The Legend Of Two Rogues

By Z.A. Angell

Devious and valiant, Francis de Brangelton has never failed in any of his exploits. When the Duchess de Montmurrant employs him to investigate the embezzlement of her investments and to settle a grudge, he does not hesitate to recruit his friend Henri d'Arringnon.

But Francis has no idea of 'Henri's' astonishing secret. Henrietta d'Arringnon has masqueraded as 'Henri' for so long that neither a military skirmish at the Savoy border nor guard duty in Versailles has exposed her. When her true identity is revealed, Henrietta's and Francis' friendship shatters but duty still calls.

Will Francis and Henrietta fulfill their commitment to the Duchess? And will the lure of fortune bring them together or further tear them apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Jan 14, 2022
• ISBN: 4867519596

Book preview

PROLOGUE

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND – 1687

God has given us free will for a purpose.

---

Batiste de Brangelton - 1685

Before James VII of Scotland was anointed James II of England, Bruce Dunbar was just a humble merchant, but James’ reign brought prosperity to Bruce. He became Laird Dunbar, and his influence and credit increased tenfold, enabling him to greatly enrich himself by transporting other people’s cargo. So what if he withheld tiny portions of their goods for himself? His clients always haggled about the price, but no one dared to question him about small discrepancies in the ledgers. Laird Bruce Dunbar delivered as contracted; he was endorsed by King James II and it was a fact that minor losses always occurred at sea.

Bruce walked to the window to admire his recently built Pride and Glory, which was moored in the river Clyde. The window was closed, but the breeze was strong and the cold air seeped through the cracked frame. The landlord of the inn charged a fortune for the location, but the comfort of the guests was of less importance. Bruce pulled the curtains closed and stoked the fire. He no longer had to tolerate such inconvenience and discomfort, but he liked the view of Pride and Glory from his window.

The fireplace belched a cloud of black smoke, forcing Bruce to wrap himself in a blanket and open the window to a gust of freezing air. He prided himself on his political foresight and business acuity; the former whispered to him that troubles gathered on the horizon for James, and the latter encouraged Bruce to expand his ventures into the New World, where the New West India Company mined emeralds from the Portuguese Empire and diamonds from New Granada.

Bruce could neither eat nor sleep thinking about a chance to establish himself in the gem trade. If only he had capital or contacts to raise money and thus to gain a foothold in the gem trade. The men in power refused to commission the Pride and Glory unless he invested his own money in the cargo. Bruce loathed the thought of a partner or an outside investor, but he had no choice.

A glass panel splintered and fell out when he slammed the window shut. A large piece of glass cut his hand. Cursing, Bruce straightened his wig and went downstairs to demand more comfortable accommodations.

Paris, France – 1687

Helene de Seveigney, the Duchess de Montmurrant, had started to consider expanding her business ventures to the New World. Vague but ambitious ideas were dancing in her mind tonight as the conversation at the salon centered around exotic imports from across the ocean – sugar, tobacco, cotton, cocoa, furs, and rum. The demand for these goods grew; it seemed to be a worthwhile investment. Helene listened to M. Speirs with rapt attention. The intricacies of the trans-oceanic commerce were unknown to Helene, but he spoke with the conviction of a man who was familiar with all aspects of business in the New World.

Helene sought him out before the night was over. May I ask you a mercantile question, M. Speirs?

He fiddled with his buttons. Yes, yes, of course, Your Grace. Please ask anything you wish.

What is the most profitable merchandise from the New World, M. Speirs?

If I had to choose, I would say tobacco, he said after a moment of consideration.

Chewing and smoking tobacco might be disgusting habits, but these vices provided ample business opportunities. Helene placed her hand on his sleeve. Is it? Are you brave and confident enough to invest a small sum of my money in it?

He unconsciously leaned toward her. Most certainly, Your Grace. His wide-set eyes lit up as he enthusiastically nodded.

My friends address me as Duchess Helene, M. Speirs. May I consider you among them?

He raised her hand to his lips. My given name is Roy. I will be greatly honored to become your most devoted servant, Duchess Helene.

And he probably aspires for more, Helene thought contemptuously.

St. Domingue, New World - 1687

The Lieutenant Gustave de Brissot’s idea of a military career was an overabundance of looting and plundering. He had not anticipated a post on this Godforsaken, hot, humid island populated by the uncouth and uncivilized colonists whom he was assigned to protect from the Spanish, Dutch, and English – not to mention the pirates. With disgust, he eyed the house he had purchased upon his arrival. Others had made their fortune in sugarcane, but his parcel of land was small and the soil was, as he found out afterwards, unsuitable to grow any profitable plants. He swatted at swaying green branches and entered his humble dwelling.

Gustave threw his jacket on the chair and loosened his cravat. Damn this heat. How much longer would he have to suffer in this hell? He poured water over his head. A cracked mirror above the basin reflected the face of a man unenthusiastically approaching middle age. The ungainly lines had started to show on his face, but he was still of noble birth. He wanted his old life back: the evenings in the rooms with marble floors and gilded furniture, light-skinned women in embroidered gowns, red wine and sophisticated dishes. He wanted the life he had lost at the gambling tables. Others cheated worse than he did but, unlike him, they were never caught. He was the unfortunate one.

He wanted to go back to France and find a pliable rich woman to marry, but his petitions to transfer back to France had so far gone unanswered. He was doomed to languish in Cap-Haïtien, while gold, precious stones, and fortunes in sugar and tobacco and rum sailed past him. Gustave despised the honest fools who held fortunes in their hands and delivered it to the New West India Company. The obscenely rich investors would hardly feel a financial hardship if one consignment disappeared. Tortuga was but a short sail away and the island was a festering haven for pirates; raids frequently happened on the high seas …

Gustave forgot about the heat as a thought occurred to him. Could he orchestrate a heist on his own?

Ferrand – 1689

Sympathetic distant relatives, kind landladies, and nuns took care of Henrietta from birth until the happiest day in her young life, when she finally went to reside with her father, Christophe d’Arringnon of His Majesty’s Royal Musketeers.

Henrietta and her father lived in a small rented room several miles from Versailles. Father’s duty demanded him to be away for long hours and sometimes for days, but Henrietta became accustomed to his absences. She read the books that her father borrowed for her, and she practiced her penmanship. She was confined indoors because there was no maid or governess to accompany her outside their humble home. With a growing concern for her isolation, her father had the idea that Henrietta might venture outside if she would pretend to be a boy. Henrietta happily agreed.

As Henri, she now had freedom to stroll anywhere she wanted. She idled on the hill overlooking the travelers on the road, she visited stables to learn about horses, she watched a candlemaker and a blacksmith at work. Her father began to instruct her in the art of swordsmanship because all boys were taught it. She mastered the skills quickly and basked in the glory of her father’s praise.

Henrietta’s father took her to visit Paris and Versailles. She learned to ride astride, and her father brought Henri along on his occasional travels, when they stayed in military garrisons and encampments. As she grew older, she realized that she led a most unconventional life for a young noblewoman and privately wondered if she would ever wear a dress or put up her hair. Then, an unexpected inheritance of an old ancestral home swept away Henrietta’s worries and brought her and father to Ferrand.

M. de Paulet was a distant cousin; his wife was happy to fill in enormous gaps in Henrietta’s education befitting a young noblewoman. Henrietta mastered the intricacies of fixing her hair and wearing corsets and skirts. She learned to curtsey, to dance, and to ride sidesaddle. M. and Mme. de Paulet’s son, Louis, and Constance from a neighboring estate, became Henrietta’s best friends.

Henrietta’s father never complained about their finances, but Henrietta understood that money was tight. The food on their table was simple. Her outfits were re-made from old gowns found in the attic, and her father’s clothes had started to show signs of wear. A chandelier was taken down and never seen again. Fewer and fewer candles were lit in the evenings.

Then letters without senders’ names started to arrive; a cloaked man came to speak with her father and left the same day. Soon after that, her father had rented out their house and arranged for M. de Paulet to become Henrietta’s guardian.

Henrietta went to live with the de Paulet family. Her father left on an expedition to the New World.

1

YOUNG MAN IN PARIS

VERSAILLES – MARCH 1690

You will obey orders? You don’t know what that means.

---

Paul d’Ornille to Francis de Brangelton to - 1690

Six years ago, the Sun King had summoned Laurent de la Fleure, the young Comte de Chatreaux, to gossip-infested, malice-filled Versailles. Joining the Musketeers meant he had a chance to escape the intrigues and backstabbing that plagued the Court, so Laurent put on the gray-blue coat with a deep sense of relief. Even then, the brand-new Palace of Versailles was packed and bursting at the seams.

Laurent’s accommodations in the barracks were spacious by comparison. As a military man, he was excused from suffering through (what passed for) intelligent discourse in salons. And, incidentally, a certain duke had promptly abandoned his efforts to marry off his hare-brained daughter to Laurent. The duke violently disapproved of a young Comte taking a military post designated for younger sons without prospects.

Laurent had considered himself fortunate in his decision. He appreciated the comradery of the elite regiment, but he also carved out time to enjoy small bits of peace and quiet away from the court chaos. With a copy of the latest newspaper in one hand, a meat pie in another, and a flask of spiced wine in a pocket, Laurent strolled through the wide-open space of Water Parterre.

The sun was peeking through the clouds, but a soft breeze was preventing most of the courtiers from venturing outside, allowing Laurent to feel undisturbed on this rare mild day. Laurent turned right, and sat on the stone bench by the trees. He finished eating, took a refreshing sip from the flask, and opened the newspaper to peruse the articles of human follies.

M. de la Fleure, may we implore you to settle a dispute? Paul d’Ornille was one of the best and brightest new recruits to the regiment, and he was approaching with a stranger in tow. The stranger’s swagger reminded Laurent of privateers and, observation assisted by personal experience, warned him that this young man was, despite his tender years, an accomplished cutthroat. It was easily deduced from his self-confidence, his apparent lack of respect for decorum and authority, and his arsenal of weapons (a sword, a pistol, and a dagger – and those were just the items on display). His somber dark clothes were plainly cut, his black boots were stained and scratched with age, and his leather gloves had been vastly repaired, but the hilts of the sword and dagger were brightly polished. When he took off his maroon hat, the broken nose and the nasty scar across the forehead added the final touches to his appearance.

With all respect, I apologize for intruding on your solitude, but I hear that you are a man of wisdom and order, M. de la Fleure, the young brigand said as he gracefully bowed. His address was unpredictably cultured. Will you please settle a difference of opinions between Paul and me? He did not pause in case Laurent meant to object. When a sightseeing visitor in Paris catches another man's hand in his pocket, and the visitor’s purse is in that pocket, does tossing the would-be thief in the Seine constitute an act of justice? Or is it a disturbance of the peace?

Laurent considered it. Did the would-be thief drown?

No. The ungrateful swine climbed on shore to bray obscenities at the visitor from a safe distance, and that's after the visitor had gone through the trouble of arranging a bath he badly needed. The stranger clearly had a unique perspective on life.

Laurent suppressed a chuckle. Did you assist in that spectacle of reforming a would-be thief, d'Ornille?

No. Meet Francis de Brangelton. I would not dream to intrude on his performance.

He is a friend of yours? Laurent inquired.

D’Ornille nodded. Since he learned to walk and talk.

Denounce me, Paul. If your comrade-in-arms condemns your association with me, I am just a disreputable neighbor. He deftly dodged a friendly kick by d’Ornille.

What brings you to Paris, de Brangelton? Laurent asked.

His smile was disarmingly innocent. That is a long and convoluted story.

Laurent folded the unread newspaper. He had a feeling that no composition there would be as amusing as de Brangelton’s tale. I have time.

D’Ornille and de Brangelton fell in step with him as they walked down the stairs and along the wide path toward the Grand Canal.

I abandoned the town of my birth before I was blamed next for all the sins of any renegade neighbors. The local former judge is a lunatic – he believes my father’s ghost haunts him, de Brangelton begun his chronicle.

You don’t say, Laurent scoffed at the last sentence. Pray tell, on what grounds would anyone accuse such a fine young man as you of a crime?

Will you do the honors, Paul?

No.

My older brother was once accused – and later acquitted – of a murder. The people in Poitiers whisper that I destroyed the prison to save him from the noose, and somehow, I managed to almost murder a man while I was traveling miles away. They imagine that I sailed with Barnaby pirates while I resided – peacefully, for the most part - in Marseille, de Brangelton cheerfully expounded. Not to mention that one sweet damsel caught me in her clutches, but then another claimed me for herself.

D’Ornille’s jaw dropped and shut with a snap.

So, there I was, standing in front of the glorious Notre-Dame-La-Grande Cathedral, respectfully conversing with one of these charming women, when the other joined us. De Brangelton theatrically shuddered. I quite admired the accusations and insults that these beautiful creatures passionately and loudly exchanged - until they came to blows. I took them apart, and they turned on me. I escaped with a bite on my hand, a scratch on my face, and a torn sleeve.

Laurent could no longer keep a straight face. That should teach you to play with the affections of two women!

He never learns. D'Ornille noted.

Oh, faithless friend of mine, I am neither foolish nor reckless, although I did attempt to reconcile them.

D’Ornille’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Have you succeeded?

De Brangelton flashed a predatory smile. No. I left Poitiers. Being caught between two women is more dangerous than fencing against two opponents, and I am one of the best swordsmen in France. Bet you a bottle of rum you will lose a round with me. The last sentence sounded like an afterthought to Laurent, tacked onto the same breath as de Brangelton’s bragging.

I respect your confidence, Laurent said with a well-deserved touch of sarcasm. We shall see about it tomorrow-- nine o’clock in the morning in the fencing hall by the arsenal.

He belatedly realized that was exactly what de Brangelton wanted to happen: a fencing round with Laurent would make the young reprobate known.

---

The news of a provincial newcomer challenging the famous de la Fleure spread like fire. When Laurent arrived at half-past eight o’clock, the viewing gallery in the fencing hall was full. De Brangelton swaggered in at quarter to nine and calmly observed the crowd.

I am astonished that men of Paris crawl out of bed so early. He greeted Laurent. It is obviously not for the wagers. From what I have heard about you, no one would bet on me to win.

They envision a figurative slaughter.

De Brangelton wrapped a black-and red kerchief around his head in the style of sailors and pirates. Exhibition rules required fencing barefoot, but it said little, if anything, about fashionable headgear. They will be greatly disappointed. Shall we raise the stakes, de la Fleure? When I win, you will offer me a commission in the Musketeers.

During their exchange, the crowds had hushed, and the last sentence was heard by all. Laurent checked his temper at being so skillfully manipulated. I have no authority to offer you a commission. Here is my counter-offer to you, de Brangelton: if you win, I will recommend you.

---

De Brangelton went for the first attack. Laurent was one of the elite fencers, but the speed of his opponent stunned him into retreat. His counterattack was met with a solid defense, and the riposte came immediately. Laurent parried, and their blades met again and again; the steel-on-steel clash was the only sound heard in the fencing hall.

Laurent blocked his mind and vision to anything but his opponent’s blade. He delivered a minor blow to his opponent’s upper arm, and the covered tip of de Brangelton’s blade grazed his upper arm. His next attack came from an unexpected angle. Laurent abandoned caution and used a two-handed grip to slam his sword into his opponent’s blade. De Brangelton reacted immediately, but his step faltered and Laurent was able to follow through with another light touch to the ribs.

Despite the cool air, both were covered in sweat. After what seemed to be a million parries, time was called. The deafening sounds of applause, praise, and excitement erupted among the audience.

De Brangelton wiped his face with his head covering. I almost became a Musketeer!

Could have happened if this bout lasted longer, Laurent hollered over the uproar. You are a devil with the blade! He weaved his way through the crowd.

De Brangelton followed him to the wash closet. When shall we have a rematch?

Laurent gulped cool water and poured some over his head. I don’t want to deal with you for at least a week. Why do you wish to become a Musketeer?

De Brangelton held his look. It seems to be the best way to establish my connections at the Court.

It seems to be the best way to keep an eye on you, Laurent responded just as honestly.

The young man’s blue eyes took on a disconcerting, opaque glint. I must warn you that my older brother sailed to the New World to escape his self-imposed responsibility for my well-being.

Your older brother is a man of excellent judgment. Unfortunately for him, I am able to arrange for you to join him there if you stir up any trouble here.

Trouble? I don’t know what you are talking about.

"I suppose you do not quite comprehend the meaning of the word ‘trouble’", Laurent replied.

It was probably a mistake to bring Francis de Brangelton even within a mile of the Musketeer’s Headquarters. The young man seemed reckless, manipulative, and ambitious. However, even more than with many of the younger recruits, dealing with him would provide both a challenge and entertainment. Then again, de Brangelton would probably resign as soon as he had to follow orders, Laurent consoled himself.

---

.

2

THE HEIST

CAP-HAÏTIEN, ST. DOMINGUE – NOVEMBER 1690

A box of gold and a box of silver,

What more do I need?

Fancy rings on all my fingers

And forgiveness for my greed.

---

From a popular song - c.1685

The Pride and Glory brigantine dropped her anchor in the harbor. She needed to fix the sails that were battered in a storm and to reinforce her splintered sides. The repairs were unremarkable, but the detailed orders to summon the troops for the ship’s protection were uncommon.

When Gustave was ordered to join the patrolling crew, his heart leaped in his chest upon a glimpse at a locked iron strongbox in the Captain’s cabin. Was there a treasure on board? Officially, Pride and Glory carried tobacco and rum, but these commodities did not warrant an around-the-clock watch by a dozen men. The more Gustave thought about it, the more he became convinced that his prayers had been answered.

He had formed a vague plan a long time ago and he had laid his groundwork, vague enough to be independent of however the details manifested themselves. He resented bringing in an accomplice, but there was no way around it.

---

Corporal Rossignol.

M. Lieutenant de Brissot.

At ease, Corporal. Walk with me.

The wiry, round-faced man held a reputation for his cunning, his lust, and his greed; Gustave had watched him for a while, and he had not been disappointed by the results of his surveillance.

You are poaching your officer's woman, Gustave stated.

Rossignol quickly repressed an involuntary curse. I deny this, M. Lieutenant.

It is not common knowledge, Corporal. I only noticed because I think you have the potential for a promotion, but you must quit this affair and follow my orders.

I deserve a promotion, the Corporal answered. At any cost, he added after a pause.

Gustave was relieved to hear that. "Excellent. You will be in command of night duty on the Pride and Glory, Corporal."

A mighty storm is brewing, M. Lieutenant.

Your men might need special measures to calm their nerves in this weather, Corporal. I suggest you indulge them in a small amount of rum. Spice it up and make certain everyone enjoys it.

I have no rum, no spices, and no money, M. Lieutenant.

Gustave glanced furtively around as he handed Rossignol the coins and a medicine bottle. He had bought an occasional sleeping draft and saved it all for such an occasion. Now he prayed that the potency had not diminished.

---

Hurricane season was officially over, but if the red streaks peeking through dark gray clouds and the repressing moisture in the air were any indication, a brutal storm was coming. Storms did not always care about man’s designation of their seasons. An ominous darkness descended. In another hour, the men would have finished the rum and fallen fast asleep.

Gustave paced along the shore in the increasing wind, waiting for the tenth hour to toll. When the bells faded away, he pushed off in his small boat and rowed across the choppy waves and toward the swaying brigantine. His progress was slow, and when he reached the Pride and Glory, he was soaked in sweat.

Corporal! Lower the ladder.

The moon disappeared behind the clouds. The distant onshore lights barely illuminated the darkness, and he did not see the ladder until it hit him on the head. Cursing, Gustave tied up the boat and, picking up the bag, climbed on deck. Where are the men, Corporal?

It has been quiet here, M. Lieutenant. I allowed them to sleep.

Excellent call, Corporal. He licked his dried lips, for now came the most delicate part of the plot. I must swear you to silence, Corporal, to carry out the secret orders I have received.

The moon peeked from behind the clouds, shining on Rossignol’s round face. He dropped to his knees and crossed himself. I swear by everything sacred that I will never betray the special command I shall receive today from my commanding officer.

We have received a tip that an English privateer ship is hiding by the cliffs just outside the harbor, Gustave said. Her captain is desperate enough to sail in this weather. He is aiming to steal the documents onboard. I must retrieve these documents and replace them with false ones, to trick him into false success.

Do you have the keys, M. Lieutenant?

No, Corporal. You will pick the locks.

There was a sharp intake of air. This will cost you. Rossignol’s tone had lost the deference of the subordinate addressing his officer.

It is the order, Corporal.

I don’t know how to pick locks.

Thunder rolled in the distance. Don’t lie. I have seen you doing just that. You always carry a set of iron gadgets for this purpose. Unlock the door or I will have you court-martialed.

You will go down with me, M. de Brissot.

The threats had no effect on the insolent Corporal. They haggled over the price, but once agreed, Rossignol opened the door to the captain’s cabin in no time.

Unlock the strongbox.

Rossignol shook his head. The deal was to open the door.

Gustave kicked the strongbox, but his effort was useless. Rossignol would, no doubt, open the strongbox for himself if Gustave went in search of an ax. There was no time to lose; the crew might wake up sooner than he estimated.

I will pay you a quarter more than agreed, Rossignol.

I want to see these false papers first.

Gustave nearly choked on bile. The floor shifted under his feet.

I heard rumors about what’s inside this strongbox. Rossignol had the audacity to place his hand on the hilt of his sword. I reckon there are no papers and no privateer ship.

It is your word against mine. Gustave spat. I outrank you, I am a nobleman, and you are scum.

In the shifting light, his face was grotesque. Guitaut!

M. Corporal! A young and perfectly sober soldier appeared at the door.

He does not touch rum, Rossignol sneered. What was your command, Lieutenant?

Either the rolling deck or the shocked fury threw Gustave off balance. His shoulder painfully slammed into the wall. The thunder sounded closer than before. The lantern’s light flickered. He had no choice. Open the strongbox, he repeated.

M. Lieutenant? Guitaut squeaked.

Stand back, Lieutenant. Rossignol motioned with his hand. Watch my back, Guitaut. He abandoned any pretense of respect for his officer.

M. Corporal? the soldier squeaked again.

Rossignol set to work. Guitaut’s eyes darted between his Corporal and Gustave. His lips moved in either a prayer or a curse under his breath. A barely perceptible click indicated that the lock had been breached.

What do we do now, de Brissot? Rossignol asked.

Move over.

No. He reached for his pistol.

They stood facing each other, with Rossignol’s primed pistol pointed at Gustave, and Gustave holding the sword to Rossignol’s throat.

M. Lieutenant! M. Corporal! Guitaut gasped.

An idea struck Gustave. Take this. He flung the satchels to the naïve soldier. Move the contents of the strongbox here. Using his sword, he forced Rossignol to move away and they cautiously made way for Guitaut.

The soldier knelt on the floor and opened the strongbox with shaking hands. Lightning flashed, illuminating neat small trays stacked on top of each other, each individually wrapped in cloth.

Rossignol lowered his pistol. Shall we divide this half and half, de Brissot?

Gustave removed his sword. No, that was not what he intended, but now was not the time to haggle. Didn’t you offer a share to Guitaut?

The soldier flinched.

Ah, yes. Rossignol made a move toward the strongbox but changed his mind after glancing at the sword in Gustave’s hand. See what is inside, Guitaut.

With shaking hands, the soldier untied the bag and pulled out the tray.

Gustave had expected to behold a cascade of colorful sparkles, easily envisioning it even in the shifting semi-darkness, but the dull appearance of yellow pebbles almost caused him to collapse.

What is that? Rossignol snarled.

Place them back in the bag. Leave the tray out, Gustave rasped. He had staked his life on this enterprise, but had he been duped? Had fate played a cruel joke? But he had to see it to the end. Check all the others.

Guitaut revealed more dull pebbles, although these were larger in size. One rough edge caught the light, and a splash of brilliance burst out. If they were disguised diamonds, there was a fortune there to keep a man in luxury for life.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Gustave breathed a sigh of relief upon the sight of emeralds in the next bag; the green luster was unmistakable. Even if the pebbles were worthless, the emeralds alone would secure him a life of comfort … provided he did not have to share with Rossignol.

Hand it over to me, Gustave and the Corporal said in unison as soon as Guitaut secured the last knot and stood up.

The soldier dropped the bags and darted outside. Rossignol dove after them, affording de Brissot the opportunity to hit the renegade Corporal on the head. Pushing away the stunned body, Gustave grabbed the precious bags and stuffed them in the satchels. He stumbled out to the deck, where the rain pelted the boards, making them treacherously slippery.

The rough wind shook the ship, raising the starboard side to a steep angle. A loud banging on the hull could be the splintering of his escape boat, Gustave realized in panic. The sudden shift of the ship must have shaken the men awake; they cursed as they ran out of their cabins. Drowsy men slid and tumbled