Enchantée(109)

“Monsieur Tounis!” she hissed into the deathly stillness. “Monsieur! It’s I, Baroness de la Fontaine!”

Far away, in the depths of the house, a lock clicked over.

Was it opening or closing? “S’il vous pla?t, Tounis, dépêchez-vous!” She rattled the gates and instantly regretted the noise it made.

Somewhere, maybe two streets away, glass shattered. Raucous laughter echoed over the rooftops. A cart stacked with wood ambled by, the carter encouraging his horse to go faster—such an ordinary, everyday thing, but tonight the carter’s haste made her cower.

“Monsieur Tounis!” She had nowhere to go if the gatekeeper was too afraid to open the gate. Each moment that she stayed in the street was a moment too long. Sophie must be wild with worry, waiting in their rooms. She and Madame de Théron would have worked themselves into a state—

There! A light bobbing in the shadowy courtyard.

Someone was coming with a lantern. It flared up and she recognized the gatekeeper’s slight form. Camille pressed her forehead against the gates, nearly weeping with relief.

“Is that you, Baroness?” he said, his voice low.

“Yes! Please, let me in—it’s not safe out here.”

He lifted his lantern and his face loomed up at her out of the dark. “Mon Dieu!” His hands fumbled with the lock. “You are covered in dust! And the state of your dress!”

“Please be quick!”

He unbarred the gate and she slipped in. Now that she was safe, her legs threatened to fold. “My sister?”

“It’s been a terrible night,” he said. “Lean on me, Baroness. Madame de Théron will cry tears of relief when she sees you.”

Before Camille was past the entrance hall, Madame de Théron threw her arms around her, not caring about Camille’s dirty dress.

“How we waited for you!” she wept. “We thought you were dead! You look terrible, not at all yourself! We feared—at Versailles—what would the crowd do there? Monstres!” She covered her face with her ringed fingers.

“I’m sorry you were so frightened, madame! At Versailles we knew nothing of what had happened.” In the salon behind Madame de Théron, a fire danced in the grate, but there was no sign of Sophie. “Is my sister asleep?”

Madame de Théron blinked. “Mademoiselle Sophie?”

Yes, my sister! Remember her? Camille wanted to shout. “I must tell her I’ve returned,” she said to Madame and the gatekeeper, who continued to stare at her as if she were a ghost.

She ran up the steps, taking them two at a time.

Upstairs, their pretty sitting room was silent.

No candles lit, the curtains still open, as if no one had closed them that evening. Fant?me hopped down from a chair and meowed plaintively.

The skin on the back of her neck crawled. “Where is she?” Camille asked the cat.

In Sophie’s room, the bed had not been slept in. One of the doors to her wardrobe yawned open. All of Sophie’s best dresses were missing from their hooks, her embroidered shoes vanished from their racks. Her summer coat, dove-gray with yellow peonies embroidered on the cuffs, was gone. So was the petal-pink cloak Camille had worn at Notre-Dame. Even Sophie’s wool cloak, the one with the collar of dyed mink, was no longer there.

It was July and Sophie had taken her winter cloak.

“She’s not coming back,” Camille said to the empty room. “Where has she gone?”

The floor tilted and she steadied herself on Sophie’s dressing table. Fant?me watched unblinking from the center of the room. There had to be a simple explanation. Sophie would never run away. Even if she were angry with Camille. She wasn’t the kind of person who would simply set out somewhere.

At least, she hadn’t been. Who knew anymore what Sophie might do?

She would go back down and ask Madame. Perhaps Sophie had said something to her.

As she turned to go, she saw it.

Tucked between the glass and the frame of the mirror above Sophie’s dressing table was a letter.





58


Chère Camille,

I am so very sorry I left without speaking with you. But perhaps it is for the best. I fear you would not have understood.

I’m certain you will be worried, but don’t be. I have gone to meet him. He has promised me a wonderful life.

No one has forced me—this is what I want. Even fairy-tale princesses sometimes get to bring about their own happiness.

Please forgive me that I kept this a secret from you. Alain has given his blessing and I hope you will, too, when you see how happy I am with my future husband.

You know him already—Jean-Baptiste de Vaux, the Vicomte de Séguin.

Je t’embrasse—

Sophie



Camille read the letter twice.

Sophie had eloped. Sophie had eloped with the Vicomte de Séguin.

Her sister was in terrible danger.

Stumbling from the room, she raced downstairs. Madame de Théron and Tounis the gatekeeper still stood aimlessly in the entry, waiting for her.

“Sophie is gone!” Camille nearly screamed. “Why did you say nothing?”

“I tried, but you ran upstairs. Mademoiselle never came home this night. Gallivanting about and now she’s—dead, I presume!” Madame de Théron covered her face with her handkerchief and sobbed.