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Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Three

September 18th 1892: Larisse

I wasn't a brave woman, nor had I ever claimed to be one. It was one of the advantages of being a cook that the worst thing that could happen to me at work was that I cut myself with a knife while preparing the food. Well, it had been like that once. These days, so many bad things were happening that I could hardly recall all of them.

Of course I had told my husband about them. He was my husband, after all. He had the right to know such things, just like I had the right to know if something dangerous happened at his working place. Only last night, he had begged me not to go back to the de Chagnys.

´You could stay home for a while, just until everything is over,´ he had suggested, looking at me with that pleading glance I found so hard to resist. ´Please, dear. It hurts me to think of what might happen to you. What would the children and I do without you?´

I had thought about it for a long time. It was not like my husband to beg for something, and it was not like me to refuse him something he wanted. And still my wish to return to the de Chagnys had been stronger. Even though I didn't know the family too long, I liked all of them. It would have been wrong to stay home while they could be facing mortal peril.

But then, at that time the thought of mortal peril had been nothing else but that – a thought. I'd have never believed that something truly dangerous would happen to us. Otherwise I wouldn't have entered the house this morning, since, as I had said before, I wasn't a brave woman.

In fact, I was absolutely terrified at the moment. I was following the path around the house to the front, with a man pressing a pistol between my shoulder blades. All the time I could only think of one thing: If only I had accepted my husband's offer and stayed home today! It would have saved me so much trouble, so much fear.

In the next moment, however, I gave myself a mental slap in the face. How could I be this selfish? I was lucky enough to have the chance to leave, whereas the others were still trapped in the house. The more time I spent outside, the more I realised just how bad the damage was. Smoke was coming out of several smashed windows on the first floor. We didn't walk past the kitchen, yet I knew that it would probably look even worse. After all, the fire had started there. Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of a man standing near the house or hiding in a bush, but none of them stopped us.

I was the only person who could do something. It was a frightening thought, and yet I knew it was true. I had to go to the opera, because that was where Gabriel and M.Erik were. I still thought there was something strange about little Philippe's teacher, but that didn't matter at the moment. If anyone could save the others, it was him. And having Gabriel would be very good as well. He was young and strong and could surely help a lot.

Yet how, how was I supposed to get out of this situation? The man walking behind me had got strict instructions from the man called Victor, and I had no doubt that he'd carry them out. He'd push me into a coach and take me far away from here, without giving me the slightest chance of finding the opera. Surely I wouldn't be able to jump out of the moving coach either. I had barely managed to get out of the window in the living room.

Something had to be done, and it had to be done now, before we reached the coach. But what? I had to think fast, for we already were on the path leading to the gates. Twenty more steps, and we'd have left the estate behind. It would have been much easier if I had just been able to call for help, but I knew better than to try that. This wasn't exactly a lively neighbourhood after sunset, and it wasn't very likely that someone would walk by and see us, let alone realise what was happening.

At last I had an idea. Now all I needed was courage.

´Jacqueline would do it,´ I told myself. ´Gabriel would do it as well. Even Jacques would probably do it. So I can do it as well. For once in my life, I have to be brave!´

And then I did it, my heart racing and my mouth very dry. I pretended to trip over y stone on the path and stumbled. So did the man behind me. His legs tangled with mine, and he crashed to the ground. It all went exactly the way I had planned it… except for the tiny detail that in my plan, I had managed to step aside in time. It hadn't worked like that in reality. The man had fallen, yes. But I was lying under him, face down.

I suppressed a cry of pain and forced myself to remain calm. This had turned out to be a little different from what I had expected, but it didn't mean that my whole plan had failed. I could still grab the pistol, just like I had planned… once I had found out where it was. Due to the fact that I was lying on the ground, I couldn't see very well. All I could tell for certain was that the pistol was not lying directly in front of me.

With great effort I lifted my head… and saw it. The pistol was lying about thirty feet away from us. I stretched out my arm, but naturally it was much too short. To make things worse, the man, who seemed to have been too shocked by the fall to react for a few moments, came to his senses again. He uttered a stream of what I assumed were swear words in a language I didn't know and tried to get up.

Instinctively I knew what to do: I groped behind me till I could grab one of his arms and held on to it. I couldn't reach the pistol myself, but the man shouldn't get it either. Who knew what he'd do with it, now that I had made him angry?

The man made a surprised sound and tried to shake me off, yet I only tightened my grip. Still I couldn't hold him back completely. He scrambled to his feet, cursing and muttering. I was clinging to his lower arm, the power of my grip dragging my upper body upwards as well. I mustn't let go of him. I mustn't.

And then, within a moment, everything changed. A woman appeared out of nowhere, spotted the pistol on the ground and seized it. At once, our struggle ceased as both the man and I stared at her. Then the man's face split into a grin.

"Thank you, Mistress," he said, panting slightly. "Now you can give pistol to me, please."

I swallowed hard, realising with a sinking feeling in my stomach that the woman obviously belonged to the group of criminals. I'd never be able to fight against both of them, especially not now that they had a weapon. Feeling discouraged, I loosened my grip, and the man freed his arm.

He stretched out his hand to take the pistol, but the woman made ne move to hand it to him. Instead, she aimed it at him. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"No," she replied simply. "I won't give it to you. I…" She hesitated for a moment. "I want you to go, Lazlo. I want you to go and never come back. Everything is over, do you understand?"

The man shook his head, a blank expression on his face. I couldn't blame him. I didn't understand anything either, and I didn't have any problems with the language.

"Just go!" the woman hissed, brandishing the pistol. "Or do you want me to…?"

Again, the man shook his head, staring at the pistol like a mouse staring at a cat.

"I… go…" he stammered, breaking into a run. A few moments later, the gate swung shut behind him.

"Thank you," I murmured, coming to my feet slowly. To my enormous relief, the woman had taken down the pistol the moment the man had gone. "Thank you for saving me… Who are you?"

"There's not time now," she said hastily, looking around her. "Just tell me what's going on!"

So I told her. When I was finished, she asked:

"So there's someone at the Opéra Populaire who could help us?". I nodded, marvelling at the casual use of ´us.´. "You've got to go there," the woman decided. "We need all the help we can get. Let's see… I've noticed our coach outside," she mused in a low voice. "Pierre should be the driver. He'll take you to the opera. Come!"

We hurried down the path and through the gate. Sure enough, a coach was standing there, an old, rickety coach, pulled by an old, tired horse. A young man was standing next to it. His eyes widened as he saw the girl.

"Mistress!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to know… How did you get in?"

"I climbed over the fence while you were looking the other way," she replied. "The rest is not important now. Take this woman to the Opéra Populaire."

"What?" the man asked. "But I mustn't leave. I have to wait for the others to come back. What would Master say?"

"Please," the woman begged in a very soft voice. "I once heard you say that you'd do anything for me. Is that no longer true?"

"Of course it is," he replied indignantly. "Get in," he added in my direction, and I hastened to comply before his fear of the man called Master could gain the upper hand once more. Yet I made sure that I was still able to listen to the conversation, for I found it most interesting.

"… thought you didn't know about my feelings," the man muttered.

"I knew it all the time," the woman gave back. "I couldn't help noticing the way you look at me."

"But Master – "

She stifled his objection with a kiss.

"Don't worry about him," she whispered when it ended.

The kiss seemed to have been all the encouragement he needed, for he entered the coachbox at once. Before we could leave however, I leaned towards the woman.

"Can't you just make all the men go away?" I asked her. "They listen to you."

"Lazlo does, because he's new in the group and thinks he has to obey everyone," she explained. "And Pierre does, because he's in love with me. But the others… If it had been Victor coming around the house with you, he'd have laughed into my face and wrenched the pistol out of my hand." She sighed. "Do come back quickly. I don't know how much I'll be able to do."

The coach had already started moving, but I had to ask one more question.

"Why are you doing all this? Why are you helping us?"

"What else could I do?" the woman asked sadly. "All this is happening because of me."