Anne-Marie de Parthenay
New France
A day later, in the evening, Anne-Marie had a sudden and unexpected visitor. The doctor Gusteau returned, walking briskly into her room with his bag of equipment.
“Forgot to check a few things yesterday,” he said loudly, in earshot of Catherine as she closed the door. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes. Thank you again.”
As soon as the door was shut behind him, he rushed to Anne-Marie’s bedside, whispering in her ear.
“Pack your things,” he told her. “Nothing excessive—a small bag, only what you can’t live without. Leave the house as soon as the clock strikes twelve. Make sure no one sees you.”
“What?” Anne-Marie asked. “What’s going on?”
“If your life is truly in danger here, if you mean what you’ve said, this is your only chance. We will free Ezekiel, and leave this place forever. But you have to be sure. Is this what you want?”
Anne-Marie’s eyes widened at Ezekiel’s mention.
“Yes,” she said, without a hint of doubt.
“You will leave behind this house, all your wealth, your prospects for the future. You will never see this place again, and there is no telling what will happen or where you will go next.”
“I know.”
“You might not have a roof under your head for months, years. You might go hungry. You might be killed.”
“And if I stay here, I am already dead.”
The doctor sighed, doubt forming dark clouds in his mind. Anne-Marie smiled.
“You changed your mind,” she said. “About helping me. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me now,” he said. “Not until it’s over and done. We are not out of this yet—not by any means.”
He composed himself, and made his way back to the door.
“Midnight. Don’t forget.”
And then he left.
Anne-Marie broke into action as soon as he was gone. There was so much to do. She checked the clock on the wall. Five hours until midnight. She scrambled to the trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside was her leather travel bag, the same one she’d taken with her to visit Chrétien those four months ago. She touched the straps gingerly, reminiscing about it. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she and her brother left France for this new place. She had learned so much—about the world, about her brother and father, but most importantly about herself. When she first came to these lands, she was no one. She was a blank canvas for others to paint themselves on, empty of ideals and ambitions. Even now, she struggled every day with it. What kind of person did she want to be? While she still wasn’t sure, she knew one thing. To find that answer, she had to be free, free enough to see all the world has to offer, free enough to make that decision for herself. She would never find the answer here, locked in her room. The lands beyond were wild and dangerous—she had seen it well enough during her visit to her brother. But whatever was out there, whatever fate awaited her, it would be better than this. If nothing else, she resolved to be a girl who would rather die free than live in chains.
Anne-Marie packed her essentials into the bag. It was too small to hold any of her three dozen dresses, but that was fine with her. They would probably only paint a target on her back out there, and besides, they were not made for traveling. Instead, she packed more important things, most of which she had gotten during her time with Ezekiel. A small pocketknife, a tincture made from yarrow for wounds and other ailments, and of course the blanket Ezekiel’s mother had woven for her. Even the clothes she changed into were Indian, a skirt and blouse of deerskin that wouldn’t impede her movement. It felt so much more comfortable, so much more fitting for her to be in. She imagined she’d spend a long time trying to figure out why.
The clock struck eight. The sound of the chime frightened her, and she tucked her bag away under the bed, out of sight. Everything was ready now—all that was left was to wait. She climbed back into bed, covering herself with her comforter, feigning the same illness she had been. Catherine came in to check on her and deliver her dinner. Anne-Marie was thankful that at the very least, Le Vicomte’s brutal beating had left an excuse to have to dine alone in bed until she recovered. Before the doctor granted her a way out, she had entertained the idea of becoming bed-ridden forever, sentencing herself to a lifetime of isolation, the only thing that would keep him away from her.
“Are you alright, dear?” Catherine asked her.
“Not the best, if I’m honest,” she said, doing her best to sound faint and labored.
“I’ve never seen you ill like this. Perhaps I’ll call the doctor again in the morning.”
He won’t be here in the morning, she thought. And neither will I, if God loves me.
“I think that’d be a good idea,” Anne-Marie said, coughing into her hand. “Would you summon him tomorrow for me?”
“Of course, love. Now, eat your soup. You won’t get any better if you don’t eat.”
Catherine left, and Anne-Marie sank back into her bed, staring at the ceiling. Four more hours. Four more hours, and I’ll be free.
They were the longest four hours of her life. She lay under the sheets, too afraid to move, her mind racing. How had the doctor managed to free Ezekiel? Was he going to leave with them? What was going to happen? There were so many questions, all of the answers impossible to glean. All Anne-Marie could do was wait, and worry.
Time drew out like a blade. The excitement of escape turned to dread as the unknown future turned over and over inside Anne-Marie’s mind. The world was an ugly, terrifying place, and though she had resolved to be free of her shackles, there was nonetheless something comforting about them. She knew the face of the devil here, the smile he wore, the stench of his cologne. So too, did she know his weaknesses, how to exploit them. What evil awaited her beyond the safe palisades of the city? What new terrors lurked in the untamed wilds? The threat of the unknown was infinitely vast and ever-vague, and that terrified her.
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If that was not enough, there was also the chance of course, that this all came crashing down on her. Whatever plan the doctor had wasn’t foolproof or certain, and any number of things could go wrong. What if they were caught? The doctor would be hanged for trying to free a prisoner—maybe even Anne-Marie would. She didn’t want to think about it, but the worries buzzed in the back of her mind like gnats she couldn’t shoo away.
The clock struck eleven. Fatigue set in, and Anne-Marie fought to keep herself awake. She continued to wait, even though it killed her. She thought of ways to keep herself occupied, to keep the worries at bay. She tried thinking of happier things, keeping herself optimistic, until the inevitable unknown set in, scaring her again. She tried counting the time for a while, until she had counted twenty minutes and forty eight seconds, and felt like she was starting to lose her mind. In the end, she decided to get out of bed. It was close to midnight now, and there was one more thing she had to do before she left forever.
Anne-Marie opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, her travel bag slung over her shoulder. She looked around each side, but she knew there wouldn’t be anyone. The staff and Le Vicomte were all asleep at this hour, and they wouldn’t know she was gone until morning. By then, she hoped to be far, far away from this place, so far no one could ever bring her back.
She crept across the upper hall, being careful to make no noise. And though she tiptoed barefoot across the wood, it was still not an easy task. The planks creaked and groaned with any amount of weight put on them, and Anne-Marie’s heart thumped in her chest whenever she made the slightest noise. The wood beneath her groaned and bent as she walked, and she cursed it for betraying her. Slowly, slowly, she made her way across the hall, to La Madame’s bedroom. She stopped in front of it, holding her breath. She looked to her left, then her right, just to be sure. Still breathless, she reached for the doorknob. The metal was cold in her grip, and she began to turn it. In the dead silence of the night, she could hear the latch so clearly, the soft grinding inside the door.
She began to push, and the door creaked loudly as it opened, louder than even she expected. Her heart leaped into her throat, her whole body froze in place. Her mind quickly darted to what she would do if someone came—dart into the room maybe, hide under the bed. But no one came. The door was open now, and having finished its initial caterwaul, lay silent now. Anne-Marie allowed herself to exhale, and she walked inside.
She could hardly make anything out in the darkness, but she refused to light a candle—too conspicuous. She waited for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the room. The brief chaos it endured during La Madame’s death had been dealt with, and it had since been restored to its normal state, leaving no record of the grisly scene that had unfolded just a few days ago. Anne-Marie held her breath again, but for a different reason—the place had been completely buffeted by assorted potpourris to mask the stench of death.
Steadily, she crept towards the vanity by the bed, where Madame would do all her make-up. Unbeknownst to the poor woman, though, there was a secret lying behind it. Anne-Marie felt around the lip of the large centerpiece mirror, until she found it—a small latch that she undid, folding the mirror downwards. It was not necessarily a hidden compartment—the man who sold it had pitched it for holding extra make-up or jewelry you wanted kept safe. But after buying it, Le Vicomte never told his wife , and given that the latch itself was small and out of the way, she never found out herself. That made it, of course, an ingenious place for Le Vicomte to hide other things, where he could feel certain that no one would find them, least of all his wife. Things like his money.
Sure enough, it was still there, even after La Madame’s death. Two large velvet bags of coins, one livre, one d’or. Of course, it was not Le Vicomte’s entire fortune—most of his money was tucked away in accounts, inaccessible to all but him. But it was all his spending money, and he tended to withdraw it in large sums all at once to avoid the tedium of visiting the bank. She was surprised it all fit behind the mirror, but the bags were lined neatly in the space, flat against the wall, and the coins were packed in next to one another rather than laying freely in the pouches. She took the money and put it carefully into her bag. Le Vicomte had taken her brother, her mother-in-law, and her own sanity. The least she could take from him was his fortune.
The clock struck twelve. Anne-Marie leaped up from the sound, startled. She took a few deep breaths to steady her trembling heart, then left the late Madame’s bedroom. It was time to go.
The stairs creaked even louder than the hallway did, but Anne-Marie no longer cared. By the time she got to the door, she was practically running. She burst out of the house into the midnight air of the city. She expected it to be deathly quiet—perhaps it would have been, if not for the torrents of rain pouring down, battering the wooden roofs and snuffing all the lights out. All but one. A lonely orange torch burned in the distance, under the cover of a stone arch at the other end of the plaza. Anne-Marie headed towards it. As she approached, she saw that it was held by a hooded figure. She stopped for a moment and hesitated—her instincts screamed of the danger she found herself in. She pushed through it. The doctor’s words rang in her head. This is your only chance.
She jogged across the plaza, trying to move quickly to avoid the rain. It was a futile effort, of course. It was the terrible rain of January—barely warm enough to not snow, barely hard enough to storm. She had not yet seen the flash of thunder or the crack of lightning, but she could feel they would come soon, late witnesses to her escape. The hooded man began to walk as soon as she reached him, and handed her a hooded cloak like his.
“Come on.” She was relieved to hear the doctor’s voice under it. “Put that on. Quickly.”
She did so, and followed him. The cloak was heavy, and made it hard to see. She kept her eyes on the doctor’s feet, which made it easier to follow him, despite his hurried pace.
The two made their way through the winding streets of Lower City houses. They went through the quiet neighborhoods with sleeping families, then the loud ones, where the sounds of drinking and revelry would continue to sound on through the night. Snaking this way and that as the rain and wind whipped at the cloaks, they finally reached the city jail. It lay on the eastern wall of the city, overlooking the hill Quebec lay atop. The underground layers were built into the hillside itself, strengthened by their earthen foundation. While the walls of the city itself could be felled by a few cannons, the jail would take a whole navy.
The doctor approached the marine standing guard at the jail’s corner entrance. Anne-Marie froze until she saw him shake hands with the guard and hand him a purse of coins. The guard pocketed the bag and began to walk off, and Anne-Marie hurried to catch up with the doctor. The doctor led her down a spiral stair, torch in hand. The rain beat down on the roof above relentlessly, echoing into the caverns of rooms below them.
They found Ezekiel in the furthest cell in the hall, on the right. The other cells were empty. Anne-Marie wasn’t sure whether that was a good omen or an ill one, given that this hall only held those sentenced to death.
“Ezekiel,” Doctor Gusteau hissed, barely-hushed.
Ezekiel stirred for a moment.
“Ezekiel, wake up!”
The broad-shouldered man turned and opened his eyes. They widened further upon seeing them.
“Who are you?” He asked. “What do you want?”
The doctor began to work the lock with a key—Anne-Marie didn’t ask how she got it. Instead, she took off her hood, revealing herself to Ezekiel.
“We’re getting out of here,” she said. “The doctor’s saving us yet again.”
Gusteau opened the door, and Ezekiel took no time in emerging from his cell.
“We need to go quickly,” Ezekiel said. “Before we are found.”
“I have paid the guard,” the doctor said. “We shouldn’t have too much to worry about.”
“Not him. The little demon girl comes to visit me sometimes. She throws things at me to keep me awake, and splashes me with icy water.”
“What?!”
Just then, thunder came, deciding now was the time. It crashed down, shaking the foundation of the jail. So too did its shining brother, flashing white light into the hall from the barred windows on the hill cliff’s side. And then a third intruder, like a sign from God or the Devil himself. Jeannine stood at the end of the hallway, carrying a lantern in one hand and a case of needle pins in the other.
The next few seconds erupted in a blur as quick as the thunderclap. Jeannine's eyes widened at seeing the three standing there. She began to turn and flee. Ezekiel sprinted with the speed of the wind at his heels. He was upon her in an instant. He grabbed her head in his hands. He pulled hard. Her neck snapped. The thunder masked the sound, but the lightning only illuminated the scene, and Anne-Marie covered her eyes too late. Her stomach churned from the sight, and her knees buckled.
“Putain!” the doctor swore. “We have to get out of here. Now!”
He took Anne-Marie by the hand and bolted for the exit. Anne-Marie flew through the hall, tripping over the body slumped on the stairs. She hit the stairs hard, but her left side took the worst of it. The doctor pulled her back up, and she shook it off, running as fast as she could up the stairs, followed closely by Ezekiel.
Out of the jail they went, back through the city streets like bats out of hell. Straight through the empty market to the waterfront. Across the rain-besieged port, trying to not slip on the wood of the pier. All the way down the very last dock on the St. Lawrence, to the only canoe not sequestered away for the storm. It bucked in the choppy waters, but the ropes that tied it to the dock held firm. Three figures waited inside it for them, and Anne-Marie breathed in relief to know who they were, to know they were coming. She clambered on-board with the other two, and Ezekiel set to cutting the rope at once. The waters flowed fast, and the canoe shot away from the city like it knew it needed to run. By some strange fortune, the storm wind whipped in their favor, pushing them up the St. Lawrence towards the Great Lakes beyond. And through it all, Anne-Marie didn’t look back, not even once.