September 18th 1892: Jacqueline
"No!" Madame let out a blood-curdling scream behind us. I spun around, but it was too late. She had already scrambled to her feet and was coming towards us, swaying like a tree in a gale. "Let her go!" she cried. "Let my child go, you – "
"Hold her back!" the man who had been talking before snarled. "Hold her back, or the girl will have an extra hole in her pretty little head!"
Jacques and I didn't need telling twice. One look into the man's face was enough to know that he was not making empty threats. We seized Madame by the arms as she hurried past us and held on to her with all our might. It was much harder than one might have expected, for she was struggling madly, twisting and shaking. Yet due to her weakened state, she couldn't go on like that for a long time. The strength soon left her, and she hung in our arms limply.
"We can't have her lie on the floor," I told Jacques in a low voice. "But the sofa's too close to the door. We should keep her as near to the window as possible. The air is also fresher there."
He nodded.
"You're right," he gave back. "Yet I'm afraid I will not be able to support her much longer. She's too… I'm not… you know." His voice trailed off, but I had understood him. Madame seemed to grow heavier by the moment.
"The floor it is, then," I decided, and we lowered her cautiously.
Hearing a soft whimper I looked over my shoulder and saw Philippe. He was still sitting on the sofa, his face was white as a ghost's, his lower lip trembling. My heart was seized by a wave of sympathy, and I rushed over to him, taking him into my arms. His whole body was shaking.
"There, there…" I muttered soothingly, but I didn't know how to go on. What could I possibly say to make this boy feel any better? Almost a decade of caring for children shrank before my very eyes. Nothing I had ever experienced could help me in the slightest.
Feeling that my shoulder was growing increasingly wet, I noticed that Philippe was crying again. Yet the tears of happiness he had shed when he had seen his mother had turned into tears of sadness and despair. I knew it because I was feeling the same. Sometimes helplessness could be useful, for it made me angry, and in my anger I often discovered that something could be done after all.
Yet now I couldn't think of anything to do, except cry myself. We were trapped in this room, with a fire raging outside the door and two criminals threatening us at the window. For a few moments I was tempted to dissolve into tears. It would be so much easier than fighting and require so little effort… But then I heard Philippe's voice.
"Are we all going to Heaven now?" he asked me in a whisper.
"No," I said simply, and that one word changed everything. We would not die. I had promised Antoinette and Philippe that those bad people wouldn't hurt them, and I intended to keep my promise. My mother hadn't raised me to be a coward. I could hear her words clearly in my head. There's nothing cowardly about giving up once you've tried everything you could. But you must never give up before. Always remember that the women in our family are fighters. So fight was what I'd do.
I looked up and realised that Madame was lying on the floor very quietly. Even her soft crying had stopped.
"She fainted," Jacques informed me, before I could ask. "I suspect the effort of getting up was too much for her."
I nodded absently, stroking Philippe's hair. There was something good about her being unconscious: At least she would not endanger herself by making another attempt to save Antoinette alone. This gave me a little more time for the one strategy I could think of: bargaining.
"Can't you let at least the children go?" I called to the men at the window. "They're innocent, they haven't done anything wrong. They don't deserve such a fate."
I threw the men a pleading glance, but they didn't seem to be moved. On the contrary: The man holding Larisse didn't move a muscle, whereas the one holding Antoinette, who we had been talking to before, snorted derisively.
"I grew up with six siblings," he hissed. "We were living in dirt, feeing from the scraps of the table of the rich people. We were all innocent. None of us deserved such a fate. And still we couldn't change anything about it, just like you can't change anything about your situation now. These children…" He tugged at the sleeve of Antoinette's frilly dress. The girl merely stared into space, too scared to even cry. "…have had more happiness so far than many other have in their entire life. It's time for a change, isn't it?" He grinned unpleasantly.
I bit my lip. Without intending to do so, I had added fuel to the flames, so to speak. I had reminded the man why he hated privileged people, and that hatred could easily turn into something very dangerous. I had to make him forget what we had just talked about, but I didn't know how I could do it.
It was Jacques who came to help me.
"Take me instead of the girl," he offered, standing up from where he had been kneeling on the floor. "I come out to you, and you let her go. You want to have two people, one for each of you. It doesn't matter which two." I gaped at him, the display of courage making me speechless. It was true that I'd have done the same – if I had thought of it, that was – but I'd have never expected Jacques to do it.
The man, however, didn't seem to be impressed.
"Why should we want you, old man, when we can have her?" he called, gesturing at Antoinette with his pistol. "I know people like you. You'd only try to deceive us and save your own neck. You'd come out here, and the moment your feet touch the ground, you'd run for it."
"No," Jacques protested indignantly. "All I want is help the children and their mother."
"Oh… and surely you think they'd do the same for you, don't you?" the man asked with another chuckle. "Well, let me tell you one thing: The family you're working for doesn't care about you at all. You could lie at their feet, dying, and they'd push you aside without thinking. That's why we want to keep the girl. We could kill the woman and you this moment, and the Countess wouldn't shed a tear."
I didn't pause to think about the horrible things he had said. There was just one aspect that mattered to me.
"You can let at least Larisse go then," I called. "If she matters so little…"
The moment the words had left my mouth, I knew that this time I had said something right. The man looked at Larisse for at least a minute, grinding his teeth, apparently thinking hard. I held my breath. So, as far as I could tell, did Larisse, who was very pale, yet seemed determined not to show any emotion. I knew how hard it had to be for her, hearing all the negotiating about her life.
At long last, the man nodded.
"You can let her go," he told the other man shortly. The other man stared at him incredulously. "You heard me. Let her go," the first man repeated in a very slow, but impatient voice. It underlined my suspicion that the man hadn't said anything yet because he didn't speak our language too well.
Yet now he seemed to feel the urge to express his opinion.
"Are you sure, Victor?" he asked, taking his time to form the words. "What will Master say?"
"Master will never hear about it, unless you tell him, and that is something I would not recommend," Victor gave back, the complicated phrase earning him a puzzled glance. He sighed. "I won't tell – you won't tell," he tried it again, and the other man nodded. "It wasn't part of the original plan anyway. We just have to make sure none of them escapes. But the maid's right. We don't need the cook. Besides, she has a family. Let her go."
The other man seemed to understand at least the last words, for he reluctantly removed his arm from around Larisse's waist and lowered the pistol. I was too relieved to wonder how Victor could know all these things about us.
Larisse looked around her in amazement, a faint smile on her lips, like a person waking up from a dream. Then her gaze fell upon Antoinette, and the smile faded.
"Can't you let her go instead of me?" she pleaded. Victor glared at her.
"Just go, Larisse!" I shouted. The man had already made it clear that he wouldn't let the girl go. A second attempt would probably only make him seize Larisse again as well.
The cook glanced over at me. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she nodded slowly and turned around. At least one of us was free. I could only hope she'd remember to alert M.Erik or the police or anyone. Yet Victor's next words made that hope shatter quickly.
"Take the coach and get her far away from here," he instructed the other man. "Take her to some remote spot outside Paris, so that she'll have to walk a few miles before she meets anyone. I don't want her to get any stupid ideas of heroism." Then he turned to Larisse. "Congratulations," he said with a smirk. "By this time tomorrow, you'll be known as the only survivor of the great fire in the de Chagny house. I hope you like being famous."
I could still hear Larisse's sobs as she was brought away.