September 18th 1892: Jacqueline
It all seemed to happen very slowly. Holding my breath, I watched M.Erik knock Marielle's father to the ground, sending the pistol flying into one of the bushes. For a full minute, no one reacted, but simply gazed at the two men struggling on the ground.
"What are you waiting for, Victor?" Marielle's father finally cried. "Seize him!"
It was all the encouragement the man needed. He reached his master quickly, still crawling on the ground, but his pistol ready in his outstretched hand. He was concentrating so completely on the task of getting Erik away from Marielle's father that he ws oblivious to the Comte approaching him from behind. He seized the man by the shoulders and pulled him back. Then he lunged forwards and tried to grab the pistol. Unfortunately he landed right on Marielle's father, while one of his feet caught Victor in the stomach.
Soon all four men were rolling on the ground, hitting and kicking each other fiercely. It was hard to see who was doing what and even harder to tell who was going to win. Sometimes it seemed that one person gained the upper hand, but it never stayed like that for long.
It was like watching a crawling ant hill. The main difference was that ants didn't shout, at least not that I knew of. The air was thick with the men's yells and curses, some of which even I, who had grown up with sailors, hadn't heard before. I'd have never believed that the Comte or M.Erik knew such words.
If there had just been those four men involved, the fight would have probably gone on until one party got exhausted and gave up. Yet the other two henchmen of Marielle's father were still there as well. They exchanged insecure glances and a few words, apparently discussing what to do with Antoinette. Yet when they heard their master yell in pain, they simply let the girl stand where she was and joined the fight. They didn't have pistols, but such weapons had been long forgotten in this almost primeval fight anyway. All that mattered were hands and feet and, occasionally, teeth. I had no idea where Victor's pistol had gone. The one Marielle had carried with her had ended up in a bush as well.
"They're going to kill them!" Madame shrieked. "I've got to help them!"
She lifted her leg, obviously trying to climb out of the window, but Marielle held her back.
"No, wait!" she said. "There's already someone coming to help them!"
She pointed at the corner from which her father and the two other men had come before. Two men were running towards the fight now and threw themselves right on top of the others, making the whole scene even harder to understand. Still I had recognised at least one of the men and knew he was on our side.
"Gabriel!" I called uncertainly, not sure whether I was glad that he was here. I did feel a little safer now, but what if something happened to him?
"Pierre!" Marielle cried a moment later.
I looked over to her, and we exchanged a glance of deep understanding. Judging by the excited sound of her voice when she had said his name and the anxious expression on her face, she had the same kind of feelings for this man that I had for Gabriel. It was good to know that in the middle of all this horror and confusion, I had found a kindred spirit.
The fight was becoming more complicated by the moment. I wondered whether the men still knew whom they had to kick of hit. Still it was sickeningly fascinating to watch all those men lying on the ground. Even Philippe was watching them, though he should have better not done so. But then, Madame had probably decided that he had witnessed so many terrible things today that this wouldn't make any difference.
All of a sudden I was distracted from the fight by a loud crackling sound coming from behind me. I turned around quickly, and my eyes were met with a sight that made me gasp: The door was being consumed by the fire. The wood was burning so fast that it looked as if it were melting. I looked down. The carpet was not on fire yet, but that was only a matter of time. Once it'll have caught fire, the flames would spread to where we were standing. Already the smoke was getting thicker. There was no time to lose.
"The fire!" I cried. "We have to get out!"
"But how?" Madame asked, gesturing at the men. By now, they were fighting right under the window. We couldn't leave without treading on them and being engaged in the fight.
"Stay where you are!" Jacques ordered. I looked at him in surprise, wondering for one insane moment whether he'd jump out of the window and end the fight single-handed, just to create enough space for us to come out. On a day like this, nothing seemed impossible.
Yet apparently Jacques had found a more sensible and less violent solution. He strode over to the second window, which was completely unguarded, now that all the men were busy fighting. Seizing the same chair I had used what felt like a lifetime ago, he smashed the windowpane.
"Come here!" he shouted, starting to remove the remaining pieces of glass with his bare hands. I could see blood trickle down his fingers, but he didn't even seem to feel the pain.
We didn't need telling twice, but rushed to his side immediately.
"Philippe first," I decided. "But who'll help him on the other side?"
"I will," Larisse said, making all of us jump. I hadn't noticed her arrive. But then, it was getting harder to see, with all the smoke leaving the room through the window. It seemed like the cook had appeared out of thin air, Antoinette at her side. For once, the girl wasn't self-assured at all. She looked terrified and not much older than her brother.
"Maman," she whimpered. "What is Papa doing there? Why is he hurting the other men?"
"He's saving us, dear," Madame replied, giving her daughter a rather strained smile. "Don't be worried. We'll all be with you in a moment."
Larisse moved forwards, and Antoinette came with her. Madame leaned down to Philippe, but his former maid was faster and picked him up.
"You're still too weak," she told her seriously. "That blow must have hurt terribly… I'm so sorry about it…"
"We can talk about all that later," Madame said. "But first we have to get out, before…" She looked pointedly over her shoulder.
Marielle nodded, heaving Philippe out of the window. Larisse took him from her and put him down on the ground. A moment later, she had two children clinging to her skirt.
The temptation to give in to simply being happy for them was very strong. But then I recalled that Antoinette and Jacqueline had already been free once, and still the outcome for them hadn't been happy. What if that happened again?
"Larisse!" I called. "Take the children and run! Don't wait for us!"
"But… but why?" she asked. "Why can't we wait for you? You'll be outside in a minute, too… won't you?"
"We can't be sure of it," I said, feeling as if a leaden weight had dropped into my stomach. "Who knows how long they'll go on fighting? Once they'll have stopped, all kinds of things can happen. We'll wait till you'll be out of sight, then we'll follow you. It's safer."
"I don't know…" Larisse muttered. Even without seeing her too well, I knew that the wish to escape at last was fighting with the urge to stay here and help us. "Madame…?"
Madame swallowed hard. Then she nodded, her eyes shining with tears.
"Go with Larisse, children," she all but whispered. "I'll… we'll see each other… soon… Bring them here for a moment, Larisse."
The cook came closer to the window again. Both children stretched out their arms to their mother, and Madame kissd each little hand in turn. She did not cry, but I sensed that she held herself back with all the self-restraint she could muster. I had none such strength left. I cried. So did Marielle, Larisse… and Jacques, although he turned his head away quickly when he saw me look at him.
"You have to go now," Madame said at last, sounding as if something heavy was stuck in her throat. "You've got to – " The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a loud cough. The smoke had grown even thicker. Already I was starting to feel light-headed again.
Larisse and the children left quickly. As far as we could tell, none of the men on the ground did as much as look up as they passed. Still we waited a little while longer, till we could be sure that they were gone.
"Jacques will go next," I then announced. "He can help Madame outside. Then Marielle, then I…" Had forming sentences always been that difficult?
Jacques nodded, but he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he came over to me.
"We will all get out of here," he assured me. "I give you my word, Mademoiselle Jacqueline." For a moment, he simply looked into my eyes. Then his lips brushed my forehead. Before I could say anything, he had walked away briskly, climbing out of the window with a speed truly astonishing for someone his age. I shook my head slowly, asking myself what a meaning that scene had had. Perhaps it had just been a dream. Perhaps all this was just a dream. Thinking was becoming very difficult again.
Marielle helped Madame out of the window before leaving through it herself. Both women were coughing.
"I'll be right there," I called after them. My voice sounded strange in my ears.
I gripped the windowsill, but couldn't hold onto it. I needed a moment's rest, then everything would be all right again. I sank down onto the floor, barely able to hold my eyes open. There was something peculiar about the carpet: A part of it was red and seemed to be moving. I smiled. It was very pretty. I'd have liked to touch it, but it was still too far away, and my hand was very heavy. I'd have to have a closer look at it later. But first I'd have to rest… just for a little while… just…