‘But, monsieur, I heard you say you weren’t sure …’
‘I said that purely in order to quench the war-like thirst of some of the more vocal members of our Order. It can only be Assassins who attacked you, Élise. Only they would be so bold as to kill Jean and send a man to kill the wife of the Grand Master. No doubt they hope to destabilize us. On this occasion they failed. We must make sure that if they try again they fail again.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’
He glanced at Mother. ‘Now, I expect your mother’s defensive actions today came as a surprise to you?’
They hadn’t. That ‘secret’ encounter with the wolf had seen to that.
‘Yes, monsieur,’ I said, catching Mother’s eye.
‘These are skills that all Templars must have. One day you will lead us. But before that you will be initiated as a Templar, and before that you will learn the ways of our Order. Starting tomorrow you will begin to learn combat.’
Again I caught Mother’s eye. I had already begun to learn combat. I had been learning combat for over a year now.
‘I realize this may be a lot to take in, Élise,’ continued Father as my mother coloured slightly. ‘Perhaps you saw your life as being similar to other girls of your age. I can only hope the fact that it will be so different is not a source of anxiety for you. I can only hope you embrace the potential you have to fulfil your destiny.’
I’d always thought I wasn’t like the other girls. Now I knew for sure.
vii.
The following morning Ruth dressed me for a walk in the grounds. She fussed and tutted and mumbled under her breath that I shouldn’t be taking such risks after what had happened yesterday, how we had only just escaped the evil man who had attacked us; and how Mother and I might be lying dead in that alleyway but for the mysterious gentleman who had been passing who had seen off the robber.
So that was what the staff had been told. Lots of lies, lots of secrets. It thrilled me to know that I was one of only two people – well, three, I suppose, if you counted the doctor – who knew the full truth of what had happened yesterday, one of a select number who knew it was Mother who had dealt with the attack, not some mystery man – and one of the select few who knew the full extent of the family business, not to mention my own part in it.
I had awakened that morning with sunshine in my life. At last all those vérités cachées I’d been asked to keep made sense. At last I knew why it was that our family seemed so different to the others, why I myself had never fitted in with the other children. It was because my destiny lay along a different path to theirs, and always had.
And best of all: ‘Your mother shall be your tutor in all things,’ Father had said with a warm smile at Mother, who in turn had reflected his love to me. With a smile he stopped himself. ‘Well, perhaps not in all things. Perhaps in matters of ideology you would be better advised to heed the words of your father the Grand Master.’
‘François,’ Mother had chided, ‘the child shall make up her own mind. The conclusions she reaches shall be her own.’
‘My love, why do I have the distinct impression that for Élise, today’s events are not the surprise they might have been?’
‘What do you think we ladies talk about in our perambulations, François?’
‘Shoes?’
‘Well, yes,’ she conceded, ‘we do indeed talk about shoes, but what else?’
He understood, shaking his head, wondering how he could have been so blind as to miss what had been happening right under his nose.
‘Did she know about the Order before today?’ he asked her.
‘Not as such,’ she said, ‘though I daresay she was prepared for the revelation.’
‘And weapons?’
‘She has had a little training, yes.’
Father indicated for me to stand. ‘Let’s see if you have learnt your en garde, Élise,’ he said, adopting the position himself, his right arm outstretched and forefinger pointed like a blade.
I did as I was told. Father shot an impressed look at my mother and studied my posture, walking round me as I bathed in the glow of his approval. ‘Right-handed like her father,’ he chuckled, ‘not a lefty like her mother.’
I bounced slightly on my knees, checking my balance, and my father smiled once more. ‘Do I detect the hand of a certain Englishman in our daughter’s training, Julie?’
‘Mr Weatherall has been helping me in filling Élise’s extracurricular hours, yes,’ she agreed airily.
‘I see. I had thought we were seeing a little more of him than usual at the chateau. Tell me, does he still hold a torch for you?’
‘François, you embarrass me,’ chided Mother.
(At the time I had no idea what they meant, of course. But I do now. Seeing Mr Weatherall the other night, a broken man. Oh, I do now.)
Father’s face became serious. ‘Julie, you know I trust you in all things and if you have been tutoring the child, then I support you in that, too, and if it helped Élise keep a cool head during yesterday’s attack, then it’s been more than justified. But Élise will be Grand Master one day. She will follow in my footsteps. In matters of combat and tactics she may be your protégé, Julie, but in matters of ideology she must be mine. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, François,’ smiled Mother sweetly. ‘Yes, that is understood.’
A look passed between Mother and me. An unspoken vérité cachée.
viii.
And so, having escaped Ruth’s unnecessary concern, I arrived in the reception hall ready for my walk with Mother.
‘You will take Scratch, and the guards, please, Julie,’ Father told her in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.
‘Of course,’ she said, and indicated to one of the men who lurked in the shadows of the reception hall, our whole house feeling a little more crowded all of a sudden.
He came forward. It was Mr Weatherall. For a second he and Father regarded one another carefully, before Mr Weatherall bowed deeply and the two shook hands.
‘François and I have told Élise what lies in store for her,’ said my mother.
Mr Weatherall’s eyes slid from my father’s face to mine to me and he nodded before bowing deeply again, extending his palm to kiss the back of my hand, making me feel like a princess.
‘And how does that make you feel, young Élise, knowing that one day you will lead the Templars?’
‘Very grand, monsieur,’ I said.
‘I’ll bet it does,’ he said.
‘François has correctly guessed that Élise has been receiving a little training,’ said Mother.
Mr Weatherall turned his attention back to Father. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘and I trust my tutelage has not given the Grand Master offence?’
‘As I explained last night, I trust my wife implicitly concerning such matters. I know that with you, Freddie, they are in good hands.’
Just then Olivier approached, maintaining a distance until he was ushered forward to whisper in his master’s ear. Father nodded and addressed Mother. ‘I must take my leave, my dear,’ said Father, ‘our “friends” are here to visit.’
The Crows, of course. They had returned for a morning of shouting. And it was funny how knowing what I did cast my father in a new light. He wasn’t just my father any more. Not just my mother’s husband. But a busy man. A man of responsibility, whose attention was constantly required. A man whose decisions changed lives. The Crows were entering as we left, politely greeting Mother and Mr Weatherall, and crowding into the reception hall, which was suddenly very busy and alive with more talk of avenging yesterday’s attack and ensuring that Jean had not died in vain.
Eventually we stepped outside, the three of us, and walked for some way before Mr Weatherall spoke. ‘So, Élise, how do you really feel, knowing your destiny?’ he asked.
‘As I said with Father,’ I told him.
‘Not a little apprehensive, then, petal? All that responsibility to come?’
‘Mr Weatherall f
eels you too young to know your destiny,’ explained Mother.
‘Not at all, I look forward to finding what the future holds, monsieur,’ I replied.
He nodded, as if that was good enough for him.
‘And I like that I get to do more sword fighting, monsieur,’ I added. ‘With no secrecy now.’
‘Exactly! We shall work on your riposte and your envelopment and you may show off your skills to your father. I think he’ll be surprised, Élise, to discover what an accomplished swordswoman you already are. Perhaps one day you shall be better than either your mother or your father.’
‘Oh, I doubt that, monsieur.’
‘Freddie, please don’t put strange ideas into the girl’s head.’ Mother nudged me and whispered, ‘Though I think he may be right, Élise, just between you and me.’
Mr Weatherall became serious. ‘Now, are we going to talk about what went on yesterday?’
‘It was an attempt on our lives.
‘I only wish I had been there.’
‘No matter that you were not, Freddie. We remain unharmed and barely even traumatized by the incident. Élise acquitted herself perfectly, and …’
‘You were the lioness protecting her young, eh?’
‘I did what I had to do. It is a matter of regret that one of the men escaped.’
Mr Weatherall stopped. ‘One of the men? What? There were more than one?’
She looked at him meaningfully. ‘Oh yes. There was another man, the more dangerous of the two. He used a hidden blade.’
His mouth formed an O. ‘So it really was the work of Assassins?’
‘I have my doubts.’
‘Oh yes? Why?’
‘He ran, Freddie. Have you ever known an Assassin to run?’
‘They are merely human and you are a formidable opponent. I think I should have been tempted to run myself, in his shoes. You’re a right devil with that boot knife.’ He glanced back at me with a wink.
Mother glowed. ‘You may be assured your flattery does not go unappreciated, Freddie. But this man, there was something about him that wasn’t quite right. He was all … show. He was an Assassin, the hidden blade was proof of that. But, I wonder, was he a true Assassin?’
‘We need to find him, ask him.’
‘Indeed we do.’
‘Tell me, what did he look like?’
Mother gave him a description of the doctor.
‘… and there is something else.’
‘Yes?’
She led us to the hedges. Last night as we escaped the alley she had scooped up the doctor’s bag to take with us on the carriage ride home. Before arriving back at the chateau, she had me run and hide it, and she handed it to Mr Weatherall now.
‘He left this, did he?’
‘Indeed. He used it to carry a blade but there’s nothing else inside.’
‘Nothing to identify him?’
‘There is something … Open it. See the label inside?’
The bag was made in England,’ said Mr Weatherall, surprised. ‘An English Assassin?’
Mother nodded. ‘Possibly. Very possibly. Do you not think it plausible that the English might want me dead? I made it plain to Mrs Carroll that I favoured a change of monarchy.’
‘But also that you oppose bloodshed.’
‘Quite. And Mrs Carroll seemed to think that was enough for her Order. Perhaps not, though.’
Mr Weatherall shook his head. ‘I can’t see it myself. I mean, putting my own national loyalty to one side, I can’t see what’s in it for them. They see you as a moderating influence on the Order as a whole. Killing you risks destabilizing that.’
‘Perhaps it’s a risk they are willing to take. Either way an English-made doctor’s bag is the only clue we have as to the identity of the Assassin.’
Mr Weatherall nodded. ‘We will find him, madame,’ he told her. ‘You can be sure of that.’
That, of course, was three years ago. And of the doctor there has been no sight or sound since. The attempt on our lives has disappeared into history, like paupers swallowed up by the Paris fog.
13 April 1778
i.
I want her to get better. I want there to be a day when the sun shines and her maids enter to open her curtains only to find her sitting up in bed, ‘feeling quite revived’, and I want the sun that floods through her curtains to crowd its way into the hallways of our darkened home and chase away the grief-ridden shadows lurking there, touch Father, restore him and bring him back to me. I want to hear songs and laughter from the kitchen again. I want an end to this contained sadness and I want my smile to be real, no longer masking a hurt that churns inside.
And more than all of that I want my mother back. My mother, my teacher, my mentor. I don’t just want her, I need her. Every moment of every day I wonder what life would be like without her and have no idea, no conception.
I want her to get better.
ii.
And then, later that year, I met Arno.
Extract from the Journal of Arno Dorian
* * *
12 September 1794
Our relationship was forged in the fire of death – my father’s death.
For how long did we have a normal, conventional relationship? Half an hour? I was at the Palace of Versailles with my father who had business there. He’d asked me to wait as he attended to what he had to do, and while I sat with my legs dangling, watching the highborn members of the court pass to and fro, who should appear but Élise de la Serre.
Her smile I would come to love, her red hair nothing special to me then, and the beauty over which my adult eyes would later linger was invisible to my young eyes. After all, I was only eight and eight-year-old boys, well, they don’t have much time for eight-year-old girls, not unless that eight-year-old girl is something very special. And so it was with Élise. There was something different about her. She was a girl. But even in the first seconds of meeting her I knew she wasn’t like any other girl I’d met before.
Chase me. Her favourite game. How many times did we play it as children and as adults. In a way we never stopped.
On the mirrored surfaces of the palace’s marble floors we ran – through legs, along corridors, past columns and pillars. Even now the palace is huge to me, its ceilings impossibly tall, its halls stretching almost as far as the eye can see, huge arched windows looking out to the stone steps and sweeping grounds beyond.
But then? To me then it was exceptionally vast. And yet, even though it was this enormous, strange place, and even though with each step I took I went further away from my father’s instructions, I still couldn’t resist the lure of my new playmate. The girls I had met weren’t like this. They stood with their heels together and their lips pursed in disdain at all things boy-like; they walked a few steps behind like Russian-doll versions of their mothers; they didn’t run giggling through the halls of the Palace of Versailles, ignoring any protests that came their way, just running for the joy of running and the love of play. I wonder, had I already fallen in love?
And then, just as I started to worry that I would never find my way back to Father, my concerns became irrelevant. A shout had gone up. There was the sound of rushing feet. I saw soldiers with muskets and then, quite by chance, came upon the spot where my father had met his killer and knelt to him as he breathed his last.
When at last I looked up from his lifeless body it was to see my saviour, my new guardian: François de la Serre.
Extracts from the Journal of Élise de la Serre
* * *
14 April 1778
i.
He came to see me today.
‘Élise, your father is here,’ said Ruth. Like everyone else her demeanour changed when my father was around, and she curtsied and withdrew, leaving us alone.
‘Hello, Élise,’ he said stiffly from the door. I remembered that evening years ago when Mother and I had returned from Paris, survivors of a terrible attack in an alleyway, and how he had been unable to stop taking
us in his arms. He’d embraced me so much that by the end of the night I’d been wriggling away from him just to get some air. Now, as he stood there looking more like a governor than a father, I would have given anything for one of those embraces.
He turned and paced, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped, gazing from the window but not really seeing the lawns beyond, and I watched his blurred face in the reflection of the glass as without turning he said, ‘I wanted to see how you were.’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Papa.’
There was a pause. My fingers worked at the fabric of my smock. He cleared his throat. ‘You do a fine job of disguising your feelings, Élise; it is qualities such as these that you will one day call upon as Grand Master. Just as your strength comforts our household it will one day be of benefit to the Order.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Again he cleared his throat. ‘Even so, I want you to know that in private or when you and I should find ourselves alone, that … that it’s perfectly acceptable not to be fine.’
‘Then I will admit I am suffering, Father.’
His head dropped. His eyes were dark circles in the reflection of the glass. I knew why he found it difficult to look at me. It was because I reminded him of her. I reminded him of his dying wife.
‘I, too, am suffering, Élise. Your mother means the world to us both.’
(And if there was a moment in which he might have turned from the window, crossed the room, gathered me in his arms and allowed us to share our pain, then that was it. But he didn’t.)
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