NINETEEN

An Appeal to Sensibility

The door through which Vincent had been taken stood ajar. Jane waited in the sun, feeling trapped by the rectangle of light. So overrun were Jane’s emotions that she had moved beyond feeling into an insensible state. She leaned her head against the window, the physical sensation of the warm glass replacing any deeper feeling, and stared down as Lieutenant Segal and his men brought Vincent outside. They loaded him in an enclosed carriage, locking the door once he was secured. Jane held her ground until they had ridden from the courtyard. She stood insensibly at the window, unable to think of anything beyond the fact that her husband was gone.

Footsteps in the hall awoke Jane to action as Mme Chastain dashed into the room. The tendons in her neck stood out with strain, and her face had the pallor of a sheet. ‘Mme Vincent?’

For a moment, Jane thought that Mme Chastain could see through the glamour, but she crossed through the room to the inner bedchamber with an urgency that clearly said that she had not seen Jane. ‘Mme Vincent! Jane?’ The tension in her voice was palpable.

Jane ran her hand over the glass Sphère, its core glowing with the light which hid her. The smooth surface was warm to the touch. Keep it safe, Vincent had said.

She tucked the glass ball behind the heavy curtains, which hung on either side of the window, masking it from the sun. ‘I am here.’

Emerging from the bedchamber, Mme Chastain uttered a cry of relief. ‘Oh! I have been so worried. I will not ask if you are well, but are you unhurt?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

Crossing the room with alacrity, Mme Chastain embraced Jane with all the emotion and display of sensibility which Jane felt herself lacking. ‘My dear. Oh, my dear. I am so sorry for you. Your husband – dear, dear David.’

Jane stiffened, suddenly recollecting that while Mme Chastain offered her sympathy, there were other glamourists in the house, ones to whom Vincent had shown his technique for the Sphère Obscurcie. She should inquire if they were safe. It was the correct action to take. ‘And M. Chastain?’

Releasing her, Mme Chastain screwed her face up in a scowl. ‘They would not dare touch him, due to his relation to Napoleon. Segal, that scoundrel, asked my husband to come. Bruno refused, of course, and thought that would be the end but—oh, it is too terrible.’ She faltered. ‘He did not think they would take your husband.’

‘And the students?’ Jane pressed her hand to her middle, as if she could hold down the nausea now brewing.

‘Bruno is sending them all home.’ She took Jane by the arm and led her to the stairs. ‘Come. We need to discuss your travel arrangements as well.’