A/N
Been a while, hasn't it?
Forgive
the delay, I have been insanely busy and this chapter was written in
spurts whenever I got a moment and i FINALLY finished it! Thank you to
everyone who reviewed and encouraged me to carry on! This is all a
setup for the big Chapter 7, 8 and 9 which will be the most important.
(Hey, it took me long enough!)
Enjoy.
Chapter 6
Christine was awoke early in the morning to a gentle shaking of her shoulder as Meg, puffy eyed and tousle-haired, woke her. She held back the urge to throw her arms around her friend. Secrecy was necessary. She had no wish to embarrass Meg or humiliate herself by bringing up the fact she had been watching through the door. Meg's love was her business—Christine had been an intruder.
Even before the carriage they could hear by the rumble outdoors that a storm was coming.
Madam swept through the cramped rooms with a continual swish of her skirts, inspecting the locks on the trunks, looking under beds and between mattresses, feeling into the darkest corners of wardrobes and inspecting the dusty cabinets for any spare trinket that may be left behind.
"Meg I have found our other pearl earring," Madam said, holding out the little white sphere, eyebrows raised. "You swore to me you had packed everything,"
Meg flushed. "Well almost everything," She stashed the little jewel into her pocket. "Anything else?"
"Non. You have done well, my dears." Christine slipped to the windowsill, grabbing the stub of a candle off of the wooden pane and putting it in her pocket.
The women exchanged glances silently, and then turned to look around the empty apartment. There was a clattering on the cobblestones to announce the arrival of their carriages. The horse whinnied restlessly and they could hear the driver cough.
Madam Giry sighed, looking about her. She pressed one hand to the belly of her corset and pushed the other into the small of her back.
"Very well," She said quietly. And there was a musty, thick silence.
There was a knock at the door.
Madam Giry threw a glance back at the other two women and opened the door. The driver stood before them, wearing a knobbly overcoat, an old, worn hat and thick workboots. He coughed into his hand. Madam Giry stiffened, stepping back slightly from the terribly bad manners.
"Are you ready?" the driver asked, coughing again, this time into the air and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. Madam Giry's disguised her look of distaste by sending it toward Meg and Christine.
"Are we?" She asked. The girls nodded. Madam indicated the five trunks pushed against the wall. "Christine, Meg, take yours. I will take mine and our drive can carry the rest,"
Christine and Meg exchanged glances. Those trunks were heavy and large…
But they raised no objections, relieved just to be leaving.
And so pushing, grunting, shoving, lifting, tugging and heaving through about fifteen minutes they finally got their trunks to fit into the carriage. Madam descended with her own, making it look neat and effortless despite the redness of her face. And the driver arrived with the two smallest thrown over his meaty shoulders. He tossed them into the carriage and hopped into the driver's seat.
Madam Giry stared daggers at his hunched back and sniffed her disapproval. However, she opened the door herself, her daughter settling in beside her and Christine opposite the two of them.
With an almighty creak and a rumble the carriage started forward. There was silence in the carriage as they all watched the remnants of their stay here grow smaller behind them.
"Will you miss it?" Christine asked abruptly.
Madam frowned and shook her head. "No. This place was a holding tank, and nothing more to us." And Meg was silent.
Whether it was the silence in the carriage or the steady clink of the cobblestones or lack of sleep—one by one, they all drifted off.
Erik readjusted his mask by pushing it hard down against his face. The sealing liquid was hot and tight against his skin, but that hardly mattered. It wouldn't do to have it slip. He gave his head a short, violent shake against the pain and let out a strained breath through his teeth.
Talley and Rand awaited him. There had been a message for him at his rooms in the Moon-On-Water Inn, where he stayed when the cold and damp conditions of his home (made worse by the fire) became intolerable. It was a quiet place, small and dirty, a house of ill repute run by a bald, cruel oaf of a man and his shrill and busty wife.
He was not disturbed there, and when he stayed he did not sleep, nor could he, due to the noisy and consistent inhabitants of the establishment.
He sat upon a bed and touched the greasy linen with uncertainty, his thumb dark against the white. He glanced up to a spotted mirror and glared at his reflection, his face in shadow and the mask in violent relief in its yellowish hue.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Erik leapt to his feet, and flung it open, furious at the disturbance. But in the doorway was an unexpected guest.
A man stood in the shadowy hall, arms folded over his chest. The man was tall and broad with muscle and his oiled skin was as dark as ochre and the black, tight curls upon his head were streaked with gray, although there was no other indication of his age. Erik stepped into the hall, facing the man and staring at him. His clothes were those of a sailor, and his gray linen shirt was relatively clean with a tear near his left bicep.
Erik faced him. Although he himself was tall, this dark man towered over him with shocking comparison. The two men watched each other intently. They did not break gaze even as the door to the tavern yanked open and slammed shut and the noise invaded the cavern.
It was Erik who broke the silence.
"What brings you here,"
The larger man shrugged, arms still folded. "The wind and ocean and a large boat," His voice was deep and resonated in thick echoes throughout the hall.
Erik's expression did not change. "No, what brought you here. How did you find me?"
The African man said nothing, but held out a small, rumpled off-white envelop with a broken seal. Even without reading it, Erik knew the writer. He did not bother to read the better, and thrust it back to his companion who simply stared at it.
"Paris has changed," He said. Erik, withdrew the letter and placed it in his own pocket nodded distractedly.
"All these ideas for 'rennovations' and 'modernization'," Erik agreed, dusting his hands together unnecessarily. "It's all damn silly if you ask me,"
The other man cocked his head at Erik, who seemed to want to look everywhere but at him. "You're not well,"
"I'm fine," Erik retorted quickly, still rubbing his hands together.
"Marie was right," the man snorted. "Where I stay is much better, you will live with me there."
Erik protested. "I have a meeting with two gentlemen at the moment. I don't have time to be nursed back to health. So if you please" But the man blocked his exit, flinging the great pack from off his back and onto the ground. He then pulled out an apple and a half-plucked chicken.
"You will eat first,"
Erik stared first at the apple and then at the chicken and then into the pack where several ears of corn peeked out along with a few potatoes.
It had been a long time since Erik had eaten properly…
And Erik's face suddenly broke out into a very strange, sincere smile.
"It is good to see you, Akil."
And it was as though someone had lit a candle in the African man's face. His wide, full mouth drew back to display large, shining teeth in contrast to the darkness of his face, some were white and some were gold, plated in times of wealth upon the seas. And without warning he threw his arms around the dwarfed Erik with such astounding force that the smaller man was lifted off the floor.
"My friend," Akil bellowed, jouncing Erik, "My friend…"
Christine was dreaming again.
It was not a nightmare, but a dream you have of a memory half-forgotten and half laced together until you can't remember if it really happened or if it was—indeed—all just your imagination by the end.
Their house by the sea was not large. It stood upon the quaking sand uncertainly, its higher floors with its wide, jutting balconies seemed to be reaching out toward the waves while the first floor with its enclosed doorway and tight construction gave the impression that it wanted nothing more than to be free of the tang of salt and the spray of water.
At the very top of this house, there was a very small, circular window which was almost always dark, with tangled cobwebs interfering with its glass.
However, on this particularly rainy, particularly dark evening, the glass had a cheery orange glow and the creaky activity of two children interrupted its solemn silence.
A girl dressed in a white lawn summer dress with a light pink sash sat with her knees drawn up to her chin, wide-eyed as a boy still in dark blue knee stockings and a coat with shiny brass buttons that was four sizes too large for him read to her from a large, tattered book.
"And no one knew," He said with a flair, peering at her mysteriously. "The secret of that summer night. And they say that the ghost of the beautiful maiden still tears about the forest, her screams frightening even the hardiest hunter to his very soul as she flees her fate over and over… The End."
There was a silence. The boy snapped the book shut ceremoniously. Christine brought her fingers from her mouth.
"Do you think that really happened, Raoul?" She gasped, pulling herself onto her knees. The boy, the older and obviously wiser of the two, shrugged.
"Who knows… we'll just have to go to that forest one day and listen for her." Christine's eyes grew even wider.
"Wouldn't that be frightening?"
"Don't be frightened, Little Lotte," Raoul said bravely, putting two little hands on her shoulders. "I'll protect you."
Suddenly, the thunder above them gave such a loud clap that both of them gave a cry of fright.
Christine made a grab at Raoul's coat, and he put a small arm around her shoulders comfortingly. "They won't find us in here," He said.
"I have to go away soon, Raoul," Christine said suddenly. Her friend withdrew his arm quickly.
"What!"
"Papa is going to send me away to a school!" Raoul's brow furrowed, not fully comprehending. Then his expression cleared and he sat back down next to Christine.
"I'll talk to Father," he said. "I'm sure he could work something out,"
Christine frowned.
"But father wants me to go… and I'm sure I will like it there, if Papa thinks it will be good for me,"
"You should stay here, with me!" Raoul said defiantly. Christine sighed.
"I want to go!"
Raoul turned to her. "But if you go, how will we be married?"
Christine bit her lip. "I…" She looked at Raoul, who appeared to be thinking fast. Suddenly he reached into the hem of her skirt and brought out a pin, small, silver and sharp. "Hold out your thumb," Raoul ordered.
"What?"
"Hold out your thumb."
Christine obeyed. "What are you doing?" And with two sharp jabs and a yelp of pain from Christine, a tiny bead of blood appeared on both of their thumbs. And Raoul took Christine's hand and held her thumb to his.
"I'm making you mine!" He said cheerfully, watching the blood flow between them.
Christine shifted uncomfortably, thrown slightly off balance by their strange position.
"Alright,"
"Now wherever you go, I'll go too, and you'll go with me too, because now we have each others blood and we can never be separated!"
Christine watched her thumb nervously as it seemed to grow scarlet with an overflow of blood. Somewhere below them a violin had begun to strain itself through a scale
And with another clap of thunder Christine awoke.
She put a hand to her clammy forhead, the thumb of her right hand still tingling with the memory of pain brought to her by the dream. Her belly turned. The rain poured down outside and the carriage shifted noticeably as the cab driver leaped down from his post, pulling up his jacket against the cold and throwing open the door.
"We have reached our destination, ladies," and he said nothing more, leaving the door open and slipping into the nearest tavern for something to warm him up. Madam Giry sat stiff-backed, regarding the unpleasant weather with distaste.
"My," She said icily. "I hope he does not expect to be paid." And with one elegant flounce of her skirts she was out of the carriage and knocking on the door to a new building, no doubt their new home.
Meg, who was still sleeping like the dead, was awoken by a tug on the shoulder by Christine.
"Come along, dearest," Christine whispered as Meg blinked blearily, "We're home,"
The cottage stood out warm and dry against the rain, and the babe had finally ceased its wailing. Raoul was relieved.
"Well my dear, I must leave for Paris in a day or two, I suppose we will say our goodbyes here."
The mother of his child (whose name was Katherine) got to her feet unsteadily.
"How long will you be gone?" She asked wearily. This was the first time Raoul had visited her in the weeks since the grand argument in the hall. Kat had never forgotten that woman's expression… and it filled her with shame and sorrow.
"I don't know," Raoul said casually, fitting on his large overcoat. "Perhaps a week, perhaps a month. Either way I daresay you're well provided for, aren't you?"
Kat helped him with his coat and stood staring at him, uncertain what she wanted. Raoul looked at her impatiently.
"Yes?"
Kat shook her head swiftly and violently. "Nothing," She murmured, feeling foolish.
"Take care of the boy,"
"I will,"
Raoul half-smiled and gave Kat a cool kiss on the forehead. "Alright then, goodbye,"
And he strode out the door without another word, with Kat in the threshold, rubbing the back of her neck and uncertain of what to say. She had neither wit nor talent of conversation to hold him for very long. She went and looked at the tiny bald cherub that was her boy. She reached out a finger and stroked his smooth, soft forehead.
"You'll know your Papa," she said comfortingly. "You won't be a bastard like those children in the village. You'll be educated and do great things." She kissed his round cheek. "I just hope you'll remember your old mother in the end."
Raoul hurried from the cottage. Damn that woman.
He had endured a full hour and a half of sitting in a conversation about the weather and cows full of awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences. When he returned from Paris he would put that woman and that child far out of his way.
His manservant stood waiting for him at the threshold of the house. "You are packed, sir."
"Right, yes, thank you Jowler," Raoul muttered distractedly, eyeing the large portrait of his father in the hall as if he could feel those great oil eyes watching himjudging him.
"If you please sir—how long shall we be gone for?"
Raoul shrugged. "As long as it takes to take back what's mine," Jowler's expression did not change, although his heart sank.
"Very good, sir."
The new apartment was larger than the last. It was an improvement by many accounts, although there was not much of a view but that of the street below. It would suffice, Madam Giry thought.
But at the moment there was nothing but darkness. The girls were asleep, exhausted by the day's travel but Madam was awake and alert, scanning a note in her hand.
The scrawl would have been unfamiliar to either Meg or Christine. It was written by a hand whose familiarity had long since vanished with the tide that took him to sea.
Marie—
I found him, he is hungry and sick at heart, but alive. The meeting will go as you said, Monsieurs Talley and Rand will be meeting with him soon. Welcome home, to the two of us, I suppose. I will see you soon.
Akil
Madam placed the note back into its envelope and threw it into the fire, placing her chin in her hand.
She looked out the window into the dim light. Tomorrow she would have to meet with these two new prospects, Talley and Rand. Tomorrow she would be a part of her work again, doing what she loved. And tomorrow…
She glanced over to the box that held the mask, the box that held all of the past that had been locked away and hushed.
Madam looked out into the dark night as a man in a coat with the collar turned up crossed the lamp-lit streets, quick as a cat.
Tomorrow...
