Marguerite sat at her mother's bedside, clutching her withered hands, she bathed her sweaty brow with a cool washcloth.
"Marguerite-" came her mother's raspy voice
"Hush Mama, don't talk you'll need your strength."
"It is so warm Marguerite." She paused for breath
"Here, I've brought you something to drink." Gently she lifted her mother's head, putting the warm glass to her cracked lips.
"It is bitter my love." Antoinette said after the first sip.
"Yes Maman, it's the laudanum for the pain." She said "here Mama, drink a little more- and you will be better in no time." Marguerite Giry had been caring for her sickly mother for at least two months now. She had not been to the Opéra in three weeks, knowing her position was precarious enough as it was, now add to it she had not been to rehearsals for as long as that. But she could not leave her mother for very long, enough to fetch a few groceries and a little laudanum but otherwise she stayed home, tending to her mother. She had not been out of the house for three weeks, she had not been paid as she did not go into rehearsals, and their meager savings were all spent by now. The last few drops from the tiny bottle of laudanum she was able to afford were in the tea she was carefully helping her mother drink. Soon enough, Antoinette fell asleep and Marguerite stood, pressing a gentle kiss to her mother's forehead.
She set the teacup in the basin and went to the cupboards to see what they had left for groceries. Not much as it turned out, a little flour, and a few scrubby potatoes. Taking the last of the flour, she took water from the spout that always dripped and stirred furiously, determined to stretch the thin dough into at least four biscuits, finding a pot, she set water to boil and put in one potato. If she was careful, she could stretch those last five for another week. It would not be very filling, but food was food and she had not had any in a day or so for her mother had taken to shaking so that Marguerite was forced to hold her down. Slowly eating the mealy potato, she selected one biscuit she turned back to her mother. Tiny beads of sweat formed over her and Marguerite worried again that her fever was rising. As she set a cool washcloth over her forehead she heard a knock at the door.
"Odd," she thought to herself. "Who should call on us, and at such time?" standing, she hurried to the door, removing the chain; she parted it just a little. "Who is it?" she asked quietly, her black eyes somewhat frightened, and her hands trembled.
"It is Andre Moncharmin, Mademoiselle Giry, might I come in a moment?" She was momentarily flummoxed, what was he, of all people, doing out in Montmartre at this unholy hour?
"Yes." She said and stepped aside, letting him pass.
"Monsieur le Blanc requested that either myself or Firmin call upon you, to see if Madame Giry or yourself had taken ill. Neither of you have been to the Opéra for so long that the others have begun to worry."
"Oh…" she said, "I-I wonder Monsieur why did you not send someone else? You did not have to trouble yourself to come-"
"It is alright, I did not mind." He said. He peered past her, to look at the still form on the bed "Is she very sick?"
"Yes." Marguerite said quietly "I still do not know what ails her, she shakes at times, her fever has not left her for three days, and oftentimes she coughs. I think it's settled in her chest."
"Good heavens, why haven't you sent for a doctor?" he asked and she flushed,
"I could not leave her Monsieur, and anyway we cannot afford one to come all the way out here, nor could the fare to bring her to one." Marguerite stood beside her mother "Anyway she will be better soon enough." At that moment, her mother began to cough so horribly that she was roused from sleep. Antoinette shook violently, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. Marguerite leapt upon her, holding down her mother so she would not harm herself. Andre stared in shock
"Keep her still if you can, I will fetch a doctor." He ordered, starting for the door. "I shall try to return within the hour. Lock the door Marguerite." And he was gone again, the chain rattling against the door as he shut it.
Almost an hour later, Andre knocked on the door again and she unlocked it to see a stout little man with a moustache and spectacles holding a black satchel.
"May I see to the lady?" he asked and she let them pass. Taking out his stethoscope, he set the cool metal piece on her mother's breast, listening carefully as Marguerite paced the floors. Andre now looked about the tiny garret. There was only one bed, which Madame Giry occupied, an old worn chair sat by the hearth, the stuffing coming out of an arm. A blanket was rumpled on the cushion; he realized now that this was where Marguerite slept. The stove bore only a pot and a half-empty teakettle. He peered closer; water sat in the pot, whatever had been boiled was long eaten, two biscuits sat on a plate beside it. An empty sack of flour was strewn over the coal bin, which looked rather low at the moment. How could they live like this? How long had they been like this? The doctor startled him from his thoughts.
"Her fever is remarkably high." He said, feeling her forehead "has she been given anything?"
"Only laudanum to help her sleep, she shakes." Marguerite said, the doctor nodded his head, adjusting his spectacles.
"There is quite a lot of fluid in her lungs-" Marguerite began to cry, Andre took her arm as the doctor went on "You must prepare yourselves, make her comfortable. I did not give her anything, it would do little good." He stood, setting his instruments in his bag. "When she has passed, the mattress and pillows must be burned; the disease may still linger in them." He said, Marguerite who still wept into her hands, could not answer him so Andre nodded that it would be done. The doctor patted her arm and then set his hat atop his head. Andre paid him, thanking him for coming so far at such short notice. He turned round to see Marguerite sitting down on the edge of the bed. Her little hands trembled as she petted her mother's limp hair. She cried softly, Andre stood a ways from her,
"Shall I go?" he asked after a moment and Marguerite turned back.
"Stay, if you like." She said at last, her head silhouetted from the light in the window above the bed. The dim lamp across the room had gone out a moment ago. "I shouldn't like to be alone this night." She did not stand, but inclined her head to the old chair by the hearth and said he could take to it if he wished. Having taken the chair, he waited, listening as Marguerite eventually quieted her tears, smoothing her mother's limp hair and whispering prayers over her. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting shadows on the floor. Andre kept vigil, even when Marguerite had fallen asleep over her mother, finally collapsing from exhaustion and grief. All was silent, save for Antoinette's raspy breathing.
That night, Madame Giry died in her daughter's arms, Andre Moncharmin close behind.
One Week Later
The funeral was held in the rain. The funeral goers, few as they were, held umbrellas to keep the steady drizzle off them. Only Monsieur Reyer, Monsieur and Madame le Blanc, Andre Moncharmin and the Persian arrived for the funeral, and only two really knew Madame Giry. The others came out of respect and affection for the petit rat. Marguerite, dressed in heavy mourning, trembled with fear, or cold, perhaps both. Now at last Marguerite was alone in the world, and she was very frightened. Most likely she'd keep on dancing, after all, she would need work, and she knew little else. She did not know enough to be a governess, not even a ladies maid. After the ceremony, the tiny receiving line formed. Marguerite stood by herself, feeling awkward and clumsy, she managed to nod to the kind smiles and shake hands with them. Madame le Blanc kissed her cheek and her husband pressed her arm, reminding her she still had a place in the ballet corps. Marguerite thanked him, grateful the place was not taken. The Persian pressed her hand, leaving a small package in her gloved palm.
"What is this?" she asked softly
"A gift, from him." And she understood it to mean the keeper of Box Five, Erik, she recalled his name was, had heard of her mother's death. She tucked it into her reticule and let him kiss her cheek. Once everyone had greeted her and given their condolences, the group dispersed, going their separate ways. Andre lagged behind, watching Marguerite leave a tattered nosegay at her mother's grave. He had seen her clutching the tiny thing during the service. Heaven knew how much it had cost her, even if they were drooping from the cold, their petals starting to stink of decay. She had walked through the rain for she could not afford a hansom; he'd seen her arrive as he had gone early, to be sure that everything was in order. Now Andre waited at the gates for Marguerite to pass by.
"Mademoiselle Giry!" he called, she turned, and her pale face seemed confused as to who was calling for her. Seeing it was Andre, she picked up her hem and went back to him. "You cannot mean to walk in the rain again." He said,
"It's not raining so badly now." She said, trying to sound as if it did not bother her much.
"Yes," he said "but…all the same, I should not feel right to let you walk, especially on such a day. Please-" he gestured to his brougham. She hesitated a moment, then took his hand, letting him help her inside.
"Thank you." She said quietly, a little embarrassed. As they rattled down the cobblestones she opened her reticule, reaching inside for a little package that he had seen The Persian give her. "Do you mind at all?" she asked, and he shook his head. Her little fingers tugged at the silk ribbon and tucked the white wrappings inside her reticule. She gave a delighted gasp; there nestled in the cotton was a silk purse, the gold embroidery floss shone in the dim light. "There's something inside it." She murmured and opened it. Upon seeing its contents she began to cry. She emptied it for him to see as well, he leaned forward, rather shocked to see almost two hundred francs sitting on her lap. A little note was folded up in the bills, and she snatched it up.
"Dear Mademoiselle Giry,
I am more sorry than I can say for the loss of your mother. As you may know, she was my box keeper and I paid her to bring my footstool. Here are the wages that you did not receive while away caring for her and a little extra so you may properly stock your larder. Skin and bones is no good for a dancer. You need not be afraid, and I offer this as a condolence to you: should you be in need, in danger of any sort, then do not hesitate to contact me. Leave a note for me in Box Five or with The Persian if you so choose. You shall not hear from me again unless necessary.
Your humble and obedient servant, – E."
"He has always taken care of your family hasn't he?" Andre asked after she dried her eyes and put the money back into the silk purse. At first surprised that he knew who the letter was from, she hesitated, then reminded herself that on occasion Erik had written the managers notes concerning the treatment of Madame Giry.
"Yes." She said quietly. "He says we shall not hear from him again. Unless I should find the need to call upon him anyway." Tucking the note in her reticule, she sat back, sighing heavily.
"I-" Andre paused, almost smirking at his own thoughts.
"What?" she asked and he sighed,
"I- thought perhaps…should you wish for a companion, to perhaps escort you to the park or some such thing, then…I should like to think that you would come to me first." Marguerite was quiet, thinking of the funeral, Andre had paid for it, and she thought of her mourning clothes, he'd paid for those too.
"I do not wish to trouble you, you've done so much already, so much that I couldn't even hope to begin to pay back-"
"There is no debt." He said immediately. Andre leaned forward, grasping her hands, his kind eyes full of warmth. Her little body shook with cold and nervousness, "I did it because I wanted to Marguerite." She looked up at him, a little surprised to find she liked hearing him use her name. "And I shall be happy to perform any service for you that you might require." Now she was quiet a moment.
"I am allowed close friends and relatives, I have no relatives. If you have no objections, then I should be delighted to receive you tomorrow."
"It would be an honour."