Chapter Sixteen
On the street below, a hired fiacre stopped directly in front of the house, and Nicolette sprinted from it to the front doors. Aldric exchanged a quick concerned glance with Henri and Lucas before all three of them rushed away from the window and out of the parlor.
They reached the middle of the stairs just as she did. There was a franticness in her expression that Aldric didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear before. She remained calm in every storm, but she wasn’t calm now.
“Paris has descended into chaos.” She spoke in bleak tones. “Mobs. Riots. People have already been killed, Henri. There are rumors, growing louder, that the army will be called in with orders to fire on the people.”
Cursed blazes.
Nicolette took a quick, sharp breath before continuing. “Word has reached the streets that Necker has been dismissed and has left Paris.”
“Lafayette was worried His Majesty’s meeting with the finance minister would not end well,” Aldric said. “How widespread is the rioting?”
Nicolette looked at him, her breathing tense with concern. “The upheaval is not terribly near here yet, but it is spreading fast.”
Her posture remained rigid. Henri wrapped an arm around her, which brought a bit of calm to her expression.
“The army has not yet arrived,” she said. “Regardless of what they do, it will be pandemonium at the first sight of a soldier. There will be warfare, I have no doubt.”
“I am certain you’ve spoken with—” Whomever Henri meant to refer to, he thought better of it. “Do any of them think this is likely to calm anytime soon?”
She shook her head. “They are all predicting days of violence. So much of the anger is turned toward those in the government and of the privileged class.”
“Which places a target on all of us,” Aldric said.
Nicolette didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Jean-Francois was a person of privilege, and he was quite disliked. If ire was to turn on a household, this one seemed a likely candidate.
To Henri, Aldric said, “It is time to rouse your brother from his slumber, literally and figuratively.”
Henri and Nicolette hurried up the stairs, no doubt to summon his brother and sister-in-law. Lucas and Aldric followed close on their heels.
“You said you needed two or three days to be ready to leave Paris,” Lucas said to Aldric. “Is there any chance that timeline could be shortened?”
“I will have us ready to leave in a matter of hours, or I will give up the title of the General.” They reached the landing of the second floor, which housed the family bedchambers and nursery. “Find Julia. Make certain she is ready to depart.”
Lucas moved swiftly down the corridor in the direction of the nursery.
Though it was not the done thing, Aldric made his way to the door of Céleste’s bedchamber. Fortunately, it was open. She was inside, bent over a trunk.
He was able to speak from the threshold. “How quickly can you be ready to depart?”
She spun around and faced him, confusion and concern on her face. “Has something happened?”
He nodded. “Riots have broken out. Fires have been set. People have been killed. Nicolette says there’s every reason to believe the violence will spread and increase, perhaps for days to come.”
“Does she think that violence will come here?”
“It is a possibility none of us is willing to dismiss.”
Céleste didn’t dither. “I have been packed since last night. I can lighten what I’m bringing if need be, and I could do so in a matter of minutes.”
“I hope that won’t prove necessary, but this household is now facing a potential second threat, and we would do well to take both seriously.”
She crossed to where he stood, both of them hovering in the doorway. Her brown eyes studied him, an unexpected mixture of concern and trust in their depths. He liked seeing that, liked it more than he probably should have.
“There are two expectant mothers among us,” she said. “A rushed journey is likely to be tremendously difficult for them.”
“Unfortunately,” he said, “comfort and safety are mutually exclusive aims just now.”
“I suspect Jean-Francois will choose his comfort over his family’s safety.” She clutched her hands in a tight knot in front of herself.
“He will no longer be permitted to endanger anyone other than himself.” Aldric set his hand lightly on hers but quickly pulled back at the tingle he felt. This was no time for foolishness.
“What if Jean-Francois insists Adèle must stay in Paris?” she asked nervously.
“Then her aunt and uncle will simply have to kidnap her.”
An almost impish smile pulled at her lips, tugging simultaneously on his heart. “Jean-Francois might chase after us and accidentally take himself to safety.”
Ruckus down the corridor told him the imbecile was awake and unhappy about it. Aldric moved in that direction. They hadn’t time to allow the man to leisurely ready himself for the day.
Upon reaching the door to Jean-Francois’s bedchamber, Aldric could hear Henri’s voice inside, strained and tense.
Aldric threw the door open. He looked over the scene, Jean-Francois still clad in his dressing gown, assuming an aggressive and angry posture, little more than inches from his brother’s face.
“I will not be lied to, Henri. These dangers you imagine will not—”
“Enough.” Aldric was sick to death of this man. “Paris is in chaos. Your family, which was already in danger, is now in greater peril. There is but one question to answer: whether or not you intend to leave when the rest of us do. Give us your answer quickly so we can proceed.”
Some of the bluster slipped from Jean-Francois. “Again I am being pushed to leave Paris. Are you attempting to steal for yourselves the fortune I am making here?”
Aldric wouldn’t bother answering such a nonsensical question. “We will leave as quickly as we are able to. Will you be leaving with us?”
“I will not leave Paris.” Jean-Francois drew out every syllable. “I have worked too hard for too long to retreat now.”
Aldric looked to Henri. “The rest of the Fortiers don’t deserve to die for his greed. We’ll have to leave him behind.”
“It isn’t greed,” Jean-Francois insisted. “I’m securing this family’s future.”
Henri didn’t look back at his brother. He moved to the doorway, pausing only long enough to hold Aldric’s eye for the length of a breath before stepping through.
Aldric knew his friend too well to believe he was at all indifferent to the idea of his brother being in danger.
He was having to give up on someone, and that was not something Henri Fortier did easily.
Aldric looked to Jean-Francois one more time. “Regardless of what you choose, we will be using your traveling carriage and will depart with any Fortier who is intelligent enough to get inside.”
With that, he pulled the door closed. The snap of the latch no doubt reverberated throughout the entire house.
“I don’t actually want him to be in danger.” Henri hadn’t taken more than a few steps from the doorway.
“I know.” Aldric motioned him to walk with him down the corridor. “That is why I am taking the burden of his choices off your shoulders. Whether we depart with or without him will not be your decision to make. I’ll bear the weight of that.” And the guilt.
They took the stairs down to the ground floor and found a great deal of activity.
The servants seemed in a frenzy. Whispers of “mobs” and “chaos” and “killing” told Aldric that word of the riots had reached them.
Sometimes the fear of violence was enough to produce more violence.
Aldric was counting on the goodwill that Henri and Céleste had built with those employed in their brother’s house to safeguard them now.
There was no guarantee the servants wouldn’t turn on Jean-Francois.
In the entryway, they found Lucas and Julia, Nicolette and Marguerite, and Céleste with Adèle in her arms. At Céleste’s feet was a portmanteau, one small enough to be easily carried. Her gaze met Aldric’s. There was determination there, but also pleading.
“This is madness,” Marguerite insisted. “There was difficulty in Paris earlier this year, but it dissipated quickly.”
“This is different,” Nicolette insisted. “Anger is burning hot and fast. People have already died, Marguerite. And the fury is pointed, in part, at those of our class.”
“Jean-Francois has said we must remain in Paris if we are to secure our future. He will not countenance the idea of scampering off because of a bit of upheaval.”
“Your husband is a fool,” Aldric said simply.
“The question is are you going to be one as well?” He was tempted to glare, but he got the impression she was actually worried, even a little bit scared.
He’d known husbands like hers who bullyragged their wives so much that they were more afraid of upsetting their husbands than they were of any other dangers around them.
He found that, while he was frustrated with Marguerite, he also felt sorry for her.
“We are supposed to stay in Paris,” she said in a small, pleading voice. “He insists on it. Demands it.”
Aldric softened his tone when he replied. “I am not going to make more trouble for you by pressing you on this. And we don’t intend to argue further with Jean-Francois.”
She looked immediately relieved. “You won’t try to force me to defy him?”
To defy him. That really was what worried her most. Father’s temper had often been Mother’s greatest worry, more so than her own survival by the end. Why were some husbands like that? And why did Aldric never seem able to truly help the wives who had to endure that treatment?
He hadn’t the time to attempt to convince Marguerite to save herself; he needed to save whom he could.
“Do you love your daughter?” he asked quietly, gently.
“Of course I do.” There was sincerity in her answer, perhaps the first time he’d heard any from Marguerite Fortier.
“Then you need to allow her to be taken to safety. Your husband won’t do it, and I suspect you aren’t in a position to either.”
She offered a tiny shake of her head.