Ch 1

Madeline Giry held her tongue when she saw me return from the opening ceremony. Her face, which seemed so youthful for a woman of her age, was frozen, her lips pursed. Only her eyes moved as I walked past her and towards the narrow staircase. I had half the mind to retire for the day without a word to her but I stopped at the top of the stairs, my hand wrapped around the maple railing. God knows why, but I stopped.

"You may say whatever you wish," I said with my back turned.

She exhaled hard as a reply.

"Approval or not, I will not stop and you know it. What nerve you have to assume your opinion means anything to me," I growled.

She did not make a sound. No utterance that she was upset or fearful. I thought perhaps she knew my temper and decided it was best not to meddle. But I knew her too well to think so foolishly for long. Her silent reprimand irritated me. I turned.

"She is happy," Madeline said sharply. Her eyes narrowed in an attempt to shame me.

I turned from Madeline again and stared at the doorway leading to my darkened room. My jaw twitched. I felt the ache of so much pressure, so much pent up agony, pulse through my teeth and into my face, both the wretched side and the acceptable.

"I am not happy," I replied, and with that I intended to retire for the day.

Truth be told, I have enjoyed Madeline's company. She has never betrayed me, and for that I have compensated her life with my funds. She has always been the face that does my bidding, my personal contact that has my clothes tailored, my pantry filled, my money managed. Strangely I feel no shame in using her to my advantage. Leeching off one another, after all, is what humanity does best.

But Madeline has been a good mother to Meg and in some ways to me as well. She mothered me by accident. I never asked her to be matriarchal and she never offered, but some things happen without thought or question. Fate is what it is called. My fate has not been kind. But Madeline has been a lenient, unbidden mother and I have been a violent, insolent son. We have disappointed each other time and again and yet we are still connected.

Meg was waiting for me in my room when I returned. She looked tired, her usually pretty face drawn, her eyes dark underneath. I could tell by how still and stiff she sat at my desk that something was wrong.

"Where is Alexandre?" I asked as I hung my coat in the wardrobe and unbuttoned the cuffs of my shirt. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and tore the cravat from my neck. Madeline kept the house ungodly warm for March. The woman has the worst blood of anyone I have ever known. To her, Hell would need another log added to the fire.

"I thought he was with you," Meg replied. She stood, wringing her hands.

"With me?" I questioned. I stood staring at her reflection in the oval floor-length mirror. She had gone pale, which for her was astonishing as she had always been fair-skinned.

Meg looked away when she noticed me staring at her. "He never came to lunch or to his lessons."

I evaluated her words in silence. Meg's husband, Charles Lowry, was quite a well-learned man. He spent two years studying in Oxford, a year in New York, and another year and a half traveling through Africa. His extensive studying and knowledge of several languages made him an ideal teacher. His injury after the Franco-Prussian War made him grateful for the roof I allowed him. He only has to teach Alexandre and I give him shelter and a small allowance for his enjoyment.

Even I have a soft spot for the maimed.

"The Universal Exposition," I sighed, turning to face Meg.

Meg nodded back nervously. "I believe so," she said, still not looking me in the eye.

I waved my hand to excuse her from the room and she scuttled towards the door, no questions asked. She would rather be sent away than face my wrath.

"When he returns, send him to me," I said over my shoulder.

"I will look for him if you wish," she offered.

"No," I said quickly. "If something should happen to him, it is his own damned fault."

I watched her eyes darken at my harsh words. She thought I was heartless and uncaring towards the boy. Month after month, week after week, the distance between us grew. He would realize eventually that I acted in his best interest. They all would.

"Monsieur," Meg said softly. She looked away and did not finish her thought.

Odd how after all these years, Meg rarely saw past the mask I wear. She had no idea how my gut had tightened at the thought of my own son disappearing from my home. He was the only piece of Christine I had over nine, dreadful years. Should something happen to him…

I dare not say what hatred I would release upon the world.