Usually, Christine felt guilty for the quantity of luggage she and her husband used. Worse, it was never her responsibility to move unless she absolutely insisted. On this foggy Monday morning, however, Christine's troubled mind felt only gratitude for the task which had been so gallantly handled by the valets from their hotel.
She clung to Raoul's hand and stood up straight, her chin up and shoulders back.
"You look very regal," Raoul murmured to her as he led the way along the train towards their compartment.
"I'm managing, that's all," said Christine.
"No. You always look quite regal," he replied, a twinge of humor in his voice. "But nonetheless, I have never seen one manage stress so beautifully."
"Oh, stop it," Christine said, smiling despite herself.
"Here we are, ma chere madame," said Raoul, stopping and offering a hand to help Christine up. The compartment was small but cozy and private, perfect for the contemplative stupor the Vicomtesse was sure to fall into.
Raoul spoke in his slightly-less-broken English to the conductor, who examined their tickets, and then he shut the door.
"And we are on our way," he said, sitting across from Christine, who gazed out the window at the bustling train platform. "The American countryside, Christine, imagine!"
Christine nodded distantly.
"Hey," said Raoul softly.
She looked over at him.
"It's going to be all right," he said. "I promise you that. And I know I've said that before, with mixed results, but I will do everything I can to make sure that it is."
Smiling gravely, Christine reached over and took his hand. "I know, Raoul. I am in shock, that's all."
"So am I," he said. "But I'm worried about you."
"Don't be," she insisted. "We'll talk about it soon. I am simply lost in my thoughts."
He nodded, feeling lost but determined to allow her the time she needed. "I will work on my book then, until you resurface, capitaine," he said, and Christine smiled in earnest, leaning against the window and closing her eyes.
Raoul dug through the satchel he'd kept with him, finding the book he'd started the previous morning, an account by a sailor of an expedition to the North Pole. He enjoyed reading books about sailing - it brought a sense of nostalgia that he found quite comfortable - but in truth, the book was quite dull. Raoul thought it might be better served if the patriotic sailor were instead a pirate captain, or a ghost. The bustle outside slowed down and then with a gentle jolt, the train began to move.
As he suppressed a yawn, Raoul realized that he hadn't read a word on the page. He tried once more from the beginning of the chapter but his mind immediately wandered. Subtly glancing up at Christine, he crossed and uncrossed his feet.
Christine moved, and he snapped to attention; however, she merely scratched the side of her head and grew still once more. Raoul felt something tug in his stomach.
"May I - may I say something?" Raoul said tentatively.
Although she looked bemused by his phrasing, Christine said, "Of course, darling."
"You've been so quiet," said Raoul, feeling his chest tighten as if it were rebelling against his wish to speak. "Since we saw him, you've hardly said a word, even this morning, and I don't know what you're thinking, or how you're feeling, and it's paralyzing, Christine, because we talk to each other about everything, don't we? I am just so afraid."
"Of what?" Christine asked, watching him, her expression unchanged.
"Of - of - oh, I don't know." Raoul gave up. "Never mind."
"Raoul…"
"I don't want to disturb you."
"You aren't," said Christine. "I'm disturbing you." She looked at the book he clutched in his hands. "Your knuckles are white. You're in a state."
"Don't worry about me."
"I always worry about you," she replied, eyes narrowing as if offended.
"Well, you are an angel," he said, and they both flinched immediately.
"We don't have to discuss it yet," said Raoul. "It's just - it's all a very big deal, and I don't know how you feel about it."
"I don't know either."
"Well, I-" Raoul shut the book. "Christine, what happened to you was deeply traumatizing and complicated and - and I don't want anything else to happen to you."
"You don't think he'll hurt me, do you?" Christine said tentatively.
"I don't know. I don't understand what happened between the two of you," said Raoul.
Christine's voice sharpened. "You aren't worried I'm going to run off, are you? Because that would be ridiculous. And insulting."
Something between Raoul's chest and his stomach was ripping him apart. "Christine, I don't know what you are going to do, because you won't talk to me!"
"I'm scared too, Raoul," she said, her voice strained. "I don't have the slightest idea what I'm going to do! And the only thing that I can think about is how much he must hate me for leaving him for dead! How all this time, I could at least imagine that he was at peace, when he must have been suffering still - and, dear God, how I must be doomed to spend an entire life lying to myself!"
She stopped abruptly, and they both stared at each other, Raoul's hands shaking and tears welling in Christine's eyes.
"I know that you want to make it okay," said Christine shakily. "You want to make everything okay; you want to protect me. And it's something I love about you." She took a deep breath before continuing. "But this isn't the kind of situation that can just be made right. I don't know how to talk to him. I don't even know what I would say. Whatever I do, and even if I choose to do nothing, I need to think very carefully about it first. So please - allow me to do that."
She looked away, back out the window, and Raoul slowly rested his weight against the back of his seat; during the conversation he'd practically pitched himself forward onto the floor. His arms and legs felt frozen in place, immovable and unwilling to cooperate. His blood pounded in his ears as if someone had taken to his skull with a hammer; the space of the train compartment, once cozy, now felt suffocating, and if the train had been standing still he might've burst through the door and taken off running - hell, his breathing was erratic and quick as though he already had...
"Raoul! Darling, are you all right?"
He blinked, but he saw nothing; clouds of color began to creep into his vision and he found himself staring at the ceiling of the train car, with Christine leaning over him.
"What?" said Raoul dazedly.
"I think you've passed out," said his wife, visibly shaken, pressing her hands to her face. "Oh, darling, what…"
"I…" Raoul felt the cushion of the seat against his back, and an uncomfortable pressure in his head.
"Lie there. I'll get you some water-"
"Don't," said Raoul, reaching out to stop her from getting up. "I'll be all right."
"What on earth happened?" Christine cried.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows and she helped him sit up the rest of the way. "It's nothing," said Raoul. "I got overwhelmed, that's all. It's happened to me before, when I was on the Prudence, in the early days. It happened last night, after I delivered our letter to Marguerite. I'll be fine, Christine…"
Without warning, Christine buried her face in his chest, holding him tightly as if she wished to squeeze the life from his chest. "I'm so sorry, Raoul."
"No, I'm sorry. I know you must have a great deal to think about."
"But it's unfair to keep it all from you," she said. She looked up at him. "Right now, can we just hold each other and pretend everything is normal?"
"But nothing is normal, sweetheart," he said, not unkindly.
"I know," said Christine. She laid her head back on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. "I know."
The bright green pastures and stately trees outside their window cheered up both the Vicomte and Vicomtesse greatly. They enjoyed a lovely soup and some fine wine, and by the time they disembarked, any trepidation either felt was kept carefully concealed from the other.
The town at which they arrived was small and quiet, if the streets visible from their window were any indication. A somber man stood by a horse drawn carriage outside the train station. "Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny?" he said.
"Bien sur," responded Raoul, smiling cheerfully at the man, who stared at him uninterestedly.
The man turned and nodded to two young men who stood nearby. They took off towards the train. "Gregory and Horace will collect your luggage. Monsieur Faucher has instructed me to bring you to his estate, where our housekeeper will show you to your rooms. Monsieur is away on a hunting trip but should be back by dinnertime."
Christine and Raoul glanced at each other, both with raised eyebrows in a mutually familiar expression that said, That's nobility for you.
The estate was situated between two low mountains, amid countless evergreen trees. While the house was no chateau, its wide, stately windows, balcony sweeping across the second floor, and small turrets caused them both to gasp in admiration. Christine leaned down and looked up; the house was a warm, buttery yellow that melted into the deep green of the trees and the crisp blue of the sky.
The housekeeper was a plump, elderly woman named Mrs. Alders. She ushered the de Chagnys through the entrance hall, which had a glistening tile floor and a ceiling that rose up at least two floors. Down a hallway, up a wide set of stairs, and Mrs. Alders held open the door.
"This is where you will stay," she said feebly, her eyes flicking back and forth between Christine and her husband. "Let me know if you need anything."
"We will, thank you," said Christine. The woman disappeared immediately, scurrying away in the direction they had come.
"This is lovely," said Raoul, raising his arms from his sides and stretching.
Christine couldn't help but agree. The room was spacious, but furnished simplistically; the walls were painted the faintest shade of lavender, and wide windows overlooked the sweeping lawn behind the house. There was even a small balcony, a wooden chair set at an angle outside the door.
"Is it just me," said Christine, sitting on the bed and flopping onto her back in an unladylike way her in-laws would have scoffed at, "or do your uncle's servants seem a bit afraid of us?"
"Hmmm," said Raoul. He mimicked Christine's movement so they lay side by side. "I suppose my uncle probably has told them about how - how disdainful his siblings are towards people they think are inferior. I'm sure they're afraid we'll be the same."
"I thought your uncle was supposed to be uptight and stern," said Christine.
Raoul shrugged. "I suppose he simply reserves kindness for those he believes deserve it." He laughed softly. "It may be an uphill battle for us, my dear wife."
"Ah, but no task is too great for the infamous pirate captain!" Christine declared, causing him to giggle. "And her husband."
"To th' ends o' the earth with ye, m'lady," replied Raoul in his best pirate voice which, to his credit, was improving.
A cough sounded by the door. "Ahem."
They both sat up in unison, met with the sight of the housekeeper and the carriage driver standing in the doorway.
"The boys will bring in your luggage now," said the man gruffly in English; Christine was delighted to find she understood. "And then unless you have further need of us, you are both free to roam around the estate until dinner, with the exception of Monsieur Faucher's quarters, which make up the entirety of the third floor."
"Thank you very much," said Christine warmly, with cautious accuracy. "Is there any way we can help prepare dinner?"
The wary glance between the driver and Mrs. Alders was interrupted by the arrival of the two young boys, each carrying a slightly alarming load of luggage.
"That's quite all right," said Mrs. Alders quickly, ushering the others out the door. "We will alert you when Monsieur returns." She bowed awkwardly and was gone.
Raoul turned to his wife, who frowned, lost in thought.
"What are you thinking?" said Raoul.
"I was just thinking," said Christine, "that perhaps the mighty pirate captain ought to have a sword." Raoul laughed, throwing an arm around her, and they set out to explore the forest outside.
Sorry for the delay - I've been in school, but recent political developments have allowed me enough peace of mind to return to the things I enjoy!
For those interested, Faucher is pronounced foh-shay. French is an absurdly lovely language.
Thank you so much for reading, and wherever you are, I hope you have a wonderful day!