Chapter Summary: Arthur arrives in Paris with news for Raoul and Christine's friends. And his words are overheard by an unseen "friend".

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Arthur Weldon, personal assistant and friend of the Comte de Chagny, arrived in Paris during the early evening three days after the Summer solstice. He had locked himself in the private coach during the train ride from Lyon, wishing to be alone. He had stared out the window of the coach but saw nothing that moved past. Arthur had ordered food, finding the finely prepared meals tasteless, sending almost full plates back to the kitchen. He could find no reason to eat, no desire to feel. He could not sleep, could form no single rational thought. Arthur was numb and in some part of him that still functioned, he was grateful for the numbness for it was the only way he could participate in a world that still existed. Upon arrival in Paris, he had hired a hansom to take him to the townhouse that the Comte had fully deeded to his young brother upon that man's marriage. Arthur's arrival had been unexpected but he was greeted with fondness by the staff who had known him from the days when the Comte had called Paris home. The fondness engendered by his arrival had quickly dissipated into a nearly bottomless grief when Arthur shared the reason for his visit.

Now, as he sat on the bed he had barely slept in the night before, Arthur was faced with bearing his sad news to those in Paris who had been closest to the Vicomte and his wife. He finished tying the laces on his shoes and sat up, frowning at the bright sun that poured in through the window. Arthur shook his head and stood, crossing the room to angrily rip the ties from the wall allowing the drapes to fall, blocking out a day he did not wish to see. Arthur stared at the torn material in his hands and his anger quickly deflated into embarrassment and sorrow. He inhaled and exhaled deeply several times as he composed himself; there were others who were depending upon him and Arthur would have to save his own emotions for another time. He walked back to the bed, the torn drapery material still in his hands and shrugged into a black suit jacket before leaving the room, heading for the first floor.

Arthur moved down the stairs, noting the somber valet at the front door and the unopened box behind his chair. Arthur knew that there was the customary mourning wreath in the box but he had forbidden any of the staff from placing it on the door until he could speak with those whom he had come to Paris expressly to see. Arthur approached the man. "Monsieur Martin?" he inquired.

"In Monsieur le Vicomte's study," the man replied softly before turning his head away.

Arthur briefly laid a sympathetic hand on the man's arm before turning to go the study; he knew his way for it had been the Comte's study before he had retired to the country outside of Lyon. He quietly opened the door to the study and entered. "Pierre," Arthur said as he entered the room, closing the door behind himself.

Pierre Martin, Raoul's assistant had been staring out the window, watching as Paris came to life for another day and wondering how they could do such a thing when his own world had ground to a halt. Pierre turned at the sound of Arthur's voice. "I still cannot believe that ..." he began and stopped, shaking his head, unable to grasp the news that Arthur had brought with him.

"I know," Arthur replied. "I know." He moved across the room to the two leather chairs that sat in front of Raoul's ornate writing desk. Arthur motioned for Pierre to have a seat and waited until that other man sat across from him. "There are things I must do and things I shall need. I hate to be brusque but I must be back at Chagny within four days."

"Tell me what you need," Pierre said. "I would do anything for ..." his voice broke.

Arthur did not press him to continue. "I understand." Arthur swallowed as he struggled to keep his own emotions under control. "Do you know where the Vicomte's will is located?"

Pierre nodded. "It is at his attorney's office. Do you need me to retrieve it for you?"

"Please and I must have it by tomorrow for my train leaves in the afternoon." Arthur crossed his hands in his lap, hoping that such an action would stop them from trembling. "I dislike laying the burden of carrying this news to the Vicomte's attorney but I must visit the Baron and Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac and Madame Giry." He sighed heavily. "The Vicomtess asked me specifically to go to them."

"They are very dear friends of the Vicomtess and ..." Pierre paused for a moment. "They are very dear friends," he finished and pulled at his jacket, straightening invisible wrinkles. "I shall see the attorney this very morning and have the will for you by the time you return this afternoon. Is there anything else I can do?" He shook his head. "I feel so helpless."

"We all do," Arthur told him softly. "I, too, am at a loss for what to do beyond what I have been asked. I do not know if anyone truly knows what to do." He watched as Pierre stood.

"At least you and I have tasks that must be accomplished and that is, indeed, helpful." Pierre was silent for a moment, his brow creasing. "This is all so hard to believe; I find it makes no sense." He placed his emotions back under a carefully composed façade and looked at Arthur. "There is a coach waiting out front for you."

"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "On your way out would you find Marie and send her to me? I have instructions from the Vicomtess that must be relayed to her."

"Certainly," Pierre said and walked out of the study, his step heavy, his shoulders rounded.

As the door to the study closed behind Pierre, Arthur looked at the room around him, feeling the sorrow begin to rise again. Everywhere he looked there were little signs of the person whose room this had been, the person who had been torn from the lives of those who loved him. Stacks of correspondence, his name on them, were stacked in neat piles awaiting signatures that would never come. A set of toy soldiers from his youth lined one shelf of the bookcase. In the corner stood a parlor palm and Arthur remembered an adolescent's wonder that a palm could grow indoors. And Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the portrait that hung over the mantle, directly facing the young man's desk; she looked so young and happy, the yellow of her gown highlighting her dark hair, the smile on her face soft as she gazed toward her husband. A gentle knock on the door pulled Arthur from his thoughts and he was glad of it.

"Come," he called out, clearing his throat.

A young woman with eyes red from crying, entered the room. "You sent for me?" she asked quietly.

Arthur rose to feet, extending his hands to the woman. "I did, Mademoiselle Idellette." He watched as Marie crossed to his side, her eyes downcast. Arthur took her hands as they sat. "I realize this is a difficult time for everyone ..."

Marie finally raised her eyes. "I am of no consequence. I am worried for Madame."

"She is being well taken care of, I can assure you of that much," Arthur replied with a sad smile.

"I should be there," Marie said with a shake of her head. "I should be the one to look after her needs and help her through this ..." her voice trailed off and she lowered her eyes again.

Arthur took back his hands and reached into an inside pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a long envelope. "There is something you can do to help Madame," he began and placed the envelope into Marie's hands. "This comes directly from Madame; it contains instructions for you. There are things that you can do for her."

Marie took the envelope into her hands, looking at the familiar – if shaky – script. She sniffled back tears before raising her head to look at Arthur. "I shall tend to them immediately."

"I know that Madame has requested several items to be sent to Chagny," Arthur began. "I dislike placing pressure upon you under such difficult circumstances but I will need to have them by tomorrow as my train leaves in the afternoon."

"I would never fail Madame," Marie was adamant. She rose to her feet. "I should go and tend to my duties."

Arthur, too, rose to his feet, walking with Marie to the door of the study. "Thank you," he said simply and then, "I almost forgot." He placed the torn drapery sashes into Marie's free hand. "I am sorry but I tore these from the wall this morning."

Marie nodded knowingly as she looked at the sashes. "It is easily fixed," she assured Arthur.

Arthur nodded his thanks and watched as Marie slipped the envelope and sashes into the pocket of her apron and quietly left through the door Arthur opened. Arthur closed the door behind her, placing his forehead against it for a moment as the silence of the study closed in about him. He thought he could sense the weight of lost potential and vanished promises closing in upon him. Arthur could almost sense hope and love fly out through the windows and into the damnably bright sky overhead; it was almost more than he could bear. He turned around for a last look, biting down the anger that rose again in his breast and left the study, walking out the front door to the waiting coach.

The coach moved slowly through the traffic that congested the streets and avenues of Paris at mid-morning. The driver, a member of the household staff, knew the way to the destination his passenger had given him and he guided the horses easily past other coaches, past businesses and homes, past people on the crowded sidewalks, past life. The driver kept his eyes on the road before him, not wanting or caring to see the world that still turned, the people that still breathed; he just wanted this day to be over. And the day after that. And the day after that. He needed the distance that time would bring, the lessening of the ache that time would bring. He let his thoughts stray just a bit, remembering other times he had guided the coach in this direction, happier times; times that now seemed so far away. The driver was surprised when he gathered his thoughts back together and found himself entering the neighborhood for which he had been heading; he had always wondered whether or not he could follow the route in his sleep. He pulled back lightly on the reins, slowing the carriage, allowing it to finally stop before a row of elegant town homes. He turned to look at the coach behind him, ready to jump down and open the door when it opened, his passenger climbing out.

Arthur looked up at the driver. "Wait here, please," he said, watching as the driver nodded his understanding. Arthur then turned, looking at the numbers on the townhouses before him. He saw the number for which he had been looking and moved to his left, climbing the stairs of Number Twelve. Arthur paused at the door, raising the brass knocker and letting it fall once. He drew deep breaths, trying to compose himself and dreading the task before him, when the door opened a middle-aged man dressed in a suit looked out at him.

"May I help you, sir?" the man inquired.

Arthur handed him the calling card he held. "I am Arthur Weldon, assistant to the Comte de Chagny," he began. "I come bearing news for the Baron and Baroness in regards to the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny."

The man stood aside, allowing Arthur to enter the house. "If you would be kind enough to wait here for a moment, I shall relay your message to the Baron," the man said before he disappeared down a short hallway.

Arthur sighed, grateful for the moment in which to compose himself. He looked around at the three story home soaring above him, at the carefully constructed wrought iron lining the stone staircase, the finely plastered walls and the tasteful furniture. It was a home in which a good deal of care and love had been lavished. Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, their friends certainly had excellent taste; he hoped they were as strong of constitution as their home appeared to be.

"Sir?" a voice asked and Arthur opened his eyes to see the man who had answered the door standing before him. "The Baron and Baroness will see you; if you would follow me?" The man held out a hand toward the hall from where he had come, trusting Arthur to follow his lead. He stopped at a paneled door, knocking once. "Come," a male voice called out and the man opened the door, stepping into a brightly lit parlor. "Monsieur Weldon," he announced, stepping aside, allowing Arthur to enter the room and leaving discreetly, closing the door silently.

"I am Valery, Baron de Castelot-Barbezac," Val motioned and Meg came to stand by his side, reaching for his hand. "This is my wife Marguerite." He looked puzzled as he stared at Arthur. "Did we not meet you at the wedding, Monsieur Weldon?"

"Briefly, I believe," Arthur replied. He swallowed once. "I have come from Chagny at the request of the Comte to relay news regarding ..."

Meg could not stand the dread that was creeping up her spine. "It is not Christine, is it?" she blurted out. "I have not heard from her since she and Raoul left Paris six weeks ago."

"Meg," Val corrected her softly but he, too, looked anxiously at Arthur.

"I think you should both sit," Arthur said.

Val's anxiety was rapidly being replaced by a dread that matched his wife's. "I think, Monsieur Weldon, you should just say what you came to say."

"Raoul," Arthur began and remembered his manners. "The Vicomte died three days ago."

Meg collapsed to the seat behind her, followed quickly by Val who waved Arthur to a chair.

"What happened?" Val wondered, his voice sounded hollow. His arm went about Meg, absently patting her back as she cried into his shoulder.

Arthur told them as gently as he could of the events that had led to Raoul's death; in deference to Meg, he left out the worst of the details. He told them that Christine had explicitly asked him to come to Paris in the hopes that they would come to Chagny for the funeral.

"She does not even need to ask," Meg said as she raised her head, the tears staining her cheeks. She turned to her husband. "She is the sister of my heart. I need to go to her."

Val nodded his agreement. "We both do."

A hand went to Meg's mouth. "Maman," she breathed.

"That would be Madame Giry?" Arthur wondered.

"Yes," Val replied.

"The Vicomtess asked me to see her, as well."

Meg rose to stand on shaky legs. "Give me but a moment gather myself ... to gather ..." A single sob escaped Meg's lips and she paused to swallow down another. "Give me a moment to gather myself together and to order a carriage and we shall take you to her." She closed her eyes, a hand reaching for her husband.

"I have a coach out front," Arthur told her.

"Go my love," Val said as he raised the hand he held to his lips before turning to Arthur. "We shall await your return."

"And I waited and waited for what seemed like hours for their return," The woman they were going to see was saying. Madame Giry looked solemnly at the two people who sat in her parlor, the twinkle in her eyes belying the look on her face. "When they finally came home, they were both muddy beyond belief!" She held out her hands in a space of barely four inches. "And the only fish they had caught for all their trouble was this big!" She joined her companions in laughter.

"I cannot picture the Baroness fishing or muddy!" Tallis exclaimed when her laughter stopped.

Erik shook his head. "I can," he muttered darkly but there was a sparkle in his eyes. "I saw things from the backstage catwalks at the opera house that would shock and startle even the most stoic of people." He looked pointedly at Antoinette.

Antoinette shook a finger at him. "Do not think I did not know you were there," she told him. "I should be very interested in knowing what you saw that I did not."

Erik leaned forward slightly. "It would turn your hair grey."

"It did not do much for your hair," Antoinette told him sweetly, as she, too, leaned forward. She stared at Erik for long moments, never flinching from the intensity of his gaze.

Tallis watched as the two stared at each other, neither wishing to be the first to break off and admit defeat. Her mouth opened once or twice, wanting to say something but afraid of Erik's reaction should she do so. Tallis did not need to worry as Erik was the first one whose mouth began to twitch at its corners. She watched as it twitched a little more. And a little bit more and Erik finally broke into joyous laughter, collapsing back into the sofa he shared with Tallis who turned her attention to Antoinette, who was leaning more gracefully back into her chair.

"You see, my dear," Antoinette addressed her. "There are ways to handle this scoundrel."

Erik took a few deep breaths to get his laughter under control and reached for Tallis' hand, raising it to his lips. "She has only to look at me and I am under her spell," he managed to say.

Tallis melted, unable to find the words.

Antoinette sighed. "Never," she was adamant. "Never allow him to leave you speechless."

"Am I speechless?" Tallis wondered rather breathlessly as she still stared at Erik.

Erik raised an eyebrow at her, his lips turning up at one edge. "Obviously not."

That raised Tallis' spirit and she lightly smacked Erik on the arm. "You ... you ... you ..."

"Beast," Erik finished for her, his smirk softening into a gentle smile.

"Beast," Tallis breathed back at him, her smile matching his own.

"I am decidedly out of place," Antoinette said with a smile as she watched the two people across from her lost in each other's eyes. Yet she was happy to see them thus and obviously taking to heart the wisdom she had shared with each of them.

"Did you say something" Erik asked, his eyes still swimming in the star-speckled gray of Tallis' eyes.

"I said that I have grown two heads, one of which is purple and the other of which is green with pink polka dots," Antoinette replied with a perfectly straight face.

"Two heads," Erik said to Tallis as he reached for the hand he did not hold.

"Polka dots," Tallis breathed back, a frown slowly creasing her brow. She turned to Antoinette. "Polka dots?"

What Antoinette might have said was forestalled by the sound of her front door opening and Meg calling out, "Maman!" in decidedly desperate tone of voice.

The three people in the parlor rose to their feet as one, Antoinette pointing to the pocket doors that separated the parlor from the library. "Quickly," she told Erik and Tallis. The couple did not need to be told twice and instantly disappeared behind the doors. Antoinette watched them and turned to the closed door of her parlor as it flung open and Meg rushed in, flinging herself into her mother's arms, sobbing into her shoulder. "Marguerite Giry," Antoinette scolded and felt Meg tighten her hug. Antoinette could do nothing but return the hug. "What is wrong?" she asked. "Have you had your first disagreement with your husband?" Antoinette felt the head on her shoulder shake.

"Oh, Maman," Meg sobbed.

"Meg," Antoinette sighed. "You must tell me what is wrong!"

"I think I can do that," Val said as he entered the room with a man that Antoinette thought looked vaguely familiar. Val held out a hand in the man's direction. "This is Arthur Weldon. He is the assistant to the Comte de Chagny."

"Christine?" Antoinette voiced the first thought that came to her mind.

Meg pulled herself back from her mother's embrace; her blue eyes searching her mother's face for some comfort. "It is Raoul, Maman; he is dead."

Antoinette gasped, a hand going for her throat. She sank into the chair from which she had just risen. She looked at Arthur. "This is not a lie?" She watched as the man shook his head. "What happened?"

Arthur, too, sank into a chair, waiting until Val had crossed the room to take his mother-in-law's hand; Madame waving him into one. "Raoul," he shook his head. "I have known him since he was a child," he muttered almost to himself. "Raoul went riding and was set upon and taken for ransom." Arthur was tired and could scarcely remember the societal conventions he was so used to honoring; he lowered his eyes. "He was subjected to vile deeds and - please! - do not ask me how I know for there are things I do not wish to think upon." He raised his head. "Three days ago the ransom was paid but the men who took him set explosives throughout the place where he was being held while Raoul was still inside. He died in there."

"Dear God," Antoinette breathed, blinking back her tears, years of training taking hold, allowing her to keep her composure before the world but she tightened her grip on the hands of her daughter and son. "Christine and the Comte?"

"In shock," Arthur told her, "as are we all. I do not believe there is a single person at Chagny who is not numb." He drew a deep breath. "They are clinging to each other. The Comte's friends, the de la Censiere's, are staying at Chagny, helping to make arrangements, keeping the house running. The Comte's sisters were to have arrived yesterday." He cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts, sitting up straighter. "I have been asked, by the Vicomtess, if you would come to Chagny."

Antoinette was all business as she straightened her shoulders and set her lips in a thin line. "Of course, I shall go," she stated simply. "When must you leave?"

"The funeral," Arthur could still not get used to that word or the emotional darkness it brought to every room in which it was said, "is in five days time. It is a two day train ride to Lyon and an overnight coach ride to Chagny. A private carriage has been hired and the train leaves tomorrow afternoon."

"Barely enough time," Antoinette thought out loud. "But enough." She turned to hug her daughter. "You must go and prepare." She drew back to look at Meg, the tears still rolling down her cheeks. "I know you are hurting, my child; but you must compose yourself before we reach Chagny for Christine will need our love and our support."

"I am your daughter," Meg whispered back. "I will not embarrass you," she looked over her mother's shoulder at Val, "or my husband. And I shall certainly not fail Christine."

"I know," Antoinette told her gently and turned to Val. "You had best take Meg home."

Val stood, reaching for his wife's hand. "I shall send a coach for you in the morning."

"I will be ready," Antoinette told him and looked at Arthur. "Is there anything we can do to assist you?"

Arthur, too, rose to his feet. "No, thank you. I have my orders and they are just about complete." He nodded at her. "I am so sorry to have come with such news."

Antoinette rose to her feet, the only outward sign of her emotional turmoil, the hands clasped tightly at her waist. "You did admirably and I thank you." She accepted the quick kiss that Meg placed on her cheek and watched as the three people exited the room. Antoinette waited until she had heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, carriage wheels on the gravel drive before crossing the room and sliding open the pocket doors.

Erik and Tallis stood just behind the open doors, wrapped in each other's arms. Erik had his back to the door, his head on Tallis shoulder. Tallis raised her head at the sound of the doors opening, looking at Antoinette with wide, almost frightened eyes. Antoinette took quick note of the embrace, the look and set aside her own emotions to take charge of the situation.

"Tallis," she began and watched as Erik lifted his head. "Would you be so kind as to go and wait for me at the bottom of the stairs?" She looked sternly at Erik as he turned toward her. "I need to speak with Erik."

Tallis nodded and sniffled back the frightened, selfish tears that wanted to start. She raised herself on her toes and lightly kissed Erik's cheek. "I love the beast," she whispered to him before she left the room, closing the parlor door and escaping to the chair at the bottom of the stairs, not wishing to hear the words she knew he would speak.

"I need to go to her, Antoinette," Erik began. "She needs me."

"You are the last thing Christine needs!" Antoinette told him, grateful for the startled reaction her words brought forth.

"But …" Erik began and was stopped as Antoinette took his hand and led him to the piano bench where they both sat.

"Think carefully for once in your life," Antoinette scolded him and her tone grew softer. "Raoul is dead. You tried to force Christine into an unwanted affair by using his life as your bargaining chip." Antoinette tightened her clasp on the hand she held. "Erik, you wanted to kill Raoul not so long ago. Do you truly think that Christine will wish to see you now?"

Erik was silent for a moment. "No," he admitted, "perhaps not."

"There is no perhaps about it," Antoinette replied with a shake of her head. "And have you thought that she will be surrounded by his family and their friends? And that you are still a wanted man? How can you even think it would be safe for you to travel to Lyon?"

"I cannot think clearly where Christine is concerned. I have never been able to think clearly where she is concerned."

"Then think upon this." Antoinette watched as Erik lifted his head to look at her, the tone of her voice pulling him from the dark well into which he was falling. "There is a young woman here who holds the key to your happiness in her hands. If you are a fool and throw that gift away or hurt her, I shall never forgive you." Antoinette took back her hands and stood, leaving the room, allowing the impact of her sternly spoken words to seep into Erik's confused and emotionally torn mind. She did not see him place his head into his hands as she left the room, his shoulders beginning to shake.

Antoinette walked from her parlor and down the hall to find Tallis waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The young woman sat upright in a chair, her head leaning back against the wall, her eyes closed. Antoinette took pity on her companion as she noticed the uneven movement of Tallis' bodice as she struggled to keep from crying.

"Tallis," Antoinette said as she laid a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"He wants to go to her," Tallis said without opening her eyes.

"Look at me, my dear," Antoinette said as she squeezed the shoulder she held, watching as Tallis opened her eyes. "I shall not lie to you; yes, he does want to go to her but that is something that is unrealistic and very foolish." Antoinette managed a tight smile. "May I give you a word of advice?"

"Please," Tallis pleaded.

"Allow Erik the freedom to wallow in his darkness and memories for they are a part of him," Antoinette began. "But do not give him so much freedom that he sinks into them. Hold to him, my dear, but not too tightly. It is a fine line you must walk, can you do it?"

Tallis sniffled and nodded.

"Go to him," Antoinette said as she placed a hand on the banister. "He needs you more than he knows and I need a moment." As she climbed the stairs, Antoinette heard the sound of Tallis' skirts brushing along the floor as the young woman hurried back to Erik's side. Perhaps, Antoinette thought as she reached the second floor, there is someone into whose hands I can safely place his care.

Antoinette opened the door to her room, closing it quietly before moving to sit at her vanity; a trembling hand reached for thedaguerreotypeof her husband that she always kept close by. Antoinette looked at it for a moment, the image beginning to blur. She drew the framed picture to her chest, her eyes closing and in the privacy of her room, the very private woman allowed past grief and present grief to merge into one and she wept for all that might have been.