Chapter 27

Meg

Emma was sick.

Sick.

She was. She had to be.

Despite the whispers that she was missing - killed - like Isabelle, I wouldn't believe it.

Even when my mother informed me that she believed the girl was dead too. That she suspected she knew who did it.

I'd asked her who. Who? Who could it be?

But she stayed quiet, refusing to say.

On Wednesday, three days after Hannibal's final Sunday performance, she left for the theatre holding a leather satchel. Without me. She didn't tell me why. And because Christine was currently at her painting lesson (again, she'd asked if she should stay, and again I'd made her go), I was alone in the apartment.

She returned an hour later, the satchel looking much more full than it had before. Something - there was something hiding in there.

I watched as she locked the apartment with feverish hands, pale and uncharacteristically wild-eyed. I froze in my seat at the dining table, closing the book I had open.

"Maman?"

She whirled to me. "Meg. Get a sheet of paper."

"I-"

"Now."

I didn't hesitate, though I needed answers. I found her a sheet of paper.

"And a pen, please."

I found her that too. I watched as she wrote quickly.

A note for Christine. A note telling her not to stay here when she returned. Telling her to leave.

Alarm bells rang in my mind. "Maman, what is going on-"

She finished the note. Without so much as folding it, she left it behind on the table, took my hand, and pulled me toward the door.

"I need to get you somewhere...not here. They might come for you next."

"Who?" We had reached the door. My mother set about unlocking the bolts. I blinked. What had been the point of locking them at all? Had she been afraid of someone...coming in? If that was the case, then wouldn't going back out be more dangerous?

"I cannot say." We were out into Paris. My mother looked around, eyes darting, but when she found nothing, she sighed in relief. "I won't say until they are behind bars. I found evidence. But I cannot say. I cannot risk you talking, putting yourself at risk."

"I won't say-"

"No, Meg." She walked a bit, pulling me along, until she managed to hail a cab. The horse came to a stop, and she forced me in, telling the cabbie a familiar address.

I looked at her incredulously when she climbed in after me and the cab started forward. "Raoul?"

My mother didn't so much as nod. "You will be safe there."

"Safe from who?" My heart hammered.

"I cannot say, Meg. I can't. I will be back as soon as I can. I need to take my evidence to the detective."

And true to her word, she refused to tell me anymore.

We reached Raoul's apartment. Knocked on the door. Janelle, the maid, answered and informed her master of who was here. Raoul, the darling man, looked shocked at our presence, confused. He hadn't invited us.

"Is everything all right?" His gaze went from me, to my mother, and back to me. A deep frown was on his face at my mother's severe expression, at my obvious fright.

"No." My mother pushed me forward, toward the door. "I cannot explain until later, Monsieur Deleon, but this is the safest place for Meg. Anyone else we know is associated with the theatre, anyone else is a risk - you are not. I will return soon."

"What about Christine?" I asked her. "Will she come here too?"

"No. I can't tell her where you are; I left it vague in that note - the killer could find it before she does."

"Then where will she go?"

"Back to Jules Bernard."

"Then why not send me there with her?" She liked Raoul, but in this moment, she wanted Christine. Christine's unwavering bravery.

"I do not want you in the same place. Should the killer find one of you, then I'd rather they not find both of you - I'd rather not lose you both in one go. Until the killer is dealt with, I want you separated. Spread out. Safe, but spread out."

"What if Jules is-"

"It's not Jules."

Raoul had paled; he'd been pale for a while now. "Killer?"

"Stay here," she said to me. She turned to him. "Keep her safe."

The poor dear boy only nodded, still bewildered. He ushered me in. "I will."

"I will be back soon," she said again. She paused. "And if I am not, do not go to the rehearsal tonight. Do not leave this apartment." And she was gone.

Raoul took me to the couch. He attempted to question me a bit, gain some information as to what was going on. But until my mother returned, I was unable to speak. I merely sat there, trying not to cry. Raoul eventually sat in silence with me.

Ten minutes turned into thirty. Thirty minutes turned into an hour.

An hour turned into two, and she didn't return.

Two hours turned into three, and Janelle asked if I wanted dinner. My mother hadn't returned.

Three hours turned into four. Five. Six. Seven.

Raoul offered to let me sleep in his bed, offered to replace the sheets for me, while he slept on the couch.

I'd burst into tears, shaking my head, refusing to move from where I sat.

Midnight approached.

And my mother didn't return.