Chapter 14
"Tip your head forward," Khazime instructed, pressing his handkerchief to my nose. We were following Erik back towards his tent, and although the Fair was full of people, they made way for us without him having to say a word. The thunderclouds were almost visible over his head as he stomped barefoot through the field, and I knew that if I saw him storming towards me like an avenging angel, I would get out of his path too. He swung around to me as we reached his tent, and I flinched at the sight of his unmasked face.
"Wait there," he snapped, and disappeared from view in a swirl of tent flap.
Khazime, who still had a hand on my elbow, gently sat me down on an upturned bucket and began feeling my nose.
"Nothing broken," he told me. "Another injury to add to your list, though. You really have had an unlucky couple of weeks, haven't you?"
"I think I have more bad luck headed my way," I replied, and he squeezed my shoulder.
While Erik changed, Khazime fetched a pitcher of water and cleaned me up, now that the bleeding had stopped. I caught my reflection in the water, and saw that even without the bleeding, my nose was red and sore, the blood staining the front of my beautiful white blouse. The fire juggler sat on the grass beside me, both of us waiting in silence, until Henri Granjin himself puffed up, red in the face and scowling.
"Is he in there?" He demanded, jerking his thumb towards the tent.
"Yes," I replied.
"Get back to work, Khazime," Granjin continued, then bellowed: "Danton!"
Khazime got to his feet and gave me a brief smile before slipping away. Erik appeared at the tent flap, fully dressed, white half mask in place, and knotting his cravat. The little fat man glared up at him.
"What the hell happened?" He cried, his voice rising shrilly.
"I got distracted," Erik replied, his tone cool. "My dear stepdaughter—" he flashed a furious look in my direction, and the term of endearment dripped with venom. "—ignored my specific instructions to stay away in order to satisfy her own curiosity." His voice slipped into a soft, hypnotic purr. "You have my deepest apologies. I can but ask for your indulgence, and request your permission to leave for the day and deal with the problem."
He shot another poisonous look at me, and Granjin followed the direction of his eyes. He was silent for a full minute, processing what Erik had said to him and reading between the lines. Granjin was a father; he knew how Erik intended to 'deal with the problem'. I started trembling again.
"You won't be paid for today," he said at last. "And any… time off Marguerite requires will also be unpaid."
"I understand," Erik replied. "Perhaps the lesson learned with compensate me for the financial loss."
My mouth was dry and my palms damp with sweat. The two men exchanged a few more words while I stared down at my hands, and it was only a matter of moments before Erik was jerking me to my feet by the wrist, swinging me around in front of him, and shoving me in the back to get me moving. His fingers, bony and cold, gripped me at the nape of my neck, and he marched me home like that as if I were a kitten he was holding by the scruff. He made no compensation for the difference in our heights and the lengths of our strides, forcing me to almost run in order not to trip over his feet. He was silent for the entire journey, and despite the heat of the day, I could feel goose-bumps on my arms.
Erik opened the door to Danton House and threw me inside, so that I staggered over the threshold and fought to keep my balance. Through the open door to the drawing room I could see Mother, still asleep on the sofa as I had left her, the tea half drunk on the little round table by her head.
Erik slammed the front door closed behind us, making me jump, and Mother stirred groggily. He had seen her over my head, and he pushed past me into the drawing room.
"Antoinette?"
He knelt by the sofa and passed his hand across her brow, and said something I could not hear. She replied and he picked up the cup of tea, sniffed it, then took a tiny sip. He rose and came back to me, a muscle twitching in his left cheek.
"What did I say," he snarled. "Would happen if you followed me today? My exact words?"
"You… you said…" I swallowed. "That you would beat me bloody."
"Then take off your shirt and show me your back!"
His hands were at his waist, fumbling to undo his belt.
"No!" The word came out in a gasp and I turned, tried to run, but even as he was pulling the belt free, Erik wound his right foot around mine and sent me crashing to the ground. I struggled to untangle myself and made a half crawl for the staircase, but even as my hands reached the second step, Erik planted his foot on my leg. I twisted on the floor and saw him double the leather over in his hand and raise his arm high over his head. I could only cower before him once more.
"Stop it!" Mother's hand came out of nowhere, grasping Erik around the wrist, forcing him to cease the downward slash of the belt.
"Why?!" Erik growled, turning his blazing eyes upon her. "After what she's done today, after I told her… and her behaviour, Antoinette! Her attitude! She deserves this, and I swear to God—"
"I know!" Mother cried, her fingers digging into his wrist, where I could see his veins pulsing. "And I agree with you!"
I stared at her, appalled. She agreed with him? Here was this enraged man, looming over me and overflowing with the threat of further physical violence, and she was agreeing?
"But not like this! Erik, talk to me! Please!"
"What is there to discuss?!"
"If you want to punish, Meg, then fine! But not in anger, Erik! Not right now! You must be calm first or you could cause her serious harm!"
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, feel its frantic thump against my ribcage. Erik's eyes flashed between us, and although his hand was still tight around the leather, he let it drop to his side. Mother looked at me, hurt and disappointment written on her face. She had told me that my behaviour was breaking her heart; now I could actually see it happening.
"Get upstairs," she told me, and I scrambled to obey on legs that felt like water.
The execution of my punishment had been postponed, but I had not been reprieved. I took off my stained blouse and put on a pale blue one instead, then sat on my bed and hoped that Mother would be able to talk Erik down. Perhaps I could yet get away with a stern telling off and a list of additional chores. I did not hear anyone come to lock my bedroom door, but likewise I did not investigate to see whether it was unlocked. I stayed in my room for over three hours, sitting beside the unlit fireplace in an attempt to listen to the conversation taking place in the drawing room below me via the shared chimney. I couldn't hear anything, no voices, no music that Erik might have been playing, and wondered if they were conducting their conversation elsewhere.
I tried to read, but the text blurred before my eyes and I found myself reading the same page over and over with no idea what the words meant. Eventually, Mother opened the door. I closed the book and stood up, but she did not come into my room.
"Take off your corset," she said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because I told you to. Once you've done that, come downstairs. Erik will see you in his office."
She was speaking to my throat, as if she could not look me in the face.
"Mother—"
"You have five minutes," she said, and closed the door.
I swallowed, then removed my blouse and took off my front-lacing corset, before buttoning up my blouse again. I went downstairs on near silent feet, past the closed drawing room door and on to Erik's office, the door to which was also closed. I knocked firmly.
"Enter."
Erik was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at the vase of roses on the mantelpiece, his hands folded behind his back. The afternoon sunshine was streaming through the large window, illuminating the black leather belt that lay curled upon it like a snake. Horror raced through me and a bitter taste filled my mouth.
"Close the door," Erik said, and I reached behind me to push it shut without looking away from the desk.
"I'm… sorry about today," I began, and he turned to face me directly.
"I am pleased to hear you say so," he said. "But it's not going to change what will happen in this room." I swallowed hard as he began to pace the office, rounding me and locking the door, sliding the key into his pocket. "Your mother and I had a long conversation about you and your behaviour over the last few weeks. Understand, Marguerite, that I told you I would beat you if you followed me today and that was not an idle threat. But this is about more than today. I'm not sure you comprehend just how disrespectful your behaviour has been. You've talked back to both of us on numerous occasions and been blatantly disobedient. Today, you drugged your mother! What were you thinking?! The truth!" He added as I opened my mouth, and I wondered if he had somehow read my mind, sensed the lie that I had been about to tell.
"I was thinking," I chose my words carefully. "That it was… unfair that you were keeping things from me. You were lying to me, Erik, all this talk about moving booths—"
"For your protection!" He cried, slamming his hand down on the desk. "Because the truth was something we didn't feel it was appropriate for you to know!" He sighed and passed a hand down his left cheek. "But this is beside the point. You have pushed us beyond our limits. You'll take a beating—twelve strokes with the belt. And let that teach you to behave better in future."
I felt my face flush with colour.
"You can't beat me!" I cried. "You are not my father!"
"I am as close to a father as you will get!" He returned. "And I am certainly worth more respect than something on the sole of your shoe! You've just increased your punishment to eighteen strokes. Take off your shirt and bend over the desk."
"No!" It was almost a shriek. "Mother won't let you do this to me!"
"Yes, she will. We have discussed it and agreed this is an appropriate punishment. It's now twenty four strokes, bend over."
"No!"
"Thirty! And I promise you that if you try my patience any further, I will tie you down!"
I had no choice, I realised. This was an unfair, childish punishment, disproportionate, I felt, to my crime. I took off my blouse and draped it over the back of Erik's chair as he picked up the belt, doubling it over in his left hand so that he was holding both ends. At least he did not intend to beat me with the buckle. Even though I was still fully covered by my chemise, I felt naked and embarrassed without my corset on; I hoped Erik could not see through the thin material. He was removing his jacket so that he had more freedom of movement, and I tried to ignore the nausea that was making my stomach churn.
As I bent forward, I allowed myself to acknowledge the fact that I was afraid—more than afraid. I was terrified. Mother had taken her cane to me on various occasions over the years, most recently for going out into the night time streets of Paris alone, which had almost resulted in my rape. I hadn't been beaten with a belt since I was nine years old, and it had been a dreadful experience. My memory of it was hazy, but it haunted my nightmares, besmirched the memory of my father.
My palms were sweating against the wood of the desk as I felt Erik tug the material of my chemise up over my shoulder blades. I took a breath, preparing myself, but the first stroke came before I was ready, driving the air from my lungs. The pain burst in a stripe, a sting, a burning line of fire across my back, and I gave a cry. The sound had hardly left my lips when the second blow landed. I found myself reaching further across the desk, curling my fingers to grip the edge of it, as Erik beat me with swift, rhythmic strokes like the tick of a metronome. There was no build-up, no tempering of his arm; he intended this to be a punishment and by God it was. I had lost count and was sobbing with pain, trying to speak.
"Please!" I managed. "Stop! Please, Erik, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"It's not over yet," his tone was calm, but as I sobbed and struggled to straighten up, he planted his free hand on the back of my neck to hold me in place. "Stay down!"
My head was turned to the right so that I was looking at the fireplace, and it went in and out of focus as Erik continued his onslaught.
"Stop hurting me, you beast!" I cried in desperation. "You monster!"
And he beat me harder than ever.
It can't have lasted for more than a few minutes, but it felt like forever before the beating ceased, and Erik said:
"It's over. Get up."
Every movement caused me pain, little stabs sparking like jolts of electricity. As I straightened, I felt the chemise drop back into place, and found that my skin was slippery with sweat all over. The chemise stuck, burned, and I gingerly reached behind me to touch my back. There was blood; Erik had made good on his promise. The office was swaying around me, my vision greying at the edges, and I opened the door in a cloud of pain. Mother was standing outside the door, looking distressed, tears streaming down her cheeks. I had no doubt that I was in an even worse state, but seeing her standing there caused my misery and humiliation to boil up to a head of anger.
"H-how could you?" I stuttered. "How could you let him do this to me?" My voice rose to a scream. "How could you let him do this to me?!"
She had saved me the last time, I remembered it, remembered her running into the room and ripping the belt from my father's hands and throwing it onto the fire. Not this time. She reached out to touch me, her words forming what might have been an apology, but I flinched backwards, and the world span away from me into cold, painless blackness.
xxxxx
When I woke, the first thing I knew was the heat of pain across my back and cool sheets against my front. I was in my bed, naked to the waist, lying on my stomach, the blanket pulled down to my hips. The window was open, letting in the smell of the summer day and a cooling breeze that seemed to kiss my enflamed back and sweat-soaked skin. Mother was sitting by my bedside, holding my hand, and when I saw the love and hurt in her eyes, I felt completely ashamed.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I shouted at you downstairs. I'm sorry I drugged you. Above all, I'm sorry I haven't been the daughter you deserve."
She reached out and lifted a damp strand of hair from my forehead.
"I accept your apology," she said. "And I forgive you. I know that you are struggling to adapt to difficult circumstances, but you must remember that all of us are."
"I know. I promise I will try. I am trying."
"Yes, Meg. But this is still only the beginning. When we reach America, things are going to be very hard for the three of us for a long time, possibly for years. If Erik and I allowed your attitude to continue..."
I shuddered and closed my eyes. They were nipping me in the bud, breaking me in like one might a wilful horse.
I heard Erik's tread as he entered the bedroom, and went instantly tense with terror. Would he beat me again for calling him a beast and a monster? Or for shouting at Mother downstairs?
"Excuse us, Antoinette," he said in deep, calm tones, and my hand flashed out to grasp her wrist.
"Don't!" I whispered, my eyes wide with fear. "Please! Don't leave me alone with him!"
"Now, Antoinette."
It was an order. Mother gently disengaged my fingers from her wrist and rubbed the back of my hand with her thumb.
"My love, Erik is not going to hurt you," she turned her head in his direction. "I promise."
She leant over and planted a kiss on my brow, then said something softly to Erik , and I heard the sound of her footsteps and the tap of her cane as she departed, and the door clicked shut behind her. I couldn't see Erik until he appeared at my side, placing a tray on my nightstand. He hadn't put his jacket back on, and had rolled his shirtsleeves up over his elbows. I wondered if he had done it during the beating or afterwards. The light coming through my window was changing from the gold of afternoon to the orange of evening, and it bounced off Erik's white mask and the black stone in his ring. The tray contained a bowl of water, a bottle of his potion, medical supplies.
"I intend to help, not harm," he said as he sat down in the chair Mother had vacated. "But this will sting."
"You made me bleed," I murmured, as he dipped a cloth into the bowl of water.
"As I promised," he replied, matter-of-factly. "And in my opinion, I stayed my hand for far too long."
"You wanted to beat me before today?" I winced as he bathed my back.
"Of course I did. You've had that coming for weeks, girl. It was only because your mother asked me not to that I haven't taken my belt to you before, I have been sorely tempted."
I swallowed hard and he put his fingers under my chin so that our eyes met.
"I will not be patient again, Meg, do you understand? You can no longer rely on your mother to defend you."
"I understand," I said, wincing again. "Although I still find it unfair. We're not really related, you're not really my legal guardian."
"I am the man who pays for the roof over your head and the food in your stomach," he replied. "I am as good as a father to you, and I will not have this conversation again, understood?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
xxxxx
Author's Note: I had no doubt, when I completed this chapter, that I would get a flurry of feedback telling me that this was out of character for Erik and Madame Giry, and that him beating Meg was unacceptable.
To our modern eyes, it is… but this is 1895. Such things were commonplace and even expected by society. If a woman/child/servant was disobedient, then they would be physically punished, and a man who chose not to use corporal discipline was seen as weak. We all know Erik has a temper, and Meg has driven him to breaking point. Even Madame Giry agrees that she has gone too far and deserves to be punished. Such was life. I would be extremely interested in hearing your thoughts on this chapter. ~ Louise Anne