Marianne unfolds the letter relieved to find it written in French. While she speaks Mandarin fluently, reading and writing are still a work in progress. It had taken nearly two weeks to write her letter to the Jade Emperor.
She reads the brief missive, her heart swelling with each line. ‘Mémère, they will help us! They will help us find Papa!’
The quietest of gasps is the only tell that betrays Mémère’s relief.
‘They have three conditions: we are to repair the train we damaged, we are to return the Celestials’ luggage, and finally, we are to swear never to—’
‘Tell them we agree.’
‘You haven’t even heard their third condition!’
‘It doesn’t matter. I would offer them everything I own, every drop of sangue in my body, my very heart, if it meant we have a chance of finding my Romain.’ After a moment, she says, a slight tremor in her voice, ‘What is the third request?’
Marianne is tempted to say the Celestials want Mémère’s heart, just to see her reaction. But she doesn’t have it in her today to endure a long scolding. ‘That House Durand never attacks or otherwise interferes with the belongings or persons of Tian.’
Mémère relaxes. ‘Is that all? Send the Celestials our response: We agree to their terms and invite them to House Durand at ten tomorrow morning to discuss our next steps.’ After a beat, she adds, ‘As for the train, spare no expense. We must ensure we leave them no reason for further reproach.’
Marianne blinks at her grandmother. ‘You do not wish to consult Maximilien before sending this message?’
A hard glint flashes in her grandmother’s eyes. ‘Non.’
Twenty-Three
A Second Chance
At exactly ten the next morning, Aliénor stands in her front garden, both hands resting on the lavender jade pommel of her walking stick, flanked either side by her grandchildren – Marianne an elegant sparrow, poised and alert, Maximilien...
She grimaces as she recalls his arrogant insistence that he was not at fault, and his indignation that she should censure him for trying to sneak into Maison Loo and that she even had him tailed. He came home blood-drunk. She has sometimes erred in her judgement, but never so badly as with Maximilien. Arrogant, entitled, self-absorbed. How had she never noticed?
‘Mémère, they have arrived.’ Marianne’s gentle voice reminds her of her duties.
Aliénor closes her eyes for a moment, allowing the distractions to fall away. When she opens them again, she is once again the formidable, fearless, Durand matriarch.
At her nod, two servants swing the garden gates wide open.
The sleek Delage from yesterday idles in the street.
One by one the Celestials climb out of the car. Her Jing is last out. Aliénor watches the young woman who is deep in conversation with Lady Gi.
Aliénor stares at her granddaughter, a sudden doubling of her vision: Romain superimposed over Jing. The uncanny resemblance makes her chest pinch. She is his flesh and blood, there is no doubt. What a strange twist of fate to bring Jing to them. A fluttering sensation tickles her toes, then rises throughher body like the fine bubbles of her favourite blanc de noir, fizzing up her throat and emerging as a a deep, husky laugh.
She cannot remember the last time she’s laughed so freely. The sound is unfamiliar to her ears. Another unfamiliar sound makes Maximilien stumble, and Marianne gasp softly.
Kakum.Her heartbeat.
When Romain disappeared Aliénor thought her heart irreparably broken. For the past century it has rarely made a sound. It seems her Jing is capable of miracles.
Aliénor strides forwards, her canetak tak takkingagainst the pebbled path, not noticing the Celestials’ alarm at her approach. She only has eyes for her petite fille.
Aliénor tucks her cane under her arm and takes Jing’s hands in hers.
‘Huanyin, huanyin,’ she says, welcoming them with the words Marianne taught her last night.
Jing’s smile widens, a lopsided dimple winking at her from one cheek.
Aliénor pats Jing’s cheek, fighting tears. ‘You even have my Romain’s dimple.’ Though she knows Jing doesn’t understand, she hopes her gestures and voice convey her meaning.
She glances at the mortal, Monsieur Lee, who Marianne says is fluent in French. He gives nothing away but his hostility towards them seems to have lessened. She notices a faint blue tinge to his lips; he seems unwell. Perhaps la grippe? She will keep an eye on the mortal and speak to her petite fille about feeding protocols to avoid the risk of sangue poisoning.
