Chapter Eight: I Interview a Witness
I glanced up and down the street, wondering where the hell I was. In all honesty, I had no idea where Champs Elysees was, or how to get there. After several moments of pondering, I decided to try my hand at hailing a cab.
Experimentally, I reached my hand out and waved down a passing hansom. At least some things never change, I thought as I climbed up into the tight little compartment. I gave the cabbie the address I was seeking and found myself bouncing along the cobblestone streets.
My heart was pounding in my chest with both nervousness and excitement. Sherlock Holmes entrusted me with a mission and this was my one chance to prove myself to him, that I was worthy of his confidence. That thought both frightened and excited me.
"Vous etes ici," the cabbie called down from his perch, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced out the small window and saw a small Queen Christine house with a short picked fence surrounding the property. I took several deep breaths and alighted from the cab.
"S'il vous plait, attendez ici," I said, hoping the cabbie would understand that I wanted him to wait for me.
The driver seemed unsure until I showed him some of the money that Dr. Watson had given me.
Now certain the cab would be there when I returned, I opened the gate and began walking up the gravel walkway to thirty-four Champs Elysees.
Never having called at a nineteenth century house, I began looking for a doorbell or something resembling one. All I could find however was a long rope. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled it. A great bong resounded throughout the house and I stood nervously on the porch, hoping the bell would not disturb the occupants of the house too much.
Within five minutes, the heavy wooden door swung open and a wizened woman with silver hair and a long crooked gourd-like nose stared at me.
"Who are you and what do you want?" She asked rudely in French.
I stated my name and told that I wished to speak with either Monsieur or Madame Bellemonte.
"Is either Monsieur or Madame Bellmote expecting you?" She asked her old eyes stared at me.
"I don't believe so," I replied.
"Then go away!" She said beginning to close the door.
Quick thinking came in handy and I put my foot in the doorway making it impossible to close it completely. I shied at the thought of telling Sherlock Holmes I was unable to question the couple because of an elderly lady.
"Madame, listen," I began.
"Either you leave this residence or I will call the police!" She said sternly.
The thought of being locked up in a nineteenth century Parisian jail was not very appealing to me, but that, I decided, was a consequence that I would have to face in order to follow up my line of investigation.
"I'm here on urgent business," I said before she could interrupt me again. "Listen, I just need a few minutes of your employer's time and then I will be on my way…"
"Matilda, what is going on?" A woman's voice said from the hallway.
"Madame Bellemonte, there is an impetuous youth here that is demanding to speak with you and the master."
"Madame Bellemonte," I said calling into the hall. "I need to speak with you. I'm helping Mr. Sherlock Holmes with an investigation and it has to do with what happened to you and your husband last night."
"Oh, the Mr. Sherlock Holmes is going to help me and my husband?"
"Yes ma'am," I replied.
"Matilda, show her in! I'll get Mathieu."
"Right this way Mademoiselle," the old woman said.
I crossed the threshold and stepped into the foyer of thirty-four Champs Elysees.
"Please follow me," Matilda said walking me into a spacious sitting room. "My employers should be here momentarily."
I watched as the osteoporotic woman left the room and used the time while I was alone to marshal my thoughts.
All right Mac, just keep your cool. All you have to do is ask a few questions, remember the answers and you'll be fine. Deep breaths, that's it. Ready Sterling? One two three go get 'em!
I heard the sitting room door open and I turned around to see a tall, strapping man with ink black hair and quick nervous eyes entered, followed by a tall delicate woman with long curly brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
"Bonjour," I said advancing toward the couple and outstretching my hand. "Am I correct in assuming you are Monsieur et Madame Bellemonte?"
"Oui, je m'appelle Mathieu et ma fame Madeline," he said his voice soft and cultured.
"Je m'appelle Mackenzie," I replied. "I am sorry for barging in on you like this but I had no other choice."
"Believe me," Madeline Bellemonte said placing herself elegantly on the violet sofa. "From what I heard you tell Matilda, you're visit is greatly appreciated."
"May I sit?" I asked, indicating a comfortable looking armchair across from the sofa.
"Certainly," replied Mathieu Bellemonte. He sat next to his wife and took her hand. "Please ask us any questions you wish and we will try to answer them the best of our ability."
I smiled at the couple and sat in the armchair. I leaned back against the cushions and closed my eyes, wondering where to begin. Finally, after a few moments of thinking I found a starting place. "I understand that last night the two of you attended the opera. Is that correct?"
Madeline nodded. "Yes, my husband bought the tickets as an anniversary gift," she said with a slight smile.
"We were married one year yesterday," Mathieu said rubbing his wife's hand affectionately.
"Congratulations," I said smiling at them. "I wish you both many happy years together."
They both smiled gratefully.
"According to Inspector Perrier," I said thinking back to our interview with him, "you were seated in Box Five on the grand tier. He also said that he had to turn you out twice for…" I paused and tried to think of the most tactful way to continue. "He had to turn you out for inappropriate behavior."
At my comment, Mathieu grunted in disgust. "Inappropriate behavior indeed! It was not our fault that some strange voice began laughing and making obscene comments throughout the entire first act!"
"Can you describe the voice?"
Madeline Bellemonte closed her eyes and leaned against her husband. "The voice was either that of a tenor or a baritone, I cannot be sure which. It was very musical and seemed to dull the senses."
Mathieu reddened at his wife's description. I think he was a little jealous of the dream-like tone his wife's voice took when describing the unseen presence. "It was a disembodied voice with a horrible laugh," he said shuttering at the thought. "It was not nearly as romantic as my wife makes it out to be."
"Was the voice a man's voice?"
The two Bellemontes nodded simultaneously.
"Do you remember anything the voice said?"
"Well," Madeline said quietly, "during act two, scene seven, when Elvira, who was played by La Carlotta, sang 'Ah! Not to leave me! Single, single in buio native place, palpitar the cor me feel, and m'it attacks a such fright that me it seems to die.' The voice laughed and said she sounded like a dying cat and someone should put her out of her misery. After that comment, the voice said he hoped we were enjoying the wretched performance from his box."
I smiled and complimented Madame Bellemonte on her singing voice. "I am most impressed that you know the lyrics to Elvira's song."
She blushed and thanked me for the compliment. "I have seen the opera Don Giovanni many times."
"What did you do after the voice uttered the comment?"
"I immediately called for the box keeper! That wretched woman told me that we were sitting in the ghost's box and that he was extremely angry. Can you believe the nerve of that woman, to speak such childish nonsense to paying customers?" Mathieu said with a grunt of disgust.
"Yes, it is a rather odd comment for a box keeper to make," I said making a mental note of what was said. "Did anything else occur?"
"Yes," Madeline said, her face reddening slightly. "The voice once again laughed, only this time much louder. The house began to protest and the Inspector escorted us from the opera house. It was very embarrassing."
"An unfortunate situation for anyone, especially such a nice couple as yourselves," I said with a smile. Realizing there was nothing else I could learn, I decided to take my leave. "Thank you both very much for your time and cooperation. Sherlock Holmes and I will do everything in our power to discover the source of your discomfort."
Madeline and Mathieu looked at each other happily. "Thank you so much. Can you not stay for tea?" The former asked.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid not Madame," I said rising from the comfortable chair. "Au revoir!"
"Au revoir," they said escorting me to my waiting cab. "Bon matin!"
I waved farewell and gave the cabbie the name of the hotel where Holmes and Watson were staying. During the cab ride, I contemplated the information I learned from the Bellemontes. Unfortunately, it all seemed tangled and senseless. Hopefully Mr. Holmes could make more sense of it than I.
I was so lost in thought that I did not realize that I had arrived at my destination. The cab driver had to call to me twice to inform me of our arrival. After paying the rather expensive cab bill, I made my way up to room three-hundred thirty one to away Mr. Holmes's arrival.
"You look beat," Becky said when she opened the door and allowed me once again to enter the room.
"I'm exhausted!" I said stifling a yawn.
"Ah Miss Sterling," Dr. Watson said with a smile. "I'm glad to see you again."
"Doc, how many times do I have to tell you to use my first name?"
He chuckled. "For that you can blame my upbringing. How are you feeling?"
"Much better, but tired."
He
smiled sympathetically. He suddenly noticed the absence of his best
friend and long time roommate. "Where is Holmes?"
I shrugged.
"Last time I saw him, he was at the opera house. He sent me to 34
Champs Elysees to speak with the Bellemontes." I then told Becky
and Watson what I learned at the residence of Mathieu et Madeline
Bellemonte.
"What do you make of it?" Dr. Watson asked when I concluded.
"To be honest Doc, I don't make anything of it. It's all kinda confusing." I once again stifled a yawn. "If you guys wouldn't mind, I'd like to rest for a few minutes before Mr. Holmes returns. Time travel is exhausting."
Becky laughed. "You can say that again.
I turned to Doctor Watson. "Sir, would you mind if I rested on the sofa until Mr. Holmes returns?"
"Most certainly not," he replied quickly.
"Yeah but…"
"You will rest in my room."
I attempted to protest but he would hear none of it. Finally I relented and I lay down on his bed. When he left the room, after making sure I was comfortable, I stretched out. I must've been more tired than I originally thought because as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
