September 17th 1892: Erik
The journey back to the de Chagnys seemed to be much shorter than the one that had brought me to the Tavoires. This was mainly because the horse was faster than the one that had pulled the coach. I had left the choice to the stable boy, and he had made a good one. The black gelding was a strong horse with a lot of energy and a fearless character. He didn't care about the sounds of the streets at night, but made his way through them without glacing right or left.
It had been a while since the last time I had travelled on horseback, and I enjoyed it very much. It was a completely different feeling from driving a coach, which was bigger and less flexible in its movements. If I had been able to do so, I'd have taken the horse out of Paris and let it canter over paths in the forest. But of course I didn't have that much time. I could count myself lucky that most streets were soft enough to allow the horse to trot.
I avoided the street where the accident had taken place, for I didn't want to be reminded of it. So many things had happened in the last few hours. Sometimes there were weeks in which less happened to me. Come to think of it, the whole day had been anything but normal, even for my standards. First there had been then intestines at our door and the conversation with the butcher and his wife, followed by meeting Meg, getting married to Christine and going to the opera. The afternoon had been even more peculiar. Signora Marchesi had decided to be friendly to Philippe, Orpheus had decided to sing again, and Christine and I had decided to have what she had called ´our wedding evening´. Then I had taken Meg home, the accident had happened, and she and I had become friends. Maybe I even was in the process of becoming friends with her husband as well.
It was no wonder that by the time I arrived at the de Chagnys' entrance door, I was so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyelids from drooping. I had found a place for the horse in the stable. Yet unlike me, it had been wide awake, neighing impatiently and demanding to be fed. Naturally, the other horses had wanted something as well, so that I wasn't only tired now, but my trousers and cloak were covered in bits of hay. If I was lucky, I'd be able to clean myself before seeing Christine.
Knocking at the door, I tried to brush off at least the biggest pieces of hay from my cloak. My hope not to meet Christine yet was shattered when she opened the door. Yet she didn't seem to care about what I looked like. She flung her arms around me and pulled me into a tight embrace. Perhaps I should have scolded her for opening the door just like that, but I couldn't bring myself to doing it. Besides, I was to blame as well. I had been so exhausted that I had forgotten to use the back door.
"Oh Erik," she whispered when she released me again after a few moments. "I was so worried about you."
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I came back as fast as I could, but Meg's husband was so talkative, and I couldn't just – "
"Oh, never mind that," she muttered. "I was worried because of the accident."
I frowned.
"How can you know about that?" I asked her. It was true that news travelled fast in the streets of Paris, but usually it didn't work quite as well at night, when most people were at home.
"It was pure coincidence that we heard of it at all," she replied. "You see, Gabriel's brother happened to come home from work when the accident took place, right in front of him. Of course he tried to help, and afterwards he came here to tell his brother about it. He had recognised the coach as ours and wanted to let us know. Yet he had no idea who had been involved in the accident. He said he only saw a man on the ground, then he cared for the horse. I was so afraid that man could have been you…"
Slowly, everything started to make sense. I thought of the man who had helped the horse, who had barely looked up at me. Of course he hadn't seen that I hadn't been involved in the accident.
"It was Meg's coachman," I informed her. "But he wasn't hurt badly. She could take him home right after a doctor we had called had examined him. He'll be fine."
"Thank goodness," she exclaimed with a sigh. "And what kind of accident was it? Did he lose control over the coach and collide with something? Or did he run over a stray animal? Or was it… Oh Erik, please tell me it was not another attack!" She looked at me anxiously. The fear in her eyes showed me that she already suspected something.
I hated the thought of having to make her even more scared than she already was, but I couldn't lie to her either. She deserved the truth.
"Yes, I'm fairly sure it was a new attack," I replied. She inhaled sharply, but I forced myself to go on. "Two wheels of the coach fell off at the same time, without apparent reason. It can't have been a coincidence. I suspect that someone sneaked into the stable while nobody else was there and loosened the wheels, so that they'd fall off after a certain time of driving. It all worked very well."
"Except for the fact that we were not in the coach at all," Christine added. "Surely Meg's coachman wasn't the target, was he? He just had the bad luck to drive our coach."
"Precisely," I agreed. "It wasn't a very specific attack. The person planning it could neither know when the coach would be needed next nor who'd be in it. It was a high risk for dubious success."
"And what does that tell you?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "It's possible that they're getting nervous or impatient about not having had a lot of success yet. Or else this attack wasn't very important, so they didn't plan it carefully." I stopped, realising that speculations would get us nowhere. What we needed were facts. Unfortunately those were rare.
"Christine, have you ever heard of Estella Piqué?" I wanted to know.
"Estella… Estella…" she murmured, her face screwed up in concentration. "Isn't she a chorus girl? I think Meg must have mentioned her a few times… Why?" She looked up at me with barely hidden curiosity. "Does she have something to do with the attacks?"
"I'll tell you in a moment," I promised. "What do you know about her?"
"Well, Meg doesn't like her," she replied. "And she doesn't like Meg. As far as I know, it has always been like that, right from the day when Estella came to the opera. Meg does the warm up for the dancers every now and then, when her mother isn't around, because she's the one who can do it best. But Estella doesn't listen to her. She tries to undermine her authority by saying she wasn't a good enough dancer. It really gets on Meg's nerves."
"I see," I muttered absently. Apparently Estella was one of the girls who wanted to make my new friend leave the opera. That was most interesting indeed. So even if she wasn't involved in the attacks, talking to her would be a good idea.
When I didn't go on, Christine asked:
"Could you please tell me what's going on? Since when are you interested in the chours girls again?".
In a few sentences I told her what Meg and I had discussed on the journey. I outlined both suspicions I had about Estella.
"That's why I've decided to meet her tomorrow morning," I finished. "If she really wants to try to seduce me, she's free to do so."
"Do you think that's a good idea?" Christine wanted to know with a frown.
"Well, yes," I answered. "I know, you're worried about who'll protect you while I'll be at the opera, but that won't be a problem. I'll walk there, so both Gabriel and Jacques will stay in the house. Besides, I won't be gone for long. One or two hours, then I'll be back. We won't have more time anyway, since Meg's husband invited us to lunch."
"That's very nice of him, but none of it is what I'm worried about," she corrected me. "Of course you can leave us alone for a while at day-time. But… Estella…"
"I'm certain she won't try to harm me in any way," I said casually. "I heard that she's a little stupid, but she cannot be that stupid."
"No, but… she's pretty," Christine whispered. "Meg told me that she has a lot of charm and thinks she can have every man she wants."
"Then I'll be the first one she won't have," I declared flatly. Quickly I took her hands in mine. "Christine, I belong to you," I told her seriously. "My heart, my soul, my body – everything. I'd never dream of giving any of it to someone else."
The frown vanished from her face, and a somewhat playful smile appeared.
"That's good to know, Monsieur," she said. "But are you willing to prove it to me upstairs?"
"I'm right behind you, Madame," I gave back. For some reason I wasn't feeling tired anymore.