Author's note: Today is my 24th birthday. Do you know what I'd like to have as presents from you? Exactly: reviews!

Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Four

September 18th 1892: Christine

Bodies? I had barely had time to take in the dreadful word with the ominuous sound, when a slap and a little yelp made me look up. The young policeman was massaging his arm, throwing the man standing next to him an accusing glance.

"You fool!" the older man hissed, his hand still raised. "How often do I have to tell you not to be this rash? They're not called bodies unless they're dead!"

"But they looked as good as dead," the young man argued. "I've seen them. They weren't moving at all."

"That was because they were unconscious," the older man said through gritted teeth. He looked as though he'd have liked to hit the young man again, but the presence of other people held him back. "They'll be all right once the doctor arrives here, which will happen any moment now. We have no reason to believe they're not fine. Or do you have become a doctor yourself without telling anyone and can treat those people?"

"No… of course not," the young man mumbled, staring down at the ground. "I'm sorry…"

"So am I," the older man growled. Then he looked at me and forced his face into a smile. "I have to apologise for my young colleague," he said. "He only started working with us half a year ago and still has difficulties with his… behaviour." He threw him an angry glance. "And I haven't even had time to introduce myself," he went on, straightening up, as if to demonstrate that he was capable of the right behaviour, even if no one else was. He stretched out his hand. "Inspector Claudoir. I'm very pleased to meet you, Madame, and to find you in such good health."

Completely puzzled, I offered him my hand, and he kissed it. Given the fact that my hand was smeared with dirt and earth, this couldn't possibly be a pleasure for him, yet the expression on his face didn't give away what he was thinking.

"The pleasure is mine," I muttered, although I wasn't sure that this was true.

"That's Paul," he continued the introduction, pointing at the young man he had scolded before. "And Inspector Grenadelle is over there."

It was only then that I noticed the third policeman was no longer with the others. He had walked away from them, probably while Inspector Claudoir had hissed at Paul, and was talking to the two henchmen of Marielle's father. The conversation seemed rather one-sided. As far as I could tell, the two men weren't saying a word. Well, compared to some of the things they could have said, silence was certainly preferrable. Marielle's father still hadn't recovered enough to speak.

"Would you care to come over here with me?" Inspector Claudoir asked politely. "I have to take your statement, while Paul…" He all but pushed the young man forwards. "…will talk to the two other victims." Paul nodded eagerly, but I shook my head.

"First I want to know what is happening at the house," I told him firmly. "Who is unconscious? Which doctor have you called for? And where's my husband?"

"Erm… well…" the Inspector muttered. It was clear that he was mainly used to asking questions, not answering them. "This is not the way the procedure usually works. But if you insist on getting your answers first…"

"Yes, I insist on it," I said at once. "I won't answer a single question before I know whether everyone is all right."

Marielle threw me a grateful glance. She seemed to be just as eager to find out the truth as I was, yet her social position wasn't very useful for arguing with a policeman. Being a Countess had its advantages.

"Very well," Inspector Claudoir agreed, sighing. "We were alerted by one Mme. Larisse Gardé, who claims to be your cook."

I nodded.

"Is she all right as well?" I asked. "And what about my children? They were with her."

"I have never even met the woman, so how am I supposed to know anything about her well-being?" the Inspector said, shrugging. Seeing the outraged expression on my face, his voice grew more friendly. "I wanted to say that there's no reason to believe she's not fine," he went on. "She sent a messenger boy to the police, while she herself – and your children – are staying with the family de Gableux."

"De Gableaux," I corrected. "They are our neighbours. Very nice people." I smiled.

"Anyway," he muttered, before going on in a business-like voice. "Since she insisted there was a house on fire, we alerted the firebrigade as well. They're already working on putting out the fire. When we arrived here, we found four people outside the building. Two of them, a woman and an old man, were unconscious, and the other two men were trying to help them. They told us that the woman had been left behind in the house and had only been rescued from it a few minutes previously, whereas the old man had tried to assist and had collapsed for no obvious reason."

"Oh God," I breathed. Dreadful images swam before my eyes: Jacqueline, with terrible wounds from the fire, and Jacques, breaking down in the brave attempt to find her. It was all my fault. I should have paid more attention to who left the house, and I shouldn't have let Jacques go back. After all, I knew how old he was. Fighting against tears, I asked: "What about Gabriel? The young man who was with them…".

"He's fine," the Inspector replied. "He was coughing a lot, but I guess that was only the smoke."

"And my husband?" I wanted to know. I had already been told that he was fine, but I needed to hear it again.

"He only has a few wounds, mainly in his face… strange wounds for a fire, if you ask me," he said pensively. "But apart from them, he seemed the healthiest of all."

The smile returned to my face. It was good to know that at least one member of my family had survived this terrible ordeal more or less unharmed.

"Can I go now?" I asked quickly "I'd like to see Raoul, my husband… and my children. I have to make sure they're all right as well. They need their mother."

The Inspector shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Madame, but that is impossible at the moment," he informed me, sounding very important. "I have to question you about what has happened here first. It is vital that I get as much information as I can from you, since your husband has refused to talk to me. He said I should talk to you first, so that you can go and see a doctor right afterwards. That's why I came here." He looked at me expectantly.

I thought quickly. Raoul had surely only meant well, but he had brought me into a rather difficult situation. While I did believe that I could make up a credible story, I did not believe that it would match the story Raoul would make up later, when I'd be at the doctor's. And what about the others?

I realised that it was dangerous for any of us to talk to the police on their own. I didn't care whether the criminals did it, for no one would believe them anyway, but what if Marielle and Pierre told a completely different version of the events? I wished we had talked about it, but now it was too late.

Pretending to have heard something behind me, I turned away from my conversation and tried to listen to what the other two were talking about with Paul.

"So I was walking down the street, and suddenly I noticed an odd smell, as if something was burning," Pierre was just saying. "And then I looked to the side and saw that the house I was walking past had just caught fire."

"Very interesting," Paul muttered, scribbling furiously. "So you saw the beginning of the fire. This could be most important. Where did it start?"

"It started… it started… I don't know where it started," Pierre admitted, throwing Marielle a sideways glance. It was clear that he didn't want to say anything wrong, but he didn't know the right answer either. After all, he had only come to help us when the house had been on fire for a while. He hadn't been responsible for how or where it had started.

"But you just said that you were there when the house caught fire," Paul reminded him, frowning as he checked his notes. "So you must have seen where it started. Was it the ground floor or the first floor? Or maybe the roof?"

With every option Paul added, Pierre looked more confused and helpless.

"I… I don't know it," he murmured. "Couldn't you ask someone else first?"

I saw Paul try to meet Inspector Claudoir's gaze and knew I had to act quickly. The problems had already started. I had just one chance that maybe would make the policemen question all of us together. But in order to achieve that, I had to play my role well.

"I won't answer any question without my husband," I declared loudly, making my voice sound shrill, almost hysterical. "I… I cannot do this without him… all the pressure… it's too much… I need my husband…"

"But he allowed me to talk to you," Inspector Claudoir reminded me, looking around nervously. He had clearly expected this to be far less difficult. Inspector Grenadelle and Paul had stopped talking, just like I had hoped they would, and were eyeing their colleague with great interest. The corners of Paul's mouth twitched suspiciously.

Compared to many other married women I knew, I had a very good life, for Raoul gave me all the freedom I needed. Yet at the moment, I had to forget all that. I had to be a poor, frightened woman who couldn't do anything without her husband at her side. If only it hadn't been such a long time since I had been on stage every night!

"I need my husband," I repeated urgently, my bottom lip trembling. "I need him… now!"