September 15th 1892: Raoul
Slamming the lid onto the box I shrank back in horror, away from that dreadful sight. Yet even as I closed my eyes, the picture of the little bird with its soft-looking feathers and its terrible dead eyes was still there. It was engraved in my mind, and I'd surely never manage to get rid of it. Opening my eyes again I ran a hand over my forehead and noticed it was wet with cold sweat. Quickly I wiped it off on my trousers.
"I'm so sorry that you had to see this, love," I said, settling down on Christine's other side and taking her other hand. Apparently she needed all the support she could get. Jacqueline threw me a grateful glance. "Could you fetch something to drink, please?" I addressed Larisse, who was still standing on the threshold, looking lost. She nodded and walked away, obviously glad about having a task that didn't require her being in this room. I couldn't blame her.
When she was gone, I squeezed my wife's hand lightly.
"And now tell me what has happened," I encouraged her. Yet she merely glanced at me with her big eyes, and I realised she was still too shocked for words. It was Jacqueline who started speaking instead.
"Well, M.Erik left after lunch," she began. "He took the children with him, telling us that the house of Antoinette's teacher was on his way and that we shouldn't bother sending her in an extra coach. Given Gabriel's state that wouldn't have been possible anyway…"
"What's the matter with Gabriel?" I asked instantly. "He's not still asleep, is he?" I found it a little annoying that I had hired a coach to get to the restaurant, so that Christine could have ours, and now she hadn't used it at all. Would Gabriel turn out to be like our last driver, who had enjoyed a drink too much every now and then?
"Yes, he is asleep, but it's not what you think," the maid replied, as if she had read my mind. "He woke up with a strong cold: fever, a cough, aching limbs… Madame took one look at him and sent him back to bed."
I nodded absently, remembering that there were more important things than the health of my coachman now.
"And what happened next?" I wanted to know.
"A little while after M.Erik and the others had left there was a knock at the door," Jacqueline answered. "Jacques went to open it, but no one was there, just… that." She indicated the box, shuddering. "There was no address on it, so Madame opened it… I never heard someone scream like that," she finished.
"I thought it could be a present from you," Christine whispered, her voice hoarse. "You know, because you were so loving when you left…"
I remained silent, feeling ashamed, though there was no reason. It was true that I sometimes sent my wife presents, little signs of my affection, especially when it had been hard to say goodbye. How terrible it must have been for her to lift the lid of the box, hoping to find a pair of earrings or a bracelet, only to see a dead sparrow instead!
I was just about to open my mouth, determined to say something that would comfort her, as Larisse returned with a tray. It turned out that she had interpreted my words rather freely. Instead of the alcohol I had expected she had made tea.
"Drink it with sugar, then it'll help against the shock," she advised us, pouring the light brown liquid into four cups and adding generous amounts of sugar.
I seized a cup, but it wasn't meant for me. Cautiously I brought it to Christine's lips, sensing that her hands would shake too much for the task. I didn't fail to notice the irony: While I had been shaving, it had been my hands that had shaken, and now it were hers. At first she didn't open her mouth, seemingly unaware of what was going on, but when the rim of her cup pressed against her bottom lip lightly, she allowed me to pour a little tea into her mouth.
She swallowed and swallowed, and after a few moments her face began to lose its very pale colour and grew rosy. I didn't stop until she had drunk the whole cup's contents.
"Thank you," she muttered as I put it onto the table. I noticed in relief that she both looked and sounded rather normal again. "And now you have to take some as well," she went on in a very determined voice.
"That's very thoughtful of you, but I'm fine," I assured her. I simply didn't feel like drinking tea. The mere thought made my stomach lurch.
Christine shook her head.
"You only say that because you can't see yourself," she reasoned. "You're as white as the tablecloth. You'll drink now, or I'll have to pour it down your throat myself."
I was her husband long enough to know when she was serious. This was one of those moments. Quickly I seized a cup and took a sip. The tea was very sweet, much sweeter than I normally had it, but it actually helped. My stomach calmed down, and I no longer felt as if I had to throw up any moment.
I cast Larisse a grateful glance.
"Thank you," I said. "That was just the right cure."
She gave me a humble smile.
"Once you'll be as old as I am, you'll know how to help in a situation of crisis," she muttered. "Tea can solve more problems than you can imagine."
Vaguely I wondered whether this was the reason why she had invited the Phantom to tea this morning. Had she sensed that there could be problems with him or was it merely a sign of her hospitality? It was an interesting question, yet not one that had to be thought about immediately. There were more urgent matters at the moment.
Letting my gaze wander over the assembled persons, noticing that the two other women also looked better than before, I realised somebody was missing.
"Where is Jacques?" I asked. "He has not… passed out or something like that when he saw the contents of the box, has he?" I had to fight back a smile. Jacques usually kept his emotions to himself, up to the point at which one could forget that he had any. The thought that he could have done something as obvious as passing out was slightly amusing.
"But no!" Christine replied with a dismissive gesture. I could see that all three women were trying hard not to smile. Apparently they were thinking along the same lines as I. "He didn't even see what was in it. Right after he had fetched the box, I sent him to Gabriel's parents. You know, he was invited to lunch there today and didn't want them to get worried because he can't come. So Jacques will bring them a message."
The word ´message´ reminded me of the one we had got.
"´Soon´ what?" I mumbled.
Christine shrugged.
"I have no idea what it could mean. There was nothing on the envelope, so we can't even tell whether the note is for you, for me or the both of us…" No one uttered a certain question, but it was present on all our minds: Who sent such a cruel gift?
"We'll better go now and leave you alone," Jacqueline said suddenly, pulling Larisse to her feet as well. Together they went out of the room, muttering to each other. It took me a moment to understand that they probably suspected we were about to talk about private matters, which they shouldn't hear. I couldn't help smiling. It was good to have considerate servants.
"So… let's assume the box was meant for you," my wife suggested. I nodded reluctantly, even though it made me feel a little sick again. It was the more likely option, whether I liked it or not. Hastily I drank some more tea. "Who could have anything against you?"
My first thought were the Norwegians, simply because I wasn't too fond of them at the moment. But then I realised that was ridiculous. Why should they threaten me and ask for a new meeting at the same time? It didn't make sense.
Yet there were others who didn't like me, of course.
"Maybe it was one of the people who I refused to give money to," I mused, massaging my temple, as if it made thinking easier. "There was this man a few months ago who wanted to turn an old house he had inherited into a theatre. It was one of the most stupid projects I had seen in years. The house was so old that it was a miracle that it was still standing. And it was in such a poor part of Paris that no one would have gone to the theatre anyway. Yes… I remember the man got very angry, telling me I'd regret not having given him money…"
"But do you think that man would do… that?" Christine asked, pointing at the box, which by now was standing under the table. She didn't sound very convinced. I could understand her. It was one thing to tell someone he'd regret his actions, and a completely different thing to send that person a dead bird. I shook my head.
"I cannot imagine someone would do that for business reasons," I replied. "That dead bird… such an action is full of hatred, and one doesn't hate someone who didn't give one money. Besides, what would be the point? Being threatened will certainly not make me think about whether I've done someone justice."
We were silent for a few moments, thinking hard. At last I dared voice a suspicion that had been inside my head ever since I had mentioned the word ´hatred´.
"Do you… well, do you know what the Phantom did after he left our house?" I asked as cautiously as possible, perfectly aware of what kind of reaction that question could cause.