Fun fact: I wrote this chapter almost six months ago before I figured out where it fit in the time line of the story :) Hope everyone still reading is doing well. Thanks for sticking with me!
CH 67
Julia insisted that Alex and Lisette set out their clothing and one item to entertain them while on holiday, but with our pending travel still nearly two weeks away, Alex simply had no desire to rifle through his clothing and Lisette was preoccupied with the perfect menu for a Sunday afternoon. With two more days remaining until my brother was to visit, Lisette had compiled an impressive list of possible culinary delights, starting with desserts.
"What about...figs and walnuts?" Lisette asked as she tapped her finger against her chin and gazed up at me from across the study. She sat in my chair on her knees with her elbow on the desk. It looked terribly uncomfortable to me, but Lisette insisted she thought best in that position. "And of course panna cotta with vanilla and the raspberry sauce poured in the shape of squiggly lines to look like a sun." She wiggled her index finger to emphasis the sun rays.
I furrowed my brow at Lisette's seemingly extravagant plans. "Has your mother made that for you before?" I asked. Most certainly Julia had never made it for me.
Lisette nodded. "When I was little."
"It sounds very involved."
Lisette considered my words and furrowed her brow. "I suppose. Should I pick something else?"
"For your mother's sanity I would think so," I said. Lisette giggled to herself in a way that was endearing and devilish. "Speaking of your mother, did she step out?"
Lisette shrugged. "Ask grandmere." Before I could ask, Lisette turned over her sheet of paper and added, "Grandmere is in the parlor."
I thanked Lisette and walked into the parlor where Madeline sat with her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and half of a knitted blanket spread out across her lap.
"Have you seen Julia?" I asked.
"It's Friday. She's with Meg and Ruby," Madeline answered as though this should have been common knowledge.
"She's with them daily."
"They're waiting for the weekly delivery from the market. It should arrive any minute now, I would think."
"Why isn't the delivery being dropped off here?"
"It's cheaper for one stop instead of paying for two."
"Cheaper," I muttered. "We are hardly destitute."
"You should be quite pleased to have a frugal wife."
I regarded Madeline a moment as she held up the blanket and nodded in approval at her handiwork. "Why are you here?" I asked. The moment the words left my mouth, I winced at my uncouth tone.
Madeline raised a brow and tilted her head to the side. "Ah, I am not welcome, I see. Give me a moment and I will gather my things. I apologize for intruding."
To that I exhaled and rolled my eyes. "That is not how I meant it. Why are you knitting here and not in the comfort of your own home?"
"I am crocheting." She gave me a pointed look as though she had educated a complete barbarian on the fine art of crochet. "And the light is better in this room. Always has been," she huffed.
"I apologize for not realizing the light in my house is far superior to the light in your new house," I grumbled.
Madeline chuckled to herself as she placed her crocheting supplies into her basket and folded what was finished of the blanket. "Highly irritated as always," she said as she looked up at me and smiled. "And to think I've missed your surly nature."
"You flatter me, Madame," I said dryly. "And considering how frequently we see one another, I have no idea how you could possibly say such things."
"Because it's true." Madeline patted my shoulder. "Give the women ten more minutes before you interrupt their afternoon."
I narrowed my eyes, sensing she had merely stalled me from walking to the Lowrys' home. "They are waiting on a delivery from the market. How could I possibly interrupt?"
Madeline offered no further answer other than a slight shrug of her shoulders.
Distrusting by nature, I turned, walked out of the room and promptly through the house and out the back door. The moment I entered the Lowrys' kitchen, I heard Ruby and Meg shriek with laughter. The noise was so startling that I paused and furrowed my brow.
"Oh! Oh! I see the cart!" Ruby said. Her words were followed by brief applause and Julia reminding our housekeeper that the windows were open and everyone in the neighborhood was capable of hearing their exchange.
"Should we open the door?" Meg asked.
"No, give the poor man a moment to stop the cart," Julia suggested.
I ventured down the hall quiet as a cat until I spotted Meg, Julia and Ruby crowded around the window, evidently hiding behind the sheer curtain. For the life of me I could not understand why they were whispering to one another and giggling like children, but before I could make my presence known, I heard Charles from the parlor.
"Monsieur!" he loudly whispered.
"Bless you, darling!" Meg called out without bothering to turn her head.
I looked from the women to the parlor where Charles sat leaning forward in his wheelchair, frantically motioning to me. The twins were on a blanket spread out across the floor, both attempting to roll from their backs to their bellies.
"Charles, what in the-"
"Do not go out there," he warned.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Madame Lowry, Madame Kire, and Mademoiselle Dubois, how lovely to see you today," a very deep and very male voice resonated from down the hall.
"Monsieur Fayette," Meg said. Julia had offered to take the twins every evening after supper and the rest had clearly perked Madame Lowry up considerably. She appeared well rested-perhaps too well rested.
"Please, Madame, call me Paulo," Fayette insisted.
Immediately my muscles tensed and I turned from Charles with my jaw set and hands clenched at my sides as I listened to the exchange.
"I apologize for running a few minutes behind schedule," the man said. "The stop before you had twice their usual delivery for the week."
"Oh, we did not mind, Paulo," Meg said, her voice much higher than usual. It reminded me of the way she spoke to Alexandre when he was an infant. "We've been enjoying an afternoon of tea."
"A lovely day for tea, isn't it? One moment and I will bring the goods inside," Fayette replied.
His exit was followed by more muffled giggles befitting of schoolgirls, not two married women and one soon to be wed.
"Monsieur!" Charles snapped. "Shut the door!"
His tone commanded obedience, and I quietly closed the door and turned to face him.
"Who is Monsieur Fayette?" I asked as soon as the door closed behind me.
Charles slumped in his chair and frowned. "He may as well be Adonis, Monsieur," Charles quite dramatically answered with a sigh.
I furrowed my brow. "Excuse me?"
"Every week he sets women throughout the neighborhood into a frenzy simply by appearing at the door with weekly market goods. They simply cannot resist his charm and, well...if you saw him..."
"A frenzy indeed," I muttered. Heat rose up the back of my neck. I would be damned if any man put my wife into a frenzy once, let alone once a week. I started to turn, but Charles gasped.
"You cannot go out there," he warned.
"I most certainly can," I assured my son's tutor.
"They will see you!"
"Good."
"Not good at all. They will know we have been eavesdropping."
My mouth opened and promptly shut as I considered Charles' statement. Something about his tone made the act of eavesdropping seem as though it would most certainly end with me profusely apologizing to my wife for weeks to come.
"This man does what, precisely?" I asked.
"If you caught a glimpse you would realize there is nothing he needs to do," Charles answered. "He simply exists and they all sigh and giggle."
I inhaled sharply, immediately deciding that I hated Monsieur Fayette simply for his existence in the world.
"Well, this must end at once," I said under my breath.
Charles gaped wide-eyed at me, and his expression of horror made me realize my words sounded far more threatening than I had intended.
"End?" Charles winced.
"Not him. I mean to say end this utter nonsense." I shook my head, opened the door, and walked to the end of the hall in time to see my wife, our housekeeper, and Meg once again crowded around the window clutching one another.
"He carries that flour like it's a feather," Ruby commented as though this were the most magnificent feat she had witnessed for the day.
They all took a step back and pretended to be studying their cups of tea when Monsieur Fayette strolled through the door again with a bag of flour hefted over his broad shoulder. If he had paid them any mind at all, he would have realized how utterly ridiculous the three women looked and that they were terribly at acting.
Fayette was far too busy engaging in meaningless small talk with Ruby to notice me standing twenty paces away. He flashed an easy smile as he dropped the bag of flour, placed his large hands on his trim waist, and tossed his head back with laughter. His black hair, which was tied back, swished like the tail of a horse when he shook his head. Adonis indeed, I thought to myself. The Greek god of beauty would have been jealous of this man.
"Ah, and once again, the Lowry home is my favorite stop of the day," Monsieur Fayette commented before he strolled out the door, saying he would be back in a moment.
Still, no one noticed me. They walked in unison, a three-headed creature in swishing skirts gathered at the window once more to watch the demigod from market delivery stroll out to his waiting cart and horse.
"I bet he would not need a horse to pull the cart," Meg said under her breath.
They tittered like mice. It was truly maddening.
"Is the flour for our home?" I asked much louder than necessary.
Meg released a hushed squeak of surprise and Ruby fanned herself, clearly surprised by my presence, while Julia casually turned as though she expected to see me.
"It is not," Julia answered. "But the lard being brought in is for us. Perhaps you could carry it home?"
"It would be my absolute pleasure," I said tightly as Fayette returned inside with two barrels of lard, each one tucked beneath his massive arms as though they were no heavier than loaves of bread. The moment he strolled through the front door, he met my eye and slowed his pace. His lips parted and dark eyes opened wide as he placed the barrels beside the bag of flour.
I stared him down for a long moment, chin lifted and eyes narrowed as I attempted to scrutinize the man before me. Physically he was nearly flawless with his square jaw, broad shoulders, and long legs. His skin was bronzed and flawlessly clear, his eyes bright and smile youthful. I suspected he could have had the manners of a goat and the conversational skills of a rock and women across Paris would have batted their eyelashes and sighed when he looked in their direction.
"Monsieur Kire," Fayette said in disbelief.
I nodded once in silence. From the corner of my eye I saw Meg nervously shift her weight.
"Five years," Fayette said as he began wiping his hands on his dusty trousers. He stared back at me with a toothy, boyish grin. At first I had thought him to be a man of thirty years of age, but when he smiled he looked at least ten years younger. A damnable pup if there ever was one. "Five years of delivering to your household and I've finally had the pleasure of meeting you. Perhaps this is a dream? Was I kicked in the head by my horse?"
"Possibly," I said under my breath. "But unlikely."
"A sense of humor as flawless as your music?"
I narrowed my eyes. "I beg your pardon?"
"May I ask if you are composing another opera?" Fayette eagerly asked. "I took my wife to see Midnight Serenade and we both enjoyed it immensely. The humor was second to none."
My opera was called Midnight Serenade at the Lake, but the programs for the performance were printed incorrectly in Paris and audiences seemed to prefer the shorter title. However, that was no concern of mine. The mention of a wife caught my attention immediately as Fayette did not look old enough to be married and I wondered if the women along his delivery route knew he was no bachelor. He wore no wedding band, which I suspected was due to the nature of his work.
"I am always working on new music," I replied.
"Madame Giry has said the blood in your veins was replaced by melody long ago. Music makes your heart beat," Fayette said. He smiled again.
"Madame Giry has gross exaggeration running through her veins."
Fayette's dark eyes widened as though he could not believe I dared to say such a thing. "I can speak no ill of Madame GIry," he solemnly replied.
"Yes, well, I did not speak ill of her…" I stammered.
"I know Madame Giry is more well versed in ballet, but I've played the violin since I was a boy, and recently I've dabbled in playing some of your music. I am sure I did not do it justice, but I must say it brings me great joy. Perhaps Madame Kire mentioned I am learning?"
"She did not," I said. He immediately appeared somewhat crestfallen and I suspected he had flashed his beatific, boyish smile and told my wife how he played the violin as well. "Or perhaps I have forgotten," I hastily added.
Fayette's expression brightened. "I am sure you are terribly busy," he said. He scooped up one of the barrels of lard as though it was indeed light as a feather as Ruby had pointed out. "I will place this back on the cart and drive it to your doorstep, no extra charge."
"I expect nothing for free," I replied sternly.
"No, no, I insist," Fayette replied. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "May I trouble you for a delivery signature, Monsieur? My wife will not believe me when I say I made your acquaintance if I leave here without your signature."
From the corner of my eye I saw Julia cover her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laugh.
"Of course," I said as I turned away from Fayette. "I'll fetch a pencil."
"I always carry one," he replied quickly with a wide grin as he produced a pencil from his shirt pocket. "Two, to be exact. I seem to break at least one a week."
The unfortunate result of brute strength, I imagined, as I signed the delivery form and handed both the pencil and paper back to Fayette. He stood for much longer than necessary and examined my signature.
"How is Clary doing, Paoulo?" Julia asked.
"Better, Madame Kire. She is a strong one, thank God."
"I am glad to hear it," Julia replied.
"If you would like, I have a phonograph cylinder at our home," I said to Fayette. "You are more than welcome to take it." God knows I wanted nothing to do with it.
Fayette gaped and ran his hand over his thick hair. "That would be…remarkably generous of you. Now please, Monsieur, allow me to bring these items to your doorstep."
"Consider it done."
OoO
"Is this for our panna cotta dessert tomorrow afternoon?" I asked Julia after Paulo Fayette delivered our items to our front door and insisted he carry everything into the kitchen and pantry. Ruby could not have been more delighted by his attentiveness to placing goods on shelves. I found her reaction unnecessary.
"Panna cotta?" Julia asked, arching a brow. "Was that a request from Phelan?"
"No, from Lisette. She made a menu this morning. Panna cotta with vanilla and raspberry sauce was high on the list."
Julia offered a wistful smile. "My mother's recipe. I haven't made it in years. I wonder what made her think of it?"
"Did your mother pour the raspberry sauce to look like sun rays?"
Julia chuckled to herself. "She did not, but if I go through all the trouble of making fanciful desserts, I do hope Sadi Carnot accepts his invitation to lunch."
"Between Lisette penning secret letters and Madeline's ties to every dignitary and opera house manager in all of France, do not be surprised if the president attends tomorrow afternoon."
"What about Joshua?" Julia asked.
"I planned to walk past his house tonight and ask if he was free."
I had intended to speak with my cousin privately prior to the scheduled lunch with my brother as I hoped Joshua could provide further insight as to my disappearance as well as how Phelan and I had originally been placed in his father's care. Given that Joshua was six years older than me and three years older than Phelan, I hoped he had better clarity.
"Did you answer Monsieur Le Blanc's note yet?" Julia asked over her shoulder as she exited the kitchen and started down the hall.
"What note?"
"The one he sent Monday. A boy from the theater delivered it."
"I was not aware of his correspondence."
Julia picked up several letters in the foyer and handed them to me. "I mentioned it at supper. He sent another one this morning."
The man was either impatient or terribly eager. I took both letters from Julia and broke the seal on the first one, reading it over in silence.
"Another invitation?" Julia asked as she rifled through the rest of the mail and sorted it into two different piles.
I looked from the carefully penned letter to my wife and nodded. "Yes," I answered as I looked over the note again, my heart suddenly racing. "An invitation to conduct a symphony in autumn."
Julia immediately looked up and met my eye. In an instant she abandoned the letters in her hands to the foyer table and flung her arms around me with greater enthusiasm than I had anticipated. I smiled against her lips as she kissed me.
"How absolutely wonderful," Julia said as she pulled away. "What are you going to tell him?"
From the very first time I had been in an opera box with Madeline and viewed the glorious theater, my dream had been to sit within the orchestra pit. I fantasized about playing first violin, of being in the company of some of the most outstanding musicians in all of France. I listened to the crowd applaud after the performances and pretended I was the one they appreciated as I sat beneath the stage or in my own private box. Several times I had played solo outside of the theater and received a meager amount of coins for my efforts, but the money was not why I played. I played because all of my life I had been ignored and shunned and I wanted to be heard.
I had been different then, a boy still able to find hope despite all I had been denied. I knew my limitations, but I held onto the belief that I could still show the world my worth. The years that followed had all but stamped out my optimism. Time passed, I became more of a ghost than a man, and cynicism replaced dreams.
The look in my wife's hazel eyes, however, reminded me of how I had felt in those first few weeks-the first few years, really. Despite everything that had transpired, I still wanted to be in the orchestra pit for one performance.
"I will consider it," I answered at last.
Consider and hope that what had happened nine years earlier would not jeopardize all I had accomplished and managed to keep. Consider it and hope that Madeline had her hand in this invitation.
