Chapter 5: Chapter Four - For Once, I'd Rather Not Be a Disaster

Renée had fancied Madeleine de Froix for as long as I could remember. She was the eldest daughter of the Vicomte de Narbonne, and thus, we’d been thrown together during social events since the both of us were old enough to walk. Unfortunately, that also meant she was present during my accident five years prior, when panic and the high summer heat had caused me to faint during a rather intense game of paille-maille at a garden picnic—and split my head open on a rock. In front of absolutely everyone.

She never mentioned the incident afterward, but I knew she remembered. Which meant whenever we were forced into polite conversation, I became so mortified for both myself and my sister, I started sprouting off random birdwatching facts I’d heard from Étienne over the years. And if anything made someone sound like an ostracized old goat, it was discussing the mating rituals of the Black-Footed Albatross over after-dinner cordials.

Though tonight had nothing to do with Renée’s affections or my past public spectacles, I couldn’t help but feel a familial duty toward my sister not to make an embarrassment of myself. Again.

“Are you unwell, Monsieur d’Aumont?” Madeleine asked after I hadn't budged from my spot on the floor, despite Renée's attempts to help me to my feet.

“I, uh. . .” I trailed off, every word I wished to say stuck to the back of my throat like melted candle wax on silver.

“He’s fine,” Renée answered, giving me a none too subtle smack in the back of my head. “He’s terrified of dogs, is all. The pug running around the salons gave him a good fright.”

Madeleine raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Madame de Leon’s pug is quite harmless, I assure you. After all, it’s rather. . . small.”

“I’m not afraid of dogs!” I leapt up, and far too quickly, for I banged my elbow into the golden candelabra next to my head. One of the candles came loose and tumbled to the ground, nearly setting my sister's dress on fire before I stomped on it with the heel of my shoe. “Definitely not afraid of dogs.”

Madeleine said nothing, her blue eyes fixed on the pile of crumbling candle wax and ash underneath my shoe. I wasn’t sure if her silence was out of politeness or embarrassment, but I was too scared to inquire further. So, I turned and started down the hallway, ready to leave the downright horrendous last twenty-four hours behind me. A second later, Renée grabbed my cravat and yanked me right back to where I was before.

“You have information about Étienne?” she asked Madeleine, one hand firmly wrapped around my arm to prevent another escape attempt. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I was the one who was nervous in front of Madeleine when it was Renée who fancied her.

“Yes,” Madeleine said. “I heard what happened between him and the man he. . . murdered.”

“He didn’t murder anyone, actually,” I spoke up. “It’s all a lie.”

“Right. Of course.”

Renée’s grip tightened around my arm. “What did you hear?”

Madeleine fiddled with the brown curl trailing down her neck. “I heard the coachman was fighting with your brother when the murder took place. The man’s body was found with scratches on his neck and arms. He also had rocks in his pockets. I assume to ensure he drowned.”

Renée dropped her hand from my wrist with a resounding gasp, but I was too shocked to make any noise at all. Why in God’s name hadn’t Henri mentioned this?

The coachman fought with my brother, and Étienne retaliated by stabbing him, loading his pockets with rocks, and shoving him into the Seine.

No, a thought punched through the back of my mind, you know that didn’t happen.

“Why would someone wish to fight with my brother?” Renée asked in a tiny voice.

Madeleine looked across the corridor, fixing her gaze on the firelight flickering in the candelabras. She let out a dainty cough. “Well, the prison governor thinks there are many reasons why he would engage in a fight with someone else.” She didn’t say those reasons explicitly, but the meaning behind her words was clear enough. “But the most concrete cause he gave to my father was that Monsieur d’Aumont had jewels on his person, and that is why he and the coachman were fighting.”

“Because the coachman wanted the jewels for himself?” I asked.

“No.” Madeleine shuffled her feet. “The governor believes it’s because Monsieur d’Aumont was planning to leave your family and was in the process of stealing your mother’s jewels, little by little. He thinks the coachman caught Monsieur d'Aumont and tried to confront him, then Monsieur d’Aumont became angry, and that’s the reason they fought.”

“That’s a ridiculous accusation!” I yelled. “Why would the governor think that? Why would anyone think that?”

But I didn’t expect an actual answer. Because I knew why the governor would think that. And Madeleine did, too. She had been there, after all, the morning after my parents’ party, when Lucie du Luys said Étienne would eventually cause trouble. It’s what everyone thought—what everyone had always thought. Those bastards.

“It isn’t true.” Renée was paler than a fresh coat of snow, her fingers fisted around handfuls of her lavender skirts. “Étienne doesn’t want to leave us, and he isn’t a thief.”

Though our parents loved the three of us in their own way, they’d pushed us off to Henri and the other servants whenever we were upset, sick, or in need of comfort. Since they were always too preoccupied with planning their next masquerade or gambling outing to pay attention to their children, Étienne became a makeshift parent to both Renée and I, offering a shoulder to cry on or an ear to yell into when we were vexed and needed someone to listen.

Renée especially held Étienne in high esteem, ever since she came to us years ago, terrified of being condemned to Hell for the romantic feelings she had toward both men and women. I’d assured her I’d find a way to commit a mortal sin so I could join her in Hell, too. But Étienne had simply taken her in his arms and told her she was the kindest person he knew, and that he’d always be there to protect her no matter who she was attracted to.

Renée was too proud to ever admit her fears aloud, but the way she reached out and grasped my hand was explanation enough.

I squeezed her hand back to let her know I felt the same.

If I had any doubts about someone framing my brother before, I didn’t now. I just couldn’t for the life of me imagine why. It was true much of society resented him and didn’t wish for him to be part of their social circle anymore, but to go so far as to frame him for murder? Did someone truly hate him that much? When all he had ever been to anyone was kind and understanding?

But if he didn’t kill anyone, why was Étienne caught running through the streets of Le Marais with a bloody dagger in his hand?

I forced the thought away. There must have been an explanation for that, too.

“Is there anything else you heard?” I asked. “We were told Étienne left our house with a woman. Perhaps she has something to do with this.”

Madeleine shook her head. “The prison governor didn’t mention a woman being with him when he was found. I’m afraid I know nothing more.”

Renée’s shoulders slumped. As I turned to tell her I’d go back into the salon to question more people, fragile nerves be damned, Madeleine spoke again. “But I can help you speak with the prison governor.”

For a moment, neither of us said a word. The candelabras along the hallway flickered, casting shadows against the marble walls. From inside the salon, someone let out a whoop of joy.

“You what?” Renée asked.

“As I said, my father is close with the prison governor at the Bastille,” Madeleine said. “I can set up a meeting between your family and the governor. Perhaps you can tell him you believe there has been a mistake.”

Renée’s brow furrowed. “Why would you help us?”

Madeleine glanced at Renée, then looked quickly away. I wasn’t certain, but her neck seemed a few shades pinker than moments before. “I don’t agree with what I’ve heard. Monsieur d’Aumont has always been kind to me. I don’t believe he would do anything to harm another person, and I wish to help you find the truth as well.”

Again, neither Renée nor I responded. I glanced at her, and her at me, in an unspoken conversation we’d mastered over the years. We had to decide whether or not to trust Madeleine with something as important as saving our brother. My sister’s romantic feelings aside, there wasn’t much either Renée or I knew about her, but if we followed Madeleine to the Bastille, we’d be that much closer to proving Étienne was innocent.

“I don’t think—” Renée started, but I cut her off.

“We’d love for you to help us.”

“What are you doing?” Renée whispered, pulling me away until we were out of earshot. “We aren’t certain she can be trusted.”

“When are we going to have another chance to talk to the prison governor ourselves?” I hissed back. “Perhaps he will allow us to speak to Étienne and he can tell us what happened. Then we won’t have to harass people in Versailles for answers. Besides, you should be happy about the chance to spend more time with Madeleine.”

“Fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then in a louder voice said, “We will go with you to the Bastille, Mademoiselle de Froix.”

Madeleine flashed a smile, and Renée let out a tiny gasp. “Wonderful!” Madeleine said. “Shall I meet you at your house tomorrow night?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but at that moment, someone behind us exclaimed, “There you are!”

Out from the salon strolled Mathieu de Coligny in all his pale glory, hands clasped behind his back and blond hair combed into a queue tight enough to stretch the skin at his temples. He walked up to Madeleine and snaked an arm around her waist, shooting me a frown. I swallowed back a curse.

“We’ve been waiting for ages for you to return so we can continue our game of whist,” he said to Madeleine. “And yet here you are, talking to the family responsible for my coachman’s death.” He shuddered. “Pray tell, Olivier, how long do you suppose it will be until your family’s ward is convicted for murder?”

“Oh, I can’t say for certain,” I responded cheerfully. “How long do you suppose it will take for me to carve off all your skin with a spoon?”

“Olivier.” Renée grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward her as she whispered, “Don’t antagonize Comte de Coligny’s son.”

“But he’s so goddamn annoying. Just look at the way he’s standing like someone shoved a walking stick up his ass. No one even likes him or his father.”

Renée placed a mechanical smile on her face. “If you’ll excuse us, Monsieur de Coligny. Mademoiselle de Froix. We must be returning home.” She hooked her elbow through my arm and forced me to follow her past them.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said as she brushed past Mathieu, so close their shoulders knocked together. He stumbled back a few steps, narrowly missing the silver candelabra behind his head.

He snarled. “How dare you—”

“So sorry to bother you,” Renée repeated.

Despite my burning desire to call out one last curse to Mathieu, I kept my eyes forward, instead focusing on the numerous stone statues lining the hallway and the candlelight bouncing off the black and white checkered floor.

Tomorrow, we would speak to the governor and find out what truly happened. Then I could prove to everyone my brother didn’t do anything wrong.

Then I could prove to myself my brother didn’t do anything wrong.