Chapter 6

Once we were out the doors she turned and clasped my hands. "I do hope you won't mind if we go to my private suite. I know you wish to talk to me, and I don't want us to be disturbed by the gentlemen while we talk."

I agreed, and she turned, retaining hold of one of my hands, which she held until we reached her private sitting room located in the south wing of the 'maison. She talked as we went, "Did Raoul tell you anything about the de'Chagny estate?" I shook my head, and she continued. "The main part, here in the center, is built over the site of an old Roman villa, built during occupation by Rome. The Celts roamed this area, and the name of the town, Meudon, is derived from the Celt name Moldum. Both wings were built in the 1700's by the brother-in-law of Louis the XVIth, the Sun King. This man was beheaded by the mobs during the French Revolution in 179-something, and his lands given to the de'Chagny's by Napoleon Bonaparte I."

"Are you totally bored by all this?" She turned, a lopsided smile upon her face. I felt my reserve begin to thaw; she really was quite unpretentious, and I grinned in response.

"My lady,one of my secret sins is a shocking tendency to adore old castles and their history. Back in Ireland we have the moldering ruins of Arthurian-era keeps in practically every cow byre."

We both laughed, and she made a rueful face at me. "Please do not allow me to be tedious, I beg of you. There is a book on the history of the site in the library, and I found and read it several months ago. It was fascinating, and I actually went out to visit the old cemetery that is noted on a map in the book. Raoul is now convinced our child will be bookish because it's mother is such a bluestocking." I laughed with her, but privately thought Raoul must have his problems if he can tease his wife so about reading one bloody book.

The Vicomtess lead me through her bedroom, and large dressing room, all done in the warm dark reds and burgundies of her dress. An arched passageway lined with windows on one side, and small watercolour paintings on the other lead into what would be called the conservatory in an English home. Two walls were of windows that went from floor to within a foot of the high ceiling, curtained in cream lace drapes, now pulled shut for the evening. Several potted trees and long tubs of geraniums were set before them. There was a small fireplace opposite with a very handsome set of love seats upholstered in deep blue brocade at each side of the hearth. The Vicomtess apparently knew how to knit, as a started project sat with needles stuck through upon a side table. Several books were on another, but I could not make out the titles. A small lady's piano was pushed against the farthest wall in a dark corner, almost as if it were being shunned.

I could not help myself; I walked immediately to the piano and gently struck a key. The Vicomtess' gave me a stiff look, surprising me with the irritation in her face. My rueful shock at her reaction being written across my face, she put her hand at her forehead, and then looked at me remorsefully. "Oh, my. That poor thing as not been played in...many months." She seemed flustered, and turned away.

I felt an ass; as if I had just committed a faux pau of egregious proportions, and immediately apologized. "Excuse me, my lady, please! I do not know why, but I just had to go touch a key." I gave her a sickly contrite look when she turned back to me. "I have not played for...five entire days now, and I do miss my piano."

The Vicomtess immediately came to me and grabbed my hands. "Please, do play if you wish. I have not had the heart to do so myself." I demurred, feeling ill with mortification, and at the sudden distress in her manner…the sadness in her eyes. The Vicomtess wandered over to the dark windows, moving the lace to look out into the dark.

I realized that I needed to just get on with things, for both our sakes.

"This will not do, my lady." I stood by the closest loveseat, and patting the plump upholstery, cajoled her to sit; "Please, let us sit down and get our questions out of the way. It is getting late, and I am sure you are longing for your bed."

She turned her face from the window and gave me a small half-smile, saying, "I am sure it is you who are wishing for your bed, Mademoiselle Butler. You have just arrived from your trip, and I know of the discomfort sleeping in road inns entails. You must be exhausted." Hand to her abdomen, she added, "I can seldom seek my bed before midnight. The child becomes so active; I fear I will tear open from its busy little limbs pushing out from my body. I'll ring for tea and we will talk."

I sat. The Vicomtess moved to the bell cord and pulled, but returned to stand at the window, and I wondered if she waited for something besides tea. Finally, she joined me on the loveseat. "I can promise you Mademoiselle, there will not have been anyone using the sheets before you! And no bugs, either!" She laughed at my rueful expression.

"I do look forward to a decent night's rest, my lady. And your husband was not upset with me at all, I'm thinking, for putting us back on the road that night. My little fit put us eight hours sooner here."

"I am sure he was impatient to get home." Carefully arranging her skirt so that it would fall comfortably about her pregnancy, she sat down and drew her legs up beneath her skirts. "Sometimes he is still just a little boy, and his temper can be uneven when he is stressed."

"I know I was very likelyadismal grumpby this morning." I smiled at her nervous expression, then held up my hand as if to stop any further talk of her husband and our travel experiences.

"Now, please let me assure you, before you say another word, that although I am in the employ of your husband, I am still bound by my vows of confidence. This covers all things a client or patient may tell me.

"Put plainly, my dear lady, whatever you should tell me here goes no further. I am not required to tell your husband, or indeed anyone, anything you tell me. Nor will I. It is very important you know that."

She solemnly nodded her understanding.

"I will be caring for this man for which you feel such a sense of responsibility, with the goal of relieving your feelings of distress over his present circumstances. I will do with the intent of helping him as best I might, whatever hissituation may be. I know the man is currently locked up, and is considered insane. This, naturally, tells me nothing about him. Are you willing to talk to me about him?"

The Vicomtess bit her lip and again her eyes went to the darkened windows. I could do nothing but wait. She finally turned to me and said, "Please, yes, let us talk of this, and have done. I feel I am going to break both Raoul's heart and mine if I continue on like this."

At that very moment there was a soft tap on the door, and a gentleman in crimson livery preceded a young maid carrying a tray with an elegant blue china tea service upon it. The maid poured for us, both servants excused themselves and left, closing the door with the gentlest of clicks. This gave me time to map at least a rudimentary campaign for the information I felt I needed.

"My lady, the Vicomte gave me an edited version of the events preceding your marriage. He was not complementary at all of the gentleman who beset you both. I understand he is an uncle, an elderly gentleman who is in some way related to you...

"No, no... He is not related to me. He is the…brother of the woman who took me in when I was orphaned. No, the Angel...oh!" The Vicomtess put one hand to her lips, and closed her eyes, as if collecting herself to continuing. "I called him the 'Angel' at first, because when he first came to me, that is exactly what I thought he was. Mademoiselle, my dear father died on my eighth birthday, and my mother died when I was four. I became an orphan with no family anywhere when my father died.

"My ballet instructor, Madam Antoinette Giry, at the...academy...I attended took me in as her foster daughter. Still, I felt I would die of the pain of losing my father, and I did nothing but cry and grieve for him for weeks.

"When my father was dying he told me he would forever watch over me from heaven, and I could just think of him, and he would be there, with me. He then told me that he would send an angel to watch over me. But night after night I cried in my bed in the girls' dormitory, because I did not see my father, think of him as I might. And the angel he'd promised had not appeared to care for me. I guess I cried so much that the other girls who shared my dorm room complained. I was moved to a small private apartment, near to Madam Giry's, until Madam could figure out what to do for me.

"It was at this time the...the Angel...appeared, or rather his voice appeared to me. I was so frightened because I knew that Madame Giry could not afford to pay the rent on the additional rooms for me, and I had been left with nothing but my father's violin after his burial costs were paid. I just knew I would soon be going to an orphanage, or be kicked out into the streets. I do believe I was ready to physically collapse from nerves and exhaustion and fear.

"On the very worst day, the day I overheard Madame Giry tell the school manager that she was unable to continue paying for my private rooms..."

Christine stopped, and her eyes overflowed. I immediately handed her my handkerchief. She wiped the tears, and then smiled tremulously. "That night the Angel came as I cried in my lonely room, and he sang to me. He sang the very lullaby that I'd sung to my dear father in heaven, night after night, while on my knees in the little chapel below the dormitories. The Angel, however, added words of reassurance, just for me. And his voice...ah, Mademoiselle, his voice! It was as clear and true as a cathedral bell, and it wrapped a blanket of security and peace and well-being 'round me. I slept that night, for the first time in months, the entire night through."

"Madame Giry told me the very next day that a very kind person had paid the year's rent for my small apartment, plus all the fees so I could continue my schooling at the academy. Furthermore, this person would continue to cover my expenses as long as I continued there.

"The Angel sang to me the next night while I lay in my bed, and the next night and so on. Of course, by the third night I was convinced this beautiful voice belonged to the angel my father had promised me.

"My father was a musician, a master on the violin and piano. He sat First Chair Violin at the Paris National Orchestra, played harp, piano, and mandolin. He was asked to give private recitals many times, and I went with him, wherever he played. When I was but a toddler I'd begun to sing along with him as he played his violin, and I am told I had perfect pitch and a natural talent for singing with true coloratura range. My father encouraged me to develop my talent, as he thought that I could be a great mezzo soprano or even bello canto soprano when I matured. He said I would need to be taught how to use my body, just as one is taught to use any instrument, so he started my lessons when I was 6 years of age, a lesson every day. He gave me my last lesson..." again she resorted to the handkerchief to catch her tears, "my last lesson the very day he died. I sang for him, as he held my hand and then he left me..."

Now crying in earnest, Christine sat up only to fold over her swollen middle and bury her face into her hands. I again gave her as much time as she needed to recover. Eventually she was able to dry her face, blow her nose and sit back with some returned sensibility.

I'd nearly had need of a handkerchief myself. I felt inadequate to offer much in the way of comfort. "Christine, I could not imagine life as a child without one's parents. My parents were the very center of my world, for…for so very long. How very difficult this was for you." I hesitated to change the focus of her discourse, but I did not want her getting so upset she decided to stop talking.

"You said that this man...your angel...told you that he was the angel sent by your father...

"No, no Mademoiselle...well, I don't honestly remember now. It may have been that I thought he was the angel sent by my father and he accepted my silly fantasy because it comforted me. I do not think his original thought was to do more than console a suffering child."

Christine acquired just a hint of a watery sneer and added, "However, I know that is not what Raoul believes. He would have everyone think that this man had wanted me for his unnatural desires, even when I was buteight years old!" Christine eyes glittered. "I KNOW my Angel, and he was always very careful to treat me with absolute propriety. I used to cry and ask him to come hold me on nights when I was scared, or when I'd had a nightmare. He never did this, never! He never touched me, not once, until he held my hand to...to lead me into his home. I was 16 years old then, and I had known him, his voice and his kindness and his calm counsel, for half my life. I was not afraid of my Angel! Not...then, anyway..." She folded her lips and fussed with her wedding band.

I shook my head at her and said "My dear Christine, please don't be too hard on your husband. He is so confused about your feelings for this man. He is also very scared for you, and what fretting over this man is doing to you."

She scowled, and I scowled back at her. "I have also never met a man who was more willing to go to the lengths your husband is to alleviate his wife's unhappiness."

"Yes. I know this..." she sighed. "You speak plainly, don't you?"

"Yes. I find it decreases the amount of time one must spend beating the hedgerows to get to the truth. "

Christine cocked her head, and gave me a conciliatory smile, "You do have a funny accent, Mademoiselle Butler. My English has always been excellent as my mother was English and my father insisted I speak English well, long before he would teach me French. From singing all those Italian arias, I've actually learned a good amount of Italian, too. So please, tell me, is your accent English or...?"

I laughed and said, "You mother would have looked down her nose at me, my Lady. I'm as Irish as Pattie's...er..pig."

Christine giggled. "I had no idea that pigs held nationality! And Abrigaun assures me you are becoming very proficient with speaking French with his dedicated tutorage."

Oh, that is very funny, I thought. Rather from listening to Abriguan chatter away like a silly hen, flirting up a storm while his wife…

"No, I am afraid I have linguistic problems with the French language." Herein I lay on the brogue as thick as I could, "I keep rollin' and brrrr-in' where a hard stop or total silence is required. I canna' imagine why so many words 'aire' ended prematurely in that sgeog 'hiiiiiith' sound. What a waste o' gud' ink writin' French; just say it an' use half the letters!"

Christine was now giggling at my shameless mugging.

I finally eased off the brogue and said "Personally, I find the French tongue a trial, my lady." Returning Christine's grin, I added, "Nearly as much as I found the two Frenchmen with whom I traveled!"

Laughing lightened our spirits, but after we'd both shared smiles, and she looked to have regained her emotional equilibrium, I put us back on task.

I reached over and patted her hand, and said "Vicomtess de'Chagny, what is it you expect me to do for your Angel?"

I'd surprised her. She stared at me, and I thought she might be just a bit unhappy with my directness this time.

"I guess I have not given this much thought." Her hands began twisting and rolling over her swollen belly. "I...I want him to find...peace." She shut her eyes tightly. "I want him to let me go, to just...let me...go, if we cannot be again as we once were. As my friend, my teacher, my… If he cannot love me…without…" Her voice rose, just a bit, and she consciously stilled her hands, looking hard at them.

Dropping her voice, she continued, "I feel like I owe him, for all he did for me, for everything that he was for me. I mean, he taught me to sing, to sing with my heart, and to strive for perfection. He taught me to play the piano, even thought I'd taken lessons from my father for years, my Angel taught me how to find the emotion in the music. And he wrote the most beautiful music for me to play! He insured that I had everything I needed and paid for my schooling, and bought me lovely clothes. He also wrote original music that would be for my voice alone; such music, Mademoiselle, music that touches everyone who hears it."

Now the anger was gone, but she dropped her head into her hands, and again we were silent until she could marshal her emotions. "And Mademoiselle, he was wonderful to me. He soothed me with his voice, singing with such beauty. And I cannot tell you the number of times I'd awake from a nightmare, even in the middle of the night, crying and so very scared, and he...was...there. He was there! He'd sing me back to sleep, and my dreams were always pleasant and my spirits restored afterwards."

Holding her hands up, she exclaimed with some passion, "Can you understand why I believed him an angel? And m…my father?"

"And the voice lessons. He started me exactly where my father left off, with the scales and breath control and muscle development exercises. I always knew exactly how well I was doing during the lesson, as he was never shy with his praise. And he could tell on those days when my heart wasn't in the lesson. He would say to me 'Christine, I do not hear your heart today. I believe we should try again tomorrow.' But he would not just leave, no, no, because he would ask me, 'Where is my lovely Christine's mind today?' 'What is troubling beautiful Christine's heart?' And we could talk of my silly, little-girl troubles, and I'd feel so much better. Mademoiselle, I could give you one thousand examples of his kindness and his sensibility in knowing just what I needed. My Angel was just that, an angel, in every sense of the word."

Sighing, she looked to me, and said: "And finally, in order to know my Angel, you need to know this. He is... The reason he stayed out of society, and hid from me... and hid from the entire world... He was...is flawed. One half of his face and part of his upper head are horribly scarred...deformed. He told me he was born this way, and that his own mother would have nothing to do with him, and gave him away to the gypsies...just gave him away, when he was seven years old. He has lived on his own since he was twelve, and except for the friendship he had with Madame Giry, and the...relationship we had, he had spent the whole of his life shut away from the human race."

I saw the pity in her face for this hapless fellow, and I felt I knew the reasons for her fretful guilt. However, this did not mean this man could do as he wished without consequences!

"And why would a scarred face make any difference in the way a man should act, my lady? I do not see how one would have anything to do with the other. Kindness or kidnapping, he is still a citizen of France, and must live by the rules..."

'No, Mademoiselle Butler, you do not understand!" Christine's eyes flashed to mine, and her cheeks pinked with quick anger. "I think that being...deformed, of what his... deformity... did to him, and..."

"And pity, my young friend, can be wonderfully exploited!"

The Vicomtess de'Chagny held up her hand, demanding my silence...

"The Angel is marred on the right side of his face only. If you were to see him from the left side, you would think of him as very attractive, extremely handsome. He dresses well, and speaks as any well-bred and educated gentleman should. You would think he was a lovely man to look upon, Mademoiselle Butler, I assure you. After seeing him without the mask, I can still say that my Angel is a handsome man. Yes, his right cheek, that side of his nose, and around his right eye is horrific to look upon without some... preparation. He has thick dark hair except on the side of his skull from his temple to right behind his ear. There it is patchy and his skin and scalp are bubbled and cratered, almost as if he'd been burned."

"It does sound very sad, but my dear Vicomtess, this does not mean you owe him the life he did not have the courage to go out and make for himself! I have seen men, and women too, who have suffered worse..."

The Vicomtess pinched her lips together and gave me a look that simply stopped my mouth. Very fierce. However, not one to concede easily, I added, "I'm sorry my lady. I have great problems with people who play upon one's good intentions..."

"And I'm sorry Mademoiselle, but I do not accept that my Angel ever did such a thing! You must understand, he was given to a traveling fair as a little boy. By. His. Mother! This is after he was given not one bit of affection. Then he was given over to these...people, who immediately put a sack over his head, and showed him off as the 'devil's child'. His ruined face became something to make women scream and little kids cry!"

The Vicomtess de'Chagny was now gritting her teeth and tears were winding their way down her cheeks, yet again. I decided it was best to hear her out, and let her vent all this anger.

"I do not know what horrors he suffered there, as he has never spoken of it to me. Madame Giry later told me that it would have broken the mind of a weaker man, outright killed anyone else. Mademoiselle Butler; he was but a child! I know that he bears terrible scars from the beatings he endured over his back; he has rope scars on his wrists. For those reasons alone, I can well understand why my Angel was loath to have anything to do with human society!"

I sat quietly, awaiting Christine's signal she was finished. Once more my stalwart hanky swept her face, and she looked at me with a small twisted smile on her full lips. "Mademoiselle, I apologize for my temper. I know this man as I knew my own father. This man WAS my father for so many years, and it was...a nightmare when his feelings changed so that we lost that closeness and he acted... different. And I must admit, he is a very interesting and romantic-minded man. I would have had no problem falling in love with him had I not already established him in my heart as my father. I could not feel...that way...about a man for whom I felt a daughter's devotion.

There seemed to be little more to ask of her. She sat quietly and watched me, as if waiting for some sign I was finished. And indeed, I was. I felt I had an accurate picture of the situation, and maybe a good idea of the feelings that were driving her to despair. All I needed was to give her reason to feel she had done all that could be done...to feel some confidence in my ability to help this man. It was totally up to me, now.

"My lady, I understand your feelings, and will do my best to help this man. I admit my preconceived ideas of what I would learn here were…totally off the mark. I will do what you ask, as best I can." That was all. What more could I say?

We parted company at the door to my room where, as a good hostess, the Vicomtess turned me back over to Mariette. We agreed to meet over breakfast and I would then be given an idea of how I was to proceed. So much that I needed to know I had not yet been told.

Mariette helped me out of my dress and underpinnings, brushed out my hair, braiding it for the night. After hanging up my clothing, she bid me good night. I finished my toilette and retired for the night.

I never felt my head hit the pillows.