Chapter Twenty-Five - Never Trust a Murderer to Be Understanding

Mind-altered Mathieu was a very useful companion. It still took a fair bit of leaping behind marble pillars, potted plants, and open doors to make our way outside, but whenever a servant came along, Jacqueline and I would push Mathieu out in the open, and the servant would bow and turn the other way. The fact that he neither spoke nor moved nor blinked seemed to be of no consequence. At least, it wouldn’t be until his parents noticed him missing and started asking around. But I could worry about that later—after I’d figured out a way to keep him from staying like this forever.

Once we were all outside, Jacqueline and I retrieved our clothes from behind the topiary and made our way over the wall and into the safety of Faubourg Saint-Germain. The sun had begun to set while we were in the de Colignys’ house, and now the sky was brushed with golds and coral pinks, purple clouds suspended over our heads with edges that looked dipped in raspberry marmalade.

The humidity had evaporated with the sunlight, leaving the air crisp and warm and smelling of summer. As we walked down the street—both Jacqueline and my rain-soaked ensembles clutched to my chest, and the clock and journals clutched to Jacqueline’s—well-dressed couples roamed the streets arm in arm, linkboys huddled close to the shops with flaming torches held above their heads. Though I recognized no one we passed, I made certain to keep myself and Mathieu covered in shadows. The last thing any of us needed was to be spotted and forced into polite conversation.

“Do you think he’s aware of what’s happening?” I asked Jacqueline while we crossed over Pont de l’Alma. Below us, the Seine stretched into the horizon, reflecting the candlelit homes and shopfronts like the city had been split in two.

Mathieu trailed a few feet behind, wide-open eyes staring at nothing in particular. It was rather like being followed home by a lost puppy. If the puppy in question wore his breeches too tight and tormented others for fun.

“I don’t know,” she said.

I certainly hoped he wasn’t aware of what I’d done to him, or I’d have hell to pay when he regained control of his mind. If he gained control of his mind. I looked at the clock in Jacqueline’s arms. Underneath the flickering torches along the bridge, I could just make out the steady tick, tick, tick of the gilded minute hand.

I couldn’t think of a way to keep up the conversation, so said nothing more. Of course, without the distraction, the tried-and-true reason to keep my mouth shut washed over me. My heart started to beat, quick and irregular, in my chest. I’d been able to shove my panic to the farthest parts of my mind earlier, having had much more pressing things to worry about, but now there was no ignoring the twinge of fear resting on my tongue.

Not only was Étienne still in danger of hanging, if we did succeed in saving him, he might decide to leave me for his other family. And why not? My family wasn’t so spectacular, as it turned out. I’d had an older brother once, and Mother thought the information wasn’t worth sharing with me. Not to mention, I now had Mathieu de Coligny to worry about.

And Étienne could die. Jacqueline could die. Mathieu could have his mind altered for the rest of his life. And it would be because of me.

Me, me, me.

But I couldn’t show any weakness—not after the mess I had gotten us into earlier. Not after I’d felt her lips against my own.

So, I forced myself to continue on, taking short, measured breaths to keep my heart under control. Which worked for a good two minutes, until Jacqueline asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said automatically.

“You’re clutching at your chest.”

“What?” I looked down to where, indeed, my hand had come up to rest against my stuttering heart. “Oh.”

I let my hand fall. Behind us, Mathieu’s shoe connected with a loose rock in the cobblestones, and it skidded out beneath my feet before it disappeared into a patch of dew-dampened grass.

“Is it happening again?” Jacqueline asked.

I shook my head.

“Do you need any help?”

I shook my head for a second time.

“Is that all you’re going to do? Shake your head?”

“Yes, fine,” I said. My voice cracked on the last word. “What is it you’d like for me to say?”

“If you’re all right. That’s all.”

I turned my head to the Seine. A rowboat passed across the river, the reflection of the full moon rippling against the black water.  “Why do you care?”

“Because it’s nice, for once.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Not being the only one.”

My hands burned with the memory of Jacqueline’s skin on my palms. For the brief moment we’d kissed, I’d forgotten about everything. My shoddy nerves. The threat on Étienne. The fact that Comte de Coligny had us all like wriggling ants under his thumb.

And then there had been Jacqueline minutes afterwards, who had talked about Étienne leaving, not once thinking about how it might affect me or Renée. I couldn’t tell if the Jacqueline who walked beside me now was the girl who’d taken away all my worries with the brush of her thumb along my cheek, or the girl who’d thrown my worries back at me like they meant nothing at all.

“When I was seven,” I began, not sure myself why the words were falling from my tongue, “I almost drowned.”

Jacqueline gave me a curious glance but remained silent.

“Étienne brought me out to the lake behind our home in the country to play, and when he turned his back to fetch something, I slipped and hit my head on a rock. He managed to save me, but not before I swallowed a great deal of water. He carried me back to our house and tried to call for help. But Father was off playing cards at some gambling den, and Mother didn’t care enough to do anything. She simply stood in the corner of the room and watched as I gasped for breath. She was going to let me die.”

I curled my hands into fists, forcing my breathing to remain calm. Don’t think about Mother’s face as she watched you struggle. Don’t think about Étienne’s frantic screams. Don’t think about anything. “Étienne finally managed to call for the doctor on his own, but by the time he came, it was too late. The water had already. . . done something to me. I haven’t been the same since.

“Now, whenever I become scared, I remember how I felt in the water—how I couldn’t breathe, and how I was certain I was going to die, and Mother didn’t do a thing about it. Then my heart beats too quickly, and I have an attack. I don’t know how to stop thinking about it, or how to keep from getting panicked. It’s part of who I am, and I believe it always will be.”

Jacqueline stayed quiet for a few agonizingly long moments. I didn’t dare glance at her in fear of what her reaction might be, nor did I slow my walk. Instead, I looked behind her to Mathieu. He continued to stare directly ahead, eyes fixed on an invisible point in the distance. Was he aware of what was happening? Or was his mind blank, wiped clean like the sky after a storm? Would I ever forgive myself for what I’d done to him?

“Are you worried?” Jacqueline asked. “I mean, of what might happen in the future?”

Her dark eyes flitted about my face, awaiting my answer. Her hair had come almost entirely loose from its updo and fell over her shoulders in thick waves, the skin on her neck and arms the color of amber in the starlight. My breath caught in my throat.

“I’m scared for Renée,” I answered.

“Renée?”

“She’s the best part of who I am.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Neither of us knows how to live without the other. When I hurt, she hurts. When she’s happy, I’m happy. Sometimes, she knows when I’m feeling unwell before I’m aware of it myself. If I become more unwell, I think part of her will sicken, too.” I paused to take in a shaking breath. “And if Étienne isn’t there. . .”

We passed the Tuileries Garden, where couples sat on blankets surrounded by spreads of bread, pats of sweet butter, and glasses of ruby red wine. In the middle of the park, someone was singing, and their faint voice carried in the evening breeze. I had a sudden longing to be one of those people, out with their friends or loved ones to enjoy the warm weather. No potential death to weigh down their conscience, or knowledge of mind-altering clocks, or worry their family will be torn apart.

“My father was right,” Jacqueline whispered.

“What?”

“I was four when he left. And from the little I can remember, I was brave and curious and strong. Étienne was the one who needed extra care from our parents. Funny how he has become the competent one, and now I’m the one with the problems.” She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing tight. “I tried to stay strong, but it was so hard. I found that no matter what I did, because of who I was and what my skin looked like, no one listened, and no one cared. I didn’t even have any friends or family to find comfort in. The only thing I could do to make myself feel better was work with clocks.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I may have had weak nerves and may have feared for my life every time I stepped outside, but I’d never been alone. No matter how distraught or sick I became, I’d always had Étienne and Renée by my side. I couldn’t begin to imagine how different my life would be if they weren’t there.

Jacqueline had parents and a caring older brother at one point, but they’d all disappeared and left her alone. And yet, she had still been able to make a life for herself. She had still found a way to create beautiful things.

“You are strong,” I said.

Jacquline looked down at her shoes, shuffling along the ground. “It may seem that way, but I’m always—always—scared.”

I cracked a smile. “Me, too.”

“Do you think it’s silly?” Jacqueline asked after a moment. “Wishing to become a family with Étienne when I don’t even know who he is? Other than his night terrors, I barely remember anything about him. I don’t know what he prefers to eat, how he likes to spend his time, or the things that make him happy. We might as well not be related at all.”

“But Étienne was willing to die to save you. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

She considered this. “I always worry he did that for me because I’m his sister and he feels obligated, not because he truly means it.”

I snorted. “I have a difficult time believing anyone would sacrifice themselves for the sake of familial obligation, even someone as vexingly righteous as Étienne.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Her words were soft, almost inaudible above the summer breeze. “I’ve never had a family.”

It occurred to me then, all the ways Jacqueline had acted around my family since she came into our lives. The way she stiffened whenever anyone tried to give her an affectionate touch. The look in her eye when I was reunited with Étienne in Versailles, like she was willing herself to think about something else, anything else.

And, despite all the trouble she’d caused, I wanted her to be happy, too.

“What you said before isn’t silly,” I said. “You deserve to have a family.”

She glanced at me, lip caught between her teeth. “Even if it means taking Étienne away from you?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Perhaps I never would.

Instead, I stuck out my finger and announced, “We’ve almost arrived at my house.”

And as we rounded the corner of Rue des Nonaindieres, the stone courtyard of my house came into view, the torches along the arched entryway spilling light the color of fresh honey onto the street. Jacqueline and I stepped inside the courtyard, where we found Étienne, Renée, and the king of all people, chatting around an open bottle of champagne and a stack of plum profiteroles.

“And that is why pugs are my seventh favorite breed of dog,” the king was saying. “Of course, they are much cuter when they are young, but—Oh, Mademoiselle Chaffee and Monsieur d’Aumont have returned.”

Renée and Étienne looked up in unison, and Renée sprang to her feet, running to me with her skirts hiked to her calves. Though, as she was reaching out to throw her arms around me, she stopped, her nose wrinkling. “Good God, Olivier, you smell like dirty river water.”

“Thank you,” I responded, cheeks flaming. Had I smelled like this the whole day? Had Jacqueline noticed? God, did she think I always smelled? “I’m so glad you’ve pointed that out so I can continue to think about it all night.”

“It isn’t horrible.” Renée gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure if you change your clothes… What are you wearing anyway?”

“The de Coligny family livery.”

“Is there any particular reason why?”

“Olivier, care to explain why Mathieu de Coligny is here?” Étienne asked. “And why he isn’t talking?”

Renée looked behind me to where Mathieu stood frozen next to the marble fountain. “Mon Dieu.”

“Ah, yes,” I said. “Jacqueline and I had an unfortunate run-in with. . . Well, we. . . What I mean to say is—”

“Olivier used a clock on him, and now he won’t quit following us and is also in danger of staying this way indefinitely,” Jacqueline said.

So much for our brief exchange of tender feelings and understanding.

“You did what?” Étienne asked me, looking horrified.

“It was either use the clock on him or get caught by Comte de Coligny, so I wasn’t given two very favorable options.”

“Why were you in danger of being caught by Comte de Coligny in the first place?”

“Because we snuck into his house.”

“You did what?”

“You’ve already said that once, Étienne. I know you enjoy parrots, but there is no need to start speaking like one.”

“How fascinating,” the king said as he waved a hand in Mathieu’s face. Mathieu didn’t blink. “I had my doubts, but the clocks work after all.”

“You never explained why you snuck into Comte de Coligny’s house,” Étienne said.

“Oh. Right.” I took a seat on the corner of the fountain. The air from the flowing water blew against the back of my neck, freeing the strands of hair stuck to my skin. I recounted the events of the afternoon, watching as everyone’s expressions transformed from curious to livid—I laid it on a bit thick when describing how much of a cowardly lump of flesh Duvaux was—to utterly bewildered. Though, when I reached the part involving Jacqueline’s father, I stopped.

“What?” Étienne prompted. “What happened after you arrived at the comte’s house and discovered his clock workshop?”

I tried to answer, but I couldn’t think of anything other than what I’d discovered this afternoon—my father’s history, my mother’s. Your mother’s miscarriages, Monsieur Chaffee had said, and the son she lost when he was a baby. Her son. Her son. Mother had a son. “Mother had a son!” I said, the words tumbling from my lips like crashing waves. “Before Renée and I were born. She had another child, and he died, and she didn’t tell any of us about it.”

The king leaned over to ask Jacqueline, “Is this any relation to the clocks?”

“What do you mean?” Renée stared at me, face awash with shock.

“I—” My palms began to sweat, panic crawling its way up my throat. God dammit, not again. “Sorry, I have to. . . Sorry.”

Then I turned and bolted for the house, where I could panic in peace. Yet, I only made it past a marble fountain when a hand latched around my wrist, freezing me in place.

“Ollie,” Étienne said, loosening his grip. His face was calm, his brown eyes filled with the kind of understanding only he or Renée—and now, Jacqueline—ever had for my outbursts. I thought about how, in a short while, he could be gone, and I’d never be able to see that sort of understanding on his face again. My chest tightened. “You don’t have to run away. If you’re worried about something, you can talk to us. It might help.”

“I don’t wish to talk about it,” I hissed, keeping my voice low. “Not in front of the king.”

Étienne’s words were gentle as he said, “That’s all right. We can talk about the clocks instead, but please don’t go anywhere. I always feel better when you’re around.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. You’re my brother.”

The declaration was simple, yet it struck a chord inside me, giving me enough courage to nod and rejoin the others. Renée eyed me with worry when we returned, but the king and Jacqueline were examining the clock we took from the workshop. I made a small noise in the back of my throat, and Jacqueline snapped her head up. The king, however, remained transfixed on the clock, tapping at the glass clock face with his pinky nail. Either he hadn’t noticed anything off about me darting away in panic, or he was gracious enough to ignore it.

“How, exactly, did you learn how to use the clocks?” the king asked.

“The journals, Your Majesty,” I said, motioning to where the journals rested on a wrought-iron bench. “Turns out they were in the de Colignys’ house after all and therefore the mission was a success.”

He frowned. “Except the part where you kidnapped and endangered the life of Comte de Coligny’s only son.”

“Yes, except for that.”

“And nothing else happened?” he looked from me to Jacqueline. “You’re both acting a bit off.”

Jacqueline asking me to kiss her flashed through my mind. Her hands curling around my waistcoat. Her body pressed against the worktable. Her tongue slipping into my mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I said.

“Nothing at all,” Jacqueline added.

“Yes, definitely nothing.”

The king plucked the journal from the bench, flipping it open and thumbing through the pages. “Olivier d’Aumont, you are aware there will be repercussions if Mathieu de Coligny does, in fact, stay this way forever?”

My throat went dry. “Ah, yes, Your Majesty.”

“But we have one of the clocks from the workshop,” Jacqueline said quickly. “If I have the clock and the journals, I’m certain I can think of a way to return him to normal.”

The king glanced up. “Really?”

Jacqueline nodded.

The king looked as if he wished to say something more, but the front door flew open with a crash, and I turned to see Mother dash down the stone steps in her slippers. Father was nowhere to be found, I assumed caught up somewhere in his personal vices. The second Mother came into view, all the emotions I had shoved away mere moments before came flooding back. Only this time, her physical presence increased them tenfold. I took a step behind Étienne, hoping to use my brother as a shield so I wouldn’t have to face her. It was a useless endeavor considering Étienne and I were nearly the same height, but having someone between myself and my mother came as a comfort, nonetheless.

“What is happening out here?” Mother asked, gaze darting between the courtyard’s orange trees and trimmed topiaries. As usual, her appearance was flawless, multicolored jewels glittering in her curled updo. “Olivier and Jacqueline have been gone God knows where all day, and now you’ve snatched champagne and profiteroles from the kitchen for some sort of meeting I was not privy to.”

I ducked farther behind Étienne, praying Mother’s eyes wouldn’t drift to me, and I wouldn’t have to confront her for lying to Renée and me our entire lives. But Mother spotted the king instead. Her vermillion-painted mouth fell open, and she dropped into a deep curtsy, her powder blue gown spreading across the cobblestones like foam sprouting from the sea.

“Your Majesty,” she gasped, head still angled to her satin slippers. “I apologize. My children didn’t inform me you would be paying our home a visit this evening.”

“And you didn’t inform us you had another son,” Renée snapped.

The courtyard fell silent, save for the quiet bubbling of water in the marble fountain. Jacqueline pressed a hand to her mouth, and Étienne sucked in a breath, taking a step back like he, too, wished to hide himself. The king had been preparing to answer Mother, but now promptly closed his mouth, eyes straying to the gilded mantle clock. My attention drifted to Renée, and the hurt and betrayal splashed across her face made me desperately wish to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. But I couldn’t find it in myself to move.

“What, chérie?” Mother asked, tone tentative.

“Olivier discovered you had another son before we were born,” Renée said. “And you didn’t tell any of us about it. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mother’s head whirled around until she found me hidden in the shadows. “Mon petit chou? What did you say to Renée?”

“I heard—” My voice cracked, and I swallowed. “I heard you had miscarriages and a son who died before Renée and I were born.”

“Who did you hear that from?”

I took a deep breath. “From Jacqueline and Étienne’s birth father.”

Étienne spun around, giving me a disbelieving look. “What?”

Mother blanched, saying nothing.

“You lied to us,” Renée said. “There were so many times I wished to come to you throughout the years. I was so confused about who I was, and—” She grabbed at fistfuls of her coral dress. “I ached so badly for my mother’s advice. But you were never emotionally available. Now, the king is involved, this is affecting the entirety of Paris, Étienne might die, and you still refuse to help? Did you ever even want children? Is that why you didn’t tell us about your son, and why you’re all right with Étienne dying now? Why would you have us—why would you take Étienne in as your ward—if you didn’t even want us?”

The king picked up both the clock and the journals, spinning around on his heel. “I forgot I have some very important business to attend to, so I’m afraid I must return to Versailles.” He started walking in the direction of his carriage, forcefully dragging Mathieu along with him. “I thank you for all your help, but I really must be going now. Good evening.”

“Wait, Your Majesty,” Renée called after him. “Our family is allowed in Versailles, are they not? Please allow my brothers, Jacqueline, and I to come with you. I don’t believe we can stay here any longer.”

The king glanced over his shoulder. “I-I suppose that would be all right. It might be better to figure all this out within the safety of palace walls.”

Renée nodded and started after him, Jacqueline following a second later. Mother watched them go, hand pressed to her embroidered bodice. She looked so surprised, so lost, that for a moment, I almost felt angry with my sister for her outburst. But then I remembered Mother refusing to help me when I nearly drowned, all the times she brushed off my panic as nothing, every instance when my siblings and I had to find solace in each other because our parents didn’t wish to be involved in our personal struggles.

“I—” Mother looked from my siblings to me, then back again. “What is Renée talking about? Étienne, you’re still sentenced to death? You’re home now. I thought you were released from the Bastille. Why is the king involved?”

“I’m sorry.” Étienne’s voice was soft. “I have to go with Renée and Jacqueline to make sure they stay safe.”

He joined the others, and I was left alone with Mother. For a moment, neither of us spoke. She continued to stare at me, complexion turning a stark white underneath her powder. Then she said, “It was never my intention to keep those things from you or your sister.”

“So, it’s true?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you help me?” The words poured from my mouth before I realized I’d spoken them, my heart suddenly desperate for answers to the question I never thought I would be brave enough to ask. “When I almost died, why didn’t you do anything? Why did you just stand there and watch?”

Mother reached out to grab my hand. Her skin was clammy with sweat. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “I love you and Renée and Étienne so much. I have lost so many children, and I was terrified I was going to lose you, too. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I don’t think. . .” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t think that’s enough. If you truly loved us, you would find a way to stop this all from happening, a way to stop Étienne from hanging.”

Then I yanked my hand out of her grasp and walked toward the carriage to join my siblings. A large part of me hoped she would call after us. But the courtyard remained silent.