Catherine ran faster than she could ever remember running. She didn't care if her fine shoes were ruined in mud or if her beautiful green dress was trodden over. She had to reach the gallows before they killed him! She clung to the rose and vial, praying for them to give her strength. The glow of torches led her towards the village square, where the dozens of village residents shouted and scorned. She rounded the corner, just behind the crowd. With a burlap sack over his head and a rope around his wrists, beside two other prisoners, a haggard old man waited with a noose around his neck. The executioner pulled the lever, the first trap door opening and sending the man to hang.
She screamed. "NO!"
Everyone turned towards her, their eyes filled with ghostly shock. She pushed her way through the crowd and ran up the stairs. She ran to Gilles and began to remove the rope and sack.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
She turned to Gilles, but realized that this was not Gilles.
"Oh, Dieu merci! Thank you, mademoiselle, for saving my li - "
"Oops, sorry!" she quickly amended and replaced the sack and noose. She ran over to the real Gilles and set him free of the rope and sack. His weary eyes focused on his in disbelief. "Hello, mon ami."
The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves, surprised to see Catherine alive. She sneered.
"Of course I'm alive! Who said I was dead?!" she demanded.
A presence behind her made her stiffen. She swatted the hand away before he could clasp her shoulder, and she turned. "Monsieur Porcher."
Jean-Charles loomed over her menacingly, yet his face was soft and in awe. She glared at him as he opened his arms for her. "Catherine! You're alive! Where on Earth have you been?! You've been missing for months! You've had everyone so worried. You had me worried!"
A great force flung itself into Catherine's arms and began to sob. Sophie rubbed Catherine's back lovingly, and Catherine realized how much she'd hurt her during her time away. She embraced her aunt tightly, she glowering at Jean-Charles.
"I came back for Gilles, after I heard of the horrendous treatment you've given him."
She moved back over to him. He was thinner and much lighter than an old man should be. His skin was caked in bruises. She whispered words of reassurance to him while she helped him to stand properly. She turned to address the crowd, but her gaze fell on Jean-Charles.
"I will be caring for Monsieur Gilles until he has recovered." Her brow twitched with rage as she settled her gaze on Jean-Charles. "I hope everyone will treat him kindly as he rests in my care."
He stared at her suspiciously as she carried her dear friend off the stage and away from the village, away from the prying eyes of the villagers. She adjusted her arm underneath him to ease his step. He stared at her, his eyes filled with gratefulness to her but also confusion.
"Catherine...how is it possible?"
She smiled understandingly. "I shall tell you everything once you are rested. I promise."
A distant, painful howl echoed over the mountains. She gasped, and her heart clenched. The full moon had risen over the Margerides.
"Catherine, what is it?" Gilles asked.
She bit back tears. "I'll tell you later. Come on!"
February 14th, 1767
7:58 AM
Mrs. Townsend stood guard by the chamber door. George paced back and forth, from sliver to bronze and back. Melinoe followed him, confused. The sun had risen minutes ago, and they had heard nothing from within the chamber for a while. They dared not open the door, fearful of the outcome.
George stopped in the middle of the corridor, his back to his mother. Melinoe rubbed up against his leg.
"It doesn't make sense!" George peered over his shoulder. "Why would she just...leave?"
Mrs. Townsend sighed. "It's complicated, dear."
"She would have at least said goodbye, wouldn't she?"
"I think...he's done something rash again. I fear he may spiral, if he comes back."
George's face tightened. He whirled around and marched up to the door, snatching a decorative axe from the wall.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Mrs. Townsend admonished. She grabbed his wrist. "I won't let you get torn to pieces!"
He snatched his hand away from her. "If I am torn limb from limb, my liver eaten, and my intestines slurped up like noodles, tell the world I died nobly and bloodily."
He ripped off the lock and threw open the door. Mrs. Townsend yanked him back, Melinoe rushing into the room. George wriggled out of his mother's arms and rushed in. She cried out, reaching to pull him back.
The cat meowed gently, rubbing against Matthieu's unconscious body. He was naked, shivering, lying facedown on the floor, but he was human. Mrs. Townsend rushed over to him and draped her apron over him.
"Thank heavens!"
She gently turned him over onto his back, making sure to keep everything below the belt covered. He didn't wake, but tears fell freely down his cheeks. Fresh scratches coursed down his upper body, as if he had tried to tear his own chest apart. His hands and feet were burnt badly. His face twisted in agony, tears pouring onto his wounded face. Mrs. Townsend gently wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling his arm around her shoulder.
"Help me, George!"
George mirrored her and hauled his master to his feet, though feeling a bit overbalanced. Melinoe pushed her head under Matthieu's foot as if to lend a hand. Matthieu coughed, dribble hanging from his lip. Mrs. Townsend grunted and pulled him towards the door.
"Mother!"
"What?!"
"The apron fell."
She groaned. "Well then, don't look down. Keep moving him. We haven't got far."
They dragged him out of the chamber and into the corridor. He slumped a bit against George, whimpering into his ear. George hitched him back up, and his head hung forward. His tears dropped onto the floor. George huffed.
"Pull yourself together, man!"
Mrs. Townsend opened the gold door and hauled them both inside. She set him in front of the fireplace and set some wood in the hearth.
"George, be a dear and fetch some hot water. His wounds need tending to."
George nodded and sprinted from the room. Mrs. Townsend knelt beside the fireplace and struck a match. The fire lit within minutes, providing some much needed light and warmth. She turned back to Matthieu and brushed some hair from his face. He stirred, turning his head.
"Catherine...?" Mrs. Townsend sighed and stroked his cheek. His eyes opened halfway. "Where is Catherine?"
George ran back into the room, water splashing onto the floor. "Oh, damn! He's awake."
He set the pail by the fireplace and dropped in a rag. Mrs. Townsend carefully wrung it out and dabbed Matthieu's fragile skin. He hissed in pain. She dipped the rag into the water again. She hoped the pain would sober him into remembering. She didn't think she could bear to remind him of what he had done.
George scooped up Melinoe to pet her. "Half the plants in the garden are dead."
"I had to do it..." He moaned as she dabbed his skin again. "To send her home."
"You couldn't have warned her?! Or US?!"
"Her friend would have been killed!" He relaxed when Mrs. Townsend pulled back. "I had no choice."
"So, you think saving her friend's life was more important than saving your own?"
He gripped the rug beneath him, turning his head towards the fire. "Leave me be."
"Master - "
"LEAVE ME ALONE TO DIE!" He cried miserably, his hair falling back over his eyes.
George rolled his eyes. "God, what a drama queen."
George entered his master's room later with a tray of food. It was past noon, but Matthieu was still in bed. The curtains were closed, and only candles illuminated the room. It looked as if he were laying on his death bed with no one to keep vigil over him. George approached the bedside.
"I've brought you some food."
Matthieu shook his head.
"Come on!" George urged. "You need to eat."
He shook his head once more. The boy sighed and set the tray on his nighttable, taking the tray of cold breakfast that had been left that morning.
"I know you're not that weak. You can get up, you just - just don't want to!" He shoved some meat into his mouth. "You should be grateful! You should feel lucky to be alive right now!"
"Why should I?!" Matthieu gripped the sheets, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "When all my actions have led to this. I've ruined lives, and taken others. I've held you all hostage here. I have put all of you in harm's way, especially hers, and you tell me I should feel lucky?!"
He whipped his head around to face him. "Do I not deserve this pain? Do I not deserve the agony of my snapping bones and splitting muscles? Do I not deserve this dull ache in my chest for all this loss I've caused?!" he sank back into the pillow. "Whatever gratuity you think I owe to the world would not do me good. I'm a creature of darkness, and by the next full moon I'll have damned us all."
George slapped his hand across his face. Matthieu snatched his wrist. "George!"
"Get a grip on yourself, man!" He yanked his hand away. "She'll come back. And when she does, you'll greet her with respect and dignity."
He sighed. "What makes you think she's aching to return?"
"I just know. You need her."
"I don't need anyone anymore."
Finally fed up with his master's behavior, he flung the covers off him, but recoiled. "Honestly! Put on some pants!"
" - And then I was back."
Catherine tied the last of the bandages around her friend's leg. She adjusted the pillow Gilles laid on and pulled the blanket over him.
"It all sounds like something from a storybook."
Catherine chuckled. "I suppose it does, doesn't it."
She turned to the window, the sun high above the fields. Her heart dropped like a stone when she thought of Matthieu's fate. He could be dead, lost to La Bete for all eternity. She moved to the table by the window, the rose in a small vase with the vial beside it. She scooped the vial up by its chain.
"Mon ange?"
She looked back over her shoulder. Gilles gently urged her closer. She stepped closer to him, showing him the vial.
"I'm afraid of what I might see if I ask for him." She sat down on the bed. "I don't know if his mind has succumbed or if he is still human. I don't know if he is torn apart or happy...I don't know which one would make me feel worse."
Gilles raised his hand to her cheek. "What do you mean, ma cherie?"
She sighed. "You see, when the roses sent me back, I had left so quickly. It was as if he couldn't bear to have me there another second. What if...what if he is angry with me, for leaving him?"
"Mon petite ange." He drew her nearer to him, her hand coming to rest on his. "This young man has cared for you so well these past months, and thus he's cared enough to send you home to me. If he were angry with you, then he never cared at all."
She gazed down at the quilt, sadness hiding behind her eyes. "Gilles...what should I do?"
"What do you think you should do?"
She grasped the hand that had rested on her cheek. "I don't know! I've returned to save you from a wrongful death, but I have also returned to a promise I never made. I know I can never go back to that life. But I cannot leave you, nor do I have any assets to my name. All of my belongings are left at La Maison."
"You must decide what you want, Catherine." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Your life is in your hands."
"But what can I do?" she hung her head.
