Chapter 59

There was no excuse for my words and yet I made no apology or attempt to rectify the situation.

Meg left much earlier than noon to travel to London, which I assumed she did to avoid interacting with me. She did not say a word to Alex, who was terribly upset by her sudden departure. He asked for her several times a day and I attempted to explain to him that she needed to see Charles, but being an infant he did not understand. He stared at the closed bedroom door and called her name every so often, perhaps hoping she would rescue him from the hell I had created.

Madeline, despite her silence toward me, did not punish my son. She made food for Alex several times a day and left it in the dining room in front of his seat, which I discovered late on the first day when I ventured out of my room in a desperate need for a change of scenery.

I sat numbly beside Alex, feeding him quietly as he smashed his carrots in his fists and painted with gravy on the plate with his fingers. He was much more subdued than usual, and when he looked at me, I swore there was disappointment in his gaze.

A week passed, slow and miserable as my sullen mood. Meg did not return from London, which should not have surprised me as I had told Madeline it was not necessary for her daughter to travel back to Paris.

Alex was six days away from his first Christmas in my home and it felt as though I had ruined his holiday with my combative nature. I sat with him for hours, attempting to entertain him despite feeling listless and exhausted. Every time I closed my eyes, visions from my own tormented youth viciously warred in the back of my mind and kept me awake for days on end.

Eventually I put him to sleep in his crib downstairs and returned to my room where I removed my hairpiece and set it on the wig stand atop my dresser. My eyes felt gritty and I fell into my own bed, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated by the consequences of my own actions. Somehow I managed to remove my mask, which I tucked under my pillow, and I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

It was dark when I woke to the sound of Alex laughing downstairs. The music in his voice made me forget how silence blanketed the house, and I jolted upright with such haste that I felt light-headed. I sprang to my feet and searched the desk in vain for my mask until I remembered I had placed it under my pillow.

As soon as I opened my bedroom door I heard Alex laugh again and make kissing sounds, which was followed by Madeline's voice.

"I am sorry you woke alone in the dark," she said to him. She returned kissing sounds, and I imagined she practically smothered him with affection. "I did not know you were in your room. My, I have missed your face. You must promise me you will never get married and leave me."

Alex attempted to repeat that he missed her as well, and before I reached the middle of the staircase I paused and simply listened to their exchange.

"We have a lot to catch up on, don't we, my sweet little Alexandre?"

"Oui, gra-er!"

"Say it again. Oui, grand-mere."

Alex made a second attempt but it sounded no different to my ears. Nevertheless Madeline still praised him and I smiled inwardly. I had no doubt Alex missed Madeline and I assumed he was quite pleased to have her rescue him from the darkness of his room when he woke from his nap. She was family to him, just as she had been family to me for so many years. Despite how our relationship had faltered and crumbled, I was glad she loved Alex still.

I sat on the stairs in the dark for a long moment, chin resting on the heel of my hand as Madeline carried Alex into the dining room and placed him into his chair.

"Eat your food, do not play with it," she gently reprimanded.

"No. No. No," Alex replied, saying his favorite word.

"Eat," she said more sternly. "Or I will tell your father."

Alex apparently took her threat seriously as he continued eating in silence. I started to stand and return to my room, but I heard him ask for Meg.

"She is with Charles. You remember Charles, don't you?"

"No," Alex answered, which honestly did not mean anything as sometimes he merely disagreed with whatever he was asked- a trait I assumed he inherited from me.

"She loves him," Madeline said. "But not as much as I love you."

Again Alex asked for Meg.

"She is not here," Madeline said. Her tone was still light, but I could tell she had grown weary of answering him again.

"Poh-wah?"

"Did you just ask why?" Madeline questioned, sounding terribly impressed. "Pourquoi?

"Poh-wah?"

"Charles was injured very badly," Madeline explained. "He is a good man, a very kind man, and I pray for a miracle every night, Alex."

She had once prayed for me every night as well, but there had been no miracle. I admitted Charles was much more deserving of divine intervention than me.

Madeline sang a nursery rhyme to Alex and clapped as he continued to eat. I wondered how long Meg intended to stay in London, or rather if she had plans to return to Paris.

"Why don't you finish your food and you can help me pack a few items for Meg?"

Alex screamed at the sound of a single name, a clear, high C that would have made sopranos jealous.

"I apologize, I apologize, she is not here."

Alex was perhaps too young to understand absence or far too stubborn like me to care one way or another. He continued to scream for Meg, even when Madeline carried him into the parlor and surrounded him with his toys.

"She is not returning, Alex," I heard Madeline say. Her voice broke, and I held my breath, afraid to breathe too loudly and miss what she said next. It was already difficult to hear her over Alex's inconsolable tantrum. "She is married."

I stood abruptly and gripped my hand tight around the banister. In the darkness I stood rigid, my eyes wide and lips parted, feeling certain I had heard incorrectly.

"And how did she tell her own mother?" Madeline cried. Alex had stopped his own pathetic display the moment Madeline began to weep. "In a telegram. She did not even wait for me to be there to see her wed. My only daughter. My only..."

I waited for her to say her only child, but she did not finish her sentence. Despite the week of silence, I wondered if she still thought of me as her family.

"She has hurt me more than she will ever know," Madeline cried.

Slowly I retreated up the stairs, closed the bedroom door, and removed my hair piece and mask. The room was lightless, damp, and cold, a miserable yet fitting space for me to sit at my desk and consider Madeline's words.

I wondered if Meg had married Charles in haste out of love or because she thought she was not welcomed in my home. From what I had always known of Meg she was as careful as they come, always taking her time to make decisions on inconsequential details. I sincerely doubted she would have made a rash decision when it came to marriage considering she often worried for the better part of an afternoon what gloves went best with her dress.

Despite her hurt feelings, I imagined Madeline would want to join her newly wedded daughter and son-in-law before Christmas as remaining within my home was the equivalent of spending the holiday alone.

I exhaled sharply and held my head in my hands and grieved for Alex. Since late November I had pictured him wide-eyed with wonder as he reached for the mistletoe from the mantel-and most likely attempted to pull down each figuring from Madeline's nativity scene thinking they were no different from his toy soldiers and trains. I could see his tiny shoes laid out at night to be filled with candy and another toy soldier for when he woke. Despite Madeline saying I spoiled Alex, I was certain Meg would have both shoes overflowing with enough trinkets and sweets to fill every pair of shoes in the house.

Looking to the future was a dangerous practice and I regretted the perfect fantasy I had created. Alex's first holiday with me would be spent locked away in a dark room in an empty house missing the women he called his aunt and grandmother.

A knock at the door drew me from my sullen thoughts, and I sat listening to Madeline carry Alex to the front door.

"Who on earth could that be?" Madeline asked.

"May?" Alex questioned.

"Madame Seuratti," Madeline gasped once she opened the door.

"I apologize for calling so late," she replied. "Louis hasn't been home in days and-" Her words abruptly ended.

"Are you unwell?"

"There is no firewood delivery until tomorrow and I'm afraid we've gone through the rest of what we had. I told him we were low, but, I suppose he forgot."

Her admission was followed by a long silence. I turned in my chair, brow furrowed, and waited for Madeline to offer her some of our supply. How a man could leave his wife and small child for days and not have the decency to make sure they would not freeze to death in their own home was beyond me. I suppose after years spent shivering in a cellar, I made certain the house stayed warm all winter.

"Come in out of the cold, you and Lissy both," Madeline suggested. "I have hot water on the stove and the parlor is like its own oven."

"I did not mean to impose."

"It is no trouble at all. Alex and I could us the company."

"Meg has not returned yet?"

Now it was Madeline's turn to pause. "No," she said, her tone unusually jovial. "In fact she sent word this morning that she and Charles were married."

"They were married?" Clearly this was not what Madame Seuratti expected to hear. "How wonderful for the two of them."

While Madeline's voice forced mirth, Madame Seuratti sounded like a woman expecting to be lead before a firing squad.

"I am happy for them," Madeline replied. "And since my daughter is still in London with her new husband, you and Lisette are more than welcome to stay in her room until you have firewood delivered."

"Oh, no, we could not be such a burden."

"Please, I insist. Alex and I do not mind one bit."

"What about his father?"

"Composing," Madeline answered without missing a beat. "He will not even notice you are here and I assure you, Madame, you will never see him as well when he is working."

She undoubtedly knew I overheard their conversation and I assumed her words were meant a warning to me to stay put until her two guests had returned home.

"You are too kind, Madame," the neighbor commented.

Far too kind indeed, trapping me within my room to entertain a guest.

Madeline excused herself from the parlor and I expected her to pay me a brief visit, but instead she walked into the kitchen. I heard the service cart with tea set rattled down the hall. Moments later, Alex and the neighbor girl were babbling to one another while Madeline served tea. I brazenly opened my bedroom door for no other reason than to eavesdrop.

"Is your husband away on business?" Madeline casually asked.

"He did not say."

"Oh. It must have been sudden."

"I should not complain about Louis," Madame Seuratti said, her tone sounding somewhat nervous as though she feared her husband might overhear her words. It had been months since the windows were open, which meant I had almost forgotten that pig of a man and his boorish behavior.

"He is a good provider," she finished softly.

I looked over my shoulder at the opened door and wondered if Madame Seuratti was daft or completely mad. If her husband had been a decent provider, she and her daughter would not have been in my parlor, enjoying the comforts of my firewood, tea, and most likely some type of small meal.

"He does buy you beautiful gifts," Madeline replied. It sounded as though she was quite desperately looking for a way to compliment Monsieur Seuratti.

Gifts was a somewhat deceptive term. Charles bought Meg flowers to show his affection. Meg bought Alex spinning tops and books because she loved him. For years even Madeline had given me small cakes out of misplaced adoration that was never deserved. Even the check I had given to Meg, though not used, was offered with nothing expected in return.

What Monsieur Seuratti gave to his wife was not the same. After an evening of harsh words, many that had become physical in the autumn, Louis presented her with gifts the following day. He would show her a new necklace and his wife would gush over the present and tell him he should not have been so good to her.

It was a carefully orchestrated act, I knew. Every time I heard Louis Seuratti raise his voice, I thought of my father. I recalled how after he struck me down and left me crumpled in the dirt, he returned hours later with whatever food he did not finish from his supper. Often with both of my eyes nearly sealed shut, I crawled toward the stairs and quietly thanked him for the salted potato skin, chicken bones, and single floret of broccoli he dumped off his plate and onto the bottom stair. I grovelled at his feet purely to placate the man who would turn around and kick me in the kidneys if I did not properly show gratitude.

Quite frankly I saw no difference between Louis and my father. They were both pathetic excuses for men looking to further their control with a heavy hand over women and children.

"Daaa," I heard Alex call. He sounded much closer than the parlor. I turned up the lamp on my desk and stood as I quickly donned both hairpiece and mask.

"Alex?" I whispered.

The moment I stepped out of my room I found him halfway up the stairs. He looked like a tiny explorer scaling a mountain in his light-colored romper with one hand holding tight to the railing as he crawled up another step. Far below him, the neighbor girl stood on the bottom stair with what looked like a piece of bread in one hand.

The girl looked up at me, clearly startled by my sudden presence, and fell backward off the bottom step. She landed with a thud in a sitting position, her food crumbling at her side. The hall was far too dark for me to see her clearly, but within seconds of losing her balance she cried out for her mother, then quickly covered her mouth.

I looked from her to Alex, who was within my reach, and stepped down to grab him by the arm.

"Are you injured?" I asked the little girl. I considered taking another step, but I heard chairs scrape against the parlor floor and knew her mother had heard her daughter's cry.

"Oh, Lissy!" Madame Seuratti exclaimed as she walked out of the parlor and toward the stairs. "How did you get all the way out here? And where is…"

I pulled back into the shadows with Alex in my arms as Madame Seuratti knelt by her daughter and helped the little girl to her feet. The woman looked up the stairs, her head turning to the side as she searched for a shape in the darkness.

"Hello?" she said. "I apologize, is Alex with you?"

I said nothing and to my surprise neither did my son.

"Oh, Madame Seuratti, you take Lisette back with you and I will clean this up and bring Alex back down. That boy will be the death of me," Madeline said as she marched down the hall.

"He must be with his father?" Madame Seuratti asked. She tilted her head to the side, still searching.

"Yes, he is." Madeline stared up at me, her eyes immediately meeting mine as Alex rested his head on my shoulder. Without a word to acknowledge me, she turned, picked up whatever the little girl had dropped, and discarded it in the kitchen.

I did not have to wonder for long if she would in fact climb the stairs and retrieve Alex. Within seconds of leaving the kitchen she stomped up the stairs and paused when she saw Alex sitting on the floor beside my bed.

"You and Lissy are quite the pair," she said keeping her attention focused on my son. "Come on, Alex, do not be rude. We have guests."

I watched Madeline closely, waiting for her to glance in my direction, but I could tell by the way she stood that she had every intention of avoiding me a while longer.

Alex crawled toward me, a distance of about four feet, and grabbed hold of my pant leg in order to pull himself up.

"He may remain with me," I said.

"Alex, do you want a treat? Lissy has one," Madeline said, ignoring my words.

"He climbed the stairs alone. If he wishes to stay-"

"Come play with Lissy."

In all of the years I had known Madeline, she had rarely disregarded me when I spoke to her. I felt far more disheartened than angered by her blatant refusal to speak with me.

"Did you hear what I said?" I questioned.

"Alex," Madeline said firmly as she reached out to my son.

"Madeline, you are still not speaking to me?"

Madeline's mouth formed a thin line and she briefly glanced at me. By the look in her eyes I knew she forced herself to temper her tone before she spoke to me. "How dare you," she said between her teeth. "How dare you act like any of this is my doing," she seethed before she grabbed Alex by the arm and pulled him toward her.

My son offered no protest and I made no attempt to reclaim him as Madeline settled him onto her hip and walked from my room, slamming the door behind her well before I was able to reply.

"No, mal," Alex scolded her for the way she shut the door.

For a long time I sat bewildered at my desk, unable to hear the conversation from the parlor as Madeline had shut that door as well.

I felt in the pit of my stomach, a strange finality with her words.

I assumed Madame Seuratti stayed in Meg's empty room, but in all honesty I had no idea. Alex spent the night downstairs with Madeline while I stayed in my room until the fire died down. I reached for another log and realized I had only one left to get me through morning and I doubted it would be enough.

The house was quiet the following day as well as the one that followed. I wrapped myself in my cloak and the coverlet from my bed and sat shivering at my desk. The ink had frozen, which made composing impossible, and besides that I had no desire to write anything.

With nothing else to occupy my time, I thought of my uncle and how he had repeatedly told me to curb my emotions before anger and melancholy took hold. He spoke often of how words could not be retracted once spoken and revenge would make me feel no better. I had been a terrible child, never heeding his words.

"You would be so disappointed, Uncle,"I whispered to the dying fire.

I had not spoken aloud to the ghost I hoped lingered near, partially because I no longer believed in an afterlife and partially because if there was one, I did not want him to know what I had become.

A handful of times I had dared to address him aloud, once when I had first come to the Opera House. I swore I had felt him beside me, heard his voice so clear in my head I thought it was real. It was the first time since his death that I had really, truly sought his guidance.

Another time I had sought him was days before the disaster in the opera house. Years had passed without me ever thinking of him. Out of desperation I had hoped to feel him again, to glean knowledge from a man dead long ago. My words had been met with silence, which turned to anger on my part.

"You should have beaten sense into me." I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, but I was far past calm. I forced a humorless laugh in hopes that would break the stranglehold of aching in my chest. The feeling had never left me, not ever since the time he had died. "You should have used your cane and struck me until I was no longer able to move, until I was little more than a bloody heap. Only then would I have learned."

He would have disagreed with me, of course. Most certainly he would have maintained that striking me provided no lesson and that he was not disappointed in me, but for me. He would not have wanted this for me, this loneliness. I did not want it either, but I knew nothing else.

I rubbed my hand over my face and opened my eyes, seeing my breath in the air as the room was terribly cold. My stomach was empty, and when I stood I had to brace myself by gripping the wall to keep my feet beneath me as my legs were somewhat stiff from hours on end of sitting in the same position.

My fingers were bloodless, and the sensation of adjusting my hairpiece and mask in the mirror became alarming while the act itself somewhat of a challenge as I could see what I was doing, but I couldn't feel my hands.

It took me two tries to unlock my bedroom door as my fingers would not work, but I finally opened it and shivered as I was met with a rush of warmer air from the rest of the house. The smell of pine and cinnamon greeted me, and I heard Madeline telling Alex he was doing a wonderful job helping her.

I did not bother to close the door behind me, partially because my hands physically hurt and partially because I hoped a bit of warmth would fill the room as I used the toilet and retrieved more wood at last.

Madeline was waiting for me when I reached the bottom of the stairs to fetch more wood from the parlor. She stood with her arms crossed and unwavering expression that immediately caused me to lower my gaze. I had no desire to confront her, but at the same time I was certain she would not allow me to pass by in silence.

"God in Heaven," she gasped as I neared her. "Your lips are blue." She blocked my path and grabbed my hand. The warmth of her touch felt like needles against my flesh. "Your hands. They are like ice."

"I ran out of firewood," I mumbled.

"When?"

"Last night."

"Why didn't you come down for more?"

"You had company."

Madeline stared at me unblinking for a long moment. "Do you mean with Madame Seuratti? That was days ago." As if on cue, church bells rang. "It's Christmas eve morning."

Her words didn't surprise me-or rather I should not have been surprised that days passed without me realizing it. What did surprise me was that it was Christmas Eve and Madeline had not joined her daughter.

"Foolish man with your foolish pride." She jabbed me in the chest with finger before she grabbed my hand again and rubbed it furiously with hers in an attempt to warm my flesh. "You are fortunate your fingers have not fallen off. Then what would you do?"

"You are not in London." I absently pulled away, the pins and needles sensation in my hand growing more uncomfortable.

"No, I am not traveling to London, which you would have known if you bothered to come out of that darkened cave that serves as a room."

"You were not speaking to me," I pointed out.

"No, I was not." She crossed her arms and looked at me pointedly. "After you told me my daughter did not need to return."

Return home, I wanted to add. Instead I started to turn around and head back upstairs without firewood, my preference being freezing to death over continuing the conversation.

"I hope you do not mind, but Meg will be returning...here tonight," Madeline said, carefully choosing her words.

"For how long?" I asked.

"Long enough to gather her belongings. A few days at best and then you will no longer have to concern yourself."

"My concern, Madame-"

"May? May?" Alex yelled. He crawled down the hall, then seeing us at the foot of the stairs managed to pull himself up as he braced himself on the wall. Slowly he stepped forward, foot first, then hand along the wall.

"He is walking," I said obtusely.

"He has never tried before." Madeline put her hand on my shoulder. The previous conversation was put aside for a moment and we both stared at one another, smiling at my son's accomplishment.

While his vocabulary had always been impressive, I marveled at his careful steps, the way he took his time and looked from the wall to me with a grin on his face.

"Daaaa," he yelled.

"My God, get him before he falls," Madeline said under her breath. She squeezed my upper arm, then pushed against my back.

"He is fine."

"Erik-"

I crouched down and beckoned him forward. "I am here," I said. "Keep walking, Alex. Just like that."

"May?" he asked again, this time turning his head to look at the door. "Maison?"

His first steps had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his hope of Meg returning home. He reached the end of the wall and, with his eyes fixed on the front door, took a careful, unassisted step. One step became two, then three.

"Maison? Maison? Maaaaaayy?" Alex asked. His arms shot out to steady himself. His eyes grew wide as he realized he stood alone in the middle of the foyer with no way of bracing himself from a fall. Wide-eyed, he stared at me, his hands extended.

"Yes," I said. I met him in the foyer and reached for his hand before he fell. "She is coming home."