Chapter Summary: The mysterious man who is manipulating the pieces of his puzzle contemplates his next move. Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau find more clues in the alpine town of Grenoble. Henri seeks out his friend only to have Didier turn on him. Another beating sends Raoul retreating into the arms of his angel. And Tallis breaks some news to Erik …
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
He sat in the darkened room, velvet drapes released from their tiebacks, falling before the long windows, blocking out the awakening day. He knew he would have to face the new morning, put on the face that everyone expected to see and continue to play the game of a lifetime. He would continue to delude, mislead and beguile those around him. He would smile and nod, befriend and love. He would be everything everyone had always expected him to be. He would continue to be the person he was before the moment when something inside of him had snapped and plunged him into a world of ever evolving madness. His highly intelligent mind could remember the person he had been before that snap and that was why he knew that no one suspected him; he knew how to play the game. He was certain that no one knew he was the maestro hiding in the shadows, conducting each movement of the score of the lives about him..
A single finger tapped lightly up and down on the table before him.
He was almost certain.
There was those who may have suspected but were too involved in their own hopes and fears to speak of it. A slight smile played across his lips; of course, he had had much to do with placing that fear into them. He mentally congratulated himself on the subtle way he had gradually increased his control over the years. He had been cautious, easing his way into their lives, into their minds. Oh, they may have even known what was happening in some part of their small minds but they would have been – were! – no match for him. There had never been any that had been a match for him!
The tapping finger paused in mid-air.
There had been one who might have – perhaps – been a match for him … at one time. But that time had long since passed. Besides, he had so ably taken care of that matter! His quiet whispers, his gentle urgings had been the catalyst that had changed the course of battle. He had masterfully manipulated a series of events that culminated in all for which he had ever wished – and more beyond even his imagination. He could not have foreseen the lovely irony brought forth in the common occurrence of an impending birth; yet it had played so nicely into his hands. That mere announcement, the unplanned footnote to his scheme, had truly broken the toys with which he played.
A puzzled frown crossed his face.
Yet two of his toys seemed to not wish to fall down with the rest of them. The one who stood in the back, thinking it was unseen, overlooked and forgotten. And the other one, closer to the front, thinking it concealed its secret so well. Both thinking they were so clever. Both thinking they were smarter than he.
He would just have to prove them wrong.
Again.
The finger resumed its tap tap tap.
Tap, tap, tap came the sound of Chief Inspector Pichette's pen as he bounced it lightly up and down on his borrowed desk in the constabulary at Grenoble. So lost was he in his own thoughts that he was unaware of the scrutiny being given to him by the two men on the opposite side of the small office.
"Is he always like that?" Inspector Etienne Menard asked Guy Rousseau.
The inspector from Lyon smiled. "He is whenever he thinks," Guy admitted.
"It is rather … disconcerting," Etienne said.
"It is not nearly as disconcerting as being discussed as if I were not even in the same room," Pichette said as the pen stopped tapping and he looked up at the two men with him. Guy was completely nonplussed; Etienne was rather embarrassed and lightly tugged at the corner of his shirt collar. Pichette ignored both of them. "How long does it take to retrieve the owner from the mercantile?"
Inspector Etienne Menard pulled the watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it before raising his eyes to the man across from him. "It should not be that much longer," he replied. "It is early, after all, and Monsieur Ouelett is an old man."
"Do not attempt to placate me with excuse," Pichette snapped.
Guy raised an eyebrow at his mentor; it did not go unnoticed.
"Pray forgive me," Pichette said, grimacing, unused to being out of control. He saw Inspector Menard tilt his head in acknowledgement. "Why do you not brief me – again - on what you know while we wait for Monsieur Ouellet."
Finally something Inspector Menard could do without feeling like he and his men were lacking and not measuring up to the more sophisticated officers from Lyon. If only he knew that the two men in the room with him felt the same way when confronted by the inspectors from Paris. "When you arrived two days ago, I immediately set my best men to searching for information on the news you brought us. We know that Foucault has been seen in the shops and markets here. Amerlaine and Mircea have also been seen in our local environs on occasion. These sightings have been occurring over the last three months. They come to town, purchase supplies and then disappear again. There is reason to believe that they are somewhere in the mountains from the wood and nails that were recently purchased. Such things could be used to strengthen a domicile against the coming winter. Winters are harsh in the Alps."
What Chief Inspector Robert Pichette may or may not have said to Etienne Menard's words was precluded by the sound of a tapping upon the door to the small office.
Inspector Menard rose to his feet and turned toward the door. "Come," he called out.
The door to the office opened and a young, uniformed officer stood there beside a small white-haired man who was worrying a cap through his hands. "Monsieur Ouelett," the officer stated simply before backing away and closing the door behind him. Inspector Pichette rose to his feet, as did Inspector Rousseau.
"Thank you for coming, Monsieur Ouelett," Menard began as he held out a chair for the old man. "We appreciate your taking time from your busy day to speak with us." He waited until Monsieur was seated before waving first to Chief Inspector Pichette and then to Inspector Rousseau. "This is Chief Inspector Pichette and Inspector Rousseau from Lyon." The two men resumed their seats as did Menard. "They are working on a very important case and have come here following some information they were given."
Monsieur Ouelett kept his hat in his hands and nodded at the younger men seated at the table with him. "I will do what I can. I have always tried to do the right thing in my life."
"I am sure of it," Rousseau told him gently, respecting the man's age.
"What can you tell these men of Louis Foucault, Francois Amerlaine or Nico Mircea?" Menard wondered. "We know that they have been customers in your shop."
"They have," Ouelett nodded. "I make it a point, you understand, to know the names of the people who frequent my shop; it makes for a more amiable relationship. I first saw them," he paused and thought for a moment, "sometime around the end of June or perhaps it was the beginning of July." He shrugged. "My mind is getting rather old."
Pichette nodded. "It happens to all of us," he said. "Please continue."
"I remember asking their names as they came in. Two of them were gruff and reluctant but the one named Mircea – ah! – he was more than willing to share names, to speak with the grandfather behind the counter." Ouelett reached up and tapped at his forehead. "A bit off, that one; but that is how I learned their names."
"Did you find out where they were staying?" Rousseau wondered.
Ouelett shook his head. "Sadly, no; on that they seemed to always be deliberately vague. All I know is that one or two of them would come in every seven to ten days for supplies."
Pichette sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "Only one or two? Never all three?"
"No, sir," Ouelett assured him. "After that first time, it was only one or two of them."
"Did you happen to see how they arrived that first time?"
"A cart, much like the ones favored by the gypsies and one of them would always remain with cart." Ouelett bit his bottom lip and began to worry his cap through his hands again. "They did ask me if I could provide them with the name of the local chemist."
Pichette and Rousseau exchanged glances.
"You interest me greatly!" Pichette said as his pen began its rhythmic tapping once more.
"Once more," Henri said with a sigh to the valet guarding the door to Cote de Vallee. "I need to see Monsieur de la Censiere. Are you going to get out of the way or must I plow right through you?"
The valet shook his head. "Monsieur de Chagny …" his words were cut off by a voice calling out to Henri.
"Henri," Monique called as she came down the main staircase.
"Madame," Henri sighed. "Will you please tell this person that it is perfectly permissible for me to see Didier?" Henri seemed to deflate as Monique stopped by his side, her hands reaching out for him. "I need to see him."
"Not you, as well," Monique breathed as she took note of Henri's pale complexion, the dark circles under his eyes.
"Is something wrong with Didier?" Henri was alarmed.
Monique slipped her arm through Henri's. "Come with me," she told him, guiding him up the stairs. Monique lowered her voice. "Didier gave us a great scare yesterday morning and we are still not sure what has happened to him."
Henri lost more of his color, if that was even possible. "What happened?"
"I wish we knew!" Monique exclaimed as they reached the stop of the stairs and began to walk toward Didier's rooms. "He did not come down for breakfast and Xavier went to look for him. The bedroom door was locked and there was no answer. Xavier had to break it in and …" she shook her head, her features contorting in pain. "And he found Didier virtually senseless in the middle of his bed. He has gotten better over this last day but he is still not himself."
Henri could feel his heart falling to his stomach. "Have you sent for a doctor?"
"Senor Gallardo has come and gone and can find no reason for Didier to be in such a state!" Monique replied. "He thinks it may be something he drank. Something illegal, perhaps." She stopped walking – causing Henri to do the same – and turned to him. "You were not out drinking with him, were you?"
"No, Madame," Henri told her. "I was not. I have not seen him since I returned to Chagny. That is why I am here today – I was concerned that I had not seen him. And I desperately need a friend at the moment." Henri hung his head, the admission costing him dearly.
"Come, then," Monique told him. "Perhaps you can speak sense to Didier and discover what is wrong." Monique guided Henri to the partly open door to Didier's room. She lightly clasped his arm. "I shall leave the two of you alone," she said softly with a shake of her head. "I do not know what it is that troubles each of you so but I sincerely hope each of you can find peace before the adults about you are driven to distraction by worry."
"We shall certainly try, Madame," Henri told her and watched as Monique walked down the hallway, disappearing behind another door before turning his attention to the door before him. Henri knocked lightly and called out, "Didier?" before entering the room. "Bugger it all to Hell!" Henri exclaimed at the sight that greeted his eyes.
Didier sat in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, bent over, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The normally impeccably groomed young man was still wearing the clothes in which he had succumbed to drugged sleep nearly two days previous. Didier's unkempt, outward appearance was nothing compared to what Henri saw when Didier finally raised his head to acknowledge that another person had entered his room. Didier's complexion was a disturbing shade of gray and brown eyes that usually twinkled with such mirth and intellect were dull and glazed over. "Henri?" Didier managed as he blinked and stared at his friend.
Henri quickly moved to sit on the bed next to his friend. "What has happened to you?"
"Things … schemes … life …" Didier managed as his eyes slowly opened and closed, as if he were having trouble concentrating on the world around him.
"You are not making any sense!"
"Sense … centimes … francs … it is all the same."
Henri grabbed his friend by the upper arms forcing Didier to concentrate on his face. "Do not do this, you understand me? Do not do this! I need you here with me!"
Didier managed to keep his attention on Henri. "You need to leave here," he whispered.
"What?" Henri was taken aback.
"You need to leave here," Didier whispered, his hands moving upwards to grab the lapels of Henri's jacket. He laughed - it was a strange sound. "You do not know what I know. You do not see what I see. You do not hear what I hear."
"It cannot be any worse than what I see and hear," Henri muttered.
Didier's hands snaked up to hold Henri's face tightly in their trembling grasp. "You do not know. You cannot know. You can never know. You must run far away from here – far away from me." Didier's hands moved the head between them back and forth. "I will not have the blood of another Chagny on my hands. I will not!" And with those last words, Didier shoved Henri from him.
"Didier?" Henri was puzzled and hurt.
"Go, leave here," Didier began softly, his voice raising to a scream. "Go, leave Chagny. Go, leave France." Didier slowly rose to his feet, dragging Henri up with him. "Go!"
"But …"
"Go!" Didier spat, his face turning red, his hand pointing toward the door.
Henri looked stricken and turned for the door, leaving the room. He encountered Monique coming in the opposite direction.
"Henri?" she wondered at the look upon his face.
Henri shook his head, his chin trembling, the tears welling in his eyes. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked at Monique for a brief moment before running down the stairs.
Monique stared after him for the space of a single heartbeat before picking up her skirts and running down the hallway to Didier's room. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she paused momentarily in the door before moving into the room and going to the side of the young man who had collapsed on the floor. "Help," Monique screamed, one hand went to touch Didier's pale face and clammy skin. "Dear God in Heaven, Didier!" She turned her head. "Help!" And turned back to her young cousin.
Didier's eyes uncrossed as he focused on the woman staring down at him. "He is gone." His eyes closed. "Safe and gone," he breathed.
He breathed heavily in and out through his nose, the effort to work through the pain taking a toll on bruised, congested lungs and he coughed, doubling over.
"Raoul," a voice whispered.
Raoul's head shook as he continued to cough, uncertain which pain was worse – the one he knew from cracked ribs and damaged lungs or the pain from newly forming bumps and bruises - the result of a recent beating. He opened his eyes as the shuddering cough finally stopped. "Oh God," he breathed as he saw fresh blood on his palms. Raoul hesitatingly raised fingers to his mouth and drew them back; there was fresh blood on their tips. Raoul leaned his head back, the tears slipping from his eyes.
"Please," the voice tried again.
"Go away," he said softly.
"Not this time," the voice insisted. "You cannot make me go away any longer."
"I cannot take another beating," Raoul whispered. "If they hear us …"
"Then stop speaking," the voice said as a finger touched his mouth before moving upwards, "and close your eyes." The hand ran lightly over Raoul's forehead. "And come with me."
Raoul did as he was told, succumbing to the touch of feathered wings. As his eyes slowly closed he could hear the angel whispering to him:
"Come with me."
"Where are we?" Raoul wondered as his eyes opened, a puzzled look crossing his face. "I sound funny. I sound like …" he looked down at himself, " … a child."
"Of course you do, silly," the angel told him as she appeared before him. "You are a child." She looked down at herself, her blue dress, the white cotton pinafore. The angel giggled and twirled around. "So am I!"
"I do not understand …" Raoul tried and stopped as the little angel took his hands.
"You do not need to understand," she said softly. "All you need to know is that while you are here – with me – you are safe and no one can hurt you again." The angel turned Raoul around. "Look," she told him.
"My fairy bench!" Raoul exclaimed, turning to look at the angel beside him and catching sight of what lay beyond. "The ocean!"
"Here," the angel told him as she waved her little hand, "here on this beach, and this bench we are in a magical place. This is a place before time, before the march of time made us adults. This is a time when we were happy and safe. This is a place where there is no pain and no darkness and no separation. This is a place where innocence lives."
"How long can we stay?" Raoul wondered, turning his eyes from the gently undulating ocean and back to the angel beside him.
The little angel smiled at him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "We can stay as long as you need," she assured him and smiled. "Listen." A voice from Heaven, the closest thing that man had ever created to duplicate the cry of an angel – the plaintive sound of a violin - could be heard carried along on the ocean breeze. "And look," the angel told him as she pointed skyward. There, dancing to the music of Heaven was a red scarf tossed gently on the warm air currents. "Watch that scarf," the angel said, "and when it begins to disappear, when you hear other voices calling to you, then it shall be safe to leave."
"Oh," the gentle exclamation slipped through Raoul's lips and he found a small hand on his face, turning his head.
"But you must beware of the call of the waves," the angel warned. "If you heed their call, I may not be able to bring you back." She desperately searched Raoul's eyes. "Promise me you shall not listen to the call of the waves!"
"I promise," Raoul said, his child's hand making a cross over his heart.
The angel smiled. "Welcome home, my love," she said softly. "And happy birthday!" The little angel stood on tiptoes and kissed the cheek of the boy standing before her.
Tallis, too, kissed the cheek of the man she loved and pulled back to study his face. "It really shall be all right, you know."
Erik shook his head, unwilling to look at the woman seated beside him. "I do not understand how you can say that after … after … after what I did. I do not understand how you can be so understanding."
"That is something I can explain," Tallis told him. "I am a better person than you."
Erik's head snapped up and he turned to face Tallis. "What?" he exclaimed.
"Do not be so surprised," Tallis told him, "you know it is true."
Erik managed a sad little grin. "I do." He laughed. "Do you know that is the same thing that Christine told me?" He turned his head, lost in thought, unable to see the emotions playing in the eyes of the woman who loved him. "She said that neither of us was a nice person and that we loved and were loved by those who were better than we."
"I think I might have liked her if circumstances had been different," Tallis admitted. Her hand reached up and turned Erik's head so that he was looking at her. "Although, I must take umbrage with her assessment of your character; I think you are a very nice person."
"Where did you learn such language?" Erik asked as his eyes narrowed. "It is very impressive." He still managed to take one of Tallis' hands and raise it to his lips. "And thank you."
"I have not been sitting idle while you have been travelling back and forth to Christine," she told him. "I have been studying and learning and asking questions." Tallis managed a small smile. "And thank you."
"Has your new friend, Count whoever-he-is, been helping?" Erik could not stop the words before they slipped out and awaited a scathing, angry retort that never came. He could feel his heart drop at the look that passed over Tallis' face.
"That is something that I need to speak with you about," she began and placed a hand lightly over Erik's mouth. "And I wish you to sit silently and listen – just this once." Tallis removed her hand.
"I promise," Erik grumped.
"I am slowly going rather silly waiting for you to return each time you leave," Tallis said. "I am afraid it is wearing on Madame and she is the one person in this world who least deserves to be affected by my anxiety and nerves. And I have not seen my family in almost eight months as the Baron and his wife did not go home this summer due to …" Tallis cleared her throat. " … circumstances. The Baron has made arrangements for me to visit my parents before the winter weather sets in and the Count has been gracious enough to escort me back home. He insists it is no trouble as he must return to his own home in Germany."
Erik was startled by the words that so easily slipped from Tallis' lips. "You are leaving me?"
"I am going to visit my parents and my family," Tallis replied gently, taking both of his hands in her own. "I am going to visit the people I love. I miss them and I believe that some time with them will settle my nerves." She managed a wan smile. "And it will give you the time you need with Christine without feeling you must constantly rush from one to the other of us. Perhaps, if you spend more time with her, she will see that you truly are a changed man and find it within her heart and soul to forgive you." Tallis squeezed the hands she held. "Then you can return, a free man, ready to face that future which frightens you so."
"You are coming back?" Erik sounded like a lost child.
"I am coming back," Tallis told him. "The Baron will send a letter with me with instructions for one of his retainers to return with me to Paris when," Tallis smiled – a smile that Erik had never before seen upon her lips, "my parents tire of my company."
"I cannot imagine any person ever tiring of your company," Erik breathed.
Tallis raised one of her hands to palm Erik's perfect cheek. "So sweet," she whispered. "I do love you."
Erik drew her into his embrace. "And I love you," he replied, closing his eyes and burying his head in Tallis' soft hair.
Tallis felt the need of Erik's embrace, the touch of his head against hers. She heard the words that he now so easily spoke and knew it was not enough. She was glad that Erik could not see the look in her eyes.
And Tallis was glad that she and her sister had been such accomplished liars in their foolish childhood.