A/N Here it is; the performance and the BIG MOMENT!
Enjoy!
Chapter Thirty-seven
Time is a strange entity; either hurrying by too quickly to be truly appreciated or crawling past with agonizing slowness, the very seconds seeming to stretch out longer and longer.
The next day was a contrasting combination of the two for Aimee and Enjolras. For Aimee, filled with a new purpose and reckless flutterings of excitement for her debut that night, the time felt as if it were skipping past; bright, weightless, hurrying her towards her bright future. For Enjolras, pinned beneath the burning sun on the white hot road out to the north, the journey back to the city seemed interminable; a curious form of hell filled with biting flies and choking dust. All he longed for was the familiar cool of his apartment and the soothing feel of Aimee in his arms again.
While Aimee spent the morning treating herself to a long, relaxing bath, Enjolras trekked on through the heat, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his already damp back. All of them were tired and dusty, hungry and sore. They rode all morning until the fierce heat of the day eventually forced Rene to call a halt.
"The horses need to rest and be watered…and so do we," he said, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. "We'll rest here until it is cooler and then we'll carry on. In fact, I would prefer to reach the gate at dusk if we can; at the end of a day this hot people will be less vigilant and less curious about our cargo."
As Enjolras stiffly dismounted, several conflicting emotions via for dominance about this decision. It was easy to understand the reasoning behind it, and he was indeed glad of the reprieve from the heat. But he was also very aware that yet more time was being placed between not only his reunion with Aimee, but also his planning time with the Amis. Their copy of the plans, the damning plans regarding the destruction of Saint-Michel, would have reached the Amis by now as well as Rene's second-in-command; events should be moving forwards swiftly, gathering crucial speed, but he was detained here, with everything he wanted laying many miles before him.
While Aimee dressed and braided back her hair, occasionally practising her lines and songs as she meandered through Margo's apartment, Enjolras tried to get some sleep, the soft whisper of the trees lulling him into a brief period of slumber. But time moves on and all too soon he was being shaken awake by an equally weary looking Courfeyrac. As the group moved off once more, glad of the few clouds that hung about them, in the city Aimee wished Margo farewell and departed for the theatre, her stride steady and measured, a song in her throat and a calmness in her heart.
"It can't be far now," Courfeyrac murmured, wearily slapping away yet another fly.
"The last marker stone said six miles," Enjolras replied, glancing back to check their distance from the rest of the convoy. Bahorel was riding beside the cart, talking amicably with the driver, while Rene rode just ahead, dark head bent in thought.
There was no sound but the buzz of flies, the swish of the horses' tails, and the steady beat of their hooves on the road. Distractedly, Enjolras heard Courfeyrac fumble with something in his pocket but paid no mind. He knew that Aimee would be preparing for the show now; changing into her costume, applying her stage make-up, running through her vocal exercises. He held back a sigh, wishing he could be there to see her, just for a tiny shred of normality in a time when his life, and that of many others, was about to be changed radically.
"You could make it, you know," Courfeyrac said quietly, a small click indicating he had withdrawn his watch to check the time.
"I could what?" Enjolras asked, not sure if he had heard right.
"We're probably only about four or five miles away, on a good road, and the performance doesn't start for another hour. If you pushed it, you could make it." Courfeyrac glanced back. "You've done everything Le Faucon has asked; you came on this damn mission when, honestly, I don't see why you were even needed. You've worn yourself ragged for him…won't you do the same for Aimee?"
His words held a solid ring of truth and Enjolras thought wildly for a moment, his heart racing. It was true; he could do it. "He did say he wanted us split up for when we entered the city…"
"I'll explain," Courfeyrac encouraged, a weary smile lifting his face. "Now go, you fool, go!"
So he did. He clapped back his heels, startling his dozing horse into a canter, then a gallop, and charged toward the city that lay in a dull smudge on the horizon.
Aimee smiled exultantly as she hurried back through the corridors to her dressing room, lapping up the praise and congratulations of the various theatre workers as she passed. The first act had been a rousing success with thunderous applause meeting all of the songs. The audience was engaged and appreciative, a perfect combination, and the whole cast were on top form. It really didn't get any better than this.
Yet despite the elation dancing through her, she was very aware of how little time she had until the second act began. An elaborate costume change had already been accomplished as soon as she rushed off stage, but she had accidently left the key props that went with it in her dressing room. Oblivious to the darkness of the corridor that only a day previously would have had her shifting nervously, she hurried in and opened the drawer holding the desired items.
Conscious of the countdown she faced, she whirled about to return to the wings, but then something on her dressing table caught her eye, something that had definitely not been there before the show. The envelope was made of thick, cream parchment; the ink was rich and black. Three words were inscribed on the front, three words that lifted her heart in ecstasy and filled her eyes with helpless tears of joy: To my daughter. If she had paused to think, she would have recalled that she had locked her dressing room and that she was the only person in possession of a key. But given the fact that she was holding a missive from her father, her only living family and the person she had been trying to find for nearly a year, she was not analysing the manner in which it had arrived.
Disregarding the luxury of the paper she ruthlessly tore open the envelope, her hands shaking as she unfolded the letter within. Time weighed heavy on her, but she knew she could not go back out and perform until she had learnt whatever scribed secrets this letter held. Her eyes flew back and forth across the short piece of text, every word to her like a mouthful of water to a dying man.
To my dear daughter,
Forgive me for my absence and my cowardice, my dear. I know I promised to find you, that I would come for you and I have not. I have, however, been watching you, but circumstances more dangerous than you or I ever imagined have forced me to keep away. I knew you were safe with the people who found you and I look forward to the day I am able to thank them in person.
I am sorry for the distress I have caused you and the desire for answers you must now have. Fear not, for all will be explained to you soon, very soon. Come back to your dressing room after the performance has ended and I shall be waiting here for you.
I shall see you soon,
Your dearest Papa
A sharp rap at the dressing room door tore Aimee back. She jumped and dabbed quickly at the few tears that had escaped from her eyes, folding up the letter and tucking it away in a drawer.
"Aimee! Are you in there?" It was the stagehand, Maxence. "Curtain up in five minutes!"
"Thank you, Max," she called, hearing him scurry away on his next errand. Through her tears she smiled as she exited the room. She would see her father again so very soon and everything would be as it should be again.
"Thank you, Blessed Father," she whispered upwards. "Thank you for sending my Papa back to me."
She hurried away from the gloomy corridor, never seeing the shape detach itself from the wall opposite and creep silently into her dressing room.
Cries of annoyance and alarm preceded Enjolras' progress through the city gate, the iron shoes of his horse striking up bright sparks on the cobbles in the increasing gloom of the evening. He shouted unintelligible apologies as he passed, a wide, wry grin on his face at his uncharacteristic recklessness. He thundered into the stable yard they had set out from three days before, flinging himself off the exhausted horse.
"The others will settle any money we owe when they arrive," he breathlessly promised the bemused livery owner as he yanked his saddlebags off the saddle and dashed out of the stable yard. The distance to the theatre was not great but he was utterly worn-out and the streets were crowded on this fine evening. He skidded to a stop on a street corner, his lungs heaving, despair setting in at the thought that he might be too late after all.
"Are you well, young man?" An elderly gentleman stopped beside him, stooping slightly to catch his downturned eye.
"What…is the…time…please…monsieur?" he gasped, scrubbing dust from his face with the cuff of his shirt.
The gentleman raised his eyes, surprised at the educated tones coming out the mouth of the scruffy young man before him. Nevertheless he withdrew a large pocket watch and checked.
"Twenty-seven minutes past nine o'clock," he said. "Are you quite sure you are feeling well?"
"I'mquite sure, thank you, monsieur!" Enjolras assured him before running off again.
He dodged people and animals, arriving at the theatre in a remarkably short time. He did not even attempt to go through the front entrance; he was not dressed appropriately for the theatre and the show would be well into the second act now. Instead he took the now familiar route to the stage door, relieved to see someone sat outside.
"I'm sorry, monsieur, but you can't be back here." The voice was young and polite and Enjolras thankfully recognized it as that of the young man who had let Aimee know of his presence several times before - Maxence.
"I'm here to see Aimee," he said, advancing further down the alley. "I'm her… her young man, Enjolras. You've told her I was here to pick her up a few times, remember?"
After a brief moment the boy's face registered recognition. "Sorry, monsieur, but I didn't recognize you like, well, like this." He gestured to Enjolras' dishevelled and dirty state.
Enjolras grinned in understanding. "I'm here to surprise her," he said looking pointedly at the open door. "I said I wouldn't be able to see her show, but I got back in time, so…"
Maxence let the subtle plea hang in the air for a moment, obvious enjoying the small amount of power he had. He grinned suddenly. "You certainly are going to surprise her looking like that," he commented, pushing away from the wall he was leant on and beckoning. "It's maybe not the best of seats but you can watch her from up in the gods, that's right up at the top. The show's nearly finished so we need to hurry!"
They both set off at a brisk walk down a winding corridor. Enjolras was soon lost and he wondered how on earth anyone ever knew where they were going.
"You there! Boy!" The sharp tones made them both flinch guiltily and Maxence rolled his eyes at Enjolras in apology.
"Yes, Mademoiselle Evangeline?" he asked politely, turning to speak to the woman who had materialized on their right.
"Who is this?" she demanded. Although it was faint Enjolras could hear a slight slur to her words, a slur he heard all too often in Grantaire's voice when he was bordering on drunk.
"My name is Julien Enjolras," he explained hurriedly, hearing the faintest strains of music and knowing that if he did not hurry his wild dash would have been for nothing. "I am Aimee's…beau."
"Oh! Oh, I don't think Aimee knows you were coming!" Evangeline said in surprise, a wide, false smile on her sharply beautiful features. "She told me you were indisposed for the evening, something about a long trip you had to complete, I believe. I am Evangeline, the prima donna of Theatre de la Reine."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure," Enjolras replied, itching to hurry away. "Now, if you will excuse me, mademoiselle, but I must be swift if I am to see any of the show and I have worked very hard to arrive in time for any of it."
"Of course, of course," she said, a little too sweetly if Enjolras was being honest. "Stay up there a while afterwards because…um…it will be very crowded down here after curtain." She smiled again. "Maybe ten minutes or so?" Her eyes moved uneasily around his face and Enjolras got the distinct feeling that she was hiding something. A rise in the music drew his attention back and he bowed briefly then hurried up the steep winding stairs after Maxence.
The stage lights were bright in Aimee's eyes as she prepared for her final aria. It was a difficult and imposing song, but for some reason it was by far her favourite. She walked to her correct position, glancing sadly over her shoulder as her on-stage love walked away from her, according to the script, never to return.
The opening notes of the instrumental began to play and she risked a quick glance up at Chavenage's and Leblanc's box. She had discussed with them at length how she wanted to perform the song, wanting to make it about a celebration of the love that her character had been granted, however briefly, and her loyalty to that love. She saw Chavenage nod almost imperceptibly, a wistful smile on his face, no doubt remembering her mother.
But now was not the time to be thinking of her past; now was the time to be thinking of her place on this stage and of her future dangling enticingly before her, filled with blue eyes and golden hair and bright scarlet adoration. Thoughts of Enjolras filled her mind and the deep love she felt for him inside of her filled her up with joy as she began to sing, caressing the first words as they rolled out on her tongue.
Never knew I could feel like this.
Like I've never seen the sky before
Want to vanish inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more
Up in the gods Enjolras sat utterly entranced as he watched Aimee. Despite his distance from the stage he could hear every word perfectly. Every flawless syllable of his darling's voice carried to him and nourished his soul with the knowledge that she was singing for him, even though she did not know he was here.
He never saw the gently mocking smile on Maxence's face as he exited the small space. "He's smitten, that one is," the young man muttered, shaking his head in a slightly envious manner.
Even if Enjolras had heard him, he would have no reason to dispute the claim, for the expression on his face was more than enough proof as he watched Aimee continue.
Listen to my heart, can't you hear it sing?
Telling me to give you everything
Seasons may change, winter to spring
She let a brief pause hang, recalling Enjolras and her playing chess by the fire in the chill of winter and of strolling arm in arm through the city on mild spring evenings.
But I love you until the end of time
Come what may
Come what may
I will love you until my dying day
She wished that she could look out into the audience and find Enjolras' eyes, that she could sing this song, this song that encapsulated so much of what she was feeling, directly to him and allow him to see her heart laid bare.
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste
It all revolves around you
'It is a miracle that I am alive,' she thought. 'To waste such a gift would be the greatest sin imaginable. And not only am I alive, but I have gained the greatest man in the world as my sweetheart.' Her heart gave a happy leap at the thought, along with a deep longing to see him again, a longing that added a heightened emotion and drama to the promise held within the next verse.
And there's no mountain too high
No river too wide
Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side
Storm clouds may gather,
And stars may collide…
A stillness fell over the audience and up in the gods Enjolras could not help the lump that formed in his throat, a mixture of busting pride and sweeping affection catching him off guard.
But I love you
Until the end of time
Come what may
Come what may
I will love you until my dying day
Aimee glided to center stage, the spotlight shining fully on her to highlight every movement of her glittering costume. She spread her arms wide and released every fear, every reservation, every dark moment, out into the silent cavity of the theatre.
Oh, come what may, come what may
I will love you, Oh I will love you
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place…
The strings were cut and she felt herself lighten as the weigh lifted, a plethora of emotions and focuses flying through her mind as the words began to hold meaning for more than she had ever thought; her papa, Enjolras, her Heavenly Father, the love for them poured out of her on the rolling wave of sweet music. The song built to its climax and her voice rose sweetly, richly, to swear her ultimate promise.
Come what may
Come what may
I will love you until my dying day
She held the final, soaring note, her voice echoing around the space and making Enjolras feel as if she were singing directly beside him. Uncaring that he was alone in the gods and that she could not see him, he joined in with the thunderous applause as the curtain fell. A minute later, the heavy velvet reopened to allow the cast to take their bows, the applause noticeably rising as Aimee took her solo curtain call.
On stage Aimee bowed low, hiding the sudden tears that sprung up. When she straightened a blinding smile was in place and remained so for the duration of the curtain call. She looked up to her manager's box, impulsively blowing them a kiss, finding no other way to express her overwhelming gratitude.
The curtains finally closed on the triumphant cast and Enjolras collapsed backwards, heart hammering with what had just transpired. He sat, silently, allowing his thoughts to catch up and process the wondrous events. But before long the underlying urge to see Aimee, to see the startled delight on her face at his appearance in the moment before he swept her up in his arms, was too strong. He stumbled to his feet, the weariness once again trying to knock him back, and moved towards the doorway that would lead him back down.
Ignoring the steep decline of the stairs he hurried down, only to find his way blocked by a gabbling, buzzing, laughing, crying horde of people at the bottom. He cursed silently, remembering the advice of the slightly drunk prima donna who had told him to wait. It appeared, for all of her lack of sobriety and strange nervousness, that she had in fact been attempting to help him.
He stood helplessly for a few minutes, trapped on the stairs and realizing that he had no way of knowing where Aimee was, desperately hoping she might appear in the crowd. Two minutes passed, then five, then nearly ten before the crush dissipated sufficiently. Finally being able to move he stepped off the stairs and weaved awkwardly through the remaining people, eventually stopping a very tall man, who appeared be dressed as a bird of some sort, and asked where he might find Aimee.
The man stared at him suspiciously for a minute, still managing to look intimidating despite the remnants of sparkling gold paint on his face. "She's in her dressing room," he replied slowly. "Down that hall until you see a white door on the left."
"Thank you," Enjolras said, but was restrained from moving off by a large hand landing on his shoulder.
"If she wants you to leave, then you better goddamn leave," he growled. "Us theatre folk look after our own, especially the young ones like Aimee. You try anything and you'll find yourself taking an unpleasant bath in the Seine. Understood?"
Feeling startled and not a little intimidated Enjolras nodded, moving away hurriedly as the hand lifted. As he traversed the dim corridor he couldn't help a smile creeping onto his face. It was good to know that Aimee was watched over so fiercely by others.
"Are you lost, monsieur?" The silken purr from behind him made him jump in surprise.
He whirled around to find the woman from earlier trailing along behind him. She gave him an alluring dark red smile and looked up at him with faux innocent doe eyes.
"Madam," he greeted stiffly, continuing to walk. He had no care of manners at this moment, not when he was so close to Aimee.
"Call me Evangeline, please," she said, rousing his irritation when she grasped hold of his elbow. "I doubt Aimee is expecting you. Perhaps it is unwise to disturb her right now?"
He shook her off with a scowl. "I would kindly ask you not to interfere in my affairs," he snapped, walking away once again, his heart beating a little faster as the white door came into sight.
"I am sorry to tell you that your affairs have already been interfered with." Her cryptic words brought him up short.
"I suggest you explain yourself," he growled, stalking back towards her.
She looked up at him with an expression on her face that could only be described as pitying; Enjolras did not like it in the least.
"How do you think she earned the privilege of performing the last night of a sell-out show?" she asked gently.
It took a moment for her implications to sink in but then Enjolras reeled back as if struck, fury burning through him. "How dare you!" he hissed. "How dare you slander her in such a way!"
Evangeline did not shrink back, instead moving forwards and replacing her hand on his arm. "Monsieur Enjolras, there is no doubt that Aimee cared for you, and she may still hold you in a certain fond regard…but she has dreams and ambitions now that are bigger than her relationship with you."
"I don't believe you," he snarled. "She would never lie to me, ever!"
Again, the woman before him gave a sad smile. "She is an actress, Enjolras," she said, her accent not softening the bite of the words at all, "a very good actress. Do you really think she tells you everything?"
"Yes," Enjolras bit out, pulled from his destination by the jabbing words of the soprano.
"Did she tell you that the patron of the theatre asked for her specifically?"
He froze, looking deep into the eyes before him to see if she was lying. Only open honesty looked back at him, tinged as always with threads of pity. It turned his stomach.
"I don't remember," he eventually stuttered out.
She titled her head a fraction. "The patron is a very rich and generous man. She was very fortunate to have caught his eye…or very skilled. To have attracted his regard is a shrewd move on her part; he has the influence and the means to give her a successful career and a luxurious lifestyle."
"Aimee doesn't care for fame or luxury," he protested, thinking of how happy they had been.
Her eyes trailed critically up and down his shabby appearance. "Every actress wants those things," she murmured, shrugging in a way that suggested he really should have known better.
The person that Evangeline was describing did not match up with the Aimee he knew and loved. He began to back away, removing himself from the web of lies he had stumbled into, shaking his head in dumb disbelief. He only managed to walk a few more steps down the corridor, the faint glow of the white door a beacon of reality, when it opened and Aimee exited. A smile broke out over his face, devouring the sight of her before him. He prepared to call out, readying himself for the enthusiastic welcome he would no doubt receive…when another person appeared.
He was tall, lean, and dark-haired, dressed in the height of fashion. His arm was wrapped familiarly around Aimee's waist and her head rested naturally against his shoulder. Unable to believe what he was seeing Enjolras swore his heart froze in his chest as he watched the man dip his head to kiss Aimee, his Aimee, deeply and intimately on the lips. The couple never saw him, so wrapped up in one another were they. A smartly-dressed man who had the stance and watchfulness of a body guard followed the pair out of the dressing room and escorted them down the corridor and out of sight.
"I'm sorry," Evangeline murmured from beside him, then thankfully turning away to leave him in alone. And he felt alone. In fact, he had never felt so totally, completely, and utterly alone in his life.
Every breath he pulled into his lungs burned. His knees shook. His vision swam with sudden blinding tears. He stumbled to the open door of the dressing room, finding an open bottle of expensive champagne, tow glasses, and an unwrapped gift box. The sight turned his stomach and bile rose in his throat.
Time after that flew erratically for him. He somehow found himself outside of the theatre and then trudging home through darkening streets to his apartment. His heart continued beat, but there was no warmth to it. His fingers felt numb; his mind was blank except for the repeating image of Aimee wrapped up in the other man's arms. Some indeterminable time later he was in his street, within sight of Margo's house with no real memory of how he had arrived there. His knees buckled for a brief second in complaint of the stresses put upon them and he stumbled against the wall of a building, cutting his cheek on the rough masonry. A sound that may have been a sob or a howl of rage tore itself from his throat as a wave of burning pain lanced through his chest, the betrayal scorching every tender shoot of happiness and love and trust that had sprung up in the previously barren wasteland of his heart.
It burnt and consumed and destroyed everything in a blistering flash-flame and until there was nothing left, nothing but hard cold stone. The pain froze, the anger froze and nothing was left but a spiked, icy barrier, shot through with black cracks of poisoning distrust.
He entered the house with stiff calculated movements, a walking statue shattered on the inside, approaching the stairs with measured strides. As his foot alighted on the first tread, Margo's door opened and out of sheer habit he turned towards the sound. Courfeyrac stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and trembling. His coat was torn and muddy and his breathing shallow. A murky line of crimson blood had dried down over his temple. Over his friend's shoulder Enjolras could see Margo wringing her hands helplessly, her skin unnaturally pale.
"Something went wrong," Courfeyrac babbled, his words running and sliding together in a disorganized jumble. "The gate was guarded by the wrong guards…tried to search the wagon…the driver panicked and ran…we had to get the cart through…they…" he trailed off as if the horror of what he was relating had only must occurred to him.
Enjolras listened to the words keenly. Here was a different focus, a problem to fix. He was good at this; he knew to do and how to behave and what was expected of him. It was practical and selfless and honest. He had been foolish to forget that.
"They what, Courfeyrac?" he asked, tone sharp, in fact so sharp it made Margo raise her head in shocked curiosity. "What exactly has happened?"
Courfeyrac shook his head as if to clear the muddle, true despair shining suddenly in his eyes. He looked up, holding Enjolras' gaze firmly, and spoke in a chillingly clear voice.
"Rene has been captured by the National Guard."
A/N DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! Oh, I have been waiting to write that section for a LONG time now; I hope it doesn't disappoint. Sling me a review if you would be so kind, it always means so much to know that people enjoy the crazy that pours out of my head.
The song used in here is, of course, 'Come What May' from Moulin Rouge.
Until next time, mes amis!
Libz