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Chapter 52

As Julia said, Claude-as well as two other gentlemen-stopped by the house and dropped off a canvas bag with several items of clothing late in the afternoon.

From the bedroom where I had retreated to finish up my work, I heard a hasty exchange between my wife and the painter, who promised he would compensate her for all of the trouble. Julia, of course, told him it was unnecessary and that she would have his clothes finished in ten days as she had a few more items to mend for a neighbor.

I peered out the bedroom at the three artists; Claude with his blond hair, another red-headed man with a beard, and dark-haired man with a prominent nose who continuously sighed to himself as though he was quite bored.

"You are a wonderful and kind woman, Madame Kire," Claude said before he left. He shot both of his companions a look of annoyance before they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

The letter from my uncle, the one I wished to ask Joshua about, stayed within my line of sight for the remainder of the day as I feared leaving it behind despite having memorized each word.

"Oh, you're already dressed?" Julia said once she came upstairs to our bedroom.

"I am," I said without looking up from my work.

She placed her hands on my shoulders and kissed the back of my neck. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing," I mumbled as I jotted down my thoughts before the melody faded from my mind. "A moment and I will leave you to your lotions and perfumes."

Four separate sheets of paper with various notes scattered across each page slowly melded together until the concerto in my head found its way out of my thoughts and committed to ink and a single sheet of music.

Twice I went over the arrangement in my mind, my fingers deftly moving over the imaginary strings I played against the surface of the desk. In my mind I could hear the full swell of the orchestra playing each note, a private performance only I could hear. Often when I heard a new melody trickle through my thoughts as I walked with Bessie or sat reading in the study, I was torn between pitying people whose minds were not filled with music and envying those not enslaved by their muse.

When I turned my attention to Julia, she had already finished dressing and had started to put on her earrings. I looked from her to the clock and realized nearly twenty minutes had passed.

"You, my dearest husband, clearly have a mistress in your music," she said lightly as she looked at me from across the room.

"That is...not true," I said, failing to sound the least bit convincing.

"What was the last thing you heard me say?"

"Not a word, I'm afraid," I confessed. "My apologies."

Julia chuckled to herself. "You answered me twice in agreement."

To that I cringed. "What did I agree to?"

Julia picked up her necklace. "I suppose when I realized you were not listening I should have asked for diamonds, but instead I asked if I should wear these earrings. What do you think?"

I stood, came up behind her, and clasped her necklace into place, stealing a kiss in the process.

"I still agree with my choice," I replied as I kissed the side of her neck and pulled her closer.

Julia smiled and shook her head. "Shall we?" she asked.

I returned to my desk, grabbed the letter, and walked down with Julia to the foyer.

"Why can't we attend supper?" Alex asked.

"Tonight is for adults only," I answered.

Alex made a face. "Are you playing cards?" he asked. "Or discussing politics?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Uncle Charles promised to teach me to play cards like a gentleman. Then I will be invited to adult suppers."

"I don't think we will be playing cards tonight."

Alex proceeded to allow his head to fall dramatically back. "Politics," he groaned.

Unfortunately, I was certain the discussion for the evening would be worse than debating politics.

"I am sure my cousin will extend an invitation to you and Lisette in the future."

Alex did not seem convinced, however, he had no desire to miss an opportunity for a game with Charles. He excused himself and ran down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Where is Lisette?" I asked.

"Meg put her to work folding diapers and baby clothes," Julia answered. "Lissy could not be happier playing Mother."

With both children accounted for, Julia and I walked out front to a waiting carriage.

"What do you think he will say?" Julia asked once the carriage slowly made its way onto the street. She nodded to the letter firmly in my grasp.

"I have no idea," I answered. My stomach was already in knots, my thoughts dissonance in my head. "And I don't know what I want him to say."

Julia placed her hand over my tightly balled fist, but nothing would quell my growing anxiety.

"Erik, look! There is Phelan," Julia said suddenly as she craned her neck to look out the carriage window.

I leaned forward as we passed her cousin Anthony's bakery and saw Phelan step inside.

He would be a few minutes behind us, which gave me a small sense of satisfaction as I would have a moment to speak to Joshua in private. I sat back and relaxed my left hand.

We arrived at my cousin's home nearly twenty minutes earlier than expected thanks to a young driver with fast horses. Joshua was outside in his garden with a pipe loosely held between his lips while a woman I had never seen before stood gesturing wildly as she spoke. Her voice lowered once we approached, and she returned inside the house long before we made our way through the wooden gate.

"Lovely to see the two of you," Joshua said as he stood and shook my hand. "Julia, you are stunning as always."

"We are a bit early," I said, which did nothing to settle my ever growing anxiety.

"So you are." Joshua stood and pulled out a chair for Julia. "Please, please I insist that you sit. You and your wife are always welcome here. And of course so are Alexandre, Lisette, and Bessie."

Joshua offered refreshments, all the while eyeing the envelope I had clasped in my free hand.

"I wanted to ask you about something I read," I explained once we were seated and several beverages brought out to the table by a young woman with jet black hair.

"I will do my best to answer," Joshua jovially answered.

I took a deep breath, pulled the letter from the envelope, and unfolded the page. Joshua accepted the letter from me and silently read the contents. Twice he looked up and met my eye, his face darkening. I wanted to tell him I was mostly interested in the very last lines, but didn't want to interrupt.

"I remember this," he said. "One of the last letters my father sent before the two of you set off, if I am not mistaken." He looked from me to the paper and frowned. "He was so relieved to see you were alive."

Julia's lips parted in horror and she inhaled sharply as she looked from Joshua to me.

I stared at the back of the letter still within my cousin's possession and carefully considered his words for a long moment in silence.

"He knew me," I said. It was more of a statement even though I had intended to ask a question.

Joshua lowered the single page and met my eye briefly. He hesitated for a long moment, then nodded at last. "He did."

My heart ached. Off and on for days I had made several attempts to sift through a childhood I wished to forget and remember something I did not think truly existed. The earliest memory I could recall was sitting in the dark and the sound of footsteps. No matter how hard I willed myself to remember my uncle, he was not there.

"How?" I asked. "I have no recollection of him."

Joshua did not seem particularly surprised by my statement. He exhaled and gave a barely noticeable nod. "You were very young."

"How young?"

Joshua frowned and appeared increasingly uncomfortable. "Erik-"

Julia cleared her throat and both Joshua and I turned our attention toward my wife. Behind her, Phelan stood with his hat in his right hand and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. His gaze was trained on his brother, a smirk on his lips.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked when no one said a word to him.

"Of course not," Joshua replied. "We were looking over an old letter."

"From your father?" Phelan asked.

"From our father, yes," Joshua said. "Shall we step inside?"

"What does it say?" Phelan asked, ignoring his brother's suggestion.

My jaw clenched. While I did not mind Joshua or Julia reading the contents, I did not want Phelan reading my uncle's letter about how he had seen me limping back to my parents' home. He knew enough of my faults and I did not want him knowing anything else.

"Nothing I wish to repeat in public," Joshua said. He carefully folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope, then handed it to me. "Perhaps we can discuss the contents after supper."

"Did he mention me?" Phelan asked, his tone somewhat sardonic.

Joshua stood and stepped toward his brother. "Not in this particular letter."

Phelan grunted. He looked past his brother at me and narrowed his gray eyes. "Joshua handed all of them over to you, did he not? How many times did your uncle mention me?"

"A time or two," I answered, keeping my gaze trained on his. He could not have chosen a more inopportune time to join us. I hated him for it.

Phelan feigned surprise. "A time or two?" he placed his hand over his heart. "My, my, how could he ever spare the ink?"

"We have not been seated for supper and already you are exceedingly disagreeable," Joshua said through his teeth, patience swiftly waning. "You can either be civil or you can return to whatever corner of the city you are staying in for the time being and return at a later date."

"Merely a question, Valgarde," Phelan replied. "I will keep my inquiries to a minimum."

At last Phelan looked away from me and turned his attention back to his brother. He held out the bottle of wine by the neck in his gloved hand. "For the gracious host."

"Thank you," Joshua said. He stepped aside and motioned us into his home.

I looked from Joshua and Phelan to the letter in my hand and felt as though the answer I sought had become intangible.

"After supper," Joshua offered quietly once Phelan disappeared through the doorway. "I doubt he will stay long."

Despite the feeling of disappointment, I nodded and placed the letter into my coat pocket, all the while fighting the urge to excuse myself and return home.

Julia gently placed her hand on my arm. "Do you want to stay?"

"No," I answered with a sigh. "But I will be damned if I leave on his account."

Joshua waited for us in the doorway. "It seems Elizabeth and Anthony are delayed with a last-minute order," he said. "They will hopefully be joining us after supper, but evidently Elizabeth wasn't sure when they would be leaving."

"Then I suppose it will be the four of us," I replied.

"Madame Kire," Phelan said once we were in the dining room. "Or is it Madame Kimmer?"

I pulled out the chair for my wife, but Julia remained standing. She stared back at my cousin, her head held high and expression placid. "I insist you call me Julia."

Phelan nodded smoothly. "Of course."

"How have you been?" Julia asked. She took her seat, all the while keeping her attention focused on Phelan.

"Very well," he answered. "And you, Madame?"

"Looking forward to a lovely evening. Joshua, you have a beautiful home."

"Thanks to my daughter and her mother, no doubt," Joshua replied. He sat at the head of the table, which left me as the only person still standing aside from two servants waiting in the doorway. I hurried into my seat and studied the pattern on my fork as though it was the most fascinating object I had seen all day.

Julia smiled across the table at Phelan. She reached beneath the table and brushed her hand over mine before she spoke. "We saw you at Erik's opera last night. It was a shame time did not allow for us to speak then."

"Yes, an awful shame," Phelan agreed. The slightest hint of sarcasm dripped from his words, which he disguised with an exaggerated grin.

"How was it?" Joshua asked. "Outstanding, I would imagine."

"They have a very talented cast," I answered. "We enjoyed ourselves immensely."

"I am sure you enjoyed seeing a performance the entire way through," Phelan said as he looked at me from the corner of his eye. "I do believe the last opera you saw was not completed on the stage?"

His words were meant as a jab toward Don Juan Triumphant. Heat rose along the back of my neck, and I would be damned if I remained civil.

"That is correct," I answered. "Although I must say we did not think the performance would start at all last night considering there was a bit of commotion in the orchestra section."

"A bit of a commotion?" Joshua said, purely to make conversation. Based on his inquisitive tone I assumed he had no idea his brother caused a stir at the opera every time he attended a performance. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"It turned out to be absolutely nothing," I replied.

"Fortunately," Julia added tightly. "And the rest of the night was perfect."

Phelan grunted.

"We have spent the last few days piecing together as much information as was available about your family," Julia said to Phelan. "If there is anything you might able to add-"

"I am afraid not, Madame," Phelan coldly replied. He tilted his head to the side, his dark eyes piercing.

Seeing his unwavering expression, Julia reached for her wine glass, which was still empty. She paused and slowly placed both of her hands in her lap. One of the servants swiftly came around the table to fill respective glasses with wine and water while the second woman set out fresh bread and the first course of onion soup.

"I will be as forthcoming as possible," Joshua said before silence settled into the dining room.

"How accommodating," Phelan said under his breath.

"You were not fond of your father," I said to Phelan once the servants returned to the kitchen.

Joshua looked nervously from me to Phelan and worked his jaw in silence as though he wished to intervene, but words eluded him.

Phelan sat back and draped his arm over the empty chair beside him. He took up his newly filled glass of wine and swirled the contents. "Were you fond of your father?" he shot back.

I clenched my fists around my napkin. "He did not care for me," I replied. "Although I suspect you are already aware of how he felt."

His arrogance faltered, the way in which he casually sat with his arm draped over the chair momentarily turning rigid. The pinched, angry features I associated with my father turned momentarily remorseful.

I started to reach for my spoon, but reconsidered and looked across the table at Phelan, who was still staring intently at me.

"Is it difficult to eat in a mask?" he questioned.

Joshua mumbled something under his breath that I did not catch. I put my hand out, palm toward him in a request for silence before I unfolded my napkin and straightened my silverware. The seconds ticked by slowly, silence stretching out as I considered my options. I thought of pulling Julia to her feet and leaving at once. I also pictured myself casually walking around the table, grabbing Phelan by his throat, and throwing him onto his back to show him precisely who he dared antagonize.

Ultimately, however, neither response would do. I refused to be driven out of Joshua's home and-tempting as it was-I knew I could not strangle or break Phelan's nose with my fist.

"Did I harm you in a different lifetime?" I asked. I stirred my soup in a slow, rhythmic motion that belied the chaos inside begging to be released.

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"This vitriol, this disdain or whatever you wish to call it. Well before I said a single word to you, Phelan, you have met me with outright malice."

He gave a humorless chuckle, but did not disagree with my observation.

"I have grown quite accustomed to being shunned by strangers based on my appearance. I have come to expect contempt from others, but I had forgotten what it was like to be hated by family."

I pushed my chair back from the table, suddenly feeling as though my seat was far too confining.

"You look like him," I said. "Like my father. Or at least how I imagined he would have appeared if he was sober and cleaned up. I do not recall his voice, but the hatred when he looked at me, it is in your eyes."

Julia reached for my hand, but I pulled away. Phelan sat unblinking across the table, still and emotionless as a statue.

"His revolusion is the reason I spent the majority of my life in solitude. You asked if I was fond of my father. I still do not truly know how I feel." I started to remove my cufflinks with the intention of rolling up my sleeves but thought better of it. Instead I felt my way along my forearm nearly to the crook of my elbow. "He left me with a cigar burn here," I said, making a circle with my finger around the scar. "There is another one on the bottom of my foot and the back of my leg. I have no recollection of why he snuffed out his cigar on my flesh, but I distinctly remember where I had curled up in the cellar. I should hate him for every scar and yet...I wonder what I could have done differently to please him."

Phelan looked away briefly. I studied him a moment, his strong jaw clenched tight and nostrils flared. I wanted him to look at me again, dead in the eye. I wanted to speak to him in a way I had never been able to address my father.

"I did not realize how cruel he truly treated me until I met my uncle, and even then I felt as though I deserved to be hurt. To this day I still feel as though I was at fault. I look at my son and my daughter and I cannot imagine either of them suffering a single day of what I experienced. How does a grown man repeatedly beat their own child mercilessly?" I asked. "How does a father listen to his own son hold back tears and continue to strike him?"

I did not much care whether or not Phelan offered an answer. I would never truly know why my own father had not simply sent me away rather than keep me confined.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the two servants peek into the dining room before they dashed back into the kitchen, but I kept my attention pinned on Phelan. Not even Julia's sniffles broke my concentration.

I knew my words were not spoken with the greatest of clarity. I was aware that my voice shook and tongue knotted, making me stumble through my words, but still I continued.

"So I will ask you again, Monsieur, did I harm you in a different lifetime? Did I do something long ago to earn your hatred? Your brother said I knew my uncle, but I do not remember him. If I knew you-"

Phelan stood abruptly, looked from me to Joshua, and tore his cufflinks from his shirt. He pulled up his sleeve with such force that the fabric ripped and Julia gasped in horror. Phelan ignored the response from my wife. He held out his left arm, the exposed skin puckered and red from the base of his thumb up to the middle of his forearm.

"Do not speak to me of suffering and cruelty," he said through his teeth. "You know nothing of me, Erik Kimmer or Kire or whomever the hell you claim to be."

He threw down his cufflinks and bolted out of the room and through the kitchen, startling a shriek of surprise from the servants.

I realized I had stood as well to confront him. I turned from the empty doorway to Joshua, bewildered by Phelan's words and the marks on his arm.

"That is not from your father," I said. "Is it?"

Joshua sighed heavily and looked away from me, his mouth set in a deep frown. "No, it is not. It is from yours."