Chapter 11

As promised, Madeline returned on the fifth day. I had no idea when she would pay me a visit, so I busied myself with rearranging furniture and separating what I had uncovered in the various crates and boxes as items of interest and rubbish. Eventually I intended to deposit the rubbish into the furnace and use the emptied crates as fuel for a fire once I cleared the space in front of it.

With spiderwebs clinging to my forearms and sweated beaded on my forehead, I heard the cellar door open and close as I stood perched atop the largest crate in the very back. I paused for a moment and stood on the tips of my toes. From where I stood I could only see her from the shoulders up, but once I spotted her, I smiled to myself, grateful for her return.

"Madeline?" I called.

"Erik," she replied as she turned in a full circle and stood on the tips of her toes in search of me.

Her voice lacked enthusiasm, which gave me pause. Nevertheless I hopped from one crate to the next before I jumped down from the pile of unopened treasures and trotted toward her, a wide smile of relief spread across my face. I had missed her terribly, in a way I had never felt before.

I came to a stop several feet away and realized a stranger had returned in Madeline's place. Her face was puffy and yet seemed more angular. Her red, swollen eyes met mine and she forced a smile.

"It's late," she said. "I cannot stay long."

She turned away from me then and, without thinking, I placed my hand on her shoulder and held her in place. To my surprise she did not struggle or pull away from me.

"What happened?" I asked.

Madeline bowed her head. She inhaled sharply and stood in silence with her back to me for a long moment.

"I did not make it in time." Her words and the hollowness of her voice made me shiver. "My parents were supposed to meet me at the train station, but they sent my aunt instead. The moment I saw her, I knew I was too late."

There was nothing I could say that would lessen her grief, and yet still I made an attempt to ease her pain. "My apologies. Would you care to speak of your trip?" I asked awkwardly, unsure of whether she wanted to share details with me.

She nodded and quietly thanked me. "They said he passed not more than two hours before I arrived. A mere two hours and I missed telling my brother I loved him. I cannot recall ever telling him how good he was to me when we were younger. I regret it now."

I thought of how she had missed the earlier train and come to visit me instead as she wanted to make certain I had enough food to last five days. Perhaps she did not regret her choice, but I certainly did.

"I had months with my uncle," I said, uncertain of why I decided to share something both personal and deeply painful. Despite ten months since his passing, I felt as though the heartache was still fresh. "And yet I feel as though there was no one more important in my life. I have tried desperately not to think of him, and yet I think of him when I smell pipe smoke, hear a violin, feel the rain… Such small details and he is there."

Madeline turned and looked at me. "I did not know you only knew him for a short time."

A lifetime would not have been enough for me. "He saved me," I confessed.

"May I ask how?"

I pursed my lips and considered my next words. "My parents intended to send me to an asylum because-because of many reasons, I'm certain." My throat tightened unexpectedly. Despite everything they had done to me, each beating and harsh world, I still loved them-and I still wanted them to love me. "I would be in an asylum right now if not for my uncle. And yet when I buried him, I wanted nothing more than to join him."

She wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded in agreement. "I should have left the day my brother was shot," Madeline said. "The guilt..."

"Is overwhelming," I said. "I should not have allowed my uncle to travel another step when he was sick. Perhaps he would still be alive if not for my selfishness."

Saying the words aloud left me breathless. For almost a year I had kept that dreadful thought to myself, and once I had spoken the words aloud, grief knifed through me as it had the day I clutched his cold hand and draped my sobbing body over his, begging him to return to me. Every detail from the yellowed appearance of his skin to his gaunt, still frame rushed into the forefront of my mind.

Madeline closed her eyes and her shoulders dropped. "You blame yourself."

"Who else is there to blame?" I felt a spike of anger deep inside, like a rock jutting from a lake that split my grief in half. The turbulence of emotion left me feeling dizzy. "I would give anything to hear his voice one last time. I would willingly walk the length of France and admit myself into an asylum to bring him back."

More than anything, I wished I had died alongside him. The weeks that had stretched into months following his death had been twisted with grief and numbness. I alternated between hating myself for causing his demise and hating my uncle for keeping his grave condition a secret from me until it was too late. He should have known I was a worthless and ignorant boy too blind to see him wasting away before my eyes.

"I would do the same to see my brother one last time. The shirt I gave you, the brown one with the buttons, it belonged to Thomas. He realized he left his bag behind once he and the rest of my family reached the train station and he told me to run back and fetch it for him, but I refused. We argued over it, and when he left that day he told me I was a spoiled little brat and he would never come visit me again and I told him I didn't want to see him. Those were the last words we ever said to one another."

"I wish I had told my uncle I loved him."

For almost a year I had wanted to speak those words, but no one was willing to listen to me.

I looked at her suddenly. "I do not know if he was aware of how much he meant to me."

"With the way you speak of him, he most certainly knew." Madeline placed her hand on my forearm. I stared at her long fingers, of how she provided comfort to me when she grieved as I did. "I wish I had told my brother the same. And yet even if your uncle and my brother did not hear us speak those words, I do not think they would want us to feel such misery. We did love them, perhaps more than we ever knew."

She was correct. My uncle had done everything in his power to provide for me and give me an opportunity at a life beyond my parents' filthy cellar. He had seen in me what I still could not see in myself. He loved me more than anyone else I had ever met, and I cherished each day with him, even though I didn't always show my appreciation.

"I am sorry for your loss," I said to her.

Madeline offered a wan smile and squeezed my arm. "I am sorry for yours as well." She pushed her hair back from her face and sniffled. "I worried about you while I was away."

Her words amused me. "I worried for myself."

She giggled at last, mood visibly changed. "In my haste I forgot to bring you hot food."

"I have enough to eat."

Madeline nodded and turned away. "Then if you are well for the night…" Her voice trailed away and I looked from her to the doorway where she had trained her gaze. "Your boots," she gasped.

The cloak I had left out to dry and carefully hung up, my wet clothes I had collected, laundered by hand, and put away. The boots, however, had remained covered in mud and left by the door.

She whipped around and glared at me. "You left the cellar?" she asked. "After I had specifically asked you to stay put?"

"I ran out of food," I stated.

"When?"

"The second day."

Her eyes grew wide. "Impossible."

I had not expected to defend myself and thus was not prepared to do so. With nothing left to say, I shifted my weight and looked away.

"Where did you go?" Madeline persisted.

"The first time I went to the kitchen."

Madeline did not immediately reply, and I swore her anger burned through me.

"The first time? How many times did you leave?" she asked at last.

I had no desire to answer as I fully realized there was nothing I could say that would appease her.

"Erik," she said sharply.

"Twice," I blurted out. I did not dare meet her eye. "The first night to the kitchen for food as I was hungry and I had nothing left. I swear this is true."

"And the next time?"

"The second time I went to the rooftop." My hands balled into fists at my side, a nervous, instinctive reaction of sheer panic.

Madeline glanced at my hands briefly but did not comment on my more rigid stance. "That does not explain all the mud." Her features softened slightly, her anger replaced by concern. "What happened?"

"I saw a storm approaching and descended the stairs to return here for the night, but there was two women in the servant's hall when I reached the last steps. It was after sunset and I did not expect anyone to still be working. I didn't know what to do."

Again her eyes widened. "Did they see you?"

I shook my head. "I do not think so. I exited through the first door I saw before they could see me."

Apparently I sounded tremendously guilty as the questioning continued. "And then what happened?"

"I could not return inside."

Madeline considered my words as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Could not return inside where? The theater?"

I nodded. "The door locked behind me and there was no handle. I found myself in the alley."

She gasped, her face suddenly a shade whiter. She settled her hand over her chest and shook her head in disbelief. "Sweet Jesus, how long were you outside?"

"A few hours, I suppose." It had felt like an eternity, but I decided not to embellish my story, despite it clearly garnering me a bit of motherly sympathy.

At last Madeline looked at me and frowned as she shook her head in pure awe of my unexpected adventure. "How did you find a way inside? Surely all of the doors were locked."

I told her of how I managed to pull myself through a stable window and how the door leading into the theater was unlocked, which she assured me was a mistake and how fortunate I was to have found a way back inside. I conveniently left out the part where the two men would have robbed me on the street if I had possessed anything of value.

"Locked outside in the rain and yet no worse for wear," she said with an exasperated sigh. "My goodness, you most certainly have an angel watching over you."

My uncle, I suspected. No other angel would claim me.

"I do hope you have learned a valuable lesson," Madeline said sternly. "You are beyond fortunate you made it back inside unscathed. I would have worried myself to death if I had come down here and found you were missing."

"I know," I said before she could continue. I apologize for my foolish actions and I am glad you have returned," I said.

My words seemed to satisfy her. "I am too. Now clean your boots off and I will see you in the morning before the start of rehearsals."

Three days passed and still Madeline seemed like a different person since her unexpected trip to England. She spoke very little of her brother's death and the arrangements for his burial, which I understood as being still quit fresh and painful. Due to her commitment with the theater, she could not stay for the funeral, which saddened her, but the new performance at the Opera House occupied her time and left no room for dwelling on her grief, as she put it.

"I do believe you were spotted," she said at breakfast on the fourth morning.

I could not tell if she was upset with me or merely stating a fact, and so I made no remark.

Madeline eyed me from her seat across the table while she sipped her coffee. "One of the cooks said the kitchen was ransacked. There were footsteps left in flour spilled across the floor and pastries meant for the Opera House managers disappeared," she explained when I did not reply.

I looked away as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. Ransacked did indeed sound like the proper description of what I had done. Perhaps I should have felt worse, but I had no regrets concerning my actions.

"And then the following night two maids confessed to seeing an apparition in the hall."

"What is an apparition?"

Madeline sat back in her chair and moved crumbs left from her biscuit around on her plate with her index finger. "A ghost," she explained. "They both said a very large apparition chased them down the hallway, floating in the air several feet above the ground. They both described it as having red, burning eyes and a head of death. When they rounded the corner, it disappeared into thin air."

"I did not chase anyone," I blurted out.

"I assume you did not float down the hall or somehow turn your eyes red either." Madeline smirked.

My gaze lowered. The second night had truly been the greatest of disasters. "I did not think they saw me."

"There is more," she said with a sigh. "A substantial amount of money from the last performance is missing out of the manager's office."

"I did not steal," I said defensively, afraid she would find a reason to send me away. It was bad enough I had disobeyed her orders to stay put, but it was an entirely different ordeal if I had taken up thievery as well. "I mean to say, I did not steal money. I took food and nothing more. I swear it."

"I am not accusing you, however, everyone in the Opera House believes we have obtained a ghost. I suppose someone planned their robbery at the same time the Opera House was in a frenzy as to blame the theft on a phantom."

"The thief is not a ghost."

Madeline furrowed her brow, eyes narrowed and trained on me. "How do you know?"

I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether or not I wanted to tell her what I had seen.

"Erik," she warned. "How do you know?"

"I saw Bouquet. He is hiding stolen funds in the servant's hall behind a loose brick. There was a woman with him and she said she gave him a key. They put fifty francs into the box. That is all I heard before I walked away."

Madeline folded her hands and remained quiet for a long moment. Her silent contemplation made me uneasy as I hoped she did not think I had fabricated the story to save myself from trouble. "What did the woman look like?" she asked at last.

"I did not see her face, but she was short and round with curly hair."

Madeline grunted. "Simone Cavroux, I think. She is a maid for Bouquet's great uncle, Monsieur Lorett's estate across town once a week and employed here several days a week. Bouquet is a drunken louse and a fool but I did not take him for a thief." Madeline shook her head in disgust. "I suppose I should have known."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, keeping my voice low as though someone would overhear us.

"For now I will blame it on the ghost like everyone else," she answered.

I could not help but feel somewhat offended by her words. Loathing Bouquet as I did, I wished to see him jailed for his thievery. With the manner in which he had spoken to Madeline, he deserved to hang.

"You will not turn him in?" I asked.

Madeline shook her head. "I do not wish to be involved with anything concerning that man. The further away I am from him, the better." She leaned forward and met my gaze. The same goes for you, do you understand?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Erik?"

"I understand," I muttered.