As it turns out, I have no patience whatsoever. I'd planned on stockpiling a few chapters, but this one's the last of my stockpiled material...curses! Foiled through my own folly! Anywho, this one took next to no time to get down...hope you like it!
Ange was terrified as she watched most of the staff leave for the night. Only a few of them lived in the servants' wing of the house; indeed, there was only room for only a few in the servants' wing. But none of them could stay tonight, not one of them. She had planned this over and over for weeks, and tonight was the night she was going to murder her husband.
It was just her, Séraphin, the kitchen maids, and Louise left in the house now. Her heart raced as she went downstairs into the scullery and came upon the two girls that worked there. They were going over a final cleaning, preparing things for breakfast the following morning. She cleared her throat nervously and they both looked up at her, surprised to see her in the kitchen.
"Victoire, Isabel," she said, "M. Renard would like you to take the night off. Here," she handed them each a twenty-franc note. "Go out tonight and enjoy yourselves."
They looked askance at her, but neither of them were about to pass up twenty francs. They accepted her bribe, bade her good night, and left the house.
All that remained apart from the deed itself was to get Louise out of the way. Ange left the kitchen and went back up through the house in search of her. She found her in her dressing room, laying out her night gown for her. Ange stood in the doorway for a moment in silent contemplation that this would be the last time they ever spoke. They weren't exactly close, but it was still a sobering thought. "Louise," she said at last, "that will be all for tonight. Thank you."
"Will you need anything else before I retire, Madame?" the maid asked.
Ange paused. Louise was of another caliber than the kitchen girls. She couldn't be expected to take some money and ask no questions, and Ange had a higher opinion of her than that. Still, an explanation wasn't an option. After a moment's thought, she told her, "Leave the house tonight, Louise. That's all I want."
Louise was puzzled. "I beg your pardon, Madame?"
"I want you to leave," Ange repeated. "In fact, I'm—I'm dismissing you. You're no longer employed here."
"But I—I don't understand," Louise stammered. "Have I displeased you?"
"Not at all," Ange told her. "I'm sorry, but—I can't let you stay here."
A light of understanding came into the maid's eyes, and she nodded slowly. "I see, Madame," she said. "Just let me collect my things, and I'll be gone shortly."
She disappeared and Ange stood at the window, staring out at the night. It was calm, clear, and peaceful, not the sort of night she would choose for this. If she had her way, it would be a storm to bring on the end of the world, with hail and lightning and rain and thunder. Rain wouldn't serve her purpose, though, and she would do what she had to no matter what the weather.
Louise returned to her several minutes later, her belongings packed and her expression sober. "Thank you, Madame," she said. "I'll be gone now."
Ange nodded. "I'll walk you out."
They left the dressing room and went to the foyer. Ange was alert for any sign of Séraphin, but he'd vanished into his study after dinner and it wasn't likely he would surface in a hurry. They halted at the front door, and Ange held out her hand. Louise shook it and said, "Goodbye, Madame."
"Goodbye, Louise." She offered her a twenty-franc note, then gave her another after consideration. "Thank you for your service."
Louise took the money and hesitated before saying, "Don't let him win, Madame. Don't give up, not now."
Ange nearly smiled. The maid thought she was going to kill herself. That was just as well; the less anyone knew of the truth, the better. She held open the door, and with a final nod, Louise set off down the steps and up the pavement, soon disappearing altogether.
Ange closed and bolted the door. This was the first time in many years she'd been alone in the house with Séraphin. There had always been a member of the household staff with them, yet there had never been a soul around to protect her from him. Oh well, it didn't matter now. Nothing in this house would matter after tonight.
She returned to her dressing room and packed a carpetbag she'd unearthed in a closet in the servants' wing. She wouldn't take much, just what was necessary. She changed out of her silk frock and put on a spare maid's uniform, throwing the finery aside. She didn't know where on earth she would go, but she didn't think about that. She had to do this, for herself and for her baby. She would die if she stayed here, and she refused to leave a child to Séraphin's cruel mercies. She had to do this.
She took up the bag and made to leave the room, then paused as her eyes fell on the cello case. Every piece was still inside, down to the last splinter. It was an unnecessary burden and there was no point in taking a broken cello along with her, but she couldn't bear to leave it behind. She waited only a second longer before she picked up the case and entered the hallway.
She left her things at the tradesman's entrance just off the kitchen and went back upstairs to wait. She hid outside Séraphin's study and listened carefully for any sound within. There was the creak of floorboards as he paced back and forth, the rustle of paper as he shuffled some documents around on his desk, then finally the clatter of crystal as he poured himself a brandy. He always took the edge off his nerves with a glass of cognac before bed…a habit Ange had taken advantage of. When he'd left for the office that morning, she'd snuck in and drugged the decanter with a sedative the maids kept in the cupboard to treat monthly cramps. She had no idea how much she should use, but half the bottle seemed enough to ensure he couldn't fight her off and gain the upper hand.
She heard the sound of liquid being poured and waited with bated breath. Her hands began to tremble, and she balled them into fists to keep them still. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but she had no idea it would be this hard. The long wait for Séraphin to emerge was only about ten minutes in reality, but it seemed like years to Ange as she crouched in the hallway. It was long enough that her fear began to take her over again, but she fought to throw off its chains. She couldn't allow herself to be afraid now. She needed to be strong, to show some backbone for once as Séraphin had told her weeks ago. This night would be the last she spent like this, tied down and imprisoned. Her life would be her own.
The study door opened and he stepped into the hallway. She watched him as he walked away, steady and sober. Had the sedative taken effect yet? It didn't look like it; she would have to wait a little longer. She followed him at a distance, taking care to avoid the squeaky floorboards as she went. She still felt anxious, but a sense of power stole over her. She felt like a wild animal on the hunt, a leopard, perhaps, or maybe a jaguar, stalking her prey in the dark while it continued on so blissfully unaware that its time was measured in mere moments. It wouldn't be long now, and she would be free of this serpent forever.
He reached the bedroom door, and did her eyes deceive her or was he beginning to stagger as he walked? He went inside and didn't even turn on a light, and she hovered outside while he undressed for the night. He hadn't even noticed she wasn't there in the bed…
She heard the blankets being drawn back and Séraphin's sigh as he got into bed and her heart skipped a beat. Just a little longer, now…She waited a few minutes more to be sure he'd fallen asleep, then set off down the hall to the housekeeper's supply closet. She'd already hidden her tools there: a spare length of clothesline, several bottles of kerosene, and matches. She gathered them all up and returned to the bedroom, pausing to listen for movement inside before opening the door.
The sedative had kicked in. Séraphin never snored, but he certainly was now. She crept softly to the bed with the clothesline in hand and cautiously slipped a loop around his wrist, tightening it slowly. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, half-afraid he would wake up, but he didn't stir. She tied the line securely to the bedpost and cut it with the kitchen shears she'd brought along for the purpose, then bound his other wrist before moving onto his ankles. If he did wake before she'd finished, he'd at least have a harder time getting free before she could restrain him again.
She looped the line around his last ankle, watching him closely. He looked like a sacrificial victim, spread-eagled and tied down for the slaughter…the thought made her blood run cold. What was she doing? This was premeditated murder! How could she take a life like this?
Her hands slipped and she pulled the line a little too tight. Séraphin gave a faint snort, then opened his eyes, and she halted in terror.
"What are you doing, Evangéline?" he demanded drowsily. "Why are you dressed like that?" She didn't answer, and he looked around to see her restraints. "What the hell is this? What do you think you're doing?"
She released the clothesline and took a step back. No! She had to do this! Still, her voice trembled as she replied, "I'm going to kill you, Séraphin."
The sedative had him in a stupor, and at first her words didn't sink in. He blinked stupidly and said, "What?"
"I said, I'm going to kill you."
He smiled slowly, then began to laugh. "Enough of your games, woman. Untie me, now."
She shook her head.
His eyes hardened in anger and he repeated forcefully, "Untie me, or so help me, Evangéline, you'll be lucky to see the morning!"
"But what can you possibly do to me while you're tied?" she asked softly. The rage in his eyes didn't frighten her as it used to; in fact, it didn't frighten her at all. He could do nothing against her. This was premeditated murder, and she was going to turn it into a crime of passion. "What more can you possibly do to hurt me? I've wished for death for years."
"Then I'll grant that wish for you the instant I get loose!" He struggled against her bonds, but they were too tight.
"You won't lay a hand on me again," she told him. "Ever again. Do you hear me, Séraphin Renard?"
"Damn it, slut, let me go this instant!"
"You're not listening, you snake! I said you won't lay a hand on me ever again!" The power within her swelled strong and she let it consume her. Finally, freedom lay just in her reach, but first she would have to walk through fire. She picked up the first bottle of kerosene and unscrewed the lid, then walked slowly around the room, pouring it over the floor, the furniture, the bed, everything.
"What are you doing, you stupid bitch?" Séraphin screamed at her. "Stop! Obey me and stop!"
She didn't bother to reply. She only snatched up the crocheted antimacassar from the arm chair by the window and forced it into his mouth, gagging him. His shouts were muffled as she opened the next bottle of kerosene and tilted it over his body, soaking the blankets and drenching him to the skin. The acrid stench of the fuel burned her nostrils, but not as badly as it would burn everything else. She exhausted her supply and took the matchbox in her hands, opening and closing it and seeing his eyes widen in terror.
"How does it feel," she asked, "to be powerless? How does it feel to see your death in another's eyes and know that nothing you can do will save you? How do you like it, Séraphin? Tell me."
Whatever he might have said only escaped her gag as distorted noise.
"Speak up!" she told him. Her blood pounded in her ears and there was an intoxicating rush in her veins. "Do you want me to stop? Answer me!"
He nodded energetically.
She leaned in closer and whispered next to his ear, "Then make me stop. Enjoy it, this feeling of helplessness, and know that I've had to bear it for four years. It'll be the last thing you ever feel—except for the pain." She drew back and took a match from the box. She struck it and heard it hiss as it ignited, staring thoughtfully at the flame before looking back at Séraphin and adding, "By the way, dear husband, you're going to be a father, just like you always wanted."
And she threw the match onto the bed.
There was a surging sound as the kerosene caught the flame and it spread, enveloping the bed and Séraphin. She stood back and watched it burn, hearing his stifled screams as the fire took him. It moved from the bed to the floor, following the trail of fuel and devouring it hungrily, along with everything else it touched.
She turned and left the room, hurrying down the hallway. It burned faster than she thought it would, chasing her as she ran as though intent upon taking her too for invoking its fury. Smoke began to fill the air, making her cough and gasp for breath. She could barely hear Séraphin in the bedroom over the roar of the inferno she'd caused. She had to get out, or it would have been for nothing.
She reached the top of the stairs, choking on the smoke filling her lungs. It was so thick around her she couldn't see…she had to escape…she set foot on the stairs and reached out for the banister, drawing back with a sharp cry. The wood was already too hot to touch. She moved faster and slipped, falling the rest of the way down and hitting her head at the bottom. She picked herself up, dazed but alert, and wiped the blood from her forehead and went to the kitchen.
Her bag and her cello were waiting for her where she'd left them. She took them and threw open the door, rushing out into the fresh air and drinking it in. It felt so cool after the fire in the house, cool and pure. She turned around and looked up. The flames had swallowed the upper floor, making the windows shatter in the heat and billows of black smoke pour out, obscuring the stars.
There were shouts on the street as people appeared, drawn like moths and calling for help. If she wanted to escape unnoticed, she would have to hurry. She held her carpetbag in one hand and her cello in the other, and ran away into the darkness.
She walked until she came to the edge of Paris, then hid in a stand of trees to rest. She set her burdens down with a sigh and leaned against the bole of a nearby poplar, thinking everything over. She was free. Séraphin was dead, and she was free. She could go wherever she liked and do whatever she pleased with no one to stop her.
But she still had to eat, and she had to think of her baby. She needed to leave Paris and find somewhere to start over. A poor girl with no husband and a child would garner no sympathy and much suspicion, but a widowed mother who'd lost everything in a fire would be pitied wherever she went. She looked down at the ring on her left hand. The diamond was as much of a trophy as she had been, but it could finally serve a purpose.
When the sun rose she went to a pawnbroker's shop with the intent of selling the useless bauble. The proprietor took one look at her, a serving girl with a diamond ring and an instrument case, and said, "I don't deal in stolen goods, mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle! How wonderful to be a mademoiselle again! "It's not stolen," she insisted. "It's my own. My husband gave it to me on our wedding day, and vowed it would remain until death parted us." A few tears might help, and it wasn't too hard to call them up. "He—he died a short while ago," a very short while ago, she thought, "and left me alone with our unborn baby to care for. I have nothing to my name except for this ring, and it's terrible to have to part with it, but I need the money." Great fat tears spilled from those big brown eyes and rolled in streams down her cheeks. She was a sight to stir compassion.
The pawnbroker sighed, stood silently in thought, then said, "Very well, Madame. I'll take it for…thirty-five francs."
Well, maybe not so much compassion, but it was better than nothing. It would at least get her a train ticket out of Paris. She accepted the bargain and left the ring, taking the money with her and setting off for the station.
The schedule said the next train would be leaving in an hour, bound for Rouen. She had enough and then some to buy her ticket, then had nothing to do but wait until it was time to leave. She caught sight of her reflection in a window and looked twice. There was still a smearing of blood on her head, and her hair was tangled and scorched from the fire.
She inquired from the station master where she might find a lavatory, then disappeared to make herself more presentable. She washed away the blood at the sink and examined the wound in the mirror. It wasn't deep, but it had scabbed and would likely scar. She shrugged. It was a small price to pay for her freedom, and she'd survived worse. She looked at her hair, the long wavy hair she'd brushed and plaited and coiled and pinned for so many years to please first her mother, then her husband. It would have to go. If this life was to be hers, then this was the first choice she would make as mistress of her own destiny.
She fished through the carpetbag and drew out the knife she'd taken from the kitchen. It had seemed wise to arm herself for when she was traveling alone, and look how such foresight served her now! She raised the blade, seized a handful of hair, and sawed at it until it fell away. She moved onto another handful, and another, until finally she was shorn. She looked at her reflection again. It looked so different with short, nearly boyish locks that tickled her ears and only just grazed her jaw. She examined it critically, twisting a few strands in her fingers.
She liked it. It would suit her well.
She settled on a bench on the platform and watched the sun rise in the sky. She glanced to the north where Rouen lay. She didn't know what waited for her there, but it had to be better than what she would leave behind. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It really was a beautiful day.
Not to worry, these two are going to meet very, very soon... :) Expect it when you see it!
