Dear Faithfuls: This will very likely be the last update until next Wednesday 12/28/05. If by some miracle I am able to make my way to a computer with internet, I will try to post a little something for Christmas. I do not want to promise what I cannot be assured I can deliver. I wish for you a blessed, safe, and happy holiday! I want you all to know, dear Phamily, that you have been the answer to my deepest Christmas wish…from the holiday last year….I asked for some sign of whether I would ever be able to write anything anyone would even want to read...for I'd felt drawn to it for a long while. It has been a great pleasure to have been able to author this story, and share a dream of mine with all of you. So, thank you…from the bottom of my heart! Merry Christmas!
Nadir mounted the veranda that led into the house. He'd seen the young man, JP, on his way back to Paris. His note, addressed for delivery to Monsieur Courtland secured beneath the boy's cloak and jacket. JP had a bit of coffee and the roll that had been given him, though he had seemed more interested in doing his duty than socializing with any of those in Raoul's employ. He'd been exceedingly loyal to Monsieur Courtland. Nadir thought it would certainly please him if Erik knew of it.
As Nadir reached for the door a large drop of icy water brushed his forehead on its way to the earth. Nadir smiled, dabbing at his brow. Though the warming temperatures would make travel by sleigh more challenging, he'd not miss the snow, and he so looked forward to once more walking the gardens at Courtland Manor. Erik had mentioned it twice in his note, his indication to Nadir that it was important, and that he'd no intentions for whatever reason, of staying any longer at the winter house. What had prompted this change of heart, Nadir knew not. It would be among a hundred other questions he'd wish to ask Erik when he saw him. His heart swelled. He had missed his friend, and the thought of the five of them once again being in the same room, the core of what felt like family to him now, was a blushing thought…it would do them all so very much good.
Nadir walked into the small entry way at the back of the house, carefully wiping his feet. He'd no want to make extra work for the Raoul's staff, especially since they'd be rallied by the carriage master in a few moments to make preparations, if however modest, for the three of them to travel into Paris.
Nadir marveled at what a happy atmosphere had overtaken the house. There was all manner of discussion of Raoul's heroic efforts, and of the joy that would soon arrive in Paris of the news of Crawlings death. The only truly unhappy staff were the one's who'd been displaced to allow for the storage of Crawlings body. And they, in Nadir's opinion, had reason for complaint.
There had been some healthy discussion over the idea of sending the prepared body into Paris with Meg and Madame Giry, but Nadir had squashed the idea nearly from the first. There was something altogether unsettling about having that body behind them on the sleigh. He'd not been a believer in omens, but it still felt a bit sinisterly awkward. They'd dispatch the sleigh once more when they returned from Paris. It had ultimately been the carriage master's call, and he had made it with little reservation.
The hallway was warm and the sunlight spilling in through every window of every room gave the house a spring-like glow. If one did not look outside at the heaps and mounds of snow, one would have comfortably felt that spring was in full bloom, and thoughts of sultry summer nights spent sipping lemonade on the veranda were not far off.
Nadir looked up hearing a bit of hushed chatter to see Meg and Madame Giry coming down the stairs. To him, it was a site to behold. In that flash of a moment he could imagine them, all one happy family…coming together for a celebration of some sort or another. Meg was dressed in a chiffon yellow taffeta dress, her hair braided and perched on her head like a crown, soft tendrils running down each side of her neck. With the exception of the raised deep pink line on her cheek, irritation from having the stitches removed, she was perfect. Madame Giry was as always, herself in manner and dress. She'd be returning to the Opera House for a visit, and for all eyes that would lay upon her for the first time in several months, she would not have them mistaking her for anything less than the woman who'd left. She was and would always be a ballet mistress, prim and proper.
Meg caught Nadir out of the corner of her eye. She went to him immediately embracing him as though she'd not seen him in a long while. "Oh Nadir," she whispered, "Raoul is well…much better to see that he slumbers, and that the gash is not too large. Though he rests, he breathes well, his skin is warm to the touch, and he is in the most capable hands. I dare say the doctor loves him as much as if he were his own son. Though I shan't want to leave him, as he had not thought to leave my side, I know that he must rest. And truly, if I were to stay in this house, I know that even the doctor shan't keep me from him. It is best that we've a distraction for the afternoon." She leaned in hugging Nadir once more. "I can barely stand to wait Nadir…to see them again…to learn of all that has happened. I've missed them desperately."
Nadir smiled at Meg, putting his finger under her chin, "mon cheri, it shan't be long, do not worry." He turned taking Madame Giry's hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles, "Madame."
Meg was smiling though she furrowed her brow. She looked back and forth between them. She'd been silent far too long. Perhaps it was her giddy anticipation, her nerves at leaving Raoul behind for the afternoon, but whatever it was she felt much more forward than she had, and did not think before she blurted out what she'd been thinking for weeks.
"Nadir, mother and I call you, with great fondness by your first name, and though I'm certain you've some title or another, you permit us to do so. You address me by my first name, in lieu of using the more formal mademoiselle, why is it, though you and my mother are obviously most fond of one another, that you do not call her by Antoinette?" Nadir's face went ashen, her mother's went white.
"Meg, your words are most forward and rude, you've no place to questions a gentleman's manners. He may use whatever respectful title he…" Madame Giry's cheeks had grown warm, and even now were flushing a deep crimson as she felt Nadir's eyes upon her. She glanced over, and into the warmth of his gaze. He had become much more than a friend, and truly she longed for it to be so, though her mind fought against her heart at every turn.
Nadir smiled at her, not the smile of a casual friend, but of one with whom she'd shared much. He glanced at Meg. "My dearest Meg. I do so love hearing you use my name, and yes, though I am titled, I prefer not to be known by those I feel closest to, as the Lord of this, or the Barron of that. To those I care for, I prefer to be known as simply Nadir, and nothing more. It is not improper that I use the title for your mother Meg, it is one that suits her, one that she's earned and is most deserving of that respect. If she prefers it, for the sake of her standing within this house, and indeed the Opera Populaire, then I feel obliged to use it." He smiled at Meg, then glanced at Madame Giry. "The name is merely a label, nothing more, it does not diminish my affections for her."
Madame Giry's face was as scarlet as she'd ever felt it. To hear his words, to see her daughter's encouragement, and know of her thoughts and wishes for her mother to be happy, was nearly more than she could take in. She so wanted to throw all caution to the wind and embrace a life that would bring her much happiness…but it would not be so…not as long as they both had duty and obligation. She looked at Nadir, a reply of some sort was necessary for such a compliment, but she'd not been able to breathe, let alone speak. She was blinking, trying to form some coherent statement , the three of them standing in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs. Madame Giry was just about to reply when the door at the end of the hall leading out onto the veranda opened.
The carriage master entered, nodding to Nadir, and ducking into the kitchen. They could hear him explaining his intentions to the staff. The three stood looking at one another.
In but a moment's time the carriage master was out once more in the hall, making his way toward them.
"Nadir, the sleigh is being prepared, the kitchen alerted." He pulled his watch from his pocket. "Within the half-hour all will be readied." He closed his watch, slipping it back into his pocket. "I might suggest that the three of you prepare to depart." He looked Meg and Madame Giry over just briefly, assessing they'd nothing more to do but done their hat and cloak. "I've asked the kitchen to prepare a bit of tea and a few sandwiches for you before we depart, perhaps you'd like to retire to the parlor and await news of the departure?" He glanced at Nadir.
Nadir was nodding. "Thank you, very well, we shall wait in the parlor."
The carriage master nodded in return, "ladies, if you'll excuse me." He bowed his head slightly.
Madame Giry nodded in return. The carriage master turned and departed.
Nadir extended his arms to Meg and Madame Giry. "Come let us await word. I should think that the two of you should be most ready for a light lunch hmmm?"
Meg was shaking her head. She'd had a rather large breakfast, but if the tray contained cucumber and dill sandwiches, she'd be making a bit of room for them, for they were her favorite.
Nadir turned his back on the door at the end of the hall, escorting the two women to the parlor. In a half-hour's time they'd be on their way to Paris, and a reunion that would certainly bring all manner of emotion….laughter, tears, but most importantly relief. Relief that they could all share together once more, in utter openness, and freely, for the place that they would venture, would be private or Erik would not have selected it. Oh how he wished for such a place for them all to be, but he knew it may very well be the last time that they could share so freely with one another without having to employ pseudo names or put on pretenses. He smiled, it would be a good day indeed.
XXXXX
The sleigh had been drawn to the back of the Inn. The doctor had made arrangements to accompany Nicole and her mother to the undertakers. He waited patiently at a small table normally reserved for carriage drivers just inside the door leading to the courtyard in the rear.
He'd been reading for a long while, the cup of tea he'd refilled several times. Great pains had been taken going through his old text books that he'd brought with him from school. In truth he knew all there was to know about the woman's affliction, but he'd want to re-read every detail, every thing he could possibly know about it once more. Refreshing one's knowledge was never unwise.
He read beneath his breath, "marked lethargy…decline in pulse and respiration…sallow skin tone…night sweats…loss of appetite." He closed the book, setting it down on the table, rubbing at his eyes. It was all there…the symptoms.
The next book he'd look for was the one that had been written about treatments both conventional and otherwise. Truly he believed wholeheartedly in the most modern of medicines, but he'd not been one, much to the chagrin of his professors, to turn his back on methods that were tried and true. There were many herbs and other natural things that provided much relief…and often those weren't talked about at school. A blending of the notes his grandfather had sent him about topics they'd been studying, and the newest texts that had been given at school, provided, what he believed to be a much more grounded approach to medicine.
Somewhere he knew he would find his grandfather's journals. The man had been exceptionally articulate, and taken scrupulous notes regarding patients, their treatment and the like. One of the last notes that he'd received from his grandfather before his death made reference to the numerous volumes that he'd written, and cataloged for his grandson. Yes, they would be historical medicine to be sure, a career that spanned more than four decades, but in them, he hoped to learn more about the man whom he loved dearly.
He stood, perhaps he'd refill his cup once more. The women couldn't possibly be too much longer, but then again, he'd never found himself in a situation where he'd had opportunity to wait for any, though he'd heard tale of it a time or two. He'd been far too busy with school, and the pursuit of knowledge to bother with such trifles, but now, he was certain, it would become part of his normal routine. He smiled, it was the first that he'd realized, it was just the beginning of what was certain to become a precious few months spent with two women that he'd come to know so quickly, yet felt like he'd known for years.
XXX
The winter house had been buzzing since Misty's return. The thought that Lady C would be paying a visit was the equivalent to the queen as far as they were concerned. The kitchen staff were busily polishing silver, and shining the finest china. The stables were being cleaned and ordered for the acceptance of what was certain to be a sleigh or carriage of magnificent size and splendor, depending upon the weather. The grounds were being tidied as best they could, a wide swath in the snow would be made, if it took the lot of them to do it. A normal lunch had not been prepared for the household, but a large kettle of soup and baskets of bread set out so that one could help themselves as their time permitted. It was a large undertaking, and they would rise to the occasion as best they could given what they had to work with. Had she been visiting Courtland Manor, it would have been far easier to provide a grand reception, but as it were at the winter house…it would be comfortable and presentable, but hardly representative of the man and woman who were masters of it.
The pair of senior cooks were pouring over the cookbooks, a bit of an argument breaking out about what sort of menu would be served. One wanted to use what they had on hand, the other insisted they send someone into the mercantile in Chauesser to retrieve a few finer things. In the end, they'd settled on a bit of each, as there was no way of knowing if the shelves at the market would be bare of the very items they'd needed.
Misty had flitted about the house, trying to surmise where this woman might go, and what she might see. Whatever would be within view would receive a twice-over. "Please, see to having the rugs battered." Misty said as she walked by the woman in the hall that was straightening them. The woman gave her a rather disgusted look. It was a long rug, running nearly the length of the hall. Beating it would be no small task.
Misty wandered back into the kitchen, lifting a bowl from the table next to the stove, dishing up a bit of soup. It had been since that morning that she'd even taken time to sit down. She'd been going from here and there making certain that everything would be taken care of. As she sat down with the soup, she felt a lump in her pocket. How careless she thought, the letter had been bent a bit. She rose from the table, excusing herself as she went off to put the envelope in the master bedroom. The note would be waiting there for them whenst they returned.
"That girl is a bit unnerving I tell you. She's parading around, behaving as if she was the head of the household and she's barely of age to be newly married herself! What right has she to be directing us to do this or that when she's been with the household not more than a year?" The one woman said to the other, glancing cautiously toward the doorway Misty had just departed. "She's being a bit brutish if you ask me, the neve of a young miss giving orders as she is…" The woman quieted as Misty returned to her chair.
"Now then, have the two of you yet decided on a menu?" Misty said as she dipped her spoon into her now cooled soup.
The two women looked at one another, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, we've decided, though we've need for a few provisions from the City. Do tell, will you be sending someone in for them?"
Misty hadn't thought of it, but it did make sense that they'd likely not have all that would be required for a small reception. "I suppose if we've need for something in particular…no, no, I think we shall make do with whatever we have on hand."
Misty's mind quickly working. Monsieur Courtland had carefully told her of the news of the events that had taken place, and of his wish to keep it all very much private. If she'd send anyone into the City, they could be barraged with questions that they'd not be able to answer, or learn of some gossip or another that they'd bring back to the house. "No, I think it best we use what we have. If the master returns and so directs us to procure or produce something that we do not have, it shall be his decision to send anyone further into the city." She looked most determinedly at the two women, she'd not be swayed.
The one woman had all she could bare. "What right have you to decide what we can and cannot do? It is in the best interest of Monsieur Courtland to put his best foot forward with Lady C., and I should think he would highly disapprove of your most pompous actions towards his staff when you yourself are still wet behind the ears!"
The other woman looked at her with aghast. Though she'd thought it to herself that the young woman was far too forward for her own propriety, she'd never have said as much.
Misty felt the ire rising in her. She was on assignment, she'd been given instructions, and she'd not let these, nor any other of the staff prevent her from keeping her word. She sighed, though she'd like to yell at the top of her lungs at the woman's impertinence, she'd be civilized. Acerbic tongue met with acerbic tongue never came to any good.
"My dear ladies, do not think that I am unware of my age, or that you have both worked for Monsieur Courtland for a number of years that would date me back into primary school. I've no intent to disrespect your age or position in this household. My only intent, and one that I am set upon, is to carry out the man's wishes, and instructions as he gave them. If you find, upon his return, that I'd overstepped whatever boundaries you feel I've trespassed, please then do call me into account for it. But I pray that you will indulge me, give me your confidence and assurance that you've the best interest of this household in mind and are willing to obligingly participate in the preparations." Misty had sat her spoon down. Her folded hands resting firmly in her lap. She'd not be accepting anything but unquestioning cooperation from these women.
The pair of elder women sat silently, though one was puffing a bit as her irritation began to subside. "Though I do find your method to be rather impertinent young lady, I shan't be a disloyal employee. If, as you say, you are truly on assignment for Monsieur Courtland, than I shall do as you ask, though I would tolerate it far better if you'd use a less authoritative tone, and the use of words such as please and thank you shan't be remiss in their use. We've every intention of caring for and preparing for the arrival of a woman whom we've seen ourselves, and it is not out of our perview to know that a household receiving a personal visit should find themselves among the fortunate few. Do not think for one moment that we'd permit anything to bring shame to the master of the house by letting even the smallest trifle go unattended. That we have perfected, and I dare say perhaps even before you were born." The woman sat back feeling a bit spent in trying desperately to keep an even-tempered tone to her reply.
Misty blinked several times. Perhaps she had been a bit too forceful in her delivery…but she'd not wanted to be taken lightly nor misunderstood. She looked from one woman to the next. "I do apologize for my carassness, if it seemed pointed and disrespectful. Let us put our feelings aside and take care of the details in Monsieur Courtlands abscense, so that upon his return he shall find a staff most worthy of all that he has so graciously bestowed upon us over the years."
Misty rose, her soup now cold, and her appetite gone. She'd perhaps work alone for a time, in the master chamber setting everything straight for the master's return. No doubt Elizabeth would be tired, and require a hot bath. The large claw-foot tub and not received a proper scrubbing since its last use. Yes, perhaps that physical work would give an outlet for her frustration.
"Good ladies, do excuse me." She returned her bowl to the dry sink, she'd tend to it later. For now, her need for solitude beckoned her most severely.
The women watched her leave the room, then sat silently drinking their tea. Though they'd not disagreed on the purpose of the activities, it had caused some difficulty. Now they would rise to the occasion and do what they must. Monsieur Courtland had taken good care of them over the years, even in his abscense, they'd not had want even for the most simple things. He'd provided food, most comfortable shelter, had sent a doctor twice a year to look in on them for good measure. Yes, well taken care of indeed.
XXX
The kitchen fell silent as Lady C walked in. She was not dressed in her normal black dress, crisp white blouse, and string of pearls. Though her hair was still drawn tightly at the crown of her head, her brow looked less tense, and her cheeks had a bit of a rosy hue. Lady C had donned a deep royal blue skirt, a very feminine blouse with neatly layered and tailored lace, and a beautiful broach affixed at the top just under her chin. It sparkled in the light shining in through the windows. She said not a word and made her way to the cupboard, retrieving a china cup and saucer for herself, going over to the pot of hot water and filling her cup. The staff looked at one another in wonder as she retrieved a tea ball from the drawer. They'd not have even thought she'd known where it was, for in all the years they had been there, they'd never seen her in the kitchen! As she sunk the teaball into her cup she looked about the cupboard. There was a tray of biscotti that she often enjoyed. Retrieving yet another plate she placed two biscotti on it. She began to smile. It was as if she was a mouse that had wandered into an alley full of cats. She was entirely out of place in that part of her own home, and she knew it both horrified and surprised them to find her there, for they made not so much as one peep. She turned around looking at them. Some had spoons and measuring instruments in their hands, others were cutting and wrapping things, and yet others were preparing the boxes to receive the candies that would be made enmasse for the people of Chauesser. She made a point of looking each one in the eye before she spoke. "It is good to be busy. Idle hands produce no good. Do carry on." She turned and walked from the room.
The staff just stood looking at one another, in a bit of shock. Why had she ventured there…why had the bell not been rung as it had thousands of times before…why had she looked at them….they knew not one of the answers. They listened as they heard the piano begin to play…and this time…for the first time since the holidays the year before…it was not something melancholy. It was a piece of Tchaikovsky. 'Allegro from Symphony No. 27 in G'. They smiled at one another as they returned to their tasks. Though busy, they uttered not a word…they would enjoy this reprieve from the serious and morose…if however temporal it may be.
XXXXX
The sleigh had been drawn and the last of the goods had been loaded. Andre was determined to return early, much he was sure, to the pleasure of Lady C. With nearly all thing procured from the merchant's, the promise of excellent resources yet to arrive, a note delivered without extended journey, it had been, on par, one of his better days in recent weeks. He'd be back in the comforts of the manor to enjoy high tea.
As he climbed aboard the sleigh, he'd a fleeting vision of the pleasant young woman he'd met that day. "Misty…what an entirely lovely name for such an enchanting young woman." He said, as he smiled to himself.
"Pardone me sir, I'd not heard properly what you'd said, if you'd be so kind to repeat it I'd be much obiged sir." Said the driver perched atop the rather large seat at the front of the sleigh.
Andre shook his head, "not to worry sir, it was a statement of thought, not of request." He looked up at him as he climbed into the sleigh, "let us be off to the house good sir, I've much to share with our mistress."
The driver nodded, waiting only long enough for the door to close and a moment for Andre to settle in, and they were off. Well supplied, deeds all completed, back to the house. It had been a busy day, with the promise of much more to come.
XXXX
JP rode the horse hard as he ventured back into Paris. He'd found the faster he moved the less the horse had opportunity to sink into the snow. Now on the cobblestone that was newly exposing as the snow began to give way under the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun, he felt entirely pleased with himself, and was certain his master would be equally pleased he'd completed the task that was given him. The silk merchant that Erphan had told him of was on the other side of the City. He was thankful that it was but a few minutes more and he'd be able to share all he had learned from his visit. He felt rather like an anxious schoolboy with some tale to tell, and he could hardly contain his anticipation of sharing with Erphan, and eventually Monsieur Courtland. Yes, he was pleased with himself, and hoped that the outcome of the visit paid to DeChagny's would produce, precisely what his employer had hoped that it would.
XXXX
Erik and Christine had stood holding one another in the warmth of the room that was now itself entirely bathed in sunlight so bright it was nearly blinding near the window. Erik had begun to hum, and slowly, unconsciously, they'd begun swaying back and forth, and before either of them knew, they'd begun dancing. Erik was lifting Christine's arm gracefully spinning her with the elegance of a trained prima, and he looked the part of a charming prince at a ball. The pair smiled at one another, a deeper warmer smile than before, if that were even possible. But somehow they felt closer than they had before, in spite of all the intimacy they'd shared to that point, there was something far more precious still about all that had been revealed. It was almost a silent acknowledgement, an exchange of assurance that it had been alright that they'd felt such an attraction for one another. That it had been a mutual feeling made the shame and embarrassment that they'd both unknowing harbored melt away. How could it be that they'd already shared so very much yet it seemed each new day produced an event or revelation that drove their love deeper still? They'd both stopped trying to answer such questions, for they were futile. They could only embrace them when they came, and be thankful for them.
As Erik pulled Christine once more into his embrace, he marveled at the brightness of her eyes as she stared up into his. They were glassy and admiring, searching. They were the windows into her soul, and to him, she opened them freely. He leaned down tenderly taking her lips into his. He'd stopped looking at his watch some hours before. Now he'd not cared how much of the day waned outside, for inside he'd found something that was timeless. Yet another release from the guilt he'd harbored. Yet another fragment of his tortured soul relieved….she had loved him…but more than that…she had sought him…with her mind, her heart, and her body. He had not been embraced and loved only as an angel, but as a man of flesh and blood. An answer to desperate prayers, to yearning souls…and in each other, the answer had manifested itself. Truly this was the essence of living…and he was thankful, eternally thankful…that he'd not missed it.
"Christine, in but a few hours we shall travel to the Opera Populaire. Is there any others," he swept his hand around the room, "any others you should like to know about?"
Christine smiled at him, he was offering to share, but she glanced down and thought for a moment. Thought about the dear sweet woman who'd taken such an interest in Erik those long years, who anticipated his visits with great zeal. "No Erik," she looked around once more, "perhaps another time."
He looked down at her with such wonder, he'd never thought them to ever return to Paris again, if however unfortunate it may seem. "But Christine…"
She shook her head, slipping her hand into his, "come Erik, I grow tired," she looked up at him sheepishly, her eyes twinkling.
A broad smile spreading across his face. She walked but a few more steps before he could take it no longer. He growled, bending to scoop her up into his arms. He left the parlor entering the hallway. All that could be heard was the laughter of two young lovers, entirely caught up in one another's presence, utterly in love, and wanting of nothing more than each other.