Chapter Summary: Raoul's family and friends begin to learn to live life without him. Philippe confronts his sisters and asks them for a favor. Henri is confronted by his demons. And begins to be haunted by a vision.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

"Are you intending to stare out the window for the entire day?" Xavier wondered as he glanced at his wife. "I have always said you have lovely posture but I would much rather prefer to see your face."

Monique sighed and silently bit back the retort on her lips before turning to face her husband. She found Xavier in his favorite wing chair, long legs stretched out before him, feet resting on a heavily padded footstool. He had a book in his hands and was dressed casually as he lounged in the comfort of his own home. Monique wondered where his manners had gone as she did not see a black armband encircling his white shirt. "I am just worried for our friends and wondering what is happening at Chagny. We have not seen them for nigh on five days now."

"We cannot be there every minute of every day for the rest of their lives," Xavier said as he turned his attention back to the book he held in his hands. "There must come a time when Philippe and his sisters and Christine learn to live without Raoul and that, my dear, is something with which we cannot help."

"We are their friends," Monique reminded him. "It is our duty to help in any way that we can."

"And what did Philippe say?" Xavier asked as he kept his eyes on his book. "Did he not ask that we give them time? Did he not wish for us to resume our lives? Did he not ask us to stay away for the period of one week?"

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" Monique wondered, her voice edged with an angry frustration. "You just sit there, reading your book as if nothing has happened! And all the while your best friend has had his life destroyed!"

Xavier carefully closed his book. "I do not think," he began softly, "that it is Philippe whose life was destroyed."

"You know what I meant!"

"You would be wise to remember to whom you are speaking," came the softly spoken reply.

"I thought I was speaking with my husband," Monique replied in a soft, angry voice as she stared at the man seated before her. A hand went to her face, fingertips massaging the skin between finely arched brows. "I do not wish to fight with you," she relented.

"Nor I, you," Xavier replied as he put the book down and rose to his feet. He walked the few steps to his wife's side and took her hands in his own. "But I did not begin this disagreement."

Monique shook her head. "I did not mean to begin anything but sometimes I just do not understand you." She sighed. "Your best friend has lost his only brother in a most vile manner and you continue on with life as if nothing has changed." She shook the hands that held onto hers. "Everything has changed!"

"Everything has changed for Philippe; not for us," Xavier reminded her. "We are still here. We still have each other. I am very sorry for what has happened and I cannot even begin to fathom the grief that they must be feeling. I can only imagine it will be a grief that will last for years; perhaps, forever. And I know that we must honor convention and mourn in public," his hands moved to hold Monique about her waist. "But must we also live in sorrow during our private moments?"

"Where is the man that I married?" Monique wondered. "Where is the man who treated Raoul as if he were his own child? Where is the man who helped to end a centuries old feud?" She could feel her anger growing. "What is wrong with you?"

Xavier let his wife go. "I do not want to think upon it!" he shouted as he turned his back on her. "I do not want to think that we shall never see Raoul again! I do not want to think upon the last moments of his life! I want to stay in my home and have the illusion that everything is as it always has been! I want to be able to hide in the sanctuary of these walls! Is that so wrong?"

Monique stared at her husband's back, the taut muscles beneath the fine linen shirt. She hesitantly raised her hands, reaching out to him, uncertain of her actions. Monique saw her husband's shoulders shake once and her hands reached the rest of the way to him, turning him around and drawing him into her embrace. She moved a single hand to the back of his neck, pulling Xavier's head to her shoulder. Monique began to massage his neck and felt a chain beneath his collar and a swell of warm emotion flooded through her veins; Xavier was wearing his religious medallions again. Perhaps things were as he said and not as she perceived. "It will be all right," Monique whispered.

"What would I do without you?" Xavier whispered back. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Let us hope you never have to find out," Monique told him as she held and comforted the man to whom she had been married for nearly twenty years. Yet her thoughts still strayed to the grieving family across the valley who were slowly beginning to learn to live without their youngest sibling and she wondered what they were doing.

At that very same moment a pen was scratching its way across a bill as Philippe signed his name and handed the paper across the desk to Arthur. "Is that the last of it?" he wondered.

Arthur nodded and gathered up the pile of papers before him.

"What of," Philippe shook his head and drew a deep breath. "What of," he began again, "Raoul's business? Have you heard from Pierre?"

"Pierre has been in contact with Raoul's attorneys and they are handling what they can until Christine returns to Paris." Arthur looked at Philippe with a steady, even gaze. "She is going to have to deal with this sooner or later," he said. "There are things for which only she can care – the household accounts, certain terms and conditions of Raoul's will. You cannot allow her to hide away forever, Philippe. As hard as this is for all of you, life does go on and you must go on with it."

"Do you think I do not know as much?" Philippe's tone was bitter and angry. "I wake up each morning and go to bed each night and in the hours between those actions I somehow find the strength to walk and to breathe. I bury myself in work that would normally occupy your time and the time of my staff. Do you think I am unaware of the indulgences that each of you allows me? Each day brings back a small bit of my life thanks to your care and concern and still I hate you for it." Philippe stood and walked to the windows, looking out into the front drive, seeing his sisters walking arm-in-arm. "How can I live my life when my brother never got to live his? And while this life is difficult enough during the daylight hours, it is the hours between sleep and waking when my world falls apart again. My sleep is restless and full of nightmares that you cannot even begin to imagine. When I wake it is to my brother's voice calling for me, my body covered in sweat from battles I cannot remember. I did everything I could, everything they demanded and it was not enough." Philippe leaned his head against the window sash. "It was not enough," he whispered before turning back to face Arthur. "And the guilt I feel over listening to rumors and bringing Raoul and Christine here is overwhelming and has the ability to drive me mad." Philippe held up two fingers, very close to each other. "I am this close to wanting to sell this place and run away to hide forever."

Arthur was shocked. "You cannot mean that! What purpose could it possibly serve?"

"No," Philippe shrugged, "I do not mean it for it would do no good, whatsoever. I cannot outrun my guilt and my grief and I am aware of such things in my moments of rationality. But that is the reason why I am allowing Christine to hide at the guesthouse with her family. She is closer to losing her hold on sanity than any of us realize, I believe. She needs Meg and Val to listen to her words, to hold her hands, to just sit quietly with her. She needs to find a way to let Raoul go while holding to his memory. She needs to find the strength to continue to live before she must deal with the realities of the role which she must now assume." Philippe ran a hand through his hair. "She is so young to have endured so much sorrow. Let her have the next few days and then we shall all take her gently in hand and introduce her to her new responsibilities."

"You may wish to explain that to your sisters," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

Arthur stood papers in hand, grateful for the routine of dealing with estate business. "I am perfectly aware that your sisters are grieving, as well," he said gently, "but I think they may believe some blame is to be laid at Christine's feet." He felt a jab of pain in his heart at the look on Philippe's face but Arthur had let his worries escape and he would not back down. "They have heard the same rumors as you and I think they may have heard more." Arthur sighed deeply. "I think they know of the separate rooms and the arguments."

Philippe's face darkened. "How dare they?" he snarled and began to cross the room. He was stopped by Arthur's hand on his arm.

"Gently, Philippe," Arthur told him. "They were born women of rank and brought up differently than Christine; you cannot change their mannerisms now. And they, too, are mourning the loss of their brother."

"I shall not forget," Philippe relented and left his study, moving down the hallway and out onto the front portico. He stood silently, watching as Desiree and Charlotte climbed the stairs that led upward from the main drive. The black gowns his sisters wore only highlighted their blonde hair and pale skin; as they drew closer, Philippe could see their red-rimmed eyes and felt his anger with them quickly dissipate. Arthur had been correct and Philippe, lost in his own grief and the worry over his brother's wife, had forgotten about the sisters he loved.

"What are you doing here?" Desiree wondered as she and Charlotte reached the portico.

"This is still my home," Philippe replied.

Desiree closed her eyes briefly. "Forgive me," she said softly. "My mind tends to stray."

"I understand," Philippe told her as he took both of their hands. "Come and sit with me for a moment." He led them to three chairs near the end of the portico. "I wish to speak with you about something," Philippe told them as they all sat.

Charlotte looked puzzled. "What is it? What is wrong?"

"I need to speak with you both about Christine," Philippe told them and waited for the fiery reactions for which he knew his sisters capable.

"I see," Charlotte replied, looking at her sister as Desiree studiously avoided Philippe's eyes and straightened her skirt.

"Do you?" Philippe wondered. "Why?" Neither woman had an answer for him. "I am still head of this family, no matter to whom you are married and how many children you may have. And I am waiting for an answer."

"Philippe," Charlotte began and cleared her throat. "You must admit that everyone seems to be coddling her a bit much; even given the situation."

"Charlotte! Do have a care for your tongue!" Desiree blurted out and glanced at her brother before lowering her eyes once again.

"I am going to forgive those words due to the grief we are all feeling," Philippe began, "but neither of you understands what want on in the two weeks before Raoul died. Now you will sit here and listen as I tell you what happened." Philippe's brow began to settle into a deep frown. "You are going to understand what Christine and I saw, what we knew and then – perhaps – you will both understand and find some of the compassion which I know exists in your souls."

"Is that really necessary?" Desiree began.

"As a matter, of fact, it is," Philippe interrupted her. "And I would thank you to remain silent for the next few minutes." He watched as Desiree and Charlotte sat still in their chairs, taking no pleasure in what he was about to do. "Do you know that it was Christine who found the paper with Raoul's fingernails inside?" Philippe saw the color drain from his sisters' faces. "Do you know that we also received his bloody hair and his bloody shirt? Did anyone bother to tell you that there was also the mark of a branding iron on that shirt?" Philippe watched as Charlotte held a trembling hand to her lips. "I thought not," he said. "Yet, in spite of her youth, during all of this, Christine managed to find the strength to hold to the belief that Raoul was coming home. Yes, she cried and, yes, it made her physically ill and she was not the only one." Philippe lowered his voice, assuming the paternal tone his sisters had known during the days of their - sometimes - foolish youth. "I wonder if either of you would have shown the same strength of character that Christine has over these last weeks."

"It is not her strength we are questioning," Desiree said as she finally raised her head to look at her brother. "It is what she felt for Raoul that we wonder about."

Now it was Philippe's turn to be shocked. "How dare you? What do you know of their marriage?" Shock was slowly beginning to turn to anger. "What could you possibly know of anything from your comfortable lives in Vienna and Rome?"

Desiree stuck out her chin. "Stories from France can reach beyond borders, Philippe!"

"Stories, my dear sister," Philippe shot back, "are just that – stories." He leaned back in his chair. "Shall I relate the rumors from the days of your youth?" He asked and turned to Charlotte. "Or yours? Shall I remind you of the scandals I managed to make disappear or numerous tines I prevented even the breath of a scandal from beginning?" Philippe watched as the color rose in the cheeks of both his sisters, taking a perverse pleasure in their discomfort. "I thought not." He sat forward and placed gentle hands on both of their knees. "If there is one truth in all of this horror, it is that Raoul loved Christine and she loved him; they were devoted to each other. If there were any disagreements between them, then I am sure it is something that happens in any marriage. Or shall I send telegrams to your husbands to satisfy my curiosity that neither of you have ever disagreed with them?" There was no answer from either woman. "I suspected as much."

"I am sorry," Charlotte told her brother softly.

Desiree sighed and yielded a bit of ground. "As am I."

Philippe was relieved. "That is what I wished to hear." He shook his head. "I know you are both anxious to return to your families." He managed a small smile. "And I know that you cannot stay here watching over me forever but I would ask one last favor of you."

Both sisters were very fond of their older brother.

"Anything," Desiree said.

"You do not even need to ask!" Charlotte finished.

"I need you both to stay for another two weeks and help me as I guide Christine through her new role." Philippe held up a hand as both women opened their mouths. "She is facing a challenge in a trying time. She must assume the role that Raoul held and that is going to be very difficult. She must learn to manage staff and funds and patronage. It is one thing to be the wife of a wealthy man but it is another thing – entirely – to be the person responsible for all that power and money. I can help Christine with the money and I know that Arthur and Pierre are eager to help, as well." Philippe's face softened and his tone grew earnest. "I need you both to help Christine learn the social aspects of her new life. You are both gracious and generous ladies," Philippe played his trump card, "and I know Raoul would smile down from Heaven were you to help the woman he loved so very much." Philippe watched as Charlotte's chin began to tremble and tears welled in the corners of Desiree's eyes and knew he had won.

If only it could be this easy with Henri, Philippe thought and wondered if he would have the strength to save his errant young cousin from the depths of depravity and scandal to which the young man could sink. Thank God for Didier.

Didier did have his hands full with Henri and the friendship he felt was slowly being replaced by a worried anxiety. Didier did his best to will down his feelings of apprehension but found such action rather difficult as he watched Henri finish his fifth mug of ale within as many hours. Ever since his cousin's murder, Henri had been sinking further and further into an alcohol-laden abyss. Didier would watch as Henri alternated between rage and giddiness, sullen quietness and boisterous exuberance, deep sorrow and rich ecstasy. Didier looked into his second mug of ale, trying to find answers in the dark amber liquid only to find nothing there but the possibilities of a headache in the morning quickly followed by a lecture from Monique. The sound of a mug slammed on the table distracted Didier from his introspection.

"What are you hoping to find in that mug?" Henri wondered, a stupid smile on his face. "Other than warm ale that is quickly going stale."

"Henri," Didier said with a shake of his head.

Henri sighed and his shoulders visibly drooped. "What do you want from me, Didier?"

Didier shrugged. "I wish I knew."

Henri leaned back, his head going to rest against the wall as his arms crossed over his chest. "Shall I tell you?"

"Please," Didier replied in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"You – along with everyone else who knows me – wants me to be Raoul," Henri began. "All of you are looking to me to take his place, wishing me to be him." Henri frowned, his lips pouting. "Well, I cannot be my dear dead cousin. I cannot be a saint! I cannot sacrifice all my wants and desires for the happiness of others."

"I do not think …" Didier interrupted.

Henri sat up straight and leaned forward across the small table. "That is just it – you do not think. My parents do not think. My cousins do not think. No one ever thinks about Henri and what he wants. They only tell me what to do. My parents told me what to do and what I wanted." He slammed his hand on the table. "Has anyone ever once asked me what I wanted!"

"I know what you want," Didier replied evenly, refusing to allow his temper to swallow his better instincts. "You have always wanted what you could not have. You wanted to be Raoul. You wanted his wife." Didier's struggle with his temper started to fail. "You have everything you could ever want and it has never been enough! You have rich, beautiful women falling at your feet. You have a large inheritance and an allowance that could feed a small province for a year. And still it is not enough! You can be such an ass at times!"

Henri rose to his feet, knocking his chair over. "How dare you!"

Didier also rose to his feet. "I dare because I am the one person you can count as a true friend!"

"Friend?" Henri snorted, looking down his nose. "No friend or gentleman would take such a tone with me!"

"You really are an ass!" Didier told him and was stunned when Henri reached across the table and smacked his face.

"I shall thank you to never hold speech with me again!" Henri shouted and turned on his heel. He began to stride across the wooden floor of the inn, shoving away an elderly man who had the misfortune to be in his path. "Out of my, you old fool!" Henri spat.

"Sir!" a voice called out plaintively across the inn.

Henri turned to the voice. "Hold your tongue!" he spat at the bartender.

"You need to cool your head!" a female voice at Henri's arm said and Henri turned to face it, the angry retort on his lips cut short by the pitcher of water thrown over his head.

"You bitch!" Henri said as he swung at the barmaid.

Loud words between gentlemen could be understood. A drunken insult at an old man could be ignored. And bartenders were used to being insulted by drunken patrons but to raise a hand to a woman was a sin that was unforgivable. Henri had crossed a line and in his inebriated state was completely unaware of his action and the consequences it was about to bring.

Didier watched as Henri swung his hand at the young barmaid who had doused him with water. He was moving forward to intervene even as the girl lowered her head, avoiding the slap that would surely have connected with her cheek. Other patrons at the inn rose to their feet as Henri shoved the girl out of his way, making for the front door. One rather gruff middle-aged man grabbed Henri by the shoulders, pulling him backwards. Henri, his balance and judgement already affected by too much ale consumed in too short a time, stumbled into the man. Didier was too slow in crossing the barroom and was unable to stop Henri and the man from crashing to the floor.

"Peasant!" Henri hissed as he turned on the man, slapping away the hand that Didier held out to him.

"I will forgive you for I know you are grieving your cousin's death," the man on the floor began.

"I do not need forgiveness from the likes of you!" Henri spat.

"You are no gentleman," another man murmured.

Henri whirled on him. "And you are in no position to make judgements on me!"

"Sir," the bartender tried again as he crossed from behind the bar.

"Go to hell!" Henri shouted at all of the men who crowded round him, hands offered in help. Henri slapped at all of them from where he knelt on the floor, the men capably moving from his faltering reach, laughing at his attempts. "You can all just go to hell!"

"What is the meaning of this!" a stern voice demanded over the raucous din.

The inn grew silent as all eyes turned toward the opened front door.

"I asked a question," Xavier said. "And I expect an answer." His angry gaze turned from Henri on his knees to Didier who stood helplessly nearby. "Cousin?"

Didier opened and closed his mouth.

"I see," Xavier said. "I come to town expecting to join my cousin and his friend in a quiet drink and this is what I find? It is deplorable and a disgrace."

"Monsieur," the bartender tried.

Xavier raised a hand to his forehead and began to massage it. "I know," he assured the man. "Believe me, I know." He turned his attention to Henri who was starting to wobble. "Get him to his feet and get him on his horse." Xavier watched as two man placed their hands under Henri's shoulders and lifted him to his feet. They half-carried, half-dragged the young man toward the door, stopping by Xavier's side. "I will not mention this to Philippe," he whispered to Henri, taking note of the young man's fluttering eyelids. "But you will be spending the night at our home and there you will stay until you sober up and come to your senses." Xavier watched as the two men carried Henri out and he turned his attention to Didier. "You, as well," he commanded, his eyes following Didier until the young man was out in the yard and mounted on his horse before turning back to the silent crowd. "I crave your forgiveness for any insults or injuries that may have been perpetrated upon any person here." He nodded at the bartender. "Please send any bills that may have been incurred to my attention." He managed a smile for the assembled men. "And I shall cover meals and drinks for all who are here." There was applause and hoots that were cut off as Xavier held up a thin hand. "All I would ask is that news of what has happened here does not reach Chagny." The room grew silent. "They have suffered enough in these last weeks, they need do no more."

The bartender nodded about the room and turned his attention to Xavier. "No word shall reach Chagny from any here."

"Thank you," Xavier breathed and turned on his heel, exiting the inn, not looking forward to getting a drunk Henri back to his home and into a comfortable bed where he could sleep off his foolishness.

And in that drunken stupor into which Henri fell, he was haunted by dreams of laughing men with the faces of demons. Each time that Henri awoke, his last dream vision was of a bright flash of gold. Some small part of his mind knew that it was important but rationality and reason could not fight against the toxic cloud of alcohol and Henri would sink back into dreams of demons and flashes of gold.