Chapter III: Something Wrong

A month or so later, Satine sat in her dressing gown on the window seat, watching Christian poke around in the garden. He had tossed aside his jacket and over-shirt, and was cheerfully digging around in the dirt. She laughed, and he glanced up long enough from his work to wink mischievously at her.

Excuse me, Madam, the young maid Anne tapped on the door and opened it at the same time, leaving Satine to wonder bemusedly at her notions of privacy.

Yes, Anne? she asked, turning away from the window. The maid bobbed a curtsy, dark curls following every energetic motion of her head.

If you please, Madam, there's a letter for Monsieur. I thought I'd better bring it in to you.

Thank you, Anne, Satine said absently, taking the letter in hand. Christian's name was written in crabbed, spidery writing across the envelope. Her brow creased, and she laid the letter on the desk. Now, I'm ready to get dressed. The doctor is coming by at three, is he not?

Yes, Madam, Anne said cheerfully, already loosening the curtains to allow Satine privacy, which Satine permitted her to do more out of respect for the maid's sensibilities than anything else. What will you wear today, Madam?

The. . .brown suit and eggshell blouse, Satine replied, already stepping out of her gown and into her undergarments. Please tie the corset a bit tighter than usual. Anne paused, a surprised look on her face.

Satine waved a hand unconcernedly.

I'll be fine, and I'm not about to let my figure go to ruin. Now, please, Anne.

Yes, Madam, Anne said dutifully, privately wondering why her mistress was worrying about her slim figure at all.

All right, thank you, Satine said appreciatively as the maid put the finishing touches on her hair. If my husband asks for me, I'll be in the study, reading, all right, Anne?

Yes, Madam, Anne repeated for the third time, and dipping her head in another curtsy, left. Before leaving the bedroom, Satine paused and fingered the letter. Who would Christian be receiving letters from?

With one swift movement, Satine tucked the letter into her waist and headed towards the kitchen. Her curiosity rose up and she peered into the abandoned room. The cook was at the market, and Anne was sponging one of Christian's shirts in the laundry. The kettle was still steaming, however, and that was all Satine needed.

A few minutes later, Satine was curled up in a chaise in the study, deeply engrossed in the letter. Her color had risen, and her breath came in shorter gasps, strictly against the doctor's orders. But the contents of the letter were-- Satine shook her head angrily at it.

Christian--
I will not be made a fool of myself, nor do I enjoy repeating the words I have spoken before. You will bring this wife of yours to London the moment she is well enough to travel, and we will discuss your future. Your mother is beside herself, something that should give you concern, but whether you feel any ties of familial obligation is certainly doubtful, judging by your past behavior. You are not to send out any announcements of your marriage until I have met the woman. I expect that you will remember any financial assistance I have provided was conditional only.
Yours, etc.

Satine put the letter down on her lap, engrossed in her thoughts. Clearly there was more to his father's help than Christian had led her to believe. And it was just as obvious that she was on trial as his wife, and the judging would commence the moment her foot hit English soil. She was startled by the door opening--there was no time to hide the letter, nor any evidence of her tampering. Christian stood there, a wide smile on his face and holding a bunch of lilies in his hand. He stopped short the moment he saw the paper in her lap and her face. He put the flowers on the desk and bent his head over it, sighing.

Satine. . . he said quietly. Was there a hint of reproof in his voice? Satine's natural defiance was awakened, and she lifted her chin.

Is there something you haven't been telling me, Christian? she said levelly, holding out the letter. He took it with a sigh, and glanced over the brief contents.

I didn't want to bother you, Satine. Satine's blue eyes snapped, and she glared at her husband.

I was not aware that our concerns were a bother, Christian. Christian simply glared back at her.

I was not aware that I did not have privacy in matters of my own correspondence, he said sharply back to her, and inside, she flinched. Not once, since that horrible day of Spectacular Spectacular, had he used any tone but that of pure gentleness. Her pale, marble-like face did not reveal her inner tumult, however, and she stood her ground.

Privacy is one thing, Christian, and deceit is quite another! Christian's face flushed.

Perhaps if you trusted me, Satine, I would not have to worry about either. What were you planning to do with the letter? Tell me now, or perhaps in a few months? Or would you just burn it and think I would have things under control? This is not the Moulin Rouge, Satine, and I am not Zidler. Satine's lips tightened ominously.

I did not think so, she said curtly. I thought you were better than that, Christian. I thought you were my husband. Now it seems that I might have been the one deceived Christian went pale with anger, and took another step closer to her. After one, brief, agonizing moment, he turned and headed the other way. Satine watched the door slam shut behind him, and then collapsed on the chaise, tears running down her face.

Christian strode to his room to change, unfamiliar sensations of anger running through him. How dare she even begin to compare him with Zidler? Hadn't he given everything for her? He stopped by their bed and sat down on it, his hands covering his face. Why did she still hold him at bay, long after he had given her his whole heart? Why couldn't she trust him to do what was right for her? Raising his head, he began to sing quietly.

We've never been this way before
We've lost the fire we built our dream on.
There's something strange,
There's something wrong. . .

In the study, Satine raised her tear-stained face from the pillow. She wiped her eyes delicately and turned her head to gaze at a photograph of herself in the Moulin Rouge, wearing an elaborate evening gown.

The past is holding me, keeping life at bay
I wander lost in yesterday, wanting to fly
But scared to try. . .
This is a world I've never seen before
A love to open every door. . .
To set me free, to let me soar. . .

 Unknown to the other, they both sang a line together.

I've never felt this way before. . .

At precisely 3:00, Satine was disturbed from her thoughts from a knock on the door. She flew up, arranging her hair, hoping it was Christian, but her heart fell when she saw it was Anne and the doctor.

Pardon the interruption, Madam, the doctor said, inclining his hat to her. I just need to borrow a few moments of your time.

You're sure? Satine asked half an hour later. Absolutely certain that I'm fine?

Well, you must be careful to avoid severe illness, and stay bundled up when it's cold out, but yes, otherwise than that, you can live your life to the fullest, Madam. He paused, his bag in his hand. You're remarkably lucky, Madam. Satine's brow creased.

What do you mean?

No adverse side effects. . .well, perhaps it happens. If anything feels wrong, you'll get in touch with me right away?

Of course, Satine said, rising from her chair.

No, no, don't bother, the doctor assured her, leaving. I can show myself out. Good day, Madam.

Good day, Satine murmured, watching him leave. Ordinarily, she would have run to Christian to tell him. But now, she wasn't quite sure if he wanted to see her. How could she have spoken so coldly to him? Even so, maybe this news would forgive her harsh words from earlier. . .

she called.

Yes, Madam?

Where is Monsieur Everett?

He asked me to tell you that he's gone out and won't be home until late, Madam.

Satine asked, her heart sinking. Thank you, Anne. She closed her eyes in pain.

How he must despise me. . . she whispered.

Christian strode along the streets, his face set in an expression of frustration and remorse. He couldn't believe that he had lost his temper and spoken to Satine like that.

How she must hate me. . . he murmured. He continued to walk, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, absorbed in his own gnawing sense of guilt.

Meanwhile, Satine sat alone on their bed, staring out the window as the sky darkened. At dinner, she sat motionless, aimlessly picking at the food.

Anne's voice sounded small from the doorway as she left Satine after preparing her for bed. Pardon my forwardness, but are you all right? Satine stared down at her hands for a long moment and then back at the girl.

Yes. . .yes, of course. Thank you, Anne. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Anne nodded, leaving Satine all alone in the room. She sat rigidly, her hands folded tightly on her lap.

Christian glanced up from an untouched glass of wine in the seedier part of town. A young, slender, dark-haired girl watched him from the shadows, her painted lips pouting. His eyes met hers and she brushed a hand down her bodice, slowly.

Satine stood uneasily at the large window, gazing out at the star-filled night. She shifted her feet, her eyes filled with pain. She wiped a single tear away and turned to go back into the room. . .

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Author's Note:
I don't own anyone or anything (except for sundry minor characters), and it's all used without permission, but please don't sue me, as I need money for college tution and cash to supply my book addiction. Christian's last name I created and I think it fits nicely.

Songs used: (W/out permission, of course. . .you expected something else?)
His Work and Nothing More--Jekyll and Hyde sung in duet with
Someone Like You--Jekyll and Hyde

Song Note: I have changed a few small things on some of the songs in this fic, like pronouns or minor wording, to make it fit the story better. Just in case you were wondering. ;-)