m a prisoner,” said Milady, looking around her, then turning her eyes back to the young officer with a most gracious smile. “But not for long, I’m sure,” she added. “My conscience— and your courtesy, Sir—are my guarantees of that.”

  However flattering this compliment, the officer made no response, only drawing from his belt a small silver whistle, such as boatswains use in the navy. He whistled three times, each whistle a different pitch; several men appeared, who unharnessed the steaming horses and rolled the carriage into a coach house.

  Then the officer, with the same calm courtesy as before, invited his prisoner to enter the keep. She, maintaining her smile, took his arm and entered with him through a low arched doorway. Within was a long vault, lit only at the far end, which led to a stone staircase that spiraled up around a pillar of rock. It ended before a massive door that, after the young officer turned a key in its lock, pivoted ponderously open on its iron hinges, revealing the chamber destined for Milady.

  With a single glance, the prisoner took in every detail of the apartment. It was a chamber whose furniture, though severe, might be appropriate for either a prison or a guest chamber. However, the bars on the windows, and the exterior bolts on the door, decided the question in favor of the prison.

  Suddenly the force of will that animated this creature, though drawn from a well of deep strength, abandoned her. She sank onto an armchair, arms crossed, head bowed, as if expecting any instant to see the entrance of a judge sent to interrogate her.

  But no one entered except two or three marines, who brought in her baggage and belongings, set them down in a corner, and retired without a word.

  The officer presided over these details with the same unfailing calm Milady had seen from the beginning, never saying a word, commanding obedience with a gesture of his hand or a pipe of the whistle.

  One might almost say that between this man and his subordinates all spoken language was forgotten or useless.

  Finally Milady could stand it no longer and broke the silence herself. “In the name of heaven, Sir!” she cried. “What does all this mean? Let me know where I stand! I have enough courage to face any danger I can foresee, any trouble I can understand. Where am I, and why am I here? If I’m free, why the bars and the locks? If I’m a prisoner, what crime did I commit?”

  “You are in the lodging assigned to you, Madame. I received an order to take charge of you at sea and conduct you to this castle. I’ve followed this order, I believe, with the rigorous propriety of a soldier, and also with the courtesy of a gentleman. That ends, for the moment at least, my duty toward you. What comes after concerns someone else.”

  “And who is this someone else?” Milady demanded. “Can’t you tell me his name?”

  At that moment the clang of spurs sounded on the stairs. Voices could be heard echoing down the corridor. Then the sound of a man’s footsteps approached the door.

  “That someone is here, Madame,” said the officer, stepping aside from the doorway and drawing himself up in an attitude of respect and submission.

  At that, the door opened and the silhouette of a man appeared. It was hatless, wore a sword at its side, and its fingers toyed with a handkerchief.

  Milady thought she recognized that figure in the shadows. She leaned forward with one arm on the chair, peering intently to be certain.

  The stranger slowly advanced, and as he entered into the circle of light projected by the lamp, Milady involuntarily drew back.

  There could no longer be any doubt. “What! My brother!” she cried, stupefied. “Is it you?”

  “Yes, fair lady!” replied Lord Winter, making a bow, half courteous, half ironic. “In person.”

  “But, then—this castle?”

  “Is mine.”

  “This chamber?”

  “Is . . . yours.”

  “Then I’m your prisoner?”

  “Essentially.”

  “But this is a frightful abuse of power!”

  “No oratory, if you please. Let’s sit down and have a quiet little chat, like a proper brother and sister.”

  Then, turning toward the door, where the young officer was awaiting his final orders, he said, “That will be all, thank you. You may leave us, Mister Felton.”

  L

  A Conversation Between Brother and Sister

  While Lord Winter shut the door, closed a shutter, and drew a stool up near his sister-in-law’s armchair, Milady considered the shape of her destiny. Pensive, she traced the cords of the web that had caught her, whose shape she hadn’t been able to see so long as she was ignorant of whose hands she’d fallen into. She knew her brother-in-law as a proper gentleman, an avid hunter, an intrepid gamesman, and a bold hand with the ladies, but not especially adroit at matters of intrigue. How had he learned of her arrival? Why had he arranged her arrest? Why was he detaining her?

  Athos had let slip a few words that had revealed that her conversation with the cardinal had been overheard by hostile ears, but she didn’t think he was capable of digging a countermine so promptly and so boldly. She was more afraid that her previous operations in England had been exposed. Buckingham might have guessed it was she who had stolen the diamond studs, and was now taking revenge for that little treachery. But Buckingham was incapable of taking truly harsh measures against a woman, especially a woman he imagined was motivated by jealousy.

  This supposition seemed most probable, that her captors were out to avenge the past rather than safeguard the future. In any event, she congratulated herself on having fallen into the hands of her brother-in-law, whom she thought she could handle easily, rather than into the hands of a more intelligent and meticulous enemy.

  “Yes, Brother—let’s talk,” she said, almost playfully, as she thought she could extract from such a conversation everything she needed to know to enable her to choose a course of action, no matter what pathetic attempts at dissimulation Lord Winter might try.

  “So you decided to come back to England,” said Lord Winter, “despite your vows
in Paris to never again set foot on the shores of Britain?”

  Milady replied to this question with another question. “First of all,” she said, “how is it you had me watched so closely that you knew, not only the fact of my arrival, but the day, the hour, and the port?”

  Lord Winter adopted the same tactic as Milady, thinking that if his sister-in-law employed it, it must be the best available. “But tell me, my dear Sister, what have you come to England for?”

  “Why, I’ve come to see you!” replied Milady, hoping this lie would be flattering, without realizing how much the response aggravated the suspicions sown in her brother-in-law’s mind by d’Artagnan’s letter.

  “Ah! To see me?” Lord Winter said skeptically.

  “Of course, to see you. What’s so surprising about that?”

  “And you had no reason to come to England other than to see me?”

  “No.”

  “So it was just for me that you took the trouble to cross the Channel?”

  “Just for you.”

  “Jove! How affectionate you are, Sister!”

  “Why, aren’t I your nearest relative?” Milady asked, in a tone of touching naïveté.

  “And my sole heir, as well—aren’t you?” Lord Winter replied, locking eyes with Milady.

  Despite all her self-control, Milady couldn’t help but start at these words—and as, while speaking them, Lord Winter had rested his hand on her arm, this start didn’t escape him.

  In truth, the blow was direct and severe. The first idea that sprang to Milady’s head was that she’d been betrayed by Kitty, who must have told the baron of her self-interested hatred of him, which she’d incautiously revealed by remarks she’d made in front of her servant. She also recalled her furious and imprudent tirade against d’Artagnan after he’d spared her brother-in-law’s life.

  “I don’t understand, Milord,” she said, to gain time and to draw her adversary out. “What are you saying? Is there some hidden meaning behind your words?”