Stepsister(66)

“I don’t know, Felix. The mice found a ring for me, and a bracelet. And I was going to get us all away from Madame and her blasted cabbages. But I traded it all for Nero and these other two. I couldn’t let them die. Oh, God. What have I done?” she said all in a rush.

Felix, who had been sent to the blacksmith’s for nails, tilted his head. “Wait … that’s Nero? What mice? Why are you bleeding?” he asked.

Isabelle explained everything.

Felix looked away as she spoke. He swiped at his eyes. Isabelle, nervously kicking at the dirt, never saw the silver shimmer in them.

She was just finishing her story when a noisy group of boys, trooping up from the river, interrupted her.

“Let’s see here … are there three horses or four?” one called out.

“Three horses and one ugly, horse-faced girl!” another shouted.

They all hooted laughter. Isabelle winced.

“Get out of here before I kick your little asses,” Felix threatened, starting towards them.

They scattered.

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” he told Isabelle. “What they said … it isn’t true.”

“Then why do they say it?” Isabelle asked quietly.

Felix looked at her. At this girl. Who was weary and dirty, bloody and sweat-soaked, but defiant. This girl. Who was leading three helpless creatures that nobody wanted away from the slaughter.

“That’s not the question, Isabelle,” he said softly. “The question is, why do you believe them?”





Seventy-Three


“Nelson, Bonaparte, Lafayette, Cornwallis!” Chance shouted. “You’ve been right all along, gentlemen! I shall never ride inside again!”

Chance was standing atop his carriage, legs planted wide apart for balance, as it thundered down the road to Saint-Michel. A card game was starting shortly, in a room above the blacksmith’s shop. He didn’t want to be late. His four capuchins were with him, chasing each other back and forth, screeching with delight.

“Faster, faster!” he shouted to his driver.

“Any faster and we’ll be airborne!” the driver shouted back.

Nelson picked that moment to snatch the scarf Chance had tied pirate-style around his head—his hat had blown off miles back—and ran to the back of the roof with it. Chance gave chase, and as he did, he saw a rider cantering over the fields the bordered the road. She was nearly parallel with his coach.

It was a young woman. Her skirts were billowing behind her. Her hair had come free. She rode astride like a man, not sidesaddle. Her head was low to her horse’s neck, her body tensed in a crouch. She jumped a stone wall, fearless, completely at one with her magnificent black horse. With a shock of delight, Chance realized he knew her.

“Mademoiselle! Isabelle!” he called. But she didn’t hear him.

“That’s Nero, it must be,” he said to himself, his pulse leaping with excitement. “She got her horse back!”

He snatched his scarf back from Nelson and waved it, finally getting Isabelle’s attention. She did a double take, then laughed. Chance, never able to resist a bet, a contest, or a dare, pointed up ahead. There was a church in the distance, at the top of a hill. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll race you!” he shouted.

Isabelle grinned. Her eyes flashed. She tapped her heels to her horse’s side and he lunged into a gallop. Effortlessly, he jumped a fence, two streams, then streaked across a field. She was leaving Chance in the dust, but as she reached the end of the field, a hedgerow loomed—a tall, thick wall of scrubby trees and brush that separated one farmer’s field from another. It was a good five feet tall and at least a yard deep.

“Huzzah, my fine fellows!” Chance declared to the monkeys. “Victory is ours! She can’t jump that. She’ll have to …”

His words died in his throat. Go around it, he was going to say. But Isabelle was not going around the hedge. She was headed straight for it.

“No, don’t! It’s too high! You’ll break your neck!” Chance called out. “I can’t watch.” He covered his eyes, then opened his fingers and peered through the slit.

Isabelle’s hands came up the horse’s neck, giving him his head. The stallion closed in on the hedge. He pushed off with his powerful back legs, tucked his front hooves under, and flew over it. Chance didn’t see them land—the hedge blocked his view—but he heard them. Isabelle let out a loud whoop, the horse whinnied, and then he carried her the rest of the way up the hill.

She was trotting him in circles, cooling him down, as Chance and his driver pulled into the church’s driveway.

“Mademoiselle, you are dangerous! A foolhardy daredevil! Completely reckless!” Chance shouted angrily, his hands on his hips. Then he smiled. “We shall be the very best of friends!”

“I’m reckless?” Isabelle said, laughing. “Your Grace, you’re standing on top of your carriage!”

Chance looked down at his feet. “So I am. I’d quite forgotten.” He looked up again. “My monkeys were having all the fun, you see, and I thought, why should they? Tell me, where did you get that stunning horse?”

“I rescued him. He was mine and then he wasn’t and then I found him in the slaughter yard. It’s a long story.”