I returned to the Inn shortly before midnight, exhaustion hitting me full force as the flicker of gas lights from the town center came into view. The streets were vacant, as was the lobby, and the stillness came as a welcomed surprise. My walks in Paris, though usually taken at a late hour, were always filled with the distant buzz of the city. Tormage was peacefully asleep, wagons and foot traffic replaced by the clear sound of falling water from the fountain in the town square and a symphony of rustling leaves and insects.
Despite the desire to sleep, I stood outside the Inn and appreciated the stillness a moment longer. I took in a deep, sweet breath of a warm summer night and smiled to myself. By morning we would be in another carriage and headed toward the last portion of our holiday before we returned home. Decades had passed since I'd seen the ocean and smelled the salty air. Home, I heard Phelan say in my head, but it had never been home to me.
At last I walked alone down the hall, hearing every creak of the floorboards as I made my way to our room. Thankfully Julia had left the door unlocked for me and I slipped quietly inside, fully expecting Bessie to greet me with her usual exuberance at the door, but the only one still awake was Julia, who sat up the moment I entered.
"You're still awake," I whispered. I looked from Julia to the sizable lump beside her in bed and furrowed my brow. "Alex or Lisette?"
"Lissy," Julia said. "She asked to sleep with me tonight and Alex requested you."
"I'll take Bessie out one last time," I said.
"Alex already did. She's exhausted from today and I doubt you'll get her to move. She was stretched out in front of the door last I saw."
I kicked off my shoes and walked into the adjoining room where Bessie blocked my path. I stepped over her and pulled off my mask. As Julia had stated, Bessie did little more than give a thump of her tail in greeting.
"Father?" Alex whispered.
"I thought you would be sound asleep by now," I commented as I undressed in the dark. He and Lisette were normally in bed before eight, but our holiday had changed their usual routine. Fresh air and time spent on a farm had been far more exhausting than I'd anticipated.
"I waited up for you," Alex said.
"Did you enjoy the performance?" I asked as I carefully folded my clothing and placed them on top of the dresser before retrieving the pajamas Julia had set out on Lisette's bed for me.
"It was better than I imagined," Alex said.
"I am quite pleased you thought so," I said.
Alex remained quiet as I brushed my teeth and washed my face. He had turned over on his side to watch me, his eyes as wide as he could make them to keep himself from falling asleep. "Father? How many people have you heard sing?" he questioned once I patted my face dry.
"Hundreds, I would think," I replied, remembering fondly the first time I had watched a performance alongside Madeline in a private box. Live theater had captivated me from the very first note played by the orchestra and those sensations-the flutter in my stomach and the way sound rushed through my veins-still left me enthralled. Music intoxicated me like nothing else and I was gladly addicted to creating sound.
"Who was the best?" Alex asked as he sat up and hugged his pillow to his chest.
One of my cuff links rolled along the top of the dresser when I picked up my watch to wind it. I caught the small piece of metal before it clattered to the floor and paused, staring at my closed fist.
"Was it my mother?" Alex questioned before I could answer. "My...my singing mother?"
His question was so unexpected that I stammered for appropriate words. Alex had made no mention of Christine since her untimely passing and I had not mentioned her name. I realized in that moment as I stood in the dark that my son's birth mother had barely crossed my mind in months.
"She was remarkably gifted," I said quietly. Speaking aloud about Christine felt somewhat forbidden, but I still appreciated Alex's inquiry. Despite what had transpired between Christine and myself, Alex deserved to know of her and her talent. "Audiences flocked to the theater to hear her perform."
"Do you think she ever sang to me?" Alex asked. "When I was first born?"
I glanced up, my gaze meeting Alex's in the mirror's reflection. His expression was placid, his eyes filled with curiosity. I doubted he knew how his question resonated within me, how I had spent nearly every waking moment of my life isolated from others and wondered if there had been a time when my own mother had rocked me. Sang to me. Felt a sense of compassion toward the beast that had come from her womb.
I was absolutely certain my mother had not loved me, not even for a heartbeat, but perhaps she had forced herself to hold me for a moment, to shush her crying infant, to sing and soothe a distressed newborn despite his ghastly appearance. Perhaps she had closed her eyes and swallowed her loathing in order to offer me a shred of compassion.
Often I had wondered if Christine sang to Alex in the weeks she had cared for him after his birth. He was an absolutely perfect infant, so bright and curious of the world around him. While I could not understand how Christine could abandon Alex on my doorstep, I hoped that she had loved him, her perfect son, for the time that Alex had no one else to care for him aside from his mother. I agonized over the thought of him neglected in his first weeks of life, of his desperate cries going unanswered as he pleaded for her affection.
"I don't know, Alex," I answered softly.
Alex held my gaze in the mirror. "You heard her sing many times, didn't you?"
"I did," I said. I'd heard her sing in a chorus of a dozen girls and as the principal soprano at the Opera House. And unlike anyone else in all of Europe, I had heard my son's mother sing privately during lessons. She had a voice like no other and I was certain no one would ever match her talent, at least not in my lifetime.
"Is it...wrong of me to ask about her?" Alex asked. He wiggled beneath the covers, anxious and uncertain over his question.
"I don't think so," I answered. "She will always be your mother even if you did not know her."
"Do you think perhaps her voice was recorded for a phonograph?"
"It's possible," I answered. For my son's sake, I hoped there was something left of Christine for him. I doubted the phonograph could do Christine's voice justice, but Alex was a casual admirer of the arts, not a critic. If hearing his birth mother sing an aria brought him peace and closure, so be it.
"Would you ask Monsieur Leach tomorrow if he knows one exists?"
"If you wish."
Alex seemed satisfied at last. "I wish I could hear my singing mother once so that I would know what she sounded like." He shrugged and inhaled. "But even if I cannot hear her sing, I already have a favorite singer," he said.
I furrowed my brow. "And whom might that be?"
He grinned at me as he answered quite proudly, "Aunt Meg."
A mouse of a chorus girl if there had ever been one. Half the time I swore shy Meg Giry simply mouthed the words to avoid drawing attention to herself on the stage. Despite her shy demeanor in the Opera House, she had been the star of my home for the past eight years.
"Ah, yes, I should have known," I replied as I turned to face him. "The two of you sang many duets when you were an infant."
My son's dark eyes widened, his smile broadening. "When I was an infant? How did I know the words when I was a baby?"
His question amused me. "You didn't," I explained. "She sang, you imitated the sounds until the two of you were breathless with laughter."
It was impossible to finish a composition with the two of them in the parlor making no attempt to go about their afternoon quietly. Alex's belly laugh accompanied by Meg snorting with amusement filled our home for hours at a time. In all the years I had known of Meg Giry, hearing her entertain my son made me acutely aware of how I truly did not know her at all. The skittish girl who barely spoke above a whisper was warm and full of laughter and humor. She poured her every waking moment into giving Alex all of her love and attention.
"What was our favorite song?"
"Your aunt had a habit of making up words and changing the melody. Your favorite song was whatever the two of you were singing."
Alex's expression momentarily darkened. He hunched his shoulders and rested his chin on the top of the pillow he still clung to, his eyes cast down. "I've never been away from Aunt Meg before, have I?"
"She traveled to London when you were quite young." The weeks in which Meg had been away to be with Charles after his war injury were lost on Alex, but at the time he had endlessly searched for his most favorite companion.
"I miss her," Alex said sullenly, his voice tight with emotion. "I miss her terribly."
"I'm sure the feeling is mutual."
"I will write to her tomorrow," Alex vowed. "And I will tell her how my first time in a theater was and that Marie was an outstanding performer, quite possibly better than anyone else I've ever heard. Or do you think I should tell her that they both sing equally good?"
"I would advise the latter."
Alex gave a nod and placed the pillow onto the bed before he flopped down on his back. "You aren't sleeping in Lissy's bed, are you?" he asked. He scooted to the opposite edge of his mattress and stared wide-eyed at me in the dark.
As much as I would have preferred an evening devoid of a foot lodged against my spine or his elbow digging into my ribs, I drew back the coverlet on his bed and sat. "You don't intend on sleeping at the very edge of the bed, do you?" I questioned. "You'll wake the entire Inn if you fall onto the floor in the middle of the night."
Alex quickly moved toward the center. The moment I situated myself in bed, he turned onto his side and placed his arm across my chest. For a long moment he laid quietly up against me, his eyes closed, his fingers circling one of the buttons on my shirt. His freely given affection had always been welcomed and I was grateful to have another moment with my son. Soon enough he would be more independent and desire his own space.
"Father?" Alex said suddenly. The sound of his voice jarred me fully awake. "Do you think Uncle Phelan will visit us on the seashore?"
"I hope so," I answered without a second of hesitation.
"Me too. And I hope he brings his bird."
"The sooner you close your eyes and fall asleep, the sooner we will continue our holiday."
Alex smiled and squeezed his eyes shut tighter than before. Seconds passed and he relaxed up against me, his breaths warm against my neck. "I love you," he whispered, grasping me tighter.
His words made me smile. "I love you as well."
"I was talking to Aunt Meg in a dream," he said. "But I love you as well."
oOo
Our trunks were packed and loaded onto a carriage by nine the following morning. Amelie, Marie, and their mother came to see us off and deliver an assortment of fruit for the last part of our holiday. Lisette promised to write to Amelie once a week until we were able to visit again and Alex of course reminded Amelie that he had invited her to stay with us in Paris for as long as she cared to visit. He went so far as to offer his bedroom to her as long as she didn't mind his collection of drawings and various rocks he had found in the park.
"But what about Eclipse and Dria?" Amelie asked.
"They can stay in the back garden," Lisette offered. "There is plenty of room."
"You are a very sensible girl," Amelie told her.
The driver opened the carriage door and waited patiently for us to step forward. The four of us collectively hesitated before Madame Batiste motioned Alex forward and kissed him on the forehead and placed her hand against his cheek. "You are always welcome here, Alex Jean Kire," she said. "You will visit me soon, won't you?"
Alex nodded readily. "I will, Madame Batiste. I promise I will bring my father back as well."
"And your mother," Marie added.
"And your sister," Amelie said.
Alex was first to hop into the carriage, followed by Lisette who had dabbed tears from her eyes since the carriage pulled up to the Inn. Julia whispered her farewell and embraced the other women several times before she finally walked to the carriage, which left me lingering behind.
"Erik," Madame Batiste said.
"Madame," I said fondly.
"You will not wait another thirty years to return to Tormage, will you?"
"We would be quite honored to visit next summer if you would have us."
"You are always welcome here." Madame Batiste reached out and firmly grasped my shoulder. "It has been a pleasure seeing you again, Erik. You have done well," she said simply.
Her words meant a great deal more than she would ever know. "I appreciate your kindness."
"Your driver appears a bit impatient," Amelie said as she looked past me.
I followed her gaze and the driver immediately looked away and pretended to examine the wheel as though it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Secretly I wondered if he had been given a copy of my wife's strict itinerary for travel and wished to adhere to the scheduling down to the minute.
"We sincerely appreciate your hospitality," I said.
Amelie walked with me toward the carriage. "You are family now," she said. "Mother says so."
"Indeed."
"You don't believe me? She's already started to tell people that you are a second cousin from my father's side of the family. Half the town will be in a frenzy by noon. And of course Paulo is telling everyone you are going to save that poor piano at the Ruby Pony when you visit next."
To that I chuckled. "It has been our sincere pleasure, Cousin Amelie."
"I do like the sound of that." She paused outside of the carriage and grinned, the warm and bright expression of a Swan Princess turned family. "You will take care? And you will bring back your wife and children next summer, if not sooner?"
"You have my word."
At last Amelie seemed satisfied and took a step back. "I cannot look at you a moment longer without..." She inhaled sharply and fanned her crumpled face with her hand. "Oh, now look what you have done."
"We will arrange your visit to Paris when we've returned home," I promised. "A year is far too long to go without seeing family."
oOo
We changed horses twice and arrived at the seashore late in the afternoon. Archie Leach greeted us at the end of a long stretch of uneven road that led almost to the beach, dressed quite casually and wearing a straw hat.
"The Kires have arrived," he said, waving quite enthusiastically as we made our way out of the carriage. Bessie was first out the door and took off running full speed toward our host, whom she greeted with her hound dog bays as she ran around him in circles.
"Bes-sie, Bes-sie, Bes-sie! Why, look at you go!" Archie clapped his hands and Bessie ran to him, licking his face once he bent over and allowed our dog an indulgent moment of affection.
Alex and Lisette were next to greet Archie with as much ardor as Bessie but not nearly as much slobber. I helped my wife out of the carriage and paid the driver for his services while two servants appeared and began removing our trunks from the back of the cab.
"You all look very well," Archie said. He pumped my hand several times before giving me a hearty clap on the back. "Have you enjoyed your holiday thus far?"
"How long are we here for?" Alex asked as he surveyed his surroundings. Both he and Lisette looked as though they had found themselves dropped on another planet.
"Nine days," Julia answered.
"Where are we, exactly?" Alex asked.
Archie performed what could only be described as a brief but terrible Irish jig, complete with a flip of his hat and a deep bow. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Leach Beach!"
Alex and Lisette erupted in quite indulgent applause while Bessie threw her head back and howled with such gusto that the two servants put the trunks on the ground and laughed at her antics.
"You will thank Monsieur Leach for his generosity, won't you?" Julia said.
Alex and Lisette thanked him in unison before asking if they could run through the tall grass with Bessie. I nodded, which was all the permission they needed to expend some energy and take off tearing through the sand hills.
"Stay away from the water," Julia shouted. "Both of you! All three of you! Bessie, are you listening?" Alex lead the way and the three of them arced away from the water and down the beach where they collapsed on the sand and waved to us.
Once the children were squealing in delight, Archie showed us to the cottages, which were so close together than from a distance it looked like one large residence. We passed through a short wooden gate and walked down a gravel path past a single tree that provided minimal shade. There was a pit that looked as though it had recently held a fire as well as a long table and several chairs nearby. The window boxes were filled with flowers.
"What is that behind the house?" I asked, nodding toward a longer stone building surrounded by a garden that Meg would have adored.
"Servant quarters," Archie said as he led us to the front of the cottage and unlocked the door.
The interior of the cottage was larger than I expected with high ceilings and crisp white walls. The stone floor was spotless, the sage green settee and matching chairs situated in front of a fireplace like something out of a gallery painting. Wood framed casement windows provided a clear view of the waterfront while the lead-glass window in the kitchen was fitted with yellow and green tinted glass in the pattern of sunflowers that added an unexpected splash of color across the floor.
I imagined myself furiously writing as fast as my pen could scribble across the paper as my muse came to call in such an airy and bright space. With the sound of the waves and the gentle breeze wafting through the house, it was an artistic haven.
"There used to be an old fort east of here," Archie explained. "The first Archie Leach was a military man who retired right here on this very plot of land some three hundred years ago. It was little more than a hut that his grandson transformed into the cottage next door. My father built this one and I added the servant's housing behind it. My son will add on until Leach Beach is buzzing with Leaches for as far as the eye can see."
He truly, sincerely wished to keep the entire world overrun with Leaches.
"This is far too generous," Julia said as she looked around. "First the estate in Rouen and now this? Archie, are you certain?"
"Anything for dear friends," Archie said, winking at me as he spoke.
"It is impressive," I admitted. "You've truly outdone yourself."
Archie appeared quite satisfied with my comment. "The motto for every Leach endeavor is to exceed the expectations of our clients and customers. As my great, great grandfather Archibald Leach the first once said, everyone appreciates a Leach. The world simply cannot get enough of us."
"Indeed," I replied.
