Dear Faithfuls:
My deepest apologies for this singular update this week. Though I cannot begin to explain, there have been many things vying for my attentions this week. April is around the corner, and with it I pray, a reprieve from some of the stresses of late. I hope all is well with you, and that everyone has a reason to smile tonight. Just for fun, smile at someone you've never met before. You might very well be surprised what that affect that random act of kindness might do for them!
Angel
Their dinner now eaten, the loaf of baguette nearly consumed, the pair sat enjoying a press of dark coffee, fresh from the beans he'd roasted that afternoon, and ground just before he brewed it. She'd come to like the way he prepared it, a pinch of chili pepper, a pinch of Bavarian cocoa, and a dash of cream. It was nearly dessert in itself, and the scent, a near other worldly pleasure. It was among many the many things that she'd come to appreciate about her visits there.
The woman sat down her cup of coffee, smiling at Lucien. "Did you hear that the foreigner has been hand selected by the publisher and DeChagny himself to write a tribute to Dickens?"
Lucien looked down at her as he stood to clear the dinner plates that had been set aside. "Yes, I'd heard as much." Secretly Lucien felt a twinge of jealousy. He knew as much if not more about Dickens than any man in Paris. "Have you read any of the other things that the man has written as historian? He is actually quite brilliant." The pleasure of his own writings were much hidden, since none save the publisher knew his real identity.
He walked over to the counter, retrieving two small plates of dessert and returned to the table. "I dare say the man will do him justice," Lucien said as he laid one plate in front of each of their chairs.
"Hmm…it is a great work that he will do Lucien." She said, then falling silent as she lifted the first strawberry to her lips. They were perfect, the large June berry at the peak of its ripeness.
Lucien's dessert lay untouched in front of him. His palate suddenly out of the mood for sweets. He refilled their cups from the press. "I do believe you are right dear lady." He sighed. Their conversation had not been as lively as was normal for them these last encounters, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was he or she, or perhaps the mitigating circumstances that had fallen in Paris that had colored their normal enjoyment. He found himself, as he so oft did, in self-reflection. He tended toward the analytical and self- critical with such ease.
She sighed, lifting her cup into her hands, leaning forward just slightly. She'd been pondering for a long while… "Do you ever think about it Lucien…that night we went to Perdue's….what we saw…" she looked up from her cup at him; she could see it in his eyes.
"Yes Madame, I dare say it haunts me still." He glanced at the table. "I know…I believe what we saw, but with lack of event since that time, in the manner that the Phantom so oft conducted himself, it does give one cause to wonder. Though I suppose one could argue he's nothing to protest as long as productions have yet to formally begin." He reached down, plucking a tender red fruit from his plate, taking a firm bite from its center.
The woman nodded, "indeed." She said reflectively. "I suppose one could further argue that he'd returned to retrieve some items of importance, and left not long after he'd arrived." She glanced up, their eyes meeting in a contracted stare.
"I suppose one could think that." He sighed. "And if one supposes as much, that he's come and gone, does that bode well for the survival of the young soprano? Dare say one could hope that she still lives?" Lucien looked down at the table again.
The woman was shaking her head. "We may never know sir, but one could hope that whatever fate has befallen her, that she is either in the hands of God, or has somehow found way to manage her providence."
Lucien nodded his head in agreement. He lifted his cup again. Perhaps the mystery would never be solved, the issue never resolved. Sometimes it was true of such events, they remain forever unknown, but the event itself, not forgotten.
XXXXXX
Raoul guided Meg over to her mother, leading both women by the hand to the far end of the room near the fireplace. They needed a moment of privacy, what little the room could afford them.
DeChagny watched the trio admiringly. Turning to Nadir, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Pray do tell what progress you've made in your work sir? You do not find it too burdensome a task."
Nadir shook his head. "Not at all, not at all…it has indeed consumed the lion's share of my day, and I dare say Madame Giry's as well, but it has been a labor of respect for a man devoted to his work to the last of his life. How could one begrudge such a person a proper tribute? To say the work was tedious would be to mock the very precision and care he used to craft his volumes, and nay would I be so brass to do so."
DeChagny nodded politely, in truth he'd just been making idle conversation for he watched intently as Raoul and Meg joined hands with Madame Giry.
"My dearest Madame Giry, it was great thought and adoration that Meg and I have come to you this night to share in our great joy." Raoul looked down, he'd need to apologize to her for not asking her blessing first as he'd promised. Meg squeezed his hand giving him reassurance he should go on. "Madame, I love your daughter, have loved your daughter for a long while now. The time she has spent faithfully at my side…"
Meg interjected, "and he faithfully at mine…"
"Such time spent in one another's company when combined and totaled are likely far more than several years worth of courtship where one sees each other at best, several times a week, and then only under the most favorable circumstance." Raoul looked at Meg, she was smiling at him, her eyes closing she nodded just once.
"Madame, when I imagine my life now, I cannot perceive a day of happiness that would not have Meg in it. To that end, whilst at Plum house a decision was made, a pact forged, and we hope that you approve." Raoul was hesitant but decided he would follow through with the plan he'd made in his mind.
Raoul held in his hand one of Meg's delicate hands. He reached out taking one of her mother's hands. Slowly he came to bended knee in front of her mother. "I must now humbly ask for your daughter's hand." He looked back and forth between Madame Giry and Meg. "I shall love her forever. Care for her when she is weary, rejoice with her when she is glad, mourn with her when she is sad. She shan't want for anything that the world could provide her, and should we somehow be separated by death, she would be well cared for." He smiled at both women. "Meg will one day be a wonderful mother, I've no doubt in my heart of it. But I want to promise you, promise you both, that I will love her first and foremost as my wife, never relegating her station to that simply of mother of our children. She will be cherished and celebrated in my life always, as the wonderful woman that she is."
Madame Giry and Meg lifted their hands, pulling Raoul up from his knees. The trio embraced. Madame Giry placed a delicate kiss on Raoul's cheek. "You sir, have my full blessing." She smiled at him. "You've ambitious goals for loving my daughter, and if you can but manage even half of what you so desire to do, she will indeed be a most fortunate woman."
DeChagny and Nadir both found themselves watching the small huddle with great interest. Nadir turned to DeChagny, a swell of pride in him, he extended his hand. "Congratulations sir, on such news. I do think you will find that she will add greatly to Raoul's happiness, and I dare say she will be a most doting mother, and pleasant daughter to you sir."
DeChagny smiled. "I do agree." Then his voice quieted. "I must tell you Nadir from the first I had reservations about Raoul's choice. Now having spent a great deal of time with Meg, I find her to be a most amiable creature, and one set on spending her life pleasing Raoul. She's been a most diligent pupil, learning all manner of things that would be expected of her in her transition in standing within society, and I dare say she shall have little if any trouble meeting with approval from even the most stringent would-be detractors. What Meg possesses naturally is a grace far beyond her rank." He smiled at Nadir, a bit of teasing in his eye. "I rather think she gets that from her mother."
Nadir smiled at him, nodding just once. "Indeed sir….indeed."
The pair walked over to join the others in rejoicing. They'd make their way up to Madame Giry's quarters, and enjoy, quite privately, a meal of thanksgiving and celebration. For tonight they could bask in the glow of this new familial growth. They'd much to decide. When would it be announced to society. When would they return from Plum house. Where would Meg stay until the wedding. What details of the service, the reception, the honeymoon. Who would design the dress, and how many attendants would be required. So very much to decide indeed before any breath of it was spoken outside the small group. And there was Raoul's wish to speak with his sister before even one other person knew.
XXXXXXXX
Erik closed the door to the study behind them, releasing Christine's hand only long enough to lock the door. He led her silently over to the divan, where he seated her, placing a long tender kiss in the center of her temple. It told her that she was special, that she was prized, that she was loved.
Erik walked to the window, looking out into the bleakness of the dreary night sky. He sighed. It was time. If there was to be a casualty in all of this… if the beast would find and vanquish him…Christine had every reason now to know why…and to know that he deserved whatever befell him. He closed his eyes, imploring beneath his breath a most fervent prayer, before he could return to her side, "forgive me Lord, for she knows not what I have done…let her love me in spite of my iniquities, protect her from the dark shadows of my past, bathe her in the most glorious of your light for she is first and foremost your child, and you've but entrusted me with her as my wife…let her tender and discerning spirit partake of this knowledge and forgive me…"
Erik turned to gaze upon Christine. The glow from the kindled fire cast an amber hue on her ivory flesh. Her eyes were wide and serious as she stared into the flames; her breathing shallow. Erik knew she was preparing herself…for whatever he was about to tell her. He swallowed. Even in her greatest imagination, she could never conjure up vision enough to even closely resemble what he was about to tell her. He knew in his heart that it would forever temper the way she looked at him…forever alter her perception of him. He could only pray now that she would love him….even after she knew all…knew all of him.
Christine turned abruptly, looking up at Erik, her breath catching in her chest. His eyes were already rimmed and red, a line of tears cresting and threatening to breach his lower lid. His gaze shifting rapidly, fluidly, from deep love, to sincere repentance, to fear, to a hard, dark hollow, and back again in nary a blink of an eye. She swallowed, lifting her arms toward him, "come Erik…come my husband…into the arms that have promised to love you forever."
Erik felt a great lump rising in his throat, oh would that it could be that he had found his great love, and that he would not be unworthy of her after all confessions were made. He inhaled a staggered breath turning fully towards her, yet he could not move. In his hesitation lingered his doubt of worthiness, his self-loathing, memories so repulsive he could taste the putrid bitterness of the words of confession before they even formed in his mouth.
"Come Erik," she stretched out her hands further, now barely touching his fingertips with hers. "Let me prove to you that I did not make a faint promise under the snowy skies of our wedding night. I vowed to love you…come what may until my dying breath…and I shall…I reaffirm that promise to you my love…" Her fingers now slowly pulling his towards her until she grasped his hands, leading him toward her.
Erik felt as if his heart were breaking. He'd not thought of this in so many years. His former self so long suppressed, the sins of his past now drug from the deep dungeons he'd held them in with great vigor. He'd face the horrors again…but this time he'd not face them alone. Perhaps this time…oh that it be this time….he'd be able to receive absolution for them.
Erik looked with great pleading into Christine's eyes as he let her lead him into an embrace. In one silent moment of utter surrender he fell to his knees before her, leaning heavily into her arms. His head buried against her chest, his heart beating beside the protruding roundness of her swollen womb. All that he loved was in that place, and the final forgiveness he thought would never come…lay within her arms. And they both began to cry.
XXXXXX
Andre and Lady C finished the dish of citrus cream. The lemon zest and chopped hazelnuts had made it an especially interesting finish to the curious dinner they'd consumed. The young woman appeared, the press of coffee was removed and in its place were two snifters, each poised over another snifter filled with a steaming bath of water. The young woman sensed their hesitation. "It's cognac, best consumed warm to bring out the fullness of each layer in the flavor. Taste, you'll see. A hint of nutmeg, a warm deep vanilla, and strong nutty flavor as you finish and exhale. I do so hope you enjoy. It is one oft consumed in our village, and was a favorite of Dickens." With that the young woman disappeared into the kitchen.
Andre gave Lady C a fleeting look. They each lifted the snifter from its home, noting the pleasing warmth of their glasses on their hand. Lady C closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, yes…there was the unfamiliar but not forgotten scent of a fine liquor. They took their first sip, trying to concentrate on what the young woman had mentioned. Madame Giry slowly rolled the liquid about on her tongue, exhaling slightly as her tongue rose to the roof of her mouth several times, engaging her palate fully. Indeed, it was there, each flavor as it was described her. "Extraordinary," she said, placing the snifter back in its place atop the other.
"Indeed," Andre said. He had been taking inventory of the room. It was a curious collection of art from some recognizable artisans, and other astonishingly beautiful works of clay so life like one would not have been surprised at all had they jumped from their homes and pranced about the room. Now, save the one other couple, they were the only pair left in the room. Andre lifted his snifter taking another sip. It was utterly amazing how very different something could be flavored and appreciated if it were the precise temperature to reveal its' perfection. Puddings deeply chilled, soups hot but not boiling, cheeses slightly cooler than room temperature, and cognac…he smacked his tongue once more in satisfaction, cognac most certainly steamed.
"This has been a most pleasant distraction, if however unusual." Andre said, slowly turning the snifter about in his hand allowing the amber liquid to slowly swish about in the snifter. He lifted it to his lips, taking another sip. Something this delicious was meant to be savored…slowly.
"I dare say you are right, unusual, but telling of the class of this enclave. They've no fewer, and perhaps a greater number of refinements than even our beloved Chauesser." Lady C said, a fleeting hint of jealousy in the timbre of her voice.
Several tables over the woman's head turned just slightly, her eyebrow raised. She'd heard the name of a City that was of particular importance to her. How very fortunate indeed. Perhaps she could glean some information from these unwitting strangers. Everyone had some particular use or another. To her they were but another pair of insects to be used and discarded, or consumed if they did not serve her particular purpose.
Slowly the woman rose with the arrogant aplomb of a wealthy aristocrat. She was a beguiling yet formidable creature. Nearly as tall as many a man; yet as feminine and alluring as Aphrodite. Her raven hair, her charcoal eyes, and her high cheekbones, made her a particularly remarkable sight to behold. Her skin was silken and flawless, her poise and gait impeccable.
She moved carefully, purposefully toward the pair. The layers of her long black dress moving in all their regal elegance. She was a sight to see. Many a man and woman were unnerved by the very presence her beauty and stature commanded. She'd grown rather accustomed to such admiration and genuflection; indeed, she'd rather come to expect it of everyone she met. She was most assured this couple would be no different. For what were they but another infinitesimal piece to the infinite puzzle she'd tried to put together bit by bit. Happiness had been too elusive; gain had been too easily come by. The purest challenge was to have what none other could possess. That was the entire purpose to which she found herself so very far from the comforts of her home. The intangible treasure lay in the very City, the name of which had advantageously rolled off this stranger's tongue. Yes, certainly she'd have to discover what they knew of the City. Yes, to everything and everyone there was a purpose.
Lady C sat her snifter down on the table, Andre immediately sensing her displeasure. "Whatever is it dear lady?" He extended his hand toward hers on the table, but she did not move. Her eyes were fixed, and a strange sort of contemptuous concern was growing in them. His instinct would have had him turn harshly on his heels, scouring the horizons for what it was that caused her such concern, though he'd no need for he could hear the approaching foot steps.
XXXXX
John Paul sat in the chair in the small flat in the center of Chauesser. He was not alone, yet felt entirely certain he was alone, for no one can actually make the venture for you. He was about to take the most serious journey, walk the most serious steps he'd ever taken in his life. He fidgeted with the ring inside his pocket. None could see it, and he could only feel the smoothness of it as it moved round and round between his thumb and forefinger. It represented so much more than a simple piece of jewelry. It was a symbol. A symbol of love, of promise, of faith, of commitment, of honor. To place this on the hand of another with a solemn vow meant that he would forevermore live to bring her happiness, to seek in her embrace refugee from the cares of the world, and build with her a family. He sighed. His grandfather would approve. Now, more than ever as he watched as though a by-stander peaking in on the collection of people. He watched how his father doted on her mother, how Katherine and her fiancé exchanged glances, and held one another's hands beneath the fullness of her skirt. Inside he was smiling. Yes, grandfather would be pleased, he was certain that this is precisely where he knew he should be.
The door to the Nicole's bedchamber opened and closed. The pastor coming out and nodding toward the door leading out of the flat. "John Paul, would you do me the honor of accompanying me outside for some air?"
John Paul rose. "Most certainly, then when we return, we will see to the cake." He walked over to the pastor and out the door they traveled.
"Now young man, you do know what you are doing, and in your heart you know the burden you are about to take on?" The pastor said in earnest as they made their way down the stairs.
John Paul looked at him most curiously. He was a physician. Would a doctor not understand the burdens of caring for a dying woman? "I do not understand. If anyone can provide comfort to the woman and her daughter, it would be I." Now at the bottom of the stairs he held the door open for the pastor.
"No, no," said the pastor, pulling John Paul aside, "the burden of the town sir. You are marrying the granddaughter of the town crazy if you will. Yes, she is of good opinion now, but her every move shall be scrutinized, and certainly there are some who will feel that you've married far below your rank. Your living arrangements have been viewed as pity care for a woman who could ill afford to be taken care of. No one would think less of you should you not marry her."
John Paul spun about on his heels. "What say you sir, that you think that she is not worthy?" A sour taste growing in his mouth.
"Not at all, and my opinion is of little consequence, but it is the opinion of others, their high regard for your grandfather…" The pastor fell silent.
"My grandfather was indeed a wonderful man. I've come to learn a great deal about him from the citizens of Chauesser. I too held high opinion of him, and to him I owe a great debt for it was under his urgings that I came to Chauesser." John Paul took several steps away, trying to maintain his composure. He inhaled and turned to face the pastor. He was a man of faith and as such, deserved to be treated with respect. "My good sir, if you have any doubt that I enter into such an arrangement of my own accord, let me lay aside those fears for you. I love Nicole. It is of little consequence to me her social standing, her lack of fortune, her past, or her relatives, for that is not what I marry. I marry a woman who is faithful and loyal. Beautiful inside and outside. A woman any man would do well to find for she is a precious gem among a thousand tossed stones. My only hesitation in all of this is that I not be able to make her as happy as she has made me." John Paul looked down at the pastor who was now looking up at him with resolution.
"Very well then sir, let us go in, your bride awaits."
The two men went back inside. Upstairs a small window was drawn to a close. Nicole's lip was quivering, she brushed a tear from her eye. She'd opened the window to get a breath of air, bundled up in the formal gown had made her grow warm. What she'd never expected was to eavesdrop on a private conversation. Had she had any wonder what he truly thought of her…if he truly loved her…she had need to wonder no longer. She moved away from the window and closed her eyes tipping her head down. She folded her hands, uttering "thank you." She listened to the sound of their feet on the stairs. In a few minutes time she would be a man's wife….it was a dream…..a dream finally come true.
XXXXX
Misty sat dabbing diligently at Erphan's brow. She'd left his side only long enough to replace the cool water, and retrieve a bit of tea. Her mind had been wandering through the events of the last year that they'd served together in Monsieur Courtland's home. Their relationship had at times, been tenuous, and they'd grown into rather reluctant friends. Misty could think of at least a dozen times they'd shared in great rounds of laughter, and certainly banter of the slightly flirtatious variety.
She'd wished now she'd spent more time with Erphan in civil conversation. He'd been nothing more than an incorrigible young man, dancing around in silly fashion before he'd been taken under Monsieur Courtland's wing. Now, and especially since the last conversation that they'd had in the gardens, she knew he had grown, and was far deeper a person than she'd ever given him credit for. She sighed. She'd been far too impatient with the young man, and now she might never know how their friendship might have bloomed.
She dabbed at his brow again, and ran the cool cloth along his cheek, around his jaw, and down his neck. She returned it to the basin, and rose. She stood looking down at him a long while before she'd wandered over to the window, attempting to peer through the small separation in the heavy shutters. She'd not even realized that she no longer heard the rains, nor howling winds, and nay were there flashes of light.
She slid her finger through the several rings that held the boards in place, releasing them from their hooks. She opened the shutters wide to reveal the silent night that had grown out of the storm. Truly the grounds surrounding Courtland Manor were littered with branches and foliage, but the storm was over, and they'd survived unscathed. She shook her head. In her lifetime she'd not seen so many treacherous storms, and certainly not in one years time. It was as though the balance of nature had been upset by some cosmic event, and nothing had been the same in their world since.
"Misty?" came a faint voice from behind her.
She turned round so quickly she nearly made herself go faint. "Erphan!" she rushed over to his side. His hands were cold, but his eyes wide and clear as she came to rest next to him.
"Erphan, how do you feel, does your head cause you pain, can you move your arms and legs?" Misty had feared the worst but now had been slightly restored to hope.
Erphan barely looked beyond his fascinated and fixed gaze upon Misty's face. "I do not remember precisely what happened, but there was a great flash of the brightest light I've ever seen, and then a severe pain…"
Misty reached out for his hand. "Do not strain yourself, you've been through quiet an ordeal, you should rest now." A genuine look of concern in her stare as she sat over him, dabbing at his brow.
Erphan swallowed, his throat was dry, his tongue as if it were made of the most parched ground. "Misty, I am sorry to have caused you such work…"
She smiled at him, "nonsense…" she laughed, "you've not felt guilty for the work you've caused before, why should you start…" Misty startled as Erphan's look changed.
"I love you……most fervently," Erphan blurted out. The profession of such startled even he. Though he'd known a long while that he'd an affection for her, his thoughts had been supplanted by the knowledge that her heart was otherwise inclined toward a man with whom he could scarcely compete.
Misty sat holding his hand, blinking as she looked away, she could say nothing, so great was her surprise of such sentiment.
Erphan lay still, turning his head away; after such an utterance, his face grew hot with blush. He'd never intended to tell her. Keeping such to himself would have allowed her to have unfettered happiness. Now, an uneasy awkwardness would surely settle in to where a delicate friendship had grown. He was mentally chastising himself for behaving in such a rash manner. What would she think of him now?
Misty neither had want to leave his side, nor knew what to make of such confessions.
There the pair remained, holding hands though they could not bring themselves to exchange glances. Neither knew where the conversation ought to go from there.
Erphan, turned abruptly, his mind switching quickly to one thought alone, "the books! Dearest Misty, did my satchel, the bag that I'd had on my shoulder, did they…"
Misty tried to quiet him. "Dear Erphan, do not worry." She stood, grateful for the momentary distraction, and wandered over to the chair where she'd neatly folded his clothes. His boots set beneath it, and just behind them on the floor, was the brown leather bag which she assumed was what he referred to. She lifted it and carried it over to Erphan.
He sighed. "Thank the heavens. I thought it to have been abandoned out in the rains, all record being lost from the soaking." He smiled at her as he dug about in the bag, retrieving a small linen sack in which the items from Chauesser were stowed. "This is to go straight away to Monsieur Courtland. I'd promised the physician that I would see to the delivery of such myself, but can now hardly imagine it to be possible. Do promise that you will carefully deliver them will you not?"
Misty nodded. She needed excuse to remove herself from the situation. She felt herself more and more drawn to Erphan and it vexed her to be certain. Taking the bag from his hand she smiled. "I'll be certain to deliver this straightaway. Erphan….may I call you Erik?" She stammered. He nodded. "I am flattered by your words, any young woman would be more than flattered by such affections…"
Erphan reached out and took her hand as she stood by him, the other grasping tightly the bag he'd given her. "Misty…it was not flattery, but my truest feelings. I knew I'd regret it if I never told you…and never forget it if I did." He blinked, smiling wearily at her. "I think I shall rest now, if you'd not mind terribly."
Misty nodded, lifting the covers, smoothing them over his chest. "Rest now Erik, we will talk on the morrow." She slid her hand along his, the touch of their flesh suddenly sending tingles up her spine. Perhaps it was the electricity from the lightening that had coursed through him….perhaps it was something else entirely. She watched as he closed his eyes and relinquished himself into the netherworlds of slumber. She pushed the hair back from his forehead. She'd looked down at him. The night had been full of revelations…yes indeed…quite full.
She walked to the door, pulling it open walking through it, she glanced over her shoulder before fully turning around to lean against it as she closed it. She sighed. He had survived, now time would tell…perhaps so many things. She'd wait until morning light to give the books to Monsieur Courtland, for he'd requested complete privacy. She yawned. Sleep would be her friend that night.
She wandered toward her room. Once inside she climbed within the familiar layers of the comfort of her bed, nestling her head into her pillow, trying to close her eyes, but she could not. The look on Erphan's face, his words…replaying over and over again in her mind. Without another thought she sat up, sliding her slippers on her feet she gathered several blankets and slipped out of her room and down the hall. There was another divan in the room where Erphan lay. Perhaps she would sleep far better if she made use of it. If he needed her…she would be there for him.