Twelve Hours to Midnight

By Gary Alan Lahner

Count Pipperel Pierre Paien and his cousin Rushkin have been summoned to live at the Palace of Versailles under the watchful eye of King Louis XIV. Reluctant to become a part of the King’s menagerie Pipperel hopes to maintain a low profile, but missing jewels, murders, and the possibility of becoming a target for spies, Pipperel and Rushkin find themselves the center of attention. Help from the eccentric Marquis de Pompier and Captain Popell is further complicated by the King’s trusted pet pig, Papett, and the zany, daily rituals of Louis XIV and his outlandish Court. Danger mounts as Pipperel searches for food, water, and a decent tub as he solves the mysteries that can free him from Versailles and return him to the loving solace of his beautiful chateau.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Alan Lahner
• Release date: May 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370092420

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Twelve Hours to Midnight

by Gary Alan Lahner

Copyright 2017 Gary Alan Lahner

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One - A Regal Journey

Chapter Two - The Gilded Kennel

Chapter Three - A Delicate Wind

Chapter Four - Murder in the Orangery

Chapter Five - A Troubled Demonstration

Chapter Six - Cecile Floreunt

Chapter Seven - The Missing Shoes

Chapter Eight - A Delicate Thread

Chapter Nine - A Hidden Scroll

Chapter Ten - Cocoa Royale

Chapter Eleven - Viscount Rushkin

Chapter Twelve - The King's Dinner

Chapter Thirteen - Romancier and Jullioponie

Chapter Fourteen - Truffles, Ruffles and Secret Doors

Chapter Fifteen - Threads of a Bygone Tragedy

Chapter Sixteen - Goodbye, Versailles

Chapter Seventeen - The Long Journey to the Gate

Chapter Eighteen - Home

Chapter One

A Regal Journey

My Beloved Journal: Today is the day that I have feared the most, to leave my beautiful château, and venture out into the strangulated world of the aristocracy. Quelle vie, quelle vie...

The early morning sunlight that played on the trees casting delicate shadows on the château disappeared behind thick, gray, dreary clouds as Count Pipperel Pierre Paien said goodbye to his staff of caretakers. Pascalina the lovely upper chambermaid, Pansy the not so pretty lower chambermaid, Oriel and Orlena the two beautiful sisters who brought a quiescence of joy as they fluttered around doing whatever they did, Pryor the gardener and general caretaker, and then in all his obese magnificence Padgett the cook. Pipperel stopped in front of him taking a deep breath, tears welling in his eyes, the corner of his mouth sagging like the rolls of fat around Padgett’s jowls. Padgett held up a bag, a sack of goodness, treasure beyond treasures, the Count could smell the kipferl, a wisp of ham and was that, yes, cheese of Brie! Pipperel grabbed Padgett’s fat arms and started to kiss him on both cheeks, but stopped when getting a whiff of something not so savory and released him fawning a smile. He thought to himself how a man so smelly made food that tasted so divine.

Shaking his head to get the thought out of his mind Pipperel looked toward the château doors at his sibling Henri Paien, brother dear, standing with his cane and wrapped up leg, waving goodbye. Pipperel gave a curt smile, tilt of his head, and pursed his lips as he turned and walked with an air of defiance to the coach.

He stopped for one last look at his beloved home. I will never see it again — my lovely gardens, my vineyards, my beautiful bed and bath, all a faded memory. Looking once again at his aged brother, the coward, he climbed aboard the coach with help from his cousin Rushkin — called so because of his bright red hair.

Sitting down with the sack on his lap he started in on Rushkin.

The bastard child. Did you see him? My brother standing there all dressed up like an invalid. Ah, it makes me sick. Oh, I will take care of the vineyards, Pippy. I hate when he calls me that.

The Count looked at Rushkin who was eyeing the bag, wondering if his cousin heard any of the words he said.

Well, aren’t you going to say something, or are you just going to stare?

A door opened from the top of the coach causing the Count and Rushkin to jump and cry out a scream.

Are you ready Count Paien? asked the driver.

Recovering from the shock, hand on his heart Pipperel gave a flittering gesture to the coachman. Yes, yes, go. Drive us to our doom.

The door slammed shut startling the two men again as Pipperel sat back wondering what he was getting into.

I don’t think it bad, said Rushkin. How many people have a chance to live at Versailles? It is an honor bestowed on you that the King would require your presence at Court. I don’t know why you carry on so.

Pipperel took Padgett’s sack and whacked Rushkin on the shoulder. Idiot! Don’t you realize we may never see our home? They will never let us go. I will never see my beautiful gardens again, and all because of my brother who pretends he’s too old.

But, he is old, said Rushkin cringing to deflect another blow.

The carriage took off with a jerk catching Rushkin off guard throwing him toward Pipperel. Returning to their seats both men held on while jostled about, the Count rolling his eyes. Three days of this I won’t have to worry about my life at the obscene palace — I’ll die before I get there.

Pipperel took a deep breath and sat back trying to get comfortable. He remembered his father and mother making this trip to Court many times. They seemed happy getting away as if it were some grand vacation. The rushing about the château with all the servants scurrying to pack the many trunks mother used to take. Her gowns, hats, and exquisite shoes she had fashioned in her beloved Italy. His father giving orders on how the large barrels of wine should be placed on the wagon that would go on ahead. Payment for the King he would say. He won’t get any payment from me, thought Pipperel. Since his father died Pipperel’s brother bottled the wine and buried it in the cellar. The wagons going to Paris, Vienna, and Italy bring in the coin to support all the vagrants who call the château, home. How his brother could let half the village work and live on the grounds he didn’t know. Still, they provide the needed services and did the menial tasks, and they do love us so. These days the coin is scarce — the King having bled his parents dry of almost everything to build that monstrous creation called Versailles.

And now he wants every royal personage close so he can keep an watchful eye. He even wants me! As if I’d take over his empire. And, he certainly isn’t getting any free wine!

Rushkin placed his head against the window as he watched the sight of his childhood home fade behind a cluster of trees. The carriage left the large stone gates as a white handkerchief fluttered out the window signifying the last gesture of farewell as the mighty Paien stallions headed into the loving, ray-like arms of the Sun King.

Rushkin adjusted his wig wiping sweat from his forehead tucking the red hairs back under. Pipperel sat next to him on the stone under a large tree staring at the coaches broken wheel. To be defeated yards from the great iron gate. Portent of things to come? Here they sat in their finest clothes almost thrown to their deaths when the coach hit a hole obviously dug by some disgruntled servant. The hole couldn’t have weathered. No, this was a deliberate act of sabotage cleverly placed to cause havoc on anyone unfortunate to pass this way — and who else would come flying down this road but the aristocracy. Probably was the King himself. Pipperel had a nose for such things. In fact, his nose was rather long and distinguished, overshadowed by dark, deep-set eyes, complemented by black hair slicked back and tied with a black-laced ribbon. And, the nose spent many a summer visiting the village watching the people work and talk about life, marriage, and recent stories told by travelers while analyzing with supreme accuracy the current gossip as apposed to the real events that did or did not take place.

Oh Pippy this heat is intolerable. I should never have worn this wig, Rushkin said.

The Count looked over at him and started laughing.

What is so funny? Rushkin said in a hurt voice.

Why you had to wear that silly thing?

It is all the rage Pippy, I will look so fashionable.

Look at you now, Pipperel said. You know I think it’s wilting. I told you Rushkin this will be to our deaths coming to this forsaken monstrosity. Already we are set upon by bad luck.

He looked down the road feeling sweat on his own brow. It seemed like hours passed before their coachman went to the palace on one of the horses. Poor things looked as exhausted as he was.

Tired of sitting Pipperel was about to get up and stretch when a thunderous roar in the distance caused the local wildlife to take flight. White horses galloped down the road toward them like intricately carved statues by Bernini come to life. They both watched as the ornate and excessively decorated gold, trimmed carriage came to an abrupt stop in front of their own frightened horses. A well-dressed footman appeared from the back, opened the door letting down steps that produced a black, high-heeled shoe topped with floral shaped, bright, blue ribbons. The shoes supported brilliant, white stockings leading up to a light, blue coat braided with white and gold. A young head sported a white wig; similar to the one Rushkin wore, tied with the same color ribbon as the bows of the shoe. The young man commanded a long, black staff topped with a golden knob with an engraved emblem of a blazing sun that glinted in the summer light.

What a tragedy! I have been so busy today…and when you were not arriving…and then your coachman…

The young man bent down to study the broken wheel. Pipperel and Rushkin stared at the spectacle as they sat on the conveniently placed stone.

This is terrible. You could have suffered serious injury. I have told His Majesty this road needed cobbled.

The palace emissary presented the brightest smile and eyes suggesting a guilty pleasure of having done this before. I am the Viscount Antoine Louis Francois de Crussol d’Uzes, giving a slight bow. Officer of the Court to His Royal Majesty King Louis the XIV.

Pipperel stood nodding his head and taking a deep, bored breath. I am the Count Pipperel Pierre Paien, and this is my... pausing for a moment looking at Rushkin’s wilted wig, my cousin, Rushkin.

An honor to be the first to introduce you to our wonderful Versailles. I imagine you are exhausted so we will go with haste to the palace. May I inquire as to your other coach with your luggage and servants? Will they be arriving tomorrow? You see, I only ask so I could make the arrangements. Usually, the nobilities entourage travels with them.

Pipperel looked dazed for a moment.

I regret Viscount two days into our journey all the horses in the village we stopped at became sick, probably something they had eaten, and I had decided to send everyone back to the château as not to slow our journey. This coach and all that are on it — are all that we have, Pipperel paused. At this time.

Not to worry, no, no think not of it, we at Versailles will attend to every need, the Viscount said blinking his gray-blue eyes.

Clicking his fingers in the air twice, four footmen appeared from behind the elaborate transport and ran to retrieve Pipperel’s luggage. Pipperel wondered how four grown men could ride on the back of the Viscount’s coach and watched as they struggled to find a place for the two, large trunks. Tightening his jacket he followed Rushkin and the Viscount Antoine Louis Francois de Crussol d’Uzes, and pondered thus as to his unknown fate.

The ornate carriage passed the ornate iron gate with its ornate golden sun, emblem of the Sun King. The classical face with protruding rays symbolized the right to be divine heir by authority of the Greek sun god Apollo. However, this gate was not the main gate which was reserved only for the King. Nobles arrived through the side gate, informed the Viscount. The poor door Pipperel thought, sighed, and was not impressed.

Pipperel could see the palace of Versailles from the window of the coach, and despite its beauty, he imagined a world of etiquette, proper attire in the most popular fashion matched only by the back stabbing which, without doubt, would have to be going on. The posture of the Viscount dressed in elegant clothes spoke of these things, too. His youth a symbol as well, positioned to office by inheritance, or this latter the more likely; to irritate the old aristocracy that coveted a place in King Louis’ entourage. Antoine Louis Francois de Crussol d’Uzes knew this well and flaunted it with the giant, golden knob of a happy sun on the end of his walking stick.

I knew your mother, said the Viscount noticing Pipperel admiring his golden ball. It is the reason I asked His Majesty to be your indoctrinator into our little royal family. When I was a boy, not long ago, the Countess Paien gave me sweet fruits in the Grand Gardens. We children were often shunned by most of the residents and had playful times with the Countess. She loved to share the sweet confections on her return from the city of Paris.

Pipperel thought of his mother sitting in the shade of the large trees, the summer breeze flowing through one of her Italian made hats, scattering candies to the little pigeons. He wondered if the story could be true. His mother never seemed interested in the children of their village. Maybe she was just bored. Maybe the Viscount invented an impressive story. It was obvious he was flaunting the fact that his childhood took place at the palace. Still, it brought back memories that hit to Pipperel’s heart even if it was a quaint ruse to gain his trust. Maybe the young man was genuinely impressed with his mother and father. Friendship for whatever reason was, the Count felt, to his advantage, so he made up a story of his own.

You bring back such memories Viscount. She so loved the children of our village, and from time to time would invite them to the château, and pass out grapes which Padgett, our cook, had a fancy to dry out in the summer sun.

The Viscount with his youthful smile thought on this as if calculating accuracy.

I have no doubt of that Count Paien, she was well-loved by all that was within her realm of influence. She had time to talk, and listen, and wanted to cultivate friendships that served her well into the future.

So there you have it, thought Pipperel, a secret message hidden within words. Be my friend because I’m important. But why me? The Pipperels had little wealth compared to some that reside in the mirrored halls. And what possible influence beyond the meager friendships they talked about at Court could my mother and father possibly have had? To cultivate shown as a keyword. Get them on your side right from the start. What harm is in that? Nothing thought Pipperel, it bored him down to his sore and tired feet. He smiled at the Viscount as his attention took in the enormous size of the palace brought into view through the small window of the coach as it passed the front façade.

Pipperel pondered the magnificent structure. Magnificent and beautiful truly in its construction he mused. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my evaluation. This could lend itself to many possibilities of a luxurious nature. Once I meet the King what use would there be to see him again? I could get lost in my own paradise of servants, lavish meals, and splendid baths. Perhaps even see Paris and stay there for weeks. Yes, this could work out. My home, so far away in the south possibly kept me from broadening my experience.

A sudden jolt, followed by an increase in speed made the carriage jump up and down violently throwing Pipperel into Rushkin. Screams issued from outside the coach accompanied by scraping noises against the sides from the hands of the footmen trying to hang on. Pipperel recovering from the shock was again startled by Viscount d’Uzes’ golden ball banging at the coachman’s door at the top of the roof. The clattering coach halted pushing Pipperel and Rushkin back and forth against the cushioned seat.

My apologies your Majesties, an unseen voice said from the little door in the roof now opened to the blue sky. One of Madame Pompeel’s little puppies ran past scaring the stallions causing them to bolt!

Belmere, Belmere, you should have seen it coming, barked d’Uzes perplexed.

But I am so high up I cannot see the ground, Belmere quibbled back.

The Viscount removed a handkerchief from his coat and fanned his face. Pipperel noticed the edges were trimmed in the same blue color as the Viscount’s brocaded vest and thought the threads must have been dyed to match.

Who did we lose Belmere? asked the Viscount stretching his neck to look out the back through the window.

Peter and Lynierre I’m afraid, said the driver.

Are they hurt? queried d’Uzes.

They are on their feet…

Then drive on, drive on, interrupted the Viscount, I’m dying in this heat box, they can walk the rest of the way.

The coach jerked forward as Viscount Antoine Louis Francois de Crussol d’Uzes rolled his eyes and wiped his forehead.

A likely story, said d’Uzes. Belmere likes to rattle the Royals at times. He’ll even have the audacity to drive the coach through the marshy areas just to get it stuck. Why we keep him in this capacity I’ll never know, but it is by the King’s orders.

The Viscount had a blank frozen stare, and then asked, Are you alright?

Oh yes, yes, replied Pipperel and Rushkin wondering what to make of it all.

Between you and me there are times I imagine the Sun King himself watching out one of the many windows at the spectacle he must create. I don’t know this to be certain, but Belmere, I think, perpetuates that idea.

The Viscount was right, it was hot, and soon faded the possibilities of a luxurious stay if the servants were as playful as portrayed. Pipperel decided he would once again desire his lowly château.

The coach continued along the architectural wonder of Versailles. Blocks of limestone made up most of the building decorated with columns and rows of enormous, arched windows. The repetitive style made a never-ending façade that reached toward the horizon and up to the sky.

Pipperel noticed Rushkin to be unusually quiet, refraining from the pointless questions he would usually ask. Maybe he was taking it all in, or analyzing a way for a quick escape, or maybe he was ready to pass out from the frightful wig he insisted on wearing.

The end of the journey from the deliberately dug hole to their final internment had arrived. What was left of the footmen opened the door as the Viscount d’Uzes flew down the little stairs of the coach. Pipperel and Rushkin followed relieved by the gentle summer breeze, and glad to be out of the maniacal hands of the coachman, Belmere.

And here we are, the Viscount said with pride, arms spread out to showcase the palace as if he built it himself.

Pipperel hid his disgust and offered a smile. Rushkin gasped awakened from his stupor giving the Viscount just the adornment he needed.

I am speechless, said Rushkin. It’s more than either of us could have ever imagined. I mean the grandeur…well it’s just so hard to take in. It must have taken forever to build…

I know, I know! exclaimed the Viscount. Wait until you see the… A bang interrupted the adulation as small sacks hit the ground behind the Viscount.

And what is this? asked the Viscount with an angry look toward the top of the coach.

Potatoes, my lord, replied Belmere as he slammed another sack to the ground.

Really, Belmere you are trying my patience today. I will not ask you why you’re unloading them here. Or, why they are on top of the coach in the first place. Or, even if they are potatoes at all! We are just going to leave with some semblance of dignity due to our stations, the Viscount yelled pointing the golden ball at the end of his staff up to the face of a grizzled Belmere.

The Viscount gave orders for the two remaining footmen to help with the trunks, and with a wistful smile led Pipperel and Rushkin through the intimidating and grandiose doors of Versailles.

Chapter Two

The Gilded Kennel

Count Pipperel Pierre Paien was for the first time in his life speechless. His mind hurt as it tried to catalog all that he beheld. The amount of effort and skill it must have taken to produce the decorative world of Versailles alone had been Herculean to say the least. Yes, the outside was a wonder, but