Chapter Twenty - You May Now Bow Down to My Brilliant Schemes

“I didn’t believe you could be any more of an imbecile,” Jacqueline said, “yet here we are.”

I scoffed. “Excuse you. My plan is brilliant. You’re just angry because you didn’t think of it first.”

Jacqueline made a disapproving grumble and glanced over to the de Coligny’s home, separated from the bustling Faubourg Saint-Germain by a walled garden. We crouched behind a copse of yews right outside the stone walls, watching a young female servant resume her hanging of the freshly laundered family livery. The rain-soaked air was suspended above us like heated soup, but the clouds had cleared, and the sky shone blue and bright, wisps of steam rising from the wet streets and swirling into the sunlight.

“So, you propose we climb over the wall once the servant leaves?” Jacqueline asked. Now that we were no longer in the church, her face took on its usual frown, tugged down in the corners like every word out of my mouth was more disagreeable than the last.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m proposing.”

Her frown deepened. “And how are we to do that without being seen?”

I pointed to a corner of the wall, shielded by overhanging willow trees, their green leaves glistening with rainwater. “The wall over there has a bunch of chipped stones that provide the perfect handholds for climbing.”

“Do I want to know how you became aware of this?”

“Mathieu de Coligny used to fancy Renée. When she rejected his advances, he told everyone she built an altar to him in her bedchamber and prayed to it every night before she went to sleep.”

“Goodness.”

I grinned. “Naturally, this upset Renée when word got out, and I retaliated by sneaking over this wall to dig up the de Coligny’s garden with spoons.”

Jacqueline blinked. “You dug up the garden with. . . spoons?”

“Indeed.” The servant disappeared through two cream French doors, and I started for the wall. “Onward we go!”

In my memory, climbing over the wall had been a far easier task. I grunted and cursed and struggled my way to the top, blaming my shoddy progress on the wet stones and not on the tightness in my chest or my sudden desire to prove to Jacqueline I was less of a cowering weakling than she presumed. At the top, I hurled myself over, pausing for a long moment to catch my breath, and glanced up to oversee Jacqueline’s progress.

She—to my chagrin—had reached the top with no trouble at all, but now sat frozen, one leg dangling over the side and the other bent at an odd angle under her satin skirts.

“Jump!” I whisper-yelled. “The drop isn’t too high.”

She tightened her grip on the wall. “Give me a few seconds.”

Then it dawned on me. “You’re afraid of heights,” I said, clapping my hands in delight.

“No.” She scowled. “I’m afraid of falling. They are two entirely different things.”

“I really don’t think they are.”

“This dress is heavier than what I’m used to wearing,” she snapped. “That’s all.”

I opened my mouth to make another clever retort, but there was genuine fear in her eyes, and my mind couldn’t help but think of the panic we shared, and the way that bond made me feel less alone. Instead, I said, “Don’t worry. If you jump, I’ll catch you.”

She let out a snort of laughter, but the fear in her eyes didn’t diminish. “I don’t trust you to catch me.”

“If we’re being honest, I don’t trust myself either.”

“Olivier!”

“Right, sorry. Jump, and I’ll try my best to catch you.”

She hesitated.

“Be quick about it!” I hissed. “We don’t have much time before you’re seen up there straddling the wall like it’s a prized English pony.”

Jacqueline jumped.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she slammed into me, and I stumbled back, colliding hard with the wall. But Jacqueline and I both remained upright, her arms slung around my neck and my hands clinging to her waist.

I froze. My hands were clinging to her waist.

I dropped my arms and tried to scramble away. But my back was already pressed against the wall, and there was nowhere for me to go. When Jacqueline noticed this, she looked up and parted her lips like she wished to say something, the scent of violets lingering on her skin. Our faces were so close, her dark hair tickled where it brushed my cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I—” My heart slammed against my chest. “Did you know some birds poop up to fifty times a day?”

Jacqueline ripped herself from me.

“Shall we go?” I asked. My voice cracked.

We crept across the gardens, taking refuge behind hedgerows bursting with sweet-smelling flowers and a topiary arcade of trimmed horses and gods. Near the home’s back entrance, we stopped, plucking the yellow and cream livery from where it hung above our heads. We took cover behind our respective hedges and hastily threw the livery on, depositing our own clothes next to a topiary in the shape of a Grecian urn.

Then, with a quick nod, we opened the grand doors of the de Coligny’s home and slipped inside.

We were met with a wide, circular room, fluted pilasters painted an eggshell white reaching up to a domed fresco. The space was littered with scallop backed sofas of mint and lilac velvet, and porcelain vases were placed in the corners. The leaves of potted trees and ferns spilled out of the vases, brushing against the orange waxed floors. Despite the earlier rain, the windows were cracked open, and curtains of white gossamer fluttered in the faint breeze. In a room down the hall, someone was playing the harpsichord—badly.

“God, this place is awful.” I shuddered. “It gets worse every time I’m here. I feel like one of the footmen is going to come around and shove a gilded stick up my derrière.”

“Says the boy whose house has an aviary full of birds,” Jacqueline mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She jerked her head to the right, staring down a hallway lined with elaborately-framed family portraits. “You’re sure the Colignys aren’t home?”

I nodded. “They’re always in Versailles this time of day, playing paille-maille in the gardens or hunting with the king or such.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because that’s what all the nobility does. My family did as well before they decided they didn’t care about society and its rules anymore.”

Jacqueline gave me a quizzical look but remained silent as we started our search. It became clear two minutes later we had no idea where to begin. The Coligny’s home was twice the size of mine, and thus had a near endless expanse of twisting hallways and closed doors, none of which seemed to be holding anything of significance. And to make matters worse, the place was absolutely crawling with servants.

While Jacqueline and I had attempted to look the part by snatching up the uniforms, our hair was damp with rain and the clothes were ill-fitting, making us look nothing like the prim and powdered servants roaming the halls. We ducked and leapt and hid the best we could, but it was only a matter of time until one of the staff noticed something was amiss.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but at that moment, a female servant entered the hall we were snooping in. I made a move to leap behind the marble bust of some haughty looking bastard, but Jacqueline stopped me at the last second, pushing me into the middle of the corridor so I was in plain sight.

“What are you doing?” I asked, making another attempt to leap to safety.

And again, Jacqueline stopped my progress with a rather uncalled for shove to my side. “Ask her where the clocks are! The journals will probably be somewhere close to the clocks.”

“But what if there is no specific place for the clocks, and we’re found out?”

“Then we run.”

There was no time to protest further, for the girl spotted me and stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.

I shot a panicked glance at Jacqueline, but she had already taken refuge behind a marble pillar.

“Er, hello there,” I said, resisting the urge to bend down and tug at my stolen breeches where they bunched up something awful around the knees.

The girl startled, like the last thing she expected was for me to address her. I yearned to turn and dash in the other direction. What exactly was Jacqueline wishing for me to say? It wasn’t as if I had any idea how to talk to women my age, nor did I have any idea what was expected of servants.

“I’m new,” I started. “I was hired. . . er. . . yesterday.”

“I can see that.” She ducked her head, tucking a fallen lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “I surely would have remembered you.” She looked up and then quickly away. I blinked.

“Yes, well, rest assured I am a servant. I love cleaning and arranging linens and discussing the mutiny of my employers when they aren’t looking.”

“What?”

“Clocks!” I said. “I was told to polish the clocks, but I’m not certain where they are. Perhaps you could provide assistance?”

“I would be happy to escort you to where Monsieur le Comte keeps his clock collection,” the girl said, reaching out a hand.

I stumbled back with so much haste, I almost tripped over my own two feet. “Oh no, it’s all right. I can make it there on my own accord. I rather enjoy wandering. Alone. Wandering alone and with no one else.” I tugged at my cravat, but it didn’t lessen the rivulets of sweat trickling down the back of my neck.

“Oh? What else do you enjoy, monsieur?”

“I enjoy birds.” I swallowed. “And. . . parsnips.”

The servant made a face, suddenly disinterested with the conversation. “The clocks are belowstairs, next to the hunting armory.” Then she hiked up her dress and turned to leave. “Good day, monsieur.”

I stood frozen in the corridor even after she disappeared from sight, hand covering the back of my neck to stop its godforsaken sweating. Jacqueline joined me a few moments later, though I was far too mortified to look at her.

“Parsnips,” she said.

“What else was there to say?” I threw my hands out, narrowly missing knocking over a vase of white roses. “Why did I have to speak with her? This was not part of the plan.”

“You know very well why it had to be you.”

“No, I do not.”

“Because she’s a woman and you’re—” Jacqueline’s words cut off with a choke. She averted her eyes to the chinoiserie mural on the wall.

“What? I’m what?”

“Never mind.” She started down the hallway. “Let’s away before we come across someone else.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, following behind her.

We didn’t speak after that, walking through the grand salon and down a white marble staircase. Though we passed a few other servants on our way, they were too preoccupied with armfuls of laundry and full chamber pots to give us much notice.

The hallway we came upon was long and dark. Only half the brass candelabras along the crimson damask walls were lit, like no one came down here enough to bother keeping them up. It was far colder than the main floor and smelled of mildew and rotting wood.

“This way,” Jacqueline said. “I see the hunting armory.”

I crossed my arms. “What do you suppose the chances are of us being murdered down here?”

She didn’t answer, only continued down the corridor until she came to a stop at two carved oak doors. “This must be it,” she said, shoving them open without an ounce of hesitation.

Beyond the doors was a room nearly the size of our garden, filled to the brim with ticking clocks.