(…Eleven years later…)
"OW! You fiend." I shoved Christine away. After so many years together, we'd arrived at an understanding whereby we could nap in a sunbeam together, but occasionally he still enjoyed sticking his hooks into what little flesh I have. He hissed at me before settling warily alongside.
I dozed for another moment, trying to motivate. At the very least I needed to check my watch…later.
"Papa?" Miri-ange scooted between me and Christine. The cat flicked his tail irritably.
I slid upright and accepted my baby princess from my big princess.
"How does a girl know if a gentleman's attentions are sincere?"
I almost keeled over. I shot a quick glance at Sofie, but she was wholly occupied in fishing chocolate from my pocket. I cleared my throat.
"Well, there are a number of ways for a young lady to gauge a gentleman's sincerity, Angel. But, since you are my daughter, and only fourteen, the answer is: It is impossible to know." I smiled. "Ask me again in, oh, ten years."
"Papa! In ten years I shall be a spinster."
"You'll be a spinster the day after Masson takes Holy Orders. Who is this roué of whom you speak?"
Miri-ange was saved by the charge of the French cavalry down the stairs, at least it sounded like it. It was actually Gustave, Bertrand and Erik running from sudden death at the hands of Carmen and Madeleine. They'd barely scrambled to their feet when they were protesting their innocence. They blanched when Carmen stormed into the conservatory.
"They were in my room again! No excuses this time, Papa! If you don't beat them I'll tell Mama what a mess you make of it whenever she leaves you in charge!" Her mother's daughter, through and through.
"Carmen, darling, I can't beat Bertrand; he's a vicomte, and Erik is…a vicomte's brother."
"You can beat Gustave!" I was pretty sure Gustave was mine. Sometimes I have to think. Gustave…Christine's father's name; yes. I could beat him.
"It wasn't my idea!" Gustave whined.
I creaked to my feet and shifted the cherub onto my aching hip. I checked my watch as Carmen silently demanded action. Two in the afternoon; egad. I handed Sofie over to Carmen.
"I'm sorry, the beating will have to wait; has anyone seen Masson?"
I was halfway upstairs when Masson skittered to a halt on the landing. He was wearing a bed sheet.
"Is Mother home already?" he breathed.
"No; but it is two in the afternoon, and I am expected to rehearse you," I replied drily. "Tell me you didn't really sleep all day."
"No. I've been awake…awhile."
"Ah. In that case, please tell the, ahem, young lady it's time she went home."
"Yes, Papa."
"Of course, you'll see her out without exposing any of the children to your escapades."
"Yes, Papa."
I turned to make my way to the music room. "Oh, and Masson?"
"Yes, Papa." He peered at me over the railing.
"No seconds. I expect you in ten minutes."
He grumbled a final Yes, Papa and scooted back to his damsel du jour.
-0-0-0-0-
Jeanette was practicing when I came into the music room. She is my studious one, and she has an excellent ear. I gave her a kiss and a chocolate.
"Masson is coming to rehearse; you may join us if you like."
She shook her head. "Are we going to the concert tonight?" she asked.
"I would be happy to escort you, Mademoiselle." She nodded and skipped upstairs as her brother clattered down.
"Sorry, Papa."
I give him my best No You're Not look. "Son, why do you insist on bringing these girls here? Have the assignation somewhere at the concert hall, or—"
"I couldn't this time."
"Just let's rehearse. I don't want to hear anymore."
"You won't tell Mother."
"We have this identical conversation every time, Masson. You rely far too heavily on my generous nature."
We did a quick run through, and I was able to release Masson within the hour. "Right, you're free, but please try to keep your trousers on for five hours, hm?"
He bolted away.
"Erik!" Christine glided downstairs surrounded by various offspring, pleading their various cases. Miri-ange felt she should be able to attend the social hour after the concert. Carmen was snitching that they boys had been in her room and I had done nothing about it, and of course Gustave was still protesting that it had been Bertrand and Erik's idea.
My Angel ignored the chicks' squawking as best she could and kissed me hello.
"How goes the crusade today?"
"I had to bring two girls home," she smiled weakly. I groaned. "Erik, the man—their 'protector'—" she spat, "beat them so badly, the younger nearly died last time they tried to escape him."
I nodded. In fairness to Christine, it had been almost two months since she'd brought any prostitutes home. She had an entire reformed cat house in Paris, but sometimes it wasn't possible for the girls to go there. The men often resented losing their meal tickets and went to great lengths to get them back when Christine took them in to show them that another life was possible. I couldn't complain, because in a way this crusade was my fault for mentioning that I wanted to rent a girl once, long ago. I remember the exact conversation; we'd just had a breathtaking reconciliation.
"Erik…were you really going to buy a woman?"
"No, Darling; I was merely going to rent one." That earned me a well-deserved smack.
"Seriously, Erik."
"I am serious. How else would you expect me to ease nature? I don't want to woo anyone; I'm certainly not interested in making love with anyone but you."
"Well," she huffed, "I think prostitution is a horrid, evil thing."
And well you may do, I thought, until you have a horrid, evil thing in your trousers giving you the devil. All I said was "Hm."
"What does that mean?"
"Oh no. Don't you go all Women's Rights on me now." I attacked her neck with kisses. She surrendered easily.
"We'll discuss it later," she whispered. I chuckled; she always has to get the last word.
That was all it took for her to decide that she was single-handedly responsible for eradicating prostitution in Paris (at least).
Christine read everything ever written about prostitution and began a correspondence with John Stuart Mill while raising the babies. I composed and tutored Masson on violin until he began composing at seven, when we decided we'd been at the beach long enough; Masson needed an orchestra to rehearse with. Raoul gave us a chunk of Chagny to build on. Thus we began something Christine called 'cooperative child-rearing'. The practical result of cooperative child-rearing is that a man can never really be sure which of the children swinging from the chandelier are his. Sometimes all ten were here, sometimes all ten were there. My three-year-old wanders from house to house, almost at will.
-0-0-0-0-
"Wake up, old man. You only got out of bed two hours ago and you're sleeping again."
"I'm resting my eyes in the sun." Reza replied.
"You're such a liar," I chuckled.
"Hm?"
"I SAID, YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR! YOU'RE DEAF AS A POST!" I hollered.
"And you're as ugly as ever."
I plucked his fez off and kissed his bald head.
"What is new, old man?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Well, you know about the two new tarts; the concert was wonderful; Masson had a girl in his room yesterday morning; and Miri-ange thinks she is going to be a spinster."
"It sounds like a normal day," he nodded. "Christine doesn't know about the girl?"
"No, no, no. She would have killed me if I hadn't killed him."
"Miri-ange fears she will be a spinster?"
"She asked me how she can tell if a gentleman is sincere."
"How would you know? Since when have you ever been sincere?"
"Daroga. How many decades have I been putting up with you?"
He thought about it awhile. "Four, almost five, I think," he smiled.
"Why?"
Raoul interrupted our daily curmudgeon-fest."Gentlemen," he beamed.
"Where is our wife?" I asked.
"I haven't seen her today; why?"
"I thought that we might take the ladies into the city this evening."
"Box 5?" Raoul asked.