‘The Shepherdess: Versailles’ by JM Landels

I eyed the waiting carriage with trepidation. When had carriages ever brought me anything but trouble? At least this one was empty of wine-soaked dandies and their dangerous friends. Henri opened the door, and we four women filed in. When he began to follow, Madame stopped him.

“Ah-ah,” she said, wagging a finger and pointing upward.

“Maeve,” he complained. “Will you make an injured man ride above?

“Henri,” she replied with an edge of steel beneath her smile. “Would you have one of these ladies or me watch the road for brigands like you? You probably lose more blood shaving than you did today. On top or behind, it’s your choice. Either way, keep your pistol primed and your sword loose.”

Mathilde and Marie-Claire had settled facing backward, so I took the left-hand space beside Madame. It took me some time to determine how to sit, with my panniers and whalebone stays. Of course, Henri had to ride outside. There was no room for both his bulk and our skirts in the carriage. Just when I’d finally arranged myself, I heard a bark, and the coarse grey mass of Rafael barged into the carriage.

“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Mathilde while Claire let out a disgusted noise. Madame, however, only laughed as Rafael turned himself around, leaving a path of hairs on our skirts, and sat between the knees of Madame and me, looking beseechingly from one to the other.

“Non, Rafael!” I hissed, and pointed out the carriage door.

His hopeful eyes fell, and he dropped his body towards the floor, thumping the carriage with his tail.

“Oh, tsk, he can stay,” said Madame. “It’s a long walk. But you must lie down,” she said to him, pointing at the floor.

He complied, still thumping happily. 

“The hounds around here get better treatment than I do,” grumbled Henri, as he shut the door on us.

Instead of climbing up beside the driver or taking the footman’s post, he untied Marteau from the rear of the vehicle and bridled him.
“Allez-y,” he said to the driver, and lifted his head to us. “Ladies, I may or may not see you at court.” He kicked Marteau hard, making the horse shuffle to a trot on the rough cobbles. I leaned out the window.

“That’s half my horse!” I yelled, as he retreated around the corner.

“Never fear,” said Madame, laying a hand on my arm. “He’ll clear the way for us. And we are not defenceless.” She motioned behind her, and I twisted in my seat to see Sauvegarde’s unsheathed rapier resting on hooks above the back window.

She opened the box attached to the inside of the carriage door and lifted out an ivory-handled wheellock. Somehow the presence of weapons did not reassure me.