The Consequences of Champagne and Murder

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.”