Greetings to all, along with my wishes for an easy week. Let's leave troubles to novel heroes who can handle them…

Thank you all for reading and reviewing this story.

And above all, I thank Desiree and TOWDNWTBN for making this story readable…

Chapter 35 –"Wednesday the Best Day of All"

"I am not leaving!" Christine said in a decisive voice. "I am not leaving you. I don't know how you can ask this of me after the last couple of days at the Twin House, after… this morning!" She bit her trembling lip. She heard the hint of hysteria lacing her words and took a deep breath to calm herself. Christine ran her hand over her dress, which was ivory with blue details, as if to smooth an invisible wrinkle. She refused to cry! She was determined not to cry, especially on a day like this.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The reflection greeting her was that of a stranger, of a woman with flushed cheeks and wild, loose curls—he had specifically instructed her to leave her hair down this morning, no matter her objections. Fashion and etiquette meant nothing to him. The woman in the reflection still looked happy, as if the taste of her earlier joy was too strong to dilute so easily. Easily?
A sad smile appeared on the happy woman's face. Christine felt sorry for her.

Her eyes fell on the plate with the piece of the dark, rich fruitcake Emily must have baked last night. He had planned every little detail. What had Emily been humming today?
"White-chosen right
Blue-love will be true."

The Welshwoman had seemed pleased this morning. A certain sadness veiled her eyes, but this was to be expected, given the circumstances. Now the circumstances had changed. Emily must be extremely happy, and Christine was that woman in the mirror whose happiness had been robbed.

What was that other saying about the days?
"Wednesday the best day of all,
Thursday for crosses,
Friday for losses, and
Saturday for no luck at all."
Was today really Wednesday? Perhaps it was Friday….

Suddenly, she hated all those superstitious English sayings and the little songs she had wholeheartedly enjoyed this very morning.
Suddenly, her lace choker with the tiny pearls and diamonds—a gift that with her reluctance had replaced her yellow necklace for the day—felt too tight. The woman in the mirror lifted a satin-gloved hand, trying to untie what now seemed like a tangled knot, suffocating her. Her movements were anxious, desperate. A pair of much larger, kidskin-sheathed hands—pearl-colored gloves were his only extraordinary piece of clothing along with his light-gray waistcoat—came to her rescue.

In a matter of seconds, the necklace lay on her dresser, abandoned and useless, much like how she felt. She picked up her yellow pendant and tried to put it on with trembling hands. In vain! Now, she had become superstitious. The large hands, once more, came to her aid. They were gloveless now, warm as they caressed her shoulders and the skin revealed by her modest bodice. Had it been only three days ago he had called her "his shy, modest wife"? At the moment, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Anger filled her at her loss, and she finally found the courage to look at the golden eyes in the mirror. "I am not leaving! There must be another way!" she almost shouted at him. She winced at hearing her own voice. His gaze on her was unwavering.
"At least help me get out of this mockery—" Her voice broke, but she managed to raise her chin. Her hands unfastened the top buttons of her ivory dress.

"Christine—" Had he known his voice would be her undoing? Was that why he had deprived her of its powerful, beautiful sound, now laced with sadness and a harshness that didn't remain unnoticed? Whether he wished to reprimand or console her, her eyes flooded with tears that now streamed down her cheeks, running over the corner of her mouth.

She heard him growl, burying his face in her hair, sliding his arms around her in a tight embrace that almost left her breathless.

"You said a hug is all it takes," he complained after a while when the tears didn't subside.

"You can't ask me to leave you, Erik, and expect a hug to solve anything." She stifled a sob.

Still holding her by the waist, her back crushed against his chest, he clumsily wiped her tears with the pads of his fingers, his eyes gleaming in the mirror.

"Do you think that if there were any other way, I would choose this one?"

"What if Robert hadn't come today? What if he hadn't returned all of a sudden?" She turned to face him.

"Robert is here to help me…to help you and Emily get out of Red Door Cottage safely. If it hadn't been today, it could have been yesterday or tomorrow or the day after. What is important is that he risked coming back, and he is here on time! I've already told you! I myself wrote him a letter explaining the situation and asking for his help—"

"What if he hadn't found that note in his pocket? What if he didn't care enough to help? You surely must have thought of something else!" she challenged him.

"Of course I had another plan, but it would have been far more dangerous for all of us! Is that what you want? Tell me that it's what you want, and I will do it, Christine."

He knew her so well! She turned her back to him again, the woman in the mirror now looking as desperate as she felt, her cheeks pale, her eyes wide with unshed tears.

"And how do you know Robert will honor his part and actually present himself this evening? We haven't seen him yet…he hasn't sent a word. You've just said he's coming to get us out of Red Door Cottage this evening. What if you're wrong—" She wanted even a tiny piece of hope. He did not permit her even that. Placing his hands on her waist, he gently moved her to the window.

"What do you see in that tree over there?" She wanted to close her ears to his words. She didn't care for his plan, which would provide her a safe future. She just wanted this day, now.

"I can't see anything special," she said stubbornly. "There is a pillowcase on a high branch, but that's not strange. Probably the wind carried it there from the clothesline—"

"That is the signal Robert is here. He has done everything I asked, and he'll wait till evening to appear."

Christine sighed heavily. "Help me with this dress."

Erik started unbuttoning the countless pearl buttons, his movements deft and gentle as if caressing the eyelets.

"How long have you known this? That Robert is here?"

"I saw the pillowcase only this morning. I didn't appreciate his timing very well, either," he replied in a half-mocking, half-bitter tone.

"And still, you didn't say anything until now—"

He shifted her in his arms, his voice gravely serious when he talked. "Christine, you have to understand I wouldn't change anything… I could not change anything, no matter what. I've waited for this my whole life." His eyes were burning her. "You have time to pack this dress, and when we are together and safe again, you will wear it only for me, and I will take it off again with all the respect and care that befits." His tone was playful now, matching the half-smile on the visible side of his face.

"Then we will separate tonight? I am to go with Robert?" she asked miserably.

"You will go with Emily. Don't you want to be by her side in case she needs something?"

All the baby garments she had helped sew and knit and add laces to came to mind, but the selfish part of her would gladly have bidden Emily farewell at that very moment. At least she would have Robert by her side.

"It will be safer for me, too," he added, sensing her doubts. "I will have a clear head, knowing you are safe. After all, in four to five days at the most, I'll join you. Don't you have patience enough to wait four days?" The same sly smile appeared on his face.

Christine felt herself pouting. How fitting for her and the image of the mature, decisive woman she wished to show!
By that time, he had her seated on the armchair by the fireplace. He unlaced her cream-colored silk slippers, his fingers moving about their blue beads with swift, focused movements.

"You have to change clothes now, Christine. A traveling outfit, something dark-colored, something warm…"

"I hadn't imagined being undressed in this fashion on such a day as today," she muttered bitterly, looking at him as he knelt before her.

"I don't want to think or imagine anything now, or I will never let you go…" he growled, running a hand through his short hair.

Christine bowed her head, looking at her gloved hands resting helpless in her lap. She started peeling off her gloves, a task he, as much as she, had avoided so far. She let them fall to the floor, cupping one hand in the other, averting her eyes from her ring.

No need to inflict more pain on herself. She had to be strong.

II II II

The tears she had felt stinging her throat all afternoon were now free to flow. She didn't let them. She squeezed the small book in her hand, resisting the urge to throw it in the mud as she walked the few dozen yards that separated her from the cart Robert had brought. She saw him in the darkness as he helped seat Emily in the back, way too high and uncomfortable for a woman in her condition.

Robert had been true to his word, his stupid pillowcase signal, his love for Emily and for his unborn child, and had appeared in the kitchen half an hour after the night's darkness had set in. He had left the cart a few yards outside the Red Door Cottage estate, and he had immediately started to load the few possessions the women had gathered for the journey.

Christine had seen him enclosing Emily in his arms, tears gleaming in his eyes as he looked at her swollen belly. Emily was huge but looked absolutely beautiful, her hazel eyes restless as she watched Erik, her hands stroking Jamie's unruly hair, whispering in his ear. Christine admired her for her strength at a moment like this, but then bitterness prevailed. Emily would finally be with the father of her child. She was the one who was being torn away from Erik with every step she took, and it was tearing her apart.

All afternoon, she had been overwhelmed with emotion, her stomach a tight, painful knot, preventing any words from coming out. She was thankful for that now, as she felt that if she opened her mouth, her scream would spoil every carefully-made plan for secrecy.

Instead, she gritted her teeth and straightened her hunched shoulders. She knew Erik was watching her. She knew he was in pain, too.

She had hugged Jamie tightly before she left. The poor boy had looked at her in puzzlement. She felt for him. He was almost as dependent on Erik as she was. He didn't know it yet, but he would be forced to leave him, too. If it wasn't tomorrow, it would be the day after. Erik would never risk his safety. Jamie would have to leave the village, his mother, and Mary. He must have guessed all that, but he was smiling, nevertheless, hoping he would be with Erik till the end. He was wrong.

Christine let Robert help her into the cart. She sat beside Emily like an automaton, covering herself with the blanket meant for her. Her eyes fell on the woman's trunk, which probably carried all her possessions and the baby's clothes. Her own traveling satchel seemed small and lonely.

Robert climbed onto the box and spurred the horse on with a quick flick of the reins. The sound of the hooves barely registered in her ears beneath the blowing wind. The air was heavy with moisture carried from afar, but the clouds in the sky were few, though they occasionally hid the half moon.

Emily sank lower—no one could see the two women in the cart—and cupped her hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry. He will be fine."

"He has no care for the danger he's getting into," Christine whispered bitterly. "In the past—"

"In the past…he didn't have you!" Emily squeezed her hand and shifted in her uncomfortable position.

Christine rested her head on her satchel, adjusting the hood of her cloak. She was still holding the small, thick book in her hand. He had given it to her just before she left.

"What is it? The Song of Songs, Psalms and Hymns?" she had read the title aloud. It was a strange choice for Erik.

"'Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet,'" he had smiled at her cryptically and traced her lips with his thumb. "'Thy love is better than wine.' Far better, Christine..." He had sighed, still smiling. "Keep this with you. There is nothing suspicious about a woman carrying a hymnal."

She had opened the book, recognizing a chapter of Solomon's Songs in the first pages. The letters were almost brown. It was an old book.

"All the pages are stuck in the back," she had muttered, more to herself.

"Leave them now. There is no time for that." He had distracted her, pulling her close to himself.

"Time for what?" She had asked as she left the book on his desk.

"You can't blame a man for being cautious, Christine, or protective." He had used that condescending tone that he knew always infuriated her.

"You can't blame a woman, either!" she had declared stubbornly. "And in case you are planning to be reckless or thoughtless about your safety, I warn you, Erik, and mark my words: your fate will be my fate! It is sealed."

He had tried to lessen the seriousness of her tone, smiling one of his half-cynical, half-teasing smiles.

"With this your fate-my fate, are you implying something?" Contrary to his tone, his eyes had been gravely serious.

"I just thought I should make some things clear in case you needed any additional motivation."

"Christine, I have been so careful throughout all this…my behavior since all this mess began could easily be described as one of a coward!"

"Don't you dare say that! Don't you even dare think it!" The lump lodged in her throat had kept her silent for a while. Pressing her palm on his chest, she had calmed herself by feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Whatever you do… whatever you have to do to get back safely to me…do it, Erik. Don't hesitate. Don't think twice about me, about anyone. Just come back to me!"

He had crushed her into his arms, not saying anything; their breathing was uneven and labored.

"Please, Erik…don't make me go. I have a terrible feeling about this," she had whispered miserably.

He had lifted her up, his hands around her waist, looking straight into her eyes.

"That is all Emily's fault! Damn her silly Welsh premonitions! She has driven you insane since this morning. You can't take her seriously, Christine!"

"Don't blame Emily. I don't need great encouragement. Once, I believed in angels…" Her teasing had erased the irritation in his eyes.

"I beg you, Christine. Don't make it more difficult than it is." He had leaned his forehead on hers with his eyes closed.

At that moment, she had wished for them to be old. A couple of boring, elderly people, tired of life and living. Then his scent—that sweet scent with a hint of smokiness—would have meant nothing to her anymore, his touch would have excited her no more, would have been more familiar than the touch of her own hands, and the most exciting thing that could have happened to them might be their being late for tea. At that moment, she would have sacrificed all the promise of future with the man she loved just to feel him safe again, to be rid of that fear.

That same familiar fear gripped her now, made her want to crawl out of her skin. She opened the book with trembling hands. A single piece of paper fell out as she turned the first pages. It was a sheet of music with something scribbled on the back. The moonlight was hardly enough for her to read by. Running a finger over the notes, she put it back and traced the stuck pages of the hymnal. In her effort to reveal what lay within them, one page was torn, and then another and another. Emily was looking at her, confused, as she tore more pages until a secret box appeared, tightly fixed into a space cut into the last hundred pages of the book. She had some difficulty removing the box from the hole cut exactly to its size, and waited for the moon to emerge from the clouds before opening it. But the moonlight wasn't necessary to see what the box contained. More than a handful of precious gemstones: diamonds, emeralds, and rubies gleamed before her eyes.

"Christine!" Emily exclaimed in surprise, picking up what seemed to be a sapphire, which had slipped onto the blanket from Christine's full palm.

Christine looked at the large and the smaller stones in her palm. There were more in the box. A lot more.

"You can't blame a man for being cautious, or protective." His words echoed in her mind as a chill shuddered through her. These were her protection in case something happened. To him.

She imagined herself living in his cottage on the outskirts of Paris again as she had done for more than two years. She wouldn't have any financial worries this time. If she wanted, she could sell the house, buy another one wherever she wanted. She had the funds in her palm. He had made sure of this. Who knew what other arrangements he had made? She growled to keep herself from screaming. Only Emily's stare on her kept her from throwing the gems onto the ground. Instead, she hastily put them back into the box and closed the book.

"Stop! Robert, stop the cart!" The man glanced at her over his shoulder. Something in her eyes, in her voice convinced him she was dead serious.

"What are you doing?" Emily held her arm.

"Take this for me." She slipped the music sheet between her bodice and her corset before handing Emily the book. "I'm going back."

"That is ridiculous! Christine, please be reasonable!" She barely heard Robert's voice.

"If you don't stop the cart, I'll jump." She covered Emily with her blanket, and moved towards the edge.

"Don't do this. Erik said—" Emily's words were muffled by the wind.

Christine was at the edge of the cart, her feet dangling, when she heard Robert clicking his tongue to the horse. The cart halted. She didn't wait for him to help her down. She jumped down and gestured for him to leave.

Emily's eyes were wide and scared. Christine smiled at her and turned her back, starting to walk. She smiled to herself, too. Fear was contagious. She knew that. Now she felt more in control, her fear diminishing with every step she took. Now it was Emily who was afraid.

II II II

Christine knew the chilling wind was to blame for her steps getting shorter by the minute, but she felt warm and kept going. Her black wool high-buttoned traveling boots would be ruined, but she couldn't have cared less. Not the drizzle, not even Erik's anticipated anger and disappointment, were enough for her to regret her decision. The only thing she regretted was that she hadn't climbed out of the cart sooner.

She remembered that they had passed the crossroads and had followed the road leading to Swindon instead of the village, so when she walked past it again, she had to restrain herself from running. No more than ten or fifteen minutes of fast walking and she would be home. Would she make it there before he had left for the Twin House?

The dull sound of a cart behind her reached her ears through the wind as she had her first glimpse of the lights at the Red Door Cottage. The fires in the hearths of the library and the music room had been blazing even before she left in an attempt to make everything appear ordinary and normal.
Christine tried to flatten herself against the taller hedge at the left side of the lane to remain unnoticed, but it was too late. She shuddered as she heard the cart halt a few feet before her. Straightening her shoulders against the wind, the drizzle, and the fear that had her shivering under her heavy traveling suit, she gazed at the man who had turned to look at her.

"Madame Giry?" the man asked hesitantly.

"Mr. Hamilton!" Christine exclaimed, relieved, recognizing his voice. She approached the familiar cart, hoping he wouldn't ask her what she was doing there in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, the man seemed more distressed than she was.

"Please allow me to escort you to the Red Door Cottage!" He had climbed down from the cart and was reaching for her hand. Christine hesitated, frowning. What was he doing at this hour away from home? Could a late delivery have delayed him so much?

As if hearing her questions, Mr. Hamilton smiled at her reassuringly.

"I am going to the Red Door Cottage, anyway. I received a note half an hour ago. It was very strange. According to it, it is a matter of life and death that I deliver this letter to Monsieur Rochelle immediately."

"God!" Christine pressed her hand to her chest.

"I have to see that this reaches his hands." He tapped his jacket pocket under his overcoat.
"May I help you?"

Now Christine gave him her hand, her heart fluttering.

II II II

Emily had watched Christine's dark silhouette reduce to a black dot as the distance between them grew. She wondered how long it would take for her to reach the Red Door Cottage. Half an hour? More? The wind was blowing against her. That would definitely stall her. Would she notice the dark clouds gathering in the north? Would she be safely home before the heavy rain started?

Home. Emily placed a protective hand on her belly. The only time and place she had felt "at home" during her entire adult life had been while living at the Red Door Cottage. Maybe that was the reason her heart felt so heavy at leaving it behind and her stomach constricted almost in pain. She tried to shake away the ominous feeling responsible for that constant bitter taste in her mouth and hid the book under Christine's clothes in her satchel. The white garment caught her eye, but she tucked it in gently and fastened the bag firmly.

She had just adjusted the blankets around her when she saw a light far away in the road before them. The light moved from side to side twice, and then was held still.

"Robbie—" she whispered, but the wind took her words away. She couldn't see his face, and he didn't turn to offer a word of consolation.

The carriage went on at a steady pace, approaching the light—what seemed like a lantern hanging now from a branch—while a horseman, completely blocking their way, held up his hand, its palm facing them in an unmistakable signal for them to stop.

Hearing Robert muttering a curse through his teeth, Emily felt herself shrinking under her blankets. She slid her arms around herself and held her breath, waiting.