Erik carried the boy into the room and stretched him out on the floor. Garrick cried out softly and Erik breathed with relief. He wasn't dead yet and Erik wasn't about to let him go without a fight. He filled the tea pot with water from the pitcher and lit the candle beneath it to begin heating the water. It wouldn't be enough in the long run but it was all he had at the moment. Spirts of any kind would be good to flush out the wound, but wine wasn't the best choice. Since Erik rarely drank hard liquor, he didn't have any to use an antiseptic.
Erik had read recently about Joseph Lister's antiseptic procedures that was supposed to kill microscopic bacteria responsible for a myriad of infectious diseases, including lockjaw, which was possibly the greatest risk from dog bite. Rabies was a close second but the police dog was probably not infected. It would have been put down at the first indication of risk. He bathed Garrick's wounds and gave him a small dose of opium tincture. At least it would relieve some of the pain.
The boy had been eating better since Erik had employed him, but he was still malnourished and not in the best of health to withstand any kind of infection. Garrick was in shock and babbled incoherently. Erik ripped one of his clean white shirts into strips and bandaged Garrick's forearm where the dog's teeth had torn into the boy's flesh leaving a gaping trough eight inches long down his arm, barely missing a crucial artery. His knees were skinned badly and both hands were punctured from the sharp canines. There was a deep cut on his chin where the dog had gone for the throat and missed. The dog probably couldn't see very well in the darkness and therefore only maimed the young man instead of killing him. The next problem would be the waiting. He'd heard that lockjaw could take as many as four or more days to set in and many died from it. Erik didn't know what percentage of those, who were infected, survived.
Other problems faced him as well. If the dog had found entrance to his underground refuge, it was at matter of time before the police found it as well. The echo of gunfire in the close vicinity of his room jarred his nerves and notified him that his prediction was imminent. Quickly he extinguished the flames in both lamps and waited. It would not do for someone to see the light seeping from under the door. Another retort of gunfire and then a thumping, crashing roar. Erik knew that sound all too well. It was a cave-in and not just a small one like before. His blood ran cold with panic though he willed himself not to lose control. He heard the rock and dirt piling up outside the door. They were trapped!
There was no danger that anyone would see the light beneath the door now. He lit one lamp and prepared the feather tick for Garrick. He put the boy down carefully on the tick and covered him up with the duvet. He couldn't help but think of Christine at that moment. He'd brought the satin duvet for her, but she would never know it.
He'd not been entirely unprepared for the disaster. In fact, he'd been expecting it to happen for sometime. The resounding shock wave of gunfire in the narrow corridors had just accelerated the forthcoming event. The police had, without a doubt, used dogs to ferret out the secret entrances of the Paris underground where revolutionaries plotted and planned their strategies. And they had foolishly fired their guns without a thought of what they were doing.
Erik wasn't surprised. He was just angry at the pointless stupidity of it all. A innocent boy lay on his floor bearing a punishment that was not his. He had done nothing wrong. Yes, Erik thought, he would focus on the anger. Anger and hate would see him through this, while self-pity and despair would kill him and Garrick too, for the boy would not survive without his help. The water in the tea pot came to a boil. Quickly, Erik removed it from the heat. It would not do to waste a single drop due to evaporation. It was the only water for the two of them until they were free, since Erik had used the rest of the water for bathing the boy's wounds.
The last minor cave-in that caught Patsy unawares had inspired him to borrow a short handled shovel from an unattended cart near the carriage house not too far from the laundry. It was leaning in the corner closest to the door. Without further hesitation, he opened the door, ready to stand back quickly when the dirt and rocks came pouring inside.
Ordinarily, he would have assumed that the direction toward the stairs would be the shortest and the safest, but with attack dogs possibly waiting outside it wasn't necessarily the best solution. There was also the possibility that there were others, police officers in particular, that might be buried beneath the rubble. It was hard to predict if someone else might be digging to recover the body of a fallen comrade. Also the northern direction, which would take him closer to the stairway would take him further from where he needed to go. The only other room in the underground which offered comparable safety and comfort was the little room behind the cellar at the House of Clureoux. It was just of half as big as the one under the laundry but it would have to suffice for the time being.
Garrick needed medical attention and there was only so much that Erik could do. There was also the problem of how to get the help Garrick needed after they were free. Leaving him at the hospital was the same as sending him to the prison camps outside the city, for that was where he would end up eventually. It would simply be assumed that the tattered youth would be in league with the revolutionaries.
Erik reached for the shovel and began moving the dirt and rocks further into the room. It was the only place for it to go. He worked quickly and only stopped to attend to Garrick, giving him sips of water to keep him from becoming dehydrated. He coaxed him into eating what was left of the sausage and dried fruit. There was not way to know how long it would take for them to get free and the boy would need every ounce of strength that the nourishment would provide. Erik didn't know how long he'd dug through the rubble when he simply lacked the strength to continue, he sat down for just a few moments before going back to digging. He drank wine to satisfy his thirst, saving the water for Garrick. Acting on an impression, he gave some of the wine to Garrick. Even wine would help to keep him from getting dehydrated and it would relax him which, in turn, would reduce some of the muscle spasms if lockjaw set in. Already the youth shivered beneath the duvet and yet burned with fever.
Erik didn't dare take the time to rest. He'd already cleared enough to see that the ceiling and the wall of the corridor had collapsed. He extinguished the lamps to save on the oil while just burning a single candle. With each shovel full, the room filled rapidly with displaced soil and rock. Erik shifted everything, including Garrick to the corner facing the door so he could fill the far end with dirt. Erik estimated that he'd dug out enough dirt to just about clear ten feet straight up and out when the dirt stopped pouring in on top of him. He'd been able to create a slope going up to where he could crawl up and almost stand on the dirt that had collapsed. Once on top of the fallen soil, he could crawl forward over the soft surface of the dirt. The cave-in took out about sixty feet of the narrow corridor, filling it up so the only way to get through was to go up and over the filled area of the tunnel. From there, he dug downward to where the tunnel continued south. The dirt was soft and each time he tried to dig downward, loose soil filled the hole again. Hours passed as Erik continued to dig, but eventually the dirt began to slide further and further down until it finally stopped indicating that there was a solid base not too far away. Erik crept forward with a candle into the darkness. The tunnel seemed more of less intact from there.
Erik wrapped Garrick in the duvet and used it pull the boy up and out of the room that had served as Erik's home for the past few months. It was past time to move into a new neighborhood. Erik had never noticed the distance to the more elite area of the city until he had to carry another person through it. What was probably only two miles had become the longest two miles in Paris. He carried the boy over his shoulder so he could hold the lamp to see his way through the tunnels. The brick and mortar construction of underground passages reflected the better structures of the city above them as they moved closer to the House of Clureoux.
Erik easily picked the lock on the door to the little room that had just become his new address. It was smaller than what he thought he needed, but under the circumstances it would have to do. He carefully put Garrick on the stone floor. The duvet was filthy but it would have to suffice for now. The main thing for now was that they weren't trapped under tons of dirt and rock.
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Meg was preparing letters of notice that the Giry School of Ballet would be reopening and taking new students immediately, when her mother handed her a letter addressed to Meg Giry from Monsieur R. Dublan. Madame Giry beamed her approval.
"I am so glad that he is able to write. I have been so worried about him. Read it and tell me how he is." She instructed Meg.
"I um...I will." Meg said, baffled by the unexpected letter. She had completely forgotten about him and the letters she was supposed to have written. Guiltily, she opened the letter and looked at her mother apprehensively.
"I will leave you to read it alone. I suppose it is awkward to have your mother hovering about at a time like this. Just let me know how he is. I don't want to pry." She said teasing gently. Meg forced a smile, though she really felt sick.
Quickly, she folded the paper and put it back in the envelope without reading it, and immediately sought Michelle, who was polishing silver in the kitchen with Hannah. She waved the letter while remaining in the doorway. Michelle got the message instantly and excused herself to follow Meg to her room. Settling herself on the bed so Michelle could have the chair, she stared in horror at the younger girl.
"I had forgotten all about poor Reggie. You read it for I don't think I can take it if he is wounded or anything." Meg complained. Michelle obediently opened the letter.
"Do you want me to read it out loud, or do you just want to hear about it." Michelle asked.
"Just tell me about it."
"He is well and looks forward to your next letter. It gives him strength to go on, knowing that you anticipate his letters also. He is going to Cambodia, but will continue to write. The army is policing a labor camp there for insurgent captives of the commune. He looks forward to the time when he will see you again." Michelle looked up, smiling as though pleased with herself. Meg was just relieved that she didn't have to mourn Reggie's demise or think about him being hurt. "Do you want me to reply to this one as well?" Michelle asked.
"Of course. You're doing such a splendid job. You were right. If it were left up to me, the entire French army would turn themselves over to the enemy and beg to be put out of their misery. I don't have your knack for writing. It is a gift, Michelle. You should write a novel." Meg said, pleased, and returned to addressing enrollment notices for the ballet classes.
"How is Reggie?" Madame Giry asked moments later.
"Oh, he is well and being transferred to Cambodia." Meg said cheerfully.
"Cambodia?" Madame Giry exclaimed. "That can't be good. It is a dreadful place. I understand that is where they keep prisoners of war. At least he is in the French army and not the National Guard." She shuddered but didn't press the issue. "We must be going soon. It is hard to say what state our studio is in and it could take days to make it presentable." Madame Giry said putting on her hat and gloves. A carriage arrived about the same time to take the Girys to the studio.
It was the first time since the uprising that Meg had ventured out into city outside of walking distance from the House of Clureoux. There had been notices posted in the daily news and on public bulletin boards that the citizens were now allowed to try to go back to work and business owners expected to try and recover what was left of their business. Meg expected that there would be some vandalism, but she was unprepared for the sight that awaited her at the studio. The building was a heap of rubble. There was little to identify it as the sturdy structure it had once been. Even the one wall that remain up right had a hole, roughly the size of a cannon ball, right in the center. The two women stared in alarm at the place where their livelihood had once stood.
"Did you mail the notices?" Madame Giry asked in stunned wonder.
"No. Not yet." Meg answered in the same monotone.
"Good. I don't think it will be necessary." Madame Giry continued in the same tone. "Did you say Reginald was going to Cambodia?"
"Yes." Meg answered automatically.
"That is too bad." Madame Giry commented dully.
"Why?"
"One of us needs to get married."
"Congratulations, Mother."
"Don't be ridiculous. I am too old. I am sorry that you can't wait for Reggie, but we already owe three months rent. Clair will not turn us out any time soon, but we can't impose on her generosity indefinitely." Madame Giry said flatly. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do better for us, though, you know, that I tried, Meg. But you need a husband, a rich one. You will not shirk your duty to your family."
Meg stared at her mother, incredulous. "Are you saying that you are disposed to sell me to the highest bidder!" She said, thinking of what Erik had said about her being prepared for such an arrangement.
"Do not be so crude! It is not as bad as a limited contract. At least with a marriage, you will have permanent security. Those of us, who married for love, found out that love may last for eternity, but money runs out fast, and sometimes the ones we love die and leave us with no support. We will not have any time to waste. There's a hundred and fifty girls for every eligible bachelor in the city. Clair will help. She is a well-received member of every social club in the city. Do not try to make me feel sorry for this. I am doing what is best for us in the long term. You are already a year beyond your prime, so don't get too proud and fussy. Sometimes an older gentleman is a better deal than an spoiled boy who needs a good spanking, anyway." Madame Giry talked quickly as they returned to the carriage, planning her strategy for Meg's debut. Meg felt her brain go numb.
"Mother, we will open another studio. I will audition for a few rolls. I am an actress. There is no need for us to act so desperate." Meg argued.
"You are not an actress! You are a ballerina!" Madame Giry stated flatly. "Actresses do not make good marriages. The best they can hope for is to be a mistress! A ballerina has to have an excellent reputation and even then she may be scorned by some."
Meg argued with her mother during the carriage ride back to the boarding house. Meg had begun to think of it as home. Now it was a matter of time and circumstance that would determine whether or not it remained that way.
Madame Giry wasted no time in taking the news of the studio being in ruins to Aunt Clair. Meg listened in dread as Aunt Clair agreed with Madame Giry that it was best for Meg to get married, the richer the husband the better. She had hoped that Aunt Clair would declare it a foolish notion and invite them to stay at the boarding house without charge until they could find another studio or find adequate employment. She even tried to hint at it to Aunt Clair, when Madame Giry was out of hearing distance.
"Don't be silly, child." Aunt Clair said indulgently. "I married Alec under almost identical circumstances. Your mother married for love and she has had to work all of her life just to put food in your mouth. I can't believe that you don't want a better life for her than that. Now, don't be sad, darling. This is going to be exciting. I know you must be thinking about Reggie. It is too bad that he didn't propose before leaving for Cambodia. But his fortune is only a modest one at best, I believe. He is the only son, and heir, but still from a military family. You cannot pine away for the years he still must serve."
Meg wanted to say that she didn't care about Reggie, but even he was looking pretty good at the moment. Her heart weighed heavy in her chest. She wanted to cry, but it would serve no purpose in the end. The rest of the household did not share her despair, with the exception of Michelle. The younger girl did try to encourage her, with stories of other arranged marriages that had worked out for the better. Meg, however, remained unconvinced. Uncle Alec and several other gentleman boarders expressed their approval of Madame Girys decision. They all agreed that it wouldn't prove too difficult for Meg to catch the eye of many fine gentlemen.
Aunt Clair and Madame Giry discussed the city's eligible men and their fortunes in the main parlor with two other ladies who were staying the week at the house, while the men had brandies in the library after dinner. Meg's forthcoming betrothal was the subject on everyone's lips that evening. Aunt Clair declared that it was good to get life back to normal after the uprising of the Paris Commune, which over less than two weeks after it began. Everyone else agreed except Meg. There was nothing normal about what was happening to her.
Long after everyone else retired peacefully, for the evening, Meg tosses and turned in her bed. Once she thought that she heard someone cry out. She listened for the sound again, but heard nothing. Just when she thought that she had imagined it, she heard it again. It was an anguished cry. A chill went through her. After putting on a dressing gown, of cream lace trimmed with pale blue ribbon and tiny bows, she lit a single candle and carefully stepped out into the hall. It was so distant and quiet that it couldn't have possibly come from the second or third floor. There were no bedrooms on the main floor and yet Meg knew this time that she had not imagined it. Jacques and Hannah had a garret room on the fourth level, but it didn't come from that direction. Gently, Meg made her way down the hall. She heard a door open and froze.
"I thought I heard something." Michelle whispered. Meg turned around, putting her finger to her lips and motioned for Michelle to follow her. Meg didn't relish encountering a mysterious entity in the dark while alone.
On a hunch, Meg went to the kitchen and to the cellar door. Michelle started to say something, but Meg quieted her and opened the cellar door. The room was dark as dusty as it ever was. Michelle started to pull Meg back. Another cry of pain rang out louder.
"Help me!" Meg whispered and handed the candle to Michelle, while she pulled the heavy table away from the bookcase with all her might. Michelle stared in horror as Meg pulled the door, masquerading as a bookcase, open and slipped through the opening. The room was dark, but there was a tortured presence within, whimpering. There was nothing in Meg's experience that drove her to embark upon this adventure except that in her mind it was Erik in the room behind the bookcase and he was hurt. No one else knew of the rooms existence. "Bring me the candle!" Meg ordered. Michelle did as she was told. Meg held the candle high to cast the room in as much light as the candle would afford. Meg barely recognized the boy on the floor wrapped in a filthy blanket. "Garrick!" She cried out in a hoarse whisper. Michelle looked at the youth and stifled a scream. Garrick lay shaking violently, his eyes glazed with pain. Bloody bandages covered his arms and hands. His scraped and cut knees were exposed through the torn and grimy pants that he wore. He was alone in the room. There was no evidence of anyone else, being there.
Meg knelt down to touch his forehead. He was hot with fever and his lips were cracked and swollen. He emitted a whooshing sound as he breathed rapidly.
"Get a bucket of water and some towels!" Meg ordered and Michelle instantly obeyed. "Garrick, talk to me. It's Meg." She said stroking his cheek. He didn't answer but his breathing slowed slightly. She continued to talk to him quietly, though he was beyond responding, until Michelle arrived with the bucket of water and clean towels. Next, she ordered brandy and a spoon, sheets that could be to be torn into bandages, and clean blankets. Michelle brought the requested items quickly.
Meg recognized the duvet from the one Erik had let her use that night she followed him into the underground. She was right to believe that Erik had brought the boy here. But there were so many other questions that were of a more pressing nature, like what had happened to Garrick and where was Erik now. Was he also wounded somewhere? The deep puncture wounds near the boy's neck almost gave rise to the superstition surrounding vampires in the city. Meg shuddered involuntarily.
Meg spooned the brandy between the boys cracked lips, and clenched teeth while cradling his head in her lap and wished that she knew what she was doing. Although she had never done anything like it before she instinctively bathed his wounds by squeezing water from a clean towel and replaced the blood soaked bandages with new, clean ones. She fought the wave of nausea that washed over her when she saw the wound on his arm.
Michelle hovered until Meg told her to go back to bed and warned her not speak of Garrick to any of the others. Michelle had no sooner left than Erik entered through the other door leading from the tunnel. Meg gasped in surprise but, in truth, was more than pleased to see him. He carried the feather tick, an oil lantern and he was not wearing the mask. Meg was a little shocked by his disfigurement, but she would not show it. He didn't try to hide it either. He didn't look as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
"How did you know he was here?" Erik asked wearily. It was then that she noticed his clothes, and hair, dirty beyond belief. He sagged with the weight of his burden as he placed the feather mattress on the floor.
"I heard him crying out. What happened?" Meg asked softly.
"He was attacked by a police dog. The police were looking for insurgents and found the entrance by the laundry. They sent the dogs in first, then started shooting. The sound waves caused a cave in, trapping us. I had to bring him here. It was the best choice. There isn't much that the basements of Paris have to offer that beats this." Erik looked around the small room.
"You are tired."
"I have been digging us out of there for the last ten hours. I am thirsty."
"I'll get some fresh water." She said and quickly returned with two buckets of fresh water, towels, and a cup. He drank greedily, then wiping the excess water from his lips, his fingers instinctively sought the mask. Meg watched with heartache as he discovered its absence. He kept the distorted portion of his face turned from her. She could tell that he was embarrassed. As much as she wanted to go to him and tell him that it didn't matter, that she saw beyond the birth defect, she knew that it mattered to him.
"You have done enough and I thank you. Please go." He said, not looking at her.
"I want to help. If you need anything, I will come back."
"I don't need anything else. I'd rather that you forget that we are here." He said coolly.
"But Garrick... He is very ill. You cannot do everything for him. You need your rest, too. Michelle and I can help. We will keep your secret. Please, let me help."
"If I need your help, I will ask." He said with a finality that sank Meg's hopes that he might need her. Meg left quietly.
Erik was grateful that she didn't push the issue. He was mortified that she had seen his face without the mask. In the urgency of escaping the cave in, he'd forgotten it. It was too hot and uncomfortable to wear while he was digging and Garrick was still in shock from the dog attack and wouldn't have known or cared if Erik was wearing it. It wasn't lost on him that Meg didn't give a reaction to his exposure. She must have hidden it carefully. Even he couldn't look into a mirror without experiencing revulsion.
He held a cup of water to Garrick's lips and coaxed him into swallowing some of it. The boy fevered and shook violently at times. Erik wondered if he was prolonging the boy's life or his eventual dying. Meg had left the bottle of brandy and Erik diluted it with water and administered it to the boy. It seemed to help. Garrick stopped shaking quite so vigorously and drifted into an agitated doze. The boy lay on the duvet covered with two blankets, so Erik took the feather tick for himself and eased his aching body on to it. He didn't sleep much but was still able to soak up enough rest here and there to revive himself enough to care for the boy when he cried out.
Erik woke again to Garrick's cry and gave him some of the diluted brandy. Erik checked his pocket watch. It was about seven o'clock in the morning. He couldn't expect the boy to live on water and brandy and there was no way that he could chew solid food. He needed some chicken broth and juices; perhaps some milk or cream would put some thing substantial in his belly. He though of Meg. He didn't need her, he decided. There was Francois. It wouldn't be a good time to venture out into the street until dusk or after dark. The boy couldn't go another twelve hours without food. Maybe he needed Meg after all.
As if she had read his mind and materialized just for him, he heard a tiny knock and stared ineffectually as she walked in, carrying a tray of food. The smell greeted him, tantalizing his nostrils and taunting his stomach. Ham, cheese, croissants and eggs filled a plate. Coffee with cream and sugar and juice also occupied the tray.
"I don't know what we can give Garrick." She said, again reading his mind. "But maybe some cream will stick to his ribs and give him some strength to heal on. I brought a small pitcher of it for him. I won't stay. I know it makes you uncomfortable for me to see you without your mask." She said.
"Could we postpone the insults until after breakfast?" He asked without resentment. He was glad that she'd ignored his disregard of her offer to help.
"Yes, we can. I will return with more at lunch."
"With more food or insults?"
"Yes."