Chapter 77 Heresy

Brigitte walked slowly through the dark corridors of the Opera House, down through the stables and into the back courtyard, towards what she hoped would be an un-locked gate. It had better be - she'd had to let Claude take a squeeze of her breasts to get him to do it.

She felt the latch of the gate - thank God, it was open. She let out the breath she'd been holding and stepped through, careful not to slip on the icy pavement. Paris celebrated the coming of Christmas around her; people streamed out of salons and to and from the Opera House, wishing those left behind the very best of the season at the tops of their voices. She ignored them. She couldn't afford to be recognised. If anyone ever knew who she waited for - if Gilles ever found out… She shivered at the thought.

She'd told him that she felt far too unwell tonight to accompany him to yet another Christmas ball. For weeks she'd been careful to prattle on about how much she'd wanted to attend, all the while knowing she had no intention whatsoever of doing so. Not since she'd received his note. Gilles thought she was tucked up in bed, sleeping away a headache so calamitous that she could barely open her eyes.

God, how she ached to see him. It had been months since she'd stepped foot in the Trinité. Since that first night with Gilles, she hadn't dared show her guilt before the eyes of God. Or before his eyes…

A single streetlamp shone a circle of light onto the frosty ground next to her, throwing her drawn face and tired eyes into stark relief. She closed them for a moment, hoping God would give her the strength to face the man she really loved, even though He knew her traitorous heart.

F Callier turned the corner at the end of the street and strode quickly towards her, his head bowed against the cold, equally as wary to be recognised as she was. His black robes billowed around him as he crunched through the snow, rosary in hand.

Brigitte stood transfixed, every ounce of emotion that she'd tried to silence when in Andre's arms came flooding back to drown her. She took faltering steps towards him, then stopped only a few feet away from him. "Father?"

He looked up and stopped suddenly. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders in fiery waves and her face was bare of make-up. The clothes she wore were plain brown, working calico. He'd never seen her look more beautiful.

"Come in here," she said, pulling them both back through the gate, closing it to any prying eyes. They stood together in the shadows, wary of discovery.

"Where have you been?" he said, "I -"

She silenced any further questions by lifting her head and kissing him.

The swift action took him completely by surprise, but after a small gasp of shock, he moaned against her lips and returned the kiss. The rosary entwined between his fingers fell forgotten to the floor as he sank his hands into her hair and held her against him.

She meant to tell him this was the last time they could meet. She meant to tell him she'd accepted Gilles' proposal. She meant to tell him she didn't know if it was his babe now growing inside her womb, or if the child belonged to her new fiancé. But if she did any of that, she knew she'd lose him. He carried so much guilt for what they'd already shared, to know more would end everything. And she couldn't live without him. "Come on," she said, breaking from the kiss and leading him into the stables. She had to be with him, even if it was for this one, last time.

He followed her willingly, penance forgotten in the pure white snow.

-oo000oo-

Erik stepped out of the shadows as they walked away. How spectacularly sordid. Brigitte and the local priest - who'd have thought? He knew of her recent dalliance with Andre and how she'd fled the stage many times lately, to throw up where no-one could see her. She played both men for fools.

Would she marry Andre to give a name to the priest's bastard? Would she live on Andre's wealth, then scurry off to the church whenever she could, to lay with her priest again? The child could belong to either of them. She'd only know the truth once it was born. Would she despise it if it was Andre's? Never forgive it for not being from her priest? His heart felt heavy.

Sometimes he hated knowing so many secrets. Once he would have been happy to use it, knowing three people could be manipulated to his will with all that he'd discovered. But knowing another child was about to born to a mother who may never accept or love it made him curse all he'd seen.

Erik had only ever set foot in a church once before, as a child. His father's hand holding tightly to his own; his knuckles white as people gasped and stared, backing away, taking their children home rather than have them sit with one so afflicted and despised. He couldn't even commune with God without being scorned. The memory hardened his heart further towards what he'd just witnessed.

Noticing the rosary on the ground, he bent to pick it up. He looked at the figure carved in light wood and never felt further from God. "You can't help me," he said quietly. "You could not even help yourself."