1857— Perros-Guirec
She pulled the black veil closer about her, the sheer material flailing in the biting wind. Offering a weak smile, Philippe wrapped an arm around his sister, sheltering her from the cold.
But for the grief they all carried, for the shed and unshed tears, he could do nothing.
The mausoleum stood silently before them, its chiseled marble and stone an elegant and grim reminder of their father's passing. Two months past their father had been laid to rest, the longest weeks in Philippe's recollection. The household remained deep in mourning, all too silent, all too cheerless. It was little different than the quiet cemetery where they stood now.
Philippe shifted his gaze over to his younger brother, standing apart from them, his eyes trained to the twin statues guarding the entrance of the mausoleum.
They were angels, hooded and tall, resting at opposite ends. The artist had crafted them well, instilling remarkable detail to the bowed heads, the downcast eyes. Lifelike hands folded over the hilts of their swords, eternal protectors of this somber place.
Philippe turned his gaze to one of the smooth, perfect stone faces, so tranquil…
He longed to feel that again, though the desire seemed beyond reach or hope.
Just over his thirtieth year, Philippe had been his father's loyal right hand in all matters. Ostensibly, he was well-prepared for the endeavor that would be his, but with his father's calm influence and knowledge gone, he finally realized the full weight of his responsibilities. For all the spiteful and ignorant things spoken of the affluent and powerful, it was unthinkably lonely at the summit. Now more than ever, he faced the burdens associated with his new title, le Comte de Chagny, head of one of France's most distinguished households, responsible for the fortune and holdings so carefully built by his forefathers.
He sighed, glancing over at Raoul. For all his troubles, the brunt of the task he now faced hardly seemed to compare to that which his younger brother endured. The boy had been silent these last two months, a ghost in the house, going about his studies without will, incarnate of the grief that they all shared, though perhaps none so deeply. All the while, there were no tears or self-pity synonymous with children of his age and class.
In a dreadful moment of recall, Philippe saw his father's face, handsome even in old age, the strong and proud bearing replaced with a tender one when among his children. Yet in those last years, those times had become so few. With their father's continued illness, more and more days were spent bedridden, only his closest associates disturbing him. His youngest son certainly was not among the privileged few, though his father adored him no less. Perhaps it was the tragic circumstances that brought him into the world, pain and thankfulness entwined. Raised largely by servants and doting siblings, the boy had gravitated to the only parent he would ever know.
Philippe squeezed the shoulder of his sister, giving her a nod that it was time to leave. With a resigned glance at the carved marble and stone, she turned away, walking resolutely towards the waiting carriage.
"Raoul?"
The boy's head turned at the call of his older brother. Obediently, he started forward, hesitating in mid step. Without explanation, he looked back at the silent statues.
Eyebrow raised, Philippe watched Raoul curiously, the boy's name on his tongue. Yet before he could speak a word, they both heard the far-off strains of a violin, whispering just above the hum of the wind. Quietly, it sang, melancholy and distant, speaking of things words could never tell.
The eldest de Chagny did not move, enraptured by the foreign song. When he finally looked down, his brother was beside him, his expression intense but somehow relieved. They exited the cemetery together, ushered by the sorrowful melody…the voice of an angel.
Author's note:
I relish feedback—positive and negative. It is the only way I might improve. I know the pace of this story has slowed down significantly, but there are a lot of complexities I am trying to work through, and I ask your patience. To all those who have followed this story, you have my gratitude.
A thank you goes out to my Mom who once again played temporary beta for me.