P R O L O G U E
Tuesday, August 7th, 1883
Chagny, France
Lullaby and goodnight, with roses bedight
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed
The song rasped through a throat raw from exhaustion, breaking harshly over the higher notes. She paused a moment – swallowed, cleared her throat – before attempting the second verse. Her daughters were patient with her; both little ones lay sweetly and quietly in their mother's arms, staring up at her through hooded brown eyes.
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed
Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, and Christine looked up wearily. The doctor stopped just outside the nursery door, holding his hat in one pale, blue-veined hand.
"I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion, Vicomtesse," he said, "but your husband is asking for you. I am not sure how long he—" He wet his lips, and tried again. "It is best that you go to him now."
"Thank you." She offered a tired smile, and dipped her chin to indicate the little girls in her arms. "Tell him I will be in as soon as the children are asleep."
The doctor hesitated. After a pause, he began to take cautious steps toward her, as if he were afraid that any sudden movement would cause her to startle. "Madame," he said slowly, "Your daughters have been sleeping for some time now."
Christine regarded the doctor with an empty expression for a long moment before shifting her gaze back to the children in her arms. Her features softened, and she began to rock again, and to sing.
Lullaby and goodnight, thy mother's delight
Bright angels beside my darling abide
The doctor's brow furrowed as he watched her. More than once he opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and closed it again. Before he could make a decision as to how to intervene, a frightened, tearful voice echoed from the hallway.
"Mama?"
A small boy shuffled into the nursery, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his nightshirt. Christine looked up at her son with the ghost of a smile, but no sound moved past her lips when she tried to speak his name. The doctor crossed the room hurriedly and bent to speak to the child in a hushed, insistent tone. Her son shook his head in response, tears standing like diamonds in his eyes. She observed the interaction as if she were disconnected from her own body, watching blankly as the doctor gave up on his ineffectual attempt to reason with the boy and simply scooped the child into his arms. Her son's cries rose in a hysterical crescendo as he was carried down the hall, back toward his own room.
"No, I don't want to go back to bed! I want my mama! I want my mama!"
Something wet was on Christine's face. She blinked, and a few crystalline drops fell from her eyelashes onto her baby's pale, cold cheek. Immediately, she began to rock again. "There, there, darling. Don't cry. Everything will be all right." Somewhere far away, a door shut, and her son's panicked cries were effectively muted. Christine closed her eyes, and whispered into the silence, "Everything will be all right."