Author´s note: This is an addition to the disclaimer. The fairy tale mentioned in this chapter was written by the Brothers Grimm. I don´t own it.

Chapter Ten

August 6th 1892: Christine

When the coach stopped in front of my home it was early afternoon. The coachman had needed more breaks than usual to water the horse for it had become very hot outside. The sun was burning down mercilessly as I made my way up the stairs to the entrance door, and even my handbag seemed to be as heavy as a stone. I had left the newspaper in the coach, so that it would be thrown away as soon as possible. If only I could have disposed of the memory of that horrible announcement as well!

Why had Erik – and there was no doubt that it had been him – done this? I made desperate attempts to push the question out of my mind as I entered the house and began to look for my children and Jacqueline, but it kept coming back. Theory after theory invaded my head. Was it merely meant to be a reminder of which day it was? A sign that he hadn´t forgotten it either? Did he want to threaten me with his knowledge or intimidate me by mentioning that Raoul wasn´t there to protect me?

I was so lost in thought that I only realised the living room was empty when I had stood in it, staring into space, for more than a minute. Looking out of one of the large windows I finally spotted the people I was searching for. They were in the garden, sitting on a woollen blanket under a parasol. In the same moment Jacqueline lifted her head, saw me and waved cheerfully. I nodded and pointed at the door, indicating that I´d join them soon.

Then I left the room and went out into the corridor. There, on the top shelf of the huge wardrobe, lay Philippe´s presents in a neat pile, carefully hidden from the glances of curious children. I needed a chair to reach them, but after just one or two minutes I could take them into the garden with me. I hoped the little boy would forgive me for being late when I gave them to him right now. There was only one thing too big for me to carry myself – a beautiful rocking horse - so I made a servant do it.

The heat was even more overwhelming after the coolness in the house, and the garish sunlight blinded me. Yet my children´s reactions made up for all the negative aspects of having come out here. When they noticed who was approaching them they both jumped up at once. "Maman!", they cried in almost perfect unison. The picture of them running to me as quickly as their small feet carried them made my heart leap. I loved them so much.

A moment later they were clinging to my skirts and talking to me, each of them trying to be louder than the other. "Jacqueline said you visited Meg. Why didn´t you bring her here? I´d have liked to talk to her about dancing…", Antoinette managed to get out before her brother gave her a nudge in the ribs and demanded my attention. "Are those my presents?", he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Can I open them right now?"

"Of course they´re yours.", I replied with a slight laugh. "Or are there any other birthday boys here?" "No!", he exclaimed. "There´s just me!" Now he was actually jumping up and down in front of me and tugging at my skirts, so that I made my way to the blanket quickly, afraid the presents might end up on the grass if he accidentally pushed me. I spread them out, and Philippe made straight for them. This gave me a moment to catch my breath and greet Jacqueline, who had watched the entire scene with a warm smile.

Sitting down next to her I threw Antoinette a sideways glance and asked in a low voice: "Did everything go smoothly with Marielle?". Actually it wasn´t necessary to be this quiet; my daughter had only eyes for Philippe and his presents. Jacqueline nodded. "She kept claiming that she had done nothing wrong, but I didn´t listen. In the end I simply told her that she´d receive her wages for the complete month if she left without causing any more trouble. It worked very well. Was that… all right with you?" "Of course.", I muttered. What was a bit of money compared to my peace of mind?

In this moment we were interrupted by my son. "I can´t get this off.", he called angrily, staring in disgust at a large ribbon. I was about to stand up, but the maid was faster. "No, no, you´ve just settled down.", she said and made her way to Philippe to help him. Now Antoinette addressed me in an accusing voice: "You still haven´t told me why Meg isn´t here. I wanted to talk to her…". "…about dancing, I know.", I finished her sentence. "I would have asked her to come, but she wasn´t home. So you´ll have to talk to me." "You never let me talk about dancing.", she complained, making a face.

That was true. After several long discussions with Meg I had allowed her to teach my daughter twice a week. Yet those ballet lessons always took place in our home. I had even equipped an unused room with all the things they needed. It had been quite expensive, but I´d rather have built a room with my own hands than let Antoinette set a foot into the opera. And, unlike Meg, I couldn´t bring myself to telling funny stories about my career. There was nothing funny about what had happened to me.

To distract her from this delicate topic I offered: "I could do something else for you, though. I could… read to you from a book. Do you have one here?". She nodded eagerly. This had always been one of her favourite pastimes, although by now she could read herself, of course. She reached for a heavy volume next to her and heaved it onto her lap. "Oh, is this the book with the German fairy tales Aunt Antoinette gave you for your birthday?", I wanted to know. The last months had been quite busy, and I hadn´t had much time for reading.

"Yes. Jacqueline has already read all the stories to me.", the little girl replied, skimming the pages. At last her finger came to a halt. "This one is my favourite. It´s called ´Rumpelstiltskin´." She uttered the last word very slowly and carefully. I had to give a small chuckle about the peculiar title. "What is it about?", I asked. I had grown up with Swedish fairy tales, and Mamma Valérius had introduced me to those by Perrault, but I had missed the German ones entirely.

Antoinette´s face was screwed up in concentration for a moment as she seemed to think about how to start. Then she said: "It´s about a poor miller´s daughter whom the king locks up in a chamber to spin straw into gold because her father has boasted she could do that. But of course she can´t and she begins to cry for she´s afraid of being killed. Then a strange little man appears and offers to help her in exchange for her necklace. And he can indeed turn all the straw into gold. Can you imagine that?".

Smiling I shook my head and indicated her to go on. It occurred to me that we wouldn´t have anything left to read if she told me the whole story, but I didn´t want to interrupt her. So she continued: "Yet though the king gets all the gold, he still wants more, and the miller´s daughter has to give the little man her ring, so that he helps her again. But on the third time she doesn´t have anything left, and the man makes her promise to give him the first child she´ll have…".

Whether or not the girl had gone on after this, I couldn´t tell. My mind was unable to take in any more. Which cruel irony of fate had made Antoinette pick this particular story? I gasped for breath, but only a tiny amount of air came into my body. I felt as if someone was squeezing my throat. Was this my secret, ready to come out?

I couldn´t let that happen, not in front of my children. Muttering "I´m sorry. I can´t…" I came to my feet quickly and rushed to the house. "Maman! Come back! That wasn´t even the funny part!", my daughter called, but I didn´t stop until I was safely inside. Only then did I allow the tears to flow freely over my cheeks. I walked straight into my bedroom and let myself sink onto the bed. Burying my face deeper and deeper into the soft pillow I cried for what felt like hours. Utterly exhausted I finally fell asleep.