The loveliness of the day undoubtedly added to the horror and agony that the events of it had inflicted. Jean-Claude would remember the sunshine and warmth with perfect clarity; perhaps if it had rained, perhaps if the weather had been foul, it would not have happened. These thoughts would plague him much later in life, though. In the heat of the moment, the weather barely mattered.
He loved walking with Cosette, and the sunshine had encouraged the two of them to leave their home. They strolled together, hand in hand (they were married, after all, it was acceptable for Jean-Claude to hold his wife's hand in public). Cosette looked beautiful despite the bulge in her stomach from her pregnancy. She was wearing the necklace he'd given her, the one that had belonged to his mother. The sunlight caught the pearls, making them glitter.
They walked through the marketplace. It was abnormally crowded; the warmth and sunshine had seemingly driven everyone outdoors. People were chattering and laughing as they bought goods from the grocers. The Gypsy girl was in her usual spot, dancing, and a crowd had gathered around her.
People would later tell Jean-Claude that it was lucky the marketplace had been so crowded; after all, there had been no shortage of help when Cosette had fallen to her knees, screaming in agony.
"Jean-Claude…" She let go of his hand, gripping her belly. "Jean-Claude, it hurts…"
In hindsight, they were extraordinarily lucky. Someone with a reasonable amount of intelligence had run to fetch a doctor in time to save Cosette. The baby had not been so lucky. What Jean-Claude would remember most from the day was the intense feeling of impotence that had engulfed him. He knelt beside Cosette, holding her, trying in vain to think of something, anything, he could do to stop the blood that was beginning to gush from her. She looked at him, tears streaming from her blue eyes, begging him to help her, and he could do nothing.
The doctor came quickly, shoving through the thick knot of people that had formed around them. He lifted Cosette, pulling her from Jean-Claude's arms, and brought her into the nearby bakery. Jean-Claude followed, stumbling blindly, not noticing the blood that covered his hands. He held Cosette's hands and watched as the doctor commandeered the back room of the bakery. He set Cosette down on a table, knocking loaves of bread aside, and set to work immediately.
The baker would later tell Jean-Claude that Cosette had been extremely lucky. "Her guardian angel did not let her down," he said. Jean-Claude wondered, though, how lucky she'd really been. She lay sobbing on the table, her dress smeared with drying blood, while the doctor stared down at the wet, bloody, misshapen thing in his hands and shook his head. Cosette had only been four months pregnant; the thing in the doctor's hands certainly didn't look like a baby. Jean-Claude stared down at it, willing himself to see a baby instead of a mass of blood and flesh.
The sun was still shining brightly when he emerged from the bakery with Cosette in his arms. The crowd that had been so eager to help (or at least watch Cosette's agony) had vanished. A new crowd had formed across the way; they were watching something, and Jean-Claude could hear the tell-tale bells jingling and knew it was the Gypsy girl. He summoned a carriage, listening to the jingling bells, realizing that they had been there the entire time. He looked at her now, barely noticing that the doctor had taken Cosette from his arms and was climbing into the carriage with her.
The Gypsy girl had been here the entire time, dancing. In fact, she'd looked directly at him just before Cosette had cried out in pain. She hadn't even noticed or reacted to Cosette's screaming or the crowd of worried people. She was still smiling, in fact. It was like she didn't care. It was like she'd known it would happen, like she'd made it happen.
~xXx~
The sun was shining and the crowds in the marketplace were thick. Theresa barely had enough space to dance, but she twirled anyway. Good weather always brought out crowds, and big crowds tended to pay well. The sound of people chattering mixed in with the ringing of the bells on her sash; it was all that she noticed until the crowd suddenly parted, revealing a towering figure covered in blood staring directly at her.
She stopped and stood still, too frightened and confused to move. The blood-smeared figure approached her, and she recognized him as the Captain of the Guard. She stared at the blood on his hands and felt her heart rate quicken unpleasantly. Had something happened to Giovanni? Was he hurt? Was he dying? Had there been a horrific accident?
"Witch!" The Captain of the Guard was pointing at her now, "you killed my son!" All Theresa could do was shake her head mutely. The Captain stepped towards her, and she was dimly aware of people staring at her, murmuring and whispering. She backed away from him. "I saw what you did to my wife," the Captain continued, "I saw you cast a spell on her, and now my son is dead."
"No," said Theresa. Her own voice sounded foreign; she couldn't recognize it as her own. "No, I didn't – "
"You will burn for what you've done, witch!"
The crowd was backing away from her now, people whispering and pointing, the word 'witch' flowing from their mouths. In an instant, Theresa saw the gap between her and the Captain widen, saw people move aside, and she fled. Her feet seemed to move on their own accord, and she found people rushing out of her way, afraid to touch her or even look at her. She heard the Captain screaming after her, heard the sound of his feet on the pavement.
Notre Dame was close to the marketplace, and the moment it came into view, Theresa pushed herself to run faster. Notre Dame was safe. It was the one place no one could hurt her, the one place God would truly protect her, and she found herself reaching for it as she ran. Her lungs burned; it was as though air simply wouldn't fill them. She scrambled up the steps of the cathedral, tripping and landing hard on her knees. She pulled herself up, not realizing that one of her shoes had come off. She glanced over her shoulder. The Captain of the Guard was still chasing her, though he was now accompanied by several of his comrades. She could see René among the men chasing her, and she had to force herself to get to her feet and keep running. She had to make it into the cathedral in order to claim sanctuary.
She burst through the door and did not realize that she'd collided with a priest until after she'd hit the floor. She lay there, staring up at the priest who was reaching for her, trying to help her to her feet. "Sanctuary," she gasped, forcing the word out. Her lungs still ached, and it felt as though her heart would explode. "Please, sanctuary."
~xXx~
He wasn't even certain of who they were chasing until they reached the cathedral, and seeing that it was Theresa made his blood run cold. René felt himself slow; later, he would wonder if he'd done this on purpose, if he'd let her escape. He certainly could have made it up the steps of the cathedral and grabbed her before she made it inside. He looked at Jean-Claude now.
Jean-Claude's clothes were covered in blood and his eyes blazed with an anger that René had never seen before. He glared at the cathedral, as though he could bring it crashing down merely by looking at it. He marched up the steps, shoving the door open even though Theresa had probably claimed sanctuary and there was nothing anyone could do. René followed him.
"Jean-Claude," he said, "what's happened? Whose blood is that?"
"That witch killed my son," said Jean-Claude. "She cast a spell on Cosette. She murdered our son, and now she is hiding in a cathedral."
Notre Dame was always quiet. The moment René entered the church, all he could hear was Theresa's heavy panting. She was sitting on the floor, her black hair tangled, her narrow shoulders heaving. A priest was kneeling before her, his hand on her shoulder, saying something in hushed, comforting tones.
"Give her to me," said Jean-Claude, approaching the priest. He reached for Theresa. His hand was covered with dried blood. "She is a witch and is under arrest for her crimes."
Theresa stared up at him, shaking her head, tears streaming from her dark eyes. "She has claimed sanctuary," said the priest, rising and stepping between Jean-Claude and Theresa. "And you know you cannot overturn that, Captain."
"She cast a spell on my wife and murdered my son!" shouted Jean-Claude, "she should burn at the stake for her crimes!"
"Please, I didn't do anything!"
"So long as she remains in this church, you cannot do anything to her."
René stared at Theresa. What had happened to Cosette? Could Theresa really have done such a vile thing? Could she have murdered an unborn child? Was that even possible? And why? Even if she could do it, why on earth would she? She still had not caught her breath, and now René noticed that one of her shoes was missing. As per usual, her blouse did not cover her shoulders, and it had slipped during her flight. She seemed too frazzled and frightened to notice that her brassiere was showing, and René felt guilty for having stared at the plain white fabric for so long.
"Put a guard at every door," said Jean-Claude, turning to him now.
"What?"
"She has to leave at some point, and when she does, I will arrest her." Jean-Claude glanced back at Theresa now, his eyes full of fury. "You can't hide in here forever, witch," he said, "you'll have to eat sooner or later."
He turned and stormed out of the cathedral, leaving a bloody handprint on the door as he shoved it open. René followed him, watching as he addressed the other guards, pointing and ordering them to watch the doors of Notre Dame.
"Jean-Claude, what happened?" he asked, grabbing Jean-Claude's arm.
"Cosette and I…we were in the marketplace," said Jean-Claude. He suddenly looked tired, as if all the energy had been sucked out of him. "That witch was there too. She was dancing, like she always is. She looked at me, looked directly at me, and then…then Cosette was…crying and bleeding, and my baby is dead…" for a moment, Jean-Claude looked as though he would cry. "Someone summoned a doctor, but he couldn't…he couldn't save my son…" he shook his head, forcing his sorrow back, letting the anger return to his eyes, "that witch killed my son…I will not rest until she's executed for her crimes."
"Where – where's Cosette?"
"Home. I sent her home with the doctor…"
"Go to her," said René. "I'll make sure the cathedral's guarded."
Jean-Claude nodded mutely, then turned and left. His steps were shaky, as though he would collapse at any moment. René watched him go, then turned to the rest of the guards. They took their places quickly, surrounding the cathedral.
Could Theresa commit such an atrocity? True, Gypsies lied and stole and murdered, but René had never thought that Theresa would do any of those things. She'd seemed so sweet and pretty. Perhaps she'd fooled him. Perhaps she was a witch powerful enough to kill an unborn child. Still, why would she do it? What purpose could ending an innocent life have? René stared at the cathedral, thinking of Theresa sitting on the floor, staring helplessly up at Jean-Claude. Perhaps she was a witch. Perhaps she had cast a spell on Cosette; perhaps she'd cast one on René, bewitching him so he wouldn't think her guilty.
The thought bothered René, but he nodded and forced himself to agree with it. Theresa was a Gypsy, after all; she was born in sin, and she'd die in it. She was bound to lead a wicked life. She probably was a witch, hell bent on destruction and the sorrow of others. If she had indeed killed Jean-Claude's baby, she would pay for it.
~xXx~
Theresa was not at the inn when he returned, and this frightened him. The innkeeper hadn't seen her all day. She'd left in the morning and simply never returned. Giovanni was terrified. He'd sworn to protect Theresa, and now she was missing. He bolted through the streets, calling for her, desperately searching and finding nothing.
He was out of breath and exhausted by the time he reached Notre Dame. He stopped, staring at the great cathedral, noticing for the first time that armed guards were standing at every door. He had never seen guards outside of Notre Dame before. Giovanni wracked his brain; was it some holy day he hadn't heard of? Had something happened in the cathedral? Had something happened to Theresa?
He approached the cathedral, climbing the steps. "What's your business?" demanded one of the guards, stepping in front of the door and blocking his path.
"I need to confess," said Giovanni. "Is…did something happen to the church?"
"There's a witch hiding in there," said the guard, stepping out of his way. "She's claimed sanctuary, but she can't stay in there forever."
Giovanni entered the cathedral, closing the door behind him. He glanced around. The cathedral was mostly empty; a handful of people were kneeling in prayer. Giovanni stepped further into the cathedral, remembering how awestruck Theresa had been when she'd first entered it. She'd been especially drawn to the statues, staring at them as if she'd expected them to move. Perhaps she was in here. Perhaps she was looking at the statues and had lost track of time. Giovanni wandered along, his eyes scanning the alcoves where the statues stood.
Theresa was sitting on the floor near a statue of the Virgin Mary. Giovanni did not feel relief wash over him, though, as he approached her. She was hugging her knees, crying into them. One of her feet was bare, and the hem of her skirt was spattered with mud. Her head snapped up when she heard him approach, and she leapt to her feet, rushing to him and throwing her arms around his waist.
"Giovanni! Oh thank God you're here!"
"Theresa, what's happened?" The guard's words came spilling back into his mind, and Giovanni felt his stomach clench. There's a witch hiding in there. She's claimed sanctuary, but she can't stay in there forever. Oh God, was Theresa the witch he'd been talking about? Had she done something, or been accused of doing something? What could she possibly have done? What could be so horrid, so atrocious, that they would post guards at the cathedral to arrest her the moment she left it?
"I don't know!" she sobbed, "everything was normal, and then they were calling me a witch and chasing me! The Captain, he said I killed a baby, but I swear to you, I swear I didn't do anything!"
"I – I know," he said. Katarina's brother was involved with this? Well, naturally, as Captain of the Guard, he'd have been the one to order the cathedral surrounded. "I know you didn't do anything, but…but what happened?"
"I was dancing," she said. Her voice was thin and ragged, and she looked up at him now, her eyes full of fear. "And all of a sudden, the Captain came up to me and started yelling that I'd killed his son. He told everyone I was a witch and cast a spell, and then he…he chased me and I ran here, and…and they won't let me leave! They'll kill me – the Captain wants me to burn at the stake! I swear I didn't do anything!"
He felt his grip on her tightening, and found himself wishing that he'd sent her back to Lyon. Perhaps he could talk to Katarina's brother, make him see sense. Theresa wasn't a witch, and she certainly couldn't kill anyone. Jean-Claude was probably distressed, he probably couldn't think clearly. The baby had died and he'd seen Theresa and assumed that she was a witch because of her Gypsy heritage. Surely Giovanni could talk to him, make him see reason; after all, witches weren't real. They were the figments of fairy tales, designed solely to frighten children. Theresa wasn't one.
And even if he couldn't talk to Jean-Claude, he could talk to his grandmother. She was a wealthy woman, she held a great deal of influence. If she could convince Jean-Claude that he'd made a mistake, then Theresa could go free. Giovanni would send her back to Lyon, and the whole unpleasant incident would be over. Oh, his grandmother did not have a high opinion of Theresa, but she didn't think her a witch. Surely his grandmother would listen to him, would believe him.
"Listen," said Giovanni, stroking Theresa's hair. "I'm going to go tell my grandmother what's happened. Perhaps she can help you."
Theresa was shaking her head. "Please don't leave."
"I'll be right back," said Giovanni. "You're perfectly safe in here. And besides, you must be hungry." She nodded. "I'll go see my grandmother, then I'll come back with some food."
"All right."
He kissed her forehead. "I'll be back soon."