August 6th 1892: Erik
It was strangely satisfying to watch the almost triumphant expression on Christine´s face turn into a grimace of astonishment. ´This, my dear, is why one should never be too sure of oneself.´, I thought. ´It usually leads to disappointment.´ Yet I didn´t have any more time to ponder on this important rule for her son was still glancing up at me with a smile, waiting for a response.
"Hello, little boy.", I gave back, returning the smile as well as I could. It happened so rarely that I smiled about something these days that I hardly remembered which muscles I had to use. "Is this where you live, the mysterious and exciting place you´ve told me about?", he asked, his blue eyes shining with curiosity. This feeling was very familiar to me, and I sensed that his fingers were itching to explore and play with the many objects I had purchased over the years and brought here. So I replied: "Yes, this is my home. Would you like to have a look around while your mother and I continue our conversation? We´re only discussing boring things anyway.".
Either Philippe was too young to know that topics adults called boring were the most interesting to eavesdrop on or his parents never spoke about topics worth listening to. Sitting up quickly he told me: "That would be great. Can I also go into the other rooms?". "Of course you can do that.", I answered. His feet were already touching the floor when he suddenly was kept back by his mother.
Christine had been silent and motionless since the revelation that her son and I had met before. But now she clung to his arm as if both of their lives depended on it. "You will not go anywhere!", she called. "This house is dangerous. You might simply vanish, and I´ll never see you again. " I couldn´t help chuckling softly about her hysterical behaviour. "There is no reason for becoming this melodramatic.", I assured her. "It´s not as if I´d send him to play in the torture chamber. The doors to it and to my own room are safely locked."
"Name one reason why I should trust you!", she cried. Gently I placed my hands on top of hers. It had the desired effect: Instantly she pulled them back, consequently letting go of Philippe. His slender wrist was a little redder than the other one, but no lasting damage had been done. "I like this boy.", I said simply. "I´d never harm or endanger him." When Christine kept glancing at me wordlessly I addressed the child again. "You may go now. But don´t try to force your way into the locked rooms! It wouldn´t work anyway." He nodded meekly and left the room. This time no one held him back.
Leaning back in my comfortable armchair I continued examining my former student. She had indeed changed. Marriage and motherhood had turned her into a woman. Yet deep down in her soul – in that mysterious organ most human beings possessed in larger or smaller versions – she still was a girl. The way she was looking at me with a certain stubbornness told me everything. "I only let him go because I didn´t want him to hear any more of what we´re speaking about.", she muttered.
"A wise decision.", I remarked, deliberately not mentioning the fact that actually I had made this decision. "And what are we going to speak about?" "Why does Philippe know you?", she blurted out. It was clear that she had held back the question till her son had left, probably in order not to frighten him. Unlike me, Christine wasn´t relaxed at all. She sat on the very edge of the sofa, he whole body tense. "I visited him, every year on his birthday and a few times in between.", I replied. "Since he unfortunately doesn´t have a godfather, I tried to take the role as well as I was capable of."
Christine´s flushed cheeks showed me that she was growing even angrier. It amused me that I could still read her like a book. "Unfortunately?", she repeated, her voice like acid. "Philippe would have been a wonderful godfather, if only you hadn´t killed him!" "He was a fool.", I gave back, my voice just as sharp as hers. "He knew it was dangerous to come here, and still he did it, all alone. At least his brother had had enough sense in him to take a guide. Yet I didn´t kill Philippe; Lake Averne did it. And you, Christine, should run out of the house and thank it on your knees for having done so. He´d have never accepted you as his sister-in-law. His death spared you a lot of trouble."
Now she even started chewing at her pretty bottom lip, just the way she had done it when she had forgotten the words of an aria – I´d have been certain she´d stopped that habit a long time ago. But apparently the fact that I was right made her nervous. "How did you manage to visit him without me noticing it?", she asked after a few moments. I accepted her change of subject without as much as commenting on it. "Of course that wouldn´t have been possible without help.", I told her frankly. "It was quite difficult to be there at the exact times when you were at the hairdresser´s or the seamstress´. But with the maid working for me it was possible to see him at least for an hour every now and then."
Was there a tiny bit of triumph returning to her face? "That method may have worked for a while, but it has come to an end on this very day!", she called. "Marielle won´t spy on us any longer – I just dismissed her this morning!" "Marielle?", I repeated with a questioning undertone. "Oh, that dark-haired girl? I haven´t spoken to her in my life." Today´s second revelation made Christine turn paler than the tablecloth. Although I was a little sorry for her, it was always nice to know something others didn´t.
"Wha… it´s… bu… not…" When she continued stammering fragments of sentences I asked: "Would you like a glass of water? Or something a little stronger to calm the nerves? Sherry, maybe?". Yet she didn´t seem to care about drinking now. Instead she finally uttered a combination of words I could understand without a dictionary. "It has to be Marielle. She… she confessed it! She said she had been passing information to you!" "Did she mention my name?", I wanted to know, frowning as I tried to make sense of Christine´s story. "Well… no.", she admitted. "But who else could she have talked about?"
Suddenly everything was clear… at least to me. "Marielle had indeed a little secret, yet I can assure you that it´s not me.", I told her, trying not to sound too triumphant myself now. "For some inexplicable reason she failed to mention that her father is in prison and her brother surrounds himself with criminals as well. It was he who received information about the valuables that can be found in your house. If I were you, I´d exchange the lock on the back door – he already has the key."
"And who works for you then?", Christine asked, apparently much more interested in the answer than in the fact that her house could be broken in to any moment. A smile was still visible on my face as I said: "Allow me to respond to this question with one of my own… Where does Jacqueline´s younger sister Clarille live?". "In an… orphanage.", she replied hesitantly. "Their parents died when she was little, and Jacqueline… wanted her to stay with us, but I refused… She must be about fourteen now." "That is true.", I remarked. "Unfortunately the first part isn´t. Three years ago she has moved into one of the rooms the opera provides for chorus girls. And guess who suggested her as a member of the corps de ballet and makes Mme.Giry look after her, who pays for her private lessons and everything else…" "You.", Christine breathed.
She shook her head again and again. "Jacqueline… I can´t believe it. She has been with us for almost ten years, I trusted her." "And you were right in doing so.", I told her gently. "She only helped me because she could have never paid for her sister´s education herself. And she´s such a talented dancer. Wouldn´t you have done the same in her place?" "I… don´t know.", she muttered, suddenly looking very young and helpless.
"Jacqueline is a nice girl.", I said. "I watched her many times with the children. She has a sensible way of dealing with them. Only a fool would dismiss her. If she hadn´t been my source of information, I´d have found someone else. I heard your cook likes talking very much… Anyway, you don´t have to be sorry for Marielle. You won´t need her once Philippe lives with me."
I had tried hard to approach the subject cautiously, and still it had clearly been too abrupt for my former student. It seemed that our conversation had made her nearly forget what was to happen tonight, but now that she remembered it she jumped up from her seat at once. "You´ll never get Philippe.", she hissed, rushing to the door. "I´ll throw Jacqueline out into the street tomorrow, then you won´t ever see him again!"
Reaching the door moments before her I pushed myself against it with all my weight quickly, keeping her from opening it. "You´ve spent far too much time with your dear husband.", I muttered, looking at her with a mixture of sadness and annoyance. "You of all people should know how fatal it can be to underestimate me. Do you think you decided anything for yourself in the last ten years, anything at all?"
Now we were so close to each other that I could smell her perfume. For a split-second it distracted me, but thinking of how often her husband had been much, much closer to her made me continue with even more fury. "You´d have never been able to buy the house you´re living in if I hadn´t forced the previous owner to leave. I knew you´d like the garden and the wooden floors, and the large windows were ideal for my purposes. I decided which servants would apply to the positions you had to fill. I even selected the pieces of fabric the seamstress showed you for you new dresses." Leaning down I whispered into her ear: "I never stopped being a part of your life, Christine.".
"Maybe it´s about time our ways part then.", she said. She looked up, and for a moment I was almost sure she´d kiss me. But instead of the soft and warm touch of her lips I felt an entirely different touch. Glancing down I saw that the cold metal of a pistol was pressed against my chest. My eyes widened in horror. "Christine… what…?"