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Franklin
Chapter 45
The Gift
"What are you reading, sweetheart?"
Sitting in our small parlor, curled into the corner of the couch, Grace looked up at my approach. She committed her page number to memory and handed the book to me. I took it and read the title.
"The Old Curiosity Shop," I said, smiling. "This was the book I brought over from England."
She nodded. "It's your favorite. I wanted to finally read it." Her eyes cast down and she picked at a loose thread on one of the pillows. "I missed you."
My throat became thick again with emotion. I'd cried for an hour or more last night. I'd surely cry even more tonight. Before I could, I leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, and she hugged my shoulders as I did.
I pulled away finally and whispered, "I missed you too. So much. My heart ached every day." I handed back the book. "Can I make you some hot chocolate to sip while you read?" I made sure not to suggest tea. Never tea. Never again. Vaillancourt, though it seemed he hadn't harmed her physically, had permanently ruined that particular drink for her - a shame, really. We were English, after all. We'd gone to war with America over tea - there was, of course, the disloyalty to the crown bit. The refusal to pay taxes. There was that.
But the tea.
As for Vaillancourt, for the way he snuffed out her consciousness with tea anytime she dared express sadness over the loss of her father, I was half-grateful he was dead. More than half. Much more than half.
She beamed at my alternate suggestion. "Yes, please. Hot chocolate would be nice."
I was just turning to leave her to her reading when there was a steady three-pound knock on my apartment door. It was late now, past nine at night. I frowned, not knowing who it might be. And for what reason. I'd closed the theatre tonight to be at peace with my daughter. If someone was interrupting that peace already-
"Who on Earth..." I went to the window by the door to peer out. Against the near-black backdrop of night, Vincenzo peered back, hands behind him. He nodded to me once.
I dropped the curtain, closed my eyes, and sighed. Now what nonsense was this?
"Grace, go to your room, please."
"Who's there?" she said. Fear laced her voice.
I looked at her, trying to keep a neutral face. "No one who is going to harm you. No one who will take you away." She'd been taken last time by answering the door when I wasn't home. No doubt strangers on her doorstep sent terror through her now. "Just go to your room, sweetheart."
She obeyed, picking up her book and heading for her bedroom. Only once I heard the door click shut did I face Vincenzo.
"Good evening," I said. I had to remember to switch to French. Grace and I had been speaking English. "What can I do for you?"
The dark-skinned man nodded to the space behind me. "Might I come in?"
"It's rather late, unfortunately," I remained in the doorway, and even let the door close a fraction. "My daughter is sleeping, and I am retiring to bed soon myself."
"I see," he said. "I merely stopped by to ask how you are. Just to ensure that you and your child were successfully reunited, and are well."
"And how, precisely, did you find me? How do you know where I live?"
"I know many things about many people." He smiled. "No need to fear me."
"Fear you?" I said, and twisted my face. "Well, no, I suppose. I mean..." I feigned a chuckle. "Why should I fear you, when you killed Vaillancourt right in front of me without a single ounce of regret? What could be frightening about that?"
"He killed Vaillancourt?"
I spun, to see Grace halfway out of her bedroom door.
"Grace!" I pointed to her room. "I told you to stay in there!"
"Vaillancourt is dead?" she asked, as though she hadn't heard me. She didn't seem bothered, just curious.
"As a doornail," replied Vincenzo, and I turned back to him. He addressed me: "I understand that you are bothered that I killed him. As is natural. But there was really nothing else I could do in that situation. A man like that would go on harming people and getting away with it, no matter what."
"That's what Erik said," I responded. And, I supposed, he was right.
"What about Jacques?" Grace asked.
I looked at her again. "Who?"
"Jacques. His puppy."
Ah. Jacques.
That mongrel was no puppy. Not with those teeth and that heart-stopping growl.
"The dog will be sold to a farm outside of Paris," explained Vincenzo.
Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.
Grace did not agree. "I will miss him."
At the sorrow in her voice, I cringed. But luckily: "You know I'm allergic, sweetheart."
When I looked at Vincenzo, I saw a grin playing on his lips. He leaned in and whispered, "You know, once the dog is sold, I can always get you the farm's address so that she can visit-"
"Thank you, Monsieur," I interrupted, closing the door further. "Anything else I can help you with?"
"No, that'll be all." He leaned back again. "Very good to see that you are well. And Grace. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I said quickly, and closed the door.
But not before I felt a movement in my pocket.
I plunged my hand inside. I'd had five francs in there. If he'd taken them like some common pickpocket...
But to my shock, I found not one bank note, but several. I pulled them out. My jaw slackened at what I saw. Two-hundred-fifty-five francs, I now possessed on my person. Along with a folded written message. I opened it and read: Here is half of what was in Vaillancourt's trousers when he died. The other half will go to Dr. Beyle. Obscene amount, I know, but you're in luck. Unfortunately, the bank will take hold of his full account and send it to his nephew in Berlin - shocking, but I do not have any contacts at the bank that serves him. And bank heists are not exactly my forte. Tricky business, banks. This was the best I could do.
"Papa?"
"Hm?" I looked up in a daze, found Grace staring, and then pocketed the money and message. "Ah. Grace. Yes. About the dog." I sighed through my nose and smiled. "How about a kitten? A nice, sweet, gentle little kitten. You like cats. Why, we can even pick out a black and white little fellow and name him Jacques."