September 18th 1892: Christine
I heard Jacqueline gasp in shock at the revelation that the strange man Victor had addressed as ´Master´ was Marielle's father, but I myself was not surprised. Thinking had become much easier for me since I was inhaling the fresh air at the window, and I could recall a conversation I had had with Erik a few weeks ago. It had been one of the first conversations we had had in years. Erik had told me that I had been wrong in accusing Marielle and that the only thing she was guilty of was having criminals for relatives… particularly her father, who had still been in prison at that time. Well, it seemed that he was free now. And he had come here.
"What is going on, Victor?" he demanded, marching over to him, completely ignoring his daughter. "First I arrive at the gate, and our coach is gone. Then I walk up the path, only to find that the house isn't nearly as badly damaged as I had wanted it to be at this time. And when I draw nearer, I stumble over this little girl. Would you be so kind as to explain this to me?" His voice was dangerously soft, and the effect on Victor was worse than a slap in the face. He looked as if he were close to throwing himself at his master's feet, begging for mercy.
"I don't know why the house isn't more damaged…" he croaked. His Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. "We started the attack just the way you told us to. Perhaps… perhaps it's the wind. Yes, the wind!" He looked at Marielle's father, as if asking for approval, yet he just sneered at him.
"The wind – of course," he said. "Why didn't I think of it myself… Fool!" he suddenly snarled, making Victor jump. The wind would make the house burn more quickly, not more slowly! And do you also blame the wind for letting this child escape?"
His gaze wandered over to the house, over to us. To the casual observer, it would have appeared that the accusations were over, yet I could sense that the worst was yet to come. So could Victor, who was trembling from head to toe.
"You let them break the window?" Marielle's father asked softly. "You just stood there and let them break the window? Why didn't you also help them escape while you were at it?" He looked at each of us, frowning slightly. I forced myself to stare at him defiantly, even though the effort of standing and listening all the time was slowly starting to take its toll. I was feeling rather shaky. "Where's the cook?" he finally wanted to know. "Where's the coachman? And where's the other man, the one who always was with the Countess? They should all be in there!"
One of the men who had come with Marielle's father stepped forward, leaving Antoinette with his companion.
"If I may say something, Master…" he began.
Marielle's father nodded curtly.
"You know I was positioned at the house all day, so I can tell you about the comings and goings," the man went on. "The man you were talking about left the house this morning and has not returned. It was Pierre's task to follow the Countess and him. Perhaps it would be a good idea to ask him."
"Pierre's not here," Marielle's father said shortly, glaring at the man. He didn't seem to be too fond of other people making suggestions on what he should do. "He was in the coach, and the coach has disappeared. He probably left for the nearest shop to get himself something to drink, the lazy…" He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Go on."
"The coachman left a few minutes before we began the assault," the man informed him. I noticed that he was talking more slowly and choosing his words more carefully now. "We could have stopped him by using violence, but it would have disturbed your plan. We could have hardly put the Countess on the stairs to lure the other people out of the kitchen if the coachman had been screaming his lungs out in front of the house. But the cook…" He scratched his head thoughtfully. "…she should be here. She entered the house in the morning, just like she always does, and has not left it."
"So she should be here," Marielle's father concluded. "You there!" he suddenly called into our direction. "Are you hiding the cook somewhere in there?"
Jacqueline, Jacques and I shook our heads. There was nothing else we could have done.
"Then she must have escaped, just like the little girl, but with more success," he concluded, rounding on Victor again. "I gave you a simple task. You were supposed to stand here and make sure no one escaped through one of the windows. However, a window is broken, and one person has escaped. Could you explain this to me, please?"
I had never heard someone speak in such a cold voice. It made the little hairs in my arms stand up. Philippe was shaking slightly, and I pressed his body closer to mine. Victor was shaking as well, more badly than ever. His legs were banging together, and the pistol slipped out of his hand and landed on the ground. He kneeled down and wanted to pick it up, yet a foot placed on his lower back kept him from standing up again.
"You get up when I say so!" Marielle's father snarled, towering over him. "But first you will tell me how a plan I had developed so carefully could go so very wrong."
"I… I let the cook go," Victor admitted hastily. "B-but I thought it w-was what you'd have wanted as well, Master. She's one of the s-servants, and she wasn't even there when your d-daughter was mistreated. So I as-assumed…"
"It's not your place to assume anything," Marielle's father hissed, giving Victor a kick in the back. He gave a cry of pain, and Philippe whimpered. Quickly I pressed his head against my chest, muttering words of comfort. In that moment, I actually preferred being in here. Our hopes of getting out of this house alive dwindled with every minute that passed, but at least we were not in the company of a lunatic. I was just worried about the well-being of my daughter, yet one glance at her told me that she would not try anything stupid. She stayed perfectly still as the man held her close, her eyes fixed on the figure on the ground. I wished I could have taken her into my arms as well.
"It's not your place," Marielle's father repeated, underlining his words with another kick. "What if she'll go to the police?"
"She won't!" Victor cried. "She can't! I… I sent Lazlo with her. He'll take her f-far away from here. T-that's why the coach is gone."
"Maybe you're not that stupid after all," Marielle's father said softly. Sighing in relief, Victor tried to get to his feet, but was pushed down mercilessly. "I'm not finished with you. What about the girl? Did you send her away as well? Who'd have been next – she?" He pointed directly at me, and my heart skipped a beat. "Don't you understand anything?" he called. "Every single one of them deserves what they get, in one way or the other. The Countess is the worst of all, for she dismissed my daughter, even though she had done nothing wrong. But the other ones are nearly as bad. None of the tried to defend my Marielle. And the children are the source of all the trouble. Does no one but me understand it?" He looked around at his henchmen. None of the dared react.
"No, Father," Marielle said calmly. He stared at her, as if he had completely forgotten that she was there as well. "None of us can understand it, for your reasoning only makes sense to yourself. Yes, Madame dismissed me, but I was not as innocent as you make it sound. By the time she caught me, I had already passed on information and the key to the back door to my brother, and if he hadn't left the country for Italy, he'd have surely used them. But even if I had been wholly innocent, this punishment would have been too much. This isn't one of your usual burglaries, Father. You're about to commit murder."
"I can't believe that you're still trying to defend that woman!" her father cried shrilly. His gaze, which had been upon his daughter, darted to me again. "After all that she has done to you! She gave you a good job, only to take it away from you!"
"Exactly, Father," Marielle said. "Don't you see? She gave me a good job. Not many other women would have done that. I lived with these people for years… years that you spent in prison, far away from me. Antoinette and Philippe are like my own children to me. Jacqueline and Jacques are like my brother and sister. And the Comte and Madame… they're like my parents, as young as they may be. These people are more of a family than you ever were. I love them. How can you assume that knowing them dead would make me happy?"
For a moment, there was absolute silence, as everyone stared at Marielle.
"I'm so sorry!" someone called all of a sudden. It took me a moment to realise it had been me, and another moment to notice that there were tears running down my cheeks. "I thought you had betrayed me," I went on. "And after I had found out the truth, I was too much of a coward to even talk to you again. If I had known how much we all mean to you…"
Words failed me. Marielle came over to me, and I leaned out of the window, so that we could embrace.
"Look who's here again, Philippe," I said when we let go of each other.
"Marielle!" he exclaimed, just like he had done it a few minutes ago. "Have you come to save us? Why didn't you answer when I called you before?"
"I was busy," she replied, reaching over to stroke his hair. "But I'm here now."
"Yes, you are," the cold voice of her father called behind her. "And that's where you'll stay. You've made a decision. If you think those people are your family, you shall burn with them! I have no use for a daughter who betrays me! Get inside!" I saw his eyes flash with anger and shivered. This man was insane, there was no doubt about it.
Without a word of protest, Marielle complied, climbing through the window and standing between Jacqueline and me. She had indeed made a decision.
"You don't have to do this for us," I started, but she interrupted me.
"I'm doing this for myself as much as for you," she told me seriously. "I could never live with the guilt of having killed you all. Perhaps we can still find a way of getting out of here. And if not… I'd rather die with you than live with my father." We embraced again, both our faces wet with tears.
"So, Countess." The voice of Marielle's father made us look outside again. "Another person who'll die because of you. And there's nothing you can do about it. You used to have so many protectors, and still you're all alone. Where are they now?"
"Here!" two voices sounded out of the bushes.