September 18th 1892: Jacqueline
"What's… happening?" Madame asked in a faint voice. Apparently I had spoken loud enough to wake her up. It was a question I'd have liked to have the answer to as well.
"It's…" I was about to tell her that it was nothing, yet one look into her eyes made me stop. Madame was injured, but not stupid. "I'm not sure," I told her truthfully. "But we'll have to find out. Jacques, could you go and see where the smoke is coming from?"
"Of course," he said, leaving the room without a moment's hesitation.
I watched him go, trying to persuade myself that nothing bad could have happened. Perhaps someone had thrown a burning newspaper through the open window. Jacques would be able to put it out within a minute. It was no big problem. Really…
"Where are… the children?" Madame wanted to know. I was glad to hear that her voice sounded a little stronger than before.
"They're upstairs with Larisse," I replied, welcoming the change of subject. "They're fine."
Her lips curled into a small smile. Then she winced.
"Hurts…" she breathed.
"I wish I could clean the wound," I muttered, half to myself. "It would surely be better…" I pulled out a handkerchief, but it was no good without water. I looked around in the room, expecting to see a forgotten glass of water, but there was nothing. I should have known. In a household that Larisse was responsible for, glasses didn't stand around for a long time.
"I'm sorry," I said miserably. "I can't do anything."
"Not your fault…" Madame assured me. "Do not worry… I'm fine…" She looked far from fine, but at least her face was a little less pale than before. Maybe she was indeed recovering, although it would have doubtlessly been better for her to lie in a proper bed instead of a sofa and be cared for by a doctor instead of a maid.
This thought inevitably brought me back to Jacques and why he hadn't been able to fetch a doctor. Why had the door been locked? And how had Madame ended up on our doorstep? At least that was something I could find out.
"Do you think you cold tell me what happened to you?" I asked her softly.
She nodded, moving her head just an inch or two, and tried to sit up. I helped her, bringing her into a more comfortable position with the help of a cushion.
"I was… at the opera… looking for Erik…" she started.
I frowned. I didn't want to interrupt her this early in the story, but if I didn't understand the beginning, how was I supposed to understand the rest? So I asked:
"But didn't you go to the opera to help him look for something? Why were you looking for him then?".
Madame let out a deep sigh. To my horror, her eyes filled with tears.
"Erik has lost… his mind," she murmured. "Doesn't know who he is… doesn't love me anymore…"
Quickly I dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief before the tears began to run down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply as I touched the bruised part of her face, and I tried to be even more careful.
"I'm sure he loves you, no matter what else he knows or doesn't know," I whispered gently.
Madame merely shook her head.
"So you were at the opera?" I prompted, eager to get away from a subject that seemed to hurt Madame more than her wound. Besides, I had a feeling that it couldn't be explained in a few sentences anyway.
"Yes," she replied, pulling herself together with visible efforts. "In the cellars… a man came… and I fell. Then I woke up… somewhere else… don't know where… people were talking…about murdering me… the same man came… I… I thought he'd murder me now… but he must have hit me… with the pistol instead… then I was here…" Her voice trailed off, and she let her head sink against the sofa.
I wanted to ask so many questions, yet seeing how exhausted she was from all the talking, I held myself back. At least I had an idea of what had happened to her. She'd be able to fill me in on the rest later, if she felt like it. There was just one question I did utter.
"Do you think those people had something to do with the attacks?"
She nodded faintly, apparently too tired to speak, and closed her eyes again.
My mind was working quickly. Those people had brought Madame back here for a reason, and I didn't believe it had only happened to torment us further by finding her. They had also taken her key, which made me even more worried. One didn't have to lock a door just to throw a burning newspaper through the window. There had to be more, and it couldn't be something good.
I glanced at the door again, yet since Jacques had closed it behind him when he had left, I couldn't tell whether there was still smoke in the corridor. I tried to tell myself the story of the newspaper yet again, but with the knowledge I had gained from talking to Madame, it sounded even more unlikely than before. This attack was something big, much bigger than the other ones. I could feel it.
Since Jacques was nowhere to be seen yet and there was nothing else I could do for Madame, I allowed myself a few moments' thinking about why all this was happening. What had we done to deserve this? Well, I didn't seriously assume that I or one of the other servants had anything to do with it. If we had, there would have been more effective methods of targetting us, especially those of us who had a family. Yet most fortunately no one had attacked my mother or my sister, and I hadn't heard about something like that happening to Larisse' or Gabriel's families either.
In a way, this was very comforting. But then, I couldn't imagine that the Comte or Madame – for surely it hadn't been one of the children – had done something to deserve such a cruel punishment. They were among the nicest people I knew, and I knew quite a few. And even if they had done something terrible, it wouldn't have justified such means. Nobody deserved this.
The aspect that worried me most was how little regard for human lives those attackers showed. Admittedly, some of the things they had done hadn't been more than very tasteless jokes. Yet even the smashing of the windows could have got someone hurt. After all, they couldn't have known that none of us was having their bed next to one of the windows. We could have also been hit by pieces of glass. And who knew whether the beggars who had wanted to keep Madame and M.Erik from leaving the property with the children wouldn't have attacked them if he hadn't managed to make them calm down? Antoinette had told me all about it.
It was a pity that she had not been present when the incident with the coach had taken place. No, of course it was not a pity, for it would have scared the girl. I'd have just liked to know a few details about it. I couldn't help it. All the women in my family were curious, and I was no exception.
I wished M.Erik were here now. If he had been here, he could have gone to look what was happening instead of Jacques, and he'd have surely found it out much sooner. Besides, he could look after himself. I had to admit that I was slowly getting worried because of Jacques' absence. He was an old man, after all. What if something had happened to him as well? I'd never forgive myself.
Maybe I should go and see where he was. But then, I didn't want to leave Madame alone, even though she was sleeping. She was still very weak. What if she needed something ot the pain became worse, and nobody would be there to help and comfort her? I wished Larisse were down here instead of upstairs with the children. I wished Gabriel were here instead of delivering a message to the opera.
Yet most of all I wished I weren't in charge. I didn't even know how I had ended up in this position. Had I ever expressed the wish to tell others what to do? If I had, I couldn't remember it. And come to think of it, why was everybody listening to me? Why didn't they make their own decisions? I guessed they were glad that they had someone who told them what to do. But why did I have to be that someone? Being in charge was something for people such as M.Erik, who always seemed to be so sure of himself. It only scared me.
It was no wonder that I jumped and nearly fell out of my chair when Jacques came in. I had been so busy with my thoughts that I hadn't even noticed the door being opened.
"What is it?" I asked, more loudly than I had planned. My question made Madame open her eyes again.
Jacques took one look at her and replied:
"It's nothing to worry about.".
I was about to comment on that statement when I caught his eye. He shook his head slightly. There was something wrong.
"Could I talk to you in private for a moment, Jacqueline?" he wanted to know.
"Of course," I answered, following him into a corner of the room, far away from Madame.
He leaned down to me and told me in a whisper:
"I do not mean to upset you, Mademoiselle, but I have to inform you that the kitchen is on fire.".