Chapter Summary: Henri and Didier realize they are unsure of what they know and plot to discover the truth. As Raoul continues to recover, he and Christine struggle with the aftermath of what has happened. And Erik and Tallis struggle with their own aftermath.

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

The two men met at the front door, shaking hands, unspoken relief in their eyes. They nodded silently to each other before turning and climbing the staircase that suddenly loomed before them, their footsteps heavy upon carpeted treads. They climbed in silence, neither looking at the other, each intent on their own hidden thoughts, the thoughts they did not realize they shared. The two men paused at the top of the stairs and turned left to move down a hall and through a closed door that opened onto another staircase. They continued to climb upward, their steps echoing on the bare wood of the dusty staircase. The two men continued in silence until they reached a closed door. One of the young men pulled out a key and opened the door before turning to his companion and nodding toward the vast expanse just beyond the open door.

Quietly the two men walked into the large room, their faces wrinkling at the stale hot air they encountered even in the cool of November. They side-stepped the clutter, the trunks, the broken furniture as they moved toward another closed door hidden in the shadows. They ignored the dusty memories from previous residents and walked straight toward the closed door. They paused before the door and the young man who had unlocked the door to the attic stairs pulled a chain from beneath his shirt. He slipped the chain over his head and slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open, stepping inside, trusting his companion to follow.

The man with the key moved to a wardrobe, pausing before it as he drew a deep breath, his hands reaching for the latches. He slowly opened the wardrobe, reaching in, pausing again before pulling out two outfits and handing one to the man behind him.

"Dear God," Henri said, as he examined the woman's cloak he held. He raised it to his nose and inhaled. A stunned look crossed his face as he lowered it. "That is a man's scent!"

Didier held out his hand and Henri placed the cloak into it and received a man's jacket.

Henri did with the jacket what he had done with the cloak and raised it to his nose, inhaling lightly. He lowered the jacket, shaking his head. "It is a woman's scent," he breathed as he handed the jacket back to Didier. Henri lowered himself onto a closed trunk and raised his head to look at his friend. "What is happening? Have we been so wrong?"

Didier carefully placed the garments back into the wardrobe, closing the door before turning to look at Henri. "But which of us has been wrong?" Didier wondered softly and crossed to a desk in the corner of the room. He opened the desk and retrieved a leather case. Didier walked over and took a seat beside Henri on the trunk, taking the second key on the chain and opening the case.

"What is that?" Henri wondered.

"What do you think it is?" Didier wondered back as he held up a vial containing a white powder.

"A drug of some sort," Henri replied.

Didier twisted the vial held cautiously between his fingers back and forth, the powder inside resembling the snow that threatened outside. "Have you been talking to your cousin?"

"When I can manage to sneak past Christine." A rueful smile crossed Henri's face. "She has become so protective."

"That is not necessarily a bad thing," Didier whispered and more loudly, "What has he said of his time with those men?"

"Not much," Henri admitted. "Raoul speaks of it in hushed tones and only when we do not press him for the details." A frown crossed Henri's face. "It is as if he were referring to a nightmare when he does speak of it." Henri sighed. "And we all know that he is for we can hear his screams when he is sleeping. It is a wonder Raoul is not locked away in a sanitarium."

Didier turned to look at the man beside him. "Perhaps not so much of a miracle," he said softly as he continued to play with the vial of white powder. "You were correct when you said this was a drug. I know for I have tried it myself."

"What?" Henri exclaimed as he grabbed Didier's arm. "Are you …" he could not finish.

"Insane?" Didier finished for him. "Perhaps not as insane as some would wish me but just insane enough to see the truth." His fingers closed around the vial. "I found this box, this drug, when I came up here one rainy summer afternoon. I must have been around sixteen." Didier's eyes closed with the memory. "I wanted to explore, to understand my family's history for my parents did not often speak of it. I found this room and began to rummage around and found a locked box in the desk. I knew there was an old set of keys kept in my uncle's desk." Didier opened his eyes and stared at the box in his lap. "Xavier often mentioned that he did not know what half of the keys were for and I just knew that one of them had to open this box. And I was correct. It opened the box and I found just what you see before you."

"But you said you took it!" Henri was shocked. "You could have died! How did you know it was not some strange poison used to kill vermin?"

"Because I took a small amount of the powder in a handkerchief with me when I returned to my parents at the end of that summer," Didier admitted. "And I took it to our local chemist and he told me what it was." He shook his head in wonderment. "I have known all these years." He carefully placed the vial of white powder back in the box, slowly lowering the lid. "A small bit will make a person ill, a larger dose will disorient them, an even larger dose will send them to sleep and more than that will kill." Didier turned the key, once again locking the box, before turned back to Henri. "I took just enough of the drug to send me to sleep. If Raoul were given enough of this drug to disorient him, it may be the reason he survived what would have surely destroyed most men."

Henri placed his head into his hands, leaning over, resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh, dear God," he breathed and turned his head slightly to glance at Didier from the corner of his eye. "What do we do now?"

"I wish I knew." A pained look passed over Didier's face, accentuating the pained look in his brown eyes. "I thought I knew the truth," he said as he looked at the wardrobe before turning to Henri. "You thought you knew the truth. And now neither of us is sure." A lone finger tapped the leather box he still held. "One thing of which I am certain is that I now understand how the drug affects a person."

"Oh no," Henri said as he straightened. "No, no, no. If you even think you are in danger, you must leave this place. Now!"

"I cannot!" Didier said. "You were correct the last time we spoke in private – too many innocent lives hang on what we think we know. And I will not have the life of an innocent, unborn child on my conscience!"

Henri looked stunned. "You do not think the baby is in danger? Why would anyone want to hurt the baby?"

Didier grabbed Henri's upper arm tightly enough to leave bruises. "Think about it!" he hissed. "What better way to completely and utterly destroy any happiness that returned with Raoul? It is obvious your cousin was never meant to return and now that he has, Christine and the baby have returned. Do you not think it would destroy everyone if something were to happen to Christine and the child that she carries?"

Henri's pale blue eyes flicked back and forth, the thoughts racing in the mind behind them. Finally he raised his eyes to look at Didier, a grim look on his face. "It would kill Raoul," he said simply. "It would destroy everyone." The grimness was replaced by worry. "But what do we do now? We cannot approach anyone with what we know without proof – one way or the other. The inspector told me as much!"

"I have given this much thought," Didier told his friend, "and I believe I have come up with a solution." A strange light twinkled in his eyes as his lips curled into a smile. "How would you like going back to being a rogue and a scoundrel?"

The smile that began to curl Henri's lips matched the one on Didier's face. "I should like that," Henri replied, his eyes narrowing. "I should like that very much."

And across that valley at Chagny a much more pleasant smile was upon Christine's face as she stood at the foot of her husband's bed, watching as he slowly and carefully walked to the other side of the room. Christine waited until Raoul had sat on the heavily padded chaise before moving across the room, stopping before him. "Would you like me to help?" she wondered.

"I can do it myself, thank you," Raoul said in clipped tones, as he swung his legs upward, pushing himself backward to rest against the back of the chaise. Christine watched as he winced at the pain that came from his still healing hands, the sweat beading on his forehead with the effort expended.

"Would you like a blanket?" Christine wondered.

Raoul opened his eyes and glared at his wife. "Will you stop hovering?" he shouted. "You are in here day and night like some damn nursemaid! I do not need another damn nursemaid!"

Christine was stunned at Raoul's reaction and backed up a step. "I am sorry," she whispered. "Perhaps I should leave."

"Perhaps you should," Raoul replied.

Christine bit back her tears, unwilling to let Raoul see her cry. "When you want to talk to me or see me, just send someone. I think I shall go and spend some time with Meg and Val." She turned her back on her husband and began to walk toward the door. Her hand was just closing about the knob when she heard Raoul call out to her.

"Please, Christine, do not leave."

Christine was afraid to turn back to look at Raoul, knowing that if she did she would burst into tears and throw herself at his feet.

"I have so many damn nursemaids," she heard Raoul begin softly. "Philippe and my sisters and the staff. I even have the nurses that the doctors insist I need. I do not need another nursemaid." Christine heard her husband's tone of voice grow warmer, more desperate. "I need my wife."

Christine swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned around. "Do you really?" she wondered. "Do you really need me?" She watched as Raoul moved his legs, patting the empty space on the chaise. Christine walked over and sat down, keeping her hands folded atop her swollen belly, her head bent.

"How could you even ask such a question?" Raoul wanted to know, reaching out hesitantly for Christine's hands. "I have always needed you!"

"Is it me you need?" Christine asked and drew a deep breath. "Or the baby?"

A puzzled look crossed Raoul's face that she could not see. "I need you both!"

Christine kept her head bent and closed her eyes but could feel as one of Raoul's hands rested atop of her folded ones.

"You said that the baby – our baby – was what kept me alive in your memory when you thought I was … when…"

Christine finally raised her head, opening her eyes. "You do not need to say it," she said softly. "Please do not say it." She watched as Raoul shook his head.

"I need to say it," he whispered, nearly to himself. "I need to say it, Christine." Raoul drew a deep breath. "When you thought I was … when you thought I was dead."

Christine moved one of her hands so that she could sandwich Raoul's hand between her own.

"And while you were clinging to our child, I was clinging to my angel," Raoul went on.

"I know," Christine nodded. "You were speaking to her that first night I returned." She bit the inside of her lip. "It frightened me a little."

Raoul turned his head to look out the window at the gray November sky. "I never even saw her until I was… until he put me in that thing."

Christine wanted to ask what thing Raoul was speaking about but the terrified look that suddenly came over his face stopped the words on her lips.

"My angel kept me alive," Raoul continued. "She was always there through the worst of what they did. She was the one who begged me to not listen to their words. She was the one who always reminded me of what it was that we shared. She was the one who kept promising me that I would come home, that I would live to see our child." He turned back to Christine. "And she looked just like you."

"Raoul," Christine managed through the tears she could no longer hold back.

"I am trying so hard, Christine, " Raoul told her. "I am trying so hard to forget what they did and what they said." He took his free hand and lifted one of Christine's, intertwining their fingers. "I am trying to remember that I am safe in my childhood home. I am trying to remember that I can be loved and that I can love in return. I am trying to remember the man who left home that morning." Raoul's voice grew soft. "The man that you loved, the man that you married." He shook his head. "But it is so hard and I am so damn angry!"

"I understand your anger," Christine began gently. "I was so angry for so long. I was angry at those men for taking you. I was angry at myself for letting it happen. I was angry at … I was just angry. I yelled and screamed and struggled to be the woman you were teaching me to be."

"What changed you?" Raoul interrupted. "What happened?"

A little smile crossed Christine's face. "The baby moved," she replied. "I felt our child move for the first time right before your birthday." Christine lifted her face to study the ceiling. "It was … it was as if you had forgiven me. It was as if you were trusting me to raise your child to be the person you would want it to be." Christine lowered her face so that she was once again looking at her husband, the puzzled look on his face. "I knew then that I was not going to lose my baby like I had lost everyone else I had ever loved."

"Do you think I blame you for what happened?" Raoul wondered.

"Yes." Christine drew her new-found maturity about her. "If I had not been so afraid of losing our child; if I had not been so afraid of disappointing you by losing the baby; if I had the strength and courage that you possess, I would have been able to tell you I was carrying our child. If I had done that, we would not have had that fight and you would not have left. And none of this would have happened."

Now it was Raoul's turn to lower his eyes, unable to meet the clear calmness in his wife's eyes.

"It is all right," Christine told him, knowing why Raoul would not look at her. "I all ready blame myself for what has happened. You will never, ever know the guilt I carry for what has happened to you – to us." Christine drew a deep breath. "And there is something else you need to know."

"What else could there possibly be?" Raoul wondered as he slowly raised his head. He studied the face of the woman before him; he began to shake his head back and forth. "Oh Lord, Christine," he breathed, his hands tightening on hers. "Do not tell me you were with him." Raoul's tone grew angry again. "You tell me you were not with him!"

"I cannot," Christine told her husband and watched as he grew silent. She refused to show the pain she felt as Raoul's hands tightened on her own. She just sat quietly, waiting for a unknown reaction from a man she no longer knew. "It was nothing, Raoul," she tried.

"Nothing?" Raoul wondered, as a frown creased his features. "Nothing!" he shouted and flung Christine's hands away from his. "The moment you think I am dead, you turn to him? And you think it is nothing? After everything he put you through – put us through – how could you? How is he even alive?"

Christine refused to be let Raoul see her inner turmoil and struggled to maintain an outward peace. "I did not turn to him, he sought me out after hearing what had happened."

"And he somehow managed to find you when my own family could not?" Raoul was stunned. "How convenient for you both."

"It was not like that!" Christine insisted.

"Then how was it, Christine?" Raoul held his hands wide and shook his head. "Explain this to me because I find this incomprehensible! I cannot believe you would … that he … How could you do this to us? To me?"

The struggle to maintain her calm was rapidly becoming a losing battle for Christine. "I did not do anything!" Christine drew several deep breaths. "Madame Giry told him where I was living. He wanted my forgiveness for all that he had done."

"I am sure that was all he wanted," Raoul said sarcastically.

"It was," Christine replied in a tone that was harsher than she intended. "He," she shook her head. "Erik wanted my forgiveness so that he could move on with his life – with the woman with whom he was falling in love. And I forgave him," Christine paused for a brief moment, "for both of us."

"You. Did. What?" Raoul exploded. "You had no right! None!"

Christine slowly rose to her feet. "I thought you were dead, remember? I lived through your funeral! I kissed a casket that I thought held my husband's remains!" A single hand reached up to rub at a throbbing temple. "I needed to find some sense of peace, some way to let go of my past so I could concentrate on raising your child!" Christine's lips compressed into a thin line. "You have no idea of what I have gone through. And I am not about to tell you now because I cannot talk to you when you are like this." She sniffled back her tears. "I love you more than you will ever know but at this moment, I am not very sure that I like you. I am not sure that I even know you." Christine turned and walked quickly out of the room, shutting the door behind her before she had to listen to another angry, bitter accusation from her husband. She sagged against the closed door, one hand going to cover her mouth so that no one would hear the cries she could no longer hide, the other hand going to massage the familiar pain she felt in her side. Christine straightened and walked down the hallway, heading for the first floor and the comfort she knew she would find with Meg. She could not see the man who stared painfully at the closed door to his bedroom. She could not see the tears forming in his eyes. She would never be able to see his heart breaking.

"I wonder if you every truly knew me," Raoul whispered to the closed door before turning his head and leaning it back to rest upon the chaise, one hand going over his eyes, saying things to himself that he was afraid to say to his wife. "I wonder if I ever knew you. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps I should have never chased after you that night. Perhaps …" Raoul's voice trailed off and he lowered his arm, reaching for the vase that rested upon the table next to the chaise. His hand curled around it and suddenly the vase was flying across the room to slam into the opposite wall. The sound of the shattering porcelian was like a balm to Raoul's anger and he placed both hands over his eyes. "God damn it," he whispered to himself, a cry in his voice. "God damn it all!"

Even as Raoul struggled with his pain and anger and heartbreak, in the north of France another man struggled with the same emotions. He struggled with the oppressive weight upon his shoulders as he climbed the stairs to rooms that had once seemed to be located in the clouds, his tread slow and heavy. He struggled with hands that felt like stone as he managed to place the key in the lock, opening the door. He dropped his simple bag on the floor beside the door, a single hand pushing the door closed behind him. He moved across the room to sit uneasily on the piano bench, struggling to find something to fill the voids where his now shattered heart and soul had once begun to grow. He reached for the portfolio of music resting on the piano, fingers curling about the soft leather that held the sheets.

"God damn it!" Erik shouted as he threw the music across the room, sheets of carefully constructed stanzas fluttering to the floor in disarray. He turned around on the piano bench, hands balling into fists, a snarl twisting his lips. "God damn you to Hell!" Erik continued to shout as his fists raised up, ready to slam down upon the finely crafted wood covering the ebony and ivory keys beneath.

But the hands paused just above the wood, their owner staring at them as if he did not recognize them. "What am I doing?" Erik asked, a frown deeply creasing his face. "What the Hell am I doing?" he repeated as he opened his tightly curled hands, watching his fingers shake with repressed emotion. He slowly turned around on the piano bench. "What the Hell am I doing?" he wondered again as he stared at the mess of music that stretched from one end of his garett to the other as the color slowly drained from his face.

"Tallis," he breathed as he fell to his knees, hands reaching out for the papers strewn before him. "What have I done?" Erik asked himself with each paper he picked up as he crawled across the garett floor. "What have I done?

As he picked up the last paper, Erik settled his back against the closed door to his garett and carefully and methodically began to place the music he had composed for Tallis back into its proper order. He treated each sheet as if it were the soft hands he longed to hold. He stacked each sheet in its proper order as gently as if it were the feel of a woman in his arms. Softly he folded the leather pouch back around the music as if it were the lips he longed to kiss. And then Erik hugged the leather pouch to his chest, leaning his head back against the door, staring at the ceiling.

"One last thing," he whispered. "One last thing and then I am finished."

"One last thing and then I am finished," Serge said to the woman standing on the cliff before her cottage, studying the gray, rolling ocean. A frown crossed Serge's face as he received no answer and he reached out to place a gentle hand on Tallis' arm. "Fraulein, please," he pleaded. "It has been nearly a week. I am worried for you. I do not wish to leave you in such a condition."

Tallis finally turned to look at the young man who had given her a job and a home and his friendship. "Leave?" she wondered in a curious tone.

Serge nodded. "I have a letter from my parents," he told her. "They are demanding my presence for the holidays." A funny little smile crossed his face. "My parents are very stern and very old fashioned. I find I am unable to refuse them." The smile grew gentle. "And Ilse is wishing to see me." Serge sighed and shook his head. "I find I wish to see her, as well."

Tallis nodded slowly. "You need to go to her," she said softly and turned her attention back to the ocean, the strong, cold breezes ruffling her hair, chapping the skin of her cheeks, turning it red. Yet the skin of her face was no redder than the eyes that had not slept or stopped crying since she had sent Erik away.

"I do," Serge acknowledged. "Yet I find I cannot leave you in such a state. I know you are not sleeping well. I know you have barely touched any food. You will make yourself ill if you continue on in such a manner. Will you not come back to France? I will escort you to your parents' home on my way to Germany." He squeezed the arm he held. "You should be surrounded by the comfort of family." He nodded toward the angry November ocean. "Not the coldness of approaching winter."

"I can feel nothing," Tallis told him, her tone dead, "so it does not matter whether I am with family or alone."

Serge turned Tallis so that was facing him. "It matters to me!" he insisted. "I have grown to admire you and value your friendship. I would so dislike it if anything were to happen to you!"

"I am not going to do anything foolish," Tallis assured him. "I am not that big of a coward." She shook her head. "I just need a bit more time. I need … I need …" Tallis drew a deep breath. "Are you going to close Trevinny?" she wondered.

"Yes," Serge replied, "and I will need your help with that. I do not think I will return until the next spring. It is a long time to be alone, Fraulein. Will you not come back with me?"

"No," came the one word answer. "I will help you close up Trevinny and then I will ask one of my cousins to come and spend the time here with me." Tallis cast her eyes downward. "I would rather spend the time alone but I know you will never leave if I say such a thing."

Serge nodded. "I most definitely would not leave!" His tone of voice was amazed but grew gentle at the sound of tears being sniffled back. Serge looked at the cottage behind him. "Perhaps we should close up your cottage," he thought out loud. "I believe I would prefer it if you would stay in the main house while I am gone; there are too many things of value for it to be left alone. And bring your cousins; make it a merry time!"

Tallis raised her head. "If you wish."

"I do," Serge assured her and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Tallis' cheek. "I must go back to the house and begin preparations. Do not stay long in this cold air. Come and have dinner with me." A crooked smile crossed Serge's handsome face. "I shall not take 'no' for an answer."

"I will have dinner with you," Tallis replied.

"In three hours, then," Serge said and began to walk back toward Trevinny.

Tallis watched him until she could see his distant figure enter through the back door before turning – once again – to look out over the angry ocean. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the ocean beating against the base of the cliffs, the sigh of the wind as it swept over the lonely moor land. It was the music of nature and would normally bring peace and contentment to her heart. But Tallis longed to hear a different music, a more poignant, loving music.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed into the wind, drawing her shawl more tightly about her shoulders.