Chapter Summary: Henri returns to England. Tallis bids goodbye to Antoinette. Philippe comes to see Monique and their parting becomes a heartbreaking ending for them both.
CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO
The man in the coach pulled his coat more tightly about him, trying to ward off the shivers he had been unable to stop for the last week. He huddled within his coat for a few moments, turning his head to look out the coach window, watching as familiar landmarks began to come into view. There was the church on the green where his parents had been married and he had been baptized. He could imagine the centuries of ancestors lying beneath the snow-covered ground welcoming him home while they rolled in their graves, astonished, dismayed and displeased at the life he had chosen. He would have laughed at the thought of bones rolling and rattling like dice in their coffins had he any energy left.
Suddenly the shivers that had caused him to shrink into his coat disappeared into a heat that threatened to drown him in his own sweat. He quickly sat up and shrugged out of his coat, ripping the tie from about his throat and tearing open his collar – small pearl buttons flying about the interior of the coach. He leaned toward the door, pulling down the window, not knowing or caring that it was now December and the temperature outside was enough to keep even the hardiest of individuals indoors, close to a warm hearth. All he could feel was the sharp slap of the wind upon flushed cheeks, cooling his face and sending his thoughts drifting back to the events that had brought him back to England, seeking the comfortable and familiar…
It had taken what seemed life forever for voices to be heard drifting up the staircase, the sound of footsteps following quickly behind. He dared to take his eyes from the life he cradled so gently in his lap to look toward the staircase. There, like moths drawn to a flame, were several uniformed gendarmes and one person dressed in civilian clothes. He blinked once, twice, not daring to believe what he had seen and he turned back to the still from lying on the floor.
"Help is here, Didier," Henri whispered. "You need to hold on just a little bit longer. Help is finally here!" Henri knew there would be no response from his friend but he had to believe that somewhere, somehow, Didier had heard and understood. Suddenly Henri was blinking in the light from several lanterns, a familiar man kneeling down beside him, reaching out to place fingers against Didier's neck.
"He is alive," Senor Gallardo said, his head shaking as those same fingers reached for the bump that swelled and bruised Didier's face. "I do not like that at all." He looked down Didier's body. "And a broken leg and arm." Senor Gallardo looked over his shoulder at the three gendarmes behind him. "I am going need him moved to a bedroom but you must be careful of the arm and leg."
"You cannot move him," Henri said between teeth that had begun to chatter. "He will die if you move him." He turned to look at the village physician. "I promised I would not let him die."
Senor Gallardo had taken one look at Henri, his rumpled, still damp clothes, the blue tinge on his lips and barked additional orders to the gendarmes. "Blankets. Brandy. Now!" He placed a comforting hand on Henri's arm. "I will see that your promise is upheld," Senor Gallardo said softly. "I will not let your friend die."
Henri looked at Didier and nodded slowly, reluctantly surrendering his friend to the care of others before surrendering himself to that same care. Nearly two hours later, he had sat with Inspector Rousseau in chairs near the two bedrooms that Senor Gallardo hurried between. Henri had long since shrugged off the blanket that had been draped around his shoulders, claiming it was entirely too hot in the house. As his legs had begun to shake involuntarily, Inspector Rousseau had tried to slip the blanket back on, only to find Henri batting it away.
"I do not need any damn blanket!" Henri had nearly shouted. "I need … I need…" his words were cut-off as Senor Gallardo finally stopped his movement between the two bedrooms to stand before the two men. Henri rose shakily to his feet. "How are they?" he asked, the trepidation evident in the tone of his voice.
"I think they will be well given time," Senor Gallardo said with a slight smile before growing more serious. "Madame has been being violently ill but that is a good thing as we want her system purged of whatever remains of that drug." He smiled again. "It is an admirable thing your friend did, keeping that antidote hidden away, knowing it would be needed some day."
"Didier?" Henri wondered.
"We have had to set both his leg and his arm. I am afraid he will be unable to walk until they both heal; he will be in a wheelchair for some time." Senor Gallardo shook his head. "I can feel no tenderness in his abdomen and that is a good sign for it suggests there is no internal bleeding but he broke some ribs during his fall."
"What about the head wound?" Inspector Rousseau asked.
"I can feel nothing moving beneath the skin; I suspect it is a very nasty concussion." Senor Gallardo knew the closeness between Henri and Didier having often seen them together at the inn. "I believe your friend will recover," he tried assuring Henri. "It is going to be just a matter of patience and time."
"Thank you," Henri said, watching as Senor Gallardo nodded before disappearing back into the bedrooms to care for his patients. He turned to Inspector Rousseau. "I must return to Chagny. I need to know if anything has happened! I need …"
"You are in no condition to ride," Inspector Rousseau interrupted him. "You should allow the doctor to examine you."
"I have a chill from being the snow and a headache from being hit but nothing else," Henri said angrily. "And I am damn well returning to Chagny!" Henri shook off the hand that Inspector Rousseau placed on his arm in a vain attempt to restrain him before storming off down the hall and down the stairs into the darkened first floor.
"You," Inspector Rousseau said as he pointed at a young officer, "go with him. I am entrusting his safety to your hands. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir," the young officer replied as he turned smartly and quickly followed Henri down the stairs. The officer found himself praying all the way through that dark night as he galloped behind Henri. He prayed that the young man knew where he was going, that he was still in his right mind and that he was not about to get either one of them killed in a riding accident or thrown from their horses and left to die in the cold and snow.
But Henri knew exactly where he was going and finally turned a corner and raced his horse down the long drive to the bottom of the stairs that led to Chagny. He slid from his saddle, trusting the waiting groomsman to care for his tired, snorting mount. Henri took the front stairs, two at a time, the young officer following behind and burst through the front door. He looked at the valet who was waiting in his usual seat at the front door. "Where is my cousin, Philippe?" Henri asked.
"Upstairs," the valet began, "but I do not think that…"
"I did not ask for your opinion!" Henri shot back before running up the grand staircase, ignoring the fire that burned in his lungs and the chill that shivered his limbs. He paused at the top of the stairs, bending over to catch his breath when he heard Philippe's angry voice.
"You mean to tell me that Henri has known all along!" Philippe sounded incredulous as well as angry.
"It was only a suspicion," Arthur's calm voice could be heard replying. "He only trusted me with this knowledge a few days ago. He and Didier…"
"They should have come to me!" Philippe shouted. "What happened here tonight could have been prevented if they had! Raoul and Christine would not now be fighting for their lives if he had!" Philippe's voice rose another notch. "I will never forgive him for this!"
It was all that Henri had needed to hear and he turned around and quietly descended the staircase, seeking out the downstairs library where he knew writing materials could be found. He composed a letter to Philippe, placing it on the desk in his cousin's study. Henri then crept up the side staircase that Christine had suggested Monsieur Corhei use. He walked quietly to his rooms, retrieved a new coat and the money he had left in his bureau and left down the same staircase and across the grounds to the stables where Henri retrieved a fresh horse. Then, feeling betrayed and with his confidence utterly shattered Henri quietly and without being seen slipped away into the dark winter night, not hearing the words that followed upon Philippe's angry outburst.
"You do not know what torment Henri has been under," Arthur told Philippe. "He was the one we did not believe when he said he heard Raoul's voice. He has only been trying to protect this family as he struggled to find the proof to a truth that he knew would shatter you and it has. You may not know it yet, not be able to feel it yet, but your world has been shattered." Arthur's voice grew quiet. "You should not forget what it is that you owe to your cousin."
"I know, I know." Philippe's tired, pained sigh could be heard by all those gathered all down the long upstairs hallway. "I owe him more than I shall ever be able to repay. I have underestimated and overlooked and taken Henri for granted; it shall never happen again!"
Henri had ridden for hours in that dark night, stopping at the Saint Joan Inn long enough to change horses and ask that his original mount be returned to Chagny. The people at the inn had urged Henri to wait till morning for the coach. He had refused. They had tried to bribe him with a warm bed in a warm room and again Henri had refused. The owner of the inn, recognizing the young man who was demanding a new horse, finally persuaded Henri to wait thirty minutes while he dressed and his private coach could be prepared. Henri, emotionally and physically tired beyond anything he ever thought possible, could only nod; he had not truly thought that he would be able to sit a horse the remaining distance to Lyon. After climbing into the coach, Henri would barely remember the ride to Lyon. He was exhausted and leaned back to try to rest. Yet rest would not come as his eyes closed, only to reopen at the sound of Philippe's angry words echoing in his mind. The shivers that had started at Cote de Vallee seemed to gain strength as Henri thought of his cousin and the family, for which Raoul had longed, struggling for their lives. He had failed again. He had always tried and failed. Henri shook a head that he did not even realize was shaking – he would never be able to live up to the high standards set by his entire family. He sighed, perhaps it was just as well he was returning home, far better to die in one's own bed in one's own country than in a home and country where he was not wanted.
"Mother will want me," Henri chattered as he closed the window of the coach in which he now rode. It had gotten cold again and Henri pulled his coat back on and returned his gaze out the window, a smile crossing his face. The coach was pulling through familiar iron gates and suddenly Henri felt incredibly tired. He leaned against the back of the coach seat and closed his eyes. Henri tried desperately to remember the long train ride from Lyon to Calais. He remembered even less of the ferry crossing from Calais to Dover. He remembered asking for a coach that would drive him to his family's estate in the countryside outside of London. Henri remembered getting into the coach and that was the last thing he could clearly remember and now he no longer cared. The coach had stopped in front of a sprawling manor home and Henri found the latch to the coach door and managed to exit without falling on his face, a man in a suit coming through the manor's front door to greet him.
"My Lord!" the man exclaimed as he reached out for Henri.
"Thompson," Henri said and coughed, his whole body shaking. "Is my mother at home?"
"Aye," Thompson replied. He had been secretary to Henri's father since before Henri was born. "She is getting ready to go to London to spend the week with your lord father."
Henri closed his eyes, swaying on his feet. "Then just pay the nice coachman there and show me to my bed."
Thompson looked at the man sitting atop the coach and nodded. "I shall return momentarily," he said.
"I shall wait," the man replied.
"Now that the pleasantries are over," Henri said and weaved back and forth up the pathway to the front door of his childhood home. He kept shrugging off Thompson's help. "I am perfectly fine," Henri said between teeth that would not stop chattering. Henri's shaking hand twisted the knob and pushed the front door open. He managed a wavering smile for the woman who stood at the bottom of the stairs, a questioning look on her pleasant face as she turned to see who had come through her front door. "Hello, Mother," Henri said before the eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the marble floor.
Twenty-four hours later, Lord Steven De Chagny strode quickly through the front door of his ancestral home, throwing hat and coat at the waiting valet. He rushed up the stairs, down the hallway and through the closed door of his only child's bedroom. "Dear God," Steven breathed at the sight that met his eyes.
Henri was lying on his back in the center of his bed, his complexion as white as the sheets upon which he rested. His eyes were closed and his raspy breathing echoed about the room. His arms were still upon the bed linens but his legs twitched beneath them. Henri's mother sat on the bed beside her son, wiping the perspiration from his face and neck, wringing the cloth out in a nearby basin before gently repeating her actions. A man stood at the end of Henri's bed, carefully observing the unconscious young man; he turned at the sound of Steven's voice.
"My Lord," Sir Patrick Sutton, a member of the Royal College of Physicians addressed Steven.
"What is wrong with my son?" Steven asked as he approached to stand next to Sir Sutton.
"Pneumonia," Sir Sutton replied. "I believe it has spread to both of his lungs." He watched the color drain from Steven's face. "Your son is running a very high fever and it has all been complicated by the blows he has received to his head."
"What!" Steven blurted out.
"Steven!" Sarah turned her head to look at her husband. "Do not raise your voice in this room!" she warned him before turning back to her son.
"I am sorry, my dear," Steven said as he walked around the bed to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I do not yet know what has happened but I know I shall never forgive Philippe for allowing it!"
"Do not speak so harshly," Sarah told him softly. "There are several telegrams waiting for you in your study." She shook her head. "So very much has happened and I do not even know how to begin to tell you. Just know that your son risked his own live to save the lives of other." Sarah could see from the corner of her eye as Steven's hand reached out to rest upon Henri's still one. "He has finally become the man we always knew he could be." She sighed and continued to cool Henri's feverish skin with her cloth. "I just pray it has not come too late or at too high a price."
Steven could not look at the doctor as he voiced his next question. "Is my son going to die?"
Sir Sutton drew a deep breath before answering. "I cannot give you an answer to that." He shook his head. "So much of your son's recovery rests upon his own desire to recover."
Steven's hand tightened upon Henri's and he leaned over his wife's shoulder. "You have spent an entire life fighting me at every turn," he whispered so that only Sarah and Henri could hear. "Do not stop fighting me now!" Steven finally noted the tears that ran down his wife's cheeks as she tended to their only child and he willed back his own. "You must fight, Henri!" Steven urged his son. "You must!"
And in France another person was standing in a silent room, eyes closed, unable to look at the person who stood before her.
"So that is it," Antoinette said simply, her hands clasped at her waist.
"Yes," Tallis replied. "That is it."
"You are just going to turn your back on everything here in France – your family, your life, me – and return to England." Antoinette shook her head. "You know you will be safe and loved here."
Tallis nodded, her eyes opening. "I know that," she replied softly. "I also know that I can no longer use my family and my friends as shields to hide behind." She sighed. "Nor can I use the walls of a convent to hide behind." The fire of resolve flared in her gray eyes. "No, I have to face my life. I have to face what I made of my life." The fire quickly dampened as a sad smile crossed Tallis' lips and she tilted her head to one side. "I have to grow up and make the best of what I have done. England and Serge offer me that chance."
"You will be safe," Antoinette wondered, "there in that cottage. No one will bother you?"
"My family is known and respected in Kingsand," Tallis told her. "They are known as skilled craftsman and capable farmers." A small laugh escaped from Tallis' lips. "That is quite amazing considering the fact that they are farming land that is oft times considering quite inhospitable."
Antoinette burst into laughter. "Quite inhospitable," she repeated through her laughter. "I think you will be quite safe in your cottage by the sea, after all!"
"I think…" Tallis paused for a brief moment. "…I shall. Plus Serge is insisting that I remain on as his housekeeper." A genuine smile softened Tallis' features as she reached out a hand to place over the ones that Antoinette had clasped at her waist. "You have taught me well. You have given me knowledge that I am quite certain that I should not have found anywhere else. I would not be able to even contemplate managing such a grand home if I had not had the opportunity to learn from you." Tallis took her other hand and clasped Antoinette's hands in her own. "And you gave the opportunity to have so much more," she whispered. "You introduced me to a love and memories that shall carry me throughout my lifetime. That is something for which I shall never be able to thank you."
"Oh, my dear," Antoinette said as she freed her hands and drew Tallis into her embrace. "You are so very welcome." Antoinette hugged Tallis close. "I shall miss you but I know you are only a week's travel away. I am going to insist on coming to visit." She drew back to look at Tallis, a serious, rather stern look in her eye. "Let us just be clear on one thing, you are not to schedule anything that will require my visit until my grandchild is born and at least a few months old."
Tallis smiled brightly. "I understand." Then she sighed. "I do not think I shall be able to do anything until August at the earliest." She laughed a little bit. "Serge is going to marry Ilse at the end of next year and he is bringing her and her family and his family to visit this vacation home he has purchased. They shall be there all summer!"
"All summer?" Antoinette interrupted, her eyebrow raising in question.
"Serge has promised my privacy when I am at the cottage." Tallis lightly tapped her hands on Antoinette's back. "After all we endured in the darkness beneath the opera house, I have come to trust his words implicitly. Serge is an honest man and I know that he will allow … me, my privacy."
Antoinette nodded. "It is well, then," she said and released Tallis from her arms, taking the younger woman's hand and walking Tallis to the front door. Antoinette helped Tallis slip a warm cape over her shoulders before pulling her into one last hug. "Go with God, my beloved friend," Antoinette whispered in Tallis ear before letting her go one last time. Antoinette watched as Tallis walked out her front door and into the carriage waiting to take go to the train station. Antoinette watched as the window opened and a hand waved goodbye. "Go with God, my beloved friend," she repeated as she raised a hand to her lips and blew a kiss after the disappearing coach.
Even as one coach departed from a home, another was arriving at a home in the south of France. It stopped in front of the home whose windows seemed to look darkly and somberly out upon a changed world. A warmly dressed man descended from the top of the coach, opening the door and waiting as the lone occupant exited. Both men stood quietly in what warmth the December afternoon could afford, one's eyes averted by years of training and service, the other's eyes fixed on the mourning wreath on the front door that looked all too familiar.
"Wait here until I return," Philippe ordered his servant who still held to the coach door.
"Oui, Monsieur le Comte," the man replied, closing the door as Philippe walked up to the front of Cote de Vallee and knocked lightly just below the mourning wreath.
The door opened and a servant dressed completely in black looked at Philippe. "Please come in," he said softly, opening the door, allowing Philippe to enter a home in which he had freely come and gone for years. The man closed the door behind Philippe. "Come with me, if you would please, sir."
Philippe slowly followed the man down a dark hallway and into a parlor where the drapes were partially drawn, throwing the room into the half-light of limbo. He turned briefly to look at the man close the door behind him before turning back to the room, watching a man slowly rise to his feet from the chair in which he sat.
"What are you doing here?" the man wondered.
"I would like to see Madame, if I may," Philippe replied, knowing the man before him was Didier's father, Thiery. Philippe also knew that Thiery was not only caring for his son and settling Xavier's affairs but protecting Monique from the talk and scandal that had come forth from the events of two weeks ago.
"I do not think that is wise," Thiery told him.
"I do," a female voice said from the doorway and both men turned around to find Monique standing there, Philippe's heart breaking at the sight of her. She was pale and strangely calm, her demeanor only accented by the severe black she wore and the hair that was pulled tightly back and wrapped in a bun at the base of her neck. "It shall be all right, Thiery," Monique said as she entered the room, her eyes never looking at Philippe. "What must be said will not take long."
Thiery looked from one person to the other. "I do not know…"
"Please," Monique pleaded softly. "I just need a few moments alone with the Comte. Go see to Didier; he is asking for you."
Thiery crossed to her side and lightly kissed Monique on her cheek. "If you need anything," he whispered in her ear.
Monique only nodded and waited until the door had closed behind her cousin-in-law. She stood still as she looked at Philippe. "How are the Vicomte and his wife?" she asked formally.
A puzzled expression crossed Philippe's face. "Raoul is recovering; the bullet implanted in his shoulder and did not hit any vital organs. The blood he was coughing up was from ribs that re-cracked and pushed against his lungs. Christine and her child are as well as can be expected. Now we must just wait until the baby is born to know for certain that all is well. Monsieur Corhei is predicting a happy outcome for all."
"I am glad, then," Monique replied in a coldly civil tone. "Senor Gallardo predicts the same for my young cousin; although, it will be quite some time before Didier is able to walk again. And what of Lord De Chagny, Didier is very concerned about his friend."
"It is a very slow recovery for Henri, I am afraid," Philippe told her, his head shaking. "His parents send us updates on his condition nearly every other day. We are all very thankful that he is on the mend."
"Thank you, Monsieur le Comte," Monique replied, her eyes dropping to look at the carpet beneath her feet. "That news shall, indeed, cheer my young cousin."
There was a silence in the room as Philippe studied the stranger before him. "What are you doing?" he finally blurted out. "You are my friend! You are…" he would not get the chance to finish his sentence.
"I am the widow of the man who tried to murder your brother and his wife," Monique said as she raised her head, her eyes locking with Philippe. "He tried to murder your cousin. He tried to murder Didier and he tried to murder me," she finished softly. "There can be nothing left between us."
Philippe quickly crossed to Monique's side, taking her by the arms. "Do not say that!" he said. "We have lost so many years! Suddenly there are many more years stretching before us! We have a second chance!"
"We have nothing, Philippe," Monique told him softly, her violet eyes searching his face. "Do you not understand? I cannot and I will not bring any scandal to your family and that is what I should bring if anything were to form between us."
"Anything to form between us?" Philippe was stunned and pained. "I have never stopped loving you and I know you have never stopped loving me!"
Monique raised a single hand to rest briefly against Philippe's cheek. "Do you not think I know those things?" she asked. "If only you knew how much I have always loved you." She tried to smile but her lips only trembled. "I have known from the first moments of our honeymoon that my husband arranged our separation so that he could claim me. I buried that knowledge in the back of my mind for I had made my choice and I needed to make the best of it." She took back her hand and gently released Philippe's arms. Monique walked to the fireplace, staring into it so she would not have to look at the man in the room. "I think I knew from almost that moment that there was something wrong with my new husband. I knew he had always coveted everything you had and I knew that I would need to do something to protect you." She sighed, the tears she would not shed audible in her voice. "If you only knew, everything I tried to do all these years to protect you." Monique placed her hands against the mantle. "I knew of the drugged tea, it was my punishment for every time I did something that displeased him. I just never thought he would use it to try to kill me." She shook her head. "And there were other punishments. Things that he did that you will never know, ways that he claimed a heart and a soul that he knew still belonged to you."
"That bastard," Philippe hissed between clenched teeth.
Monique turned back to Philippe, her eyes closing. "But the worst punishment … the worst thing he ever did to me … was the one thing he knew would break my heart." Her eyes opened. "He denied me a child. He said that if I could not love him with all that I was than I would never be able to love his child with all that I was. That is why he made Didier his heir." Her head shook. "Poor, sweet Didier; he has known all these years. He heard things in the night, saw things during the day. He found Xavier's apothecary stash and tried so hard to protect me. I never thought Xavier would ever hurt him." Monique's eyes drifted downward. "I never thought him capable of such cruelty toward anyone but me. I was happy to take his punishment as long as it prevented him from hurting anyone else." A frown creased her pale features. "How could I have been so wrong?"
"I am so sorry," Philippe's voice trembled with emotion. "I wish you had come to me. I wish…"
Monique raised her head. "What could you have done, Philippe? What? He was my husband!"
"And he was my friend!" Philippe answered back. "But – surely – I could have done something!"
"Let it go, Philippe," Monique told him as she raised a hand to rub against her temple. "Please, just let it go. Let me go."
"I cannot!" Philippe insisted. "I will not!"
Monique sounded so tired. "You must. You may not even realize it yet, but you are mourning the loss of your best friend. You are mourning his betrayal." Her chin trembled. "You are mourning all that has ever been between your families. You do not know what you are saying, what you are asking of me!"
"I do know!" Philippe replied angrily as he crossed to Monique, fighting down the urge to take her in his arms. Instead, he stood still before her, a finger going gently to her chin, lifting her head so that he could stare into her eyes. "I do know," he said gently.
"You are mourning your friend," Monique told him, "but have you forgotten that I am mourning my husband?
"You did not love him!"
Monique shook her head. "I did love him, Philippe. That is the problem; in my own way, I did love him." She looked pleadingly at the man standing before her. "When Xavier was calm and rational, he was the good, decent man who – I believe – truly loved me. And that is the man I am mourning – the man who gave me a good life and everything I ever needed."
Philippe was hurt and confused. 'I do not understand. We have a chance to get back all that was taken from us and you are letting it go!"
"It is not you," Monique said, desperately trying to make Philippe understand. "It is me. I need time. I need to mourn Xavier. I need to mourn my actions that were not enough to stop him from committing the actions that he did. I need to mourn my own self – the girl that I allowed to be swallowed up and lost, leaving only a shell of a human being behind."
Philippe closed his eyes as he willed away the tears that wanted to start; once again he was going to lose the woman he loved. Once again Xavier – even from the grave – was going to win. "Where will you go? What will you do?"
"This house is going to be closed by the end of the week and will remain closed until Didier returns with a bride to restore love to this home," Monique began. "My sister and her husband have a country home in Italy that they use during the summer. I am going to go there." She shook her head as Philippe's lips opened. "I am begging you, Philippe; for all that has ever been between us, please do not try to find me." She held up her right hand, a ruby and diamond ring glowing in the dim light of the parlor. "You must give me one year from the first of January. You must give me the time I need. If in one's year time, you receive this ring in the mail, then you know that I am coming back to you."
"And if not?" Philippe asked softly.
"Then you must go on as if I were dead to you," Monique told him, knowing her harsh words would break his heart as surely as they broke hers. She placed her hands on Philippe's arms. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," Philippe nodded and leaned forward, seeking and finding Monique's lips for a kiss that may need to last the rest of his life. Slowly Philippe drew back. "I will always love you," he whispered. "Always." He turned and left the room, not looking back, not seeing as Monique collapsed into a chair, her hands going over her face as she finally granted herself permission to cry.
"Always," came the word whispered behind hands that hid the tears of a lifetime.