September 18th 1892: Christine
After I had walked through every corridor on the first floor twice and sat in a corner for a few minutes to calm down, I was ready to go back to the bathroom. Well, maybe I wasn't completely ready, but at least I no longer felt as if I'd burst into tears any moment. I had suppressed everything I had heard of the conversation between Raoul and Jean. The memory was now at the back of my mind, right next to the ones of the argument with Raoul and the fire. I thought wryly that if I'd have to suppress anything more today, my head would probably explode.
Since I had enough of listening at doors and overhearing conversations, I knocked loudly instead of simply walking in. If anyone was just discussing me, they'd still have time to stop.
"It's me," I called, just as loudly. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," a female voice answered. It wasn't Mme.Giry, but Meg. Apparently she had found her way back faster than I had. I could count myself lucky that I hadn't met her in the corridor.
As I opened the door, I saw the two women next to the bathtub, each of them washing a child. Since she had some difficulties with her back, Mme.Giry was sitting on a low stool, helping her godchild. Meg was busy with Philippe, who was squirming.
"Maman!" he called when he saw me, beaming. "Finally! You've been away so long."
I tried my best to ignore Meg's slightly accusing glance and focused on my son. They were both right, of course. I had said that I would only be gone for a few minutes, but it had taken me much longer to come back. Once more, I had put my own well-being over my children's.
"It's good that you're here at last," Meg stressed. "I tried to help Philippe, but he didn't want me to. According to him, you're the only one who can do it quite right."
"Maman or Papa," the boy corrected her as she moved aside and I took her place. "They both do it right, but Papa isn't home very often when I take a bath. Where is he now, Maman? And when will he come here?"
"Your father is busy at the moment," I explained, putting a lot of effort into sounding friendly as I talked about Raoul, although I didn't feel like it. "He's probably washing himself and putting on new clothes, just like you do. But I'm sure he'll be there when you go to bed." Personally, I didn't care whether Raoul was here or on the other side of the world, but I knew things were different for the children. After all, they hadn't argued with him.
"Go to bed?" Antoinette echoed. "Surely we don't have to go to bed already. It's much too early, and I'm not tired at all. Please, Maman…"
She threw me a pleading glance, yet since I had seen them about a thousand times before, I was more or less immune to them.
"Of course you'll go to bed once you'll be fresh and clean," I said calmly. "It's already much later than your usual bed-time. You must be tired."
"No, I'm…" The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a huge yawn. I smiled.
"Think of how nice it'll be to sleep here," Meg added. "You'll each have a big bed to yourself in your room. I'm sure you'll like it. It also has a wonderful view."
"I'll have to share a room with him?" Antoinette asked, making it sound as if her brother were a slimy slug.
I opened my mouth to tell her not to be that unfriendly, but Meg was faster.
"Yes," she replied evenly. "And you'll have so much fun talking when the lights are out. You wouldn't be able to do that in two separate rooms."
Seeing that his sister still looked far from convinced, Philippe went on:
"And Uncle Erik will come and tell us a bed-time story, just like he did before, won't he, Maman?".
"I don't know," I answered truthfully, even though I hated wiping the hopeful smile off his face. "Uncle Erik didn't say when he'll be here. Your father and I will be with you."
"But you can't tell stories like Uncle Erik," Philippe muttered, pouting. "He told me lots of stories when I was staying with him. He's the best story-teller in the world."
"We'll just have to wait and see whether he'll make it in time," I told him, smiling about the sparkle in his eyes that appeared there every time Uncle Erik was mentioned. "If he doesn't, I'm sure he'll tell you a story tomorrow."
My son still pouted a little, but he nodded reluctantly. Antoinette didn't say anything. That in itself was something unusual, but I blamed the fact that she was just talking to Mme.Giry and had maybe not heard us. I seized the sponge and washed Philippe quickly, since the water was getting cold. Then Meg and I lifted the children out of the bathtub and dried them with the fluffy white towels Mme.Giry gave us.
On the first glance, the little ones looked better, now that the dirt had gone, but in a way, it was even worse. The cuts and bruises stood out more clearly on the pale pink flesh. We spent another quarter of an hour dabbing salve on every injury. The doctor had already done so, but I insisted in repeating it, just to be certain I had done everything I could to make them comfortable.
When we were finished, we dressed the children in their new clothes. It turned out that the summer dress Meg had found for Antoinette was just right as a nightdress. It didn't have any buttons that could be uncomfortable at night, just a ribbon at the back, which we decided to leave open. The girl admired herself in the mirror for a long time, while I was helping Philippe with Jean's shirt, which Meg had given to me. It seemed that she had fetched it before coming to the bathroom.
I smiled as I looked at my son. Even with the sleeved rolled up to half their usual length, his hands nearly vanished under the fabric. The shirt came down to his knees, which gave him the appearance of a little white ghost.
"I'm much prettier than you," Antoinette remarked, turning around on the spot, so that we could see her from all sides.
"Well, I don't know," Meg said. "I think Philippe looks very nice as well. The two of you remind me of the times when I sneaked into my parents' bedroom and tried all their clothes…"
"…and left quite the chaos behind," Mme.Giry added sternly, but she was smiling as well.
Meg looked down and laid a hand on her belly. I knew the gesture only too well. She always did this when she thought of how sorry she was that she didn't have any children of her own. Pity welled up inside me, and for a moment, I regretted our argument.
I pulled myself together quickly, though, before anyone could notice it.
"We should better get you to bed now," I said. "Which bedroom have you given them, Meg?"
"I thought they could take the one right at the end of the corridor," she replied. Her hand was still resting on her belly, but the dreamy expression on her face had vanished. "There's a bigger bedroom next to it, and a door between the two rooms."
I nodded. I had a vague idea which rooms she was talking about. Antoinette seemed to have protested enough about being sent to bed, for she didn't make any further comment on the topic as we led the children away.
The door to their room stood open, and I could see that the beds were freshly made with sheets of crisp white linen. A lamp on the table was spreading an inviting light. It was obvious that the children liked the room as well, because they went inside and lay down at once. Antoinette didn't even argue about which bed she wanted to have.
I went inside last and was just about to close the door when someone seized the doorhandle from the outside and pulled. I let go of it at once and looked over my shoulder to see who was there.
"Can I come in as well?" Raoul asked, looking at me a little nervously.
"Of course," I replied stiffly, taking a step sideways. "They're your children, too."
So Raoul entered the room as well, before I finally closed the door.
"Papa!" the children cried from their beds, and Raoul went over to greet them. I watched them, heaving a sigh. They looked very happy together, and I wondered why I couldn't simply join them.
"Have you see Uncle Erik, Papa?" Philippe asked, as if to give the answer to my question. Erik was the reason why I couldn't join them. Too much had happened.
"No, I haven't," Raoul replied. I could practically see the muscles in his back grow tense as he straightened up. "But I'm sure we'll get along perfectly well without him… at least most of us." He looked over his shoulder and threw me a pointed glance.
"I want to hear a story," Philippe said, pouting again.
"And a story you'll get," a voice behind me assured him gently.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. There was just one person who had a voice that made me break out in gooseflesh and just one person who could enter a room witout anyone hearing it. Erik was here at last.
Walking over to the children, he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, and I shivered with delight. How could such a small caress express so much affection?
"Which story do you want to hear?" he asked. "Do you have a particular one in mind?"
"Yes," Antoinette called instantly, sounding a little breathless, but determined. "I want to hear the story of what's under your mask. You said you'd tell us tonight, and now is tonight. So?"