"We must get it back."
Danielle's quenched voice was immeasurably flat. There was no questioning.
Gaston nodded. After a few cups of Anne's strong coffee, and a quick, sunlit walk around the quiet Westmount neighbourhood, he was alert once more. The item in question was no small trinket. Danielle's mother, the infinitely kind and caring Madame Claudine Delamer, had been entrusted with Christine de Chagny's wedding gown. But the frock in question was not worn to any chapel.
Back in the parlour, Danielle said, "Maman told me a story about this dress once, Monsieur."
Claudine had just put her child to bed. Danielle had been a curious little girl all day, but now she was exhausted. She lay tucked in bed with her favourite doll. The others were settling into the humble servant quarters talking convivially about the day's events. The stars twinkled insistently in the sky outside, and a tender breeze had sprung up out of the north. Claudine sat in her wooden rocking chair, fashioned by her husband, poking at the dying embers in her tiny hearth.
She was just about dozing when there was an unobtrusive knock at her door. She smoothed back her hair and gathered her shawl close. Approaching the door, she called, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Claudine," replied a young, musical voice.
The maidservant swung the door to her room open to find her mistress, Madame la Vicomtesse de Chagny standing there, a dark cloak over her shoulders, with a large hood over her chestnut curls, obscuring her face in ominous shadows.
"Madame!" she gasped. "I--you--what is the matter?"
Christine studied the older woman for a moment before asking, "May I come in?"
"Of course," Claudine babbled. "But I'm afraid it is not fit for a future countess, my lady."
The cloaked woman entered silently, and took a seat on a plain stool situated across from her servant's rocker. She took down her hood, and said, "Claudine... would you cast aside such formality--even for just a moment? For now, we are not a mistress and servant, can we be friends?"
Taking her seat again in the carved chair, Claudine only nodded. "Of course...Christine."
"Good." She smiled, but it was only for a brief moment before her dark eyes glimmered. "Oh, Claudine, I am afraid! So afraid..."
"Of what?" Though her own daughter was just a small child, Claudine's maternal instincts made her lean forward to take Christine's slender hand. It was cold as a corpse's.
"I--Mon Dieu, how to explain? I think I am going mad." She spoke low, but her words were brimming with anguish. She went on. "I can't tell you why, but my hold on sanity is slipping away. I can feel it. There's a voice chasing it away; it's a guilt heavier than anything I thought I could possibly feel... Claudine, I must a favour of you now, before it's too late."
Her mind screamed to protest, to demand explanation. But it was her heart that spoke when she said, "What do you need?"
And from the folds of the immense midnight-blue cloak came the dress. Claudine had never seen anything so elegant, layers after layers of lace-edged ruffles that flowed into a train, a deep drape in the front, intricate embroidery that must have taken hours on the bodice, and delicate sleeves. But there was water damage to rich fabric of the skirts. Claudine bit back her questions. Instead, she whispered, "Lord, this is beautiful."
Christine nodded. "Yes." Then grief contorted her features. "Please, Claudine, for me... keep it safe. Keep it hidden from Raoul. I was supposed to have thrown it into the fire when first I came here. I couldn't. It--it was made for me."
"All right." Hesitantly, she took the gown, careful of the train, and hung it in the armoire, shutting the doors firmly.
"Thank you," Christine said sadly, staring at the glowing fire.
"Maman didn't tell me this story until I was about fourteen. But one thing I remember I overheard, for I was woken by the sound of the armoire shutting, was Madame Christine saying, 'At the heart of a wedding gown is a vow.' "
Gaston jotted it down swiftly, looking over the form and curve of the letters. "Where do you think the gown could have gone?"
"J'sais pas," she admitted. "I don't know. No one in the house could have taken it; I've seen every inch of this dwelling, and there's nowhere to hide it."
"Perhaps this is the work of the ghosts?" he suggested.
"No."
"No? Why not?"
"I just don't feel their hand in this."
Gaston stopped taking notes and stared at her. She was, as usual, quite serious and calm as a winter's morning. She shrugged. "This is human intervention, trust me on this."
The wheels in his head began to turn; thoughts grew. "Then, the disappearance must go back. What company handled the shipping of your things?"
"La Reine Shipping Line. Do you think it was taken during the voyage?"
"It's worth looking in to, I'd say," Gaston said.
Not a half hour later, they were passing through downtown. The quaint shops were open, and delicious early déjeuner aromas wafted from the bistros and cafés. Danielle needed to pick up a few things from the markets before heading to the Vieux-Port and the offices of La Reine Shipping. Stopping at a fabric supply shop, she said, "This will only be a moment, Monsieur. Anne asked me to pick up a few skeins of yarn for a new shawl."
Gaston nodded. It was a lovely day, bright, and seasonably warm. The old snow banks were melting away, running in a cool stream along the sidewalks. As Danielle considered a few soft cotton skeins, Gaston walked the span of two stores down, sniffing at the scent of fresh bread and pastries. But then, a quick figure caught his eye. Warm brown hair flashed in the sunshine. The sparkle of crystals and flash of pink ribbons. Without thinking, he followed her as she dashed across the busy street. Angry drivers leered out of motorcars and horse-drawn carriages alike, shouting at him in English and French. He ignored their bruising remarks, trying to keep his eye on the petite pink-clad apparition.
From far away, he heard her singing:
Look for me in the white forest hiding in a hollow tree...
Come find me...
Luckily, she did not go far. He watched her enter a little shop called Le Forêt Blanc. As soon as she vanished from his sight, he remembered Danielle. He jogged back to the fabric store, where she was gathering her parcel, and pushing the door open. "Monsieur Leroux? You look as though you've just run around the block a few times!"
She raised an eyebrow when he said, "I nearly did. Tell me, Mademoiselle, what does the store Le Forêt Blanc sell?"
Danielle chuckled, "Now, what would you require of--" Realization dawned on her as she gasped, "--bridal dressings?"
They quickly and safely made their way to the shop, which had an elegant window display of gauzy veils, kid gloves, and white frocks of the latest fashion. As they pushed the door open, a bell jingled. There was a handful of women browsing like cows in a field, running their hands over the imported lace, the stitched-on pearls, the silken embroidery, shimmering organza, and rich satin. Gaston and Danielle began to search for the ivory gown that belonged to a ghost.
"Bonjour, Monsieur, Mademoiselle. J'peux vous aider?" came a friendly female voice from the main counter.
The author and the maid exchanged a glance. "Yes, actually, I am looking for a gown of a specific style... maybe around 1870's style...a ruffled train, a front drape, princess bodice? Have you anything of that nature?"
The saleswoman's welcoming face closed slightly in foreboding. "I'm afraid we don't carry anything like that here, Mademoiselle."
Gaston spoke up. "We'd be willing to pay handsomely for such." He absently lifted up his purse of money, giving it an enticing shake.
Suddenly, from the back room, a man emerged. He was clean-cut, well-dressed and fit, but his eyes held a seedy glint. "Well, Monsieur, we did just get a new arrival, from France. It's a beauty, if a bit antique. Care to try it, Mademoiselle?"
But before Danielle could speak, a girl who was admiring the jewels in the glass case to the side, perked up. "An antique gown? Oh, Maman, I've always wanted a gown of the old fashion! Please, Monsieur, may I try it as well?"
The girl couldn't have been a day older than seventeen. She had flaxen hair and sky-coloured eyes, a soft flush to her face, and and youthful eagerness akin to a happy puppy. Her mother, an extravagantly-dressed woman, came up behind her and said, "Does the couple mind, Lucie?" She gave Danielle a scrutinizing glare from her humble calico dress to her dust cap.
Danielle blushed furiously. But she forced a smile, and said, "Go on, Mam'selle."
The saleswoman left the man out front while she led Lucie, her mother, and Danielle to the back room. Gaston began to follow, when a customer stopped him with, "Ah ah ah, Monsieur! You must not see your bride's gown until your wedding day."
The back room held three full-length mirrors in gilded frames, a seamstress' stool, and two chairs. The walls were covered in peach-tinted drapes. The saleswoman--a Madame Gagnon--opened one of the curtains, revealing a changing area. Danielle took a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, resigned to watch. Lucie was beaming, and her mother wore an expression of practised patience. After several moments of awkward silence, Madame Gagnon return, carrying a grey dress bag. Danielle's heart picked up its pace at the sight of the shapeless sack. She remembered her doubts, and waited as Mme Gagnon drew the curtain, leaving the girl and her mother to themselves. After some excruciatingly long minutes, pretty little Lucie Morneau emerged from the pale curtain.
Danielle choked on her gasp. The gown was even more beautiful than she remembered. Yet it was smaller. The waist was so tiny! It looked as if Lucie would be pinched in half. Her bare shoulders looked plump. And there was something else different, too.
There was no water damage. It looked as new as if they had just received it from a dressmaker in France. The ivory ruffles and damask silk was perfect.
Lucie lifted the skirts carefully as she stepped up onto the stool to look at herself in the mirrors. She turned this way and that, grinning. "Maman, this is the one. I love it. Do you think Alain will like it?"
Madame Gagnon wore a matching grin. Danielle could almost see the woman's triumphant glow of profit. But she blinked when Lucie added, "The only thing is...it's a bit tight. I'll need it altered."
Her mother scoffed, "Come now, Lucie. It would fit if you would lay off those Swiss chocolates!"
The girl insisted, "Maman, could you unlace the stays? It's just--so tight."
Mme Morneau sighed, and untied the lacing up the back. "There. Is that better?"
"It's not funny, Maman! Stop tightening them! I--I can't breathe! Help me!"
"What are you talking about?" Quickly, she unlaced the back of the gown completely.
"I can't breathe," Lucie gasped. Her face was white, and slowly turning mauve.
Danielle rose. She called for Mme Gagnon to fetch help immediately. As the portly woman left, she turned back to the young blonde swaying on her pedestal. But a paralysis of amazed horror swept over her.
In the mirror, pretty, frivolous fair-haired Lucie Morneau was gone. Instead, standing erect in the gown, was a serious young woman with the eyes of a wounded doe. She had a mane of brown ringlets beneath an immense veil, and a slender dancer's physique. The gown fit her perfectly, but the skirt was dripping wet. Her pink lips parted, and a dark whisper brushed Danielle's ear: Turn around and face your fate!
The vision passed, and Danielle blinked, to find Lucie fainted, and her mother in tears. Mme Gagnon returned with a glass of water, saying that a physician was on his way. The women flicked water at Lucie's face until she revived. Her first words were, "Oh, Maman, not this one! I--I'd never felt so broken-hearted! Not like in this gown!"
And she burst into tears. In her chemise and corset, Lucie was led by her mother back to the changing chamber. Mme Gagnon looked doubtfully at Danielle. "I don't suppose you want to try it on, Mademoiselle?"
"No," she answered truthfully. "But I'd like to purchase it."
Buying the gown was surprisingly easy. After the ordeal with Lucie, the owners were more than glad to be rid of their "antique" frock.
"Thank you, Monsieur Leroux."
"For what?"
"For purchasing the gown. I know it's the one, and there's no way I could have afforded to get it back."
"Ah, laisse-le tomber, Mademoiselle," he said dismissively. Then, he muttered, "But now what? We have the gown. Does she want it back in Paris?"
As Gaston continued to mutter and question no one in particular, something tugged at Danielle.
At the heart of a wedding gown is a vow...
I promised you...
Suddenly, she opened the dress bag, and felt along the inside of the top of the bodice with her fingers. Gaston broke off in mid-rant. Then, she found it. A small, sewn-in pocket, that would have rested over the bride's heart. She gently slid her fingers in, and withdrew something that glinted in the afternoon sun:
A plain gold ring.
-
Author's Note: A little confusing, I'll admit, but things are like that when a story writes itself. The ghosts could have kept the gown in France, but there is a reason why Leroux's in Montreal, I promise! Maybe this will all make sense by the epilogue. Anyway, thanks for reading. Review if you want more. The Ghost's snippet of song is from "My Last Breath" by Evanescence.
