September 17th 1892: Erik
Trousers were definitely better for running than long skirts. Still I reached the bottom of the stairs only moments before Christine. At once I saw the person who had screamed. It was Mme.Gardé, the cook. She was standing at the open entrance door, clinging to the coatrack as if it were the only thing that kept her in an upright position. Given the fact that she was very pale and trembling all over, it probably was the only thing that kept her in an upright position.
Next to her was the old butler. He was neither pale nor trembling, yet as far as his face was capable of showing disgust, it did so. For an irrational second I thought he were looking like that because I had come down the stairs, but reason told me that couldn't be true. After all, I was wearing my mask. Besides, the cook had screamed before she had seen me.
Both servants were staring transfixed at a large brown paper bag that stood in front of the door, looking rather innocent. Still I knew there had to be something wrong with it.
"What is that?" I asked.
It was only now that they managed to tear their gaze away from the bag and looked up at me.
"Oh, thank goodness you're here, Monsieur," Mme.Gardé muttered. "I know we are not supposed to open anything that was brought to our door, but this is just the delivery from the butcher's that we get a few times a week. I only wanted to make sure he sent what I had asked for, and…" She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and couldn't go on.
"Did you come here when she shouted?" I asked the butler, giving the cook a moment to regain her composure.
"No," he replied, shaking his head solemnly. "I was the one who opened the door when the delivery arrived. I had never seen the boy who brought it before, but that is nothing extraordinary. That butcher has someone new every other week. I then called Mme.Gardé… I am deeply sorry." He gave the woman a brief nod, which probably was his version of an apologetic smile.
"And… what is inside the bag?" I wanted to know, trying to pretend that if I heard the answer, I didn't have to see it myself. Yet that hope was shattered in the next second.
"Look for yourself," Jacques said. "I do not know the words to describe it. And if I did, I wouldn't use them in front of the ladies."
One glance at Mme.Gardé made clear that she wouldn't tell me anything either. She had still not taken the handkerchief away from her mouth.
I stepped forwards boldly and took a deep breath, which I instantly regretted. The stench of decay was disgusting.
"I'm going to open it now," I announced. "But you stay behind, Christine. Whatever is inside, I don't want you to see it."
With these words I leaned down and opened the bag. I threw a brief glance at its contents… and recoiled in horror. The bag contained a mass of intestines that were already rotting. Maggots crawled over the flesh. I couldn't say that about many things, but this sight was worse than my face without the mask.
My hand flew to my mouth as my stomach lurched violently. I retched, but could keep myself from throwing up by telling myself that I had seen worse. That was true, and still I felt sick. I had seen much worse scenarios, yet they had taken place a long time ago. Moreover, they had never happened on the doorstep of an innocent family. The contrast between the perfectly white door, the highly-polished steps and the bag full of intestines only made it more grotesque.
"What is it?" Christine asked behind me. I was very glad that she had made no attempt to peer over my shoulder. It had probably been the nauseating smell that had held her back.
"Well, let's just say that if your cook wants to turn this into a delicious lunch for us, I suggest we eat in a restaurant," I told her with a wry smile. It wasn't a very good joke, but it was better than nothing. I needed to get that picture out of my head, and so did the two servants.
Mme.Gardé smiled tentatively, as if she had to make sure that she still knew how to do it.
"May I go now?" she asked in a small voice. "The children are waiting for their breakfast. I was just about to serve it when I was called away. It's so good that I closed all the doors on my way here, or they'd have heard me…"
"Of course you can go," I said. "Take Christine and Jacques with you. I'll be there as well as soon as possible. But first I have to get rid of that bag." Christine seemed to think about raising an objection, but didn't do it. She knew that someone had to dispose of the bag and was glad it wasn't her.
When they were gone, I fetched a pair of thick leather gloves out of the pocket of my cloak, which was hanging on the coatrack. Then I seized the bag, careful not to let it come into contact with any other part of me, and took it outside, where someone would take it away soon. Once I was back inside the house, I spent a considerable amount of time washing my hands. Although they had been protected by the gloves, they felt dirty.
"Where have you been all the time?" Antoinette asked me as soon as I had sat down at the table in the dining room. "You said that Maman and you would be with us in a minute, but you were gone much longer."
"Well, there was something I had to do," I muttered, hoping against hope it was a sufficient answer. Of course it wasn't.
"What?" she wanted to know instantly.
"That's enough, Antoinette," Jacqueline scolded her. "M.Erik doesn't have to tell you about everything he does. He has barely settled down, and you're aleady pestering him with questions. Under these circumstances he'll think twice about taking you to the opera with him."
That had been the right argument. The girl's mouth snapped shut, and she threw me a pleading glance.
"I will take you with me," I assured her. "But only in the afternoon. In the morning, I'll have to go and see someone." I could positively watch curiosity light a fire in Antoinette's eyes, yet not a single words left her lips. The maid's threat had been so terrible that the girl didn't dare utter the question whom I wanted to meet.
"You don't have time this morning anyway," Jacqueline reminded her. "You'll be at your teacher's house till two in the afternoon, and then your mother's friend Mme.Tavoire will be here to give you a ballet lesson."
"Oh…" the girl made. She seemed to be torn between ballet and the opera, which as far as I could tell were both among the things she liked best. It was impossible for her to decide against one of them. Yet that wasn't necessary. The maid's words had also reminded me of something.
"I've just recalled that it's the dancers' afternoon off today," I told them. "Otherwise Meg wouldn't be able to come here and teach you, of course. So you wouldn't have liked it at the opera anyway, Antoinette. I think we should either go there in the afternoon without you and a second time tomorrow or else only tomorrow. We can still decide about it later."
Having said that I reached for my cup and took a first sip of lukewarm coffee. Mme.Gardé had apparently filled it when she had returned from the entrance door, assuming I'd be there a moment later. Unfortunately it hadn't been like that. Yet I didn't say anything. The poor woman was still upset enough without me making such unfriendly comments. Besides, maybe it was better than hot coffee for my troubled stomach.
There was a lot of talking going on, and to my surprise I found that I enjoyed taking part in it. I wasn't a morning person, mainly because I spent most nights with anything but sleeping and was in a bad mood afterwards. Yet at this table there was so much liveliness that I couldn't help join in. The effect was amazing: After a few minutes of joking with the children I hardly thought of Christine's angry face or the maggots anymore.
Yet even the best meal had to end sooner or later. Jacqueline and Antoinette excused themselves and left the room to go to Jacques, who'd take them to the girl's teacher. I seized the chance of the others leaving to send Philippe to his room to practice reading. Now only Christine and I were still sitting at the table.
"Do you really have someone to see or did you just say that in front of Antoinette?" she asked. The parallels between her and her daughter had never been as clear as in this moment. Her eyes had the same curious sparkle. I smiled.
"As a matter of fact, there is someone," I replied. "I've got a see a certain butcher."