September 16th 1892: Erik
There were many bad things one could say about me, and I knew that. Yet I had never considered myself a coward. I was someone who faced his problems and didn't run away from them. Now it was different. Admittedly I had told Christine openly to which conclusion I had come, but afterwards I had run away. I simply hadn't wanted to talk about it, listen to her arguments and find new ones contradicting them. It had been hard enough to make a decision on my own.
Yes, I was a coward. How else could it be explained that I chose a seat between the children on the journey back, letting Christine murder me with her glances from behind? It was strange, really: A few hours ago we had sat next to each other, and she hadn't been happy about it. Now we were not sitting next to each other, and she wasn't happy either. Sometimes women were comlipcated.
Yet despite my negative thoughts about my beloved, I enjoyed the conversation with Antoinette and Philippe. If I had had children of my own, I'd have wanted them to be exactly like those two. Now that I was there instead of the maid, the girl didn't talk quite as much as before. She was a little reserved, as if she wasn't sure what I'd do. I often saw her cast glances at my mask. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that sooner or later I'd have to tell them why I was wearing it, but I wasn't looking forward to it.
Unlike his sister, Philippe was becoming more lively by the minute, talking and laughing with us. He was often like that when we were alone at the opera, but it was interesting to see him reveal this part of his personality when other people were around. If Christine had been in a better mood, I'd have pointed it out to her. Yet at the moment I was the only one to enjoy it.
"Will we have any lessons today?" he was just asking me.
I shrugged.
"I haven't thought about it yet," I replied. "But I doubt there'll be enough time. We'll come home, have dinner, and then it'll almost be time for bed. You go to bed at eight o'clock, don't you?" The children nodded. "We could just… Would the two of you like to sing a little with me?" I wanted to know. "I could accompany you on the piano."
The boy's eyes grew bright with excitement.
"I would like that," he told me. I had expected that answer. I hadn't given him many singing lessons so far, but I knew he was rather gifted. I was very glad that I had remembered the piano that stood in the small room next to the living room.
Antoinette, however, didn't seem to be as enthusiastic as her brother.
"I haven't sung very often," she said in an unusually small voice. "My teacher doesn't like music. What if I can't do it properly? Will you still take me to the opera tomorrow?"
"Of course I will," I assured her. "It won't be a lesson, just a nice way of spending the evening. It doesn't matter whether you've sung before. The song I'm thinking of is very simple anyway." Vaguely I wondered whether Christine was listening to us talking about singing. I couldn't possibly ask her. But then, I'd find out the answer soon enough.
By the time we reached the house, dinner was indeed ready. I could smell it the moment I opened the door and was surprised to find that I was hungry. The conversations with Christine and all the pondering I had done in between had cost me a lot of strength. A nice hot meal would be very good for me now.
I watched everyone take their usual seats at the table in the dining room. Jacqueline was sitting there as well, for she helped the children with their food, whereas the cook and the butler ate in the kitchen. At last just one chair was empty. It was the one at the small side of the table. And that was where I sat down. Christine threw me an astonished glance, but I merely shrugged. This was at least one part of the contract that was easy to keep: I was sitting on the Vicomte's chair, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
It was a good seat. I could see everybody, and they could see me. Mme.Gardé, the cook, filled our plates and left again to enjoy her own meal. I started eating, and so did the others. Nobody spoke during the meal, partly because it would have been impolite, and partly because the food was so delicious that everyone wanted to eat it as quickly as possible. At least it was like that for me. After years of cooking for myself I enjoyed this carefully prepared meal very much. Of course I could have eaten in restaurants every day, but I didn't like the way people looked at me excitedly, as if I were about to attack the waiter or murder the cook for having made the soup too salty.
When we were finished eating, we left the dining room and went to the music room right away. Once more, Jacqueline was responsible for the fact that I knew it existed According to her, the Vicomte had equipped it with a piano and a few other musical instruments, so that his wife could continue singing, even though she no longer was at the opera. I had always thought it a good idea; it was hard to believe that it had come from the Vicomte. Yet Christine had never even entered the room.
It seemed that this wasn't about to change today.
"I'll stay here and read," she announced when we crossed the living room. The music room culd only be entered through a door here. "I'm not in the mood for music."
´You never are in the mood for music these days,´ I thought, but didn't say anything. I just led the others through the door, yet I didn't close it. Maybe she'd at least listen to us.
To my surprise the room wasn't dark and dusty like I had expected. When I lit several lamps, I saw that it was rather nicely furnished, with thick plush sofas and low tables made of dark wood. It was clear that the Vicomte had spent a lot of money on this room. It was a pity that Christine had never seen it. Perhaps this would be different once she'd take singing lessons again.
I sat down at the piano and tried a few keys, only to find it well-tuned. Asking the maid about it I earned a wistful smile.
"The Comte has it done every year," she told me. "He doesn't give up hope that one day they'll play together."
"He plays a musical instrument?" I wanted to know, trying not to sound as astonished as I felt.
"Yes, he plays the violin," she replied. "At least he did so as a child. He once told me about it."
Now I understood a little better why this room existed.
I waved at the children to come to me and made them do a few exercises to warm up their voices, realising I wouldn't have problems with teaching them the song I had in mind. It was not too difficult for them. Taking a piece of paper and a pen from the piano I wrote down the lyrics. Fortunately I had played the song so often that I knew it by heart.
Having played the melody a couple of time I let the children hum it before we started with the single phrases. I made sure they understood all the words, for I wanted them to know what they were singing. Jacqueline had sat down on one of the sofas and watched us attentively, a smile on her face.
I was smiling as well. It was pleasant to teach them, to see them learn and develop their love of music. How could Christine have kept them from discovering it sooner? Those children had a considerable potential in that respect. They were yearning for being supported, and I was more than willing to be the one doing it.
After about half an hour they were ready for singing the song completely, while I accompanied them. It was a beautiful, but also rather sad song about a prince and a princess. Antoinette's and Philippe's voices fitted together very well. Hearing them sing was a pleasure. I could already imagine them on stage in fifteen years' time.
Suddenly I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and realised that Jacqueline wasn't our only listener anymore. I didn't stop playing as I looked up. Christine was standing at the door. Her mouth was forming the words of the song, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks.