Chapter Summary: A shadow watches Christine from the woods surrounding Chagny. Christine and Philippe are both overcome by emotions nearly too great to handle as their friends struggle to keep both from complete breakdowns. And a ransom note is delivered with another "warning".
(Author's Notes: Cala lilies stand for "majestic beauty". I found a reference to a ransom of 25 thousand pounds paid in the year 1881 that would be the equivalent of over 300 thousand dollars today. My meager math skills, therefore, figured that 100,000 francs would be today's equivalent of almost a million dollars. Forgive me if I am wrong.)
CHAPTER TWENTY
He stood in the shadow of the trees lining the very edges of the great estate, a still and silent specter among long shadows created by a sun slowly beginning to peak over the mountains. The only hints of life betrayed were the slight movement of his chest, the glowing of cold eyes. His task accomplished hours ago, he had chosen to stay, to wait for a glimpse of the lives that moved beyond the cold walls and unblinking windows of the chateau. His heart beat evenly and slowly, the anticipation of the moment only calming him further, drawing him further and further into a strange world, a reality detached from reasoned thought. He wanted to see, to know that there was pain and loss for such was the sustenance that kept him alive, it was the air that filled his lungs, the blood that flowed through his veins, his manna from heaven. His nostrils flared and ears pricked at the slight sound that echoed across the green lawn; he would not have long to wait now.
She emerged from one of the many doors that lined the back portico, looking over her shoulder as she slowly crept into the outside world. She paused for a moment, staring into the dark interior of the chateau before carefully closing the door. She turned and moved toward the gardens, her slipper-shod feet making no sound and carrying her with the grace and ease of an angel. A passing breeze waved long dark hair about a pale face punctuated by eyes red and swollen from the shedding of tears. She raised a trembling hand to brush the undressed hair from her face before using the hand to draw a blue shawl more tightly about her shoulders. She did not even notice the dew that dampened the hem of the dress she had carelessly thrown over her head.
He waited as she walked towards his ghost, dark eyes distant, focused on something he could not see. He watched as she stopped by a row of slender white flowers. She bent over them, breathing in their scent, fingers reaching out to caress the delicate cup-like blooms as she straightened.
"Majestic beauty," he heard her whisper to the breaking dawn. "No roses for us, my love, lilies - strong, gentle lilies. My beautiful …"
He could feel his fingers curl in bizarre delight as her voice broke and one of her hands covered her lower abdomen.
"Raoul," her broken cry carried to his ears.
His breath grew shallow as he watched her begin to sway, knees finally giving way, dropping her to the ground. He watched as she doubled over, both hands going to her mouth, barely able to muffle the screams torn from a wounded soul. He felt the darkness inside him swell as he watched the shattering of the fragile beauty on her knees. He felt invincible as he listened to the agony that poured forth from her lips, breaking the peace of an early summer morning. He began to take a step closer, wanting to breathe in the emotions, to breathe in her, when he paused in mid-step, his eyes flicking to the portico.
"Christine!" a woman's voice called.
He snarled at the dark-haired older woman who was walking down the garden path before turning back to the woman on her knees. His snarl lengthened into an evil smile as he watched her raise her head, knowing he took with him a secret that was capable of cutting and hurting, causing more pain than any knife wound he would ever be able to inflict.
"Thank you," he whispered to the morning air, watching her eyes, large and frightened, scan the woods before he disappeared into the shadows.
"Christine!" Monique said again she reached the spot where Christine remained on her knees.
"Did you hear that?" Christine's voice held a note of panic.
"Hear what, my dear?" Monique asked, as she placed gentle hands on Christine's shoulders, urging her off the cool ground.
"That voice," Christine whispered, rigidly rooted on her knees. "It is there in my head, whispering, taunting." She looked up at Monique. "He will not let me go. Raoul was correct; he is going to haunt me until I am dead." Christine shook her head as she went to a place where no one could follow. "I should have let Raoul kill him in the cemetery. I should have let Raoul walk away from me. I should have told him. I should have told him and it would not have mattered if it all went wrong. He would have forgiven me. He always forgave me." She looked at Monique again. "Do you think he will forgive me if he is killed? I never meant for him to die. I saved him before; I can save him again. I know I can! Do you think I can go to him? He will listen to me. He has to listen to me!"
Monique moved her skirts and knelt next to Christine, cupping the younger woman's face in her hands. "Christine," she began softly, "you are not making any sense."
"I am, I am," Christine managed around the breaths that were coming faster and faster. "I have to save my husband. This is my fault and I have to make it right. I made it right before; I can do it again. He has to listen to me! I am his angel and he loves me. He said we could go. He let us go." The bodice of Christine's dress moved with the rapidity of storm-tossed waves, her eyes darting back and forth. "I will stay with him and then he has to let Raoul go and it will not matter what happens to me and Raoul will be safe and happy and …"
"Christine!" Monique's voice was insistent as she interrupted Christine's panicked ranting. "Stop!"
Christine finally focused her attention on the woman kneeling in front of her, gently holding her head.
"Please," Monique finished softly.
Christine stared unblinking at Monique for a long moment, the tears welling at the bottom of her eyes finally spilling over, trailing their way down her cheeks. Her chin trembled as her mouth opened and closed several times. "I want my husband back," she whispered pitifully before breaking into full-fledged sobs. Christine found herself drawn to Monique's shoulder.
"I know, I know," Monique whispered as one hand held to the back of Christine's head while the other gently rubbed between the young woman's shoulder blades. "We all want him back." She leaned her head against Christine's. "And we will get him back. Xavier and Arthur will do anything Philippe needs them to do." Monique drew back as Christine raised her head. "It is my job to do anything you need me to do."
Christine gave a watery sniffle. "Please tell me Raoul is going to be fine." Christine was so intent on studying Monique's face that she was not aware of the momentary pause from the older woman.
"I have to believe that and you have to believe that," Monique told her. "Raoul is counting on us to be strong for him."
Christine closed her eyes and nodded her head, not trusting her voice. She felt, rather then saw, Monique stand up, keeping hold of her hands. Christine allowed Monique to guide her to her feet and she stood silently for a moment, lost in a prayer that could not even begin to be formed into words.
"Better?" Monique asked.
"Perhaps," Christine admitted with a nod before opening her eyes. "Where is Philippe?"
"In his study with Xavier and Arthur," Monique told her. "Would you like me to take you to them?"
"Not just yet." Christine shook her head. "Would you walk with me? Please?"
Monique gave her a gentle smile. "Of course," she replied. "I will walk with you as long as you need and then we shall go to Philippe."
And as Monique walked a shaking Christine through gardens softly lit by the new morning, her husband let the drapes of the window he looked through fall back into place. Xavier turned from the now covered window to look at the study softly lit by gas lamps. His lips frowned slightly and he shook his head at the sight that greeted his eyes. Arthur sat in one of the two leather chairs in front of the ornate desk. The hands that were folded in his lap were anything but calm as fingers ran back and forth over each other. Arthur's eyes were fixed on the man seated opposite him, the man behind the desk with his head in his hands.
"Philippe," Xavier began softly.
"I am going to find these men and I will tear them apart myself," Philippe said softly, his head staying in his hands.
"Philippe," Arthur ventured.
"I will give them their damn money right down their miserable throats," Philippe continued, ignoring his friends. "And I am going to make certain it chokes the life right out of them."
Xavier took two steps towards his friends. "And what good will such an action accomplish?"
Philippe raised his head and Xavier was a bit shocked to see the cold fire burning in his friend's blue eyes. "It will make me feel immensely better," came the softly spoken reply.
Arthur cleared his throat, not quailing beneath the deadly gaze Philippe turned upon him. "We have to think about your bankers," he told Philippe. "You need to address a letter to them that will allow Xavier and me to have access to the accounts in Lyon."
Philippe studied Arthur for a moment before closing his eyes and planting his hands on the desk. He slowly rose to his feet, his chest heaving under the strain of controlling raging emotions. Philippe slowly opened his eyes and stood staring down at Arthur, no words passing his lips and without warning both of his arms swung out, flinging papers and inkwells and anything in their way from the desk to the floor. "And how am I to do that?" Philippe shouted. "Those bastards have deigned not to tell me how much they want for Raoul's return and, yet, they seem to take pleasure in torturing him for sport! What the hell would you have me do, Arthur? Just tell me what you want me to do because no one seems to know! The gendarmes are of no use! They have found nothing – nothing! – in nearly three days! Those bastards are toying with us! And God alone knows what they are doing to my brother! What. Do. You. Want. From. Me!" Philippe spat out.
Arthur remained silent in the face of Philippe's anger and frustration.
"I want you to sit down," Xavier said as he placed a hand on Philippe's shoulder.
Philippe whirled on his best friend, a hand raised in anger.
"I would not advise such an action," Xavier said in an even tone as he grabbed Philippe's wrist. "Put your hand down, Philippe. It is of no use to hit me; all it will do is earn you bruised knuckles." The two men stared at each other; Philippe lost in his grief, Xavier lost in his concern. "Philippe," Xavier tried again and could feel the tense muscles in the wrist under his fingers relax. He watched as the anger began to drain from Philippe's face to be replaced by a worried fear that was of far more concern than the anger.
"I just want someone to tell me what I should do," Philippe said with a break in his voice. He slumped back into his chair. "I find I cannot even think anymore. All my thoughts are for Raoul and what they are doing to him." His eyes lowered, his brows knitting in confusion. "I do not understand why they feel the need to hurt him. What would prompt someone to do such a thing? I will give them what they want and old promises between brothers be damned; there is no need to hurt him. Do they not know I would do anything to have my brother back?"
"I think they are counting on that," Xavier said quietly with a shake of his head. "If they are from around here or have talked to any of our local villagers, they will know how close the ties are that bind your family together. They will know that any pain they inflict upon Raoul is pain that will tear at you, as well. They will know that they have you exactly where they wish you to be – at their beck and call. They know you will do what they want."
Arthur cleared his throat. "I also think they are finding some sick, twisted enjoyment in this. It is not so very long since the siege and the riots in Paris. We were fortunate that such things did not find their way this far south. But there will always be those who resent any person who has more than they themselves have; whether that be a pair of shoes or an ancient title and the money that usually accompanies such a privilege." He held a steady gaze as Philippe raised his head to look at him. "Greed and envy make for powerful masters. I think whoever has Raoul is finding enjoyment in the knowledge that you are miserable; that they have the power to knock you from the pedestal upon which they think you sit."
The room was silent.
"Arthur is correct, you know." Xavier's words broke the silence.
"If it is hatred of me, why take it out on Raoul?" Philippe asked. "He is the one person I know who has never harbored a cruel thought for anyone!" A funny look crossed his face. "He is a far better man than I could ever hope to be," Philippe whispered almost to himself.
"There was one man who would find pleasure in seeing both you and Raoul in pain," Arthur said, his words needing no further explanation.
"He is gone," Philippe said. "He let Raoul and Christine go and he just disappeared." He shook his head. "It cannot be him."
Xavier was curious. "Why? Why could it not be that phantom? He was certainly angry enough to try to kill you both at one time."
Philippe leaned his head back into the soft leather of his chair, his eyes studying the plaster swirls of the ceiling above his head. "It could not be him. I spoke to Raoul and Christine after that night. I know what happened in the moments before he allowed them their freedom. He would not do this."
The silence grew in the room again. Arthur and Xavier exchanged worried looks, Arthur nodding his head at Philippe. Xavier nodded in return.
"Philippe," he started and waited until Philippe had turned his head. "I know you are concerned but there are things that must be attended to and one of them is your bankers. They are going to need authorization to release any sizeable amount of money and you are the only one who can do such a thing. You must let Arthur and I deal with this for your presence will be needed here." Xavier took two steps closer to where Philippe sat, placing his hand on Philippe's shoulder. "Christine is close to a breakdown and she is going to need your strength as much as you will need whatever strength she still possesses." Xavier managed a wan smile. "And you should both be here when God hears our prayers and Raoul returns." There was no answer. "Yes?"
Philippe managed a slight nod as he reached a thin hand up to run through hair peppered with gray. "I had nearly forgotten about Christine. What kind of brother am I?"
"One with too many concerns," Arthur told him. "One who cannot bear this burden alone."
"One who needs to trust his friends enough to know they have his family's best interests at heart," Xavier finished.
Philippe thought before nodding his head. "You are both correct. I need help. I cannot do this alone." He gave a short laugh. "I told Christine the same thing the night we received the first ..." his voice trailed off and Philippe closed his eyes, his teeth clenching, his brow contorting in pain. He felt the hand on his shoulder tighten in comfort.
"It will be all right," Xavier assured him. "It will be all right."
There was a knock at the door; Arthur stood, turning toward the sound. "Come," he called out.
The door slowly opened and Mathilde, the housekeeper stood there, all eyes in the room turning towards her. The color in Philippe's face drained as he noticed the large package she held in her hands. Mathilde took a few steps into the room, the ashen color of her face matching the pallor of each man in the room.
"I ..." Mathilde began and stopped, her eyes welling with tears. She swallowed them back; she would not let down her family when they needed her the most. "This was found near to the stile that leads into the far pasture. The herdsman brought it to me as soon as it was found."
Arthur took one step forward. "I'll take that."
"No!" Philippe's voice was strong as he stood and moved toward his trusted housekeeper. "No," he repeated as he held out his hands. "This is my responsibility."
Philippe and Mathilde stared at each other, eyes reflecting pain and concern and years of shared trust and friendship that had nothing to do with the relationship of employer to employee.
"Please," Philippe asked simply. He could not look down but felt as the package was transferred into his hands, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he realized the package was too light to hold a body part.
"I'll be going," Mathilde said.
"Please stay," Philippe begged her. "You are as much a part of this family as anyone in this room." There was no answer. "Please? For me?" Philippe watched as she nodded and he turned to walk back to his desk, placing the plain brown package carefully on the clear desktop. Trembling hands reached out for the twine that held the package closed.
"Let me," Xavier offered.
Philippe drew in a deep breath. "No," he said. "This is truly my responsibility." His fingers closed around the ends of the twine and Philippe was grateful the steadying hand he felt on his back. The twine ends were pulled in opposite directions and the string came away from the package. "Oh God," Philippe breathed as his hands pulled gently at the edges of the brown paper. He stopped short of fully revealing what lay in the paper as he took note of a sheet of white paper. He reached in and pulled it out, opening it, eyes scanning the contents.
"What does it say?" Arthur asked. "What do they want?"
"One hundred thousand francs," Philippe said softly, his voice nearly a whisper.
"What!" Arthur exclaimed.
"What?" Xavier echoed. "Are they crazed?"
"In small bills that can be easily disposed of," Philippe continued. "They want the money in five days time or they will begin sending Raoul back in pieces." Philippe laid the note he was holding down and stared at the half-open package on his desk, talking directly to the inanimate object. "They have sent us another warning to show that they mean what they say." His hands reached for the paper and pulled open the package; Philippe blanched the white of new fallen snow. "Raoul," he breathed as he reached in and drew out a cut and blood-stained shirt.
He was not the only one in the room who lost all color. Mathilde turned her head away in horror, her hands going to her mouth, her eyes tearing up. Arthur's hands clenched into fists even as his teeth clenched shut in anger. Xavier reached for the shirt, his hands going to a hole with darkened edges.
"Dear God," he wondered, "is that from a branding iron?"
"No!" a scream came from the doorway.
Everyone in the room looked toward the doorway to see Christine and Monique standing there, Monique holding tightly to the young woman who was staring at the shirt held between Philippe's hands. Christine's eyes were wide, her mouth open, a single hand reaching toward Philippe.
"Raoul," she said in a hollow voice.
Philippe quickly dropped the shirt back to his desk, Xavier moving the paper over the top of it.
"Christine," Philippe said as he started to cross the room towards her.
"Oh God, Raoul," Christine whispered as she bent over, a hand going to her mouth. "No, no, no," she managed before breaking free from Monique's grasp and running toward the front door.
"Christine!" Philippe exclaimed, hard on her heels, everyone else following close on his.
Philippe chased Christine out the front door, unable to catch the woman fleeing in panic. He could not reach her as she stumbled down the front stairs. Philippe took the same stairs two at a time, desperate to reach Christine for he could see what she could not in her blind despair - two horsemen galloping up the lane; Didier and Henri returning to Chagny after spending the night at Xavier's home. Christine ran out in front of them, the riders pulling up short.
"Damn stupid little ..." Henri began and stopped as Philippe also ran in front of his horse.
"What?" Didier asked as he, too, watched the scene unfolding before them.
Philippe finally caught up with Christine as she stopped in the drive, bending over, both arms wrapped around her middle. Philippe watched helplessly as the bile that had been roiling away in Christine's stomach bubbled over and she coughed and sputtered. He placed his hands on her shoulders as the dry heaves took over when there was nothing left for Christine to lose. Dry heaves eventually gave way to deep sobs and that is when Philippe gently straightened Christine, turning her to face him, shocked at her green pallor.
"Raoul," she managed to get out between her sobs.
Philippe could no longer hold back his own frightened tears as he drew his brother's wife into his arms.