RAOUL
As October crept into November, Raoul began to question whether it had been a good idea to move to Perros after all. Clémentine seemed happy enough, having found a playmate in a neighbor girl. But even with the knowledge, his daughter was content, Raoul spent a significant amount of time with his head in his hands, despondent over regaining and then losing Christine's friendship.
She still came to call that Friday, of course, but only to teach Clémentine's lesson. Raoul listened from the other room, formulating a proper apology, but when it came time to pay her, his courage vanished. She seemed too tense to accept anything from him, even another check.
"No, no," she said when the lesson had concluded and he reached for his checkbook. "You overpaid last time."
"You said your clients paid what they could afford," he said, opening the checkbook anyways. "I have no idea what that meant. I could write a check for five hundred francs if you wished."
Christine looked down at her boots and sighed. "I suppose if you insist, you can pay me the same amount as last time."
"Wonderful," he tore the check out. "Would you like a ride home as well?"
She pondered for a fraction of a second. "That won't be necessary. Thank you, Raoul." And with that, she left.
Defeated, he thought he might take Clémentine for a walk, just to clear his head. He'd try to enjoy the rare warm autumn day, even if the cheery weather didn't match his mood.
He gave Apolline the afternoon off, assuring her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of his own daughter. Clémentine happily took his hand and allowed him to button her new boots and coat.
Outside, Clémentine's new friend, a dark-haired waif called Léna, was nowhere to be found. The motherless little girl's father was a fisherman and with no one to look after her while her father was at sea, she was mostly left to her own devices, wandering the beach by herself even though she was only seven years old. Raoul, quite concerned for her welfare, told Léna she was welcome at his house any time she liked. Judging by the girl's bony frame and ragged clothes, the girl needed serious assistance, but Léna's father wouldn't answer the door when Raoul knocked.
Surely Clémentine realized the vast difference between Léna's situation and her own. Raoul had been several years older when he first met Christine but had been constantly aware that Christine lacked many things he took for granted, like solid boots without holes. But at least Christine had a father who loved her.
"Did Léna say she wanted to play today?" Raoul said, carefully choosing his words. "I thought perhaps she could come to lunch."
"I hope she'll come!" Clémentine squeezed his hand. "I want to play pirates. But I'm happy that I have time with just you and me, Papa."
"Of course," he squeezed back. "There's nothing I love more than spending time with my little princess."
And that was true. In the times when despair and bitter guilt swept over him like a tidal wave, the knowledge that his darling daughter needed her father kept him afloat.
In the darkest days of his life, it had been Clémentine who had saved him. In the days after Manon's death, before she was buried, he had played the part of a respectable, grieving husband rather well. He was appropriately solemn and composed, performing what was expected of him even though all he could process was the distinct metallic taste in his mouth. He knew he should be weeping, but his brain was too foggy to make sense of anything.
In the days before the funeral, Raoul was never given a moment of privacy. Both sides of the extended family descended on the house, fussing over Raoul and the still nameless baby. But after the burial, one by one the family left to resume their lives.
All of a sudden, Raoul was left alone in the house that had his name on the deed, but every detail and furnishing chosen by Manon. Alone except for the baby girl who he'd only held a few times, staring down at this strange creature who shared his blood until he couldn't take it anymore.
He'd never imagined living long enough to have a wife and a child, but in his childhood imagination, he always believed he'd be the kindest, most loving father. In those first days of Clémentine's life, he'd only felt faint stirrings in his breast, any genuine sentiment muffled by the haze of despair that was suffocating him.
On that first night, alone in the house except for his daughter and a few servants, he'd contemplated the pistol in the nightstand drawer. It would have been so easy, a click of the trigger, and then eternal rest. Why should someone as useless as he lives while Manon was in the ground? What could he offer the world?
He was contemplating the barrel of the gun when a piercing cry rang out. He rushed to the nursery to find the baby distressed over her sock coming off. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her head. It was as if he was looking at the child for the first time and in his heart, he found a new purpose. Clémentine needed him. She may have lost her mother, but she would not lose her father.
"Papa?" Clémentine said in a small voice.
Raoul blinked in the sunlight. There he went again, living in the past when there was so much good in the future to look forward to.
"Yes, my darling?"
"I think you should get married again!" she said, suddenly crouching to pick up a seashell.
Raoul's mouth felt incredibly dry all of a sudden. "Who do you think I should marry?"
Clémentine glanced up at him with adoring eyes. "Oh, that's not important. As long as she's not a mean stepmother like in the story I read."
"But why should I get married again?" He always wondered if he should have remarried to give Clémentine a stepmother at least. Had he failed her?
"Because it's unfair that you had a wedding with Maman and I wasn't invited because I wasn't born," she crossed her arms. "I want to be the flower girl at your wedding and wear a pretty dress."
Raoul had a deep belly laugh at that. "I'll see what I can do about the pretty dress. The wedding part… might take some time."
"Oh! There's Léna!" Clémentine hopped to her feet. And indeed, he could see the girl's tiny figure down the beach, waving.
"Can I run to her, Papa?" she tugged on his arm. "I'll be careful, I promise!"
Raoul nodded in assent. Clémentine took off, as fast as she could. She was only about ten meters away when the world seemed to slow down. Her little foot caught on a rock, sending Clémentine tumbling face down onto the sand.
Raoul scrambled to get to his daughter, who was wailing to wake the dead, but Léna was there first.
"Clémentine? Are you all right?" he could feel tears welling in his own eyes. "Please tell me you're okay? Let's sit up."
Clémentine said something, but her tears streaming down her face made her speech unrecognizable.
Raoul helped her to a sitting position but realized with horror that her arm was bent at an unnatural angle.
"Léna," he said quietly, careful not to scare either of the girls. "I need you to run to the house as fast as you can and get an adult, any adult, and tell them to summon a doctor for Clémentine. Tell them the Vicomte said so and it's absolutely urgent. Can you do that for me?"
The little girl nodded, tears leaving clean streaks on her dirty face. "Yes, monsieur."
The little girl ran off towards the house, leaving Raoul alone with Clémentine, still wailing. Raoul pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing at the cuts on his daughter's face.
"Are you hurt anywhere besides your arm and your face?"
"My-my knee is cut up," she whimpered. And indeed, her stocking was torn and saturated with blood.
"Do you think you can walk to the house?"
She shook her head.
"All right, we'll stay here."
It wasn't as if he couldn't carry her, although the day would come relatively soon when he couldn't manage her weight with ease. He didn't trust his legs to not give out from shock. He tried to soothe her the best he could in the minutes that followed.
The problem was solved for him when Erik and Léna came down the stone steps to the beach.
"Need a hand there, Raoul?" he said, for once not in a cheerful mood?. "Is Miss Clémentine all right, I heard Léna shouting. Emile, the kitchen boy, he's set out on his bicycle to get a doctor."
"Erik, could you carry her to the house? I'm so shaky, I'm afraid I'd drop her."
"Of course," he took Clémentine in his arms gently.
As the party made their way up the stairs, all Raoul could do was blame himself. Maybe her new boots were too big. He should have told her to be more careful. He should have been more careful.
Once they were in the house, Erik gingerly deposited her on the sofa.
"Erik," Clémentine sniffled. "Can you use your magic to make my arm feel better?"
"Maybe I can make your mind feel better," he said. "I'll go get my cards, okay?"
He gave Raoul a somber look and left the room.
"Will she get better?" Léna looked up at Raoul with wet eyes. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt."
"Of course you didn't mean it. Once the doctor gets here, I'm sure he'll be able to help."
Raoul took Léna's hand in one of his hands and Clémentine's good hand in his other. "We'll all be fine."
Only about twenty more minutes passed before the doctor arrived, a black-haired man about Raoul's age with a toothy grin. He seemed vaguely familiar.
"Oh, Miss Clémentine," he said. "I heard you had a nasty fall. Let me see what I can do to fix your arm."
"Thank you so much for coming on short notice, Doctor …?"
"Doctor Cariou," the man smiled. "You might remember me from your youth in Perros, Monsieur le Vicomte. Daniel Cariou, we played together a few times, although your favorite playmate was always Miss Daaé."