Chapter Summary: Observations are made about those living at Chagny. The men in the woods grow impatient even as they are assured their waiting is soon to be over. A telegram is delivered to Raoul and he confronts his wife.

(A/N – Since most people have figured out Christine's secret … Saint Joseph is the Patron Saint of fathers.)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Arthur Weldon rose early, dressed and made his way downstairs for the great house was quiet in the early morning hours just after sunrise and afforded him the opportunity to concentrate on the day that lay before him. Arthur knew there was paperwork left from the day before and that there would be additional work delivered in the morning post that was to come within the next three hours. He sighed and shook his head and wondered when Philippe would once again begin paying attention to the details - small and large - that entailed the running of Chagny. Arthur knew that his employer and friend trusted his staff and, in fact, had known most of them for many years. Yet Arthur also knew that Philippe took great pride in what he had accomplished upon returning to his ancestral home and there would only be one reason that could distract Philippe in such a manner.

Raoul. His brother. The person on whose shoulders Philippe had placed the hopes and dreams of generations extending far back into the mists of time. The person on whose shoulders Philippe had placed his own dashed hopes and dreams. Arthur wondered if all those lives, all those wishes, were too much for one young man to carry and he made a mental note to bring it up to Philippe later that day. Raoul and his wife had already been through enough in their short time together and Arthur thought that such a familial burden may be why the young couple seemed to be drifting further and further apart. Perhaps it was too much to ask of them - to be the family's future - when all they wanted to be was young. It could not have been good for them to be under the constant scrutiny of Philippe and - Arthur frowned - the meddling of Henri.

"Paris," Arthur said to himself. "They need to be in Paris." He stood silently at the doors of Philippe's study, eyes narrowing, nodding his head, knowing that he was making the correct decision.

"Pardon me, Monsieur Weldon," a female voice interrupted his thoughts. "May I have a word with you?"

Arthur turned to find Mathilde at his elbow, her arms crossed at her waist. "Certainly," he replied and motioned toward the study door. "In here?"

Mathilde shook her head. "No," she told him.

"The small parlor?" Arthur tried and watched as Mathilde nodded her head. He walked down the hall, stopping to open a closed door. He waited as the housekeeper entered the small parlor, taking a seat on a green sofa before entering the room and closing the door behind him. Arthur walked over and sat in one of the wing chairs opposite the sofa. He studied Mathilde's face, wondering at the emotions he could not see. Arthur knew it was unlike Mathilde to approach him in such a strange, elusive manner and he could feel a small worry begin to flutter at the edges of his heart. "May I ask what this is in regards to?" Arthur asked softly.

The housekeeper shook her head before speaking. "I am not one to tell tales nor do I tolerate such behavior from my staff," Mathilde began and watched as Arthur inclined his head. Every member of the household was deeply aware of the strict code of conduct that Mathilde enforced so whatever it was troubling her must - indeed - be important if she chose to break the very rules which guided her life. "There was something I witnessed late yesterday afternoon and I wish you to be aware of it for I do not want to see any discord arise amongst the members of this family."

Arthur shook his head; he had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming. "Please continue," he said softly.

"As I was working in the herb garden yesterday, I looked up and saw Madame running from the conservatory," Mathilde said. "From what I could see she appeared to be upset so I made the decision to follow her. I found her being ill in the woods. I brought her back to my sitting room and gave her something to settle her stomach. On our way back to my room, we both saw the door to the conservatory being closed." She frowned slightly and shook her head. "It was being closed by Monsieur Henri."

Arthur closed his eyes in pain; he had known it. God help him, he had known something like this was bound to happen. "Was Madame all right?" he asked as he opened his eyes.

"Yes," Mathilde nodded, "and she was emphatic that no one know but I cannot let this pass. I am aware of the intrigues that are played out by those of a certain class but I will not tolerate them in my house; especially when such intrigues seem to be one sided."

Fingers on the hands folded in Arthur's lap steepled and he looked down at them. "I see." He raised his head. "I believe I shall have a private word with Monsieur Henri and remind him what his position is in this household."

"Thank you," Mathilde said as she stood. "I knew I could trust you."

Arthur also stood. "I am glad you came to me."

"I must go and attend to the cooks," Mathilde told him as Arthur walked to the parlor door and opened it for her.

"I can promise you that there will be no further intrigues inside these walls this day."

The intrigues from the previous day did seem to vanish with the light of the sun and the rhythm of life at Chagny moved forward at its usual pace. Philippe looked around at his family, smiling on the outside but worrying quietly on the inside, pondering locked doors and contemplating spankings. Raoul watched as his wife, pale and silent, picked at her food and jumped at every little sound. It was almost as if Christine was once again the frightened, haunted girl he had married. Her actions pained and infuriated Raoul for he did not know what to do to help. Even worse was that she seemed completely disinclined to tell him what it was that she needed. Christine knew what she was doing but could not stop herself; the unnamed fears that were never far seemed to have wrapped around her heart and soul, unwilling to give any ground. Henri's actions of the previous day resurrected the memory of another man and other hands and other fears, memories that Christine had tried so hard to bury but could never outrun. And Henri, after putting in a token appearance at breakfast, had slunk off to some unknown place to salve wounds - real and imagined - with the healing balm of alcohol.

Alcohol was also on the minds that morning of four men who waited with growing impatience in a wooded glen. They had been there for over a week, living in the woods, taking turns sleeping, watching and venturing into town. Their nerves were on edge as they waited day after day, the moment for which they waited never seeming to come. They had begun to snipe at each other over little things - snoring too loudly, taking too long to relieve the watch, burning the food, letting the fire go out. And with each passing day, as the waiting seemed to extend further and further into the future, the men's impatience grew proportionately. In an effort to calm unsettled nerves, each man who went into town brought back a bottle of the cheapest liquor he could find. They could have afforded better but the men had big plans and ideas for the money being paid to them just to sit and wait. So, instead, they drank cheap liquor, sniped at each other and waited – anxiously and impatiently - for just the right moment.

Louis took a swallow from the bottle he held, swiped a hand across his lips and passed it to Edouard who sat to his right. He looked at Edouard from the corner of his narrowed eyes. "Watch how much you drink of that," he warned. "We won't be having any more for another day or so."

"Why would that be?" Edouard wondered as he passed the bottle to Francois.

Francois paused before he drank from the bottle. "Are you saying we have to stay here?"

"I am," Louis replied with a nod. "There will be no further trips into town."

Francois took a healthy swig. "Why?" He was rather indignant.

"Because I told him you could not leave," a voice said from the woods as a well-dressed man approached from beneath the shadows. Nico quickly rose to his feet, his hand going for the knife at his waistband. "Oh, do put that down," he said. "There is no need for such theatrics amongst friends." He spread his hands wide. "And are we not all friends here?"

Nico remained on his feet. "Friends do not feel the need to approach with such stealth," he said in a dangerous tone of voice.

"I have learned how to move quietly," the man replied. "It is a habit that I find quite useful."

Francois raised his eyes to the man. "Why can we not leave this place? If I have to stay here one more day without the chance to leave ..."

The well-dressed man raised his hand, a particularly nasty smirk on his face. "Oh, I do not think that you shall mind waiting here this day."

"And why would that be?" Edouard wanted to know.

"Because I believe that today shall be the day for which we have all waited," he said and moved to sit on the log next to Louis. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle. "And while we wait, I thought you would appreciate something with a bit more grace than that pig-wash you are drinking."

Nico's lip curled. "I care nothing for pig-wash," he said as he ran a finger along the blade of his knife. "All I wish is for this waiting to be over."

The four men eyed Nico, feeling a bit nervous as they watched the smile that played across his face as his hands lovingly caressed the sharp knife blade. They were perfectly aware that he was a vital part of the job that lay before them but that did nothing to ease their apprehension. Nico was known for his love of blood sports and all his acquaintances know that Nico did not care what type of animal the sport was played upon – four-legged or two.

Nico continued to caress his knife blade as if it was his favorite lover and he kept repeating the same words. "All I want is for the waiting to be over,"

"All I want is for the waiting to be over," Christine said softly as she ran a finger over the Saint Joseph medal that rested in a small blue velvet box. It had been the only one in the village jewelry shop and she had eagerly purchased it, swearing the jeweler to secrecy. "A few more weeks," Christine continued as she raised her eyes to look out the window toward the heavens. "May I please have a few more weeks," she prayed as she closed the small box she held, slipping it back into a dresser drawer beneath some scarves. Christine wanted no one to find it as she was keeping it for a special moment. She could not wait to present it to Raoul, could not wait to see his reaction, and could not wait to see him wear it next to the cross he never took off. She closed the drawer and walked across the room, pausing as a familiar wave of nausea washed over her. "A few more weeks," she pleaded again. "Just a few more weeks."

Christine walked out the door and down the main staircase. She stood in the entry foyer, finding herself at a loss for what to do. She thought she might see if she could convince one of the coachmen to drive her to see Monique. Christine wanted to escape to the conservatory but could not bear the memories that the once peaceful place now held. She spared a glance at the grandfather clock and saw that it was barely past noon and knew that luncheon would not be for at least another two hours. Christine began to wander toward the small staircase at the back of the house that led to the kitchen, hoping that she could convince Mathilde to give her another cup of chamomile and mint tea from the previous day. She knew her behavior was not considered "proper" but Christine had found such warmth and comfort from the older woman on the previous day and now she eagerly sought it out again. Christine wondered for a brief moment when she would stop seeking out the comfort of a mother she had never known and a smile crossed her lips for she knew exactly when she would stop seeking out such a thing. She reached the small staircase and paused as she saw Arthur coming up, his attention on the envelopes he held in his hands.

"Pardon me," Arthur said with a smile as he finally raised his eyes. "I did not see you there."

"I am trying to remain unobtrusive," Christine told him. "I do not wish to be a burden."

"You are not a burden," Arthur assured her. "I know that Philippe quite enjoys having you and Raoul here." He studied the creeping blush and the lowered eyes of the young woman in front of him. "If you would not mind my asking you a question," he tried and saw Christine shake her head. "Would you be happier if you were to return to Paris?"

Christine quickly raised her head. "What?"

"I am in a position that allows me to observe the movements of those about me," Arthur said. "I know that you have had some difficult moments over the past few weeks. I also know that it cannot be easy being under the constant watch of Philippe. He is my employer and my friend but I am aware of how quietly difficult he can be at times."

"Much like his brother," Christine replied softly, almost to herself. "Raoul is happy being here and I do not wish to shorten his visit with his brother. There are but a few more weeks before we return to Paris." She managed a brief smile. "It is nothing that I cannot manage."

"Very well," Arthur replied. "But should you find you need anything - even someone who would be willing to listen - if that is not too forward, I pray you will seek me out."

Christine sighed. "It is not and I thank you." She reached out a tentative hand. "I shall remember your kindness."

Arthur lightly touched her hand before stepping aside so that Christine could walk to the kitchen. He watched the young woman as she disappeared around the corner before climbing the rest of the stairs and heading toward Philippe's study. He paused at the study door for a moment and wondered why Christine seemed to be hiding the love she felt for her husband. Arthur wondered why Raoul just did not go and shake his wife until they both could see what was waiting before their eyes. He wondered at the sense of what Philippe had done and wondered if his good intentions would all go awry. Arthur sighed and shook his head, knowing that all his wondering was merely a child's game being played and would amount to nothing. He knew that the people about him would do as they their hearts dictated and he would be there to sort out the messes they would make in the process. Arthur glanced at the envelopes in his hand and smiled; at least there would be a bit of happiness for someone. He raised his eyes, knocked on the study door and entered the room.

Philippe and Raoul were seated at Philippe's desk, account books opened before them. The two brothers looked up as the door opened.

"Ah," Philippe said, "the mail at last."

"The messenger from the village apologized," Arthur began, "but his horse threw a shoe and needed to be reshod."

Philippe grimaced lightly at the look from his young brother. "It is part of the joys of residing in the country. The whole world cannot be Paris, my dear boy."

"How awful it must be for you to be so neglected out here in the pre-historic wilds of France," Raoul said with a perfectly straight face.

Philippe flung a charcoal pencil at Raoul as they both broke into laughter.

Arthur watched their antics and smiled. He waited a few moments as the two brothers got their laughter under control before clearing his throat to draw their attention. Arthur looked at them and drew a single envelope out from the stack he held in his hands.. "I do believe that the horse was meant to throw that shoe for a telegram arrived with the mail." He handed it to Raoul. "This is addressed to you."

Raoul smiled as he took the envelope, opening it and scanning the telegram inside.

"Who is it from?" Philippe wanted to know.

"It is from Paris," Raoul told him, as he read the brief message inside. And read it again. He felt his heart begin to sink. He re-read it andRaoul could feel his anger grow. He kept his eyes on the message, trying to compose his emotions so that no one else would see them. "It is from our friends Valery and Meg."

"Did Christine not say she telegraphed them when she was shopping with Monique?" Philippe wondered.

"She did." Raoul raised his head and managed to give his brother a smile. "I should go and find Christine; she will want to see this."

Philippe airily waved a hand in his brother's direction. "Go," he said. "Go and find your darling wife and leave me here. Alone." He turned a straight face toward Arthur. "Working under the cold hand and strict guidance of my dear friend."

"Thank you," Raoul said, the knowledge of what was contained in the telegram distracting his attention as he stood and left the room.

Philippe looked at Arthur, a quizzical look on his face. "Is there something going on I should know about?"

Arthur sighed.

"Oh, there is," Philippe said as realization began to dawn. He closed the estate account books and waved Arthur to the chair Raoul had vacated. "You had best sit and tell me what it is that I am missing."

As Philippe was wondering what he was missing, Raoul was climbing the stairs to the room where he had been sleeping. Alone. He entered the room, closing the door and sagging against it. He fought down the urge to crumple the paper he held in his hands. Raoul took several deep breaths, bringing his emotions under what control he could manage before standing and moving to his dresser. He opened a drawer and reached in, pulling out an envelope addressed to Christine. He shook his head as he looked at it for Raoul had been hoping the day when he would need what the envelope contained would never come. But now it had come and he needed to find the courage to face his wife. As Raoul left his room and went back down the grand staircase, he was finding courage very easy to find in the anger that was claiming every corner of his heart and soul.

"Christine," Raoul said as he plastered a smile on his face. His wife was coming down the hall, a teacup and saucer in her hands.

"What is it?" Christine wondered.

"Can we talk for a moment?" Raoul asked. "I have something I wish to share with you."

"Of course," Christine replied with a smile as she followed her husband into the library. She took a seat in one of the wing chairs that faced the fireplace Raoul went to stand against. Christine placed her teacup on the table next to the chair and folded her hands in her lap. "What is it?" she wondered.

Raoul wondered how the woman in front of him could be sweet and deceitful at the same moment. He bit down his anger for another few moments. "We received a telegram from Paris this morning," he said and noticed that Christine's curiosity was piqued.

"From whom?"

Raoul lowered his eyes. "It was from Meg and Val. They wondered when they were going to hear from you. I thought it rather strange since you said you had telegraphed them when you were shopping with Monique." He finally raised his eyes and his heart broke.

Christine was as pale as a ghost, her eyes wide.

"You have nothing you wish to say?"

"Raoul, I ..." Christine tried and was interrupted by her husband.

"I do not wish to hear it," Raoul said between clenched teeth. He held up a hand as Christine opened her mouth. "I said I do not want to hear it!" He nearly shouted at her and watched as Christine shrank into her chair. A small part of Raoul was distressed at the pain he was causing his wife and it made him draw several deep breaths. "I will talk and you will listen," he finally managed in a somewhat even tone of voice. "This is the first time you have ever willingly lied to me and I do not understand why!"

Christine lowered her eyes, unwilling to look at her husband. "I cannot explain it to you," she said softly. "You must trust me."

Raoul was incredulous. "Trust you? Trust you? Name me one thing you have done over these last weeks to earn my trust." There was no answer. "One thing, Christine, just one." There was still no answer. "Please," Raoul pleaded with her. "Can you, at least, do me the courtesy of telling me to whom it was that you sent the telegram?"

Christine sniffled back the tears she could feel beginning at the corners of her eyes and raised her head, briefly looking at Raoul before turning away. "I cannot."

"Cannot or will not?" Raoul wondered and watched as Christine bit her bottom lip, struggling with her answer before turning back to him.

"Will not," Christine whispered.

"I see," Raoul replied.

"No you do not see! I will tell you," Christine tried, the growing panic evident in her voice. "I will. I just need a few more weeks." She watched as Raoul moved from the fireplace to sit in the chair next to her. Christine tried reaching a hand toward him and thought better of it as she carefully studied his face. "Raoul, please!"

Raoul kept his eyes averted. "I have always given you everything you wanted. I have always tried to understand what you were feeling. I have never pressured you for anything. I have been patient as you worked through your fears." He finally turned to look at her. "As we worked through the fears we shared together. But now I wonder if it has been enough, if I have been enough." He lowered his eyes to look at the envelope he held. "I know that I love you but I wonder if you love me; if you have ever loved me." A frown creased his refined features. "Or if I was just the safe alternative to what you truly wanted."

"What?" Christine asked as the tears escaped from her eyes.

"I may be many things but one thing I am not is a dangerous man," he began with a shake of his head. "I know from far too many years spent listening to the idle chatter of drawing rooms that women seem to prefer a man who wears about him an aura of mystery and danger. There is something about the darkness of danger that stirs the passion in a woman's soul." Raoul gave Christine a brief smile. "And you are nothing if not a passionate woman." He returned his eyes to the envelope in his hands. "And I think I am not the man you want – or need – to stir your passions." Raoul heaved a deep sigh and turned to his wife, handing her the envelope he held.

"What is this?" Christine asked, the shock of her husband's words causing a cold numbness to creep through her body.

"It is a letter from our bankers," Raoul said. "It details an account I have set up in your name." He watched as Christine opened the envelope, reading its contents before raising wide eyes to him. "That should be enough money to allow you any creature comfort you would ever desire." He closed his eyes in pain. "I have also sent a letter to my lawyer telling him to begin divorce proceedings should I give him the word."

Christine squeaked. "Divorce?"

Raoul shook his head. "The only thing I can think of to cause the changes I have seen in you over the last several weeks and now the lies is that there is someone else."

"There is," Christine whispered so silently that Raoul did not hear her. She felt a familiar touch on her hand and raised her eyes to her husband.

"If there is someone else, I will not hold you," Raoul said. "All I have ever wanted is your happiness and it seems that is something I can no longer give you. Just do not tell me who it is for I do not think I could bear such knowledge."

"Raoul, please …"

"I am going for a ride to give you time to think," Raoul told her as he took his hand back and stood. "To give us both time to think. If it is true and you no longer love me and wish to go to another, I will not stop you and will, in fact, ensure your safe return to Paris." He walked to the door, paused and turned to look back at the woman with the silent tears coursing down her cheeks. "I am hoping, though, that when I return you will have found the courage to move past whatever fears are holding your heart and soul hostage and will be able to be honest with me as to what has been happening to you. To us." Raoul sighed. "I can handle the truth, Christine, no matter how painful it might be; but I need that truth so I can settle my own fears and doubts and despair." He glanced briefly at the mantle clock. "I shall return in a few hours." With those words, Raoul left the room.

Christine, held hostage by her own fears and the icy numbness of her body, could do nothing but watch him leave.