Chapter Summary: Philippe and Xavier talk over a chess game. Henri's resolve strengthens as he makes a final decision. Didier sinks deeper into his haunted depths, causing Monique to despair of him. Serge makes a decision and offers Tallis a chance to make one of her own. Christine makes a decision that delights Marie. And in a moving cart on a road from Lyon, Raoul awakens …

Author's Note: "En Passant" is a French phrase for a special pawn capture. It means "in passing", and it occurs when one player moves a pawn two squares forward to try to avoid capture by the opponent's pawn. The capture is made exactly as if the player had moved the pawn only one square forward.

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

"I still hope you know what you are doing."

"And I wish you would stop thinking I am getting senile!"

Philippe and Xavier lounged in the library at Chagny in matching studded leather wing chairs. A table sat between the two chairs, rare woods inlaid in the top to form a chessboard. Exquisite ivory and ebony pieces were scattered about the board as Philippe and Xavier played a friendly game of chess and discussed future plans.

"I never said you were getting senile," Xavier said as he thoughtlessly moved a pawn forward one square.

Philippe studied his move and slipped one of his bishops forward. "It certainly seems that way to me."

Xavier moved another pawn forward. "I never meant for it to seem as such," Xavier replied with a sigh, reaching for a nearby brandy snifter and taking a small swallow. "I am just worried; I do not wish for you to find yourself in a situation where someone could take advantage."

Philippe placed his hand atop his castle and tapped it lightly. "You mean any number of young women." He thought twice about his castle and moved a knight forward instead.

"I mean any number of women – it does not matter if they are old or young." Xavier moved yet another pawn. "There were so many of them that threw themselves at Raoul and now that he is gone …" his voice trailed off.

"It is all right," Philippe assured his best friend. "I am not going to break down every time his name is mentioned." Philippe leaned back in his chair as he reached for his own snifter, holding it in his hands, inhaling the warm aroma the heat of his body generated. "And I am no fool; I know how many woman chased after my brother." He took a sip of the aged brandy. "I even think some of them chased after me!"

A half-smile turned up Xavier's lips. "I am sure of it."

"And now that Raoul and Christine are both gone, I need to remember what I owe this family," Philippe said and a grimace crossed his face. "I am certainly not looking forward to placing myself back on the marriage market for I thought that season of my life had passed me by." He managed a small laugh. "I am not looking forward to all the mothers of eligible daughters eyeing me as if I were a side of beef!"

Xavier tipped his brandy snifter in Philippe's direction. "Or eyeing your bank accounts."

"That, as well," Philippe muttered, staring at the chessboard. "I am not completely unaware of the consequences that will follow upon my decision." He put his snifter down and leaned forward, a hand reaching toward his chess pieces. "I know that there will be horrid harpies of mothers pushing forward their daughters, thinking it will be easy to take advantage because of the grief I still feel. Just as well, I know that there will be daughters who think seduction will be an easy way into my heart." He moved the same knight again. "Yet I am not the same man of the whispers and rumors."

"No, you are not," Xavier replied with a nod as he, too, leaned forward, returning his attention to the chess came. "You are much changed – older, wiser," he paused as he castled his king, "a bit more cautious."

Philippe was puzzled. "Have I changed that much?"

"Only to those that truly know you," Xavier said and nodded at the chessboard. "Your move. And do not fret yourself needlessly – the changes that have been forced upon you do not distract from the natural charm for which your family has been known."

"Please," Philippe said as he rolled his eyes, moving his knight forward again.

"And it is that charm which shall lead you into trouble," Xavier told Philippe as he moved a pawn forward. "En passant, my dear friend; and I capture your knight." Xavier picked the piece up, holding it in his hands, his fingers closing about it. "You should learn to take more care; consider this a lesson learned."

Philippe let out a long, disgusted breath. "Lesson learned," he replied. "It is a good thing, then, that you and Monique have agreed to accompany me to Paris for the season for I believe I shall need your chaperoning skills!"

Xavier leaned back in his chair, still holding to Philippe's knight. "It has been a few years," he said, a smile crossing his face. "We are quite looking forward to it. Does Henri plan to join our gathering?"

"I have no idea what the boy plans to do," Philippe had to admit. "He has been disappearing into the estate grounds more and more – almost as if he were afraid to remain in my presence. I am tempted to send him home to his parents."

"I am tempted to do the same with Didier," Xavier said. "I do not know what has come over him these last weeks but he has grown increasingly strange and barely speaks to anyone, preferring to keep to himself."

"Drinking?" Philippe wondered.

"I certainly hope not!"

"What are we to do with them?" Philippe asked.

Xavier shook his head. "I wish I knew."

"I wish I knew. I wish I knew. I wish I knew," Henri kept repeating to himself as he sat on the cool autumn ground, his back resting against his cousin's crypt.

There was no answer forthcoming, only the sound of the wind soughing through the changing leaves of the trees.

Henri closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I may not get answer when I am here," he said softly, "but at least I am not hounded by questions that I cannot answer." Henri opened his eyes and reached for the silver flask on the ground at his side. He held it, unopened, in his hands as he stared out over the cemetery that held the history of his family.

"How did you do it, Raoul?" he wondered. "How did you manage to keep your grace and dignity with all those people watching? How did you manage to not falter under the weight of so much responsibility?" Henri stared at the flask he held. "Why did you succeed where I failed? What did you know that I do not?" Henri turned his head so that he was looked at the locked door to the crypt. "What do you know that you are now trying to tell me?" Henri's eyes closed and his hands tightened about the flask he held. "And why can I not hear you?"

Henri sat for several moments, a still figure under the autumn sunlight, a breathing disgraced angel in a cemetery full of cold, marble sentinels watching him from the past.

Despite the sound of the wind in the trees, the calls of migrating birds overhead, the rustlings in the shadowed woods, an eerie stillness hung over the cemetery. It moved past the monuments, unable to change what had been. It danced over the slowly dying grass, unable to change that which Nature dictated. It flowed into and through the slowly dying possibilities of a life unfulfilled, seeking out a home, a resting place, a place to fulfill its own destiny. It paused, hesitating against something that swelled up within those dying possibilities. And it fled as hands clutched tighter and eyes opened.

"Dammit all to Perdition!" Henri shouted as he rose to his feet and flung the flask from him, out over the cemetery. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he sobbed as he fell back to earth, his knees, upraised, his head in his hands.

"I cannot do this anymore," he said softly as he raised his head. "I cannot wait any longer." Henri ran his hands through hair that so resembled the cousin's whose memory he battled. "I just cannot put this off, Raoul. I have to get out of here or I shall go mad and take everyone with me."

A blackbird flew down from high overhead and perched atop Raoul's fairy bench, opening its beak and squawking at Henri.

"Go. To. Hell." Henri spat from between clenched teeth, grabbing a clump of earth and flinging it at the bird, sending it soaring skyward again. He rose to his feet and turned to face the iron door of Raoul's crypt.

"I promise that not another drop of liquor will pass these lips until I can remember." Henri reached out a hand to rest against the cool iron door. "Not another drop until I can tell Philippe who was responsible for what happened." Henri sighed. "Until I can find Christine and your child and bring them home." He rested his head against the door. "Until I can put your soul to rest."

Henri stood silently for a long time, ordering his tumbled thoughts, gathering his misplaced courage, weaving together the tattered shreds of his dignity. He finally drew back, straightening his rumbled clothing, pulling himself upright, shoulders squared, head held high.

"I am going to go back to Chagny and pack my things," Henri whispered to his cousin's memory. "I shall leave at the end of week. I return to my parents and then I shall go to the manor in the high moors." Henri set his lips in a firm line. "And I shall not return until I am sober and ready to speak the truth." Henri laid a hand over his heart. "I swear."

Henri looked at his cousin's crypt, his eyes closing and opening once before he turned neatly on his heel and walked back toward Chagny, through the cemetery, feeling the oppressive weight of the centuries falling in his wake.

And in Cote-de-Vallee, the other young man who caused thoughtful concern in Philippe and Xavier sat quietly in an attic storeroom, staring out over the valley below.

"Didier?" a female voice called to him from below.

Didier shook his head, choosing not to answer.

"Didier?" the voice came again.

Didier closed his eyes in pain. "Please just go away," he said to himself.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs. "Didier!" the voice came again, the tone anxious and worried.

Didier opened his eyes and looked to his side at the dust-covered dresser. He stared blankly at the small open box that had so recently been in his room. He swallowed back the nausea he felt as he stared at what remained of the clear liquid in the small glass vial. A trembling hand reached over and closed the lid, turning the key. Didier closed the open drawer of the dresser and returned his gaze to the window as the footsteps drew closer.

"Didier!"

"I am here," he finally called back, smelling jasmine wafting in from behind him, refusing to turn and look.

"Thank the Lord," Monique said as she paused in the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

Didier could hear the sudden angry tone in his cousin's voice but could not work up the courage to turn and face her. "I am seeking solace," he replied.

Monique took two steps into the room. "In the attic?" she wondered.

"Why?" Didier wondered.

"I am still awaiting an answer," Monique said and paused. "Why … what?"

"Why do you stay here?"

"I stay because I am married to your cousin."

Didier slowly rose to his feet but did not turn to face Monique. "Marriages end all the time."

Monique sighed. "I stay because I love him."

"Why?" Didier wondered as he finally turned to face Monique. "Why do you love him?"

Monique was taken aback by the haunted look on Didier's face and she crossed the room to him, placing gentle hands on his arms. "That is of no consequence!" she exclaimed. "What is happening to you? You are frightening me!"

"It is of every consequence," Didier replied softly. "Why do you love him? Why are there not any children? Why did he choose me as his heir? Why do you not leave?" Didier shook his head, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "Why, why, why."

"I will tell you," Monique assured the young man to whom she held, "but I will not speak of it here, in the attic."

Didier pulled away from her. "I will not leave this spot until you do!"

"You are not making any sense!" Monique replied.

Didier grabbed Monique's arms, his fingers tightening, digging into her flesh. He pulled her close, staring deep into her eyes. "I know," he breathed. "I know." Didier could feel the woman in his arms stiffen. "No one ever thinks of the child in the corner, the little one who sees and hears everything." Didier drew a deep breath. "I know everything," he whispered, his eyes glazed and haunted. "I have always known."

"You know nothing!" Monique told him angrily.

"There will come a day when you will be thankful that I do know," Didier replied in a soft tone. "There will come a day when you will thank me for everything I have done," he finished as he let Monique go, unable to feel anything at the startled, frightened look his cousin gave him.

"I do not know you," Monique breathed, a hand going to her throat.

"Be grateful that you do not," Didier told her and turned from her, resuming his seat, staring out the window. He heard the sound of Monique's quick footsteps retreating from the attic, going down the stairs. "Be grateful that you do not," Didier repeated to himself as he placed his head in his hands. "It may be your saving grace."

Even as two young men struggled with themselves – one rediscovering the inner resolve that he lost, the other desperately holding to his, across the Channel another young man was listening to the voice of his own inner resolve. He was making a momentous decision as he strolled along the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, as far below the tide pounded against the rocky coastline as it rose, continuing to push against the unyielding land.

"I really do believe it is the wise decision," Serge said, his arms clasped behind his back, to the woman strolling next to him.

Tallis pulled her shawl tighter about her chest as a strong wind blew in from the sea. "You are going to purchase Trevinny?"

A look of pleasure crossed Serge's face. "I am," he nodded in reply. "I find that I quite like the old home. It is not too large to get lost in yet it is not too small as to preclude guests. It is a perfect home and it is for sale." He paused, causing Tallis to do the same. "And I find I quite like this countryside." He laughed and smiled. "I come from a portion of Germany that is quite landlocked." Serge waved toward the ocean. "And the nearness of the water, the sound of the waves, the flatness of the moors – ah! It is all quite stirring!"

Tallis reached up to hold her hair in place. "I used to feel like that as a child when we would visit here." A frown creased her features. "But what of Ilse? What of your family?"

Serge resumed their walk. "Well, my family will understand the purchase of property – it is something they have always understood. And I shall present it to them as an opportunity to have a home in England where we can vacation during the summer months thus avoiding the more crowded beaches and lakes. As for Ilse," Serge sighed, "I do not know what to do. I love her; I shall always love her." He shook his head. "I am hoping that this time of separation will help to show her just how much she loves me."

"And if it does not?" Tallis wondered

"Then I will let her go and retreat to my new English home with my broken heart."

"It is not that easy," Tallis told him.

Serge stopped walking again, a stricken look passing his face. "Forgive me, Fraulein. I had forgotten that you, too, are suffering from the curse of love."

Tallis turned toward him. "Not a curse," she said with a shake of her head. "Never a curse." Tallis sighed. "But I am still in love with him. Much like you shall always love Ilse, I shall always love him." She turned her gaze from Serge out over the windswept moors. "Yet I am finding that you cannot outrun your heart for it is always within you – proclaiming your love with each beat. I am struggling to not run back to Paris, throw myself at his feet and make a complete fool of myself over him." Tallis turned back to Serge. "I do not deserve that."

Serge studied the determined resolve in Tallis' eyes. "No," he said softly, "you do not." Serge brightened. "And I have an idea as to how to help each of us in our resolve."

"What is that?" Tallis was curious.

"I am purchasing a large home," Serge began, "and I shall need someone to run it for me. I have a wonderful assistant who handles my funds but I shall need someone to oversee the functioning of my home." He smiled at Tallis. "Would you like the job?"

A look of amazement crossed Tallis' face. "Pardon?"

The smile on Serge's face broadened. "Do not be so surprised, Fraulein!" he exclaimed. "I know from speaking with the Baron that you managed his mother-in-law's home quite well and that she taught you much. Trevinny is not that much larger than Madame Giry's home in Paris." His blue eyes twinkled. "I think you would do an admirable job! And it would give you a place to call your own – for there is a lovely cottage on the estate. I would pay you a living wage and it would leave my new property in the care of someone I have quickly grown to trust." The look on Serge's face grew gentle. "I know you are intelligent and capable. I know you could do what I ask you with such capability!" He reached out for Tallis' hands. "What do you say, Fraulein Ordogne .. Tallis … will you do this for me?" His voice lowered. "For us?"

Tallis stood silently, biting her bottom lip, the thoughts racing through her mind visible in her gray eyes. She lowered her head in thought. "Yes," she whispered.

Now it was Serge's turn. "Pardon?"

Tallis raised her head, a genuine smile brightening her expression, twinkling up into her eyes. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Yes! I would love to be your housekeeper!"

Serge heaved a sigh of relief, the smile on his face matching the one on Tallis'. "That makes me very happy!"

Marie, too, was happy and relieved and amazed. "They are so beautiful!" she exclaimed, her fingers reaching out to touch the fine satin dress that rested in a long box.

Christine smiled as she lifted another dress from a box and held it up before herself. "Are they not lovely?" she asked, her fingers moving over the front of the dark purple satin. "And the dressmaker made the front panel large enough so that I will not have to purchase any additional dresses for the rest of my time with child." Christine looked at all the boxes scattered on the floor of the parlor. "These should see me through until the baby arrives."

Marie smiled at Christine before turning to look back at the dresses. "And such pretty colors," she said. "I am glad to see you did not pick all black."

A frown momentarily creased Christine's features. "I had thought of that," she admitted, looking at the dark purple and green and blue and gray dresses, "but these colors are all so dark and I am tired of wearing black," her eyes looked at the lone black dress and Christine sighed. "I will mourn my husband for the rest of my life, I do not need to wear black to remind me to do so." She turned to smile at Marie. "I promise that I will only wear the colored dresses while we are at home." A single hand reached out for the baby who was busily fluttering away. "And I think colors make her happy." Christine laughed softly. "I wonder what Raoul would say to my breaking the social dictates?"

"I think he would be very happy to see you smile and laugh again," Marie told her, a small smile crossing her face. "I know that I am." The smile disappeared as Marie decided to – once again – voice her opinion. "But I do not think he would be happy about you taking his baby halfway around the world."

Christine shook her head. "Marie," she sighed. "That is something that we need to speak about."

Marie saw the look that passed over Christine's face. "Oh no," she said, her head beginning to shake. "Do not think to leave me here! I will not let you take Monsieur's baby without me coming along to help!"

"Marie," Christine began as she took the other woman's hands. "Come and sit with me for I have something to tell you." Christine looked down, barely able to still see her feet, as she walked over the boxes on the floor, guiding Marie to the loveseat where they sat down.

"I mean every word I say," Marie said. "I know you insist you are not a Vicomtess anymore but you are so I do not wish you to become angry for my speaking out of my place but …"

Christine laughed delightedly; it was a sound that had not been heard in months and it startled Marie into stillness. "That is just the thing," Christine told her. "I am still a Vicomtess!"

"What?" Marie was confused.

"I cannot run from my past," Christine told her, taking back a hand to rest over her child. "Nor can I deny my husband's memory or his family anymore."

"What are you saying?" Marie asked as the hope began to glow in her heart.

"I am saying that I am not leaving France," Christine said, a smile beginning to grow on her face. "I am saying that I am going to purchase this home. I am saying that I shall send a letter to Philippe telling him that I am still in France and that the baby and I are both well. I will send him another letter in December – shortly before the baby is due – telling him where I am so that he can be here when Raoul's child is born." The smile on Christine's face grew gentle. "Raoul may not be able to hold his child but she will be placed into the strong, gentle arms of another de Chagny. She will know her father's touch when she is cradled in her Uncle Philippe's arms."

Marie's mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to speak. "When … what … why …" she could not form a coherent sentence.

"When I first felt the baby move, something inside of me changed," Christine replied. "It was as if my soul had been set free." She shook her head slightly. "It was as if I finally shed the frightened child that I was and became the woman I should always have been." Christine's gaze grew distant. "There is a strength and determination blossoming within me that I never knew!" She sighed deeply. "I am just so sorry that Raoul is not here to share this with me," her hand traced gentle circles over her child, "with us."

"Why do you just not return to Paris or to Chagny? Why must you make the Comte wait?" Marie wanted to know.

A frightened look passed quickly over Christine's face. "I am afraid to travel, Marie; I nearly lost my child once, I am terrified of what a long trip may do!" The frightened look was replaced by one of quiet sadness. "And I would like a bit more time to myself, to learn how to deal with these new feelings, before I face Philippe and the hurt and pain I have placed within him." Christine turned her gaze toward the back of the house, toward the cliffs and the ocean beyond. "Finally, I want to have Raoul's child here – by the sea that he so loved." She turned back to look at Marie. "That means more to me than anything." She took back the hand that she had relinquished, squeezing both of Marie's hands gently. "Will you stay with me and help me, please?"

Marie let out a delighted squeal and embraced Christine. "Of course, I shall!"

And in the south of France, on the road between Lyon and Chagny, the man whose abduction and "murder" had caused all the changes in so many people was happily chasing his little angel along a deserted beach.

"I am all out of breath!" Raoul called to the little angel who was running down the beach.

The little angel turned around, smiling. "We can play another game if you would like!" she called.

"I would like that!" Raoul replied as he turned to the gently rolling waves. "We can skip stones," he said as he walked into the water, reaching into it. "Or shells."

"Raoul, no!" the little angel screamed as she ran toward him. "Do not go into the water! I cannot bring you back if you do!"

The water rolled and lapped about Raoul's knees as he turned to the little angel running for him, a puzzled look crossing his face. "What …?" he wondered feeling the rocking and rolling motion pulling him further and further out to sea, pulling him under the waves. "Angel!" he called out.

The little angel fell to her knees in the sand. "Oh, Raoul," she cried.

Raoul could hear his little angel calling to him as the waves tossed him back and forth, their power holding him tightly, motionless. He did not want to see the dark blue depths as they swallowed him whole but he could not avoid it and his eyelids slowly fluttered open. It was dark but not the blue darkness that he had expected. Raoul tried to draw in a deep breath and found his mouth firmly covered, his tongue snaking out, trying to push against the water …

It was not water.

Raoul's eyes snapped fully open, staring upward through a hole about the size of a head. Suddenly his breath grew rapid as his tongue felt material instead of water covering his mouth. Raoul's eyes traveled downward, seeing ropes about his torso and an interminable darkness that claimed the rest of his body. He struggled to move legs that refused to obey. Raoul turned his head from side to side, seeing the rough wood that encompassed him as a horrible thought began to filter through the drugged fog that was lifting from his mind.

And in the front of the cart, reins held lightly in his hands, Nico's acute hearing could hear the muffled screams from behind him, a smile crossing his face as the tuneless melody returned to his lips.