Chapter Summary: Christine returns to Paris.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

The telegrams had been sent from the station at Lyon – one to the banker whose name appeared on the bottom of a letter detailing a sizeable bank account, one to the young woman into whose hands she was placing her future and the future of her child. As she stepped into the small, private train compartment for which she had paid, she knew that neither person would fail her. She sighed as she settled onto the bench seat for the long journey to Paris and felt the tug from the car ahead of them as the train slowly began to move away from Lyon. It matched the tug on her heart as she left behind one life to start another. She knew her husband would have been disappointed with her decision but she also knew he would have understood why she made the choice she had. She could only hope his family would understand, as well; she shook her head. It was not his family she hoped would understand; it was his brother. It was the man who – whenever she looked upon him – was a painful reminder of what would never be. It was the person who was a vision of what she might have had after years of marriage – a man with an easy smile, laugh lines that crinkled his bright eyes, warm gold hair just beginning to be sprinkled with streaks of silver.

"God forgive me," Christine whispered as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the paneled wall of the coach.

She had kept to her private compartment during the two day trip to Paris, only venturing out to purchase food, stretch her legs and attend to necessities at each stop. None had dared to bother the young woman dressed in funereal black, a matching bonnet on her head. Yet Christine still kept the door of her compartment locked; she was taking no chances after having encountered her husband's murderers at his tomb. Her mind could still not wrap itself around the fact that the same hands that had killed Raoul had touched her, that the same men who had taken such pleasure in tormenting her husband found the same pleasure in tormenting her. Christine had experienced madness before but that had been a madness born of desperation and unchecked emotion. She could not comprehend madness born of cruelty, madness born of simple madness. The mere beginning of such thoughts had the ability to turn her stomach as visions of Raoul in their hands swam behind closed eyelids and Christine would willfully force her mind from such horrors, turning them inward toward the child she carried.

"I promise she will know and love you," Christine whispered as her hands rested gently over her child, fingers intertwined. "She will love you as much as I." A lone fingertip massaged her wedding and engagement rings. "She will love you forever." Christine's eyes closed in prayer. Let my child be a little girl, came the silent supplication; for Raoul's sake, please, let this be the daughter he wanted.

Christine found that thoughts of a little girl with golden ringlets and blue eyes, a gentle laugh and the voice of an angel chased away dark thoughts and she clung to her vision. She clung to her child as if the baby she carried were a lifeline, her anchor to a life she could no longer fathom. Christine clung to her child as the one true reality in a world of nightmares. A world of nightmares that did not end as the coach she had hired at the Paris train station stopped in front of the home she had shared with Raoul. Christine listened as the driver climbed down from his high perch and her hands reached behind her head, drawing the widow's veil over her face. She sighed as she thought of Raoul and how pleased he would be that his gently taught lessons had not been in vain. Christine waited until the driver had opened the door before stepping from the coach. She paused briefly as she took note of the black mourning wreath on her front door; God! Was there no end?

"Are you sure you do not wish me to escort you?" the driver wondered.

"No, thank you," Christine said as she turned toward him, her face nearly invisible beneath the black crepe. She reached into her reticule and handed the man his wages, taking her lone carpetbag from his extended hand. "I can manage quite well on my own." Christine shook herself as the impact of those simple words stung at her heart; she would be managing on her own for the rest of her life.

The driver shook his head. "I think I shall wait here until I am sure you are safely inside."

"Thank you," Christine said softly and drew a deep breath, steeling her spine before walking up the five stairs to her front door. She paused briefly before the solid wooden door, a trembling hand held halfway to the doorknob. Christine could hear Raoul's laughter as he carried her, protesting, over the threshold the first time they had come to the townhouse as man and wife. She let out the breath she had been unwittingly holding; there would be no more laughter, no more strong arms to safely enfold her. Christine turned the knob and disappeared into her home as the driver watched from the curb.

The valet at the door looked up from his seat, at the sound of the front door opening and closing, a startled look on his face as the person before him drew the veil back from her face. "Madame!" he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. "We did not know you were returning!"

Christine removed her veiled bonnet, giving it into the valet's outstretched hands. "It is all right," she said softly. "I did not wish to cause a scene."

The valet dropped his eyes. "May I say how sorry we all for what happened to Monsieur."

"Thank you," Christine told him, a sad smile on her face. "There is a driver out front who is concerned that I am safe. Would you please assure him that it is so?"

"At once, Madame," the valet replied softly.

"Vicomtess?" an amazed voice exclaimed and Christine turned to see Pierre Martin standing in the hallway.

"Pierre," Christine sighed and walked toward him, her hands extended.

Pierre crossed quickly to her side, taking the offered hands. "I did not know you were returning."

"I returned in the company of the Baron and his wife," Christine lied; a small part of her mind amazed at how easily the lies came. "I am only here briefly for I shall return to Chagny the day after tomorrow."

The joy he had felt at the sight of his employer's wife was quickly cut short by her words. Pierre realized that the world as he had known it was truly gone. "May I extend my sympathies?" he wondered. "And that of the staff? We were all shocked and sorrowed at the Vicomte's death."

"Thank you," Christine said, knowing he truly meant every word. Raoul's household had been devoted to him and they had quickly transferred that devotion to his bride. "Your words and sentiments mean a great deal to me and to Raoul's family."

"My duties," Pierre muttered to himself with a shake of his head. "I am forgetting myself. Shall I send for tea?"

"I would like that," Christine told him. "Have it brought to my sitting room and then I should like to speak with you." A slight frown crossed her face. "Where is my maid?"

"She is running errands, I believe," Pierre began, seeing the frown fade from Christine's face. "Mademoiselle Idellette is expected later this afternoon."

"It is well, then," Christine nodded. "I shall see you in my sitting room." She watched as Pierre headed toward the stairs that led to the kitchen before going the opposite way toward the sunny room at the front of the house she had claimed as her own. Christine purposefully ignored the door that led to her husband's study; she could not yet face what lay behind that closed portal to her past.

Christine walked through the open door of her sitting room and stood silently for a moment looking at the bright, yellow room. She could feel the ice beginning to spread through her veins again as she surveyed the comfortable furnishings, the personal touches she had brought to her new home. Her gaze lingered on the window seat, thoughts of Raoul handing her train tickets demanding her attention. He had always thought of her above all else. Even when she was being impossible and distant, he had thought of her comfort.

"Why did I not tell you then?" she wondered to herself.

"Pardon?" Pierre asked as he entered the room.

Christine turned to him, giving him a wistful look. "It is nothing," she said. Christine moved across the room, taking a seat upon a familiar sofa, motioning for Pierre to follow her. She waited until he was seated next to her. "I need your help," Christine began.

"Anything!" Pierre insisted. "I have been waiting to help." He opened and closed his mouth.

"You may say anything to me," Christine told him, taking pity upon him as she saw the pain etched across his face.

Pierre drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am feeling, feeling," Pierre struggled with forming his sorrow into words. "I am feeling useless. I do not know what needs to be done. I do not know what I should be doing. I feel as if I am letting the Vicomte down." He hung his head. "I know I should not be saying these things to you."

Christine laid a gentle hand on his arm, glad of the chance to look to someone else's needs, glad of the distraction from her own sorrow and despair. "You could never let Raoul down." She smiled as Pierre raised his head. "He trusted you with everything and you never betrayed that trust. Now I am going to ask for that same trust."

"Gladly," Pierre said the relief evident in his voice and expression.

"I know there are great things and weighty matters that will demand my attention," Christine shook her head, "but I am not yet ready to face them." A knock came at the door. "Come," Christine called out and watched as a middle-aged woman entered, a tray holding a silver tea service in her hands. The woman walked across the room and placed the tray on the table before the sofa where Christine and Pierre sat. She stood silently for a moment, hands fiddling with her dark skirt. "It is all right, Madame Bonnet" Christine told her softly. "I know."

"We are all so sorry for your loss," the housekeeper told Christine. "And we – the staff – want to extend our sympathies to the Comte and his sisters."

"I shall tell them," Christine said, knowing that someday in the distant future she would, indeed, do so. "Please extend my thanks to the staff."

Madame Bonnet nodded and left, quietly closing the door behind her leaving three people in the room – Christine, Pierre and the ghost of the man they both loved.

Christine poured the tea, handing one cup to Pierre, studying the amber depths in her own, unable to find answers in them, before raising her eyes. "I know that there must be things that require Raoul's immediate attention." She sighed and corrected herself. "That would have required Raoul's attention. Is there anything that I can do? Any papers that I can sign?" She managed another small smile. "Any small things for which I can care?"

Pierre took a sip of his tea, his eyes tearing up. She will be all right, he thought and out loud, "There are several bills that require a signature."

Christine's complexion paled. "I am not ready to go into the study," she told him, her voice holding a slight note of panic. "If you will bring them to me …"

"Certainly," Pierre replied as he rose to his feet and paused. "There are also many notes of condolence that you may wish to see."

"Not yet," Christine breathed, her head shaking.

"I understand," Pierre said, honestly thinking that he did. "They will be there when you are strong enough."

Christine nodded, unsure of her voice. She watched as Pierre left the room to retrieve the business that was her responsibility for the moment. She placed her teacup back on the serving tray, hands reaching for her child. "I do not want condolences or letters," she muttered angrily and her mood saddened. "I want your father back." Christine quickly removed her hands, fixing a smile upon her face as Pierre re-entered the room, a stack of papers in his hands.

Two hours later, every bill that had been waiting for Raoul's signature upon his return from the country bore the signature of his widow. Christine had sat patiently, listening as Pierre told her what each paper meant, the amount of money her signature would transfer. She had signed each sheet in a shaky script, her head swimming, the room spinning faster and faster as the pile of completed papers steadily grew. Finally, as Christine laid down the pen, the nausea she had been battling since her first signature claimed her attention. "I think I am going to be sick," Christine whispered, the pale color in her face turning a sickly green. She bent over, her head going between her knees as her hands gripped the edge of the sofa table, her knuckles turning white.

Pierre was startled. "I should call for someone," he said, worry written on his face. Pierre moved to stand and found he was stopped by a thin hand that gripped his wrist with a force that he had never known.

"Do not call anyone," Christine warned, her words broken by the deep breaths she was drawing in to try and stop the nausea.

"But, Vicomtess …" Pierre tried.

"No one!" Christine hissed loudly.

Pierre stood, his wrist beginning to burn, watching helplessly as Christine remained bent over, her thin shoulders shaking from an effort he could not understand. He did not even realize he had been holding his breath until Christine slowly raised her head and Pierre could feel the fire in his lungs as he resumed breathing. "Vicomtess?" he asked softly.

"I am fine," Christine said, one hand wiping at small beads of sweat that had formed on her temples. "I did not realize how long of a journey it had been."

Pierre looked guilt-stricken. "I should never have allowed you to deal with those papers. I should have waited …"

"Please do not," Christine interrupted him. "I asked you for them." She let out a long breath. "I wanted to help. I wanted … no … I needed to have something to do." Christine laughed, a sad sound bordering on a sob. "I, too, am feeling useless. And lost." She briefly closed her eyes. "And so very empty," she breathed. "I also have not been feeling well." She extended her hands and Pierre took them, helping Christine to her feet; she kept hold of his hands, studying his face. "Raoul was so fond of you," she said gently. "Thank you for welcoming me and guiding me. Thank you for your patience and thank you for being a true friend."

Pierre was puzzled for it sounded as if the Vicomtess was bidding him goodbye. He mentally shook off that image and thought it was just the stress of the past weeks, the grief she was feeling. "Thank you," he told her. "I think that, perhaps, you may wish to rest."

"I should," Christine nodded her agreement and a strange look passed over her face. "Perhaps in the blue guest room; I cannot … I cannot …"

"Everything is kept ready, as always," Pierre assured her. "Shall I take you?"

"No," Christine replied. "I will be fine. Would you please see to the correspondence and send Marie to me when she returns?"

"Of course." Pierre was surprised when Christine leaned forward and kissed his cheek before quickly leaving the room.

Christine climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused at the top, seeing the closed double doors at the end of the carpeted hall. "Not yet," she said under her breath. "Not yet." She turned to the left, going down three doors and entering a bedchamber completely decorated in shades of blue. Christine crossed to the bed and sank down onto the soft duvet. Her legs were shaking and waves of nausea still rolled in her stomach; Christine held out empty hands before her face. "Why can I not cry?" She raised her eyes toward the ceiling. "Why? Why? Why?" Any answer that may have come was chased away by the sound of a knock at the door. "Come," Christine called out, a relieved smile crossing her face as Marie entered the room. "Thank God!"

"Madame," Marie said as she closed the door.

"You received my telegram, then?" Christine wondered as she rose to her feet. "And no one else knows?"

"I did," Marie nodded. "And they do not."

"Thank God," Christine said as she sank back to the bed.

"Madame!" Marie exclaimed as she quickly crossed to Christine's side. She was surprised when Christine grabbed her hands.

"It is just Christine now," Christine told her and pulled Marie down to sit next to her. "As of tomorrow, I am just Christine again."

Marie shook her head. "I wish I understood."

"I shall tell you someday," Christine promised and grew deadly earnest. "Has everything been done?"

"As you instructed. I have been to your banker and he had received your telegram. He was not pleased but has done as you instructed." Marie lowered her voice. "There is a large stack of bank drafts in small amounts packed into the bottom of the small trunk."

"And the name on the drafts?"

"Madame Soderlund," Marie replied. "I did as you asked and checked each one. I have also purchased train tickets to Boulogne and sent the luggage forward. Monsieur Martin believes it was sent to Chagny."

A weight lifted from Christine's shoulders. "Thank you, Marie, you do not know … tickets?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte would be wroth with me if I were to let you do this alone!"

"It does not matter," Christine said.

"Of course it does!" Marie was adamant. "There will be nothing here for me once you leave and you should not be alone at a time such as this." She looked a bit perplexed. "I do not understand why you feel you must leave but I do know that I am coming with you." Marie managed a small smile. "And it will give me the opportunity to become reacquainted with my brother and his family."

Christine tightened her grip on Marie's hands. "He does not know?"

"No!" Marie told her. "He will know what I wish him to know. He will know only what you wish me to tell him."

"And you told no one here where your brother lives."

Marie shook her head vigorously. "No one! Monsieur's staff only knows that we were acquainted from your time at the opera. They know nothing else." Marie was a bit surprised when Christine reached over and drew her into a hug.

"Thank you so much," Christine whispered and released Marie. "To know that you are trusting me without question … that you are willing to come with me …" Christine's bottom lip trembled but still no tears formed in her eyes. "It is more than I could have prayed for, more than I deserve and you will never know how grateful I am." She studied Marie for a moment. "Are you quite sure?"

"I am very sure," Marie nodded. "I just wish I understood why you are leaving your family,"

"When we are safely out of Paris and on the train to Boulogne, I will share my reasons with you," Christine replied. "I think you may understand. I hope you will for I am going to need a friend in the coming months and I pray that you will be that friend."

Marie smiled. "I shall certainly try." Marie stood. "Now I shall let you rest and finish seeing to the preparations. Shall I send dinner to this room?"

Christine ran a hand over her forehead, feeling an tired ache begin to overtake her mind and body. "I should like that. And you please instruct Cook to make it something cold for I am going to sleep and I do not wish to trouble them later."

"As you wish," Marie said and crossed the room, opening the door and pausing for a moment. "I shall place the tray on the table by the door in case you are resting."

"Thank you," Christine said, watching as Marie left the room, closing the door. Christine turned her attention to the bed, pulling back the duvet and lifting one of the pillows to her nose. She sniffed at it and could detect no remnant of Raoul's cologne. Christine put the pillow back and laid down on the bed, her eyes closing the instant her head hit the pillow.

Christine's sleep was deep and undisturbed by the nightmares that had plagued her for the last weeks. She slowly woke hours later; eyes blinking open to a darkened room. She was disoriented and rolled over, her arms reaching out. "Raoul," she whispered and as her arms closed around empty space, Christine's mind snapped back to reality and she grabbed a pillow, flinging it across the room.

Her anger raised Christine to her feet. It propelled her across the room to fling open the door, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing around the quiet floor. Anger guided her feet down the carpeted hallway to the double doors at the end. Thin fingers closed about the matching knobs as the talons of a predator closed around its prey. Christine's hands turned the knobs and she opened the doors, stepping into the bedroom she had shared with Raoul, her hands shoving the doors closed behind her. Christine stood silently for a moment, the tight snarl on her lips slowly easing.

"Raoul?" she asked into the dark stillness.