September 18th 1892: Jacqueline
The woman didn't look over to us when Philippe called her name, nor did she show any other sign that she had heard him at all. She was too busy gazing at Victor, who in turn was gazing at her. For a moment I thought the boy had been wrong, but the longer I looked at her, the more certain I grew myself, even though I could only see her face in profile. I had worked with that woman for years, after all.
But oh – how much she had changed in the weeks since the last time she had been here! Her hair, which had always been so neatly braided, hung down loosely now. Her clothes were dirty, though not half as dirty as those of the man standing opposite her. It didn't take a lot of imagination to work out that she had not found a new occupation after Madame had dismissed her, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt in my stomach because I had been the bearer of the bad news for her back then.
Moreover, she had been dismissed for something I had done, no matter how much I tried to forget that fact. I had been the one passing on information to M.Erik, and she had paid the price for it. When I had tried to make Madame change her mind, she had merely muttered something about Marielle having confessed. Personally, I couldn't believe that. How could she have confessed anything when I was the guilty one?
Having reached this rather unpleasant point, I readily brought my attention back to the present and realised that I had obviously missed the start of a conversation between Marielle and Victor. I exchanged a glance with Jacques, which told me that he had recognised her as well, and motioned at both him and Philippe to remain silent. Surely Marielle could talk to Victor far better than anyone of us. After all, she already seemed to know him.
"You'd never dare hurt me," he was just saying, straightening up to his full height and glancing at her defiantly. "I'm the best man Master has got! What would he do without me?"
"He'd find someone else to do his dirty work for him!" Marielle replied, apparently not impressed. "Don't make the mistake to think yourself special in any way! There are plenty of men like you out there."
"Master and I have a special relationship," Victor argued. "We've known each other for years… years in which you weren't there for him!"
"Because he was in prison, and so were you!" she cried instantly. It didn't sound as if they were having this argument for the first time. "But don't believe that he befriended you because you're such a fantastic person! He was just looking for a new… henchman, who'd do anything he wanted. And I think he had found just the right man! Do you still have a mind of your own at all?"
Even though she probably couldn't see it, I threw Marielle a pleading glance, asking her to hurry up a little. She was no step closer to freeing us than she had been when she had first arrived here. Why was she having this stupid argument now, when our lives were at stake, when Antoinette was clinging to her skirt?
Looking at the girl, I saw something that made me gasp: While she was talking, Marielle lifted her foot slightly off the ground and kicked Antoinette's shin. The girl seemed to be just as confused as I was… until the second kick was placed at the same spot, accompanied by a jerking of Marielle's head. Antoinette and I understood it in the same moment. The whole point of the argument was to give the girl the chance to run for it, while Marielle distracted Victor.
It was a brilliant plan, and Antoinette complied readily. She moved away so quiety that not a single footstep could be heard from over the shouting of the other two people, and she always stayed behind Marielle. As long as Victor didn't move to the side, he'd never spot her, and Marielle's pistol made sure that he stayed where he was.
"Of course I have an own mind!" Victor shouted angrily, his face growing red. "I have made a lot of decisions of my own, and Master approves of them."
"He approves of them?" Marielle called with a derisive laugh. "You mean he doesn't know about them, and you hope he'll never find out. He doesn't want anyone to make decisions, except for himself. That's why he chose you. He knew you'd stupid enough never to question him."
"At least I'm not one of those rebels, such as Pierre!" the man spat, shuddering in disgust.
I had no idea who he was referring to, but sensed it couldn't be his mostly silent companion, for he had been anything but a rebel. A momentary look of panic crossed Marielle's face, yet she hid it quickly. It was clear that she knew exactly who Pierre was, but her opinion on him was completely different from Victor's.
"Better a rebel than a coward!" she gave back. "Pierre might have done a few things wrong in his life, but he can still think for himself, which is more than can be said about some of you men."
I'd have listened to the argument longer, but in that moment, Jacques tapped me on the shoulder. Stealthily he pointed at Antoinette, who was just vanishing around the corner. I nodded to indicate that I had noticed it, too. Once the girl would be out in the street, she'd be safe. She'd surely go to one of the neighbours, none of whom would deny the charming little de Chagny girl entry. Hopefully they'd show enough presence of mind to alert the police at once.
Jacques then gestured at Madame, and I understood what he meant. The two people outside were still arguing, completely oblivious to what was going on in here. While this didn't mean that we could have left the house, we could very well bring Madame to the window. I didn't like it that she was still unconscious. It was almost as bad as the time when she had been on the doorstep, though she at least stirred every now and then.
I put Philippe down onto the floor and motioned at him to be quiet. Then Jacques and I walked the few steps to the woman on the floor, kneeled down on either side of her and took one arm each. Madame moved her head from one side to the other, yet her eyes remained closed.
"We have to wake her up," I whispered. "We can't carry her like we carried her into this room. She needs to stand. Madame?" I went on in a voice only marginally louder, but more urgent than before.
It seemed that the constant shouting had already prepared her well for waking up, since I only had to repeat the name two or three times before she opened her eyes.
"Jacqueline?" she muttered. "Where's Philippe? And… Antoinette!" Her eyes widened in alarm, and she tried to get up. Jacques and I seized her by the shoulders and pressed her back onto the floor gently. I was delighted that she could speak normally again, but her last words had been much too loud, and I was afraid that Marielle and Victor could have heard her. We all listened breathlessly for a few moments, yet the argument seemed to be going on just like it had before.
"We've got to keep our voices down, or they'll hear us," I informed her hastily. "Antoinette is fine. She managed to escape, just a few minutes ago. And they let Larisse go with one of the men. Philipe is fine as well. He's standing at the window."
The relief about so many good news was clearly visible on Madame's face. It made her look much healthier than before. Yet suddenly she frowned and asked:
"If Larisse, Antoinette and one of the men are gone, who is the other man talking to then? I'm sure I hear a woman's voice…".
"Well… that is a little complicated, and I have to admit that don't understand it myself," I replied with an apologetic smile. "But perhaps it'll be best to tell you before we help you get up, or it might startle you." I took a deep breath. "Madame… that woman you hear is… she is… it's Marielle."
"Marielle?" she repeated blankly, looking just as puzzled as I had felt at first. "Marielle, who used to be Philippe's maid?"
"The very same," Jacques assured her. "Yet I'm afraid I cannot tell you either why she is here."
"She just… turned up," I added. "She… she saved me from being shot by Victor… the man still standing outside. And she distracted him, so that Antoinette could run away. I have no idea why she's here, but as long as she's on our side, that doesn't matter, does it?"
"I suppose so," Madame muttered, frowning. It was clear that she was thinking about something important, but wasn't willing to talk about it yet. "Could you help me get up now? I want to see Philippe."
It soon turned out that being unconscious seemed to have been good for Madame's recovery. She still needed a lot of support from Jacques and me to stand up from the floor, but once she was on her feet, she managed to walk with just a little help.
"Maman!" Philippe whispered, embracing her so forcefully that she almost fell over. Fortunately Jacques had still been holding her arm. She kissed the boy on the top of his head, but straightened up again quickly, squeezing her eyes shut.
"My head…" she groaned, reaching up to touch her temple cautiously.
"Take deep breaths," I advised her in a low voice. "It'll be better in a few moments."
Madame followed my instructions, and indeed it seemed to work. Having made sure that Jacques was there to help her if it was necessary, I returned my attention to the argument, which obviously still had the same subject as before.
"You just don't understand Master the way I do!" Victor called. "That's why you're always against his plans."
"The problem is that I understand his plans only too well," Marielle gave back, sounding almost resigned. "They're horrible and cruel. Only an evil mind such as yours can enjoy carrying them out. They make me sick."
"A most interesting statement," a cold voice remarked. In the next moment, a man came around the corner, followed by two other men, who held the struggling Antoinette between them. My heart sank.
The argument of Marielle and Victor ended instantly as they both turned around to the man who had spoken.
"Master!" Victor called, sounding thoroughly delighted.
Marielle, on the other hand, grew pale.
"Father…" she breathed.