Chapter Eighteen
Alana ran through a dark maze alone. Someone chased after her. She couldn't see her pursuer, but she could hear their footsteps echoing in the blackness. She kept running forward, but her legs felt wooden, and she couldn't run fast enough. Then she realized with horror that she was headed straight for a dead end, a blank stone wall. She backed against the wall and covered her eyes, afraid to see her pursuer's face…
"Alana? Alana? You really need to wake up! We can't be late for church!"
She opened her eyes. The nightmare was gone in an instant, and there was her cousin standing next to the bed. Was it really morning already? She yawned and turned back over, closing her eyes again.
"Please wake up, Alana," Cerise was saying, though her voice was muffled by the layers of sheets Alana was hiding under. "Say…do you still remember when we were little and your family would stay over, and we would wake up at the crack of dawn, and have pillow fights? We'd get feathers all over the floor, and we would wake up our parents, and then they'd be cross and we'd have to clean up, but it was worth every bit of it, wasn't it?"
Alana blinked. She did remember that; playing with Cerise had always been her favorite part about staying with her relatives. She threw off the covers, jumped out of bed, and grabbed her pillow, tossing the other to her surprised cousin.
"En garde!" She laughed, and soon feathers were flying as they raced around the room, barraging each other with the pillows. All of a sudden Raimond and Amélie ran into the bedroom.
"What on earth?" Raimond exclaimed, laughing.
"Girls! What are you doing?"
Alana and Cerise dropped the pillows and tried to stop giggling.
"I'm sorry," Cerise said, unable to erase the grin from her face. "This is my fault for mentioning…"
"…All those pillow fights you had as girls. It's nice to see you've both matured so much since then," Amélie chuckled. "Now you both need to get dressed and ready to go to church. Alana, you should be able to borrow one of Cerise's dresses. Hurry along now, you two! All these feathers will be waiting for you to clean up when you get home."
It was painfully early, before six even, and Alana had only slept for a few hours, but after the pillow fight and the good hard laugh she felt ready to begin the day. After taking a bath and putting on one of Cerise's dresses-a crisp white one with blue flowers on it-and arranging her hair, Alana joined her relatives downstairs for breakfast. She barely had time to finish a cup of tea and a croissant with jam before they had to rush across the street to the church.
"We have to be there first, naturally," Cerise explained. "Father has to prepare for his sermon, and mother and I are in the choir. We have to practice once more before the service-you can come and watch if you like. Maybe you'd like to join the choir too, sometime."
"I'll think about it," Alana said. She would ask Erik about it later; he would probably be thrilled with the idea, and maybe then he would come to church too. She wondered why he wouldn't come today; he hadn't given her a real answer, as he often didn't. Why was he so secretive all the time?
Alana followed her aunt and cousin to the choir room. Now the church looked bright and welcoming, not like last night, when its halls had seemed a dark, forbidding labyrinth. Soon the choir arrived, and she watched as the men and women warmed up and went through some of the hymns they were preparing to sing. Their voices sounded pleasant enough, but though she had only been taking lessons a short while, she noticed a few issues with some of the singers, problems she'd had that Erik had quickly corrected. He could certainly instruct the choir on how to be the best singers they could possibly be. Maybe…no, leading a church choir was not something Alana could picture Erik doing.
When they had finished one of the hymns, Cerise stopped and turned to Alana. "We're almost ready here, so you'd better go to the sanctuary and sit down. We always sit in the front row…see you there!"
Alana headed out into the church's narthex. By now it was packed with people. Times were tough in Paris, but the church seemed much more full than she ever remembered it. People must be desperate, she thought, clinging on to any hope they can have. They needed something to believe in.
She caught glimpses of people from every walk of life: poor, middle-class, wealthy, and what must have been members of the aristocracy, for some of the people were dressed in unbelievably fine clothes. Her uncle had quite a flock to care for, but from what she saw they were anything but a unified body. Everyone was split into cliques obviously based on social standing, and the gap between rich and poor was painfully evident. It made her feel a little uncomfortable.
She made her way into the sanctuary, found an empty pew in the front row, and sat down, leafing through the hymnal that had been under her seat. She was looking over "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" when she heard someone clear their throat.
"Ahem."
Alana looked up. Standing there before her was the most extravagantly dressed woman she had ever seen, outside of paintings of royalty. The woman, who appeared to be a few years older than Alana, was wearing a beautiful lavender dress, with matching gloves, parasol, hat, and even shoes peeking out from under the folds of her lavish dress. She tossed her dark brown ringlets, green eyes flashing with irritation.
"This is our pew." Her tone was sharp, in an unsettling contrast to her pleasant appearance.
Alana made herself stop staring. "Oh, I'm sorry. My cousin said to sit in the front row, so I…"
"Then you must be a Valjean or a Ducard," the woman interrupted, speaking with obvious distaste. She pointed across the aisle to the right. "That's your pew. This one is for family and friends of the Marquis de Bellamy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Alana said, not knowing what to do but apologize again. "Thank you, I'll get out of your way now."
The woman gave her an odd-looking sort of smile, and Alana moved to the other side of the room. She wasn't used to being around that sort of person, and she knew she didn't like it at all. The woman obviously disliked her, and Alana returned the feeling, but at the same time, she felt intimidated, and for some reason she wanted that woman to accept her, to like her. She sat by herself in the other pew, contenting herself with reading one of its hymnals until the rest of the sanctuary filled up. A family of six sat on the other side of the long pew-they must have been the Ducards. Alana turned to look over at the pew she'd been expelled from. It was now full of young men and women, all as fabulously dressed as the woman in lavender. They were talking and laughing together. It didn't seem like they thought they were at church at all; they were acting like they were at a social gathering. They rather irritated her.
Then, Alana saw him. Making his way down the aisle to that pew for the Marquis' family and friends. It was Damien.
Her heart skipped a beat-she hadn't expected to see him here; in fact, after everything that had happened yesterday and last night she had almost forgotten about him. How could she forget him?
There he was, looking even more sophisticated than he had the last time she'd
seen him. He carried a neatly carved walking cane and was dressed in a fine dark violet waistcoat and gray trousers, and fastidiously polished black boots. He also wore a top hat, tilted slightly on his head. He didn't notice her as his friends across the aisle from Alana called out his name and he joined them to receive multiple "Good morning,"s and "Aren't you looking well?"s, and "For heaven's sake, take off that hat of yours!"s.
Alana tried not to stare as Damien chatted merrily with his friends. She was shocked…she'd had no idea Damien was so…higher-class than she was. Was he the Marquis de Bellamy? He certainly seemed very popular with the others.
By now the choir had arrived, and had begun to sing as the last of the churchgoers poured in. Cerise and Amélie smiled out at Alana, and she smiled back. As she listened, she found herself unable to keep from glancing to her left. Damien was seated on the end, nearest her, sitting next to the woman in lavender. Alana's eyes darted in his direction several times, and finally, he turned his head and glanced casually across the room. Then he did a sort of double take. His eyes brightened with eager recognition, and he gave a slight wave, flashing a brilliant grin.
She waved back, brimming with happiness and excitement. She tried to pay attention to the hymn, but she kept making glances across the aisle, noticing as the lady in lavender and another of Damien's friends began whispering to him and looking at her in confusion and thinly veiled disapproval. Damien didn't seem to be fazed by them, and smiled at her every time their eyes met.
They exchanged looks throughout the following hymns everyone sang as a congregation, and as the offering plate was passed around later, Alana felt a sinking feeling in her stomach when she had to pass the plate along to the Ducards, with nothing to put in it. She looked over to the left and saw Damien and his friends putting heaping piles of coins and bills into the gold plate, hoping they hadn't seen that she didn't have any money to give. Then Cerise and Amélie and the rest of the choir went out to join their families on the pews, and Uncle Raimond came from a side door and stood behind the pulpit, ready to begin his sermon.
Despite her lack of sleep, and the constant distraction that was Damien, Alana soon began to listen intently to her uncle's words.
"We are living in a difficult time," he was saying, "and it can be a hard thing, sometimes even a dangerous thing, to put trust in our fellow man."
The crowd murmured in agreement, and Alana remembered the warning the old man from that bookshop had given her about choosing who she should trust.
"But this is not necessarily a bad thing, because it makes it absolutely vital for each and every one of us to put our full trust in God, and not in the people around us."
Alana thought back to when she'd first met Erik, in his little house outside Détente, when he'd told her not to leave and seek out her father again. She remembered saying she couldn't stay with him. She'd told Erik that she didn't trust him, and she'd seen his face fall. But he'd saved her life more than once now, and she was grateful to him. He'd never betrayed her, never given her any real reason to doubt him. Now she could say that she trusted him. But was that wrong?
She listened as her uncle read from the Bible. "The Lord tells us, it is better to trust in Him than to trust in princes, mortal men. The fortieth psalm says that the one who makes the Lord his trust will be greatly blessed." Raimond cautioned the congregation about trusting men with their lives, giving anecdotes of recent betrayals that had taken place in their own neighborhood, of innocent people being falsely accused and suddenly taken to Versailles and never seen again. Is it really so bad to trust another person with my life? Alana wondered. After all, Erik saved mine. And he'd never do anything to hurt me.
Uncle Raimond was reading from the letter to the Philippians now, chapter four verses six and seven. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
The verse gave Alana great comfort. She sat back and breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that God was watching over her and wouldn't send someone into her life that would hurt her. It was all right to trust Erik, just as long as she didn't let him replace God or the other people in her life…she would never let that happen, anyway, she was sure of it.
The sermon ended, and Raimond left the sanctuary to go and stand by the front door and shake hands with everyone as they headed out. People had broken up into their cliques again and begun talking, some about the sermon, and some about other things.
Alana felt someone come up next to her.
"Good morning, mademoiselle."
She looked up, and there was Damien, the picture of cheerfulness.
"Good morning, monsieur," she replied, unsure of how to address him. Could he really be the Marquis de Bellamy? Could she really have met and taken a walk with a Marquis?
"Please, call me Damien. All my friends do."
So he thought of her as a friend, someone as rich as he! "Very well, Damien." She laughed a little, not sure why. "You may call me Alana, then."
"I will! So, Alana, how long have you been here in Paris?"
"I arrived just yesterday."
"Excellent!" Damien's eyes brightened even more, if that were possible. "So you haven't made any plans yet, have you?"
"Well, no, not really…" Alana trailed off, glimpsing out of the corner of her eye her cousin looking her way. Cerise's mouth fell open as she looked from Alana to Damien.
"That's just perfect then! How would you like to come to le déjeuner with me this afternoon?"
Le déjeuner…that was now! "Oh, I'm not sure…"
"It's rather short notice, I know, so I can understand if you don't want to come," Damien said apologetically. "I would invite you to dinner but there's that blasted curfew now, which makes it utterly impossible to host a good dinner party. That's why I've resorted to inviting everyone over for midday meals…just me and a few of my closest friends. And you too, now." He tilted his head and looked expectantly at her. "So, would you like to come? We always have a splendid time."
Alana thought for a moment. "That would be…lovely," she said. "I'll just ask my aunt if it's all right."
"Wonderful! I'll be waiting outside." Damien put on his top hat so it had that sideways tilt again, which was really quite charming, Alana thought, and he left the sanctuary.
"Oh my goodness!" Cerise rushed over and grabbed Alana's hands in both of hers, nearly jumping up and down with excitement. "Do you realize how lucky you are?"
"I, er…"
Her cousin's voice dropped to a whisper. "The man you were just talking to…that was the Comte de Bellamy!"
"Oh, yes, I suppose so…" Alana whispered back. "I met him in Rouen on the way here, but I wasn't aware he was a Comte! Or that he went to this church, for that matter."
"Wait a minute! You've already spent time with him?" Cerise looked positively giddy.
"Yes, we met in a restaurant at the inn we were both staying at, and we went for a walk around the city that evening."
"Oh. How romantic," Cerise sighed. "Some people have all the luck. You have no idea of how much I envy you." Alana wasn't quite sure how to reply, but Cerise kept talking. "So, are you going to le déjeuner with him? Yes, I was eavesdropping. I couldn't help it, it's just that I've seen him come here for years now but I've never once spoken to him. He seems to be a wonderful man, doesn't he?" Cerise gazed distantly off in the direction Damien had gone.
"Yes, he does. Now I must ask your mother if she'll permit me to go."
"Of course she will! Comte Damien is very respected everywhere he goes."
And sure enough, Amélie, though she was certainly very surprised that Alana had been invited to dine with a comte on only her second day in Paris, allowed her to go, on the condition that she help Cerise clean up the feathers from that morning when she returned. "Just be sure to be home before the curfew," her aunt warned. "Soldiers patrol the streets and take in anyone who stays out too late." If only she knew how aware of that Alana already was.
It wasn't hard to find Damien. He was standing under one of the lilac trees that lined the sidewalk on either side of the street, and he was surrounded by his friends. Alana stopped, and watched them, waiting for the right moment to join their circle, but she just stood there awkwardly, afraid to bother them. They seemed to be such a tightly-knit group of friends, set in their ways. She felt like she would be a nuisance if she went to join them…
But then Damien looked over and caught her eye. He grinned from ear to ear and clapped his hands together. "Attention, all!" While he waited for the others to stop talking he motioned for Alana to come forward, and she nervously went to stand beside him. "This is Mademoiselle Alana Valjean, and she will be joining us this afternoon."
The others smiled and the men bowed and the women curtsied, but Alana could see them looking her up and down in a mixture of amusement and disgust. She looked down at the dress she wore, pretty but simple, and wished that she had worn one of the gowns Erik had given her.
"I had the pleasure of meeting Mademoiselle Alana a few days ago while I was in Rouen, and since she will be staying here in Paris for a while, I thought she could join us and we could all become good friends." He turned to face her, his hazel eyes shining. "We can show you the city, take you to parties, introduce you to all the best people. So what do you say? Would you like that?"
"Oh yes, I'd like that very much."
"Good! Now let's all get to our carriages and head over to my house." Damien's friends went their separate ways, leaving Alana standing alone with him. "Do you have a ride?" he asked her, and she shook her head. "That's quite all right. Come, you can ride with me." He offered her his arm, and she took it as he led her to his carriage.
The vehicle was absolutely glorious. The wooden exterior was painted a deep ebony, covered with elaborate carvings, and the carriage was drawn by two tall white stallions. The interior was just as stunning, with soft red velvet seat cushions and more carvings in the wood.
"Admiring the craftsmanship?" Damien asked, and when she nodded, he said, "My father had this carriage custom built a few years ago. See, there he is, carved just below your window. And there's my mother and me." Alana gazed at the carvings; they were tiny, but intricately detailed. Then her eye caught something odd, a flaw in the woodwork. There was a strange, large empty space next to Damien, like something belonged there but had been left out. Or maybe even cut out, erased.
She didn't have time to ask about it, because the Comte immediately began chatting away, asking her questions about staying with her relatives, and church, and his friends. Along the way, Alana watched through the spotless glass windows as they passed finer and finer houses. Soon they stopped and Damien helped her out of the carriage, leading her around it. When she saw his house, she felt her jaw drop.
It was the largest house she had ever seen in a city. They had to pass through the tall iron front gate and a beautiful flower garden surrounded by hedges, meticulously trimmed. The house was gigantic, at least three or four stories high. Towering columns held up the roof and stood on either side of a great front door, painted in crimson. There were more windows on the front side than in her relatives' entire house, and there was a balcony above the front door. The sheer splendor made Alana feel so small, so poor.
"What a beautiful house you have," she said softly, scarcely able to breathe. She couldn't believe she'd really been invited to a place like this.
"Thank you." Damien bent down to get a closer look at some of the blooms in his garden. He picked one, a brilliant blue flower, and handed it to Alana.
She thanked him. "What is it?"
"It's a bluebell…my favorite flower. And it looks like the ones on your dress." Alana felt Damien's eyes on her, and she felt nervous, her heart beating rapidly. "Very pretty."
"Oh." She didn't know whether he meant the flower, the dress, or her, and she hoped she wasn't blushing too badly, though she could feel her cheeks growing hot. "Thank you."
Damien smiled at her, and then his gaze shifted to somewhere behind Alana. "Ah. My friends are arriving."
Soon Alana was following Damien and no fewer than twelve of his closest friends through the grand front doors into a spectacular foyer that branched off into many different rooms, and at the far side of the room there was a double staircase leading into many more halls. Their footsteps echoed on the spotless marble floor as they made their way into a drawing room, where they waited for their meal to be prepared.
Damien was quickly surrounded by his friends, who were either gossiping enthusiastically or glancing at Alana, with an air of painful, rather insincere politeness, and obvious aloofness. It was like being with Erik, had he been a talkative, snobbish gossip. Alana tried her best to be polite back to them, but she couldn't help but feel that her manner, her dress, her personality, and her looks were utterly inferior to theirs, and they knew it. She could feel her face burning with embarrassment, and stood a little ways off by herself, holding her blue flower and looking about the room at all the fine things. Gorgeous paintings on the walls, expensive-looking mementos from far-off lands, freshly cut flowers on each and every side table…
"Mademoiselle Valjean, whatever are you staring at?" The lady in lavender had come up beside her, bemused. Damien had given Alana the names of all his friends, but she'd had trouble remembering them. This one, however, was impossible to forget. She was Seraphine, the Comtesse d'Auvergne, and she was quite possibly the most intimidating woman Alana had ever met.
"Oh." Alana looked back at her, startled. "Nothing….I was just admiring the room. It's…lovely."
Seraphine smiled, showing nearly all of her alarmingly white teeth. "It is, isn't it? Every room in this house is as well-decorated. The family de Bellamy has the most exquisite taste, isn't that right, Damien?"
"The exquisite-est," Damien replied with a grin, and the room was filled with laughter, none louder than Seraphine, whose laugh sounded a bit forced and rather like a hyena, Alana thought. Then a slender woman with tightly braided hair entered the drawing room, dressed like a housekeeper.
"Le déjeuner is served, my Lord," she said, curtsying. She seemed strangely nervous, tense. Alana sympathized with her.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Would you mind setting an extra place for Mademoiselle Alana Valjean, a new friend of mine?" Damien came over to stand next to Alana. "We have a full house this afternoon. Just the way I like it."
"Yes, my Lord." The nervous-looking housekeeper left for a moment, and soon returned. "The table is set."
They went toward the dining room, Alana leaving her bluebell on a side table in the parlor as directed by Damien. Then they sat down to eat. Damien was at the head of the table and Alana was at his right, with Seraphine sitting next to her, telling Damien that he really should hire a more pleasant housekeeper.
The meal was something Alana couldn't praise enough. There were bowls of a creamy, delicious soup of some kind, a fresh green salad, roast chicken and pork in a divine sauce, and cheese and wine and fruit of every kind imaginable. Alana ate as if she had never eaten before in her life, though she was conscious of Damien's friends staring at her as they nibbled daintily on little bites, more interested in talking than eating the wonderful food. Then again, they were used to it, and she wasn't.
Damien's attention was mostly divided between Alana on his right, and a red-haired man on his left, whose name Alana had forgotten. But Seraphine kept finding ways to jump into whatever conversation they were having, flashing her many white teeth in bright smiles directed at Damien. Alana suspected that she fancied him. Oh wonderful. Now I'm thinking like one of them, she thought.
"So Mademoiselle Alana," Seraphine said, turning to her surprisingly. "Tell me about your family. You are related to the…clergyman, correct?"
"Yes," Alana said, picking up the tiniest hint of scorn in Seraphine's tone. The other woman could tell she wasn't an aristocrat, and she probably wanted Alana to say it in front of everyone. "He's my father's half-brother."
"And what of your father and mother?"
Damien and Seraphine both looked at her with interest, and Alana could feel the eyes of the others on her as well.
She swallowed. There was a lump at the back of her throat. "My father's a businessman," she said. It had been true, once.
"Oh? What field?"
Alana swallowed hard again. "Agriculture."
Seraphine couldn't hold back a small laugh. "How very interesting," she chuckled. There were a few other laughs around the table, and Alana's face reddened. This was a divine meal in a gorgeous house full of beautiful people, but it was unbearable. She just wanted to go home.
Alana thought she saw Damien glare at Seraphine, but a smile appeared on his face again so quickly that she wasn't certain. "An honorable profession, agriculture. Why, without men such as Alana's entrepreneuring father, a delicious meal like this wouldn't be possible."
"Indeed." Seraphine showed her teeth at him again. "And what about your mother, Mademoiselle Valjean? What of her connections?"
Alana felt a bit better now. Speaking of her mother was difficult, but it also gave her great pride. Una was a great, kind woman, with grace and poise and far better manners than the aristocrats here. "Actually, my mother was a Scottish lady. She met my father while visiting France and relinquished her title so that she could marry him and live here."
Seraphine nodded, and Alana could see that she was disgusted by Alana's lack of connections, but to her left she could see Damien, his eyes bright with interest.
"That's a beautiful thing," he said. "Like something you read about in books. I'm sure she was a wonderful woman."
"She was." Alana couldn't help but smile at the thought of her, and Damien smiled back. He was nothing like the rest of them, she thought. There was more to him than fashion and money and gossip. Beneath his shell of fine clothes and handsome features was a real person, a person she thought she would very much like to get to know better.
Once the meal was finished, several maids came to take their plates back to the kitchen. A petite, blonde-haired girl carefully took Alana's dishes and silverware, her movements a bit too quick and unsteady. Her hands shook a little, and the dishes clattered noisily together. Everyone in the room stared at her.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, almost in a whisper.
"It's all right," Alana said, feeling sorry for her. She appeared to be new at this. "Thank you."
The maid's brown eyes brightened a little and she smiled back. "You're welcome, mademoiselle." She took up the dishes, more steadily this time, and began to make her way to the kitchen, but not before Alana saw her and the red-haired man next to Damien exchange a long, strange look, that immediately got her wondering about the connection between the maid and this aristocrat whose name she still couldn't remember. There she was, thinking like these people again. She had to get out of here, and soon.
But the party retired to the parlor, where everyone lounged about on fine couches and chairs, still gossiping. Damien was busy talking to the red-headed man, who seemed to be his best friend, and Alana was left sitting in a chair in the corner, holding the blue flower and almost dozing off in the warm room after the heavy meal, amidst the conversations she knew nothing about. There was a piano in the room, and her thoughts drifted to Erik. What was he doing now? He'd said he would write some music for her, and give it to her tonight, and teach her to play. The night couldn't come soon enough. She had always dreamed of being rich, of living in a glorious house like this one and being surrounded by friends, but now she was beginning to think that maybe that wasn't where she belonged. This world seemed so…wrong to her. She found herself missing Erik and his strange little world of music and mystery, a world it seemed he was letting her become a part of, slowly but surely.
"Do you play the piano, Mademoiselle Valjean?" Seraphine was standing next to her, inclining her head toward the grand instrument, much more expensive-looking than the one at her uncle's church. "I see you looking at it. Would you like to play for us?"
"Oh, no." Alana shook her head. "I…I don't know how yet, but I am learning to play, and sing, as well."
"Better late than never!" Damien had come to join their conversation. "I'm sure you will make a fine singer and musician. But, it is rather soon for you to be taking lessons…after all, you just arrived in Paris. You found a teacher already?"
Alana nodded.
"Who is it? If you don't mind my asking."
Alana had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach all of a sudden. "It's the man I was with in Rouen, my friend Erik. And in case you were still wondering, Damien, he did fight in the war." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Seraphine raise an eyebrow, a look of smug satisfaction passing over her face. She seemed glad to hear that Alana had another male friend. But she didn't know anything about Alana and Erik, what they had been through. And anyways, the two of them were just friends, plain and simple, no matter what…
"Oh? He teaches music?" Damien looked surprised at that bit of information. "How very interesting. Perhaps he can come over one day and teach Raoul here a thing or two," he said jokingly to the red-haired man standing beside him. Raoul. That was his name. Alana swore she would remember it this time.
"Now, now," Raoul said, laughing. "I'm told I have an excellent voice already, thank you very much."
"Indeed? Says who?" Damien's eyes still sparkled with jest.
"Says my wife. And she knows a thing or two about music." Raoul's expression had changed from blithe merriment, his blue eyes growing a bit more serious.
"That she does," said Seraphine. "However can you both stand it, all those tours of the country, all those performances?" There was an edge of concealed disapproval in her voice. Not entirely concealed, for Alana quickly picked up on it.
"It's what she loves," Raoul said. "If she stopped singing, I think the both of us would go mad."
"She does have a wonderful voice," another woman said, the Marquess of somewhere. "It's a shame she only did those three operas."
"And two of them were utter disasters," added a young man. A comte? No, a baron. Oh, I can't keep them all straight! "What a pity. I was becoming quite a fan of hers. Raoul, does she plan on doing any more?"
Raoul exchanged a quick look with Damien, grim and strange. "No. She doesn't."
"I for one think that's a good thing. Then she'll have more time to spend with you and the rest of us," said a young lady in a bright pink gown.
"Yes," Seraphine agreed. "An opera house is no place for a Vicomtesse. I would so much like to get to know your lovely wife, Raoul. I rarely ever see her."
"Yes, she prefers to keep to herself…" The red-haired man looked as uncomfortable as Alana felt. What was bothering him? She glanced at Damien, who, strangely, was not smiling. He too looked uneasy.
"Probably because of everything she had to endure, being caught up in all that chaos at the Opera Populaire, being taken by that madman…" someone was saying.
"They still haven't caught the lunatic, you know!…" another blurted out.
Alana watched as Damien, who'd appeared to be lost in thought, abruptly brightened up. "Charades, anyone?"
"Charades? Why not cards?" Seraphine nearly whined. "We always play cards."
Damien glanced briefly in Alana's direction and so did the others. She guessed the reason behind the game of charades. It was because he knew she didn't have the money to bet. She wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or humiliated.
They played charades until evening drew near, and finally, everyone began to leave. Damien accompanied her back home, and they rode through the streets that were gradually growing empty.
"Did you have a good time?" he asked her. He looked afraid of the answer.
"Yes…" Alana fingered the petals of the bluebell he'd given her. She didn't know what else to say. She didn't want to hurt Damien's feelings; after all, he hadn't been the problem. It was those friends of his.
"Are you sure? You seemed a bit…uncomfortable. I know how you must be feeling. Meeting everyone at once must have been intimidating. We've all grown up together, my friends and I. Our families are very closely aligned. But I'm sure you'll fit in with the rest of us in no time."
"Do you really think so?" Alana asked, doubtfully.
"I know so. You are just a and well-mannered and good-looking the rest of us. Even more so perhaps, if I do say so myself. You're…different. But in a good way."
"You flatter me too much, monsieur." Alana said, face reddening once again.
"How many times have we been over this, Alana?" he laughed. "Please, call me Damien."
"All right. Damien." They both grinned, and resumed a casual conversation. He asked her some more about staying with her relatives, what they were like and if she enjoyed staying there.
"What about your friend, Monsieur Erik, was it? Is he staying with your relatives also?" Damien asked with mild interest.
"No…" Alana said wistfully. She wished he was. It would be wonderful to be able to see him all day, have him always be just down the hall instead of in some unknown location like he was now. "He has found other lodgings, though I am not exactly sure where."
Damien nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'd still like to meet this friend of yours. The way I see it, a friend of yours is a friend of mine. How is he, by the way? When we last met, you spoke of him having some…emotional…issues, perhaps due to the war…has there been any improvement?" He was gazing intensely at her now, a strange expression on his handsome face. Alana couldn't look away, or hesitate to answer him.
"You know, I think he might be getting a bit better," she said. The thought filled her with exhilaration, happiness for Erik, and for herself as well. "But it has been very gradual. He's still a bit…secretive, and defensive. Sometimes I still just don't understand him at all," she confessed. "But he's already saved my life more than once, and I trust him with all my heart." Alana thought she saw Damien's eyes flash a dark green color, but he immediately smiled again.
"You must try to convince him to come to one of my gatherings. I could invite some of my friends from the war. Or, if he prefers, we could go on an outing to see the sights, and dine in one of the fine restaurants we'll pass. Or," he said, growing excited all of a sudden, "next month, in five week's time, all my friends and I will be going out to the country to my family's estate. My parents are throwing me a ball, you see, for my twenty-third birthday. It's sure to be an exciting time. You must come as well! I'll be handing out the formal invitations this Wednesday, if you would be so kind as to join me for le déjeuner again?"
Alana hesitated. The prospect of another day spent with Damien's condescending friends upset her stomach. But then again, she had never been to a ball in all her life. It was something she'd always dreamed of. And maybe Damien was right, maybe she would fit in with the others soon. "I'd be delighted."
"I'd also like to invite your friend Erik to my home on Wednesday, and to the ball as well. Please, do try to encourage him to attend."
"Oh, I definitely will," Alana said. With Erik by her side, facing Damien's friends wouldn't be so hard. She would have someone else to talk to when she grew bored of their gossip, and maybe they could play games, and he could play and sing for the rest of them. It would be such fun, if he could be convinced to come. Somehow Alana doubted he would.
"We're here," Damien said a bit pensively. They got out and he walked her to the small but pretty front porch. "It has been a pleasure, Alana," he said, eyes shining. "I look forward to many more good times together." And with a bow, he turned and left, Alana watching as his carriage disappeared down the lane.
The moment she walked through the door, Cerise burst into the foyer, excited by the sight of the flower Damien had given her, immediately barraging her with questions about everything that had happened.
"Good heavens, Cerise," Amélie exclaimed. "Give your poor cousin a chance to breathe between questions. And you had better go to her room and continue your conversation as you clean up all those feathers from this morning."
Curses. Alana had forgotten about that.
"So, how was it being in the company of so many aristocrats?" Cerise was asking as they went up the short flight of steps to Alana's room.
"It was extremely intimidating," she answered. "Honestly, his friends weren't very nice at all, but Damien himself was the picture of pleasantness. He's invited me to come again on Wednesday."
Cerise gave her a pretend glare. "Words cannot even express how jealous I am right now. How did you ever end up so lucky?"
I'm not always so fortunate, Alana thought. Just remember the reason I had to leave home and come live with you. "I'll put in a good word for you, Cerise," she said. "I'll also try to get you an invitation to his birthday ball next month. And I have to see if I can persuade Erik to come, too."
Cerise's blue eyes sparked with curiosity. "Erik…the man who brought you here?"
"Yes." Alana said quickly, surprisingly eager to speak of him.
"Will I ever be able to meet this mysterious man? It was so odd how he left in such a hurry."
Alana nodded in agreement. "Hopefully you will. If I can ever get him to overcome his shyness and meet new people. He really is extraordinary…"
"How so?"
She tried to think. How to describe Erik…she couldn't find the words.
"Erik…isn't easy to describe. You would have to meet him for yourself to understand, I think."
"Is he handsome?"
Alana was taken aback by the sudden blunt question. Her face was growing hot again. She pictured him in her mind, and couldn't stop herself from smiling at the thought of him and his attractive, chiseled features-at least the one side of his face that wasn't hidden by that infuriatingly curious mask-and of his dark but elegant clothes, and of his beautiful but sad blue-green eyes. "Yes…I suppose he's very handsome."
"Like the Comte de Bellamy?"
"No, not quite like that. He's very…different. But handsome in his own way."
"I'm intrigued," Cerise said thoughtfully. "I hope to see this Erik soon."
"So do I." The seconds and minutes were ticking away, and Alana knew it would soon it would be time to see him again. She was already exhausted, but the thought of being with him gave her a sudden energy. She reflected on everything that had happened that day, and realized just how much she'd missed being with him. Though they hadn't been separated that long, it was the longest time and farthest distance they'd been from each other since they'd met. She and Damien were becoming fast friends, and the Comte was wonderful company, infinitely more open and cheerful than Erik, but it just wasn't the same. She couldn't wait to see Erik again.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Damien returned home, and met Raoul in the parlor, as he often did. The other man stayed overnight once in a while in one of the many guest rooms, so that they would have enough time for their private discussions. The Vicomte had been having a drink, and Damien poured himself a large glass of cognac, filling it all the way to the top and gulping it down. The alcohol burned with a satisfying fire down his throat and into his stomach, which had been turning violently the entire ride back from the Valjeans' little house. There. That hit the spot.
"So. Have you found anything else out yet?" he asked Raoul, who was downing a glass of wine.
The other man shook his head. "Nothing. My own personal army of men out there, scouring the streets night and day, along with all the soldiers in the city who know to look out for him, and we still have nothing." He finished his glass and poured himself another. "What about you?"
Damien braced himself to say it. "Cornett paid me a visit last afternoon. He said he's definitely here in the city, he saw him. He even took a few shots at him, but of course the bastard escaped." Damien was working on his second cognac.
Raoul cursed. "Well, at least we finally have someone who's seen him, which is more than can be said for all the months before."
Damien nodded, reaching inside his jacket to feel the object hidden deep inside, its familiar cold, hard surface a comfort to him. "We're getting close. I believe it will only be a matter of time now. Do you remember that music teacher Alana mentioned?"
"That did get my attention, but we can't assume…"
"He wears a mask."
Raoul choked on the wine. "What?"
"He wears a mask, Raoul. She told me, back in Rouen. And she mentioned some…strange behavior on his part."
"Like what?"
"Like emotional breakdowns, a secretive, overly defensive nature. She says that he told her he fought in the war."
"That probably is him, then. The freak seems to be a compulsive liar, and a pretty convincing one at that. At least for some people." His expression darkened.
"Thank God for Alana," Damien said, sipping his cognac a little slower now. "Now we actually have some information that can help us. Without her, we would still be chasing shadows."
"Indeed." Raoul cocked his head at his friend. "I noticed the way you were looking at her all afternoon by the way," he said, his blue eyes mischievous. "You think of her as more than a good source of information, don't you?"
Damien flushed, but he couldn't deny it. She was a pretty girl, and charming as well. It was painfully obvious that she was poor, but that didn't make her any less beautiful, or less interesting to him. "Yes," he replied. "I do." And she was more than just a pretty girl. Now he knew that she was also a damsel in distress, in desperate need of rescue, trapped in the clutches of a demon.
"The others didn't seem to care for her, I thought," Raoul commented. "Would your parents disapprove of her any less? She's a nobody, Damien." He looked at his friend with the utmost seriousness.
Damien was suddenly livid. "She's not a nobody!" He shot back. "She's a wonderful, beautiful girl, and she doesn't need money or power to make me feel the way I feel about her. As if you're one to talk about this anyway-you went and married a chorus girl for God's sake!"
"You barely know Alana," Raoul argued. "How much can you truly feel for her? I'm only trying to look out for you. And yes, I love Christine, but my life hasn't been so perfect since I married her. You know how now I'm even more estranged from my parents and my brother than ever, and you've heard how everyone talks about me behind my back. You're all I have left." He finished his glass of wine and poured yet another. "Let's not argue." He clapped a hand on Damien's shoulder and grimaced when his friend pulled away. "Let's just focus on finding the monster, and getting rid of him once and for all," he said bitterly. "Maybe then things will get better for Christine and me."
"All you ever think about is yourself!" Damien snapped. "The freak didn't ruin your life, didn't take anything away from you. You got what you wanted from him. But now you're just scared that maybe your precious wife doesn't love you as much as you thought, that maybe she's still secretly in love with that monster. Well, I didn't join you in this vendetta to improve your marriage." He practically spat the words. "This is about one thing, and one thing only." He tipped his head back and drained the cognac, pouring still another drink. "Revenge."
"You're right." Solemnly, Raoul raised his glass. "To revenge, then."
And together they drank, the alcohol fueling the flames that burned inside them.