Chapter Text
Prince Philippe and the Chevalier left her room sometime in the early hours of the morning. With sweet kisses and coos, they vanished. Marguerite was much too tired to lock the door behind them and curled under her covers instead. Her body was spent from such a long night and the day that had preceded it. If she had any dreams, she would not remember them when she awoke.
The maid threw open the curtains, stirring Marguerite from her slumber. With a groan, she sat up in bed, rubbing her tired eyes. “Is it morning already?”
“Late morning, Mademoiselle. I must help you dress if you are to make it to the party soon.”
Marguerite gasped, feeling fully awake at the mention of the King’s festivities. “I completely forgot! I must get ready right away!” She threw her legs over the side of her bed and rushed to the wardrobe. “Do you know what Queen Maria Theresa will be wearing? My gown should compliment hers.”
“I believe she will be dressed as a goddess of the sea, Mademoiselle.”
She tapped her chin, sifting through the gowns. “A goddess of the sea…?” Her hands found a dress of turquoise blue silk, white ruffles layering down the bodice and skirt could appear to be the crest of waves or foamy waters splashing to shore. “This one.”
After the maid helped her dress and styled her hair in a cascading wave down her back, Marguerite opened her jewelry box, thinking of Alexandre’s words about not wearing jewelry and appearing naked in front of the King. Her hands found the pearl necklace she had worn the day before. Pearls plucked from the ocean…
The maid clasped it around her neck and applied pearls into her hair. Marguerite surveyed herself in front of the mirror, quite satisfied with her appearance. She took a deep breath and dismissed the maid as she hurried at the door, eager to get to the party without appearing too late.
As her heels clicked down the hallway, she recalled the copied notes sitting in a drawer in her desk, waiting to be passed off to Alexandre. Marguerite inwardly chided herself for forgetting the paper in her hurry to leave. “You must bring those to him later,” she thought.
“Monsieur Bontemps!” Alexandre came around a corner just ahead of her, heading the same way. Hearing his name, he turned to see Marguerite striding to catch up to him. “May I accompany you to the gardens?”
He nodded his head in assent and bowed slightly at her approach. “Of course, Mademoiselle.”
Marguerite smiled as she reported her findings of Jean-Baptiste to Alexandre. “He hides his letters in the lining of a page’s coat, then sews the lining back up again,” she said, rattling off her suspicions. “I assume that the page then goes to a designated drop site and leaves the coat behind where the letter’s recipient retrieves it. Jean-Baptiste either has a very loyal page or is using one unwittingly.”
Alexandre nodded thoughtfully, taking in her words. “That is good news. I’ll have to supervise the comings and goings of his pages.”
Marguerite looked at him expectantly, waiting for the inevitable next task that he would have for her. He appeared either oblivious of her stare or simply chose to ignore her, staring straight ahead as he walked stiffly. She raised her eyebrow. “Is that all, then, Monsieur?”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “See what you can discern from Hugues today. Tell me anything you find.”
Marguerite turned and looked straight ahead as well. “Of course, Monsieur.” She cleared her throat slightly and raised her chin. “I find it very curious that you neglected to tell me of the passages between rooms.”
Alexandre’s eyes darted to her again without turning his head. “I was going to wait to introduce you to them until you had accomplished at least one task, but it seems you have made use of them already,” he said with an even tone. “I suppose there’s no point in keeping them a secret from you if you are truly willing to act as a spy.”
Marguerite swiveled her head to glare at him. “You say that as though I have a choice,” she hissed quietly, unwilling to vocalize the fact that he was blackmailing her. “As a lady,” she spoke in a low voice, “I ask that you do not use those passages to enter my room unannounced again. My door has a lock on it for a reason.”
Alexandre nodded his head in understanding, but kept his gaze straight ahead. Marguerite wondered if he truly thought that she wouldn’t notice the discrepancy in her door being locked and his appearance in her room the morning prior.
He split away from her as they entered the gardens, as he surely had something to attend to. Marguerite sought out the Queen to join the retinue, as would be expected of her. As she walked, she saw sights never seen before. Peacocks strutted about, their plumage on full display. Luckily, their shrieks were drowned by the sound of the orchestra set up on a small stage under a tree. She found the Queen’s retinue was settled in a tent, though this time, the tent flap was open so that everyone could look out onto the festivities. She curtsied low before the queen, who sat in a plush chair with the Dauphin settled at her feet, playing with toy soldiers set up in some kind of battle scene.
“So glad you could join us, Mademoiselle de Noailles,” the Queen said, not quite making eye contact with Marguerite, focusing more on her son’s activities. A lady-in-waiting fanned her as a reprieve from the summer warmth.
Marguerite smiled, wishing to make more of an impression. “And what does the Dauphin do? Is this a battle?” she knelt in her skirt next to the young boy, pointing to one side of the toy army.
He perked up, eyes glittering with youth. He was but seven years old. “Yes! This is France,” he said, pointing to the army closest to him. “And this is…” he pointed to the other side and trailed off, clearly not having thought so far as to decide which nation France was battling against.
“Not France?” Marguerite suggested. He nodded aggressively. He picked up a soldier from France’s side and marched it over to the enemy side, using it like a sweeping arm that took out swaths of the enemy soldiers. She watched as he launched similar attacks using more soldiers, decimating the enemy.
“Mademoiselle de Noailles,” the Queen said, commanding her attention. “You told me of your fluency in Danish and Swedish. Do you hail from northern lands?” Marguerite maneuvered to stand beside the queen so they might speak.
“No, your Highness,” she answered. “However, my mother was a Swedish aristocrat and wished me to know the tongues of my ancestors.”
The queen sighed and looked wistfully at her son. “How nice it must be, to know the language of your mother. Your bond must be quite strong.”
Marguerite did not deign to correct the queen’s tense when speaking of her mother, but followed the flow that Maria Theresa dictated the conversation go in. “Does the Dauphin not speak Spanish?”
“No, my husband has forbidden it,” she replied, looking quite sad as she said it. “He does not desire him to feel a connection to Spain at all, arguing that young Louis should be wholly French.”
Marguerite leaned down to speak less publicly. “Would the King be aware if the Dauphin picked up a few phrases, say, by accident? Children easily learn from those surrounding them, and he appears to be amidst many languages, including yours.” She gestured to the many foreign women making up the Queen’s retinue. Some spoke in English, Spanish, German, even Arabic. Marguerite would be surprised if the Dauphin hadn’t picked up some words already. “One could hardly be to blame for the child’s great intelligence and skill in learning.”
Maria Theresa appeared to think on her words. “You are quite right. My son excels in his lessons already. He is smart enough to learn the meanings of foreign words on his own.” She touched Marguerite’s hand lightly. “Thank you, Mademoiselle. You have eased my heart.”
Marguerite curtsied. “I am glad.”
The queen patted her lap, urging the Dauphin to sit. He happily climbed atop his mother’s skirts, swallowed by the gorgeous blue silks she wore. Marguerite swallowed, preparing to ask a question that she wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask.
“Pardon me, my Queen, but might I ask why your retinue stays in the tent during the King’s festivities?” she asked, alluding to the Queen remaining shut inside a tent during the play of Apollo and Daphne, as well as today.
Maria Theresa sighed as she ran her fingers through her son’s hair. “It is a miracle I attend these at all. Officially, today is in honor of the King’s wife and mother, but I learned long ago that my husband only spares these expenses for those who have his heart.” Marguerite thought for a moment, realizing the Queen’s meaning. She continued, “I do not begrudge Mademoiselle de La Valliere her place in the King’s heart, though I wish I was not forced to partake in celebrating her…” Maria Theresa trailed off. She looked up at Marguerite, seeming rather sad. “You are free to enjoy the festivities or retire from the party if you wish. I would not keep you hidden away in a tent all day,” she said with a soft laugh. Marguerite thanked her and curtsied.
Dismissed for the moment, Marguerite stepped from the tent and back into the warm sunshine, admiring the way that the ladies’ silk dresses seemed to glow as they floated across the grass field. Games of croquet were in swing, along with some other lawn games. Marguerite joined a group of courtiers admiring model ships floating in the grand fountain, deftly maneuvering under the jets of water arcing out of stone fishes’ mouths.
“The craftsmanship is impeccable,” Francois said, his rather unimposing figure narrowly escaping Marguerite’s notice. She had not even realized that she was standing next to an acquaintance.
She agreed. “I wonder where these are made? They look so realistic!”
Francois was about to impart some wisdom on her, clearly having baited her into conversing with him on a topic he knew all about, but Marguerite was blessedly saved by a commotion on the other side of the fountain that caught everyone’s attention.
The Queen Dowager was seated on a plush chair near the edge of the fountain so that she might admire the ships, while Louise and her retinue stood a few feet away, clearly vying for a spot to watch the aquatic marvels. Louise looked to be on the verge of tears as Anne berated her.
“Tell me, Louise, what do you know of our naval forces?” The Queen Dowager asked, not even turning to face the woman she spoke to. Louise opened her mouth to speak, but was cruelly cut off before she could think of a response. “France’s ships are the finest in all of Europe. Do you know how many We possess?” Anne snapped her fan closed and pointed to the ships. “Can you tell me what kind of ship this is?”
Poor Louise knew nothing of the French Navy and could not possibly name the number of ships, let alone identify what ship the miniature was modeled after. Marguerite may have been a few yards away, but the tears welling in Louise’s eyes were obvious.
She bowed her head to Francios. “Forgive me, Monsieur, but I must depart.” He nodded his head in understanding. Marguerite did not particularly enjoy the man’s presence, but he cared greatly for the King and could see how Louise’s unhappiness would affect Him. He released Marguerite from conversation without trouble. She walked casually towards Louise’s retreating form, backing away from the fountain in defeat. The King’s mistress swiped a finger underneath her eye to wipe away a tear as Marguerite came up beside her.
“I could not possibly count the number of ships in France’s navy, either,” Marguerite said kindly, walking alongside Louise towards a spot of shade beneath a tree.
Louise chuckled sadly. “Despite her hand in our meeting, Anne despises that Louis has become so close to me. She will take any chance to put me in my place.”
Marguerite tilted her head. “At the King’s side? That is your place, isn’t it?”
Louise looked at her, taking in Marguerite, who was a stranger to her by all accounts. “Is that truly your opinion?”
She nodded. “I may be new to court, but your presence appears to bring King Louis great joy. Why should he care for your knowledge on naval ships when it is your love that affects him?” she prattled. “He surely did not plan the model ships for you so that you might study them, but rather enjoy them.”
Louisa gasped slightly, putting her hand on her flushed chest. “I heard a rumor that Louis planned this whole party for me, but I wasn’t sure…” she said, glancing towards the King’s form by the croquet field. “Do you believe he organized this in my honor?”
Marguerite smiled fondly, placing a hand on Louise’s arm. “Even the Queen knows who this is all for.”
Louise beamed, clasping her hands together, all signs of her previous sadness forgotten. Marguerite saw how radiant Louise’s beauty was when she smiled like so. Her cheeks flushed with happiness and her deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle. “Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle de Noailles,” she said, taking Marguerite’s hands in her own. “Your kindness towards me shall not soon be forgotten. I must ask your forgiveness,” she said, dropping Marguerite’s hands and picking up her rich pink skirts, “but I must seek out Louis.” Louise tilted her head to the side and smiled, thanking her again before turning to find her lover, surely wanting to tell him how wonderful the party was.
Marguerite smiled as she stood in the shade of the tree, watching Louise’s smile as she found the King a ways away playing a game of croquet. At her approach, he abandoned his play and spoke with her, a wide smile appearing on his face as Louise spoke, gesturing widely. Her playfulness and naive personality was refreshing from all the biting words and double meanings spoken between the courtiers. Her authenticity was likely the reason for the King’s enamorment of the woman. Marguerite quite liked her.
“How dare you!” a shrill voice rang out from behind. Marguerite, startled, pressed herself close to the trunk of the tree and peeked around. Hugues stood not too far away, holding onto the wrists of an older woman she recognized as his wife. He seemed to be trying to calm her down, and failing at it miserably. His wife shook his hands off and bristled. “Accusing me of your own faults! You’re despicable!” she spat.
“Paule,” Hugues hissed, reaching for her hands again. “Hush, before you make a scene.”
Paule glared daggers at him, eyes narrowing. “Make a scene? I’ll make a goddamned scene if I want to!” She struck him across the cheek, the slap ringing over the sound of courtiers at play. Paule huffed and gathered her skirts, stomping away from the garden. Marguerite looked on as Hugues lifted his hand to his stinging cheek, clearly shocked by his wife’s anger. She narrowed her eyes at the man as he scurried away with his tail between his legs.
“What did he accuse her of?” Marguerite wondered, turning back to lean against the trunk of the tree out of sight. She sighed and straightened up, dusting her skirts. Waiting a few moments until Hugues was surely gone, she began to walk in the same direction Paule had left in, towards the orangery.
Just to the west of the main gardens, the orangery was a lovely spot for private rendezvous or strolls in the evening. Orange trees lined the white gravel pathway, surrounded by shrubs covered in blooming white flowers. The smell of citrus and blossom was consuming. Marguerite spotted Paule standing on the edge of the path, taking refuge in the shade of a tree. She seemed to have procured a bottle of wine and was taking a swig.
Marguerite walked casually, looking up at the trees as though she were admiring them and making no effort to hide her footsteps. Paule heard the crunching of gravel and looked up to see Marguerite sauntering by.
“Oh, pardon me, Madame,” Marguerite said, feigning surprise at seeing her there. “Are you quite alright?”
Paule sneered and took another drink, letting a drop of the red liquid trail down her chin. “Alright? Yes, of course I’m alright,” she scoffed before thrusting the bottle out at Marguerite. Marguerite took a small sip, puckering her lips at the bitterness. “You’re still a young thing, so let me give you some advice,” Paule said, lazily pointing a finger at her. “When you marry a man, make sure you both have the same definition of fidelity in mind.”
Marguerite widened her eyes in surprise as she handed the bottle back to Paule. “Fidelity? Is Monsieur Hugues…” she trailed off, waiting for Paule to unwittingly reveal all.
The older woman spit on the gravel. “I’ve always known he had a taste for other women, and I came to accept that. But I’m a Christian woman!” she thumped her chest proudly. “How dare he accuse me of being unfaithful - just to ease his own conscience!” Another swig of wine.
Marguerite looked down in sadness. “How could he do such a thing, after committing such sins himself?” She shook her head.
Paule narrowed her eyes and looked Marguerite up and down over the lip of the bottle. “Do me a favor, dear. If my husband ever approaches you,” she hissed, “give him a good kick in the groin. Ought to teach him something…” her voice disappeared as she buried herself in the drink.
Marguerite chuckled and curtsied. “You have my word, Madame. I bid you good day.” She left the older woman to her anger in the orangery and returned to the party, thinking that she should return to the Queen’s tent after taking most of the afternoon to herself.
She returned to the party, happy to see Louise and the King engaged in a game of croquet by themselves, laughing together at Louise’s terrible aim. Marguerite passed by Anne’s retinue, having migrated from the fountain to a spot under the trees near the orchestra. Bonne was passing the time weaving some flowers together in a ring.
“Bonne!” Marguerite approached the woman, who glanced up upon hearing her name.
“Marguerite! How good to see you!” she smiled widely. They kissed each other’s cheek in greeting. “Has Versailles been treating you well?”
“Indeed, it has. I must say that I’m living much better than I was in the countryside,” she responded, taking refuge beside Bonne in the shade of the tree. “Are those daisies?” Marguerite pointed to the chain of flowers Bonne had been weaving together.
Bonne looked down as though she had forgotten she held the flowers in her hands. “Oh, yes! I’ve been trying to make a crown to complete my costume.” She was wearing a satin lilac gown embroidered with blooming vines to match the Queen Dowager’s floral theme.
“It looks gorgeous. Here, let me help you put it on,” Marguerite said, taking the flower crown and gently setting it atop Bonne’s long dark curls. “You look like a springtime goddess.”
Bonne blushed and reached up to touch the dainty crown. “Do you think so?” Marguerite batted her hand away.
“Don’t touch it, or the flowers might wilt,” she chuckled. Marguerite looked around at the garden, seeing everyone playing games and enjoying themselves while beautiful Bonne sat in the shadow of a stuffy woman like Anne. “Will you take a turn with me around the garden? I’m heading back to the Queen’s tent and would greatly appreciate some company,” she offered Bonne her arm. Glancing quickly at Anne, who did not seem to notice or care about Bonne’s leaving, accepted Marguerite’s arm and joined her for a stroll.
Once they were out of earshot of Anne’s group, Marguerite leaned in a bit closer to speak quietly to Bonne. “I must ask you a question, and do not answer if you wish, but…” Marguerite said quietly, “Have you ever been approached by Monsieur Hugues?”
Bonne’s eyes widened as she looked at Marguerite. “Hugues?” she tilted her head in thought. “Well, I was approached by him once, when I first arrived at court. Though he never came to me again after I refused him.” She looked at her friend with concern in her dark eyes. “Has he approached you?”
Marguerite shook her head and glanced down. “No…although, I spoke with Madame Hugues just today, and she warned me to avoid him,” she answered quietly. “I wasn’t sure if perhaps he really was a dangerous man.”
Bonne shook her head with a soft smile. “I don’t know if dangerous is the right word, but surely someone to keep a distance from if you can manage it. Young women are his passion, despite what you might hear at court about him being married to his career.”
Marguerite thought on Bonne's words and made a mental note of what she had learned. “Hugues’s weakness is women, and has no sense of honor to his wife. If someone wanted to get to him, a woman would be the perfect weapon…” she pondered.
Bonne released Marguerite’s arm. “Here is Her Majesty's tent. I should be returning to my own retinue.” They kissed each other’s cheek once more in parting. “Thank you for this walk, it was quite refreshing.”
Marguerite smiled warmly and held Bonne’s hands. “No, I thank you for indulging me. Now I shall be coming to you every time I wish to take a turn around the gardens,” she laughed. She watched as Bonne wandered back to the Queen Dowager’s sitting area, floating through the people like a solitary ship on the ocean. Marguerite wondered why someone as quiet and gentle as Bonne had ever come to this battlefield.
“Marguerite!” a small voice appeared from behind her, prompting her to turn around. The Dauphin’s small hands were tugging on her skirts as he tried to get her attention. In his fist, he held a small toy soldier. “Marguerite, come play!”
She laughed and patted the child’s head. “Tell me, who does France battle this time?” she asked as he led her inside the tent. Maria Theresa smiled warmly as Marguerite indulged the young boy, playing toy soldiers with him. A few of the other women in the tent even joined in, and soon there was an entire group of them kneeling on the rugs, moving soldiers around as though they were dolls. The Dauphin became quite frustrated when some of his “generals” made the soldiers engage in dramatic affairs of love and heartbreak rather than bloody battles. He stuck out his bottom lip and pouted, but his little form was surrounded on all sides by ladies’ silken skirts, and he was no longer in control of the situation. All the ladies laughed and teased the young Dauphin as he asked why one of the women had made two soldiers lay atop each other horizontally.
Marguerite smiled as she glanced up to see that even the low-spirited Maria Theresa was laughing, blushing furiously at her ladies’ humor. Seeing her son’s confusion, she lifted him onto her lap and patted his head. “You will learn when you are older, mi amor,” she cooed, brushing her fingers through his soft curls. The Dauphin only pouted more, upset that none would explain it to him.
Darkness had finally fallen on the festivities, and many were dispersing for the night. Marguerite excused herself at last, citing her weariness and wishing to rest up for tomorrow. She bid farewell to the sleepy Dauphin, who had forbidden her from leaving before promptly dozing off in his mother’s lap. With a gentle smile, Maria Theresa dismissed her.
Exiting the tent, Marguerite immediately peeled her eyes for Alexandre, wishing to report to him her judgment of Hugues, but the valet was nowhere to be seen. She dodged drunken guests in her search, but to no avail.
“Marguerite!” Catherine called, running up to her friend and nearly knocking her over. She held a goblet in her hand that was thankfully empty, for she surely would’ve accidentally emptied the contents onto her and Marguerite’s dresses. “I’ve found you at last!” Armand, Henrietta, and the Chevalier were not far behind, swarming around Marguerite in their drunken laughter.
“Where have you lot been?” Marguerite teased, accepting a sip from the Chevalier’s own cup with a wink.
Armand threw back the contents of his own cup and tossed it to the ground, letting it roll away in the grass. “We escaped the afternoon sun in the Prince’s tent, just over the hill,” he said, pointing into the darkness. “Or…that hill,” he corrected, squinting as he struggled to recall which direction they had come from. Marguerite laughed heartily, wishing she had been there to partake before the festivity had ended.
“Tomorrow, I promise I shall join you,” she said, noting Catherine and the Chevalier’s comically sad looks as they imparted on her absence. “Have any of you seen Monsieur Bontemps? He said that he’d received a letter from my father, and I should like to retrieve it before I retire for the night.”
Henrietta tsked and emptied her cup. Catherine and Armand immediately began looking around them, as though they had perhaps seen him in the last few moments. Chevalier’s eyes lit up in remembrance as he took another drink, spitting the wine back into his cup so that he could answer Marguerite’s query. “Yes! I’ve seen him!” He grabbed Marguerite’s hand in his own as he spoke. “He came into Philippe’s tent and joined us for a drink, just half an hour ago!”
“Do you know where he went after?”
Chevalier Philippe looked up in thought, as though he were pondering over a difficult mathematics problem. “I believe he went to get some peace and quiet, which for Alexandre, probably means the hedge maze.”
Marguerite beamed and planted a kiss on his lips. “Oh, thank you Chevalier!” She gathered her skirts to run towards the hedge maze, turning back to bid her friends farewell. Though Marguerite didn’t notice it in her hurry, the Chevalier was stunned at her boldness, a blush creeping up his neck.
She ran through the archway entrance to the hedge maze before pausing, a cold chill running down her spine. Marguerite glanced into the sky, glad that there were no crows flying about. “Don’t be silly,” she chided herself, shaking the thoughts of her nightmare from her head. She walked ahead until she came to a fork in the path.
“Monsieur Bontemps!” she whispered, looking both left and right. “Bontemps!” Her hand trailed against the soft hedges, nothing like the thorny plants in her dream. Stomping her foot, she cursed him for being so difficult to find.
CAW! CAW!
Marguerite nearly jumped in her skin, glancing up at a crow who landed lightly on the hedge above her. It seemed she had spoken too soon. It hopped from one foot to another, then glanced to the right, where a second crow landed on the grassy path of the maze. Marguerite narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Huginn, Muninn, thank you!” she whispered before taking the rightward path. The crow on the ground flew away in a hurry, narrowly avoiding being trampled by her silken skirts.
She walked on briskly, searching through the darkness for Alexandre. “He seemed agitated this morning…and now,” she thought, “I can normally find him with ease. I shouldn’t have believed the Chevalier’s drunken memory,” she inwardly scolded herself. No sooner was she about to turn back than a familiar form appeared ahead of her, walking slowly through the maze, illuminated by the full moon overhead.
“Monsieur Bontemps!” Marguerite dashed forward to catch up with the man, who turned around in surprise, though his instincts seemed rather sluggish. “Alexandre, at last, I’ve found you,” Marguerite panted, chest heaving from such a short run in the heavy blue dress she wore.
Alexandre, who seemed to have been walking comfortably instantly stiffened as she laid a hand on his arm. “Marguerite?” She noticed how his eyes slowly registered her presence. She then looked down to see a nearly empty bottle of wine in his hand, some of the Prince’s prized Dom Perignon.
Marguerite didn’t quite believe that Alexandre would’ve finished that bottle himself. She shook her head and continued with the very reason she had sought him out. “Monsieur Bontemps, I’ve discovered quite some interesting things about Hugues. I overheard him and his wife arguing over his accusations of infidelity,” she rambled, not even catching her breath in all her excitement. “I’ve managed to discover from both his wife and some people in the court that he has a weakness for women, and I surmise that…” she trailed off as Alexandre raised the bottle to his lips, appearing to not even be listening. “Oh! Give me that!” she snatched it from his hands in a huff and promptly poured out the remaining wine. “Have you heard a word I said?”
Alexandre looked down at the puddle of Dom Perignon that was quickly soaking into the grass. “You’ve been here not even a week and managed to discover all this?” He shook his head and scoffed, running a hand through his dark waves. “This is absurd.”
Marguerite stepped back, brows furrowing. “Well, this is exactly why you brought me here, is it not? Is there something-” Alexandre cut her off.
“Yes, this is exactly why I brought you here!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing at her angrily. “And it only seems to remind me of my own failure to infiltrate every corner of this court. My position as an outsider…” he trailed off, leaning back into one of the hedge walls, burying his hands in his hair. “You’ve been here only a few days, and already accomplished so much, taken lovers…” He laughed dryly to himself, “You really are a courtier…ridiculous to expect anything different.”
Marguerite didn’t understand what she was hearing. “Monsieur?”
He suddenly stood up straight and faced her. “I should send you back to that hovel in the countryside,” he spat, his chiseled jaw clenching as he spoke.“I was clearly wrong to think you were up to this task - that you’d be loyal to the safety of the King over your own ambitions.” Marguerite opened her mouth slightly, allowing the smallest gasp to escape. She couldn’t believe Alexandre was speaking to her like this. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What? No witty quips or backtalk, Marguerite?”
She narrowed her eyes, stepping back slightly. Marguerite took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. Alexandre was clearly drunk and he surely didn’t understand what he was saying. “Monsieur Bontemps,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides, “You may have given me permission to speak plainly with you, but I do not recall inviting you to address me so informally.” She glowered at him as he stood still as a statue in front of her. “And if you’re going to tell the Marquis de La Fayette that his daughter is a lying thief, then by all means grow a spine and do it instead of lording it over my head!” she spat back at him, losing herself to her anger.
Alexandre’s eyes widened slightly as she stared him down. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly having no more words to say. He shook his head and scoffed before brushing past her, disappearing towards the exit of the hedge maze. Marguerite turned on her heel and watched Alexandre’s form disappear. She glowered at his back, hoping he could feel her anger through that dreadful gray coat he always wore.
Her eyes began to sting, and she quickly wiped away the forming wetness with the back of her hand. Marguerite had not cried since her mother’s funeral - she would not allow one fight to break her now. She walked forward, in the opposite direction that the valet had gone to avoid running into him once again. Marguerite would wait until he had sobered up and she had cooled down tomorrow to speak to him again. He doubted her loyalty? Very well, Marguerite would simply prove him wrong. Tonight, she would notate everything she had learned of Hugues and pass it on to him the next morning.
She walked on in the darkness of the maze for several minutes, her path illuminated only by the full moonlight. Though she tried to think on the three ministers, her mind kept returning to Alexandre taking swigs from a bottle of Dom Perignon and the way his eyes seemed to glow with fire as he glared at her. Damn that man for blackmailing her and threatening to send her away, and damn her for wanting to stay. What she had told Bonne earlier that day was true - Marguerite had been enjoying her life at Versailles these past few days more than the years spent in that small countryside town. The political intrigue, the sneaking around and spying…Marguerite felt as though this was something she could be good at.
CAW! CAW!
She glanced up to see a pair of crows circling overhead, visible only as silhouettes against the moon. Marguerite had come to a fork in the path, and was unsure of which way to go. They continued to fly overhead, giving her no direction. She shook her head angrily and chose a direction at random, stomping down the left path. Her feet were growing cold and wet from the dew, and she was growing tired of this night.
CAW! CAW! CAW!
The birds dove down towards her, coming to a halt atop the hedge maze. Their heads tilted in unison as they screamed at her.
She glared at them in annoyance. “Leave me be!” Marguerite continued down the path, picking up her skirts. After another random turn, she appeared at the presumed center of the maze, where a fountain sat between stone benches. The water feature was clearly still under construction, as various tools and planks were scattered about, and no liquid poured from the mouth of the stone horse reared back on its legs above the pool. Marguerite sighed and turned around, clearly farther from the exit of the maze than she had intended to be.
“Umph!” Not even watching where she was going, Marguerite ran into a figure that had appeared behind her. She widened her eyes in surprise. “Monsieur Hugues! What-”
The older man stumbled towards her, clearly drunk based on his poor gait and ruffled clothing. “Mademoiselle de Noailles!” he cried joyfully. “At last, I caught up to you!” He reached out to grasp her arm.
She jerked it away from his reach. “Did you follow me here, Monsieur Hugues?”
He smiled crookedly, a strange gleam appearing behind his glasses. “Follow? Why, I simply wanted to…” he covered his mouth as he burped, “compliment you on your performance.” She furrowed her brows in confusion. He reached to grasp her arm once more, this time succeeding in locking his hands around her thin wrist. “Egeria! What was she a nymph of again?” A sickening feeling had appeared in Marguerite’s stomach as she backed away, trying to twist her arm out of Hugue’s grasp. “A nymph of beauty? Of love…?”
“Egeria holds knowledge,” she hissed, stumbling backward as her calves bumped into the edge of the stone fountain.
With nowhere to go, Marguerite was trapped as Hugues grasped her other arm and attempted to pull her closer to him. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke. “Knowledge of men’s deepest desires?”
Marguerite panicked as he yanked her hand down to his pants, forcing her to feel his hardening manhood. Bonne was oh so wrong - this man sure seemed dangerous to Marguerite at this moment. She recalled Paule’s words to her in the orangery and quickly made a decision, hoping Hugues would be too drunk to remember this night and avoid any major consequences.
Marguerite threw her weight forward, knocking the already-unbalanced man away from her. Free from his grip, she bunched up the front of her skirts and swung her leg forward. The point of her shoe made contact with Hugue’s groin, causing him to immediately crumple to the ground in a moaning heap. Not caring to hang around a moment longer, Marguerite turned around and darted away from him, taking turns wildly through the maze. She wished only to be as far from that ogre as possible.
After running for what felt like an eternity, Marguerite burst through the exit of the hedge maze, dashing towards the glimmering lights of Versailles atop the hill.
++++++++
Marguerite slammed her bedroom door behind her and locked it, checking it several times. Heart still beating wildly in her chest, she slid down the back of the door, falling into a puddle of turquoise silk. She brought her knees to her chest and caught her breath, but not before tears began to stream down her cheeks. Burying her head in her knees, she sobbed uncontrollably, soaking her skirts with salty tears. There might be permanent stains from her tears on the beautiful dress, but she couldn’t spare the energy to care. Shoulders shaking as she sobbed while locked in her room, loneliness crept upon Marguerite for the first time since her arrival in Versailles.