I feel so terrible, and I know that these chapters are getting even more and more disappointing, but, darlings, I do promise I have an ending written already and hopefully it's worth the painful chapters for now!
It is with much guilt I admit that Raoul has always been a rose to our family. It is no compliment. Roses are difficult to grow and even more so to maintain. They have thorns and tend to hinder the surrounding flowers from their full growth. Also, their growth is very hit or miss. Sometimes you are allowed to enjoy the beauty of the rose before it eventually withers and sometimes it just disappears over night and you are left with the stubs of that failed attempt.
Philippe, nor my sister Juliet could deny that it was difficult to raise Raoul. The cause of our Mother's death and the cause of much pain to our late Father. He was so much younger then we were, it was as if our lives – marriage, children, a full education – was put on hold or forgotten about to raise him suitably.
I loved him. I would be telling a great lie if I tried to say I did not. Raoul was a darling child, so happy and eager to please. Such a bright and perfect child, it was quite easy to become all the more irritated at the faults he possessed only brought on by these virtues.
The let-downs can never be accused of over-exaggeration. The blame for the death of my parents will always fall on him. It is as if it is the original sin that no baptism can remove. His infatuation with an opera singer, the mysterious death of Philippe, his very marriage to the said opera girl and his life he kept in London. What exactly he did to keep himself occupied with there I was never sure of. I never asked, though, always wanted to. I assumed he invested in one small business or another, toying with his wealth as a child would a new gift. A fascinating object he could never comprehend the value of.
It is cruel sounding of me, an older sister, but no one can deny these things. He married for, seemingly, pleasure. Twice. Both Juliet and I, and I'm sure Philippe had he been given the chance, married in an attempt to double our assets, multiply our good name. An opera singer and a governess were a humiliation. A humiliation that was about to worsen.
"Yes, thank you Inspector." The optimism was so obviously forced in Feodore Toulier's voice. "Yes, of course. Getting closer! Good night then, and thank you again." The front door closed softly and she came back into the sitting room, watching the Inspector walk down the street.
"It has been two weeks," she said, still watching outside.
"I know," I said shortly. "What am I to do? There is nothing left to do then what we are already!"
There was an awkward silence in the room, the only noise being the irritating tock of the a large Grandfather clock from the hall.
"I think it is time you sent word to your brother." I scowled at the suggestion, but knew she was right.
"And say what?" I began, "'Dear Brother, your little wife disappeared. Hope the Boers are behaving themselves! Regards, your sister.'? I am trapped, Feodore, and it all points to being my fault."
Feodore turned from the window, "Well, was it?"
I gaped at her for a moment, but was not given a chance to continue, for Victoire had walked in the room, obviously she had escaped from the neglecting temporary governess we had hired.
"You are going to write to Papa?" I nodded and beckoned her to my side. Despite the looks she had inherited from her plain Mother, she truly was a dear child.
"Yes, I am, Victoire," speaking louder I continued, staring at Feodore, "today."
A letter was sealed and sent by post that following morning. In it, I had told Raoul as delicately as I could allow myself of what had happened to Adelaide. It was brief, for truly, the information I had was minimal: last seen by us, taking a walk outside, and not a trace after that. It was as if the ground had opened and swallowed her whole. No one remembered seeing a young woman walking down the rue, no one that had either come forward or remembered, that is.
It would be a lie to say that I did not care about this young girl's life. However, I did see it as an opportunity to move on from that chapter of my brother's – my family's – life. A young thing like her? A foreigner? I knew the chances of her still being alive or traceable were slim to none.
Tragic? Yes. Convienent? Perhaps. Fate? I do think so.
