In retrospect, the Vicomte de Agrican had been a delight; his father the Comte suffered no delusions that a monster's daughter was a suitable prospect for his son. As soon as I beheld the man's reaction to me I understood that we were allies; I could have done no better than a man who wanted his son as far away from my daughter as I did. Still, it was bizarre; I'd forgotten that in the Real World, I was not considered fit human company, and apparently neither were my children. However, I bit my tongue if it meant he'd rein in Etienne.
I went in search of Christine when I returned home, but one day of domestic drama had proved too much for her. She'd returned to her routine and was back in Paris with her girls.
Reza and Christine were dozing in the sun when I invaded.
"Wake up. My life is falling apart and you're sleeping through it," I grumbled.
"I can't stay awake for all your crises; what is it now?"
"I've just been with the Comte de Agrican. We agree our children should not be seeing each other, but to hear him tell it my Miri-ange is a gargoyle. Bastard; I wish I'd brought my rope."
"Brought your rope indeed," he snorted. "I'm more frightened of this geriatric cat."
"No respect, even in my own home."
"You want respect? Get a dog, old friend."
"I wish Raoul could see you thus. He still imagines you're a benign old man."
"So, is it accomplished with Miri-ange?"
"Mm, except she's taken to calling her mother a hypocrite," I worried.
That caught Reza's attention, and he hoisted himself upright. "She called Christine a hypocrite?"
I nodded. "I suppose it's bound to be distressing when one first realizes that parents are people."
"But…she called Christine a hypocrite?" Reza was stuck on the idea.
I shrugged. "Christine was trying to explain about reputation. Reputation, to a fourteen year old girl who was raised by France's most rabid suffragette. I admit sometimes I think Christine's gone right round the bend. So, chip off the old maternal block, Miri-ange suggests that if there ever was a good name to be worried about, Christine did it in by--well, you remember. Now Christine's simply crushed, thinks Miri-ange hates her." Not surprisingly, I discovered my headache had returned. "Mother and daughter screeching at each other. How did I come to be in the middle of this, Daroga?" I sighed.
"I'll explain it all to you when you're older. For now, suffice it to say that when an Opera Ghost and a diva love each other very, very much…"
-0-0-0-0-
I was feeling a right creature when Christine and her tarts finally sashayed in; a better man would have bit his tongue, but I'd already done the tongue biting for the day. Christine glanced around the ruined kitchen as her smile grew stale.
"Erik, what is wrong here?"
I had no time; I was juggling lemonade. "What, am I supposed to fix you supper, too? Get your whores to scrounge a meal!"
"Erik! I beg your–"
"No, I beg your pardon, Madame: my three–no, four--youngest are in bed with fever, likewise Bertrand and Erik next door. Let me by," I snapped.
She scrambled upstairs behind me. "What's happened?"
"I don't know, Christine. Sofie no sooner finished lunch than she brought it back up. Within a couple of hours, Jeanette and the musketeers were sick. Anci is busy with Bilqis and Amani, so there you have it. Half the children are ill, all the little ones, and just before you arrived, Carmen took to bed." I slipped Gustave onto my lap and rocked his damp, limp body.
"Has the doctor been?"
"Been and gone. No help as usual," I complained.
"We have servants," she reminded me.
I glared at her, frazzled. "I can't leave my sick babies to hired help, Christine."
"My ears hurt," Gustave breathed. I settled him back into bed.
"I know just the thing," I whispered against his forehead. "I'll be right back." He nodded weakly.
Christine followed me from the room. "Erik, all I mean to say is it might be best if you stayed clear of them. You're–"
"Someone has to look after them, Christine. Who else is there but me? You? You're too worried about strangers to sit home and care for your own–"
"How can you say that?" she demanded.
"Easy; it's true. The only one you bothered to mother was Masson. Will you get out of my way? I need to see to Gustave."
"I don't have to listen to this. Go on and get yourself sick, you stubborn old jackass," she called, exiting the kitchen.
"Bitch," I mumbled, but not quietly enough. A second later she was thwacking and kicking me. She landed a couple of good stinging blows before I subdued her.
"I don't have time for this, Lady, but you'd better stop, because I'd love to crack you right back."
"You take it back! I'm not a bad mother!" She flailed and sniffled.
"I didn't say you're a bad mother. I said you're an absent mother. Now," I shoved her away, "excuse me."
The illness took a month to run its full course. In a week, the little ones were listless and hollow-eyed, but at least their fevers had broken. Their appetites returned too slowly for my liking, and until they were up and playing again I felt as though I barely slept. We learned that much of France had been affected. Some claimed it was an influenza that preyed on children alone, but I couldn't believe that.
When all was done, Gustave was the only one who was the worse for wear. He couldn't hear anything in his left ear, and he described the right as 'buzzy'. Still, the boy was as cheerful as ever. He wasn't much for having to practice music anyway, so maybe he considered it a gift. Being young boys, his partners in crime shouted at him routinely, and his balance was undamaged so he could still climb into the tree fort. All said, he handled it much better than I.
I dragged him to every specialist in Paris, and they all agreed on two things: 1, they didn't know how much hearing would return to his right ear; 2, likely there would be no improvement to the left. Give it time, they said. Can any of these men possibly be fathers?
Christine and I circled each other like wary tomcats while I made my exhausted way back to a normal schedule of eating proper meals and sleeping in a proper bed. I slipped into bed wordlessly while she was still reading one evening.
"Are you alright?"
I sighed. She set her book aside and snuggled up behind me.
"Christine, I'm sorry–"
"I know; it's past."
I sighed again.
"It's not your fault, it's no one's fault," she reminded me. "You've run yourself and Gustave ragged searching all these long weeks--months. You're tired; rest. He's alright, Erik."
"I can't believe he's alright if he can't hear his mother's voice."
"He will be alright," she squeezed me, "if you let him be so. It is hard on your children when the Black Dog follows you around. Why don't you spend a regular day with him, Erik? No doctors poking, no fretful looks; just be his Papa again. We all need you back."
"I've been--"
"A cave-dweller," she assured me.
My wife was right, I'd been an ogre. I first had to convince poor Gustave that it was not for him to apologize for having fallen ill. Once that was past, we took up archery together. It was great fun, once I made it clear to Gustave that we would not be pointing at anything that could run, slither, crawl, fly, swim or otherwise move away; in short, inanimate targets or nothing.
"Aw, Papa, you're no fun. Don't you even want to try and shoot a fish?"
"A fish?" I gasped, horrified. "Why?"
"You don't want to hunt anything?"
"Ah, no."
"You used to, right? Hunt? Before you got old?"
Lovely. "Actually, no Gustave, I've never been much for killing little creatures," I admitted. My son looked at me as if I'd just admitted to wearing lacy bloomers.
The largest challenge associated with our new hobby was keeping Sofie out of the way. Anything Gustave did was tops on her list, and pointed sticks; well, what self-respecting child will refuse a good pointed stick? She got a hiding the first day out when she bit me; nothing serious, just a general temper tantrum. Even with Sofie's crisis, it was a pleasant afternoon–so naturally something had to foul it up.
At supper, Carmen discovered that we intended to setup a proper archery range; she insisted on being allowed to join in. Carmen fancies herself another Artemis, but Gustave was sure a female with a bow and arrow was against the fundamental order of the universe.
"I don't know, Gustave," Masson mused. "I think it sounds–" Dual death stares from Christine and me reminded him to self-censor–"um, charming."
"I'm not doing it anymore if SHE gets to do it with us," Gustave threatened.
"Perhaps we'll have to do it another time, Carmen," I smiled.
"ME TOO!" Sofie insisted.
"When you're older, Pickle, hm?"
"NO!"
"Sofie." I gave her my best Do You Remember This Afternoon smile.
"Erik, I'm not sure archery is appropriate for girls," Christine worried.
"Mama!" Carmen was no less surprised than I.
"Well, do you want to get big broad shoulders like Masson?" Christine demanded.
"You know, Angel, sometimes I think you're trying to shock me to my eternal reward."
"What does that mean?"
"Just that if I said archery is inappropriate for girls, you'd have my head."
"Forgive me if I don't want my girls growing up to look like farm hands," Christine snipped. She dropped her napkin and excused herself. I winced as I watched her go; since she and Miri-ange had quarreled, Christine was so prickly. Sometimes I had to grovel to assure her that I'd in no way meant to imply she was inconsistent. Likely this evening would be a groveling evening.
Miri-ange, still dying of love, pushed her food around sullenly. "I told you she's a hyp–"
"Thank you; you're excused, Mirielle."
That looked like supper was breaking up; Masson bolted.
"I'm going to the city."
I raised a silent eyebrow to learn when he'd return. He sidled up close and glanced around. "I'm not sure. Definitely I will be at rehearsal tomorrow afternoon," he rushed to add.
"Well, thank you for joining us," I bowed, heading for a smoke.
"This one's–"
"Different," I finished.
"She is," the lion grumbled.
"If she was really different you'd be back by midnight," I called after him.
-0-0-0-0-
"Papa?"
"Miri-ange; come in," I smiled. She'd barely sat when she was crying.
"I still miss Etienne, Papa; you said to give it time, but it hasn't helped!"
"Miri-ange, I know a few months seem like forever, but I was actually speaking…in terms of years," I admitted. Already I had no stomach for this conversation. How could I tell her that all would be well? Had I ever gotten over Christine? Would I ever have? Do parents lie outright to their children?
Likely it was a first infatuation, but what if it wasn't? Doesn't absence make the heart grow fonder? But what could I do if keeping them apart was a bad idea?
"Papa, please if you'd just–"
"Miri-ange, I am powerless in this; you know it. Your Mother and I agree that you're too young, and after all, Etienne's family wants…something different for him." I didn't want to confess to her that Etienne was being actively encouraged to move on, but perhaps it was best if she was divested of false hope.
"Something different?" Her brimming eyes were huge with disbelief.
"They want a noble girl, Miri-ange. You understand; I'm sorry, but I'm no one."
She shook her head wildly. "No, he doesn't want a noble girl!"
"Of course not, but it's different for nobility. They can't choose–"
"He can!" she cried. "Oh, why did you have to ruin everything? Of course they're forbidding him! They probably think I look like you!"