Chapter 27
A/N: Is there any excuse for not writing for almost A YEAR? Mmm, nope. Not really. Life got busy, the characters shut themselves away, and no matter how many times I tried to lure them out, they refused to talk to me. They finally started to whisper to me again, and lo and behold, a new guy entered the mix. I guess the Daroga wanted a new French identity. We'll have to see if they keep telling me their story or if they close themselves away again. Time will tell. In the meantime, onward!
Gus had since fetched a third chair and seated himself on Ang's other side, angled toward her and the viscount. The trio spoke regarding what might be expected to happen to the theater in light of the tragedy that had befallen it – or rather, the men spoke and Ang sat in shocked silence, the porcelain cup of now chilled tea forgotten in its cradle between her hands. While Gus and the viscount conversed, the pair continued to flick worried glances at her, then to one another, though the dialogue never faltered. Even if it had, she wouldn't have noticed. When the blanket slipped from around her to pool around her in the chair, Raoul reached to replace it round her shoulders, but hesitated, eyeing Gus significantly; Gus, in turn, gave the tiniest shake of his head, a calmly amiable expression on his face. Having secured permission, it appeared, Raoul shifted to take both sides of the blanket and guide it back up and over the girl's shoulders, his thumb whispering across the cheek that still bore the mark of Buquet's violence from the previous evening.
"Miss Chanson?"
The lack of any movement at all revealed just how detached from the moment she had become.
Fair brows over blue eyes furrowed, and Raoul sat forward in his chair to regard the stagehand openly. "How much of a brute was this Buquet fellow?" he asked, voice low.
"As much as you'd expect, given he apparently felt no remorse over hitting a lady," Gus murmured back, his own brown eyes dark with simmering rage. With a growl of self-deprecation, he wrung his cap between his hands. If only he hadn't pushed Ang so hard to share her troubles with him… If only he'd made the first move in reconciliation… If only he'd taken the time to check on her instead of pursuing the beautiful little ballet girl that had captured his attention as of late…
"That is the face of a man with regrets," Raoul ventured, his voice still pitched low so as not to draw attention to the shift in topic.
"She– Angelique and I, we had an argument a while back. We were mad at each other. If only I hadn't been such an ass and just apologized–"
"Ah, the curse of the Eternal If."
Gus quirked a dark, confused brow at the viscount.
"There's no point in killing yourself over 'if only'; there's no changing it. Buquet is dead, but Miss Chanson is alive. If this man was so violent as to assault a young woman under this roof, where they both were employed, perhaps it is best for all that he is no longer a danger to the other young ladies."
"He shouldn't have even had the chance to be alone with her. I should have–"
"But you didn't, and it's over and done. Make peace with it."
Gus didn't like how level-headed and positive this ruffled society popinjay was, but he also couldn't deny the logic of it. "Where did a pup your age gain that sort of wisdom?"
Raoul smirked. "My brother. He's been pounding the like into my brain since I was still on apron strings."
"A knows-everything, then?"
"The biggest."
The banter ended when the door leading from the wings to the lower cellars opened with a thud, and Ang lurched, the cold liquid in her teacup sloshing over the sides. As two policemen made their way from the wings with a stretcher between them, the remaining color in Ang's face drained away until her pallor nearly matched the sheet which covered the body of the deceased Joseph Buquet. Her body began to quake until her teeth audibly chattered and she nearly shook herself off the chair.
Being on a more intimate footing with her, Gus crouched before her and wrapped his arms firmly around her. "Hush, Little Elf, it's me. It's Gus. You're safe. I've got you. He's gone now; he can't hurt you anymore."
Still she trembled, silent tears coursing down her cheeks as she stared at the door leading to the cellars. "Not him. Not him."
Gus shot a despairing look up at Raoul, who stood by helplessly, running an uncharacteristically anxious hand through what had been perfectly styled golden hair.
A well dressed man with skin the color of rich coffee, raven hair covered by a Persian Astrakhan cap, and a black mustache approached their small trio, a notepad and pencil in one hand, and a small glass vial in the other. "If you would permit me," he offered with a thickly accented voice. He waved the vial beneath Ang's nose and she started back with a gasp and a sniff, her head shaking side to side as if to clear fog from her mind, and Gus eased back.
The man watched her for a moment, then appearing satisfied, he corked the vial and replaced it within a hidden coat pocket. "Better?"
Ang's eyes skipped about the stage, frightened and unsure, before the warm clasp of Gus's hand registered and she relaxed incrementally.
"Miss? Are you of a mind to answer a few questions for me?" questioned the commissary.
Her gaze remained on Gus's face. "Will you stay with me?
"We both will," he answered with a nod to her other side.
"If you will allow me to stay, Miss Chanson," Raoul deferred.
She offered a mere glimmer of a smile before her focus returned to the investigator standing above her. "Go ahead, Inspector…?"
"Milfroid." The man gave a short, perfunctory bow, then flipped open his palm-sized notebook. "Your name is Angelique Chanson? I understand it was you who first discovered the body of this Joseph Buquet, correct?"
She nodded silently.
"How did you find him?"
"I went down to the cellars to retrieve some cloth. I work in the costume shop. He was h-hanging with a rope around his neck."
"Did you try to help him?"
She shook her head in the negative. "No. He wasn't moving. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth and... and his eyes almost bulging."
"And were you on friendly terms with Buquet?"
She shook her head again.
"Can you explain for me, please?"
She sniffed, shifting uneasily in her chair. Her eyes slid closed and she focused on her breathing. There had been occasions in her life before Paris when she'd had to go through her various traumatic experiences with the cops to file a report, so she channeled that mindset; detached, to the point, just the facts and as little emotion as possible. With a last deep breath, she quickly recounted the events exactly as they had happened, sharing every detail she could recall: the needle she'd plunged into the back of his hand, how later he cornered her and forced his mouth down on hers, that she'd bitten him to get him away, how he'd slapped her then undone his belt.
Gus cursed beneath his breath, and when she glanced at Raoul, his jaw was clenched so tightly that she thought his teeth must ache. "I was on the ground, and kicked him in the leg, which brought him down, too. I got up, ran down the hall and out the door that leads to a side alley, which was where I ran into the viscount."
Raoul turned to stare at her. "That was–? He had just–?" His hands fisted atop his knees. "The villain!"
"Indeed," the inspector remarked mildly. "Did you see Buquet at all after that, Miss Chanson? Last night or this morning?"
Ang shook her head. "No, not once."
The investigator raised a brow. "Perhaps you requested one of your lovers here to dispatch him for you. It would only be natural."
Her face opened in shock. Gus protested and would have surged to his feet in anger had Ang's hand not stilled him with a light touch, and Raoul straightened with patrician haughtiness.
"It is my job to ask any question that might aid in this investigation," the inspector explained.
"Look, I would never ask anyone to hurt or attack another person, not for any reason," Ang declared. "He, Joseph, was a pig, but- but he didn't deserve that."
"Didn't deserve to hang himself?" Milfroid pressed.
Ang noticed her slip, but remained silent.
"Can you think of anyone else who might be involved?"
"No," Ang replied quietly before she glanced away and chewed absently at her lower lip, a detail of which the keen eyed inspector took note.
Raoul stood and, with his hand upon Milfroid's arm, steered him away. "Could further questioning not wait? You see the lady is distressed, and she has already been most forthcoming."
The inspector flipped the notebook closed and replaced it into a pocket, as well. "If I have any further questions, I will follow up directly. But this seems to be a rather straight-forward case." He respectfully touched the front of his hat with his finger and thumb as he accorded each of them, then took his leave.
Exhaustion swept over Ang like a king wave, and she sighed heavily. "I need to go to work."
"Like hell you do. The only place you need to go is bed to rest," Gus protested.
"You know I can't do that, not while people are here. They can't know!" Ang argued in a whisper.
Raoul leaned closer to hear. "Who cannot know what?"
Gus and Ang exchanged a glance, Gus staring hard at her while Ang lifted her shoulders in a weak shrug, though she hung her head in shame. Gus slipped a comforting arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. "Ang lives here, in one of the little closets used for storage."
Raoul straightened with a blink, glanced around, then leaned in once more. "In God's name, why? Surely those who work here are paid enough to afford at least a room."
Silence was the only answer he received.
"I see. Well, you shall have a regular room today. I have a friend in town, a dear sweet woman, who would be delighted to have a visitor. I will speak with the managers myself and ensure you are not punished or your wages docked for taking the rest of the day off."
"I can't. You don't understand; I can't leave. It's too dangerous!"
"Dangerous?" Raoul exclaimed.
"Ang, what are you afraid of?" Gus broke in.
She shook her head and turned her face to hide it in the crook of Gus' neck while he communicated silently with Raoul, who stood to his feet and took his leave, leaving Gus to keep Ang safely in the circle of his arms, one hand running slowly up and down her spine until he felt her body go limp with sleep.
Twenty minutes later, Raoul had Gus and Ang both situated comfortably in his carriage and the trio were on their way toward the outskirts of the city.
A/N: Please leave me a comment or piece of encouragement - Life has been pretty rough and I'd appreciate having a reason to smile. Blessings to each of you, Nika