Chapter Summary: It is now nearing the middle of September and life continues to move forward for all those affected by the events of June. Christine seeks a sign of forgiveness. Tallis frets over Erik who continues to make promises while trying to juggle the two women in his life. Fear and exhaustion continue to beckon Raoul toward the abyss. Philippe makes a rather startling decision. And Meg and Antoinette make some observations.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

August came and went, taking with it the heat and humidity of a long summer. Long days full of summer leisure that had walked boldly through the front door slowly disappeared into lengthening shadows of longer nights that crept stealthily in through the back door. The changing of wind currents heralded the arrival of September and a slow but steady drop in temperatures that chased those of leisure back to their cities and the farmers into their fields. Men in boats spent long periods of time in the Channel chasing their catch as the fish chased the warmer currents suddenly moving south toward the Atlantic. The Earth and its inhabitants were marking the days and preparing for the time when winter would come howling chasing all inside - some toward the warmth of hearths and some to the gaiety of a new social season.

Christine looked at the calendar on the desk in the small parlor, her finger reaching out to lightly trace the box marking the twenty-third day of September. "Raoul," she sighed…

"Raoul!" Christine protested, stamping her foot.

"If you shout at me," her husband replied, "I shall not listen."

"If you do not listen, then I shall make the plans all by myself and you will have to like whatever it is that I choose to do!"

Raoul sighed in exasperation and looked up from the account ledger he was studying. "Why do we have to do anything?" he wondered.

"It is your birthday! It is the first birthday…"

Raoul grinned at his wife. "I hardly think it is my first birthday."

"Be serious!" Christine frowned at him. "It is the first birthday we are going to celebrate since we were wedded." She studied the man staring up at her from behind his desk, that stupid grin on his face and Christine knew exactly how to get round him. "But Raoul," she said, her eyes growing wide, her bottom lip beginning to pout, "I did so want to make this special. I wanted to have a big celebration for all your friends," she shook her head, correcting herself, "our friends."

Raoul, too, shook his head and slowly rose to his feet, moving from behind the desk to slip his hands easily about his wife's waist. He frowned into her upturned face. "Do not think that that look shall work with me."

Christine's mouth opened and closed in amazement.

"Even after this brief of a time together, I know you so well, my dear," Raoul laughed and his voice lowered, the lids of his eyes partly closing. "I know all the tricks you use to wrap me around your delicate fingers."

Christine studied her husband's face, one side of her mouth curling into a strange grin. "And I know your looks, as well, my love," she said and reached up to grab his tie, pulling his head down to her, kissing him soundly on the lips. "Do not think that look will work with me!" she said far too sweetly as she squirmed out of Raoul's grasp and ran for the door.

"Oh no, you do not!" Raoul said as he easily crossed the room, grabbing Christine and whirling her around just as she opened the door. "Do not think to escape me that easily, Madame!" he said, pulling her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Christine could feel herself melting at the light nibbling she felt on her earlobe. "I do not wish to escape you, Monsieur," she sighed.

"Can I tell you now what I wish for my birthday present," Raoul breathed into her ear.

Christine's foot reached back and kicked the door closed. "Please…"

"Please," Christine whispered, one hand on her child, her eyes lifted to Heaven. "One gift. All I ask is one gift." Christine mentally counted the weeks since her last cycle and thought that if she were lucky it would happen around the time of Raoul's birthday. She was not certain she would recognize it when it happened but she had asked the right questions and thought she was prepared. Christine closed her eyes, praying for the one sign that would let her know Raoul had forgiven her, the one sign that it was all right to move on with life, the one sign that it was all right to forgive those who sought forgiveness. The one sign that would allow her to forgive herself.

"Is Christine ever going to forgive you?" Tallis wondered as she sat in the parlor of Madame Giry's, Erik by her side.

"I wish I knew," Erik told her, a frown creasing already troubled features.

"What is it?"

Erik turned to Tallis. "I wish I knew her," he said simply, shaking his head, his gaze growing distant. "I thought I knew my angel, I thought I knew the person she was and now I am not so certain. I do not recognize this new Christine. I never knew her capable of such anger, such sorrow. I would never have thought she bore a capacity for cruelty."

Anger flashed across Tallis' face. "Has she hurt you?"

Erik leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Tallis' cheek. "We hurt each other," he told her. "I am afraid we no longer know any other way."

Tallis could not let go of her anger. "You know better," she insisted.

"I know better when I am with you," Erik replied softly. "You bring out the best in me."

"One thing I can do better than she," Tallis muttered.

Now it was Erik's turn to anger. "You do not – ever – compare yourself to Christine! Do you understand me?" Erik placed his entire hand over her mouth as Tallis opened it. "And do not put words into my mouth! I know you are not Christine and I do not wish you to be!" He lowered his hand. "I want you to be Tallis. I want you to be…" He shook his head struggling for the words.

Tallis placed a finger on his lips. "You do not need to say it," she told him. "I know you are not yet ready to find the person you are seeking. I know there are still feelings – yearnings – for Christine, for what was lost and what might have been." A sad little smile passed her lips. "I am not that naïve. You seek her forgiveness but I do not think that is all you seek."

Erik turned his head.

And Tallis bit down her tears. "I know you want her to acknowledge that there was at least a small amount of warm emotion in her heart for you. I know you need to know that she was capable of loving you so that you will know that what you felt for her was truly love and not just a baser emotion. I know this is so for without it, you will never be able to love me."

Erik closed his eyes but still could not look at Tallis.

Tallis drew a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap, composing her emotions. "When do you return?"

"Tomorrow," he finally said.

"I worry about you," Tallis told him. "This constant travel – two days by train to Boulogne, a few days there, two days back here, a few days here and the cycle repeats – it will wear you out! And then you may become careless and someone will see you and know and … and …" she shook her head unable to bear the thought.

Erik finally turned back to her. "If I am nothing else," he said, a hand going to over the folded ones in Tallis' lap, "I am careful." His eyes smiled at her, pulling her into his ever-expanding soul. "I must be or we shall never discover just how much love I have to give."

Tallis reached for the arms reaching for her and melted into Erik's embrace. "I will gladly take whatever you can give me," she whispered to him.

Erik leaned into his cheek against hers, marveling at the willing softness of the woman in his arms. "And I will have you settle for nothing less than all I have to give."

"I will give you anything you desire," the angel said as she sat beside Raoul, clasped hands resting on upraised knees. "But I cannot give what I do not know."

Raoul sat still and silent.

The angel moved her feet beneath herself, moving forward slightly so that she could kneel before Raoul. "Would you like to get up and walk? Even just a little?"

Fear flashed across Raoul's face, his head shaking. "No," he told the angel. "I cannot do that without their permission."

"Can you do anything without their permission?" the angel wondered, her tone tinged with exasperation. "Can you breathe or move? Can you eat or sleep? Can you despise me? Can you get angry with me?" Her voice lowered. "Can you still love me?"

Raoul's chin trembled. "I want to," he told the angel. "I want to love you but I cannot."

The angel looked worried. "Do you hate me that much? Can you not forgive me?"

"I am frightened," Raoul whispered, his head turning to look out the window at a stray leaf that drifted by.

"Why?"

Raoul sniffled back invisible tears, his arms wrapping protectively over his chest, careful of tender fingertips. "Because if they know you are here, if they hear us speaking, then they will make you go away." He turned back to look at the angel. "And if you leave, I shall lose my mind."

"They can never make me leave," the angel said as she reached out a hand to touch Raoul's forehead. "For I live in here," she touched his heart, "and here." She smiled at him. "And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I shall go; and where thou lodgest, I shall lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more, also, if ought but death part thee and me."

Raoul closed his eyes, no longer able to fight the lonely, despairing tears.

"Let me be your strength," the angel pleaded, "just as once you were mine. Just as once you were my voice of reason in the chaos, let me be your voice of reason." She reached to trace the tears that slid down Raoul's cheek. "Just as you loved me more than I loved you once, allow me to love you more this time. Cling to me as once I clung to you. Allow me to willingly give my life for you as once you were willing to give yours for me."

"No. No more pain." Raoul shook his head. "No more loss. No more death." His eyes opened again and he leaned his head against the wall. "Peace. I want to be at peace."

The angel grew angry. "Do not let them win!" She grabbed the front of his worn shirt. "Do you hear me? Do not let them win! You do not give in to them! You do not give in to the pain! Fight back, Raoul," she ordered him, "fight back!"

"I cannot fight any longer," Raoul whispered. "I am too tired."

"Are you too tired to fight for your child?" the angel wondered.

The unfathomable loss in Raoul's eyes broke the angel's heart. "It does not matter for I will never see my child; you took it away." The depth of his softly spoken words slowly crept into Raoul's consciousness; he buried his face in his hands. "I will never see our baby. I will never …" Raoul's shoulders began to shake.

"You will never what?" a stern male voice wondered.

Raoul took a deep breath and raised his head to look at Louis standing before him, the angel having vanished back into Heaven.

"I asked a question," Louis said. "Where is my answer?"

"I will never do anything without your permission," Raoul told him.

"That is what I thought you said," Louis replied. He moved to tower over Raoul, offering a small mug. "Drink this," he ordered.

Raoul did as he was told, the water soothing a dry mouth, a parched throat, spreading from the hollow of his stomach to every corner of his being, making his head spin.

Louis recognized the symptoms of the sleeping draught beginning to take effect and took the mug from Raoul's hand. He stood looking down at Raoul for a moment, watching the hostage's eyes turn glassy and distant. "There are far better ways to control you other than pain," he said and called out. "It is safe, he knows nothing."

The man who so easily manipulated the actions of those about him walked into the room and stood next to Louis; his eyes looked down at Raoul, narrowing in appreciation. "Yes," he said, the whispered word resembling the hissing of a deadly snake, "he is improved enough to survive the journey but not so improved as to be able to fight back." A booted foot kicked out at Raoul's barely healed toes. "Are you, my dear sir?" He was gratified to receive no return word or action from the hostage.

"When do we move?" Louis wondered.

"Mid October," the man replied, never moving his focus from Raoul's face.

"Another month?" Louis was worried. "I do not know if we can wait another month! You are in that fine home, running all the intrigue, while Francois and I must constantly guard against Nico! I am not sure how much longer we can control him!"

The man whirled on Louis, grabbing him by the shirt front and flinging him across the room. Before Louis even had the chance to breathe, the man was upon him, dragging him to his feet, pulling his face close. "Understand me," he said in a soft tone that carried more menace than any shout, "you will find a way to control that animal and I do not care how it is done, short of murder! Is that perfectly clear? I need him alive until we can get our guest to Spain and onto a ship for America. Once that happens, you can do whatever you wish with Nico and your other friend and I will not care but until that time, things shall stay as I wish!" Pale eyes bore into Louis' own, speaking of madness beyond madness, a cold and calculating madness, madness the likes of which not even Nico was capable. "Just nod your head and say yes," the man ordered.

"Yes," Louis replied with a nod of his head.

"Yes," Philippe nodded as he signed his name with a flourish, "that should do quite nicely." He smiled as he looked up and handed the papers to Arthur. "See that those are delivered to the correct merchants and the letters are posted to my sisters."

"As you say, Monsieur," Arthur replied as he took the paper from Philippe's hand adding it to the pile he already held.

"And you may take that tongue out of your cheek," Philippe told him.

Arthur's laugh was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come," Philippe called out and rose to his feet at the sight of the woman coming into his study. "Monique!" A pleased but puzzled look crossed his face. "What are you doing here?"

Monique crossed the room, taking the hand that Arthur held out before turning to Philippe. "I am at a loss as to what to do with myself alone in that large house and thought I would visit an old friend."

Arthur looked at the two people before him and cleared his throat. "I will see to business," he said and quietly left the room.

Philippe was barely aware of Arthur's leaving. "What do you mean alone?" he wondered.

"Oh you know," Monique waved a hand in the air as she moved to sit on one of the wing chairs placed before Philippe's desk. "Didier packed several bags insisting that he had something important that required his attention. Not that he would explain it to me."

Philippe frowned. "I heard the same excuse from Henri the other morning. He has been grousing about things that make no sense. I threatened to send him home to his parents and he said he would go on his own. He left that afternoon."

"You do not think they are together, do you?" Monique wondered.

Philippe shrugged. "I think I would feel more comfortable about Henri's state of well being if they were. That boy shall be the death of me …" Philippe's voice trailed off. "I am sorry," he managed after a few moments of strained silence.

"There is no need to apologize," Monique told him, her heart breaking as she saw the still raw pain in Philippe's eyes.

"You said you were alone," Philippe continued after clearing his throat. "Where is Xavier?"

Monique had the good sense to blush.

"What are you hiding from me?" Philippe wondered.

"Please do not be angry with us," Monique began.

"What reason would I ever have to be angry with either of you?" Philippe interrupted.

Monique lowered her eyes. "Xavier went to Brittany … to Perros … to try and find Christine for you."

Philippe let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I wish he had not," he told Monique as he shook his head.

"How can you say that?" Monique was shocked.

Philippe leaned forward, placing his crossed arms upon the edge of his desk. "I wish you could understand," he began. "I have come to terms with the fact that my brother is gone forever. His loss hurts more than anything I have ever known but I am learning that I can live without him as long as I have the memories. I have also come to realize that when I lost Raoul, I lost Christine and their child. It was almost as if one did not exist without the other." Philippe shook his head. "And just as I cannot hold to my brother, I cannot hold to some vague possibility that Christine can be found. She does not wish it and I must honor that." He shrugged. "I am beginning again. I am going to have to live the life I should have been living at twenty-four. I am going to need to live the life that Raoul lost."

Monique could feel the room begin to spin about her. "What are you saying?"

Philippe rose to his feet and walked from behind his desk, sitting in the chair next to Monique. "I am saying that as tempting as it is to leave the fate of this family to Henri, I know such a thing would be foolish, indeed. I am saying that I shall close this great barn of a house and return to Paris in a month." He knew his next words would be hard for the woman seated next to him to hear; they had been hard for him to contemplate. "I am saying that I think it is time for me to return to my place in Society, my duty to Paris, my duty to my family's name." Philippe drew a deep breath and set his shoulders. "I think it is time I married and secured the future of what is left of my family."

"But what of Christine? What of Raoul's child?"

"I doubt I will see Christine or her child for a great many years – if ever," Philippe had to admit and grimaced. "It is time to remember what is owed to my heritage. It is time to let the past go and move forward."

Monique buried her emotions as she had done for so many years, laying a hand on the one that Philippe rested on the arm of the chair. "Then allow your friends to support you."

"I am counting on it," Philippe replied with a gentle smile.

A gentle smile also graced Meg's face as she sat with her mother in the sunny front parlor of the townhouse she shared with Val. Meg was dressed in a simple morning dress, her hair worn loose, flowing easily over her shoulders. She was seated facing the window, unafraid of the light pouring in and highlighting young skin. Meg's mother, on the other hand, was seated with her back to the window. Antoinette was not old but was she no longer young and the harsh light streaming in and warming the comfortable room did nothing to grace her complexion. Yet Antoinette found she could enjoy the radiant beauty of the young woman sitting across from her, teacup held lightly in her hands.

"I do not think I have seen you quite this happy in months," Antoinette told her daughter.

Meg put down her teacup. "I have not been this happy in months." A frown creased her delicate features. "And yet I feel guilty for being so happy when Christine is not."

"My dear child," Antoinette told her as she, too, put down her teacup. "I know for a fact that Christine is doing much better than she has been." She sighed. "It is not an easy thing to lose a husband – no matter the cause – but it is something that Time will always have a way of healing. Yes, she is still angry and that is something that will not pass easily but she will fine." Antoinette reached into the reticule that rested on the sofa next to her, pulling out a creamy linen envelope, handing it to Meg. "And she sent this letter for you."

Meg's eyes lit up with delight as she took the envelope from her mother's hands, looking at the familiar writing. "Oh," she breathed, staring at it for a moment before slipping it into a book on the table. "I shall save that for later this afternoon when I may read and enjoyit at leisure." She eyed her mother with an uncanny intelligence. "Did Erik bring that back?"

"He did," Antoinette admitted.

"Maman, what are they hoping to accomplish by this?" Meg wondered. "What is the sense of his constant traveling back and forth? Why are they insisting on opening all those old wounds?" Meg bit her bottom lip as she thought. "Are both of them not wounded enough, all ready?"

Antoinette could feel the emotion rise in her throat from the words that slipped from her daughter's lips. Meg had been an exuberant child, somewhat tempered by her father's death and the change it brought to her life. Yet Meg had never lost the joy that was found in even the simplest moments of life. She had grown from an awkward adolescent into a graceful teenager with finely toned limbs and a lithe body. The teenager had eventually given way to the graceful woman with the ready smile who now sat across from her mother. And throughout the years of childhood laughter, teenage whispers and womanly sighs, Meg had also carefully observed, developing an insight into the characters of those about her that did her mother proud.

"They are," Antoinette finally agreed. "But neither of them will ever be able to heal those wounds, to let go of the other, to begin to find the peace in their souls until they can forgive each other."

"Is that even possible after all that has happened?"

"I certainly hope and pray for such a thing." Antoinette sighed. "I am very fond of them both and would like nothing better than to see each of them settled into whatever it is that life now holds."

Meg's eyes grew wide. "You do not think … I mean … they will not end up with each other. Will they?"

"There is a freedom and a selfless love that can be found in forgiveness," Antoinette told her daughter, "that has nothing to do with a physical attraction." She rose to her feet, turning and walking to look out the window; even now the people of Paris were beginning to bundle themselves against the coming chill. Antoinette felt a chill in her spine that had nothing to do with the steady drop in temperature. "That is what I am hoping that Erik and Christine will find," she said as she raised her eyes to the sky before turning back to look at her only child. "If they were to do otherwise, it may very well lead to their mutual destruction."

"Oh, Maman," Meg sighed.

"I love them both, Meg; but I am not blind to their faults." Antoinette crossed her arms about her waist and leaned slightly into the wall behind her. "Christine and Erik can both be very selfish in their own ways and there are others to consider. There is Christine's child and …"

"And there is Tallis," Meg finished with a shake of her head. "Val would be very displeased if Erik were to break her heart." Meg studied her mother for a moment. "And I think you would be more displeased if such an event were to come to pass."

"I would," Antoinette told her and turned to once again look out onto the street. "Yet I am more worried about what will happen should Tallis break Erik's heart."