Chapter Summary: Now the final pieces of the puzzle begin to be revealed. And so it begins …
Author's Note: I know that there will be those of you going – "Ha! I knew that from the beginning!" There will be others saying "Well, that was not who I thought it would be!". Still others will be saying: "That is just so typical. Make that person the bad guy!" Well, folks, I have had "the bad guy" planned from the start and I was not going to change my mind. I hope that some of you caught (what I thought) were the subtle clues. I hope that some of you are surprised. And for those of you who are disappointed at who is behind all of this – well – I am the author and I am very jealous of my sandbox and my toys and I do not like change! I just hope all of you have enjoyed the story to this point and will continue to stick around – there are still more surprises to come!
CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT
"I tell you truthfully that I do not like this cold menace that seems to have blown in directly from Hell," Chief Inspector Robert Pichette said as he studied the white landscape beyond his window, hands clasped behind his back. There was no answer to his comment and he turned so that he could survey the office behind him. Pichette shook his head as he studied the young man standing at attention at the corner of his desk. "I am not so sure that what you planning is the wisest course of action at the moment." He moved to the seat behind his desk, waving Guy Rousseau to the other seat and waiting until the younger man sat down. "I have a bad feeling about this day, about what you and those two young men are planning on doing. I think we should call it off. The men from the Ministry will be here in three days time with the gendarmes who will be transporting our prisoners back to Paris." Pichette thought silently for a moment. "No," he said with a shake of his head, "there is no need to proceed as you have planned. Let the men from the Ministry handle any further questioning and details – it is that for which they are trained. You must find some way to stop what those young men wish to do."
Inspector Guy Rousseau bit his bottom lip as he thought silently. He, too, had felt the change in the air that morning upon arising. It was a change that had little to do with the sudden drop in temperature and more to do with the chill that seeped into one's bones, into one's soul. Rousseau – like the man seated across from him and whom he hoped one day to emulate – was not a person given to fanciful wanderings of the mind. He had long ago stopped believing in fairy stories where good always triumphed over evil; he had been a police officer too long to believe that. He had seen real evil triumph over good too many times to believe that any sensation he felt in the frigid morning air was not real. "I wish there was some way to stop what is about to happen," he reluctantly admitted. "Yet how can I do so without giving away our hand? How can I do so without putting the lives of those two young men into danger?"
Pichette began the familiar habit of tapping his pen against the desktop as he worked out logistics in the corridors of his mind. He tried to see every possible option and all the consequences that veered off from a decision that was made. "Do you know the direction that Lord de Chagny will be taking to your destination?"
Rousseau was glad that he had long ago learned to ignore the irritating "tap tap tap" of the pen. "There are several routes he could possibly take from Chagny but I believe he will take the most direct route."
"Then you must find somewhere close to Chagny in which to wait for him. You must stop him before he reaches his destination."
"I agree," Rousseau nodded and then frowned. "But that still leaves Monsieur de la Censiere. We dare not leave him on his own for he is the most fragile and vulnerable part of our plan. He all ready has doubts and fears that he reluctantly expresses. Even if I should meet up with Lord de Chagny, we must go to our final destination if for no other reason than to get Monsieur de la Censiere away from there."
Quiet once again descended upon the room as Pichette thought carefully on Rousseau's words. "Agreed," he said. "I will give you this last chance. You are to meet up with Lord de Chagny and then the two of you shall proceed to meet with Monsieur de la Censiere. Should it come to pass that Monsieur has not found that which he and de Chagny believe resides within the walls of Cote de Vallee, then the three of you shall immediately return to this station and we shall place the two young men under our guard." Pichette shook his head grimly as Rousseau opened his mouth to say something. "No, I shall brook no disagreement upon this issue. There has been too much danger and sorrow already and I will not have the actions of any men under my command add to any family's grief."
"Understood." A thought passed Rousseau's mind. "But what of Comte de Chagny? What shall we tell him?"
"Leave the Comte to me," Pichette replied softly, the tapping of the pen stopping as he calmly folded his hands on the desk before him. "I am far enough along in my career that I have managed to save for a rainy day and my wife's family has a large farm with an empty, small but comfortable house." He nodded to himself. "I shall have the two young men tell me what they suspect and then I shall take that information to the Comte."
"But sir …" Rousseau interrupted.
"No," Pichette replied. "This is how it is to be or you shall not leave this office." The ghost of a smile passed quickly across his lips as he watched the young man before him accept his orders and compose his features. "I have picked and trained my successor well."
Rousseau bowed his head. "Sir…"
"No," Pichette told him. "Do not say anything. Just go and save those two young men from themselves." He waited until Rousseau had risen to his feet. "And do your best to find the proof that we need."
"I will never do anything less," Rousseau replied with a nod and turned smartly on his heel to leave the office, closing the door quietly behind him.
"I did not expect otherwise," Chief Inspector Pichette said as he turned his attention to the newest telegrams arrived from Paris.
Expectations – or the lack, thereof – were on the minds of the people who sat around the huge front parlor at Chagny. A cheery fire blazed away in the hearth, a few stray puffs of smoke escaped from the updraft of the chimney sending the sweet scent of apple wood throughout the room. The heavy air of depression that had descended upon Chagny months ago had seemed to vanish over the last weeks as fears were admitted and shared, sins – both real and imagined – confessed and forgiven. Now happy excitement and eager anticipation permeated the ancient chateau from wall to wall and turret to cellar.
"I am glad the party is to be upstairs," Christine said as she adjusted her position on the sofa upon which she sat. She winced slightly and reached out to massage her side. "I do not know just how many more times I am going to be able to climb all those stairs." She turned to Meg who sat at her side. "And just think how many stairs there are at your Paris home," Christine told Meg, her eyes twinkling with merriment.
Meg sat up a bit straighter and squared her shoulders. "I am not such a poor creature as that!" she exclaimed. "And I am my mother's daughter!" She winked at Christine. "Maman would never approve of me using a pregnancy as an excuse for anything."
"Other than chocolate," Desiree chirped up from where she stood next to the fire.
"Since when did you ever need an excuse for chocolate?" Charlotte wondered as she raised her eyes from the book she was reading.
Christine's lips curled into a bright smile. "Since when did anyone in this family ever need an excuse for chocolate? Your brother would eat an entire chocolate cake if he thought he could get away with it."
"And how do you know I have not?" a rather tired voice asked.
Christine turned her head, her eyes wide, her mouth opening in surprise at the sight of her husband standing in the doorway, clinging to his brother's arm. She did not notice the knowing glances that passed between the other people in the room for all of her attention focused on Raoul moving slowly toward her. Christine noticed that Raoul leaned heavily on Philippe for support and she fought back the urge to bite her lip or frown in sympathy. Instead she raised her hands, fingers flexing, waiting for Raoul to take them in his own.
"I believe this seat belongs to you," Meg said with a smile as she rose to her feet, lightly touching Raoul on the arm before turning to Val who had appeared at her side and taking his hand.
"All right?" Philippe wondered as he helped Raoul to sit. He let go of his brother as Raoul reached for the hands that his wife offered.
"My legs are shaky and I am a bit winded," Raoul admitted and finally drew his gaze away from the brown eyes that looked at him with such joy and admiration. He looked around the parlor at the family and friends surrounding him and saw the same look in their eyes. "But it is so good to downstairs, to be here, to be surrounded by family and friends." Raoul drew a deep breath to steady his emotions. "It is just so good to be home." He turned toward the woman who gently squeezed the hands to which she held. "I will never take any of this – any of you – for granted ever again," he promised softly, leaning toward Christine, lightly kissing lips he had never thought to taste again.
Christine studied her husband's face as he pulled back, burning his tired features into memory, smiling in admiration at what he had accomplished in barely six weeks. "When did … how did …" Christine shook her head. "This is such a wonderful surprise!" she laughed. "But how did you manage without my finding out?" She watched as Raoul turned to look at Philippe and Christine followed his gaze.
"My doing," Philippe admitted. "Monsieur Corhei wanted Raoul to participate in varied activities to build up his strength. I suggested the staircase." He allowed a smile to cross his face. "We wanted it to be a surprise for you."
Raoul turned back to his wife. "You have no idea how soundly you sleep during your afternoon naps," he told Christine. "I would go and work with Philippe and return to you before you awoke." A sheepish grin crossed his face, something that had not been seen in months. "I was going to say that you would have no idea of how hard it is to go up and down those stairs," a single hand reached out to caress the rapidly expanding swell of Christine's middle, "but I think you do know."
"Thank you," Christine mouthed to Philippe before breaking into a combination of tears and laughter and wrapping her arms about her husband. "I love you, I love you," she kept whispering into Raoul's ear as she felt his arms go about her, one hand lightly massaging between her shoulder blades, the other doing the same action at the base of her spine.
"I think we are decidedly out of place," Philippe said softly, a grin on his face. He caught the eye of his sisters and nodded toward the door. He watched as Charlotte rose to her feet, both women walking over to their younger brother, placing light, congratulatory kisses on his cheeks, before leaving the room. Philippe rested a single hand on Raoul's shoulder. "I believe I shall leave you to spend some quiet moments with your friends."
Raoul smiled at Val and Meg. "Thank you," he said as he turned back to his brother. "I am exhausted and I would like to spend some time making plans for Paris before I fall asleep." Raoul rolled his eyes. "Again."
"I think the mere fact that you are even thinking of making plans for the future is just another reason to celebrate," Philippe replied with a grin and turned to address Meg and Val. "I shall leave you young people to it while I return to the thankless task of keeping my sisters from pulling out each other's hair over the arrangements for this afternoon."
Philippe walked across the room and turned to close the double doors behind him, taking one last glance at the two couples who were now seated across from each other. The sound of four different voices rising in laughter swelled Philippe's heart as he turned from the closed door and he let out a long sigh, surveying the halls about him. His eye caught a movement from the bottom of the grand staircase and he turned toward it, a look of confused uncertainty passed over his face. Philippe stood quietly, staring at the two men talking at the bottom of the staircase, their voices low, unable to carry or echo off the high ceilings of the chateau, until he could stand quietly no longer. Philippe's long legs carried him quickly to the sides of the two men. "May I ask what is going on?"
Two heads quickly swiveled in Philippe's direction, stunned reactions upon finding him there quickly replaced by guilt at being caught.
"We are talking," Henri shrugged with a practiced air of nonchalance.
Philippe crossed his arms about his chest and turned toward his trusted aide, an eyebrow going up. "Talking?" he asked Arthur. "You and my cousin are talking."
"Yes," Arthur replied calmly.
Philippe was having none of it. "I know you both," he reminded them. "I know that neither of you is comfortable with the other." Philippe shook his head. "And I am expected to believe that the two of you stand here, voices lowered in private conversation and there is not a reason for such a thing other than polite talk." He looked at Arthur. "I know that my staff thinks I can be easily distracted at times." Philippe turned his attention to Henri. "And I know that you think I am a fool who does not know what mischief you create." He grew solemn. "But I am neither and I want an answer and I want it now or neither of you will get beyond this point for the rest of the day."
Arthur looked at Henri, their silent communication speaking volumes that Philippe found he could not understand. Arthur turned back to his friend and employer. "Yes, we are talking quietly and for a purpose," he said simply.
Philippe turned on Henri. "If you have gotten into any form of trouble …" he began and was interrupted by Arthur.
"He has not done any such thing," Arthur assured Philippe and steeled his resolve as he prepared to tell the biggest falsehood of his life. "He is going to run an errand for me."
"With the party only hours away?" Philippe was incredulous.
"It is meant to be a surprise," Henri said softly, following Arthur's lead. "I should not be gone very long." Henri briefly glanced sideways at Arthur, drawing strength from the trust that had suddenly been placed in his oft faltering judgment. "Please, Philippe," he pleaded, "allow me to bring the surprise home."
"I do not think you will be disappointed," Arthur finished.
Both men waited as Philippe withdrew into private thought. He looked from one man to the other, foot tapping against the stone floor, fingers tapping against his arm. Finally Philippe let out a long sigh. "Fine," he said, his tone indicating it was anything but fine. He looked at Henri. "Go and do whatever it is the two of you have plotted out." Philippe was puzzled at the relieved sigh that escaped Henri's lips and turned to Arthur. "I am trusting you on this, do not let me down."
"When have I ever done such a thing?" Arthur asked. Philippe just shook his head and disappeared down a hallway, leaving Arthur and Henri once again standing alone at the bottom of the grand staircase. Arthur placed a hand on Henri's arm. "Godspeed," he said simply, watching as Henri walked to the valet and took a coat, scarf and gloves from the young man's hands and disappeared through the front door of Chagny and down the stone steps to the waiting horse.
Even as Henri walked down the stairs, slipping on gloves and wrapping the scarf about his throat, across the valley Didier was climbing the dusty stairs to the attic of Cote de Vallee. He paused halfway up the staircase, turning around to assure himself that he had, indeed, closed the door behind him. Didier turned back and looked upward into the dimly lit attic that held shadows of past lives, where nearly invisible creatures danced in the dim light that filtered in through small windows. His footsteps seemed to echo loudly in his ears as he continued to climb ever upward into that land where his destiny – or his death – awaited him. Didier paused as he finally reached the attic floor, shaking his head. "I cannot," he whispered to himself, "and must not think such things." Didier looked about himself, at the detritus of history accumulated by the men and women who had gone before him. "I am nothing like you," he hissed to the inanimate objects. "Nothing," he repeated. "I cannot be," Didier finished sadly. "I cannot be."
His attention was drawn from the family history he so feared and toward the small room on the far side of the attic. Didier draw a deep breath and wrapped what courage he could from from deep within about him like one of the suits of armor that hid in the shadows, waiting and watching for him to make one fatal misstep. Didier ignored them as he walked toward the room, his hand slipping into the pocket of his pants and pulling out the key he had surreptitiously taken from a locked drawer in a locked desk. An amazed thought passed through Didier's mind that he had gotten so good at something that could be considered criminal. "I am nothing like you," he responded softly to that thought as he slipped the key into the door of the small room.
Didier pushed the door open and walked in, pausing just beyond the threshold as the weight of what he was about to do descended upon his shoulders and his conscience. The young man closed his eyes and hung his head as he struggled with the dueling responsibilities of what he owed to his name and what he owed to his everlasting soul. Didier stood as still and as silent as the grave, the only outward sign of emotion, the clenching and unclenching of the hands that hung limp at his sides. "I am nothing like you," he repeated again, his whisper tremulous and uncertain. "I am nothing like you." Didier slowly began to raise his head, a determined glow beginning in the back of his eyes. His lips set into a thin line. "I am nothing like you," he repeated again, the five words becoming a litany that strengthened his resolve as he set his sights on his goal.
The desk sat against the wall where it had sat for years uncounted. It was covered in the dust of those years save for a few clean spots where hands had been, hands that had searched for the truth and hands that had hidden the truth away. Inside the drawers of that desk were old letters and even older papers. Hidden in the cubby holes were treasures just waiting to be found by an adventurous child on a rainy afternoon. The desk held pieces of the puzzle that made up a family history, broken pieces, neglected pieces, pieces without a mate. Yet each one – when placed with the others – told a complete story. And Didier knew exactly what piece of the puzzle it was for which he searched.
He found it where it had always been – in the top right hand drawer. His trembling hands reached in and pulled out the leather case. Didier placed the box down upon the desk, taking another key from his pocket and unlocking the lid. He opened the lid, a single finger from each hand reaching to opposite corners of the velvet that lined the lid. Didier twitched his fingers and the cover fell away and tears welled in his eyes as he stared again at the tiny engraved plaque hidden beneath. He stood for a moment as he let his emotions wash over him, knowing that he was about to turn his back on his family history in favor of the disposition of his eternal soul. Didier carefully placed the velvet back into the lid and closed the box, picking it up and turning to walk out of the room.
Didier did not lock the door to the small room knowing that no one had seen him climb all the way to the attic. As he crossed the attic floor, his strength and resolve grew stronger with each step as he knew that shortly Henri and Inspector Rousseau would be meeting him. Didier was no longer frightened. He no longer saw evil creatures in the dust that danced in the filtered light. He no longer saw clawed fingers in the deep shadows. He no longer saw ghosts moving in the dark corners.
"I am nothing like you," Didier said as he paused at the stop of the staircase leading back to the main floors of the chateau. He turned his head to look behind, chasing away the fears of a child for the conviction of a man. "I am nothing like you," he repeated his comforting litany as he turned back to the stairs, one hand holding to the box, the other hand reaching for the banister.
"It is a good thing you are not," a voice hissed from behind him.
Didier had no chance to react and the only sound he made was a "whoosh" as the air was forced from his lungs by the blow that caught him between the shoulder blades. There was only a moment for a quick thought – "I am going to die." – to pass through Didier's mind before he began to tumble head over heels down the steep attic steps. He finally landed in a motionless ball against the closed door, the box and its contents laying broken all long the stairs.
The person at the top of the stairs slowly descended, careful to avoid splintered wood and broken glass. The person paused at the last step, eyes drifting downward as they surveyed the still young man. Cold eyes burned with unseemly mirth at the sight of the blood that trailed downward from a deep gash along Didier's scalp line. Toes encased in sharply pointed footwear kicked out roughly, jostling the stationary figure, eliciting no response. The person bent over and placed two fingers along Didier's neck, waiting for a moment as the fingers finally detected a very faint pulse. The person straightened. "You are nothing like us," came the whispered mockery of Didier's litany. A decidedly wicked smile crossed the person's face. "And soon it will not matter," the person finished remembering the failing pulse fingers had felt. The person reached forward to open the attic door and stepped over Didier before turning around and shoving Didier's still figure back into the dimly lit staircase before closing the door.
Feet quickly carried the person down the hall and through another closed door. The door was opened as the person stepped into the bedroom darkened by heavy draperies that had been pulled shut against the afternoon light. A hand reached behind the person and closed the door, expertly turning the key in the lock. The person waited until their eyes had grown used to the dim light before crossing to the bed to stand motionless, surveying the figure that stared groggily back.
"Did you think I did not know what you did all these years?" the person asked and moved around, sitting down next to the figure whose eyes followed every move. "Did you not think I enjoyed making everything pleasant for you?" A single hand reached out to feel the hands beneath the bedding, knowing they were bound tightly – as tightly as the feet. "Did you think I truly like punishing you for each little indiscretion?" Hands cupped the face of the person in the bed, fingers assuring that the gag was tight and could not be wriggled loose. "But this time the punishment shall be final. There shall be no further chances for escape." The person leaned over and kissed the forehead of the prisoner on the bed. "Everyone will come with me." The person stood, a smug, self-satisfied smile playing over lips. "Do you not think I have wrapped everything up quite neatly?"
The person turned on heel, ignoring the struggles of the prisoner left behind on the bed, knowing that the drug would soon take effect. The person hated doing what needed to be done in this instance but at least with this person there would be no pain as there had been with Didier, the drug would merely lull them into a sleep from which they would never awaken. The person sighed as the stairs to the main floor of the chateau were descended for the last time. There was no servant waiting at the door with coat and gloves and scarf; that small detail had been seen to by giving every servant the day off. Another smile passed over the person's face as they realized how eagerly the servants had been to take the opportunity presented to them and how easily all the pieces of his puzzle had fallen into place. The person shrugged into the outerwear placed near the front door only hours ago before leaving Cote de Vallee for the last time. The person walked down the snow-covered walkway, little caring for the fact that the snow clung to the hem of their clothing, weighing it down and mounted the horse waiting patiently at the end of the walk. The person turned the horse's head and began to walk the animal carefully down the drive with never a look back at the dead house or a thought for the two who's ghosts would soon join the others who haunted the now quiet halls.
The horse and rider moved easily through familiar pathways, their destination not yet in sight but known and anticipated. The rider was quiet as plans for the afternoon were gone over and over again; there could be nothing left to chance. There could be no missteps taken, no mistakes made. Bridges had been burned and there would be nothing to which to return should any piece of the puzzle be overlooked. The rider was so lost in silent, inner contemplation that the horse was trusted to know the way to the final destination. And it was the snorting of the horse that finally drew the rider back to the world about him. Eyes quickly scanned the surrounding white countryside, seeing another rider approach. The evil grin returned to lips as the stance of the approaching rider was recognized and an unknown, unexpected but lucky happenstance fell from Heaven. The rider gave an imperceptible nudge in the horse's ribs as reins were slightly pulled back, the horse drawing up suddenly, the rider dismounting, reaching down to lift one of the horse's legs.
"Hello!" Henri called out, seeing the rider approaching him and suddenly stopping. Henri spurred his own horse forward. "Hello!" he called again. "Is there a problem?"
The person bent over the horse's leg raised their head. "Thank the Lord it is you," the person sighed in relief.
"What happened?" Henri wondered as he sat atop the horse that pawed at the cold snow beneath its hooves.
"I do not know," the person willingly lied, the innocence upon their face hiding true intentions. "I was riding on my way to Chagny and suddenly my mount pulled up short."
Henri dismounted and walked his horse to one of the nearby trees that lined the familiar country lane, wrapping the reins around the trunk. He turned back and walked over to the other horse and rider. Henri looked around. "Where is everyone else?" he asked, a slight sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach, a warm smile from the other rider chasing away Henri's nerves.
"They are coming in the carriage," the other person replied. "There were too many presents that needed to come with us for them to be transported upon horseback!" The person carefully placed the horse's leg back down and straightened. "I decided to come a bit early and see if there was anything I could do to help. I am sure Desiree and Charlotte are driving Philippe to distraction."
"They are," Henri admitted with a smile and nodded toward the horse's leg. "Would you like me to look at that?" he asked. "If there is a serious problem, I will stay here with the horse and you can ride mine back to Chagny and get help." He turned to look hesitantly at his horse before turning back. "It is an English saddle."
The other person nodded. "I think I can manage that," came the reply and smile.
"I am sure of it Henri said as he ran a gloved hand down the horse's neck. "Now, let us see what it is that troubles you." He bent over and lifted the horse's leg, fingers moving gently about the hoof. "I do not see anything prominent," Henri said.
"Then, perhaps, you are not looking hard enough," the other person said as the butt end of a pistol came down upon the base of Henri's skull. As Henri began to slump to the snow-covered ground, the pistol struck him on the side of his head. A foot reached out to kick the now unconscious Henri out of the way, the person once again mounting their horse, pausing to gaze down at the figure lying spread-eagled in the snow. "Do you not think I know what you and Didier have been doing?" The person asked knowing there would be no answer. "Nothing must get in the way of what must be done," the person said and spurred the horse forward, leaving Henri on the cold ground, buffeted by the winds that had suddenly picked up.
It did not take long for the person to cover the remaining distance to the destination they sought. Horse and rider paused briefly at the end of the drive to Chagny, surveying that which had been denied for far too long. Eyes drifted upward to the two different banners flying in the wind atop the east and west towers. "Nice to know you are both in residence," the person muttered. "How convenient." The person urged their horse down the drive, pausing at the bottom of the front stairs, dismounting and slipping the reins through the hitching post.
Each footfall that climbed up the stairs to the front door of Chagny was a calming balm to a racing heart. So close, everything was finally so close. Years of waiting and planning as pieces slowly fell into place were soon to be ended. The goal was finally within sight and everything would soon be as it should always have been. The person reached the front door and raised a hand to knock but did not have the chance. The door was opened and Philippe stood there, a warm smile on his face for an old and well-loved friend.
"Xavier!" Philippe exclaimed as he held out his hand.
"Philippe," Xavier replied with a smile.