September 18th 1892: Jacqueline
My eyes grew wide with shock. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.
"On fire…" I muttered dully. "On fire…"
"It is true," Jacques said gravely. "When I entered the kitchen, the curtains were just catching fire. I quickly managed to locate the origin of the flames as a bucket full of burning cloth or a similar material, I suppose. That was where the smoke came from. I saw at once that the fire had already spread too far to be stopped by one person, so I merely closed the door. Of course that won't hold it back for a very long time."
I wasn't used to Jacques talking that much, and for a moment I stared at him incredulously. Then I pulled myself together. I also wasn't used to the house being on fire, and that was far more important now than analysing someone's speech habits.
"We've got to get out of here," I whispered urgently, throwing a brief glance at Madame. She was craning her neck, trying to overhear our conversation. It was only a matter of time till we'd have to tell her as well. I was not looking forward to it.
"I agree," Jacques gave back. "But I'm afraid I don't know how we can do it. The front door is locked, and we do not have a key…"
We exchanged a glance of understanding. We servants had always used to share one set of keys. The concept behind it had been that the person who'd come back soonest took it. It had always worked rather well, especially since Larisse and Jacques were here most of the time anyway and could let the others in. So none of us had disagreed when our key had been given to M.Erik two days ago. But now we'd have needed it.
"The back door is out of the question for obvious reasons," the butler went on after a moment, and I nodded. I didn't feel like taking on the fire single-handed.
"We could go through one of the windows," I suggested. "The ones here and those in the dining room lead directly into the garden. If we give them a chair to step onto, even the children will manage easily." I began to warm to the idea. It seemed really simple. "Perhaps we won't even have to tell them what's going on. We'll just say that it's a new game, and then we'll open the window and – "
"No," Jacques interrupted me simply.
"Why not?" I asked, unable to keep a slightly aggressive undertone out of my voice. "It's a good idea, and I haven't heard you come up with a better one so far. So – "
"It is a good idea," he acknowledged calmly. "I know it because I had the same one, right after I had seen the fire. Didn't you wonder why I was gone for such a long time? I went from room to room, checking the windows. The result was identical for every single one: nailed shut."
My jaw dropped.
"But… but how… when…?" I muttered.
"I believe they must have done it this afternoon," Jacques replied. "I was upstairs, and as far as I'm informed, Larisse was in the kitchen with Philippe and Gabriel was in the stable. None of us noticed the sounds. Naturally those people couldn't do the kitchen, for it was not empty, but since they started the fire there, it wasn't necessary."
"How did they reach the windows on the first floor?" I asked.
"Oh, I haven't been upstairs," the butler told me. "I don't think we'll find the windows nailed shut there. But we couldn't possibly go through one of those windows, could we? We'd break our neck."
I nodded reluctantly. He was right.
"What else can we do?" I whispered, looking up to him. I had had enough of being in charge. I wanted someone else to make decisions for a change.
"The first step will be informing Larisse of our unfortunate situation," Jacques said, uttering exactly what I had been afraid he would.
"Do you think we should tell the children as well?" I asked timidly.
"I'm not sure about it," he replied. "You know the children far better than I do. So you should decide… you or Madame."
"Madame!" I breathed, clapping a hand over my mouth. For a few moments, I had forgotten that she was there as well, in this very room. "Well, she is the mother," I murmured. "So it's up to her. But I think that first of all, we should tell her. Then we'll see how she'll react. I'm afraid she won't take it lightly."
"No one will take such news lightly," Jacques said meaningfully. Together we made our way back to the sofa.
"Madame?" I addressed her softly, for her eyes were half-closed again.
Tiredly she looked up at me.
"You go and tell the children," she whispered. "I can't do it myself."
I tried my best not to stare at her in disbelief.
"You – you heard us?" I asked. "But we were so quiet…"
"At the beginning, yes," she agreed. "But later on, I could understand you very well."
I looked at Jacques, who made a slightly helpless gesture with his hand. It was true that the more we had talked, the less cautious we had been. There had been more important things than controlling how loudly we had spoken.
"I'm sorry, Madame," I said with an apologetic smile. "Perhaps we should have talked in front of you right away, but we didn't want to upset you."
"It's all right," she assured me. "I don't mind." It was only now that I noticed she was using complete sentences again. She seemed to feel better. "Go to the children, Jacqueline," she repeated firmly. "They trust you. If they should hear it from anyone but myself, it should be you. And bring them down here. I want to have them with me, just in case…"
"Of course," I muttered hastily. "We should all be together now."
"I don't want to urge you on, but maybe you should hurry up a little," Jacques said. "I don't know how long the door to the kitchen will hold back the fire. If it gives way before you return…" He didn't finish his sentence, but I understood him anyway. If I didn't make I back in time, I'd be cut off from the living room. The fire would make its way down the corridor quickly.
"I will hurry," I promised. I gave Madame's hand a reassuring squeeze and went to the door.
I was terrified of what I'd find outside, but I knew that I mustn't show it in front of the others. Madame has sent me to fetch the children, and that was what I'd do. I couldn't have Jacques do all the dangerous things, while I sat around, doing nothing. So I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.
As far as I could tell, the kitchen door had not given way yet. There was smoke in the corridor, but it wasn't very much. I guessed it had come from under the door rather than through it. Still I ran as quickly as my feet would carry me, reaching Philippe's bedroom just a few minutes later. The children rarely played in Antoinette's room, for she was permanently afraid that her brother might break one of her toys… something that had happened the other way round more than once. Despite myself, I smiled a little. They were lovely children. They were lovely children, and it was up to me to save them, I reminded myself.
I didn't bother knocking, but burst into the room at once.The rules of politeness didn't apply when the house was on fire. Larisse and the children looked up at me in surprise. It seemed that the cook had just been reading to them from M.Erik's book. I hated myself for having disturbed the peaceful scene, but I couldn't help it.
"There has been a little… accident in the kitchen," I blurted out, wondering how Jacques had managed to maintain that calm voice when he had told me about it. My own voice sounded strangely squeaky. "It's nothing big, really, but we should better go downstairs now."
"Accident?"
"What kind of accident?"
"What happened?"
"Do you need help?"
Antoinette and Larisse were hurling questions at me without pause, so that I didn't have time to think about a single reply.
Philippe, on the other hand, remained silent. He seized his book, came over to me and tugged at my skirt.
"Has Maman come home yet?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied readily, glad that I had at least something positive to say. "Yes, she's in the living room. She doesn't feel too well, though," I added. "She… fell and hurt her head. But apart from that, she's fine. She has been asking for you."
The boy smiled, taking my hand.
"We have to go now," I told the other urgently. "I'll explain everything on the way."
Shrugging, Larisse seized Antoinette's hand, and they got up from the bed they had been sitting on.
They hadn't taken as much as five steps away from it when there was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. A burning piece of cloth, wrapped around a stone, came flying through the window and landed inches from where Philippe had been sitting a minute before. The blanket caught fire at once. None of us moved.