Chapter Summary: Henri and Didier have a clandestine meeting with Inspector Rousseau. Christine awakes to find Raoul at her bedside, anger and guilt laying claim to both of their hearts and souls. And in England, Serge plays a musical love letter for Tallis.
Author's Notes: Okay folks Tissue Issue warning time. This chapter gets a bit weepy. Consider yourselves warned!
CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO
Two men stood shivering in the cold, deserted cottage. They stamped their feet, clapped gloved hands and drew their cloaks more tightly about woolen clothing. The weakening sun was beginning to set over the mountains in the distance, shadows both inside and out lengthening even as the temperature – both inside and out – dropped another half degree. In another hour or so it would be completely dark and the men would not be able to see the broken furniture scattered about them. They would not be able to see the horses they heard stamping from where they were hidden behind the cottage. The two men turned to look at each other, the same thought passing through both their minds – they would not be able to see anyone who may be lying in wait for them. It was a thought that chilled their hearts far more than any deepening winter evening.
"What is taking him so long?" Henri muttered through clenched teeth as he ventured a glance out a window, searching for that person whose request had drawn them to this isolated place.
"Are you certain the request for a meeting came from the inspectors?" Didier asked softly.
Henri's breathed, "Oh God!" broke the frightened silence that hung between the two friends.
Didier shook his head in resignation and perched on the edge of a rickety chair. "It is too late now to worry," he said. "We are trapped in these shadows. We cannot leave without being seen." He laughed, it was a sad sound. "We are a couple of children playing at the games of grown men. We have been stumbling around in the darkness, trying to piece together what we know, always staying one step ahead of our personal bogeyman." Didier cocked his head at Henri. "And now we may have fallen right into the clever trap our bogeyman has laid for us."
"No!" Henri replied angrily. "I will not believe that! If this should be a trap – I promise you – I shan't go down without a fight!" He crossed to Didier's side, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "And neither shall you!"
Didier's voice echoed sad and lonely about the cold cottage. "That is easy for you to say," he began. "You have not had to see what I have seen these many years. You have not had to witness the insanity that is hidden beneath the intelligence exuded by the clever. You have not seen how such a thing will slowly tear away the fabric of a life, a bit of a soul fading away with each passing day, each passing year. Suddenly there is nothing to answer the insanity but a new insanity born out of the desperation to remain whole." Didier raised his head. "Did you never wonder why I was only allowed to visit with my parents during those long summers? Did you never wonder why they were all too happy to see me escape to spend time with you and Raoul? I did! I wondered often!" Didier slowly rose to his feet. "And now I wonder no longer. The adult has pieced together what the child saw and it terrifies me beyond reason!"
"What if you are wrong?" Henri wondered. "What if I am correct in my assumptions?"
"Did I say I was terrified beyond reason?" Didier wondered and ran a gloved hand through tousled golden-red hair that glinted with fire from the rays of the setting sun. "If you are correct, than what chance do I have?" He grabbed Henri's arms. "What chance?"
Henri opened his mouth to comfort his friend, to give Didier a breath of hope, to let Didier know that what he feared could not possibly be so when a soft knock came at the door. Henri quickly closed his mouth and held up a hand, pointing to either side of the door. He saw Didier nod his understanding and both men separated, moving into the shadows that framed either side of the door. Henri drew a deep breath and held it as he heard the knock come for a second time and then a third. As the door slowly opened, Henri prayed that the element of surprise would be on his side.
"Gentlemen?" a familiar voice called softly.
Henri was the first to emerge from his shadowy hiding place. "Inspector," he breathed the relief evident in his voice.
Guy Rousseau turned around, a bit startled at the click of the door closing behind him. He drew a silent breath as he stared into the glittering eyes of Didier de le Censiere. "Were you planning on an ambush?" he wondered as he moved into the room, knowing he was turning his back on the two young men and hoping they would see it as a matter of trust.
"If needed," Henri replied and motioned for Didier to move forward.
"And with what were you planning to ambush me?" Guy asked as he turned to face the two men now standing before him. "Fists? The element of surprise?" He shook his head. "I can tell that neither of you are armed for you were hiding in the shadows upon my entrance. I must tell you that such an action is not wise given the present circumstances. You are playing with fire, gentlemen; and you must always prepare as if you know that, as if your very lives depended upon it." The inspector's tone of voice was stern. "For they do depend upon it."
"We know that," Didier said from between clenched teeth.
Henri laid an hand upon his friend's arm and turned his attention toward Guy. "Why did you request this meeting?" He moved his head, his gaze encompassing all four walls of the cottage. "And why here? Were you not taking as large a risk as we did?"
Guy nodded his head. "Yes," he replied, "I was taking a risk but it was a calculated risk upon my part. I needed you both to trust me." He held out his hands. "I, too, came unarmed."
"We are all playing a fool's game," Didier muttered bitterly.
"Then let us be fools together," Henri managed in a cheerful tone. "If I am to play games of chance with my very life, than I cannot think of more pleasing comrades to share in my game."
"No one need play any games," Guy insisted. "I came here with information we have received from one of the men that had a hand in abducting the Vicomte. The information comes via Inspector Menard in Grenoble."
"You interest me greatly," Henri said.
"I thought I might," Guy acknowledged and continued, "This is what we have been told: Louis Foucault was never in charge of what was done to your cousin. Nothing that was done was under his control – the abduction, the ransom, the mistreatment. He was simply following orders from another person."
"Dear God," Didier breathed and turned his head away.
Henri had sat with Raoul for hours before Christine had returned, listening to whispered horrors that had escaped from Raoul's lips, promising to keep his cousin's secrets. "Someone actually gave permission for all that torture to be inflicted?" Henri was angry and incredulous.
"No," Guy had to admit, "not all of it. The things that were done in the beginning were done under orders but what happened later was not done with permission. Those actions were all the result of Nico Mircea's madness."
Henri could hear Didier fumble for a chair in the dark and put it out of his mind for the moment. "What else have you discovered?"
"Your cousin was to have been put on a boat for an unknown destination. How long he would have been there, if he would have ever been released, is something that we still do not know. We have been trying to question Foucault and Mircea with little success. Amerlaine has given us all that he knows. Now is when we need your help."
Didier swallowed hard and answered before Henri could. "What do you need us to do?"
"It is asking much," Guy said, "but we need some form of solid proof as to what you have both conjectured." He turned toward Didier. "The powder you have given us is identical to what was given to the Vicomte but it is also available from any chemist and from numerous criminal sources. We cannot move without solid proof; especially where powerful families are concerned." He turned back to Henri. "I know that asking such a thing could very well place your own lives in danger but there is no other choice."
Henri and Didier were both silent for a moment.
"We think whoever it is may still go after my cousin." Henri frowned in the darkness. "Or his wife and unborn child and I cannot allow that to happen. I think I know of a way to get your proof." He felt a warm body at his elbow and turned to see Didier standing there.
"As do I," Didier said softly. "I hope you realize that what you are asking will not be easy for us to obtain and may require some small amount of time."
"I am aware of such," Guy told them. "This is what I have been given permission to say to you both: You have until the first of December to attempt to retrieve the proof that we need. Should you not be able to do so, we will move upon what we know and damn the consequences to all involved."
Henri held out a hand in the darkness and was surprised when the inspector clasped it. He smiled slightly as a third hand was placed over the clasp. "Enough lives have been destroyed, there need be no more," he said. "You will have your proof one way or the other."
"That is a promise," Didier finished.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Guy told them. "I only hope when these sorry events reach a just conclusion, your families will understand and appreciate the deceptions to which you have subjected them."
Deception was also upon Raoul's mind as he sat by Christine's bedside, holding lightly to her still hand. He prayed she would not be upset by the promise that Marie had broken. He was glad that Marie had sought him out, telling him the truth that his wife tried to keep from him. He was glad that, at least, one person did not feel the need to coddle and protect him. Raoul studied Christine's sleeping face, the way her dark lashes rested against her pale cheeks and wanted to be the one who protected her. He wanted to be her husband again and not her patient.
"Christine?" Raoul whispered as his wife moaned lightly, her free hand reaching for her child. He watched as her eyes fluttered open, her head turning toward him.
"Raoul?" Christine asked sleepily.
"You have been asleep all afternoon," Raoul told her, a smile on his lips.
Christine's free hand went to rub at her eyes. "Raoul?" she repeated and focused on the man holding her hand. "What are you doing here?" Christine asked as she turned her head, looking at the green silk above her.
"I came to keep my wife company," Raoul said evenly, trying desperately to keep the hurt from his voice.
"Who told you?" Christine wondered and sighed. "Marie." She turned her head toward the opposite side of the room away from Raoul. "Go away."
Raoul drew a deep breath, letting it out evenly as he fought to still his racing heart. "Yes, Marie told me," he said. "She told me everything. She is a true friend." He squeezed the hand he held. "And I am not going away."
"Please, Raoul," Christine pleaded with him, her head still turned. "Just go away."
"Christine…" Raoul began and stopped as Christine turned her head to look at him, her expression a mixture of anger and hurt.
"I am not going to do anything to your child!" Christine said, her nose wrinkling as she fought back tears. "I know how much you want this baby! I know that it is the only thing you want! I have never done anything to hurt this child and I would never do anything to hurt your baby! I promise you, I will see that you hold a live child in your arms! Now just go away and leave me alone!"
Now it was Raoul's turn to wear expressions of hurt and anger upon his face. "I would never …"
"Have you not heard one word I have said?" Christine asked, her voice beginning to rise with each word as months of pent-up emotion began to take control. "I know you do not want me anymore! I know that the only thing in this world you want is your baby! I know that you blame me for each and every scar you bear! Do you not think I blame myself? Do you not think I look at you and feel each and every one of the hurts they inflicted upon you? Do you not think my heart has been shredded by what those … those … bastards did to you?" Christine grabbed back the hand that Raoul held and pounded fists against the satin coverlet. "And what little of my heart they left whole, you finished shredding! How could you think I would be such a whore as to bed the men who hurt you? How could you think I would bed Erik? How could you? Do you really hate me that much?" A frustrated scream escaped Christine's lips. "And for you to think that I would do anything – anything! – to endanger this child is beyond comprehension! After all those months of holding me and promising me that I was not failing you, that a child did not matter, that you would love me no matter what – were they all lies? Were all your promises lies?" Christine turned to look back at her husband. "Were they?"
Raoul sat stunned by Christine's emotional outburst. "Christine … I … I …" he stammered and paused as Christine's eyes grew very wide and both hands reached for their child.
"Oh God," Christine breathed. "It hurts!" She arched her back and rolled slightly to her side. "It hurts!" she screamed between clenched teeth.
Raoul quickly rose to his feet, ignoring the room that suddenly spun before him, to sit on the bed beside Christine. His hands reached out for her, only to find Christine slapping them away.
"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone!" The tears were slipping down Christine's cheeks. "It hurts! Oh God, it hurts!"
"No! Not this time!" Raoul grabbed his wife's hands and held them still between his own. "I thought I lost you. I let you go once and I will not let you go again!" He moved his hands upward to hold Christine by the arms, pulling her to a sitting position and into his embrace. "I knew that day I would never see you again," Raoul said as he drew Christine's head to his shoulder, still feeling her fight him but unwilling to let go. "I let you go because I knew you would be happy again. I had to let you go but you came back. You came back and I am not going to lose you again!" He buried his head in her curls, whispering in her ear. "I would die if you left me!"
"I did die when you left me!" Christine retorted, her fingers pulling at Raoul's shirt as she worked through the pain in her side that was slowly beginning to ebb away. "And you are killing what little part of me came back to life! I love you! I have always loved you! I have never been unfaithful! My skin crawls when I think of any other man touching me! I love my husband and I want him back!" Christine tightened her arms about Raoul. "I just want my husband back," she finished forlornly before bursting in sobs. "Forgive me, Raoul! Please forgive me! I never meant to lie to you! I never meant to hurt you! I never meant …"
Raoul pulled his wife even closer, almost as if he were trying to pull her into himself so that she could see his heart beating and breaking. "I am so sorry, Christine," he interrupted her. "I should have listened that day. I should have stopped when I heard you calling out for me. I should have ignored my wounded pride. I never meant to hurt you like this! You are the best thing in my life! I love you more than you will ever know! Can you ever, ever forgive me?" Raoul's breath caught in his throat. "Oh God, Christine; please forgive me!"
They sat together on the bed, in each other's arms, desperately clinging to each other, to a lost marriage and a faint flickering beacon of hope far off in the distance. Each individual cry became a shared mourning. Each tiny touch became a rope thrown to a drowning soul. Each sigh became a breath of wind urging a storm-tossed boat to dry land. Each tear flowed into a flood that swept away guilt and recriminations and pain. Each beat of an individual heart became the underlying rhythm of a single melody, punctuated by tiny grace notes that nudged and poked and demanded attention.
It was Raoul who finally broke the healing silence. "Are you all right?" He asked softly. "Should I send for the doctor?" He held his breath as he waited for the answer to his next question. "Would you like me to leave?"
"Do not ever leave me again," Christine begged in an equally soft voice.
"I will stay as long as you want me to stay," Raoul told her, watching as Christine drew back, studying his face, searching his eyes.
"Forever, Raoul," Christine told him. "Promise me you will stay forever!"
Raoul looked at his wife's tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes. He saw the fear and apprehension written in those eyes and knew it mirrored the fear and apprehension in his own. "I promise to stay forever if you will promise to love forever the fool that you married."
"Raoul!" Christine sobbed as she threw her arms about his neck and clung to him, not fighting him as Raoul wrapped his arms about her, once again drawing her into his embrace. Yet this time the tears were ones of healing, the embrace one of warmth.
"Are you certain you do not need a doctor?" Raoul asked again.
"I am certain," Christine said with a wavering smile as she drew back. She reached for one of his hands and placed it over their child. "Can you feel that? Those gentle little nudges?" Raoul nodded. "She is happy, I can tell. When she moves like that, so soft and easy, it means she is happy." Christine closed her eyes. "I cannot tell you how often I dreamed of moments just like this – seeing the light in your eyes as you traced the movement of our baby."
"You should go back to dreaming," Raoul said softly, waiting until Christine had reopened her eyes. "You should lay down and get some more rest and I will tell Marie to have something sent up for you to eat." He gave Christine a small smile. "You slept through Monsieur Corhei's visit and he left very strict instructions on what you were to eat and on what you were to do." Raoul shook his head. "He is a good man, Christine."
"Very good," Christine agreed and placed a hand on Raoul's cheek before turning her attention to the door. "Can you please ask Mathilde to send something up, I am very hungry." She looked briefly at Raoul. "Can you ask her to make it dinner for two?" Christine turned her attention back to Marie. "And I should be very angry with you."
Marie grinned. "But you are not because you know I am always correct in the end." She dropped a small curtsey. "I will back in a while with your dinners," Marie said and slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly.
"She is impossible," Christine sighed.
"But you will never find a better friend," Raoul told her.
Christine nodded her head. "I know, I know. I am so very thankful for her; you will never know just how thankful" She let out a deep sigh. "But I am tired and I do want to rest."
Raoul began to stand and felt himself tugged back to the bed.
"Please stay with me," Christine asked. "I do not want to let you out of my sight. And I just want to be held. Please hold me." Her chin trembled. "Please hold us!"
"I would like nothing better," Raoul told her as he leaned over and kissed her forehead. He waited until Christine had lain back down before joining her. He stretched his long frame out beside her, turning slightly toward Christine so that he could wrap his arms about her. Raoul smiled as Christine took one of his hands in her own and placed both hands over their child. "Tell me about my wife and child," he breathed into her ear and Raoul closed his eyes as he listened to the dulcet tones of his wife's voice carry him away.
And across the English Channel, far beyond the hustle and bustle of London, past sleepy little towns and villages, over the eerie stillness of moorland, another man and woman were contemplating being carried away.
"I am all packed save for a few articles I shall need in the coming days," Serge said as he crossed his fork and knife over his plate, signifying that he had finished his meal. "Those things I shall leave here and I trust you to see to their proper care." He looked at Tallis.
"As you would," Tallis answered, her voice holding none of the sparkle that Serge found so enchanting.
"You have barely touched your dinner, Fraulein," he said, glancing at the food that Tallis had moved from one place on her plate to another. Serge managed to turn his lips into a grin. "One would think that you did not like your own cooking and what does that say for me?"
Tallis finally looked up. "Pardon?" she asked. "Did you say that you did not like the dinner? I am sorry! I shall try to do better for the breakfast!"
"That was not what I said at all! The meal was excellent, as always." Serge dropped his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair and went to draw Tallis' chair out for her. Serge held out his hand, waiting until Tallis had taken it. "There is something that I wish for you to hear," he said. "I received it in the mail this morning." He patted her hand. "I am not the world's most talented musician but I think I can do this justice."
Tallis felt a stab of remorse pierce her heart at Serge's words but she nodded. "As you would," she replied, allowing Serge to lead her from the dining room.
They walked down the hallway and entered the front parlor where an upright piano held a place of honor against one wall. Serge guided Tallis to a wing chair that did not face the piano but looked out upon the gardens at the side of the house.
"You will be pleased to have a seat, Fraulein," Serge said, waiting until Tallis had done as he requested. Serge looked down into her face, the lifeless eyes, the sallow skin and prayed that he was doing the correct thing. The package had been addressed to Tallis, after all; but upon seeing from where it had come, Serge had opened it. He had taken one look at what was inside and in a moment had devised a plan that he had hoped would restore the life and vibrancy to the woman he felt privileged to call "friend". "A gift was delivered in the mail this morning and I was hoping you would give me your honest sentiments about it." Serge smiled. "I value your honesty," he reminded her.
"I cannot say that I can," Tallis answered him. "My honesty is sadly missing when it comes to music, I fear."
"I do not fear," Serge assured her and moved to the piano. He sat down upon the bench and slipped the leather from the pages that were spread out upon the piano. Serge drew a deep breath as he studied the ant-like black splotches that danced over the sheets. He placed his fingers above the keys, letting them drop slowly as they began to coax music from bits of ivory and ebony and lengths of wire. The melancholy music that began to fill the room lifted and began to move outward, dancing, seeking a partner. Serge did not dare take his eyes from the notes before him to see the expression upon his companion's face. His hands continued to play out the dance beneath them, slowing as the complicated melody softened, growing simple, the beauty swirling through the simplicity filling the room …
"Stop!" Tallis cried out.
Serge turned to see Tallis rise to her feet.
"Stop!" she cried again and stumbled forward a few steps, reaching out for the side table to steady herself.
"Tallis?" Serge said as he, too, rose to his feet.
Tallis kept her head down. "That was not for you," she said and sniffled. "I would know that music anywhere." She turned to look at Serge who stopped walking toward her. "That was for me. It was from Erik. It was the song he promised me." She stared at Serge as silent tears streaked down her cheeks. "I am correct, am I not?"
"Yes," Serge admitted softly.
"Why?" Tallis wondered as she turned her head back to stare down at fingers clenched about the edge of the table, their knuckles turning white.
Serge straightened his posture. "Because I had hoped hearing such a thing would make you change your mind. I had hoped that in this music you would be able to hear the love this man has for you. I had hoped you would accompany me back to Europe."
"You do not know what he is like," Tallis hissed.
"I know who he is," Serge said as he took a step forward. "I know he is a wanted man. I know that my cousin's wife and mother protect him." Serge continued walking slowly toward Tallis. "I know that he is extremely intelligent and talented." He stopped by Tallis' side, placing a hand on her hunched shoulder. "And I know that there must be good in him for you to love him so deeply."
"I cannot," Tallis whispered. "I just … I cannot."
"Love such as that expressed through the music that still lingers in every corner of this room comes along but once in a lifetime," Serge told Tallis in a gentle voice. "If you turn your back on such a gift, I do not believe you shall ever find it again." He sighed. "Please, Tallis!" Serge pleaded. "Do not allow your very life to slip away from you!"
There was a long silence in the room. The ghosts of a musical love letter hung in shadowed corners, watching and waiting expectantly. A mantle clock ticked loudly, measuring each breath, each heartbeat. November wind blown in from the Atlantic howled and pounded at the windows of Trevinny, demanding an answer. Finally that answer came.
"Yes," Tallis told Serge as she straightened and turned to look at him. "I will go back to Europe with you."