Bisclavret

Chapter 3

The entire household is in an uproar by noon. Those that will accompany the family on the journey north have been told. I'm among them, as I hoped. I almost cried with relief when I found out. I've been with Olivia for five years, and the thought of leaving her to her fate on the open road was torture. Now I don't have to.

The servants staying behind have been given an option: remain working in the household or take their wages for the rest of the year and move on the best they can. Most of the staff I've spoken to have elected to take the money and try to reach their families, wherever they may be, or go to Paris to find new employment. I've said goodbye to a lot of friends.

The servants' quarters are packed with people, and I have to dodge rushing maids and scurrying stable boys as I head back up to Olivia. I have a leather pouch clenched in my fist. It's filled with knives. I went back to the kitchens after finding out I'd be traveling with my mistress, and Leanne happily offered me some of her best-balanced kitchen knives when I told her I would use them to defend the family, even going so far as to sharpen them herself. She understands that we might never return, and she's as loyal to the Marquise as I am to Olivia.

Out of the entire staff, Maryse and I are the only female servants accompanying the family north. The men who have been chosen are in their twenties and thirties, strong and hale, and at one point or another, served under the Marquis in the army. All of them know how to handle a sword and shoot a pistol, and knowing we won't be defenseless on our journey has given me some measure of comfort.

I make my way quickly out of the crush and up the rear servants' stairs to the second story of the house. The stairs deposit me in the family's quarters, but instead of going to Livy's room, I search out Jacques, still of a mind to ask for pistols of my own. He needs to pack too, after all, and one of the footmen told me that he was still up here when I asked after him.

I pause just outside his door and take a deep breath before knocking.

"Come in!" comes his muffled shout.

"My lord," I say formally, stepping into the room. I freeze just over the threshold, eyes wide. My carefully planned speech flies from my head. His room looks as though someone ransacked it. Drawers are pulled out of his gilt-chased mahogany desk, chairs overturned, and his entire wardrobe must have been emptied onto the floor.

"My lord?" I ask, lifting my gaze to Jacques.

He stands in the middle of this disaster with his hands on his hips, dressed only in his trousers and a loose linen shirt. The top buttons of the shirt are undone, and I have to force myself not to stare at the triangle of his exposed skin as I make my way carefully towards him, weaving around the detritus that litters my path.

"Isabelle? What are you doing here?" he asks. Then he catches sight of my expression, and his shifts to what might be embarrassment. "Don't mind the mess; it seems I've managed to misplace everything I own."

Where is Pierre? I wonder, thinking of Jacques' manservant. I saw the valet downstairs as he rushed past me, and now I have to assume that his absence means he's taken the money offered by the Marquise. He could have at least remained with Jacques until we left. He better hope we don't cross paths again today because if we do, I'll give him the tongue lashing he so badly deserves. I've never liked that seedy little man.

"It's fine, my lord," I say. "I was just wondering if there was a spare pistol I might carry on my person while we travel."

Jacques frowns. "A pistol? Why? The men will be armed."

"Yes, my lord, but there will be times when a man cannot accompany the women. Say, for instance, if we stop at an inn." Or if we have to relieve ourselves along the journey, but I'm not saying that to him.