Chapter 2

March 19, 1883 (Two years after Opera Populaire burns)

I entered Doctor Smythe's claustrophobic office and was nonplussed to find it full of people already. Two gentlemen were seated before the doctor's desk, one dark haired and sweet-featured, the other blond. Yet another was standing at the back corner of the small room. At my entrance, one of the seated gentleman turned and jumped to his feet, but quickly sat again after my acknowledgment and smile. Both seated gentlemen then began whispering, the blond gentleman definitely in ill-humor, the other making soothing noises and calming gestures. They spoke French.

I remained standing at the door, and covertly inspected them. The light-haired individual was definitely young, likely of noble birth, easily perceived by his lack of manners, and supercilious demeanor. I had yet to see his face.

I found the standing gentleman interesting; his face was dark and leathered from the sun, possibly East Indian in ancestry. He did not lean against the solid bookcase behind him, as one might want to do, but remained rod straight, hat over his heart and his eyes appeared to be closed.

All three were dressed in the current style as set by French fashion; narrow cravats of white silk, simply tied, colored silk waistcoats, suits in subdued colors of grey and black. The polite gentleman busy soothing the younger man was stocky and rounded, in a pleasant way, tall enough, with thick black hair, fashionably cut, and a slightly swarthy complexion.

The annoyed member of the group, aristocratic to his highly polished shoes, had his hair slicked over his head and falling to his shoulders on each side. An immature reddish mustache sparsely covered his full upper lip. He looked tired and ill tempered, with lines crossing his high forehead and shadows beneath his eyes. My immediate thought was that I would be assigned to a private pre-natal confinement; young men generally found gestating women to be a great trial, especially during the final trimester. I smiled to myself, and immediately felt the gaze of the dark gentleman on my face. Giving him one swift startled glance, I properly dropped my regard to my knees.

Crossly I wondered when somebody would tell me why I had been summoned.

The good Doctor Smythe eventually joined us via his private entrance, and all seemed to give a relieved sigh. Both seated gentlemen stood and the swarthy gentleman introduced himself to Doctor Smythe as Monteque Abrigaun, solicitor for the de'Chagny family. Monsieur Abrigaun then introduced the younger man as 'le Vicomte de'Chagny,' who merely inclined his head a millimeter or so to the doctor. Abrigaun gestured to the dark gentleman standing to the back, introducing him as Mister Kahn, who sharply bowed and uttered "A pleasure, Doctor" in a melodious voice, thick with foreign accent.

Dr. Smythe immediately requested I come forward to the side of his desk, and placing his hand on my shoulder, introduced me as "Mademoiselle Aislyne Butler, my Angel of Healing". I could not stifle my wince. Smythe frequently waxes hyperbolic on my ability to enter the room of a crazed patient and restore them to relative calm in short order. I strongly resist his assertions that I have a 'gift' or that I am an angel of anything. The true credit goes to the excellence of all the staff, and the kindness with which we always approach every patient.

However, I can never tell him that.

The Doctor insisted on continuing the habit of overstatement in his introductions, and I know I felt my discomfort manifestly displayed across my cursed open face. Now aware that Mr. Kahn found me of great interest nearly to the point of being rude, I directly schooled my face into something less transparent. I have been the object of rude once-overs, ugly leers, raging glares and the occasional glassy-eyed regard many times in my years at this occupation. Never before had I felt as if I were being effortlessly opened and read, like a book under consideration by a patron at the lending library.

Dr. Smythe requested I seat myself in the chair beside his desk, and I did so, after scooting the chair discretely back a foot or so away from the young Vicomte's knees. The office in which we were meeting was far too small to hold this many unrelated and unacquainted people in comfort. I again wondered why we had met here, instead of the larger, better appointed parlor at the front of the Home.

After a whispered consult with the Vicomte, Abrigaun unfolded himself from the chair, and with two long strides past the Vicomte, he was beside my chair. Looking up, I gave him a polite smile, and wished fervently I'd had time to comb my wild, blow-away hair neatly back into its bun. Monsieur Abrigaun put his arms behind his back and faced me, unsmiling, and addressed me in accented English. "I know that you must suffer the curiosity as to why Dr. Smythe requested you meet with the Vicomte' de Chagny, Mr. Kahn, and myself. This is true, Mademoiselle?"

I smiled a bit at his novel English, and nodded my head.

"I wonder if my surname you have heard before, Mademoiselle?" I noticed his very bright and friendly expression was changing into a rather crooked smile, as his lips began trembling and his eyes assumed a suspiciously bright sheen.

I gave this question due consideration and answered, "Indeed, I have, Monsieur Abrigaun. However, I am not aware if there is any connection. The young lady whom I knew with the last name 'Abrigaun' died in my care nearly 6 years ago."

Yes, my memory of Lucinda had immediately rushed to mind upon hearing the Abrigaun name. It did not occur to me that there might be a relationship between the man who stood beside my chair now and sweet Lucinda...

Abrigaun then did something that astounded me; he descended gracefully to one knee next to my chair, and clasped my right hand in both of his. Hoarse with emotion, he rasped "Mademoiselle Butler, you I wish to tell how I..eh... reconnaître... appreciate all that was done to make my sister's final years happy! Her life, it had been a living hell while married to that bête de diables! She was but a broken thing when mère et père rescued her from French injustice and her husband's cruel hands!" Fervently he raised my nerveless hand to his lips and kissed it softly, several times. I saw that his eyes were now awash with real tears. "Madame, you are indeed an 'Ange de Curatif'!"

Predictably, my cheeks flushed hotly, and I cursed myself for reacting so to the gentleman's heartfelt words. Yet I also developed a fearful urge to grasp Abrigaun's neatly groomed head, place it on my shoulder, and pat him until his emotional turn had passed.

Lucinda's brother…

I lay my other hand over his, and so clasped together, I assured Monsieur Abrigaun in a oddly affected voice, as graciously as one can in such circumstance... that Lucinda Mignon Abrigaun had herself been an angel in my life. I expressed my gratitude for his kind words, and my own pleasure at meeting her dear 'little' brother, of whom she frequently spoke, and so on. I know he saw the earnest tears in my eyes, and we shared tremulous smiles. I then dropped my eyes to my knees and employed both hands to the task of discretely applying the handkerchief conveniently kept up my right sleeve to the tears that ran down my cheeks.

Monsieur Abrigaun stood and faced the long windows behind the doctor's desk, away from the gaze of unwitting participants to our touching 'contact des coeurs' to compose himself. After a discrete blowing of the nose, he again faced the room, his bonhomie restored. His client, the Vicomte de'Chagny' looked to be vastly amused by his solicitor's dramatic expression of appreciation, almost to the point of sneering.

I was chagrined to see that Abrigaun immediately schooled the sweet smile right off his face. While observing this little byplay I become conscious that Mr. Kahn was watching me. I immediately took myself to task, setting my eyes on my hands and smoothing any telltale expression from my face.

The lawyer then abruptly moved to stand next to de'Chagny' and leaned toward me, his hand on the Vicomte's shoulder. "Mademoiselle Butler, it because of the...dare I say...magic performed in mon petite Lucinda's life that the Vicomte I have brought here to meet you. He seeks a solution to a situation that has so affected his young wife that she threatens of killing herself! Mon Dieu! Need I tell you why it was of yourself I spoke to him? You, mon plus cher am are the only person who can save the de'Chagny's from a situation most tragic!"

Ah, see, I was right! It is a pre-partum! Oh, the French flair for overstatement!

"Monsieur de Abrigaun", I demurred gently, smiling into his lovely deep brown eyes, "any arrangements made for my services as private caretaker and companion must be made through my employer, Doctor Smythe." I dropped my left hand gently on the good doctor's desk, as if firmly placing the matter there, in his hands. "As I do not at this time have any private patients pending, I should be able to take the assignment…" Thinking that I needed to affect rapprochement with the young Vicomte, I smiled at de'Chagny' warmly, and continued, "…and care for your lady wife." I turned to Doctor Smythe, "With Dr. Smythe's approval, naturally." As Doctor Smythe had called me here, I assumed there was little more to be done except prepare a room for the hapless Vicomtess de'Chagny, or pack my bags for a few weeks stay wherever Vicomtess de'Chagny was staying in Brighton.

Doctor Smythe however, remained quiet, his hand at his ear, tugging furiously. I, as well as all the staff, knew very well what that meant. It was obvious that he was feeling trapped and unhappy about something, which meant there was more to this than I now knew.

Dr. Smythe remained mute, refusing to enlighten me, and I turned to Monsieur Abrigaun, "Is there something further I need to know?" I inquired with the tiniest of smiles.

Monsieur Abrigaun returned his back upright, and pulling one hand down his face smoothed the pained expression away. "It would be required for this... 'attribution de la pitié...this assignment...that you leave your position here at Nettles Home immédiatement for departure to Paris tomorrow morning. Le patient we will reprenez at that time, and forthwith relocate to the de'Chagny petit domaine on the Coast of Tuscany, Italy. Finally, you must yourself contract to provide the care and companionship of the patient for one entire year."

Several moments of absolute silence followed this extraordinary pronouncement. Confused, I carefully worked through the list of conditions I had just been handed.

Why, indeed would I agree to do any of these things, I asked myself?

As if reading my mind, Abrigaun, spoke softly, as if we two were alone. "My dear Mademoiselle Butler, be assured that I know it is much we ask of you. Vicomte de'Chagny' fears for the very lives of his beloved wife and enfant à venir, or we would be of a happier ability to give you the time to properly prepare! I beg you to consider this, the ultimate welfare of the de'Chagny family, and most important, the torment of the young Vicomtess de'Chagny."

Well, now that I had been delivered the good news, I felt it only fair to ask for the bad. " Monsieur Abrigaun, I am to understand that not only am I to leave the employ of Nettles Home, with the full consent of my employer..." and here I looked to Dr. Smythe who sat still pulling at his ear, "but to be ready in mere hours for a water crossing, and journey across France?

Abrigaun smiled apologetically. "Oui, Mademoiselle."

"Furthermore," I added, "I would be employed for one full year, the end of which would find me far from home. Monsieur Abrigaun, what if the Vicomtess and I find we do not suit? I will assure you that such things do happen, especially if the Vicomtess is in the throes of a debilitating mental condition! What assurances can you give me that I won't be turned out upon the road, without a sou to my name?" Mr. Kahn displayed a flash of teeth. I wondered what I had said that would so amuse?

Abrigaun waved these concerns away. "I believe the compensation stated in the contract I have drawn up here" and he pointed to the leather case resting between de'Chagny's highly-shined shoes, "will be... satisfaisant entièrement!

Abrigaun's smile was dazzling, as he again leaned forward and clasped my hand, shaking it with excitement. "Sincèrement Mademoiselle Butler, indeed, you may need work never again! And being 'turned out without a sou'," here Abrigaun looked heavenward, eyes closed, and gently placed his hand over his heart. It was difficult not to find him amusing. "Please Mademoiselle, you wound me! I will personally insure that all consideration be to you given, whatever the situation between yourself and the... er...patient. If the situation it arises that you cannot complete the full year, you will be paid your due monthly stipend of £50 pounds sterling, plus a pro-rated sum of the final contract amount for time worked. The total contract is for £30,000 Sterling, payable one-twelfth upon your arrival at the Petite' Belle Maison de'Chagny in Tuscany. The remainder upon the full service of the contract will then be paid to you." Abrigaun grinned widely at the look on my face.

If I were the fainting type, I could have fainted right then. I did have a rather novel buzzing noise in my ears, and my limbs were developing an alarming tendency to tremble and move about without conscious request.

'So much money!' I thought to myself. "Men's vows are women's traitors," thus wisely spoke the Bard!

I looked with no little suspicion to poor, wounded Monsieur Abrigaun. De'Chagny, whose face now was clearly showing his dissatisfaction with the entire situation glared at Abrigaun, and spoke the first words I'd heard from him; "Dammit, Monty', get on with it!"

After a second's contemplation of de'Chagny's angry countenance, I returned to Abrigaun. "Is there more you need tell me?"

This poor man wiped a bead or two of sweat from his brow. Theatrics can be fatiguing, I suppose. However, Abrigaun, game to the end, visibly gathered his thoughts and courage, and brought himself again to the point.

"The person for whom you will serve as caretaker and companion...is a... gentleman. He is now locked in a sécurité élevée mental ward, under suicide watch, charged with two murders and facing sentence of death by guillotine."

I breathed a heartfelt "Oh my..." and stared stricken and confused into Abrigaun's face.

Monsieur Abrigaun smiled grimly, and added, as if happy to assure me that I was truly qualified for the job, "Oh, and he is, I assure you, quite, quite insane."