A/N: Aiya Quackform – sorry to confuse you. Just to clarify, yes, the tavern actually did happen …when a character is dreaming, believe me, you'll know. ;)
allegratree – you must have read my mind, because I was just planning to thank everyone for the thoughtfulness and quality of their reviews. You're absolutely right, I don't care (very :P) much about the review count, I'm just pleased that the people following my story are really appreciating it. (oh, btw, you may be right about the bar tender – doggone it! – I hadn't even thought of that, but now the image is in my head, lol.)
atheshar – just wanted to say thanks for your comments yet again.
Anyway thank you to all my reviewers, for taking the time to write those wonderful, insightful reviews I enjoy so much. You really motivate me to write faster. :) Please don't stop. And to anyone else who hasn't reviewed yet – feel free to jump in any time! ;)Okay, we have to leave Erik for just a little while to catch up with some … other … people. The next three chapters are actually one really one long one that got out of hand. I'll post the next two chapters together, because I don't want them to be read separately. Third will come soon.
5. In the De Chagny House (I)
The De Chagny house was abuzz, preparing for the departure of the Master and Mistress. The Vicomte had only bought the house in Nice recently, so while it was furnished, it did not yet contain any of the other things so necessary for running a household. They would have send some initial items on ahead, and purchase the rest when they arrived. There were linens to be sorted through, china and cutlery to be selected, a few things necessary for the staff to do their work – pots, pans, and the like – various decorative items the Mistress wanted … not to mention the couple's wardrobe and personal effects. All would have to be ready.
Mathilde was exhausted. She rubbed her chapped, red hands together and glanced at the clock in the hallway – one o'clock. Already! She leant against the side table for a minute to catch her breath, making a small, frustrated gesture at the clock. The machine was apparently not amused … it ticked on relentlessly, unsympathetic and undisturbed by the long list of chores she had on her mind. She dropped her head to gather her thoughts. Let's see now. She would have to see to the glassware soon, and the books (the Master should have finished sorting by now) … the vase from the parlour would be going, she'd have to wrap that carefully herself … oh, and the pillowcases … she had almost forgotten those … they needed bleaching. But first … there was still time to check on Madame. She might as well bring the medicine in too, for the lady would probably not take it otherwise. She sighed a little, then with a decisive nod she stood, dusted her apron off with a flick of her hand ascended the grand stairs, taking them two at a time, her young, strong body sweeping upwards with ease. On the way, she passed one of the cleaning girls, who was descending with a bucket and a rag. Mathilde made her stop for a moment, looking at her uniform with a critical eye - quickly, she adjusted the girl's cap so that it sat in the proper position, then, satisfied, allowed her to continue on her way.
Mathilde had come from the country to take up work as Christine's personal maid … what was it? Almost four years ago now, shortly after they had married. Nowadays, her work seemed to extend well beyond her lady's care, to directing the lesser servants and seeing to the house in general. She didn't mind this – Madame Rennard, the official housekeeper, was a dear woman, but had become somewhat forgetful with age, so Mathilde was tacitly acknowledged as the authority on most domestic matters ...a responsibility which she handled well. She was friendly with all the servants, as well as her employers - they really were a lovely pair, especially for nobles. She counted herself lucky that she didn't have some witch of a Mistress like her friend Brigitte, who worked for a Marquess and was shrieked at night and day until her ears bled.
From the very beginning, her first day, Christine had instructed that Mathilde address her as a friend, using her given name. The maid had been uncomfortable, and at first refused flat out. This was her first position as a proper lady's maid, and she wanted so much to do things correctly, the right way …
"Oh you are stubborn, Mathilde!" Christine had rebuked with a smile. Her teeth peered out from between her lips, glowing white.
"I'm sorry Madame, but I just don't think it is correct."
"Well it was probably incorrect of Raoul to marry a dancer, but he did anyway!" Her hazel eyes sparkled as she took the maid's arm and walked with her about the room. "Come now, you must understand … I'd feel nervous if you were to call me 'Madame' all the time. You know, I used to spend all day, every day with girls my age when I lived –" she hesitated slightly " – when I was training, and it will be so lonely not having them with me."
In response to the maid's continuing silence, the Vicomtess assumed an expression of mock-severity that was laughably incongruous with her soft, young features. "Mathilde, if you do not agree to call me by my real name, I'm afraid I shall have to make you execute your duties wearing a tutu in order to cheer me up." She put her hands on her hips and frowned. " I'm sorry, but it is the only thing that would console me."
Mathilde had been brought up with the rules of etiquette firmly drilled into her head by her mother, who had been a housekeeper, but Christine's words struck her with unbounded fear. She knew nothing about this woman yet …she could be some sort of eccentric, and the tutu may be more than an idle threat. The maid had heard of such things going on in aristocratic houses. "Very well … Christine," she said grudgingly.
At the sound of the name, the Vicomtess had clapped her hands laughingly and hugged the maid, who couldn't help but smile, her fears allayed. Sweet girl.
At the top of the stairs, Mathilde sighed again. Even though Christine was actually a little older than herself, there was something about the lady that invariably aroused a maternal instinct. The maid remembered the first few months she had been in service. They had been somewhat trying … alternating periods of radiant sunlight and rain. There had times when the Mistress was happy and carefree – at such times the entire household was happy. The Master too. When his wife was in good spirits – whether it be playful and blithe, or tranquil and happily contented – he seemed to glow with joy. Those were the best of times.
But back in those days, the young Vicomtess could also be quite emotional. Mathilde would often come across her weeping over the smallest things: she hadn't been able to find Raoul's cravat, she didn't know what she should be serving at a dinner party, she had said something silly in front of the Marquess. At such times, Raoul and the maid would do their best to calm her, and eventually the tears would stop. Certainly her reactions seemed disproportionate to the problems … but Mathilde imagined how difficult it must be for a girl only a little older than herself to settle into an elevated social position. A wife, a Vicomtess. Furthermore, there had been that scandal surrounding the couple's marriage – Mathilde knew only as much as she had read in the papers, and even that she took with a pinch of salt … but whatever the true story was, it definitely didn't make things easier on the poor girl.
After a while, things had calmed down. The crying stopped, the house settled into a rhythm, they worked together contentedly. The periods of sunshine extended, the rain blew away – Raoul and his wife seemed happy, and from what Mathilde could gather, the pair had become a popular society couple. The guest list of any De Chagny dinner party certainly suggested so. The only thing to mar the picture was Christine's delicate health – she was prone to cough and chest problems – and her 'spells'.
These 'spells' came and went infrequently, and the Mistress brushed them off as nothing. During these times, she simply became very quiet and pensive – sometimes sitting in the same chair for hours on end, staring out a window, or into a fire, with such intensity it was difficult to get her attention. And when she did attempt a task, she would do it distractedly and clumsily … apologizing profusely when she broke something. Such periods would last anywhere from a few hours to a day or two, and the time would always be slightly tense for the house. They all worried about the Mistress – because, as Madame Rennard said, "it's not natural".
In fact, Christine had had a short spell just yesterday, in the morning. They seemed to have become more frequent over the last few months, as her health became worse … perhaps the stress of preparing for the trip also had a hand in it. While yesterday she appeared to recover by evening – enough, anyway, to play a spirited game of cards with her husband (the pair of them giggling and teasing each other like a couple of teenagers) – this morning she had complained of a bad night's sleep, and had not yet emerged from her bedroom.
Of course, the Master was concerned whenever she went into one of her states. In the early days, he had begged her to tell him what was wrong, but she insisted she was fine, further discussion merely descending into arguments, which they were always careful to keep behind closed doors, away from the servants. Nowadays he just seemed to deal with it as best he could, realising that the best thing to do was let her come back on her own.
As the maid passed the door to the Raoul's study on her way to Christine's room, she tapped lightly and waited. An amused smile appeared on her face as she heard sudden scuffling movements in the room behind the dark wood. Then, there was a loud bang and a thud, as if something had been dropped on the floorboards ... ooh, I hope that didn't scratch the polish, was her first thought. She listened carefully for some moments and could have sworn she heard some soft cursing within the room ...however, with a chuckle, she decided to put it down to her imagination. Finally, the Master of the house opened the door - he was panting slightly and cradling an armful of books, with a sheepish look on his face.
"I know. I know. Mathilde … yes … I'm doing them right now. I give you my word – an hour, no more!" He grinned, his face settling into pleasant lines, and quickly returned to the desk, as if to prove his industriousness. It was piled with books and half-filled boxes. He put the bundle of volumes he was carrying on the table, and began to read the spines, putting some into one of the open boxes and leaving others.
Mathilde rested against the doorframe and smiled even more widely, crossing her arms. "Certainly. Whatever you say, Monsieur … though you do realise you used those exact words yesterday?"
"Ah, but the difference is that I mean them this time." He looked up with a smirk and flashed his eyebrows. "I was busy yesterday."
"Playing cards with Madame doesn't count," the maid teased.
Raoul laughed as he continued his work. "Oh indeed? I'll have you know that was a very important business transaction. She won fifty francs from me last night!" Though he continued to smile, a serious expression flitted across his face for a moment then was gone. Mathilde noticed this and understood. The game had been important; it had helped bring Christine back from wherever she was … wherever she had been in her mind, as she sat by the fire.
"I suppose now you're off to scold her too." His joking face had returned. "Well don't spare her! She deserves a good talking to, I am convinced she cheated!"
Mathilde gave a quick smile and then spoke more seriously, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her brows. She fiddled with her apron. "Actually, Monsieur, I think she may be asleep, she has not been down today. This morning she told me she did not rest well last night."
Raoul frowned. He had had to leave early that morning to attend to some errands, and had been busy since. Christine had been asleep when he left their room, but as he kissed her forehead, he had noted the troubled expression on her face.
"Oh. Well when she gets up, tell her to come here and give me a hand with these books. She'll have to choose some too."
Mathilde shook her head, her lips curving upward once more. "Not likely, Monsieur, I'm afraid the task is all yours. She still has her gowns and clothing to attend to, and they are far more important than your books!" She reached for the door handle and began pulling it closed. "Besides, it's only going to take you an hour, isn't it?" Cheekily, she shut the door and left.