Chapter Summary: Old feelings surface for Monique as she struggles to keep Philippe and his family together in light of what has been happening. Henri is confronted by both Monique and Philippe. Xavier and Arthur return with the ransom to find instructions have been received on how to deliver it. And they discover why the atmosphere surrounding Chagny is so unsettled ...

(Author's Note: Icky bit ahead as we discover what was done "off screen" to Raoul in the last chapter.)

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Monique knocked softly on the door to Philippe's study and received no answer. She knocked again and receiving the same response, she carefully opened the door to look inside. The room was empty, the damask drapes closed plunging the entire room into a dark stillness. Monique shook her head and closed the door. She stood for a moment in the hallway of the silent house, feeling the weight of the walls closing in upon her. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and wondered how emotions fared on the second floor, knowing they were just as full of quiet desperation as they were throughout the ancient chateau. Monique walked toward the back of the house, seeking relief from the oppressive atmosphere. As she walked past the open door of the conservatory she heard male voices and hoped that Didier would be able to keep Henri under control; now was not the time for theatrics. Monique reached the doors to the back portico and opened them, pausing as she found the person she sought, her heart breaking at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Philippe stood at the edge of the portico, an arm leaning against one of the columns. Normally impeccable posture had given way to a curved back, slumped shoulders, a drooping head. The hand not supporting weight that seemed almost too much to carry covered eyes that could not bear to look out upon the new day. "I know you are there," Philippe said softly.

Monique closed the door and approached Philippe, stopping some distance behind him. "How did you know?"

"Jasmine," came the softly spoken answer. "You have always smelled of jasmine." There was a long moment of silence that spanned the years between them. "How is Christine? What did the doctor say?"

"Senor Gallardo would not say much," Monique replied. "He did say that she would need to drink more fluids and left instructions for Mathilde to give her ginger tea."

Philippe finally raised his head but did not turn to look at the person behind him. "I had the same reaction," he began, "so I am not surprised that Christine could not stop ..." his voice trailed off. "I am not surprised that she needs to replace lost fluids." Philippe ran a hand through his hair. "Why, Monique?" He turned to face her. "Why?"

Monique did not shrink from the hurt look that Philippe fixed upon her. "I wish I had an answer for you," she said calmly, "but I do not."

"What is Raoul going to be like if ..." Philippe paused to correct himself, "when ... when he comes home?" He looked down at his hands, a frown creasing his forehead. "How does a person endure ... that," the simple pronoun echoed with horror, "and not have a part of themselves torn away." Philippe's eyes grew wide as he realized what he had said, a single hand going to his mouth as he turned from Monique. He felt hands on his shoulders and pulled away, moving down to the first step off the portico.

"Philippe, please," Monique tried.

"What is wrong with me?"

"You did not mean what you said! Raoul would know that."

Philippe raised his eyes toward the clouds. "God help me, I did mean it." He shook his head. "I am terrified for my brother. I am terrified of what he is going to be like when he returns to us. I am terrified that I will not know the person who comes home."

"You will always know Raoul," Monique tried comforting him. She moved down one stair to stand beside Philippe. She turned to look at him as Philippe turned toward her. "I am not saying it will be easy or that some part of Raoul will not have changed." Monique reached out a hand to the one reaching for her. "I am saying that we all love him and that is what will bring all us through this." She squeezed the hand holding hers. "You have family and friends who love you both; do not shut us out."

"I may be aging by the moment and I am most definitely frightened but I am not foolish enough to think I will be able to cope without help," Philippe told her as he lightly tapped a finger against Monique's chin. His eyes closed in pain. "Dear God, what are we going to do?"

Monique could feel her heart breaking - new breaks, old breaks - and drew Philippe into her arms. She hugged him close, his rapidly beating heart pounding against her chest. Monique could feel Philippe's body shudder as he drew ragged breaths in an effort to compose himself. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to get lost in the moment, committing the sensations to memory before being suddenly drawn back to reality.

"I should not be doing this," Philippe said as he pulled from the embrace, looking in deep violet eyes before turning away. "You are my best friend's wife."

"I am also your friend," Monique said as she tried reaching for him, Philippe moving further away. "I have been such for these many years." Her hand fell to her side.

"I know." The two words were spoken in a strange tone as Philippe shook his head. "Just go."

"But ..." Monique said as she took a step closer.

"Please," Philippe begged her.

Monique bit back emotions that she had been biting back for years. "As you wish."

"Thank you."

Monique turned and walked toward the chateau, opening the door. She stepped inside and turned to look back. She watched silently as Philippe sat on the portico, his head falling into upraised hands. Monique bit her bottom lip, drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders before carefully closing the door and moving back into the haunted stillness of the chateau. She struggled with the feelings that she found would no longer stay easily buried and paused in her steps, a hand going to her eyes.

"Aunt?"

"Didier," Monique breathed as she lowered her hand and opened her eyes.

"Are you well? Is there anything I can do?"

Monique looked at the young man standing before her and managed a wan smile. He looked so much like his uncle did at the same age; it brought back pleasant memories that helped to ease the chill in her soul. "Have you telegraphed your parents?"

Didier shook his head. "I do not wish to upset them until and unless there is reason. I shall let them know when Raoul returns."

"You are a decent young man," Monique told him as she laid a hand on his arm, watching as Didier squirmed slightly beneath the praise. "How does Henri fare?"

"I wish I knew," Didier said with a shake of his head. "I do not know the man I am watching," he admitted and paused as he composed his thoughts.

"You may say anything to me," Monique assured him. "After these last days ..." she shrugged.

Didier took his aunt's hand and led her to a loveseat against the wall. They sat down, Didier still holding to Monique's hand. "I wish you to know that I am aware of Henri's faults," Didier frowned slightly, "but that does not mean I do not like the parts of him that can be pleasant. He is great fun and has never been harsh or rude to me. And - in some respects - I understand his anger and the envy and why he feels the need to drown them in drink."

"I do not ..." Monique was confused. "You are to inherit everything that Xavier has built and it is not as if Henri will ever be left penniless."

"It is difficult to explain," Didier told her. "Now is not the time."

"Now is the time!" Monique interrupted. "I am trying desperately to keep Philippe centered and Christine from breaking down completely; I do not need any of Henri's shenanigans plaguing this household!" She looked sideways at her nephew. "Didier, I know that Henri has tried to take advantage of the situation between Raoul and Christine." Monique raised an eyebrow at the look of surprise that crossed the young man's face. "I may be getting on in years but I am not blind and I will not tolerate any further such actions. Is that understood?"

Didier looked at his hands. "I know that Henri tried to take advantage. He has always wanted everything that Raoul has or will have." His brow creased into a frown. "He thinks that Philippe takes too easy a hand with Raoul. He thinks that Christine should have only been a ... a diversion and not a wife. He thinks ..."

Monique snatched her hand back. "Henri thinks far too much," she spat angrily. "He knows nothing!"

"Do not presume, madame," an equally angry voice interrupted, "to know the thoughts in my mind."

Monique and Didier looked up to see Henri standing in an open doorway glaring at them. Didier rose to his feet. "Henri," he tried and stopped when Henri snarled at him.

"If you value our friendship, you will hold your tongue," Henri told him.

Monique, too, rose to her feet. "And if you wish to stay in this home, you will think upon the tone of voice you choose to take."

Henri took a step forward. "I believe you said that I think too much." He paused, hatred seething beneath his cultured demeanor. "And how dare you say anything regarding my behavior? This is not your home!"

"But it is mine," Philippe said as everyone turned to the sound of his voice. His chest heaved with his own anger. "I will not have you show any disrespect to any female under this roof under any condition. Is that clear?"

Henri clenched his jaw.

"Is that clear!" Philippe shouted.

"Yes," Henri mumbled.

"Pardon?" Philippe wondered.

"Yes cousin," Henri replied in a louder, though still slightly defiant, tone. "You make yourself perfectly clear."

"Now apologize to Madame," Philippe ordered.

Henri bowed slightly from the waist. "Pray forgive my deplorable manners," he said to Monique. "I meant no disrespect." His eyes gave lie to the words that passed his lips.

Monique inhaled deeply to settle her nerves. "Thank you and no offense taken for we are all under a great deal of stress."

Philippe glared at his cousin, refusing to look at Monique. "She is far more gracious than you deserve." He raised a hand and pointed at the back of the chateau. "Now get out and take some time to get your anger and bitterness under control. I cannot stomach the sight of you at the moment."

Henri stood silently for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching, before he turned on his heel and walked slowly down the hallway, control evident in every movement.

"Go after him," Monique whispered to Didier who placed a quick kiss on her cheek and went after Henri. Monique turned her attention to Philippe who was still seething. "He did not ..." she started.

"I do not care," Philippe interrupted. "I am going upstairs to see Christine and when I return I do not wish to hear any more of this." He looked briefly at Monique. "One further misstep from Henri and I shall send him packing and disown him faster than the ink can dry on my will."

"Philippe ..." Monique tried as he moved past.

"I need to tend to my brother's wife," Philippe told her as he moved past, feeling the emotional bond that was the third person between he and Monique making itself known. Philippe ignored the feeling and the woman with difficulty and walked to the front of the house, turning to move up the stairs. He took his time, breathing deeply, settling his unsteady nerves. He stopped in front of the door to Christine's bedroom, straightening his shirt, smoothing his sleeves, before knocking lightly.

"Come," he heard Mathilde's voice say.

Philippe opened the door and felt his nerves unravel further at the sight that greeted his eyes. Mathilde stood at the end of the huge four-poster bed, her arms crossed about her waist, watching the woman sitting on the window seat. Philippe could not help but follow her gaze.

Christine sat upon the velvet-covered window seat, staring unblinking out the window. Her back was straight, her posture rigid. She was dressed in a plain yellow morning dress, her hair loose, the curls tumbled. Her skin was pale, her face expressionless except for the far-away look in her huge eyes. Christine had her arms wrapped around her chest and in her hands she held a man's shirt.

Philippe sighed and entered the room, stopping next to his housekeeper. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since Senor Gallardo left," Mathilde told him. "I walked him to the front door so that I could understand his orders and when I came back," Mathilde nodded toward Christine, "I found her like that. She must have gone across the hall for the shirt."

Philippe laid a hand on Mathilde's shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered. "Why do you not go and get some tea? I will stay."

Mathilde smiled at the man for whose family she had worked for almost thirty years. "I shall return shortly," she whispered back and crossed the room.

Philippe heard the door close behind Mathilde and walked across the short distance to stand by Christine.

"A year and six months," Christine said softly.

"What?" Philippe was puzzled.

"I asked Senor Gallardo," Christine continued as Philippe sat on the opposite side of the window seat, her eyes still staring out the window. "It takes eighteen months to grow back." Christine lowered her head and sniffed at the shirt she held in her arms. "Eighteen months."

Philippe finally realized what she was saying. "Christine," Philippe's voice was full of compassion as he reached out to touch her hands.

"How could anyone do that to another person?" Christine wondered. "How could they do that to Raoul?"

A sad half-smile crossed Philippe's face. "I asked the same question and received no answer. I give you the same answer - I do not know why."

Christine stared unblinking at her husband's brother before returning her gaze to the outside world. "Why can they not leave him alone and send him back to us?" Her voice lowered. "He has to know."

Philippe saw her lips move but did not hear the words that Christine breathed. "I came to see how you were feeling. I understand that Senor Gallardo wishes you to drink more fluids."

"He does," Christine replied in a monotone.

"Christine," Philippe said as he reached for her chin and turned her head so that she was looking at him. "Is there something I should know? I know you have not been feeling well for some time." He sighed. "I cannot have you ill for the two of us will need to nurse Raoul back to health. That is not a job I can do alone."

"I will not fail you," Christine assured Philippe. "I will not fail Raoul."

"I have never doubted that," Philippe replied. "At the moment, though, I need you to put other doubts to rest; promise me that you are well."

Christine nodded. "I am. I can promise you that I am not ill." It was the truth and it was as far as Christine could take the truth until her husband was back in her arms.

"Those words are weight lifted from my shoulders." Philippe nodded his head and moved his hand from Christine's chin down to rest against the shirt she held so tightly. "May I take this?"

"No," Christine said with a shake of her head as she gripped the shirt tighter. "You will think me odd."

"Never," came the emphatic reply.

Christine studied Philippe's face, pulling Raoul's shirt to her chest. "If I hold to it," she began. "I think ... maybe ..." her voice broke and Christine closed her eyes and composed herself. "I think that maybe," she resumed as she opened her eyes, "maybe Raoul can feel me holding him." Christine shrugged her shoulders and bit her bottom lip. "Maybe he can feel ..." Her words were cut off by the scream that came from her lips as an explosion shattered the stillness that hung over the valley.

Philippe quickly drew Christine into his arms, rubbing her back and glowering out the window. "That damn mine."

"That damn mine," Monique echoed Philippe's words and tone of voice as she glanced at the mountains in the distance, the cloud of dust rising toward the heavens. She shook her head and sighed in disgust, walking down to the first landing at the front of the chateau.

Monique had quietly followed Philippe, watching as he climbed the stairs. She had wanted to follow him, to offer what little comfort she could to him and to Christine but there was something about the set of Philippe's shoulders, his previous tone of voice, that stayed Monique. Instead, she had moved to the front of the house, walking out onto the long portico, seeking relief in the air of a late spring afternoon. She had stood on the flagstone of the portico, thin hands pulling at the high collar of her dress as the oppressive humidity began to wrap around her.

"God," Monique prayed as she raised moist eyes to the sky, "please ..." Her prayer was interrupted by the explosion that echoed across countryside. Now she waited on the first landing of the stone stairs that led to the front door of Chagny, her ears hearing something beyond the echoing thumps from the distant mountains. Her eyes scanned the long drive, relief crossing her face and flooding her veins as a coach approached. Monique ran down the remaining stairs, waiting anxiously as the coach slowed before her.

The coach door opened and Xavier stepped out to find his wife flinging herself into his arms. "My dear," he said, a bit stunned. Arthur and Chief Inspector Pichette also exited from the coach, the other officer remaining inside with the ransom money. "What is it?" Xavier whispered as he rubbed her back.

Monique drew back from the embrace, a hand going to her husband's cheek. "I am so glad you have returned."

"What has happened?" Arthur wondered; he could feel strange currents swirling on the atmosphere surrounding the estate.

Monique was startled by Arthur's voice and turned to him. "I am sorry," she told him. "I had forgotten you went with Xavier."

"My dear," Xavier began again and turned to the chief inspector. "This is Chief Inspector Robert Pichette from Lyon. He and two of his best officers accompanied the ransom."

"Madame de la Censiere," Pichette nodded to Monique.

"We had another note," Monique began and the men around her grew quiet. "They have told where they wish us to leave the ransom money."

"What else?" Xavier wondered and flinched as the color drained from his wife's face. "Monique," he tried again. "What have they done?"

Monique closed her eyes in pain. "Fingernails," she whispered and heard the sharp intake of breath from the men into whose faces she stared upon opening her eyes. She grabbed onto her husband's lapels for support, fixing her gaze onto his. "They sent us some of his fingernails," she whispered, the horror in her voice evident in the faces of those about her.